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tibsneroblackthorn · 2 years

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Emma to Bruce

Dear Bruce,

I hope you’ll forgive me if I’m a little thoughtful today. There’s nobody left here in Blackthorn Hall but me and Julian and there’s kind of a peaceful quiet over the place. Jules is upstairs in his studio and I’m just sitting in bed, writing and thinking about the past months.

Something is ending, Bruce. There’s so much still going on that’s unresolved, of course—the danger to Kit from Faerie, and whatever’s going on with the Cohort in Idris. Alec is in some kind of minimal contact with them, but who knows how that will develop. But among all of that, something is coming to an end for Julian and I, and I don’t know what comes next.

(Well, okay, dramatic much, Emma? I know a little bit. See below.)

Maybe it’s just that the builders are gone and I’ve gotten used to the sound of them bustling around at all hours. Round Tom gave us a lyrical farewell speech that (a) went on for five full minutes, which is a very long time for someone to take to say goodbye, and (b) was both very friendly and also included the line, “Excitement and adventure are your close companions, and I am only a modest maker of dwellings, and so I hope to never meet any of you again as long as I live.”

Julian was annoyed by that. I pointed out that faeries can’t lie, and he pointed out that Round Tom didn’t need to bring it up at all. Which, fair enough. Julian also pointed out that it’s not like Tom’s usual work for members of the Courts is exactly drama-free. Another good point from Jules. Faeries are the most overdramatic Downworlders. Like, more dramatic than vampires, and they spend all their time being like, “oh, I am undead, how I am cursed, let me apply more eyeliner.”

Oh, well, we weren’t looking to be close friends with Round Tom. He did good work, and he was very polite about how happy he was to get away from this house.

Once he and his crew were all gone, we walked through the gardens some, but Julian said he felt like he had every detail of the house and gardens carved into his brain, so we left the house alone for a little while and went down to the river.

There’s a little park on the far side of the Thames from Chiswick; it’s a nature reserve called the Leg O’ Mutton Reservoir and it has a lovely walking path around the reservoir itself. (Also, is that not just the most English thing you have ever heard? Why is so much of London so freaking charming?) It’s a little bit of a pain since we have to walk a solid mile to the Barnes Bridge just to get to the right side of the river, but it was a lovely warm evening and it was nice to walk, Julian and I strolling along together comfortably, one of my favorite ways to be.

Julian made some cold chicken sandwiches and we took them with us along with some lemonade (Bruce, I may have developed a dangerous addiction to British lemonade. I’m sure there’s some way to get ahold of it in Los Angeles, right? Right?!) and we sat on a little blanket alongside the reservoir and watched cormorants diving for fish.

I was feeling mellow and at peace, so of course it was the perfect time for me to ruin that by bringing up a difficult subject. I was too relaxed to remember to be stressed about it. I said something like, “It’s so beautiful here. But…” Julian looked over at me, not worried, just curious, so I said, “I’m not sure I want to live full-time in London. I know we’ve just spent all this time and effort and money on fixing up your family manor and all that.”

I thought Julian would be angry, or sad, so I was not really prepared for his actual reaction, which I would describe as “baffled.” “I never thought we’d be full-time here,” he said, as though the idea had never even occurred to him. “I assumed we’d split our time between LA and here. But only if that was what you wanted.”

I don’t know why he said that last part, because he surely could see that I was no longer looking worried but rather like I was about to kiss him. “You mean, half and half?” I said.

He shrugged easily. “Whatever we like. LA when it’s cold and rainy here, London when it’s hot and burny there.”

I did kiss him then, so I’m going to skip the next five minutes or so, which you, Bruce, are surely not interested in. There was a lot of lemonade-flavored kissing and eventually Jules kissed my ear (which makes hot sparky fizzles go up and down my spine every time) and said, “Wherever you are is where my home is, you know that, right?”

“Sure,” I said, because it was sweet and romantic thing for him to say. But he looked more intent.

“No, I mean—” He shook his head. “It’s not like we’ll split our time between my home here in London and your home there in LA. I have a home in Los Angeles too. And you have a home here. Blackthorn Hall belongs to my family and you, Emma, are my family. And we —” he looked at me intently — “will always be together. Unless that’s not what you want. You’re the only person I’ve ever loved romantically, Emma. And I want to spend all the rest of my life with that being true.”

I didn’t have to pause to think about it. “So do I,” I said.

I’d thought before about what it would mean for us to get engaged, but it feels too soon for that. This kind of commitment, these promises, feel right and true.

He smiled at that and exhaled, as if he’d been a little nervous. Then he got to his feet and held out a hand to help me up and said, “Let’s get back to the house. I have something to show you.”

“I bet you do,” I said, and usually saying something like that, in the tone I said it, is good for another five minutes I won’t detail here. But you know, it’s Julian, he had a bee in his bonnet, and we walked home a little faster than we’d walked down there.

When we got inside he went straight upstairs to the ballroom. I knew what was up, of course—his secret project he’s been working on this whole time we’ve been here. I sort of lost track of it, what with the ghost and the curse and everything, and I hadn’t realized he’d kept working at it this whole time. Probably in the early mornings before anyone else (or the sun) was up.

He's put a big curtain up in front of it like the dweeb he is, and I was going to tease him about it but then he pulled it down and I saw the whole mural. It takes up the whole wall up there, and it’s just beautiful. The whole family there, all the Blackthorns. Each of them is—

No, that’s not right.

Because I’m in the mural too. I’m right there with the rest of the family, surrounded by them. And each of us is circled with flowers. White flowers for all of those who have passed on. Even Rupert was there, and Julian’s parents, surrounded by white petals. And Livvy, on top, wrapped in white wings.

And red flowers for those of us who are still here. Helen, and Aline, and Mark and Ty and Dru and Tavvy . . .

I started crying basically immediately, you know, the good kind of crying, the crying of love and awe and being overwhelmed by feeling. Julian asked, “Do you like it?”

I do like it. It’s so beautiful and perfect for this moment, when things are ending and new things are yet to begin. And it makes it feel like Blackthorn Hall, truly—the Blackthorns that I know, that I love, not the weird ones a hundred years ago that were responsible for what happened to it. It makes me feel like a big wheel has turned around, and we’re both at the beginning and ending of something new and exciting. For the first time since I got here, I went to sit in bed to write to you and I thought, “I’m in our bedroom in our house,” and it felt right.

Good night, Bruce. I’m going to put you on a bookshelf after this, the one on my side of our bed. Congratulations—now you’re part of Blackthorn Hall too.

Emma

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tibsneroblackthorn · 2 years

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Magnus to Alec

Dear delectable muffin of love,

I hope this perfumed letter finds you well, and that you and R and M are having an excellent time in your exotic journey to…well, I believe the term you used was “upstate.” I have heard legends of this Upstate[JL1] , but never did I know that my family would see for themselves its mountains, its twee farm markets, its River of the Son of Hud.

More to the point, I hope the kids are enjoying their visit with Grandma, and I hope you are referring to Maryse as “Grandma” as often as possible because I enjoy the face she makes when we do. On a less pleasant but more urgent note, I hope you’ve had a chance to talk with Luke about the Cohort/Idris stuff.

But do not tire your beautiful hands with a written reply. I will be heading to this “Upstate” myself to join you later this afternoon, as I am relieved to report that the business with the Blackthorn kids’ cursed house is more or less resolved. Although it was touch and go, let me tell you.

I don’t think I even showed you the note Jem sent, which said, “Emma and Julian are trying not to bother you about their house, and that is very nice of them, but unlike them, I feel absolutely no compunction about bothering you, and so this is me, now, in this note, bothering you. We are in need of a warlock and you are the best one I know for this. We would all really appreciate your help.”

As is often the case, I was both mildly annoyed and mildly impressed with Jem, who managed to be both very kind and also to remind me that I am a sucker when it comes to him and Tessa and will rush to their aid when I can. Because I am a sucker when it comes to him and Tessa, I wrote back quickly saying I would come.

I know what you’re thinking: “How could Tessa need a warlock when she is a warlock?” But different warlocks have different expertises, as you know, and while Jem was flattering me that I was the best choice, the reality is that I have dealt with a lot more curses than Tessa. That’s what comes of spending the past decades hiring your services out to any miscreants who come by, instead of more intelligently living a calm life as a magic researcher in the Spiral Labyrinth. Tessa always was the smartest of us.

Anyway, I must give Emma and Julian credit. I expected to arrive and find them banging the cursed objects against one another or something, but they had set up a decent enough protective circle and even found a spell. It was an old, kind of generic spell that I have found to rarely be of much use with actual curses in the modern day, but still.

Rather stupidly I set up a basic workaday curse-breaking circle of my own, and gave it a try. “Stupidly” because I had forgotten who did the curse in the first place. Your worst ancestor, Benedict Lightwood, all-around demon enthusiast and dilettante necromancer. How in bed with demons was Benedict? He literally died of demon pox — which if you do not know, because you are beautifully pure, my Alec — is a sexually transmitted demon disease.

But I forgot that in the moment, so I was surprised when the curse put up an impressive resistance. It writhed and thrashed and struck out, like Max being lowered into a bath. The cursed objects were all glowing, kind of neon green, where they were tied to the magic, and eventually I realized I was going to have to carefully unknot each object from the curse, one at a time.

I managed the flask, the dagger, and one of the candlesticks (don’t ask me to explain how THAT happens), but after that I was stuck.

It’s not a great look for a warlock to strike a big magic pose and then nothing happens. I am sure I looked ridiculous, like a mundane magician who couldn’t understand why the rabbit wasn’t coming out of the hat. Julian and Emma are very polite and only waited patiently but I felt quite silly.

And then I lost all my focus temporarily because the door opened and Kit walked in. He sort of looked around at the scene and finally said, “Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick, I see.”

“Purple is always an appropriate color for a warlock,” I said. “It is the decorative color of magic.”

Emma, of course, said, “Your magic is blue,” because she is an inveterate smartass.

“Maybe he meant me,” said Julian. “I’m wearing a purple hoodie. Also because it is the decorative color of magic,” he added with a nod in my direction, which I appreciated.

“Maybe you could put the objects on a purple tablecloth instead of a white one,” Kit said, and while he was talking he walked out to get a closer look.

And when he got close to the circle, Alec, I felt the strangest sensation. A feeling of…power, I suppose, kind of humming in Kit. You know the way your body kind of vibrates when there’s a really really low sound? That rumbling feeling? It was like that, but silent. I’ve never had that experience any of the times I’ve seen Kit before. I could also tell that Kit didn’t feel anything unusual. Or if he did, he was surprisingly casual about it.

So I suggested he come join us around the circle and add his focus to the magic. “Especially since Jem and Tessa have snuck off somewhere rather than helping out with this round.”

“They’re out in the garden with Mina,” Kit said, a little defensively.

I redirected everyone’s attention to the objects and established a somewhat souped-up version of my go-to curse breaker. I went for the other candlestick and BANG. No resistance anymore! There was a big burst of blue and all the knots of magic tying the objects to the curse broke into pieces.

Everyone blinked a bunch. Eventually I said something like, “Well, that was more what I was hoping for. I guess four people made the difference.”

I checked. The curse seemed…gone. I was actually a little shaken. I haven’t mentioned it to Tessa and Jem, because I don’t want to make a big deal of it, but I think it worked because of Kit. Not because we needed a fourth person. Something is going on with him, some magic that is totally outside his awareness. I assume it has something to do with being a descendant of the First Heir, but I’ve never been an expert on that kind of faerie enchantment. (And do burn this letter, after you get it — very few of us know about Kit being the First Heir, and it’s best if we keep it that way.)

It makes me sad to think of it. Kit is a good kid who deserves a good, ordinary life. I know that’s what Jem and Tessa want for him, more than anything, after the chaos that was his growing up. But I am not sure he will have a choice in the matter. Fae may not let him choose.

Julian reached out and took hold of the flask. He held it for a moment, frowning.

“What?” said Emma.

“Nothing,” Julian said. He looked up at me. “Is that it? No more curse?”

“No more curse,” I said. “I hope.”

And then down from the ceiling drifted Rupert the Ghost. I never met Rupert Blackthorn when he was alive. I don’t know what to think of him. On the one hand, he seems to have been an innocent who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, a spirit trapped in a house he never lived in because of evil he never knew about while he lived. On the other hand, he met Tatiana Lightwood and thought that lady seems like marriage material, so there must have been something weird going on with him.

Rupert had been hovering and he descended until he was right above the table. He was staring at something on it.

“What is it, Rupert?” said Emma. “What are you looking at?”

Kit followed his gaze and started pushing the objects out of the way. “It’s the ring,” he said.

Emma said, “What ring?”

Indeed, what ring? There wasn’t a ring among the cursed objects. But there was a ring on the table now. Kit picked it up. It was a gold ring, etched with a design of thorns and set with a black stone.

“Blackthorn family ring?” Kit said.

“It’s not how family rings usually look,” Emma said.

“Wedding band?” said Kit.

“Shadowhunters don’t use wedding rings,” said Emma, but Julian had that thoughtful look he gets.

“I am bound here by a silver band,” he said softly.

“Shadowhunters can exchange wedding rings,” I said. “They just aren’t expected to. But they can if they want.”

Whatever it was, it was Rupert’s. He had followed Kit’s hand as it picked up the ring, and now he was reaching out for it with a thin ghostly hand. He wrapped it around the ring, which did absolutely nothing since he’s a ghost – Kit just kind of held it there for him. Then his eyes closed (Rupert’s, I mean) and he got this expression on his face of relief and gratitude and peace, and he just…faded out, right there. Just slowly vanished and was gone. No more Rupert. On to hopefully not being reunited with his wife, since she was also his jailer for over a hundred years.

“He didn’t even say goodbye,” Emma said quietly.

“That’s for the best,” I said. “He was never supposed to be here at all.”

“Well, Rupert, if you can hear me,” said Emma, “it was nice being haunted by you.”

“Five stars,” said Kit solemnly, putting the ring back on the table. “Would be haunted again.”

And all the candles went out in the room at once. Which, if it was Rupert, was a nice touch. Though it may have just been a draft.

We all filed out of the room quietly. “It’s different,” Julian said. He was looking around at the hallway. “I can feel it already.”

I could feel it as well. There was a lightness that had not been there. A kind of pleasant hominess that a good house conveys and that had always been absent from Blackthorn Hall in the time I’ve known it. It’s hard to describe, but all at once it felt like Julian and Emma’s home, in a way it hadn’t before. I’ve always known it as a forbidding place, and then as a hideous ruin, but for the first time I thought, this was a place the Blackthorns could fill with joy.

And I’m certain they will.

See you very soon, my love. I shall kiss you until a toddler forces us apart to pay attention to him. So plan for a kiss of about 30-60 seconds, based on previous experience. But I wish, as always, that it could be endless.

Love,

Magnus

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tibsneroblackthorn · 2 years

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“Kit is used to not needing people, but Ty needs people. He is afraid to need people but that is only because he needs them so much. He is not going to stop needing Kit. I don’t know if Kit will always need Ty. But Ty will always need him.”

effectively, I will never recover from this.

#ty blackthorn #kit herondale #kit x ty #the wicked powers #secrets of blackthorn hall

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tibsneroblackthorn · 2 years

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I'M BROKEN OH MY GOD

Livvy to Julian

Dear Julian,

You can see ghosts but you cannot see me. Not when I come to sit by you while you sleep. Not when I am in the movements of the shadows across the lawn, or the twitch of a curtain. You cannot hear me, even though I am speaking to you because I have things I need to tell you.

I want to tell you about Ty.

He was there. We were there.

You don’t know we were there.

Kit knows.

Let me start over.

You like surprises, Ty says. Ty doesn’t like surprises, but you do.

He is learning Portals, how to open them, how to close them. You need a warlock. But Ty is learning and he is getting better. He wanted to come to see you and Ragnor said he would help.

We wanted to come to see you.

Ty warned Emma, but he told her not to tell you, so it would be a surprise.

So we came through together.

A ghost travels through a Portal just like a Shadowhunter. I didn’t know that. Isn’t that funny?

Well, I thought it was funny.

The Portal opened in the kitchen.

The kitchen looks nice. I am only a spirit caught between the world and the void but I think you chose an excellent shade for the walls. You have always been so good with color.

Other than the color, which was a surprise but not a bad one, there was another surprise in the kitchen. Kit.

Kit was in the kitchen. Wearing that jacket he likes, with the fuzzy collar. The sun came through the window and lit him up.

Everything in Ty froze. Even I almost froze. I’ve seen Kit, of course. I visit him sometimes. Still because I wasn’t expecting him, it hit me how different he looks from the way he did when he lived at the Institute with us. He looks older, and taller. More muscular. He moves like a Shadowhunter now. Graceful.

He’s beautiful.

I heard Ty take a breath like he never has before. Like he was gasping for air, like he’d been sucker-punched and he was trying to breathe and trying to breathe and he couldn’t.

He whispered, “That’s not how you clean a gun.”

Sorry, I should have said before. Kit was cleaning a gun. Why would there be a gun at your house? Blackthorn Hall is like a rock. You turn it over and so many things are underneath. This time a gun was underneath.

Kit went whiter than any ghost I’ve ever seen. He dropped the gun onto the counter. And he didn’t speak. I wonder if he was wondering what I was wondering. I was wondering how Ty knew how to clean a gun. Enough to tell someone they were doing it wrong.

Maybe he just didn’t know what to say, so he said that.

After that they looked at each other.

Time is not fast or slow where I am. And yet it was long enough for me to feel like the whole world was disappearing, like there was nothing else in it except Kit and Ty looking at each other.

Kit said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

He has never spoken to me like that. With such a cold voice. He had put his hands in his pockets and his shoulders were thrust forward, like he was being aggressive, but I could see his hands in his pockets, all knotted up. I wonder if Ty saw it too. Kit’s fingers, digging and digging into themselves.

But Ty wasn’t looking at Kit. He was looking past him at the window. I could hear birds, and quiet English sounds, and Ty breathing. He said, “How long do you think it will take you to forgive me?”

Kit looked at me. He looked a little betrayed, as if somehow I had known he would be here, had planned this. But I didn’t. “I don’t know,” he said.

“But not now,” Ty said in the smallest voice.

“No,” Kit said. “Not now.”

There was no more reason to stay then.

Maybe there was a reason. Maybe it was Kit’s hands crushing in on themselves, till I thought the bones would break like hearts.

But Ty couldn’t see that. Ty was in pain. I put myself next to him, wrapped myself around him, held him while we went back through the Portal. I was sad. I wanted to see you very much, Jules. But Ty needed me to be there with him.

If you dream this, maybe you will know we were there in your house. I am sorry we didn’t stay.

Julian, I don’t know what to do. Ty misses Kit more than he thought he could miss someone. He misses him as much now as he did the day he left. He loves him the same. I think he always will and it scares me.

Kit is used to not needing people, but Ty needs people. He is afraid to need people but that is only because he needs them so much. He is not going to stop needing Kit. I don’t know if Kit will always need Ty. But Ty will always need him.

Irene says hello. I am teaching her to play dead.

I love you.

Livvy

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tibsneroblackthorn · 2 years

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tibsneroblackthorn · 2 years

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the carstairs family is so funny to me

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tibsneroblackthorn · 2 years

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tibsneroblackthorn · 2 years

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cASSANDRA YOU DIDN'T

Kit To Ty

Ty,

I need someone to talk to and I don’t want it to be Julian or Emma. Or Jem or Tessa. So it’ll have to be you. Which means I can’t ever send this and you can’t ever read it. I’ll burn it in the garden when I’m done writing it so I’m not tempted to send it.

The gardens here are really excellent, by the way. I guess you know that since you’ve been here. There’s an old Georgian greenhouse, and a little pond with lilies and frogs and benches to watch them, and a walled garden, and it’s just very nice to walk around here with Mina. I never had a sister or brother before, you know that, but being with Mina makes me realize more about how you felt about Livvy. Still feel about Livvy I guess. I’m not saying I forgive you. Just maybe I understand more.

Blackthorn Hall is still being restored, of course, and there are faeries everywhere doing the restorations. They’re brownies, apparently, and even though they aren’t doing anything that interesting—weeding and carrying wheelbarrows of dirt and whatever—I can’t stop watching them. I have hardly seen any faeries at all since—well, since we were in that battle with them. I guess I didn’t realize how strictly I was being kept apart from them. Until now.

I should really stay away from them, because every time I get close enough for them to talk to me, they do something to freak me out. The head builder, this guy Round Tom— he’s not even that round, honestly — anyway the first time Round Tom saw me he did a little thing where he jumped in a circle and made some odd gestures in the air, and then bowed in my direction. I just turned around on my heel and walked off in the other direction like I had just remembered I forgot something.

And then General Winter, like Kieran’s General Winter, was there helping out—Julian says he’s there to keep all the workers in line since they are scared of General Winter but not Round Tom—and he knew I was the First Heir. Like The Riders did.

The Riders I made disappear. Or killed. Or something. I don’t know if they ever came back. No one seems to know.

I tried to pretend I didn’t hear General Winter either but we were just out in the open and it would have been way too obvious. So when he addressed me as First Heir all I could think of to say was, “That’s me. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“If you’ve been told,” he said, “then it is true, since we do not lie.”

I wanted to say buddy, I worked at the Los Angeles Shadow Market for years. Faeries do all kinds of sketchy stuff. Instead I just said, “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do about it.”

General Winter watched me with this thoughtful look on his face, and said, “You need do nothing about it, yet. Indeed, at this moment that might be the wisest course of action. For things are strange in Faerie.”

“What do you mean?” I said.

“There are disturbances,” he said slowly. “Rumors swirl about the Seelie Court. And Mother Hawthorn walks again.”

Before I could ask him what any of that meant, Round Tom came rushing over. “Cousins.” (I had forgotten faeries sometimes addressed each other like that, and it gave me a little shiver, like he was saying, you are one of us.) “I have found something. Please come with me.”

He led us around to one of the big plane trees. A little ways away from the trunk was a huge hole, and then on the other side of the tree were two sawhorses across which balanced a coffin.

At least I think it was a coffin. It was really busted up, half-rotted, cracked everywhere, caked in dirt. It was obviously the thing that had come out of the hole.

“A tomb?” said General Winter as we got closer, but Round Tom was shaking his head.

“We would not have disturbed a tomb,” said Round Tom. “But none lie buried here. Only magic, of a dark and powerful kind.” He stepped back. “Look inside.”

I came closer. There was indeed a bunch of random stuff inside the coffin. It looked like—well, you know how old Egyptian pharaohs were buried with all their belongings? It was like that, I assume for a Shadowhunter, except the belongings were a weird assortment. It was dirty and falling apart and mostly just junk—papers and little jars and bits of fabric and the hilt of a sword with no blade, that kind of thing.

“How old is it?” I said, and Round Tom reached it and fished out a liquor bottle. The label was pretty faded and ripped but it was a printed label, in a Victorian style. I wondered if Jem or Tessa would have any guess whose stuff it could be.

“You said there was magic here?” I said.

“Dark magic,” Round Tom said gravely. “Wild magic.”

“The curse?” said General Winter.

Round Tom’s expression cleared and he shrugged. “Perhaps not. It’s actually much less demonic in nature than the curse on the house. But emanating from the foot of an unremarkable tree it bore exploration. There are two items that might be of further interest.”

He cleared away some of the mess and revealed a scabbard. It was a very nice scabbard. Sorry, that doesn’t really capture it. A very very nice scabbard. It needed some cleaning up, but it was obviously beautiful and, I’m sure, valuable. It was steel but covered in gold inlay all over in the shape of leaves and birds. There were some runes on it, too, so it was definitely a Shadowhunter’s at some point.

“Nice,” I said.

“It is more than ‘nice,’” General Winter said. “It is clearly the work of Lady Melusine herself. See how it has not deteriorated at all?”

Round Tom looked important. “And yet it is the less interesting of the two pieces,” he said. With a great dramatic gesture that he had clearly practiced ahead of time, he pushed all of the junk to one side in the coffin, leaving—

“Is that…a gun?” I said.

“One of those mundane weapons, yes,” said Round Tom. He picked it up as though it might go off, though it was rusty and covered in dirt. It was a revolver. It didn’t look any different than revolvers from a million gangster movies, or Westerns—I guess if I were really sending this to Ty I would have to explain what a Western was.

Anyway the big difference was this gun was covered in etchings and runes and words and was obviously magic af. (Which means . . . oh, never mind what it means.)

“But Shadowhunters don’t use guns,” I said.

“They never have,” General Winter agreed. He picked up the gun with a surprising amount of familiarity, and sighted along it in the direction of a nearby tree. He tried to fire and it just clicked — the cylinder didn’t even turn.

“Rusted shut, probably,” said Tom. General Winter handed it to me to look at. I’m not good enough with runes to know any of the ones that were on it. I pointed it at the same tree, kind of as a joke, kind of just to feel how heavy it was, and pulled the trigger, and there was a huge BANG and a bunch of wood splinters exploded from the tree.

My arm kicked back from the force of the shot. And we all stared. My ears were buzzing, but I thought I heard Round Tom say something to General Winter. I’m pretty sure the words First Heir were in there.

Certainly when I looked at them again, at Round Tom and General Winter, their expressions were guarded. Closed.

“Perhaps we should take this item inside and see if the other Nephilim recognize anything about it,” General Winter said flatly.

“I’m sure it just only works for Shadowhunters,” I told General Winter, but he just gave me kind of a troubled look and said nothing. “Anyway. I’ll take it inside.”

I could feel General Winter and Round Tom watching me as I ran across the lawn and into the house. Jem and Tessa were sitting on a couch in the drawing-room, watching Mina coloring with crayons on some butcher paper.

The moment I came in holding the gun both of them looked utterly shocked. Tessa got to her feet and moved between me and Mina. I told myself she was standing between the gun and Mina, but it still felt rotten.

“What—” said Jem, standing up, but he didn’t finish the sentence. He just stared at me, and the gun.

“Round Tom found it in the garden,” I said. “Is this a gun for Shadowhunters?” I could feel my voice getting tighter. “Shadowhunters don’t use guns.”

“Long ago, Christopher Lightwood tried to create a gun that Shadowhunters could fire,” said Tessa. She was still staring at the gun.

“It was in a coffin,” I said. “With a bunch of other stuff. A broken sword, and a fancy scabbard.”

“I wondered what he did with it,” said Jem. He? Who was he?

Jem and Tessa exchanged a look. “The gun belonged to my son James,” she said. I felt kind of sick. Tessa hardly ever talked about her children with Will. “He was the only one who could use it. It would not fire in anyone’s hands but his.”

“I fired it,” I said.

They both looked stunned, and not in a good way.

“You are very special, Kit,” Jem said. “You are the First Heir. We don’t yet know the extent of how that power works in you.”

“Or perhaps it is just that he has faerie blood,” said Tessa.

I could have said that it definitely wasn’t just faerie blood because General Winter couldn’t use the gun and he doesn’t only have faerie blood, he has a full faerie body with faerie organs and everything. But I didn’t say anything. I just felt a weird feeling in my stomach. I said I would put the gun away and not use it, and Jem and Tessa seemed to feel that was the best thing I could do, and Mina piped up and said “Gun!” and then I felt like the worst person on earth.

So now it’s late and I’m up writing this letter to you that I am going to burn when I’m done, because I can’t sleep. Because I don’t want to be the only person in the world who can fire a magic gun. I don’t want General Winter to straighten up when I’m nearby like I outrank him. I don’t want any of this. I had five minutes where I got to think, oh neat, I found this cool-looking gun and I bet there’s a story behind it, I wonder if they’ll let me keep it or if it needs to go to a museum or something. And then I fired it and instantly—just another thing that’s weird about me.

Good night, Ty. I’ll never send this, and you’ll never read it.

Kit

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tibsneroblackthorn · 2 years

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isabelle: i sleep with a knife under my pillow

jace: pf, weak. i sleep with a sword under mine

alec: you're both losing this game

jace: yeah? and what the you sleep with?

alec: the high warlock of brooklyn

i don't know if anyone has done that yet, but i had to anyway. the urge was too strong

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tibsneroblackthorn · 2 years

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i think one of the saddest things about the merry thieves continuing to harass and antagonize alastair is that they’ve become the complete antithesis of their parents and their stories.

the entire point of will, gideon, and gabriels stories are that being an asshole or a bad person in your past doesn’t mean you’re irredeemable, it doesnt mean youre damned and doomed. you can move on, grow up, you can change and become someone worthy of forgiveness and someone who can apologize.

even more painful is that alastair is a direct parallel to gideon and will. like will, alastair was forced to become someone cruel to protect his loved ones, and like gideon, alastair was child of an abusive father and protecting his younger sibling, and only grew and bloomed once escaping a restrictive and cruel situation. their parents are examples of what people can become when people are allowed to grow and they refuse to acknowledge alastairs growth.

and the story of the mothers, of tessa and sophie and cecily are that of forgiveness. tessa was directly hurt by will and sophie and cecily were around when the brothers were still disliked. these women chose to acknowledge the growth of the boys they grew to love, and chose to love them for that progress, rather than stay in the past.

and lets not forget about charlotte and henry, the couple that took in these boys. they could’ve so easily turned will away the second he opened his mouth, so easily judged gideon and gabriel by reputation and ended it there. but they chose care for these literal children knowing they had time to grow

hurt people don’t owe forgiveness, but these children are the products of loving forgiveness. the thieves don’t owe alastair anything, but continuing to insult him after his changes and apologies are a whole other matter.

the child of the boy who made gabriel look like a sugar cookie and the girl who chose to acknowledge his growth threatened to throw alastair into a river (also lets not forget the musicale letter when thomas wasn’t around alastair and in a stable state of mind). the child of the boy who was cruel to everyone around him and the girl who forgave him told alastair he would only be tolerated for the sake of a sister. the child of the couple who took in all these kids,,, i don’t think i have to say anything about that.

and while christopher hasn’t exactly done anything against alastair, he doesn’t do anything to stop his friends, and he’s the son of the woman who told gabriel to “not regret too much the choices you have made in the past” and to “only make the right ones in the future. we are ever capable of change and ever capable of being our better selves.”

the literal intention of the stories of these people didn’t get passed on to these children, to the point where they’re doing the exact opposite. we’re watching what would’ve happened if tessa told will to leave, if sophie had turned away from gideon, if henry and charlotte had turned the children out.

they’d be so disappointed in their children.

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