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OKAY LISTEN. WHAT IF TAYLOR DISAPPEARS UNTIL NOVEMBER FOR REP TV? MAYBE THATS WHY SHES BEEN QUITE

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There is nothing that annoyed me about JKR than people calling her a feminist. Because even if you decide to ignore her transphobia (which is not feminist), I implore you to read the way women and girls are written in HP, especially Cho Chang and Fleur Delacour. The racism, the xenophobia, the internalized misogyny, the pick-me-girl energy, unmatchable. Those two characters are literally describes as "they're conventionally attractive, so every guy loves them, but not for their personality because they're annoying, and every girl hates them", it's quite pathetic. When she wants the reader to not like a girl/classmate who isn't r*cist, she uses a stereotype used against women. Lavender is a too clingy girlfriend, Fleur is centered on her appearance, Cho likes cringy pink hearts decorations... She can say she's a feminist, but she's not.

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Currently in my

"The story of us looks lot like a tragedy now" era

#speak now tv #if speak now tv is next its going to be so relatable for me #yall arent ready for speak now tv me #taylor swift #red taylor’s version

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SHOWN US HIS EARS YOU COWARDS

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This is turning into a Swiftie + tsc page

#secrets of blackthorn hall #tsc #not tsc #cassandra clare #emma carstairs #dru blackthorn #tlh #the infernal devices #cordelia carstairs #tessa gray #kit herondale #taylor swift #red taylor’s version

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Throwback to all these Jesus comics I drew in 2012…

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Hypatia to Julian and Emma

To the Blackthorn Nephilim residing at Blackthorn Manor, Chiswick

From Hypatia Vex, Fellow, Spiral Labyrinth

My greetings. Attached please find the first pages of Tatiana Blackthorn’s diary that I have translated from Purgatic. I hope you don’t mind, but I thought that Magnus Bane might shed some light on the situation that caused you to bring the diary to me, and he did, speaking of a curse upon the house. I have skipped over a number of entries related to the author’s clothes, opinions about her peers, complaints about the weather, and so on, in favor of one that I think will be of special interest (though it rather contradicts what I think of as the history of the house — Benedict Lightwood of course was hardly known to be trustworthy, or perhaps things have altered since his time. A mystery to be delved into, perhaps?)

I will be in touch soon with further translation.

Yours,

H. Vex

Dear Diary, tonight I am in a state of rare elation. It seems that my patience and care may not be as worthless as they are usually assumed to be by the members of this family. For I believe that Father has at long last come to accept and even approve of my betrothal to Rupert! (Oh, happy day, oh darling Rupert!) More astonishing, he has communicated this not by anything so clumsy as an awkward sentimental statement, but instead by taking me into his confidence, and telling me of things that I am sure he has never shared with my brothers.

It was after supper. The Terrible Gs were off whacking at each other with swords, or some such nonsense. Father usually repairs to his study, of course, but tonight he came over to me and, out of the blue, asked me to accompany him there. I dutifully followed.

There he closed the door with care and bade me sit in one of the wing-chairs facing his desk. He settled himself in his own chair and began by telling me that the Lightwood name is a powerful and ancient one.

I replied that I knew that and, indeed, never forgot it.

He continued to say that such a name brings with it great prestige and influence, but also great enmity. The adversaries of the Lightwoods were many, he said. “And I speak not of the demons we make war on, or even of the half-demons permitted to roam the earth on our sufferance, but of those of our own race, that is, the Nephilim.” He explained that there was great envy towards us, and while it would not be expressed directly, there were those who would seek to destroy us.

I asked him who he was thinking of in particular, but he demurred. The enemies change, he said, with the times; alliances form and crumble, as the varying Shadowhunter families’ interests are altered by time and fate.

(I am recording his words as exactly as I can recall them, Diary. I admire the forceful manner by which he expresses himself, and wish to take it upon myself, since the others in my family do not.)

He went on to explain that while it is not widely known, we are well-protected here in Lightwood House, not only by the sound brick and stone, but by an enchantment that affects the house and its grounds themselves.

An enchantment! I was astonished. I knew that magic was a subject of interest to Father, and that his researches led him to minor experimentations. I had no idea that he had accomplished so much. This I expressed in, I hope, a complimentary manner. He said that it had taken him several years to make the preparations, for he did not trust anyone, even a warlock paid well for their silence, with the knowledge of the house’s protection.

The enchantment is very elaborate, as I understand, and its effects somewhat difficult to communicate. Father said that it served both to prevent other Nephilim from investigating the house, and to keep areas of the house, and possessions of the family, hidden from discovery. I asked by what means did the enchantment work, and he said that it had to do with ley-lines, the seams of magic that cross the earth, and a half-dozen objects selected and placed at locations along those ley-lines that are a matter of elaborate calculation.

I pressed him for more detail, reminding him that I shared his interest in the topic of magic, but that was all he would tell. He explained that I was as yet an unmarried girl who need not trouble herself with the ways of the world—and here I finally reach the reason for telling this story, Diary.

As he spoke of me, he gave me a look, one that at first I could not translate. But soon enough I realized: he said that I was “as yet” unmarried. By the glint in his eye I understand what he was saying: you will soon be a married woman.

And so all comes clear, in a beautiful burst of triumph!

Father accepts Rupert, and will approve our marriage—

This will cause me to gain my majority—

That will cause Father to take me further into his confidence about the nature of Lightwood House and his work in magic—

Because he understands that whatever the Law may say, I am the right and proper heir of his goals and his work—

And because he intends Rupert and I to become the masters of this Manor after him!

Though my efforts have been long and arduous, Diary, and I have feared they would never come to fruition, I sleep tonight with victory within my grasp, and only pity for my poor brothers, too vacuous and pigheaded to even understand what has happened while they beat each other with sticks in the training room.

Tatiana soon-to-be-Blackthorn Lightwood

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Well, there’s a difference between what you think you should want, and what you actually want.

ALEXA DEMIE as MADDY PEREZ EUPHORIA — SEASON TWO

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WHAT NO WTF

What if the man in the new sobh update is baby Carstairs?

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Me @ Emma right now:

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HOW IT STARTED VS HOW ITS GOING: EUPHORIA EDITION

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She's messing with us 🥲🙃

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Next SOBH:

Get in losers, we're going to Cirenworth.

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tsc fandom every fucking Monday be like

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she glanced at the minotaur horn in my hands, then back at me. i imagined she was going to say, "you killed a minotaur!" or "you're so awesome!" or something like that. instead she said, "you drool when you sleep." then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her.

@librarysource’s event I: favorite book romances percy jackson and the olympians by rick riordan

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Emma To Bruce

Hey Bruce. Kind of a bizarre night. Sorry if I seem a little shaken up.

So we found—or I guess Ty’s Sensor found—this dagger in the weapons cache at Southwark Cathedral. Which is pretty random since we were just in the area because of the Shadow Market. (I guess whoever put the dagger there was probably also in the area for the Shadow Market, come to think of it.)

I write to you tonight by witchlight, sitting in the hallway outside our bedroom. Which is very creepy in itself, because basically everywhere in this house is creepy except our bedroom, at this point. (Well, some of it is not creepy because it looks like a construction site, but whatever.) I couldn’t sleep at all, and I didn’t want to keep Julian awake.

First the good news: Ty was awake, and we weren’t even home (to be fair, it takes a solid hour to go between Chiswick and Southwark) before he had texted Julian a translation of the text on the dagger. Turns out it’s Farsi. Julian read it out loud:

I wanted so much to have a gleaming dagger, that each of my ribs became a dagger.

He grinned at me. “Hot,” he said. “Reminds me of you.”

“You mean, when I was exclusively driven by thoughts of revenge?” I said.

He looked hurt. “No,” he said. “You just like a good dagger.”

“Not sure I would turn all my ribs into daggers, though,” I said. “Ribs seem important to keep inside your body.”

“One rib?” suggested Julian.

Well, maybe one rib.

We didn’t get home until after midnight, but there was no way we were going to bed without showing the dagger to the ghost. We didn’t even have to discuss it, we just immediately went to the dining room.

We’ve been wrestling with how to address our ghost. He’s often quite moody so it’s hard to know what name he prefers. Julian’s been going with “Spirit,” like Ebenezer Scrooge. You know, “Spirit, show me no more!”

Anyway, Julian said something like, “Spirit, we wish your attention. We have something to show you.” The candles all flared up in response, which was a neat trick, though it did not make things less creepy.

We put the dagger on the table and asked the ghost if it was the owner of the dagger, or at least recognized it. Which was a long shot, given that it responded so negatively to the flask. But it seemed like the place to start.

Suddenly the wind picked up and all the candle flames went sideways. Which was a surprise, because this is one of the few rooms in the house with intact windows, and it wasn’t windy outside. And the wind didn’t just gust, it continued, getting louder and softer, higher and lower in pitch. Julian and I just looked at each other. We had no idea what was happening.

After maybe a minute, the wind began to break into little bursts, and then —

Hang on, just had to take a moment. I shivered again, remembering it.

Then a voice spoke through the wind.

It was faint, and at a whisper, and it barely sounded like a human voice at all. But the wind spoke. The ghost spoke.

And it said:

“NOT”

“MINE

“YOURS”

We almost bolted. If Julian hadn’t been there I definitely would have bolted. And I think he would have, if I hadn’t been there. It wasn’t even the words. It was that there were words at all. The ghost was getting stronger.

I mean, remember, it just started with random poltergeist stuff, knocking things over, and then it could write in the dust. And now it could speak. Why was it getting stronger? Was our presence doing it? Was it the repairs, somehow? Did the dagger make it stronger?

And how strong would it get?

Julian got his voice back first. “Mine?” he said. “You’re saying the dagger is mine?”

And then—by the Angel, Bruce, the hair on my arms is sticking up just to write this—the wind spoke again, and it said, “CARSTAIRS.”

I couldn’t speak. Julian said, “Emma? The dagger is hers?”

The wind shifted direction. All the candle flames tilted the other way.

It spoke again.

“TAKE”

“HOME”

“CARSTAIRS”

“Home?” I said. “Home, like, our home? Los Angeles?”

“Or this home?” Julian suggested. “Maybe it needs to be taken to someplace in the house—”

The wind kicked up loudly and said, in the strongest voice it had managed so far:

“HOME”

“CARSTAIRS”

“CIRENWORTH”

The wind dropped, the candles went out, the room was bathed in darkness. The ghost had gone. I could feel its absence. The silence hurt my ears.

I have the dagger with me now. I took it to bed with me and I don’t want to let it out of my sight, for some reason. I keep turning it over and over in my hands. “Cirenworth” meant Jem, of course, so maybe it was his dagger, once upon a time. Or maybe it belonged to someone who lived there when the ghost was alive. The image of Carstairs ancestors of the past keep going through my mind. When I close my eyes, I feel like I can see whoever owned this dagger once, standing over me — protectively, even, as if they know we’re related and want to stand by me, even through the centuries.

I think Magnus is right that the ghost means well. I don’t think a malevolent ghost would be as helpful as this one is clearly trying to be. And the faeries working on the house seem totally unbothered by it, which they wouldn’t if they thought it had evil intent. Which makes me think the ghost isn’t part of the curse, but instead, maybe the ghost is trapped here by the curse.

Okay, I feel a little better after writing all that down. I think I’m going to go put the dagger someplace safe and try to get some sleep. Thanks for listening as always, Bruce. You’re a pal.

And tomorrow – we get to see Jem and Tessa and Kit and Mina, because we’re going to Cirenworth!