#shadowhunters the beast within

[shrewind2]

Shadowhunters 3x18: The Beast Within  

Free to use.

#Shadowhunters #SHRewind3x18 #3x18 #the beast within #magnus bane #alexander lightwood #break up #malec

[grace-nakimura]

Broke? That's fine. I'm biting the bullet and going to place gameplay of the Gabriel Knight Series without commentary. Sexual themes, the occult, religion, disturbing imagery - especially for a scene in the second game that made me 0.0 fucking Von Zell - and oodles of generational trauma. If you like Buffy, Supernatural, Women of the Otherworld / Bitten, TVD, Shadowhunters, etc? You'd like this.

Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers. Non remake. Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers. The remake. Gabriel Knight: The Beast Within. Gabriel Knight: Blood of the Sacred, Blood of the Damned.

While a lot of it is very 90s flavored, and some things might not translate well, it was pretty ahead of its time, especially in regards to the love interests in Gabriel's life. Activision owns it now and sadly, beyond the 2014 remake has been quiet. Sierra Online Games pushed the envelope with storytelling, and even diversity, especially when it came to storytelling and promoting women in the gaming (computer gaming) industry. We'd never have a Gabriel Knight if Jane Jensen didn't play King's Quest - which fourth game, Perils of Rosella, was the first of the series to star a female protagonist - and immediately loved it so much she wanted to get into gaming.

I'll also link to King's Quest someday, too, because that was a huge chunk of my childhood.

Enjoy!

#the gabriel knight series #gabriel knight #gabriel knight series #jane jensen #sierra online #sierra online games #adventure gaming #grace nakimura #the poopy recs

[malec-ao3feed]

Desperation

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ohzl4Kn by KatoVartanian Asmodeus and Alec made a different deal so Magnus could have his magic back. Words: 1087, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Shadowhunters (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: M/M Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Additional Tags: Bad Parent Asmodeus (Shadowhunter Chronicles), Episode: s03e18 The Beast Within (Shadowhunters TV), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Mpreg, Pregnant Magnus Bane read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/ohzl4Kn

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #shadowhunters #tmi #malec #magnus bane #alec lightwood #magnus x alec #malec fanfic #the mortal instruments

[headcanons-n-shit]

Contrary to popular belief, the Burn is not an entirely desolate wasteland. Even here, there is life. Plants stubbornly crop up in the shadow of dunes, and beetles gather what little dew melts in the sun’s first warming rays– before the heat scorches all such away, of course. And lizards hunt the beetles, and up and up the food chain.

It’s hardly good eating, but it’s something to pad their rations, and as beggars they hardly have the option to be choosy. So they hunt, whenever they can, in the long stretches between refugee camps and Garlean patrols and cashing in bounty bills. 

Shadowhunter leaves the thief to handle the breaking down of the corpse– the woman has proven herself a deft hand with a knife in all situations, and his own are shaking today, so badly he fears he would butcher the job far more than he would manage to butcher their kill. Besides, there’s plenty else to be done to secure their camp for the night. The summoner busies himself with the setting of the tents, so it falls to Shadowhunter to gather fuel for a fire.

They have liquid fuel, but, rare as solid fuel is out on the wastes, they would prefer to conserve said liquid fuel as much as possible. A full-bellied moon hangs over them tonight, casting the sands in shades of silver, shadows long and black as pitch. At least it will make it easy to see any patrols approaching, Shadowhunter thinks with a thick sigh: Garlean armor glints terribly in any kind of light.

Aethersand crunches under a single footfall. Shadowhunter takes the peace offering for what it is– the berobed shape steps out of the shadows at his side as though it has always existed there, otherwise ever-silent in the night, always ever-conscious to never stray within easy reach. 

“Good Hunter,” Shadowhunter greets, though the sound rasps out of his throat. Another cough lodges in his chest, and he doesn’t bother swallowing it. He hasn’t bothered to offer his other companions the courtesy. 

He has been coughing all day, with increasing frequency and severity. Something in the air, he thinks, as he tugs down his mask to spit out a glob of discolored phlegm. A proper storm rolling in, maybe. His cough always gets worse with the wet. 

There is the faintest pressure against his back, the press of a hand between his shoulderblades. His imagination, no doubt.

And yet he finds himself back at the edge of camp, where dunes yield to a rough circle of flat, with no memory of his feet bringing him here. The night is vast and still as he blinks back into himself, but his heaving breath rasps in his smoke-rough lungs, and with the sound everything seems to come alive again, whistling wind and chirping bugs and Alphinaud, wings fluffed wide as he gives Shadowhunter the strangest look.

Firewood sits in a small pile at his feet, rough bushes, tumbleweeds and ancient pieces of logs run through with veins of crystal aether. He stares at it for a long moment, uncomprehending, until the gears of his mind catch again and he can force his hands, his arms and legs and feet, back under his own control.

There is little to think about, a void in his memory where the moment should be, and that in itself has Shadowhunter’s thoughts whirling.

.

And then, as though such simple acceptance has thrown open the floodgates, come the gifts. 

In the daylight they are five, but once the sun falls they are six, the Good Hunter appearing from the deepest shadows, always carrying something to lay down at Shadowhunter’s feet. Firewood, beasts, waterskins even. Sometimes, allagan relics for Alphinaud, though Shadowhunter does not miss the way they are handed to him, first, to then be handed to the boy. 

Rare is it that the Good Hunter lingers, of course. It comes with gifts and then it busies itself with other things, helping Alphinaud preen, sitting by the fire weaving together bits of twine and bone, disappearing back into the night to do… whatever it is that it does, when not bothering their little group. But they do appear, without fail, and Shadowhunter would be a fool to miss the symbolism of their obvious charity. 

.

In the morning, there is a bone charm left on his chest. Shadowhunter sighs, and adds it to the rest.

#ff14 #ff14 ficlet #shadowhunter #gaius van baelsar #alphinaud leveilleur #snippet #writing snippet #you ever have a writing idea grab you by the throat and squeeze 5k words out of you? #yeah me too #wip: Incandescent Beasts

[hahahax30]

La Papesse

The Demons and Contracts that Bind Us: chapter 2

[art by Grabriella Bujdoso]

@wagner-fell

James’s (admittedly scarce) knowledge of demonology informed him that the demons which had upturned Lucie and Barbara’s carriage were khora. He’d only seen the shadow-like beasts in the watercolours Barbara drew into his books with expertise. Now, a breath away from them, James understood that paper and ink had nothing to reality. A slick, dark substance drooled down the many mouths —more than a dozen— that covered the demons’s bodies; when the dark substance came into contact with concrete, or, heavens forbid, flesh, it corroded it and seeped into it, damaging it to impossible extents. Even darker than the substance were the demons themselves: the only thing that could be discerned of them were the metre-long claws that protruded from who-knew-where as well as the fangs in their mouths, closer to a shark’s than a human’s.

Will always commented on the abnormal lack of demonic activity in the past decade. James had not ever been in a battle that wasn’t pre-programmed and wholly safe; in fact, he’d foolishly believed that if he stayed in London —which he would— the need to take to arms against the nephilim’s sworn enemies would never arise. Therefore, there was no need for training.

He clearly stood corrected. Fear had taken possession of James, and he could do nothing but work towards coming to terms with his death.

“James, what in the hell are you doing?!” Lucie yelled a few steps away from him.

“I— I—”

The only thing James could do was turn to his sister. She’d grabbed the axe she always hid within her skirts and was presently slashing the most head-like part of a demon’s anatomy off. Her skin glowed a soft blue in an almost indiscernible manner, which signified that she was in the process of calling forth ghosts. And, indeed, after a few seconds, a mass of them swam their way up the Thames. The ghosts were running in between the khora, upsetting their process of attacking the shadowhunters, if not actively taking part in battle.

“Move!” Lucie ordered.

James tried, he really did, but panic—

“Come on, Jamie,” a masculine voice told him.

Matthew set a warm hand on his back, and pushed. James’s frozen stance broke, just like that. He looked at Matthew, incredulous, but Matthew only had time to flash him a grand smile —while slipping a seraph blade into his hand— before urging him to pay attention to their surroundings.

“We must fight,” he told James.

One of the khora seemed to have noticed there were none of his pack trying to kill them, and made haste to leave Christopher, who was already struggling with two more demons, to try his luck against James and Matthew.

The khora’s claws shot to Matthew’s face, however James sporadically took ahold of his waistcoat to push him to the ground. The sound Matthew’s head made against the stone tiles didn’t reach James’s ears, neither did his subsequent curse, for James was too busy drawing his blade against the demon’s neck, just like he’d seen Lucie do earlier.

However this tactic wasn’t as fruitful as it had been when Lucie carried it out. Matthew had to crawl behind the demon, and then slash it from bottom to top with his charlikars for it to crumble to dust.

James thought he heard the khora wailing, “You heathen, I—!”

He shook his head. Impossible. Demons did have a language, several ones, at that, but none of them were English.

Matthew was staring at him in an odd way.

“We make a good team?” James asked, hoping that Matthew hadn’t noticed his confusion. Or that he’d also heard the demon’s last words and was confused himself.

Matthew opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Christopher. “A little help?” James’s cousin called out. He’d already dispatched one of the demons tormenting him, but doing so must’ve hurt his left leg, and he now limped as he dodged the remaining khora’s attacks.

“Jamie, go to Thomas,” Matthew advised, already half-turned towards Christopher “He’s never dealt well with demons taller than himself and he’ll need your help.”

And without further ado, Matthew waved James goodbye and joined Christopher, leaving James’s protest that Thomas was a good head taller than the tallest of the khora unsaid.

To be fair to Matthew, he’d learned of his friend’s growth spurt nay an hour ago, and he’d probably not adjusted to it still, especially what with the little time one currently had to process information. But Thomas seemed to be doing fine. More than fine.

He had a khora in an armlock; his arm was viciously squeezing its neck, choking it to the point it begged him to please stop.

“We’re only following orders, we’re only following orders,” the demon pleaded with him. Of course, Thomas paid him no heed. He probably hadn’t been taught Khorian (Khorish?). Neither had James.

James shouldn’t be understanding the demons.

A bell chimed from a distance.

Ding.

All of a sudden, the khora became less shadowy and more defined, while the opposite happened to Thomas. James could see an actual face on the demon’s head, complete with tearful eyes and trembling lips. The demon looked more real than ever, but Thomas was barely a watered-down version of the giant James had met.

The khora’s eyes locked with James’s. There was a shift in them: the light in them went from confusion, to recognition, to a strange hunger.

James gulped down. He gripped his seraph blade and advanced towards it. The demon went crazy, Thomas let out a curse but his voice reached James as if from far away —as if from another dimension, perhaps?

The khora writhed and writhed. “You need to come with me. Master, master needs you. I will be— persecuted if you don’t—” it choked out.

James took another step forward, raising his blade.

“NO!”

He plunged his weapon into its thorax.

“Banish,” he whispered.

Everything went back to normal. The ringing in his ears (had he noticed the ringing in his ears to begin with? Was it a product of abandoning that odd place?) stopped.

Thomas was looking at him. “Are you okay?”

James blinked several times. “I am okay?” he shook his head “Is it always like this?”

“Usually I have my weapons with me, so not really,” Thomas looked down at himself. He’d discarded his jacket and waistcoat somewhere and was only on his shirtsleeves, which he’d rolled all the way up to his elbows. Veins protruded from his forearms, assuring James of his physical capability to handle demons without the need for swords or axes.

If him almost choking a demon to death hadn’t been proof enough, naturally, which it had.

“You’re a warrior among warriors,” James blurted out.

Thomas flushed a deep scarlet. “I’m going to help Kit and Matthew,” he muttered, vague satisfaction colouring his tone.

James made to follow him, but then…

BANG.

The bell was now louder.

A hand set upon his shoulder and spun him around with inhuman speed. Fearing it was another khora, James blindly tried to sink his blade into it. Only that it wasn’t a khora what had grabbed him, it was a woman.

As always, James fixated on the most inconsequential aspect: she was tall. Taller than Thomas. Taller than the carriage James ached to crawl back to.

Then he noticed everything else.

She bore three identical faces, the peripheral of which had their eyes closed. On the brow of the face whose eyes were open, rested a vibrant gold crown, with spikes climbing up to the heavens. Her eyes were red. Her skin was an ashen grey, unnatural. She had long, chestnut hair parted in three braids that acted much like snakes; they crawled up and down the woman’s body, curled themselves around her crown’s spikes. Her very clothes —a lilac chiton James might’ve found in illustrations of Ancient Greek noblewomen— seemed to be alive, too. The fabric billowed around her form and turned to mist around her bare feet and transformed into dust at her wrists and weakly reached for James.

Weakly?

The woman’s hold on his shoulder was anything but weak.

“Who are you?” James whispered, he couldn’t fathom speaking louder to something who was so obviously not a demon, but still so obviously otherworldly.

“Time is scarce,” the woman replied. James wasn’t surprised to notice that her voice was tripartite —high and low and indescribable at once— but he was surprised by the urgency in her tone “Hekate’s priestess.”

She forced him to look elsewhere, to Lucie and Barbara’s fallen carriage, where a girl dressed as a Greek priestess was waging battle against three khora. James had to do a double take to realise that the girl was Barbara. When had she changed out of her gown and into the garments of the classic world? When had she exchanged her seraph blade for the sceptre with which she tried to fight the demons? How was that working? Why—

Barbara glanced at James.

Her eyes were the colour of gold.

“To me,” she cried “Now.”

The three-faced woman hissed. “Hekate’s priestess must be aided,” she announced. She pushed James to the side and ran, flied, to Barbara.

Once again, James found himself unable to move. A pang resonated in his chest, a pang of desire to have Matthew with him to push him forward and fight alongside him. But James couldn’t distinguish which of the humanoid shadows was Matthew Fairchild, he could only see the khora with a clarity he shouldn’t have had. That, and Barbara and the three-faced woman.

They were fighting the demons together. The woman’s faces, the ones with the closed eyes, had ripped themselves off the main body; now they crowned figures halfway between humans and black dogs, and were attacking two of the three demons. The woman and Barbara attacked the third one, but they did so in a manner the likes of which James had never before witnessed.

The woman stood behind Barbara, her arms stretched forward, as Barbara fought. Such an arrangement seemed to strengthen Barbara, for she was faster than James had ever before seen her be, but at the same time, there was something more to it. From time to time, the woman would shout foreign-sounding words and cast a spell to materialise Barbara behind the khora or shield her from the demon’s claws.

Barbara shone with the sheer glory of her fighting, but an ominous feeling told James something was amiss.

He quickly saw what: Barbara was bleeding. She was defeating the khora, but it was taking its toll on her, spreading a crimson stain on her chest James hadn’t noticed before. The wound didn’t seem recent. It seemed days, no, weeks, old.

Two of the three demons writhed to the ground; the only one standing was the one pitied against Barbara. The one that James knew would kill Barbara if he didn’t intervene.

So he did.

He brought his seraph blade to his lips —if he couldn’t do this with Matthew, using Matthew’s blade must suffice— for a brief moment, and then broke into a run.

His feet felt lighter, his legs faster, his body made of pure power. Why? Why? Why?

This wasn’t a moment for questions.

This was a moment for action.

James got to the khora in three seconds.

1.

2.

3.

His blade dove into the demon’s heart in half that time.

He pushed his body to the demon’s and forced his blade deeper, deeper, deeper, until it was his arm what was impaling it.

Then James fell to the ground.

The force of the khora’s dissipating had pushed him to his knees. James breathed heavily, closing his eyes in an attempt at concentrating on his breathing. When he was sure he would survive from the rush of adrenaline, he carelessly scrambled for the closest support to stand up. He found a cold, thick artefact incrusted in the concrete, and not giving himself time to wonder how it had got there, he used it as support.

“James!” a feminine voice breathed.

Barbara’s voice.

James scrambled away as if the claw his hand had been around had burned him.

Barbara was laying on the ground. Her eyes were wide open, her pupils almost too tiny for discernment. Her eyes were no longer gold; in fact, there was no trail of that other Barbara —no trail of her bizarre attire or the three-faced woman or of the alien godhood Barbara had borne. A thread of blood trickled down her mouth. And a claw nailed her to the concrete.

“Too soon,” Barbara whispered. Immediately after that, she fainted.

James looked up. The fight was over, and the rest were staring down at Barbara much like he’d done before.

Then reality sank in.

James had wanted to help, but his Uncle Jem, one of the many silent brothers Tessa and Will had called, had urged him to remain in his room.

Thomas had sprung to action after Barbara fainted; he’d picked her up bridal style, and ridden Xanthos to the institute, while James, Matthew, Christopher and Lucie had been left to repair the mess the demons had made in their wake. At first, calming Hypatia’s horse —a mare who only allowed James to get close— had helped James take his mind off the memory of his mentor’s blood, but the horse’s agitation had been soon contained, and they’d promptly rushed back to the London Institute, where alarm ran rampant as a result of Barbara’s very delicate state.

You should heal your own wounds, he’d told him, in that monotonous yet affectionate voice James was used to.

“But—” he’d tried to protest.

Heal your wounds.

So James had stormed to his room and remained there since. On his way there, he’d had the vague idea to pick a book in order to find some solace, but such a fit was impossible. For the first time in his life, it wasn’t fictitious adventures what kept him grounded, but a seraph blade.

The irony didn’t escape him.

At least the seraph blade was Matthew’s. James didn’t know why that comforted him, but it did. It had aided him during the battle with the khora. Matthew had aided him by giving him the blade.

And who had James aided?

No one, that was who.

If only he’d been faster, if only he’d taken his training more seriously, if only he hadn’t been so cowardly scared, if only there hadn’t been so many demons, if only James hadn’t understood the demons, if only those accursed bells hadn’t rang so loudly and upset his sense of reality, if only…

If only James understood what was going on.

Was this what Barbara had wanted to tell James about?

Someone knocked on the door. “Are you there, Jamie?” Matthew asked.

James stood up so fast his mattress might as well have burned him. For some reason, Matthew took that as his invitation to open the door and step inside.

He’d changed into new clothes —dark blue, almost black, trousers; a white shirt similar to the one he’d been wearing before; and a strikingly fashionable ruby waistcoat— yet his green carnation had been left untouched. James thought it clashed with his outfit.

“What are you here?” he had half the mind to ask Matthew.

“Why, can’t I just seek your friendly company?” Matthew sat himself on James’s bed and motioned for him to join him.

James did so, but hesitantly. “Your seraph blade,” he said, shoving the blade into Matthew’s hands, after a few awkward moments had passed.

Matthew looked confused for a moment. “Oh,” he eventually said “You can keep it. I have a sufficient enough amount of weapons to my name, and it seems like you’re lacking in that department,” his lips quirked up slightly. His smile showed a bit of his teeth, a tad crooked; that was probably the only imperfection to him “Actually, I had come here to talk exactly about that.”

“About gifting me your weapons?” James looked up from Matthew’s smile —so at odds with the severity of the situation— to his eyes in disbelief “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Matthew brought a hand to his heart and gasped dramatically. “Ridiculous? You wound me, Jamie.”

“I told you not to call me Jamie.”

“But yes, I was meant to have a conversation to you about weapons,” Matthew continued, heeding James’s plea no attention “Or fighting in general,” his face softened impossibly, and he assumed an air of maturity James quite frankly would’ve never thought him capable of “I don’t like fighting, either. Truthfully, only the girls like it out of the whole of our lot; Kit would rather engage in his experiments, Tom is intimidated at school for his reduced size —though I supposed that will have to change now— and I find it the most barbaric, claustrophobic, upsetting aspect of nephilimhood. Shadowhunters place too much value in the ‘art’ of destroying, and no value whatsoever in the art of creating: they hold no appreciation for sculpting, literature, music… even fashion! It’s suffocating, isn’t it, Jamie? Nephilim society ought to change, that it ought, oughtn’t it?”

James clenched his jaw. The nerve of Matthew Fairchild, all but creating a manifesto while Barbara lay on her likely deathbed (for some reason, James couldn’t believe she’d survive, he just couldn’t; there had been pure defeat in her eyes when that khora had struck her). And he expected James to agree with him, as if his mind wasn’t torturing him by replaying all the now-impossible scenarios where he might’ve taken action into his own hands and fought.

All his life, James had shied away from the ways of the nephilim, and that decision had come to stab him at the back.

And Matthew Fairchild was denouncing that which could’ve saved Barbara?

“How can you—?” James began saying, standing up with the need to get as far away from him as possible. He felt hot with fury.

To his disappointment, Matthew stood up immediately afterwards. “I wasn’t done. Please, James, let me finish.”

James didn’t now why he listened, but he did.

“I wholehearted believe that our people are in the wrong for undervaluing art, but at the same time, it pains me to admit the necessity of maintaining our warrior culture. We need it, because it is the duty Raziel bestowed upon us, and a shadow we can never get rid of. It’s tragic. However that we need fighting, that we must fight, doesn’t mean we must love fighting.”

“Why are—?”

“James.”

James plopped down on his bed.

Matthew sat down, too, and for some reason took James’s hand in his. For some reason, James found that comforting.

“I’m not a good listener,” James said “You should just tell me what you came here for.”

“I came here to tell you that I know you don’t like fighting, and you’d rather read and write poetry. I wanted to—”

“How do you know about the poetry?” James asked, eyes wide. He’d never told anyone, not even his parents or Barbara, that he’d started writing poetry.

It had been after his twelfth failed attempt at emulating his sister by writing a story of his own he would then send to— James hadn’t known, he was sure Will would have proposed Alastair Carstairs, but James had never met him nor heard a lot of reinforcements of his good character. Still James had wanted to write a story. One about a gentle creature named Peter, invisible to human eyes but for when he merged with shadows. But along the process of writing and rewriting and re-rewriting the first paragraph of the first chapter, James had realised he didn’t have what it took to be a novelist.

Then fifteen minutes later —while on a rather pathetic fit of frustration over having found yet another activity in which he was bested by his little sister— James had slipped into Harrods and bought the most absurdly expensive notebook on which to write poetry about his shadowy creature.

“Lucie found your notebook last time she visited,” Matthew explained “You know how much of a chatterbox she is: we and Augustus Pounceby were informed you held a great talent for poetry the moment she returned to the Academy.”

“Augustus Pounceby?!” James shrieked, mortified.

That’s it, his life was forfeit. He didn’t question how Lucie had found his notebook (he was almost sure she’d found it while raiding his closet for clothes after which to fashion her own suits), but he did wonder why Augustus Pounceby of all people had had to find out his secret.

Did the fates hate him? The Angel Raziel? God? Life itself?

“You look rather greenish,” Matthew commented, his voice laced with alarm “I could fetch a glass of water for you, or better—” he fished a flask out of his waistcoat “Have this. It’s tea.”

James looked at him. “Do you carry tea everywhere?”

“It’s from a herb only found in Idris, a true gem,” Matthew defended himself “Our history teacher back at the Academy introduced us to its wonderful calming effect. Mr. Penhallow said every time one found himself irritated, one had to take a sip of this tea in order to better his mood. I take a sip every time I have to converse with Pounceby or any of his wicked minions.”

“Does it help?”

“Most certainly.”

James took the flask and chugged down the tea in two long swallows. “Too bitter,” he coughed into his arm “Why do you drink this?”

Matthew laughed at him.

“It’s disgusting,” James pressed “Was the herb fertilised with moloch feces?”

Matthew laughed harder. He laid on James’s bed and covered his face with his hands. “Jamie, don’t ruin it for me.”

“Do you honestly enjoy it?”

If he truly did, then James might as well consider Matthew a madman dressed in nice spats.

“As a matter of fact,” Matthew said when he’d sobered up; just a bit “I don’t. But the taste certainly takes your mind off punching Pounceby or Larkspear or Baybrook or Carstairs. Especially Pounceby.”

Now that he noticed it, James no longer wanted to throttle Lucie nor hurl himself out the window due to his poetry having been discovered.

As if he’d read his mind, Matthew asked, “May I read any of your poems?”

“Well…”

“I love art. I can’t make it myself, unfortunately, but I’m a great enjoyer of it.”

James contemplated him for a moment. There was nothing mocking about Matthew’s delivery of the statement, just pure honesty.

“Very well,” James went to his closet to fetch the notebook “Only you must know that my introduction to writing poetry was fairly recent and I’m far from a poet. Don’t be too harsh in your judgement.”

“I promise not to be,” Matthew asked when he was given the book. Then, he patted the space next to himself “Here, we can read this poem together. So that I can see your doubtlessly fantastic poetry and you can be reassured of how doubtlessly fantastic your poetry is.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“I’m not, I promise,” Matthew smiled “Come on, Jamie. What harm will it do?”

“Have you taken your shoes off?” he asked, noticing Matthew’s socked feet.

“Indeed. I hope it doesn’t bother you, Jamie.”

“It doesn’t,” James took his shoes off as well “Don’t call me Jamie,” then he laid down next to Matthew Fairchild, who only grinned at his complaint.

Matthew cleared his throat. “Let’s see—”

“Don’t read aloud.”

Matthew sighed but obliged nonetheless.

James inspected his face as his eyes carefully went from verse to verse. Matthew had picked one of the earlier poems, one that centred mainly about an imaginary conversation between Peter and a tin soldier James had been gifted on his fourth birthday. Over the months, James’s skills had improved slightly, and he wondered whether he was doing Matthew a disservice by letting him read that one instead of one of the more recent poems.

Matthew’s face certainly didn’t let on the delight his words had implied. His blonde brows were arched into a frown. By the Angel, he was growing bored.

“I told you I had no talent,” James tried to defend himself a breath after Matthew put the notebook down.

“It’s not that. Don’t be daft,” Matthew turned his head to face him “The poem was spectacular; I enjoyed it deeply. It’s only that I am confused. Lucie was able to glimpse into your notebook a little bit when she found it —completely by accident— and saw that you mentioned this Peter fella rather a lot. I had hoped he was about your age, not a shadow with the appearance of a boy no older than my baby sister.”

Now it was James’s time to frown. “Peter’s an imaginary friend I made when I was six, when Lucie was too sick to play with me. He’s a shadow because, well, I used to think he lived in my shadow. Why do you think he was real?”

It was strange. As soon as those words, ‘real’, left his mouth, James heard something resembling a boyish echo gruff in indignation. Probably the wind beating against the curtains: it was summer in London, but the weather in England was notoriously bad year round.

Matthew turned his gaze to the ceiling. “I thought Peter was your lover. And if not your lover, then the man you’d promised your heart to.”

James’s eyes widened. “No, of course not. I don’t write romantic poetry, just— my poetry, I suppose. Which isn’t romantic in the slightest. I don’t even fancy men, I fancy ladies. In fact, I told Lucie that very same thing this morning. Although I did tell her I had no problem with men who fancied other men. Well, actually, I didn’t tell her that: I told her I had no problem with ladies who fancied other ladies, but of course my support for men who fancied other men was implied in that statement. It would be awfully patronising of me not to support men who fancied other men, I’m sure. I’m just. Not one of those men myself. I’m awfully sorry.”

He knew he was ranting and likely making no sense, but he suddenly felt awfully uncomfortable, and when that happened, he tended to spurt nonsense without a care for self-preservation.

Matthew was certainly looking at him as if James were crazy.

“By the Angel,” James foolishly continued “I hope you hadn’t hoped I harboured romantic feelings for men so that you could relay any romantic feelings you had for me. I’d loath for that to happen—”

James was sounding like a twat, James was sounding like a twat, James was sounding like a twat, James was sounding like a twat… What even was he saying? Anyone, men included, harbouring romantic feelings for him would be a privilege, since James was so James. But Matthew confessing to any type of ill-placed affection (for, again, James was James, and Matthew was Matthew) for him would be so incredibly awkward. How did one even act around someone who harboured feelings for you but who you didn’t harbour feelings for? James feared his awkwardness would single-handedly quash down the frail friendship he was half-certain was blossoming between them.

“James, it’s fine, no need to explain yourself,” Matthew said, thankfully putting an end to James’s ridicule of himself “I understand.”

James let out a tremendous sigh of relief. “Thank the Angel.”

“And I don’t fancy you, in case you were wondering,” Matthew added “For once, don’t get offended, you don’t meet the criteria men I feel attracted to do. Not to say that I have already given my heart to sweet Angustias.”

James frowned. “What are the men you fancy like?”

Matthew laughed. “I don’t think you’d want to know.”

“I do.”

Matthew quirked an eyebrow at him.

“I’m curious,” James explained himself “Living alone in the Institute would do that to anyone.”

Matthew looked like he wanted to say something, but waved away those hypothetical words with a flourish. “Never mind those men. I’ve had a few bad encounters I might tell you about one of these days, but for now just know I’m trying hard to change the criteria to male ownership of my affections. Angustias is helping.”

James hummed and didn’t question further.

The wind was hitting against the curtains excessively. He couldn’t help growing weary of how much it looked like a boy —who instead of throwing a fit, was making mocking sounds, like the ones Lucie used to do towards Mr. Bridgestone when the man wasn’t looking.

“I was just excited to find a friend like myself,” Matthew murmured a few minutes later.

“Hm?” James stopped thinking of the curtains.

Matthew wore a difficult expression; James realised he was trying to be totally sincere, something he found taxing.

“I had my hopes up that you could love men, or men and women, I didn’t care as long as it wasn’t women alone,” he met James’s eyes “I only know one man such as myself who is my friend, and dozens like yourself, only that they don’t have any kind things to say about homosexuality. That’s the word, you know?”

James knew. He’d heard it thrown about rather a lot —especially after the death of Oscar Wilde— accompanied by judgements so cruel he’d unconsciously began seeing it as a dirty term for men whose only sin was loving in a way society selfishly deemed corrupted. But if Matthew accepted the word, then James was no one not to do the same, so he nodded.

“This friend that’s like myself and me often talked about the possibility of you joining our ranks as a man with whom to share this cruelly difficult life. If mundane authorities find me kissing a man, they’ll murder me, you know? And if I were to, I don’t know, come out as someone who loves both men and women, many nephilim would consider me a subpar shadowhunter. Me and this other man, of course, who’s even more scared of that prospect that I am.”

“Thomas,” James whispered.

Matthew quirked an eyebrow at him. “Yes.”

James nodded, he’d deducted it from the letter Lucie had shown him that morning.

Oh, Thomas.

“What he must be going through now…” Matthew whispered, allegedly having caught on to James’s train of thought.

Matthew had turned his bedroom into a pocket of blissful forgetting with his company, but it had crumbled down to smithereens.

Barbara was dying.

James couldn’t breathe.

The wind became stronger and stronger, now the curtains made the sound of a boy crying. Harder. Harder. Harder. And harder.

“Jamie?” Matthew asked, clearly concerned “Oh, Jamie, come here.”

Matthew softly nudged him to a sitting position, and then put his arms around him. The stress of Barbara’s looming death joined in with the accursed wind —would the boy shut his mouth!?— and made his temples feel odd, as if they were notifying him he was seconds away from suffering a wreaking headache if he didn’t do something to avoid it.

James couldn’t do anything about Barbara, but he could certainly make the wind stop.

“I have to close the windows.”

And without further ado, he separated from Matthew rather brusquely and stomped to the window.

“Jamie, whatever are you saying, the window is—”

Closed. Shut tightly.

And through its glass, James could see there was no wind whatsoever.

The boy cried harder.

“Shut up,” he snarled at him.

“You should sit down,” Matthew, who’d hastened to reach his side and place two hands on his shoulders, advised James “Or we can go to the kitchen; prepare ourselves a better cup of tea or eat a sandwich. Goodness, we could shop for waistcoats, but please, focus on me. Okay?”

The boy made Matthew sound far away.

James couldn’t bring himself to heed his friend’s advice: his eyes were glued to the window, through which he could see a carriage rolling into the London Institute’s front yard. Out of it came Gideon, Sophie and Eugenia Lightwood, Barbara’s family.

The boy shut up at once.

That’s when James knew.

#tlh #the last hours #james herondale #barbara lightwood #matthew fairchild #thomas lightwood #christopher lightwood #lucie herondale #ck writes #the demons and contracts that bind us #ask to tag ig?

[flipperbrain-awakes]

Shadowhunters 3.18 ~ The Beast Within

#asmodeus emerges #hot prince of hell #jack yang #that's all she wrote for vera

[queerstuffonscreen]

Shadowhunters (2016-2019)

Episode length: 39-60 min.

Country: USA

Genre: Supernatural, Fantasy, Action, Adventure

Language: English

When Clary Fray's mother has disappeared, Clary joins a band of Shadowhunters; demon killing hunters, and gets caught up in a plan to save the world.

Season 1

Episode 1: The Mortal Cup

Episode 2: The Descent Into Hell Isn't Easy

Episode 3: Dead Man's Party

Episode 4: Raising Hell

Episode 5: Moo Shu to Go

Episode 6: Of Men and Angels

Episode 7: Major Arcana

Episode 8: Bad Blood

Episode 9: Rise Up

Episode 10: This World Inverted

Episode 11: Blood Calls to Blood

Episode 12: Malec

Episode 13: Morning Star

Season 2

Part 1

Episode 1: This Guilty Blood

Episode 2: A Door Into the Dark

Episode 3: Parabatai Lost

Episode 4: Day of Wrath

Episode 5: Dust, and Shadows

Episode 6: Iron Sisters

Episode 7: How Are Thou Fallen

Episode 8: Love is a Devil

Episode 9: Bound by Blood

Episode 10: By the Light of Dawn

Part 2

Episode 11: Mea Maxima Culpa

Episode 12: You Are Not Your Own

Episode 13: Those of Demon Blood

Episode 14: The Fair Folk

Episode 15: A Problem of Memory

Episode 16: Day of Atonement

Episode 17: A Dark Reflection

Episode 18: Awake, Arise, or Be Forever Fallen

Episode 19: Hail and Farewell

Episode 20: Beside Still Water

Season 3

Part 1

Episode 1: On Infernal Ground

Episode 2: The Powers That Be

Episode 3: What Lies Beneath

Episode 4: Thy Soul Instructed

Episode 5: Stronger Than Heaven

Episode 6: A Window Into an Empty Room

Episode 7: Salt in the Wound

Episode 8: A Walk in Darkness

Episode 9: Familia Ante Omnia

Episode 10: Erchomai

Part 2: The Final Hunt

Episode 11: Lost Souls

Episode 12: Original Sin

Episode 13: Beati Bellicosi

Episode 14: A Kiss from a Rose

Episode 15: To the Night Children

Episode 16: Stay With Me

Episode 17: Heavenly Fire

Episode 18: The Beast Within

Episode 19: Aku Cinta Kamu

Episode 20: City of Glass

Episode 21: Alliance

Episode 22: All Good Things...

Watch on Netflix

#shadowhunters #Supernatural #Fantasy #Action #Adventure #G #gay #gay characters #alec lightwood #andrew underhill #L #lesbian #lesbian characters #aline penhallow #helen blackthorn #samantha #olivia wilson #B #bisexual #bisexual characters #magnus bane #meliorn #lgbt #lgbtq #tv shows with queer characters #series with queer characters

[bluephoenixdruidicprincess]

Shadowhunters 3x18, The Beast Within -- Review

Now that I've got 3x17 over with...Let's get into 3x18, The Beast Within. And yet another episode where it's abundantly clear the writers wouldn't know subtlety if it drop kicked them in the face. This show has introduced fun concepts this season but as per usual, they feel the need to execute these concepts in the most boring way imaginable. It's also super weird to watch the premiere of a Halloween themed episode in the middle of April.

As always, I'm not a fan of Shadowhunters. I'm just watching this show to see what happens and I’m reviewing it because I feel obligated to. I don't think it's a good show, I actually think it's pretty trashy and it really only exists to be shipping fodder except minus the character and relationship development, there is none, so it basically fails even at that. But if you like Shadowhunters, that's perfectly fine. We like what we like. You just might not want to read this. Also spoilers for the books and movies. 

I think I've actually hit maximum apathy for this show now. I normally blacklist shadowhunter posts while the new episode airs so I don't get spoiled when I watch the new episode the following day. But yesterday, I forgot to do that, I got spoiled and I didn't care. I saw plenty of gifs and discussions come across my dash and I didn't care. I'm truly saddened that I've at last hit this point. I always knew it would only be a matter of time before I would be brought to this point and it looks like I'm there now. But it's cool. We're on the final stretch until this show is finally done. So I really only have to suffer a little longer. 

The Cure That Didn't Cure

Our "heroes" attempt to cure Clary of the mark using the Heavenly Fire but I guess the batch is too diluted for it to work. So it was really kind of a pointless scene that I don't even know why it exists other than to waste time. Oh and I guess to showcase Kat's screaming techniques which are pretty cringey. I hate it when she screams on this show. It never sounds like she's genuine. But you know, it's alright. Some people just aren't screamers. We can't all be Candace King (Caroline from TVD). Now, that girl can scream. I don't know how she does it but she's just really good at putting the emotion into her scream where you feel like you're feeling the same pain she is. The way she jerks her body, how she inflects her voice mid-scream, it's quite impressive. I certainly never enjoy watching my favorite character in TVD get tortured (and I think she was the most physically tortured character on the entire show) but I do applaud her ability to act out the torture. Oh, and Clary's lazer powers have come back. Thank God for that. I don't know if I could possibly survive without seeing another cringey scene of lazers flying out of Clary's hands again. Just why, show? Why? It's not necessarily. You've already depicted Clary as a fully functioning shadowhunter regardless if it was earned or not. Are the lazer powers really necessary?

But since it's Halloween, demons are running amok and everyone has to go out hunting and I'm just asking why they thought it would be a good idea to take Clary of all people to patrol? You know, the person who has shown they aren't always in control of their actions. They're going to take that person, give her deadly weapons and they didn't think it was going to go badly? But the fight eventually takes them to the sewer Clary makes the choice to join Jonathon instead of Jace so we're finally getting dark!Clary even though this is definitely not what I wanted. I don't want the show to use magic to make her dark, I want the show to acknowledge the darkness that was already there way before the mark. In fact, if they absolutely felt like they had to go this route, have the cure work but Clary still chooses to go with Jonathon because the mark helped bring out some of her more innate darkness and then deal with that for the final few episodes we're in. You know, do something to acknowledge that Clary isn't this precious little flower child. Allow her some character development. I also don't particularly understand why she chose to go with Jonathon. I get the mark was making her feel a little sympathetic but I don't understand how it lead to this?

The Continuation of the Malec Drama

It's not a Shadowhunters episode without Malec drama, am I right? Well, in return to giving Magnus his magic back, Asmodeus tells Alec to end his relationship with Magnus so it's basically every Malec fanfiction ever. Alec talks it over with both Jace and Izzy to varying degrees of success and he comes to the conclusion that he needs to break up with Magnus as he feels like this is going to save Magnus. And why wouldn't he think that? Magnus has been putting an awful lot on Alec regarding this whole situation so why wouldn't Alec feel this way? Alec breaks up with Magnus, telling Magnus that the past few days has made him feel like the spark that Alec loved about Magnus is gone. Magnus tries to stop him but ultimately, Alec walks away. And the break-up is alright, I guess, I just hate how "high school" writing it is. For me, a far more complex and interesting break-up would be Alec using the reasoning of that Magnus can't just lean on Alec for the rest of his life. He can't keep on pushing the drama onto Alec expecting Alec to fix it. Which has long been an issue I've had with the Malec relationship. That every time something goes wrong in in the relationship, Alec is the one who has to give way and fix it instead of both of them working together to fix it. Alec could tell Magnus he doesn't want to be in a relationship playing second fiddle to Magnus's identity crisis. He has to think about what will make him happy.  

And can we talk about how terrible this line is, "You're not that selfish." This is Magnus basically implying that he likes that Alec selflessly makes allowances in the relationship instead of perhaps doing what he wants to do. And it also kind of reads like emotional manipulation. "I can't accept this break-up so I'm going to make you feel like a bad person so you won't break-up with me". So just, wow, Shadowhunters. 

Becky 

Believe it or not, there was something I did enjoy in this episode and that was Simon's sister Becky returning. She is so much fun, has so much energy, and with the innocence on how she approaches the shadow world, I kind of wish this actress played Clary. Kat's alright but I've never been too terribly impressed with her portrayal of Clary but the actress who plays Becky really brings energy in every scene she's in and I want her to be in more scenes. And what is it about this show and siblings who have more chemistry with each other than the love interests? 

Though, I do think it's weird that shadowhunters who have literally grown up in the heart of NYC don't know mundane vampire culture, though. If you grew up in Idris, I can understand that but how have they lived in NYC, apparently they always patrol on Halloween and yet know nothing about how mundanes view vampires? It's just really hard to believe.

At Becky's request, Sizzy goes back into gear in all of its cringey glory. They literally made a pack two episodes ago to stay single and now this is being shoehorned in. Why? If they were going to do this. This pact should've been made a season ago. When you make a pact like this, it only works if the couple is a slow-burn and Sizzy definitely has not been that. 

I Guess I Have to Talk About the Jordan Redemption

I don't hate that the show is giving Jordan a redemption arc but I do dislike how the show is going about it. It's definitely not deserved. Just because he saved Maia's life and joined an organization dedicated to helping people and that's enough to forgive Jordan for being a shitty person both before and after he became a werewolf? Come on.

I also hate the idea of Maia having to rebuild the pack. It does such a disservice to her character to make her own pack as opposed to taking control of her pack and showing that she's become strong enough to assert herself towards these individuals that previously looked down on her. 

There's just so much going on in this episode that if the show was more subtle, it might've worked. But Subtlety and Shadowhunters have never gone hand-in-hand. I'll give this episode a B. I liked Becky and the structure of the episode wasn't bad. But other than the Becky parts, I thought this episode was pretty bland and most of what the episode did, I found to be pretty cringey and just generally trashy.

#shadowhunters #shadowhunters 3x18 #shadowhunters 3.18 #shadowhunters the beast within #the beast within

[sivan325]

To See You Happy Again 2/2 G *Completed* 

Summary: Alec closed the deal so Magnus could be happy, the shadowhunter knew that he cannot get what he wants, life taught him that, to be happy again it is not something that he ever considered. Everything has a price. 

Disclaimer: The fabulous work belongs to Cassandra Clare, thank you for creating the Shadow world.

#hmdiscord #story completed #malec #the mortal instruments #shadowhunters #Post-Episode: s03e18 The Beast Within #deals #angst #break up #post breakup #g-rated

[evanzbuck]

"Magnus sacrificed everything so I could feel whole. And now I have the chance to do the same for him."

#alec lightwood #magnus bane #shadowhunters #shadowhuntersgif #shadowhuntersdaily #shadowhuntersedit #gif #malec #dailymalec #malecedit #malecdaily #shadowhunters s03e18 #the beast within #nephilimdaily #malecgif #magnusandalexander #tscedit #tscsource #sh spoilers #mine

[shrewind2]

Shadowhunters 3x18: The Beast Within  

Free to use.

#Shadowhunters #SHRewind3x18 #3x18 #the beast within #jordan kyle #maia roberts #drink #shots

[tmi-tv-show-news]

Shadowhunters | Season 3, Episode 18 Trailer | Asmodeus Offers Alec a Deal

#shadowhunters #sh spoilers #the beast within #episode 318 #Alec Lightwood #alexander lightwood #Magnus Bane #asmodeus #malec #izzy lightwood #Isabelle Lightwood #Clary Fray #jonathan morgenstern #Jace Herondale #Luke Garroway

[shum-baby]

ShadowhuntersTV: Magnus finds out about #Maruke in this SNEAK PEEK of Monday's all new #Shadowhunters.

#magnus bane #maryse lightwood #luke garroway #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #3x18 #the beast within

[visander]

The sad thing is too, I feel like Magnus had just decided to try and actually enjoy his mundane life. He decided that morning that he was done drinking. He was done wallowing. At the very least, he was done messing up beautiful dinners that his boyfriend put together. And when Alec walked in, he was so attentive. He noticed instantly that Alec was tense. He tried to give him a massage. He was so willing for them to go on vacation with no warning at all. 

Magnus was still in so much pain but he was ready to start piecing their life together again and try to enjoy as much of it as he could and then Alec shattered it in his hands. 

#shadowhunters #no anti-Alec comments please I'm real sick of it #Magnus Bane #Alec Lightwood #Malec #the beast within #shadowhunter spoilers

[ladyladuga]

It might be different circumstances, but to my heart it doesn’t matter. It hurt back then and it hurts now. But I still believe in Alec’s “We always seem to find our way back to each other.” They have to. 2x18 vs. 3x18

#shadowhunters #malec #awake arise or be forever fallen #the beast within #magnus bane #alec lightwood

[always-alec]

Can we talk about Alec's response to Magnus' begging?

This is the hardest thing Alec has ever had to do - push away the love of his life in a valiant attempt at saving him from himself. Magnus, who's at the lowest point he's ever been at in his life, starts begging for Alex to stay.

"Stay with me, okay? Come on, stay with me."

And what's Alec's responce to that?

"I can't."

Not, "I don't want to", or, "Not right now".

He says, "I can't."

That's such an honest answer. That's how he honestly feels. He feels as though he doesn't have a choice in the matter - not really. Magnus says, "You're not this selfish", but on Alec's mind, this is the least selfish thing he could do: give Magnus the longest and happiest life he could possibly live, even if that life doesn't include him.

#in a conversation that's full of alec telling lies #this is the one thing he tells the truth about #shadowhunters #shadowhunters spoilers #alec lightwood #alexander lightwood #magnus bane #malec #3x18 #the beast within