And That's The Tea.

James? My love? The Gracelet? WHHYYYYYY?!!!!!??

Magnus to Alec

Dear Alec,

Before anything else, I just want to mention once again that you are by far the handsomest man I have ever met, with the most beautiful blue eyes, and what I love most about you, among so, so many other features, is that you are a man of incalculable understanding, patience, and forgiveness.

Yes, this is our vacation. Yes, you and the kids are lounging on the soft white sands of St Barths, as is good and right. Yes, I have had to dash to London on urgent business involving Blackthorns. Yes, I have been receiving your many supportive texts, accompanied by your many photos in which you look angry while holding umbrella drinks.

No, I will not be back today. You must imagine me saying this with the heaviest of sighs and the most forlorn look. I need one more day. Blackthorn Hall is haunted—which I could have told anyone who had bothered to ask, I’ve never known a more obviously haunted place in my life—and none of the little Blackthorns (who I suppose are no longer quite as little as all that) have had to deal with this kind of ghostiness before.

So again, let me commend you for your forbearance in this time of trial. That is not sarcasm, just formal! I really mean it!

Love you, Alec. See you tomorrow night. The next morning at the absolute latest -

To the Greatest Man Who Has Ever Or Will Ever Live,

It will be tomorrow morning. I was meaning to depart tonight, but it is now very, very late, and I have had no small amount of wine, and these are not the conditions by which I would feel quite safe opening a Portal. It will not do me any good to return to St Barth if I show up on top of the Gustavia Lighthouse.

So since I cannot yet sleep, but must, let me quickly fill you in.

The Blackthorns are fixing up Blackthorn Hall—fancy that—and while I understand they are now properly adults, they are still young enough to use a hundred year old Ouija board they found hidden in the walls. Didn’t have a planchette? Not a problem, we will just make one out of scrap without reference to the wood or the ley-lines or any of the— Sorry. I couldn’t help it, it’s such the Shadowhunter stereotype. Leap before you look. In fact, just leap. Leap whenever and wherever.

As it turns out (spoiler alert!) the spirit of the house—at least the restless one—means no apparent harm and is just your standard everyday “ghost looking for its missing bauble to move on” situation, as you’ll see. But I was more alarmed for it being the house in Chiswick. Many generations of Lightwoods lived in it over many years, and there always seemed a dark shadow over the place. In the mid-19th it was the home of, I’m sorry to say, a very bad Lightwood, definitely one of the worst Lightwoods, and after that, well, its fall from grace was precipitous. I cannot say from what time period this ghost might date, but given its reaction to the name “Blackthorn”, I had my worries.

Anyway, by the time I got to the house, Julian and Emma had managed to cause the Ouija board to, you know, magically shatter into a dozen pieces. I magicked it back—note for future reference, easier to magically repair something that was magically broken in the first place rather than with, say, a hammer—and produced a makeshift but actually calibrated and warded planchette. And burned their planchette in a fire. Outside.

It was quick enough at that point to contact the presence in the house, who was indistinct, probably from being alone for the past hundred-odd years. Let me tell you, Alec love, I was worried then. I was worried that this ghost was someone I knew. Someone I cared about, once. It probably isn’t—most of them would have no reason to be ghosts at all, much less ghosts stuck here—but once the thought occurred to me, I couldn’t put it aside. I tried to ask but you know how ghosts are. “I do not now know you,” it said. Great. But did you know me when you were alive? Just “I do not now know you.”

Anyway the thing was peaceful enough. We finally got around to the topic of why he is a ghost—we got enough of a spoken voice to know the voice is male, at least. He spoke aloud, and firmly. I am bound here by a silver band, he said.

Whether this silver band is a ring, a bracelet, a handcuff, the concept of “the ties that bind,” or a group of robot musicians, I have no idea. But it’s normal enough for a ghost to be bound by an object and to be looking for the thing that binds them. I honestly didn’t get a negative vibe from the guy. I’m… let’s say ninety percent sure that it’s not the aforementioned Bad Lightwood, at least. I told Julian and Emma there was no harm in their keeping an eye out for a silver band during their cleanup of the house, but not to worry themselves sick over it. This felt like wise advice at the time, although we had all had quite a bit of wine at that point.

The wine was in fact drunk continually throughout the evening, as there are some salvageable bottles from the cellar—rather amazingly, although I don’t know, maybe Shadowhunters have wine preservation runes somewhere near the back of the Gray Book. And drinking red wine while talking to a ghost just seemed, I don’t know, the right pairing? But of course now I have a splitting headache from a combination of sulfites and light necromancy. I am going to put myself to long-overdue sleep, and then tomorrow at six in the morning your time please tell le garçon I would like waiting for me a café allongé, very hot and a sidecar, very cold. I will then entertain the children for the rest of the day while you, my love, my all, take a nap and join us whenever you please.

With all my love, all my kissin’, you don’t know what you been missin’,

M.

ladies we need to start frantically and obsessively reading books in less than 24 hours again..remember how happy we were

I loved this line

MASON ALEXANDER PARK as 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊 THE SANDMAN 1.10: LOST HEARTS.

I thought about this post far to often. I have now googled it just so I could reblog it and not miss it.

bite the vampire first to establish dominance

I thought the same thing. Becaus interdimensional portals don't just open in another world. It can be open in diferent times, ex: Emma and Julian crossing the portal to Thule moments after Annabel and Ash, but arriving years later. Faerie in itself seems interdimensional. Time dosent flow like anywhere else. What if it's not the land speeding up but the distance between worlds?

What if I told you TLH doesn’t happen in the past and it’s happening around the same time as TDA?

Let me explain. In COG Cordelia saw a “view of dead ground and broken trees, and a red moon rising”. The desert, the mention of a red moon, is literally a description of Thule. I couldn’t understand how it was possible if Thule and our dimension split during the dark war, way after TLH.

But what if TLH isn’t happening in our dimension but another one exaclty the same as our own, except is 1903. Maybe time passes slower, so it’s identical but with different times.

And the Avenger Assemblence Cassandra Clare talked about, with the characters of the shadowhunter chronicals in TWP (And has confirmed they aren’t ghost), is possible because they travel from their dimension to ours, like Emma and Julian did.

Just a thought

objectifying men in armor will literally never get old. like, work it shiny boy. hit ‘em with that old razzle dazzle you fuckin trash can. hottie! (tucks $5 into your cuirass) 

♡ 365 days of delena ♡ ↳ (26/365) insp

give it up for 2022

Set of holographic stickers dedicated to The Holy Trinity.

Yes, please!

It’s been a really long time since the last date Max had been on. His entire world seemed bleak and dreary, the gray skies and endless rain didn’t help his general mood and demeanor. Not that Roswell usually had rain, or much precipitation at all.

“I’m not sad,” he says again, shoving the cabinet door closed. Changing his mind at the last moment and leaving the tequila bottle hidden, even if all he wanted to do was drown in it. Pulling long shifts at the bar also didn’t help his general loneliness and urge to drink.

“That’s what you keep saying,” Isobel says from where she’s draped across the back of the couch. She’s the only reason Max isn’t neck deep in booze and watching reruns of NCIS.

He gives his sister a harsh glare, “I’m not lonely either.”

“We’re throwing a singles party at Rosa’s galleria,” she says simply. “People are coming from out of town to celebrate Roswell flooding due to alien influence.”