Gracetopher Week

This is the blog for Gracetopher week! , August 10-17! • Header by @rinadragomir and pfp by @camisala01-art. Feel free to ask us questions.

[gracetopher-week]

Hello everyone! Well, we are officially done with Gracetopher week! We're so happy with how many people participated; We were worried that since TLH is technically over these two wouldn't get nearly as much love as before, but there was content for them everyday and we were so happy to see it.

We'll be back! Same time next year with hopefully less delays. We'll keep our 2024 Post right here though for easy access in case anyone would like to see the prompts again or is still working on their content. Happy Gracetopher Week!!

(In case anyone is wondering, we know August is a busy month, especially with work and school, so we'll be taking submissions until the end of the month. No rush and have fun if you have more to submit 😁)

[thevagabondexpress]

i would put it back in poetry (if i only knew how)

You have always been more practical than poetic. (Grace Blackthorn. After.) @gracetopher-week final day, "new beginnings". be warned: this is in second person

Don't your lungs ache? Doesn't it feel good? After shed tears, after fear, after this is what I must do, for this time, to earn, to earn, to earn, how does it feel to be free?

Your throat rips raw, ache of crying. You have always been more practical than poetic. Assassin's mindset, assassin's guilt, this is how you earn your keep. Earn her love. Pay the debt of keeping you. Make her proud. It felt so good, to have her be proud of you.

This feeling is new, this desire for lyricism unfamiliar.

He sleeps, your Christopher, in the Basilias, tucked away from you. They won't let you in to see him. They won't allow anyone but his mother, his father, his sister, but it hurts still. Again you are pariah.

His friends do not speak to you. As they shouldn't. Or their seven, you wounded three, and one more, though Charles they hardly speak to.

Your brother does not speak to you either. He wants you put away. You will not go. You have plans of your own for leaving, but it will be on your own terms. Not at someone else's behest. You don't do that anymore.

The letter comes on a Tuesday morning. Two words, shaky on a torn corner of a piece of paper. I'm awake.

You write back. They still won't let me see you.

He says, I will make them. You have never known your Christopher's voice so full of anger. You don't know how to feel. You are glad to have a defender. And yet. You do prefer to fight the battles you can on your own.

They let you in to see him. There are bruising shadows under his lilac eyes. He looks so small and so fragile in the hospital bed, a shadow of health and joy you knew in him.

"Where will you go now?" Christopher asks you. "What will you do? I cannot ask you to stay in London just for me. Not when all the rest of them won't speak to you."

You would have changed your plans and stayed, had he asked. But he is right. You do not want to make yourself miserable for the sake of one man. Not again. Even one who truly likes you, and not just sees through curse-fogged eyes.

"South," you tell him. "Morocco. I've been staying with werewolves in Brocelind, they connected me to some Shadowhunters there. I'll go in the summer."

"I may be here in Alicante 'til fall."

"I'll write."

"Please do. I want to know what interesting ideas your mind cooks up while you're there. Just, please don't try to credit me with them again."

"Hey." You frown.

"The fire messages were yours, Grace. Just as much as they were mine. I started the work but it was you who found the solution."

"I didn't think you would survive. None of us did. I was trying . . . I wanted to leave you some kind of legacy."

Christopher smiles. "That's really very kind of you. But you didn't need to. I am alive, after all."

"If you weren't so badly injured I'd hit you with my hat."

Christopher closes his eyes and shakes with silent laughter. You laugh with him. You haven't laughed properly in years. It feels good to be free.

[purplebass]

Hello :) I wasn't sure I would make it for this event, but then I remembered about this draft and saw it fit some of the prompts, so I tried to finish writing it before the GC week would end.

@gracetopher-week Day 5: First

Grace and Christopher have their first date at the theatre. Words: 881

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[zoyalannister]

Gracetopher week 2024

Day 7: New beginnings

@gracetopher-week

Read on Ao3

Some of my friends (and some anons too) have the headcanon that, if Christopher had lived, he and Grace would have moved to New York, and that’s why there’s a portrait of Gabriel there in TMI.  1197 words

There wasn’t a day Grace was not thankful for the invention of the Portal. She couldn’t have survived the trip across the Atlantic at six months pregnant.

Christopher helped her get upstairs, where they met the head of the Institute, Mr. Mongerstern. 

“Thanks for accepting to take over this Institute,” the old man said after the due introductions had been made. “I know that New York is on the other side of the ocean with respect to London, but Charlotte Fairchild wrote such a good reference letter for you.”

“Don’t worry, we needed a fresh start,” Christopher said, and Raziel knew it was true. 

Despite saving the world together, the Merry Thieves’ friendship hadn’t survived the battle against Belial. The choices everyone had taken, especially regarding their life companions, had pushed them apart. 

Living in London had become uncomfortable and full of tension, despite the former friends all being in the city only for Christmas and birthdays, and as soon as  it came up in Clave meetings that Mr. Morgenstern had claimed to be too old to keep managing the New York Institute, Christopher and Grace had seen it as an incomparable opportunity.

Charlotte Fairchild had written them a cover letter, and in just three months, they’d received the confirmation form Mr. Morgenstern that they were chosen to overtake his role.

It had been amazing timing, since Grace had found out she was pregnant by then, and raising their child far away from London and all the drama would be perfect.

Mr. Morgenstern guided them through the halls, showing their office and the bedroom assigned to them.

“I have to take care of the last few documents now. I guess that the time difference is unsettling even when traveling by Portal; take some time to settle in and rest. I will announce you as the new Head of the Institute at dinner.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Morgenstern,” Christopher said.

As soon as the old man disappeared out the door, Grace closed it behind her back and let her husband kiss her squarely on the mouth. 

“Do you like it here?” he asked her.

His violet eyes were shining, and she could tell that he loved New York already. 

“Yes,” she replied, caressing the spot where their baby had just kicked her from the inside. “I think it’s the best place to raise Isidore.”

Since the Silent Brothers had confirmed they were expecting a boy, they’d chosen the name Isidore together.

Christopher put a hand on her belly to feel the baby’s movements, one thing he loved doing. 

If Grace hadn’t been already sure that he would be an amazing father, seeing how he was taking care of her during her pregnancy was the confirmation she needed.

“Mom and Dad will move here for a few weeks when the baby is born to help us.”

Grace smiled. Marrying Christopher hadn’t only given her an amazing husband, but had also made her part of a wonderful family. 

“I thought so. I remember they moved to Mumbai for three months when your sister and Ari adopted Rajiv and Oliver.”

Four years ago, only one year after the battle against Belial, Christopher’s family had grown thanks to the adoption of two baby boys, both orphans, respectively from the Mumbai and Cornwall Institutes. By some weird coincidence, both her nephews (Grace would never get tired of referring as such to Anna and Ari’s children) shared the same birthday, and the family had started referring to them as the twins. 

“Speaking of them—Anna says that the twins are impatient to finally meet their cousin,” Christopher said, kissing her bump. “And Alex is over the moon at the idea of having another nephew to play with.”

Alex Lightwood was so close in age to the twins, he was more like an older brother to them than an uncle, and Grace was sure he’d be the same with Isidore, too. 

“I’m happy that the boys are looking forward to meeting our baby,” she said with a smile.

Grace chuckled as Kit kissed her neck and held her close to him. 

“You can tell Anna that she, Ari and the twins can come here anytime,” she said against his shoulder. “After we settle down, we could show them around New York.”

“I don’t think they’ll leave Mumbai anytime soon,” Christopher replied. 

She looked at him, questioning, and he said, “Sorry, I forgot to tell you with our moving and Isidore on the way. Anna and Ari are adopting a one-year-old girl, so they want to adjust to the new addition to the family before traveling again.”

The news filled her with happiness. Their family was growing, and Isidore would have a cousin close to his age to grow up with.

“That’s fantastic news! I’ll write my congratulations to Anna tomorrow,” Grace said sincerely. “Do you know the girl’s name?” “Shaila.”

“It’s a lovely name.”

Christopher agreed with a hum. “Do you want to take a walk? It’s almost six.”

Grace checked the clock in her room, which showed that it was ten to six. With so little time before dinner, it was pointless to just lay down and rest. 

“Yes, we can take a look around by ourselves.”

Christopher offered her his arm and kissed her on the temple, and they strolled through the halls as they talked.

“If we were having a girl, what would you call her?” she asked him.

Christopher didn’t hesitate a moment. “Marie, like Mrs. Curie.”

Grace leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. “I wholeheartedly agree. It would be my choice too.”

Christopher smiled. “I know. After two years of marriage and five together, I learned a thing or two about you.”

Grace laughed, thinking that him being attentive and careful of her feelings was the main reason why she’d fallen in love with him.

They kept talking about their plans for tomorrow, what to see of New York first, mapping a route that wouldn’t tire her too much, when Christopher suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

“Why did you stop?”

Christopher was staring at the empty wall. 

“Don’t you think that here”—Christopher gestured in front of him—“it would be perfect to hang Dad’s portrait?”

Grace couldn’t stop herself: she laughed. “Why would we put Gabriel’s portrait here?”

Christopher was almost as serious as when he talked about science. Almost.

“To confuse our descendants. Of course, Isidore would know it’s his grandfather, but after a few generations the knowledge will be lost, and in one hundred years, all the Shadowhunters of New York who come here will wonder who this man is.”

Grace kissed him between bouts of laughter. “You have a very convoluted sense of humor, but that’s also why I love you.”

Christopher grabbed her by the hips and got closer to her. “I love you.”

His lips landed on hers, and Grace thought it was heaven.

A new city in a different continent, a niece in addition to the two nephews they already had, their own baby in a few months…

It was just the start of their new lives, and Grace was sure she wanted to live every single moment with Christopher.

[thevagabondexpress]

burning the old year

"Christopher," said Grace, "how do you grieve someone who's still alive?"

or, @gracetopher-week day 6: grief, ft. grieving the living, grieving the dead, grace's debted-assassin's guilt mentality, and a title stolen from a poem by naomi shihab nye

Christopher sat before the fire and stared into the flames. This had always been a habit of his, to stare into the fireplace while he thought. As a small child the dancing red and orange had always fascinated him.

Downstairs, the Enclave celebrated: celebrated a war won, a life saved, an invention he'd been given credit for never mind that he hadn't been the one to make the breakthrough.

Up here, nothing was right.

"Christopher? Can I call you that?"

Christopher looked up. Grace stood in the doorway. She still wore the simple silver dress she'd chosen for the gala, higher-necklined and longer-sleeved than Tatiana's choices had ever been, its style harking gently back to the Renaissance. Her long white hair was down however, brushing her waist.

"Yes," said Christopher. "Of course."

Grace stepped into the room and sat down on the carpet beside him, her skirts pooling around her ankles. She stared with him into the fire. "Here we are," she said. "The outcasts." Her voice was surprisingly deep and rough without the curse to modify it.

"Hm," said Christopher, shifting the position of his chin on his knees.

"Christopher," said Grace, "how do you grieve someone who's still alive?"

Christopher blinked at her, perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"My mother is gone," said Grace, "and good riddance, though I still find myself grieving her anyway. But that makes sense. Awful people die all the time and leave behind people like me, and Alastair, and Cordelia, and my uncles, who lived with them anyway, who were formed by them and who sought their approval and who they sometimes were proud of. I have a blueprint. But Jesse . . . I did love him, in a way I never loved Mama. In a way I have never loved anyone else. I loved him so much I tried to bring him back from the dead. And now I'm dead to him. I think I have lost him in truth now. And yet he's more alive than he was when he was my brother. And I still love him, but I can't speak—" Grace broke off, looking away, closing her eyes.

"You know we fought," said Christopher, "my friends and I. You know they won't hardly speak to me either. Even Anna . . . I think she pities me. For choosing you over them." He closed his eyes. "I never wanted for it to be a choice. I never intended for it to be a choice. And yet they made me choose. Or perhaps they chose for me. I don't know."

"Why then?" Grace asked. "Why choose me? Why risk losing all your friends? I'm one person, and hated, and I did horrible things. Why?"

Christopher gave the half the answer that was relevant. "Because if I didn't, you would have no one. And that isn't fair. Nobody can live alone like that. It kills you. You saw it yourself, it happened to your mother. I won't repeat that. I won't let it happen again. I became a scientist because I wanted to put right the things that were wrong in our world. I can't fix this. I can't make it better. But I can do what I can to stop it getting worse."

"So I'm a charity case, then."

"No—Grace, I didn't mean it like that. I have never been good at saying things. I meant . . . I meant that I couldn't stand to see you being alone, and having no one who liked you. You have a brilliant mind, Grace. I want to continue to work with you, well into the future. I want to be your friend. I made the choice to continue to be your friend, to risk losing all of them, because to abandon you felt wrong. That's what I meant."

"Jesse told me it was what I deserved," said Grace. "To end up alone."

"No," said Christopher. "No one deserves that."

"Not even my mother?" said Grace.

"No," said Christopher. "She pushed people away, she chose to be alone. But for years my father, my uncles, they kept reaching out. Kept asking her to come home."

"She was always so angry," said Grace. "The thing that made it so hard was that for her . . . in her eyes it was a righteous anger. To be doing her work, to be on her side against the Clave and her family and yours, to gain her approval, to make her proud, . . . it felt right and good. I hated the work but I did it because I thought it was a necessary step. To freedom, to power, to being loved. But I stayed with her, when people kept offering to help me leave, because she made me feel like I was right. And by the time I realized she was wrong . . . I was too late. And then I hated her and I loved her at the same time. And then it was almost me who had to kill her. And now she will always be the woman who made me, and she will always be gone, and I have so many things I'd like to say to her, so many questions I want to ask, that I never will, because she's not there anymore to hear me."

"She had journals," said Christopher. "They could let you some answers, if you could bring yourself to read them. I cannot guarantee you will like what you find."

"I would have to get them from Jesse. I'm not sure he'll speak to me about it. I'm not even sure he'll speak to you."

"As far as I can tell from what I've overheard, he wants nothing to do with Tatiana's estates, or well, what's left of them, or anything else of hers. I think he would let you have it."

"I just have to figure out how to ask him." Grace rested her chin on her knees and stared with Christopher into the fireplace. "I swear that losing Jesse hurts more than losing Mama, and Jesse's still living."

[zoyalannister]

Gracetopher week 2024

Day 6: Grief

@gracetopher-week

Read on Ao3

I interpreted it in a very wide sense, meaning another sport!AU where no one dies, but after an injury Grace must say goodbye to her tennis career. 1216 words

Her husband was with her when she left the hospital, but his presence didn’t reassure Grace like it normally would have done.

Grace still needed a crutch to walk, and Christopher offered his arm to help her, but what hurt her most wasn’t her knee when she accidentally put her foot down, or her pride for needing assistance at every step. 

It was what the doctors had told her, which still stung like a punch in the gut. 

You’re never going to play tennis anymore.

She was just twenty-five, but the last seven years had been wonderful for her career. She’d started taking part in minor tournaments, and a few months ago, she’d started qualifying for the semi-finals of the most important slams.

Last year, she’d won two of them.

Now, she would never go on a pitch anymore.

The thought always reduced her to a crying mess. 

Before her injury, she’d signed with sponsors for the next ten years; now, they had all abandoned her, since she could no longer meet their requirements. Thankfully, she’d married Christopher last year, or she would have never been able to afford the wedding without the sponsors’ money. 

“Do you want to talk?” Christopher asked her after he’d helped enter their car.

Grace ignored the pain shooting through her knee and up her leg and shook her head. “No.”

Christopher said nothing. He knew that pushing her to talk would only be counterproductive, so he just walked to the driver’s seat and turned on the engine. 

For the whole ride, Grace couldn’t stop thinking about her lost career and mulling over the things she’d lost.

Her sport, a good part of her identity, her glory, her promise to herself to finally win Wimbledon next year, money…

When they stopped in the driveway of their luxurious house, Grace felt a wave of panic and anxiety raising in her chest.

“Are you feeling sick?”

She met her husband’s worried expression. Despite all her negative feelings, she was grateful to have someone worrying over her.

Grace knew she could share her concerns with him, so she blurted out, “I’m thinking about how we are going to pay the mortgage now that my career is over.”

Christopher grabbed her face in his hands. The contact with her husband’s body and his violet eyes staring at her calmed her down, as they always did.

“Don’t worry about it right now, we have enough savings for a few months. The important thing is that you are getting better and will soon recover. We will think about money when it’s time to think about money.”

Grace nodded and let him kiss her, but it took all her willpower to stop herself from taking her phone and checking her bank account. She let her husband help her walk towards their house, where she knew Kit’s family was waiting for them.

She loved the Lightwoods and Ari more than she’d ever loved Tatiana and considered them her real family, but she was in no mood of meeting anyone. 

She didn’t want to see the pity look in their faces when she announced to them that she would never go back to playing tennis, that she’d lost everything she’d ever worked for. 

Grace wasn’t ready to tell herself that her career had been like a hay fire, bright but incredibly short, let alone saying it out loud.

“I want to go to the back garden,” she blurted out.

Christopher looked at her for a moment, but he understood. 

He always did.

“You will find something else,” he murmured as he guided her. 

Grace glared at him. She would like to say that it was just her physical pain making her act that way, but in truth, his words irked her. 

“Not now,” he said in reply to her expression. “But… I’m sure you’ll find another thing besides tennis and get back on your feet.”

“Is this a joke?”

Christopher blushed. “No, sorry for the bad wording. I just think this injury won’t be the end of you.”

Grace stayed silent, despite she was already regretting her snappy reply. 

He helped her walk towards the back garden, where there was a little tennis court where they played with the family on Sundays.

Grace sat on an armchair on the side of the pitch, while Christopher disappeared into their house. She felt a vague sense of guilt at the idea of leaving him the responsibility of explaining her condition to his family, but she knew that she would fall apart if she had to do it herself.

She took her phone from her handbag and texted Christopher to bring her a gin tonic.

Isn’t it going to interfere with your medicines?

Christopher’s carefulness always made her feel cherished, but right now, she only felt a bolt of annoyance. He was right, of course, but she hated hearing it when she just needed to forget all her sorrows for a few hours.

Get me a coke then.

Grace regretted her own brisk tone as soon as she’d sent the message and immediately added, Please.

Christopher didn’t reply, but arrived ten minutes later with a glass of coke and a beer for himself. 

“I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting since we left the hospital,” she said when he sat next to her. “This is a bad situation, and I shouldn’t lash my frustrations out at you.”

He took her hand and kissed it. “I forgive you. I understand that you’re having a terrible time, but we’ll get through it together.”

Grace wondered, not for the first time, what she had possibly done in her life to deserve such a wonderful husband.

“I wish I shared your same optimism,” she breathed out. 

Whatever Christopher was going to reply, he was stopped by the arrival of Alex, his thirteen years old brother, in t-shirt, shorts and holding a racquet.

Christopher glanced at her before addressing his brother. “Alex, it’s not the time—”

“No, let him play,” Grace interrupted him. “Looking at him playing will distract me.”

“Are you sure?”

The fact he was worried about her being hurt even more by watching tennis reminded her why she loved him. 

“Yes,” she reassured him, then warned Alex, “If you send the ball to the neighbors’ garden, you’ll go talk to her yourself.”

“Yes. Thanks, Grace,” Alex said, and launched himself into a solo match.

Curiously, watching him didn’t turn off Grace’s brain. On the contrary: it set it on fire. 

She was so focused watching Alex’s moves that she barely noticed Christopher going back inside to get some snacks. Grace took a mental note of everything she saw, and after ten minutes, she yelled to attract Alex’s attention. When he looked at her, she told him, “Your posture is all over the place, you have to keep your back straighter and bend your knees more. Your swing should be more natural.”

Alex stared at her for a second, then did what she’d told him, and she could see the results immediately.

“Wow, thanks Grace! That was very helpful!”

Grace smiled, and not only for Alex’s progress. 

Christopher was right: her life wasn’t over just because she couldn’t play anymore. She could still go back to the court, but not as a player.

As a coach.

[zoyalannister]

Gracetopher week 2024

Day 5: First

@gracetopher-week

Read on Ao3

Since I already wrote in many fics the first meeting/”I love you”/kiss/time, I decided to go in a totally different and comedic direction.  Modern!AU where Christopher introduces for the first time his girlfriend Grace to the family, but the Six Nations is on and today's match is Wales vs England. 1032 words.

Grace was a bit nervous, but Christopher held her hand and kissed her on the cheek. 

“Don’t worry, my family will love you,” he said. 

She exhaled a shaky breath. 

She and Christopher had been dating for a few weeks, and now that they’d both finished the exams for their first semester of uni, they had decided it was time to meet his family. He talked about his family a lot, and she knew how close they were, and a little part of her couldn’t calm down the fear that they wouldn’t like her, despite Kit’s constant reassurances of the opposite. 

Christopher gave her a last kiss on the cheek and rang the doorbell. A few moments later, a woman opened the door. 

Grace stared at her: she was in her early forties, had black hair and blue eyes, and was wearing a Wales rugby jersey. 

The woman smiled and hugged her son as she said, “Kit, you came home just in time for the match.”

“Match?” he asked her, puzzled.

The woman let them in as she explained, “The Six Nations. It’s Wales versus England today.”

Christopher made a face that screamed he’d forgotten about it. It was entirely possible: they’d both been so immersed in their respective studies for their exams, neither of them had kept track of the sport events of the season or checked their social media. 

“She is Grace, my girlfriend,” he said, as if remembering why they’d gone to the Lightwoods’ in the first place.

The woman held out her hand to her. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Grace. I’m Cecily, Christopher’s mother.”

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Lightwood,” Grace replied. 

Cecily waved her hand. “No need to be so formal, you can call me by name.”

Grace and Christopher were led inside, but Grace had barely taken five steps when Cecily addressed her with, “So, Grace, are you supporting Wales or England?”

Before she could reply, a man got in the room. He was obviously Christopher’s father: he looked like an older version of him, except that he had green eyes and didn’t wear glasses. He was wearing an England rugby jersey and handed Christopher an identical one saying, “Kit! Here’s yours.”

Christopher hugged him before saying, “Dad, she is Grace, my girlfriend.”

“Gabriel Lightwood, nice to meet you.”

As they shook hands, Grace saw Kit quickly taking off his shirt to wear the white one his father had just given him.

“You’re supporting England, right?” Gabriel asked her.  

Grace glanced at Christopher for help. What was she supposed to say?

Was she supposed to pick England, like the two men? Or Wales, like his mother?

“Kit! You’re back!”

A little boy wearing Wales’s red jersey, not older than eight years old and with wild black hair and green eyes, ran towards them, and hugged Christopher tight.

“Hey, Alex, how are you?”

His little brother smiled. “I’m great! The match is starting, come here!”

Alex dragged Kit over to the living room, and Grace took her chance to avoid giving a reply to that million-pound question. 

While Christopher’s parents discussed what crisps and drinks to bring into the living room, Grace walked inside to find two women sitting on the sofa.

One looked so similar to Cecily, Grace only guessed she had to be Christopher’s sister. She kept her hair short and wasn’t wearing any jersey: instead, she had a Guns N’ Roses t-shirt. The girl next to her was Indian, and by the way she was holding the other woman’s hand, Grace guessed they were partners. Most importantly, she wasn’t wearing a jersey either.

“Grace, this is my sister Anna and her girlfriend Ari. You met Alex already, but he was too rude to introduce himself.”

“I’m not rude!” the child yelled. “I was just excited.”

Grace chuckled as she shook his hand before doing the same with Anna and Ari’s.

“Did Mom and Dad ask you to choose who you’re supporting?” Anna asked.

“Yes, they did,” Grace answered, then pointed at the other woman’s clothes and added, “Who are you supporting?”

Anna shrugged. “I support good sportsmanship.”

“It’s a fancy way to say that she changes sides according to who’s winning,” Christopher cut in. 

“I don’t support anyone,” Ari intervened. “We don’t have rugby in India, and I don’t understand the rules.”

Christopher rolled his eyes as he sat next to his sister and gestured at Grace to do the same before addressing Ari. “You’ve been living in London since you were a child. You just pretend not to understand rugby because Mom and Dad won’t doubt your word.”

Ari laughed at that. “It may be,” she said with a wink.

“Please, Ari, support Wales this time!” Alex exclaimed as he sat on the arm of the sofa next to the woman.

“I will see how the match goes.”

Grace felt a little twinge of envy looking at them. She’d never had a loving family, and she was a bit jealous of the ease with which Christopher, Anna, Ari and Alex talked to each other. 

But also…

Neutrality was an option.

When Cecily arrived, a few moments later, all the Lightwood siblings and Ari were lost in their talks about statistics, points and players, and so Grace got up to help Cecily put the soda and the packets of crisps on the coffee table. 

“Thanks, Grace.”

“No worries. Anyway, as for who I’m supporting, my family has never been into rugby and I wouldn’t know who to pick.”

Cecily just smiled at that answer. “Don’t worry, you’ll see that Wales is the best team when we crush England, and you’ll know who to support next time.”

“I love your confidence,” Gabriel Lightwood intervened, bringing more crisps and some bottles of beer on the table. “But you must know we are going to win.”

It turned into a full-on fight that involved the whole family. It wasn’t serious, but both the parents started listing the respective nation’s victories to each other, with their children chiming in and adding spice to the argument. 

Grace stayed out of it, but as the conversation unfolded, she smiled. 

For the first time, she finally felt at home.

[thevagabondexpress]

hear the night train passing (the sound somebody makes when they're getting away)

Two crystals. Two Shadowhunters. Two more stops.

For the second time in her life Grace was holding the keys to a bound Prince of Hell.

Take them to Cordelia Carstairs, Abram had said. She will know.

James and Cordelia were in New York. In America. All the way across the Pacific Ocean. Without a clear list of safe warlocks to turn to in Europe, they would have to make their way there the long way: to Ankara.

or, my submission for day four of @gracetopher-week. i saw "night __" as a prompt and my brain immediately filled it in as "night train" which brought to mind the bruce coburn song so have gracetopher on the run for day four of gracetopher week!

On a train. 1941.

Christopher was asleep. He sat with his cheek smushed against the window, his spectacles askew on his face, his greying hair a tangled mess. Grace sat down in the seat beside him and reached out, gently removing the glasses the best she could. Christopher startled awake anyway, hand shooting out to grab her wrist before he realized it was her, and not a Sighted German soldier after what they'd stolen.

Grace yanked her hand back in reflex before she remembered Christopher wouldn't hurt her. "Shh," she soothed. "It's only me."

Christopher relaxed. His lilac eyes were hollow with glowing exhaustion.

Grace tucked his glasses into his shirt pocket. She said, "Two more stops."

Two more stops and the train would be in Ankara and they could disappear. Grace forced herself not to look at the suitcase overhead, the dangerous cargo folded within.

Take them, Abram had made her promise, eyes wide with fear and determination. Take them and your beautiful husband and run and never look back.

Grace closed her eyes. Two ancient crystals. Two terrified Shadowhunters. Two more stops.

What do they hold? Christopher had asked. I want to know just what we're risking our lives for. And their reputations, and their ability to contact their family and friends, and their positions in the Clave. Opposing the Nazis was one thing. Joining the Downworld's resistance against them was another.

The keys to Zahak, said Abram. Take them to Cordelia Carstairs. She will know.

Two crystals. Two Shadowhunters. Two more stops.

For the second time in her life Grace was holding the keys to a bound Prince of Hell. No, not a Prince—A King, who had reigned for several years on this earth. He had been a man once, or a warlock, or a hero of the old kind, the story liked to change.

James and Cordelia were in New York. In America. All the way across the Pacific Ocean. Without a clear list of safe warlocks to turn to in Europe, they would have to make their way there the long way: to Ankara, where Fortune Verda Kaya could make a Portal to send them through.

"Grace?" Christopher's voice was very small.

"Yes?" said Grace, still focused on the middle distance.

"Could you hold me? Please? I can't stop thinking."

Grace nodded. She slipped her arms around Christopher and they leaned against each other, his hands gripping weakly at her elbow as they both slid off into an uneasy sleep.

Two more stops. Two more stops. Two more stops.

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Written for @gracetopher-week Day 4: Night.

“Here,” Kit said, handing a star-shaped earbob off to Grace. “It fell as you were ascending the ladder.” “Oh. I did not notice.” “Quite alright,” Christopher said. “Angel, I am glad that Shadowhunters do not exchange rings. We would both lose ours in a heartbeat.” “We would, at that,” Grace said. “But it is of no consequence now. We have the stars at our fingertips!” “That is true.” Kit smiled, his lavender eyes alight. “Do you wish to go first?” “It would be chivalrous of you to allow me the first glimpse,” Grace teased. - Or, Grace and Christopher travel to California to experience stars at the newly-opened Mount Wilson Observatory.

tsc taglist (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @staywildefairchild @sourlemons262 @belle-keys @drunkonimagination @alastaircarstairsismybff @vwritesaus @claritywithclary @luciehercndale @what-ho-christopher-put-in @life-through-the-eyes-of @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @bluewrite @lulusofis @oursoulstheyplay @tessherongraystairs @athearaej @faithfromanewperspective @vwritesaus @imabitchforjemcarstairs @emmalovesfitzloved @daisymydaisycarstairs @fangirlghost-19 @angeldaisies @celias @hanelizabeth @fangirlghost-19 @tiredandoptimistic

[thevagabondexpress]

sundial struggle

a submission for @gracetopher-week 2024 day three: teaching/learning. you can also find it on ao3 here.

"Struggling?" "Yes," Christopher admitted. "Yes, I am." He waved vaguely. "How does one break a sundial?" I took the prompt pretty loosely. Library of Alexandria AU.

Christopher frowned into the sundial. The dial itself was misaligned and it wasn't telling the time right and he had no idea how to fix it. How did one fix a sundial? Christopher wasn't prepared for this. He was a lecturer on chemistry. He was not a repairman.

"Struggling?"

Christopher spun, looking up. Grace hovered at the edge of the courtyard, draped in crisp white trimmed with dark blue, her white-gold hair bound back with dark cord. She was a gorgeous thing, a step-daughter Tatiana had brought back from the British Isles, escaped to Alexandria's Library and its attached academies when the heat turned up too high at home, with the help of a dashing young gentleman who'd never spoken to her again. Nobody else had cause to know that the man in question was Christopher's cousin, or why James had never spoken to Grace again either. James was currently on his own adventures in Caledonia with an Amazon and gods knew when he'd return.

"Yes," Christopher admitted. "Yes, I am." He waved vaguely. "How does one break a sundial?"

Grace shrugged, a fluid, confused motion. "It seems all one should have to do is pop the misaligned piece back into place."

"Yes," said Christopher, "if I could figure out how to do it without breaking something else, or worse, knocking the entire thing over."

"You need a force to push the other way," said Grace. "I'll lean against the base and you fix the dial."

"Thank you," said Christopher. "Let's try it."

Grace smiled at him and leaned against the sundial's base, bracing with her hands. Christopher took hold of the metal dial and pushed and this time he felt safe to put the proper force behind it and it snapped into place.

"There," said Grace, an exhale, stepping back in satisfaction. "And my womb didn't fall out and your fingers weren't cut off. I'll consider it a success." She propped her hands on her hips. "Just how does one break a sundial?"

Christopher buried his face in his hands. "A burning projectile may have escaped from my laboratory."

"Lugh's silver arm," Grace swore. "It's good no one was in the way."

"Lugh's silver arm?" Christopher repeated curiously.

"A Caledonian swear," said Grace. "A Caledonian god. A king in the Tribe of Danu." Her voice drifted, wistful, missing a home she might never return to.

"Would you like to go back there someday?" Christopher asked.

Grace looked over his shoulder, into nothing, into distance, into memory. She said, "I don't know. Maybe."

"I've never been that far North, or West. My mother came from there, my father from Hispania, but I was raised in Alexandria. Close to the Library. You know my Uncle teaches here."

"I am well aware."

"I always thought James was going to but he fell in love with an Amazon warrior and now he's the one haring off to Caledonia."

"Yes." Grace tilted her head. "You're aware that we were close, yes?"

"I'm aware, yes." Christopher looked at his feet. "I'm aware of everything that happened."

"And yet you still talk to me."

"Should I not? Should I not wish the opinion of one of the Library's best mathematicians?"

"I don't know." Grace took a deep breath. "I don't know. What do you wish my opinion on?"

"I don't know," said Christopher. "Many things. Perhaps we could get lunch together and I could ask you my questions. There's a place just down the street from the complex that makes excellent flatbread. I think I shall start with your thoughts about physics."

[zoyalannister]

Gracetopher week 2024

Day 4: Night _____

@gracetopher-week

Read on Ao3

Day 4: Night ____ (fill in the prompt, I chose Night Practice)

Another sport!AU. Grace somehow let Christopher persuade her that breaking into their college’s swimming pool for night practice was a good idea. 798 words.

It was a terrible idea, Grace told herself. 

How had she let Christopher persuade her to follow him as he climbed on the sports center gates was a mystery even to herself. 

Grace didn’t fall only because he helped her come down, and she then followed him as he took a key ring from a pocket of his gym bag. 

Christopher, besides being the most brilliant student of the Chemistry course, was also one of the best swimmers of the university team, and he was almost as devoted to the sport as he was to his studies.

(Specifying almost was necessary, since he had once told Grace that, for how much he loved both science and swimming, if he was forced to choose between the two, he’d choose science without hesitation).

“Kit, I don’t think we should—”

“Don’t worry,” he interrupted her. In the dim light, his eyes were almost purple, and his smile…

Grace ignored the sensation it caused to her chest. 

“My parents used to be in the swimming team back when they were here, I have access to the pool.”

Grace raised her eyebrows. “Do you have access to the pool at night?”

She couldn’t see him well in so little light, but she was sure Kit’s cheek had become redder. 

“Well, I have been very busy studying for finals, so I need to practice when I am free since the last competition is in ten days.”

Christopher opened the door and used the torch on his phone to find the switch to turn on the pool lights, and Grace followed him. She quickly closed the door behind herself and saw that Christopher had left the bag quite far from the border of the pool. 

“Why did you drag me here, too?” she asked as she walked towards him. Christopher took a stopwatch from his bag. “I need you to keep the time”—he smiled in a wicked way that didn’t belong to him, which made her laugh—“and to alert me if you hear someone coming.”

Grace smiled and took the stopwatch from him. “Go get changed, then.”

“No time to spare.”

Before Grace could ask him to clarify, he took off his clothes and revealed that  he was already wearing the university swimsuit under his jeans. He produced a swim hat from his bag, changed his glasses for goggles, and went to the platform.

As he stretched, Grace’s eyes glanced at how his tight swimsuit highlighted a certain feature of his body…

Oh, God, I’m a horrible friend. 

She cast her gaze away, her face burning in shame.

Christopher didn’t seem to have noticed it: he just continued his stretching exercises and then called her when he was done. 

“I need you to take the time from when I jump into the pool to when I come back here,” he told her. “Are you ready?”

Grace grabbed the stopwatch more firmly in her hand and said, “Ready.”

Christopher jumped into the pool as she started the time. 

They spent the next hour with Christopher swimming back and forth and her annotating his time in a notebook he’d stuffed in the external pocket of his bag. He commented on his own times with his arms resting at the border of the pool, and Grace asked him to try several styles, measured the times of those, and went over his performance with him again and again.

It was so good, she’d totally forgotten it was past midnight and they weren’t supposed to be in the swimming pool until she heard a noise.

“Kit, I heard something.”

Christopher climbed out of the pool, took off his swim hat and goggles, and dried himself off with the towel she’d thrown at him in a haste. Grace turned off the lights and they ran away before anyone could walk in on them.

They made a quick getaway in Christopher’s car, only stopping when they reached the parking lot of his dorm building. Christopher’s hair was still wet and wild, and he was only wearing his swimsuit and jacket.

“Oh wow, that was close,” he breathed out.

Grace looked at him, her eyes locking with his. In that moment, she realized something that she’d probably known for months, but had kept denying to herself.

She wanted to kiss him.

Christopher leaned into her, and she met his lips with hers. Her heart was racing and, for a terrible second, Grace feared he’d reject her; but Christopher, instead, reciprocated her passion.

“We should do it again,” he whispered.

“I hope you’re referring to the kiss and not the night training,” she replied with a nervous laugh.

He inched even closer to her. “Of course I mean the kiss.”

And he kissed her again, and again. 

She’d never want to stop. 

[zoyalannister]

Gracetopher week 2024

Day 3: Teaching/Learning

@gracetopher-week

Read on Ao3

It's a Modern!AU where Kit asks Grace to teach him something. I’m sorry, my bugged brain thought it was funny. 471 words.

Christopher breathed deeply to calm his nerves. He’d asked Grace to help him with this thing, and his girlfriend had accepted.

Sometimes, he thought he shouldn’t have waited so long, but he hadn’t wanted distractions through secondary school and university, and not even during his PhD. 

And now, at twenty-six, Christopher had no experience on the matter and felt incredibly nervous. 

Everyone he knew had done it at seventeen or eighteen, and he didn’t want to feel that nagging sensation of being behind his peers anymore.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine to mess up the first time,” Grace said. 

That didn’t help. She, unlike him, had started as soon as she was of age, and now she had a lot of experience he lacked.

“When did you do it for the first time?” Grace thought about it for a moment. “I think I was in Paris with Tatiana. But you know, it’s the other way around in France.”

Oh, fantastic. Grace had so much more experience than he thought.

“Yes, I know.”

Christopher focused his gaze in front of him to steel his nerves.

Almost everyone did it, and no one had that many problems.

In his mind, he repeated the theory he’d learnt in his book. He’d done the test just a few days ago: why, then, did he feel like he’d forgotten most of it?

“It’s something you get more with practice,” Grace said, guessing his thoughts at first glance as usual.

“Yes, I know. I’m just nervous.” She kissed him, and when they parted, she looked him straight in the eye. She, Grace, his girlfriend, would be the one teaching him, and that thought calmed him much more than he’d thought possible.

“I understand. I’m honored to be the first one showing you how it works.”

Christopher took a deep breath and grabbed the stick firmly, but he froze immediately. 

He felt Grace’s hand on his as she gently guided his movement.

“Are you ready to start?” Christopher nodded. He couldn’t back down now: he had to do it. 

“You have to go all in, all the way,” Grace told him. “And after that, you have to move very slowly and be very delicate.” She touched his face so he turned towards her. “And don’t worry if you can’t, it’s normal if you fail the first time.”

Slow and delicate, Christopher repeated to himself as he followed Grace’s instructions.

Slow and delicate, slow and delicate, slow and delicate…

There was a bang, and the car suddenly stopped as the engine went off.

Disappointed, Christopher lowered his forehead to the steering wheel. 

“I’m never getting my driving license.”

Grace kissed his cheek. 

“I told you it’s not easy to start a car the first time, especially with manual transmission,” she said affectionately. “But I’m here to teach you, aren’t I?”

[zoyalannister]

Gracetopher week 2024

Day 2: Christopher lives

@gracetopher-week

Read on Ao3

Thanks both to Tatiana’s terrible aim and Anna's quick decision-making, Christopher survived the battle against Belial. Five years later, he and Grace are working on a revolutionary invention that could change the lives of Shadowhunters forever. 1034 words.

Grace put down the stele and admired her job. The adamas forearm was a true work of art: it looked like an average man’s arm, even though it was made from the Shadowhunters’ very own angelic material, which allowed one to see the inner paths of copper wires that stretched all the way to the fingers.

All the junctions sported screws to allow movement; all over the arm, runes such as Opening, Closing, and Rotation provided the necessary magic to tie it all off. In theory, the electrical impulses from the wires had to activate each one of the runes at a time so that the hand, the wrist, and the arm would work exactly like their natural counterparts.

It was the best thing she and Christopher had ever invented, the perfect combination of angelic magic and mundane science.

It was hard, though, not to think about the circumstance that had rendered such an invention necessary.

Five years ago, Tatiana had hit Christopher in the forearm with a poisoned knife. Most likely, her intent had been to hit him at the shoulder, where the powerful venom would have spread at an alarming speed, but since she’d never held a weapon in her life… arm it was.

But, despite Tatiana’s terrible aim, the poison could have still made its way to Christopher’s heart if it hadn’t been for Anna’s quick thinking: she hadn’t hesitated a moment to cut off her brother’s arm to prevent the liquid from spreading. 

Since then, Christopher had learned to live without his right arm, with Grace’s and his family’s help, but she’d always seen him lost in his thoughts—more than usual, that was. He wasn’t exactly sad when he hugged her only with one arm, or when  he tried to grab something with his missing hand on instinct, or when he couldn’t lift anything that required using both hands—but Grace saw that expression, and she knew it meant Christopher’s mind was working. 

“What are you thinking about?” she’d asked him one day. 

He'd leaned over and kissed her. By then, they’d already started dating, but hadn’t made it official to everyone yet.

His violet eyes had sparkled with the burning passion for science she now knew so well. “I have a crazy idea.”

“Fire Messages were a crazy idea, and they made us win the war,” she’d replied. “I’m all up for your crazy ideas.”

They’d spent almost a whole year studying all the anatomy books they could put their hands on, and had planned the design for the next six months before starting to work on it. 

How Gabriel and Cecily had managed to persuade Charlotte Fairchild that they needed this much adamas, how the former Consul had been able to move all her strings to get them the material, was a mystery Grace didn’t want to sort out.

Since the moment they’d gotten the adamas, they’d worked like crazy, shaping and modeling the arm, careful to reproduce the neural network (or the closest thing they could have) with copper wires. 

Grace had done most of the practical work, due to the advantage of having two hands, with Christopher supervising and intervening when she was in difficulty.

And now, their revolutionary invention was ready.

“I think it’s time to test it,” Christopher said. 

Grace looked at him. He had a short beard covering his cheeks and chin, due to prioritizing the lab work over shaving, and he looked even more beautiful to her.

Grace reached out to give him a soft kiss on the lips. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure of our work.”

Grace helped him to put the adamas arm on and fit it over his stump, to which Christopher reacted with a pained noise and a flinch.

She froze.

“Are you alright?”

Christopher nodded. “Yes, it was just a moment. I feel fine now.”

Grace caressed the back of his hand—his real hand—and then fixed the arm with a leather strip. 

Christopher lifted the arm without any apparent problems. The weight was supposed to be similar to the regular limb of a twenty-one year old man, and she was glad to see that he could move it without any problem.

“I’m going to try to slowly rotate the wrist,” he said.

Grace grabbed her notebook and a pen to write down the results of the tests. The speed of torsion, the angle, the time of response…

If there was any torsion at all.

As soon as she was ready, Christopher’s eyes focused, and Grace almost screamed in excitement as she saw the Rotation rune on the wrist lighting up and the arm slowly turning on itself. 

“We’re doing it!” he yelled, sharing her same excitement.

Many questions were on her mind; despite the joy, they still needed data. “How was the time response?”

“Maybe one second, it almost felt like moving my other arm.”

Grace tried to contain her enthusiasm and focused on her notes. She wrote down everything, then told Christopher, “Are you ready for something more complex?”

He nodded. 

Christopher stared intensely at his new adamas arm, and several Closing runes on the knuckles shone as he closed the hand into a fist. 

“Oh, Raziel,” she whispered. “Open it.”

Christopher did it without hesitation, opening and closing his fist with ease. It was the best result they could hope for, and Grace eagerly wrote it down.

“Another test?” he prompted.

Grace grabbed a pencil and held it out to him. “Take it.”

Christopher moved his arm and grabbed the pencil, but it snapped in his grip.

“Sorry,” he said, slightly embarrassed. “I don’t feel the touch and I didn’t realize I was holding it too tight.” Grace kissed him on the cheek. “Don’t worry, this result is already extraordinary. We can change the lives of all the Shadowhunters who lost a limb fighting demons.”

Christopher looked at her and asked, “Will you tell me if I hold you too tight and hurt you?”

“Of course, why—”

For the first time, Christopher held her hips with both hands and kissed her deeply.

Their invention needed improvement, but they had time for that. Just like they had time for the rest of their lives.

Together.

[zoyalannister]

Gracetopher week 2024

Day 1: Free day

@gracetopher-week

Read on Ao3

AU where not only professional volleyball is co-ed, but also in the UK is as popular as football and rugby.  It's heavily inspired by The Sunshine Court. 1328 words.

Christopher’s car stopped in front of the sports hall, and for the first time, Grace saw the place where she would play for the next three seasons: the home of the London Lions. 

She followed Christopher as he opened the door with a set of keys, and they walked through the halls, where she glanced at the posters of various former players.

Grace knew the Lightwoods had basically built up the team from nothing, but nevertheless, she was impressed by the pictures of Gideon and Gabriel Lightwood, their statistics from twenty years ago shown below their smiling faces, and by Cecily Lightwood’s (or Cecily Herondale, seeing as she was still unmarried back then), whose record of scored points and aces was still unbeaten. 

In more recent years, Christopher, his sister Anna, and his cousin Thomas had been the new Lightwoods in the team; Grace knew that Christopher’s older cousins, Barbara and Eugenia, despite not playing the game, were deeply involved in the administrative part of the Lions.

(Grace was sure that one of the two sisters had written the contract she’d signed in a haste the day before).

“Do you want to see the pitch or the changing room first?”

Christopher’s voice brought her back to reality.

“The pitch,” she said, unflinching. 

He guided her through the corridors, and Grace held her breath as they walked to the pitch: it was the same brownish color of her old team’s floor, but at the center, split in two symmetrical halves by the net, there was the white roaring lion, the symbol of her new team. 

A sensation she couldn’t describe rose in Grace’s chest: Tatiana had made her hate the sport she used to enjoy, especially since it had kept her away from her adoptive mother—until that, too, had become a way for Tatiana to torment her with the excuse of pushing her to do her best. 

In a flash, she saw all the times Tatiana had beaten her because she hadn’t been fast enough, or hadn’t jumped high enough, or her spikes hadn’t been as strong or as precise as required.

“Are you okay?” Christopher asked her.

Grace blinked a couple of times and met his concerned gaze. “Yes, don’t worry.”

She’d met him not even twenty-four hours earlier, but Christopher seemed to read her clearly, as though he’d known her all her life. 

A few weeks ago, Grace had decided she’d had enough of Tatiana’s abuses and, being nineteen, had been free to sign with a professional team without her mother’s authorization.

She’d been following the London Lions for a few years, initially because Tatiana hated the guts out of her brothers’ team and Grace had been curious to find out why, but then because she’d become addicted to their game and she’d turned into a fan before she could even realize it.

So she’d had no qualms into sending an email to Cecily Lightwood, the CEO of the team, where she’d attached her statistics from all her university team championships (and some YouTube videos of her most spectacular actions) and asked if she could sign with the Lions for the next season.

(Grace had realized later that she’d been incredibly bold and entitled, but she had been desperate and maybe a little bit drunk when she’d drafted the email).

To her surprise, instead, three days later, she’d received an email from the administrative team with the contract for three seasons, without even asking her for a tryout. 

Grace had signed it and sent it back as quickly as possible, but somehow, Tatiana had found out and had kicked her out of her house. Grace had only been carrying her phone, her driving license and some pocket money, and she’d bought a train ticket for London and sent another email to Cecily Lightwood explaining her situation. Soon after, while sitting on the train that would take her away from Leeds, she’d received a text from an unknown number.

This is Anna Lightwood, the Lions’ captain. My brother has a spare room in his apartment, you can stay there until you find your own place. 

Grace hadn’t had the time to reply with her thanks that she’d received another text.

He’s picking you up from the station.

And there he’d been, waiting for her out of King’s Cross sitting on the boot of his car while talking on the phone, and he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen.

Of course, Grace had seen Christopher Lightwood on television, when she’d streamed the games on her iPad, sometimes in post-match interviews, but seeing him in person was totally different. He looked handsome in a way that cameras couldn’t really capture, and he’d introduced himself with a warm smile before inviting her into his car and his apartment. 

Grace had noticed that he was careful not to ask her why she’d come to London one month before the season started or why she had nowhere to go; he’d just explained to her that Thomas, his cousin, had just moved to Istanbul to play in Turkey for the upcoming championship, but he’d seemed to understand that something was off with her. 

He hadn’t pushed, though, and when she’d told him over breakfast that she wanted to see the sports hall, he’d accepted without qualms.

“You look pale,” Christopher said now. “There’s a vending machine next to the locker room—take some water and a snack.”

Grace, not trusting her own voice, just nodded and followed him. It was weird to have someone worrying over her, but in a way, that simple gesture warmed her heart.

She didn’t need either water or snacks, though, and when she saw the door that led to the lockers, she asked, “Can I see the locker room first?”

Christopher seemed a bit surprised by her request, but said, “Of course.”

He let her in, and Grace found herself in the room with benches, lockers and gear hanging in front of each one of the latter. 

The home jersey was golden, with numbers, logo and other details rendered in white. No, not white, Grace realized as she got closer to Christopher’s jersey, which had his last name and a 21 printed on the back: the details were of a very light silver that the camera couldn’t catch, which made it look white.

“Barbara told me you haven’t picked up a number yet,” Christopher said. “If you want, you can tell me now.”

Grace glanced at the other Lightwood jersey, the one belonging to Anna, with the number 10.

She knew that the Lions gave the numbers between nine and twelve to their strongest players, but Grace didn’t have the audacity to ask for those. 

“Which numbers are available?”

“Well…” Christopher seemed to think about it for a moment. “There’s one…”

If you’re not the number one you’re a failed athlete.

Tatiana’s voice made her flinch.

“No, not the number one.”

She stared at Christopher and thought he looked incredibly cute when he was focused. In an interview, he’d said why he hadn’t taken either twelve or eleven—back when Thomas was still in the team, he’d been nine—and he’d explained that he wanted to have his own number and not the ones people expected him to pick, and he’d chosen twenty-one because it was his father’s number reversed. 

Grace had liked his way of seeing numbers and their meaning, and who could advise her best?

“What do you suggest?” she asked him in an impulse. “Any lucky number?”

Christopher mulled it over for a while. “My parents say that five is their special number, but I don’t know if you’d like it.”

God only knew that she needed good luck, and, despite knowing him for less than a day, Grace liked the idea of having something connecting her to Christopher.

When she closed her eyes and imagined the Lions’ jersey with the name Blackthorn printed above a big 5, Grace couldn’t help but smile.

“Five it is, then.”

[gracetopher-week]

Gracetopher Week 2024:

Hello everyone! Sorry for the late post. I got some questions about whether we were doing it this year, well here we are! Here are our prompts! All forms of media are welcome for the week (Ex: Fanfic, fanart, aesthetics, playlists, HCs, etc.), we're just happy to see people celebrate Grace and Christopher. This year we're going to try prompts instead of different forms of content like we did the last two (2022), (2023) years. Please tag your posts #gracetopherweek 2024 and or #gracetopherweek. Here are the prompts!

Day 1: Free Day

As an apology for not posting the prompts pretty late and not giving everyone a lot of time to prepare. Have an open first day to get started <3

(Feel free to use prompts during this day, though.)

Day 2: Christopher Lives

I think we all know he deserved better. This week we're pretending he and Grace lived happily ever after post CoT.

Day 3: Teaching/Learning

Doesn't necessarily have to be a skill of any kind, they could also just be learning different things from one another, whether it's general knowledge or character growth of some kind.

Day 4: Night ________

Sort of a fill in the blank prompt. Some examples: Night patrol, nightmare/night terror, night time, night out, etc.

Day 5: First

They didn't get enough moments together. Give them some classics! First dance, first kiss, first date, first "I love you". If you're a smut writer you know what I'm going to say. Be creative! Lots of relationships have firsts, including friendships, which gracetopher has a great foundation for (you could say they have chemistry). Have fun with this one!

Day 6: Grief

Doesn't have to be Christopher, just to clarify. This can be interpreted as a hurt/comfort prompt as well. Be as angsty or un-angsty(?) as you want. Have fun!

Day 7: New Beginnings

After Chain of Thorns, there's so much opportunity for these two. There are so many ways they could have had a future together. They're both obviously quite new to relationships too, so don't be afraid to make that part of this prompt too. Moving in together, making a discovery of some sort, creating their first invention, or even getting married, etc. are some examples for this prompt if you're confused. Have fun!

Please tag us @gracetopher-week in your posts so we can reblog them here! And don't forget to tag #gracetopherweek 2024 and #gracetopherweek! All forms of content are allowed. We're so excited to see what you make. Feel free to leave any questions or comments in our ask box. See you all again on the tenth!

[gracetopher-week]

Hello everyone!! Important announcement! We haven't forgotten about Gracetopher week, but Gracetopher week was made a while back and since then schedules have changed significantly and there was absolutely no time to plan prior to the original dates for the week and we want to give everyone time to prepare! We'll be posting the prompts shortly, but please take a look at the blog bio for the new dates for Gracetopher week. Still in August, don't worry, just a bit later than usual. Thank you! So excited for this year!!

[gracetopher-week]

Hello, I want to ask you: will you still do the Gracetopher Week this year? No pressure, just pure curiosity.

Stay strong, stay delulu my fellow Gracetopher!

Yes, we are! It might be a little more lowkey this year but we will be hosting an event each day! :)

You as well dear! Thank you for asking.