I’ve gotten a few asks and messages asking where the Heronchild scenes are in Nothing But Shadows (a novella in Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy).
There’s a lot of them
As for Matthew Fairchild, James looked over at him only once or twice. After James had left him standing in the middle of the dining hall, Matthew had tossed his stupid blond head and chosen a very large table to sit at.
James looked over at Matthew, who was sitting on his bed telling a story to eight people who were sitting on the floor and gazing up at him worshipfully. He met Matthew’s eyes, trained in his and Thomas’s direction, and looked away.
“Maybe your fathers don’t tell you stories like mine does,” James said. “Maybe not everyone listens to stories like you do,” Matthew said from across the room. “Not everyone learns.” James glanced at him. It was an unexpectedly nice thing for Matthew, of all people, to say.
Matthew scythed him off at the knees again and James wound up flat on his back in the grass. Again. Matthew’s face came into view. He was laughing, as usual. “Why stop at three?” he asked. “I can stand around and beat you all day.” James hooked his staff behind Matthew’s ankles and tripped him up. He knew it was wrong, but in the moment he did not care. Matthew landed on the grass with a surprised “Oof!” which James found briefly satisfying. Once there, he seemed happy enough to lie in the grass. James found himself being regarded by one brown eye amid the greenery. “You know,” Matthew said slowly, “most people like me.”
Matthew glanced at him and smiled: it was The Smile, gradual and illuminating as sunrise, and James had the sinking feeling that he might not be immune after all.
“You could, um, be an actor,” James suggested. “When you talk everyone listens. Especially when you tell stories.” Also there was Matthew’s face, which would probably—go over well onstage or something.
[…]I was jealous of you first. I was jealous of everything about you, and I still am.” “Wait,” said Matthew. “Wait, wait, wait. You don’t like me because I am so very charming?” He threw his head back and laughed. He kept laughing. He laughed so much that he had to come and sit beside James on the step, and then he laughed some more. “Stop it, Matthew,” James grumbled. “Stop laughing. I am sharing my innermost feelings with you. This is very hurtful.” “I’ve been in a bad mood this whole time,” said Matthew. “You think I’m charming now? You have no idea.” James punched him in the arm. He could not help smiling. He saw Matthew noticing, and looking very pleased with himself.
“Oh, have you decided not to detest Matthew any longer?” Christopher asked. “I’m so glad. You were really hurting his feelings. Though we are not supposed to talk about that to you.” He gazed dreamily at the bread basket, as if it were a wonderful painting. “I forgot that.”
“Well,” said Matthew, and paused, “it’s possible,” he said, and paused again, “I may have been … slightly showing off? ‘Look, if you don’t want to be friends with me, everybody else does, and you are making a big mistake.’ I may have been doing that. Possibly.” “Is that over?” Thomas asked. “Thank the Angel.
Of all his new friends, though, he liked Matthew the best. Matthew always wanted to talk about the books James had read, or tell James a story as good as a book. He made obvious efforts to find James when James was not there, and obvious efforts to protect James when he was there. James did not have many nice things to write letters home about: he ended up writing letters that were full of Matthew.
(THIS ONE) “James looks like his father,” said Matthew unexpectedly, then narrowed his laughing dark eyes in James’s direction in a musing fashion. “Or he will, when he grows into his face and it stops being angles pointing in all different directions.” James slowly raised his open book to hide his face, but he was secretly pleased.
“Excellent, I will be partners with James,” said Matthew. “He reminds me of the nobility of the Shadowhunter way of life. He keeps me right. If I am parted from him I will become distracted by truth and beauty. I know I will.”
Matthew had come to say good-bye, after all. It did feel worthwhile to have stayed, after all, to have made a friend like this.
Matthew turned to James’s father and dramatically clasped his hand. “Oh, Mr. Herondale!” he said. “Please take me with you!”
“It’s Matthew, isn’t it?” Father asked. He tried to disengage his hand. Matthew clung to it with extreme determination. James smiled. He could have told Father about Matthew’s determination.
“Father, please,” James said in a quiet voice. “Mr. Herondale, please!” said Matthew. “We cannot be parted.” James braced himself for the explanation about truth and beauty, but instead Matthew said, with devastating simplicity: “We are going to be parabatai.”
“We don’t … have to be parabatai,” Matthew said, his voice quiet under the sound of the blast. “I said it to make your father take me with you, so I could execute my new plan, but we don’t … have to. I mean, unless you … maybe want to be.” James had thought he wanted a friend like himself, a parabatai who was shy and quiet and would enter in on James’s feelings about the terror of parties. Instead here was Matthew, who was the life and soul of every party, who made dreadful hairbrush decisions, who was unexpectedly and terribly kind. Who had tried to be his friend and kept trying, even though James did not know what trying to be a friend looked like. Who could see James, even when he was a shadow. “Yes,” James said simply. “What?” said Matthew, who always knew what to say. “I’d like that,” said James. He curled his hands, one around his father’s coat sleeve, and one around Matthew’s. He held on to them, all the way home.
bonus: Matthew, being my favourite little shit.
“Would you like me to magically strip you and put you in gear?” Mr. Fell asked. “In front of everybody?” “That would be a thrill for everybody, I’m sure,” said Matthew. Ragnor Fell wiggled his fingers, and green sparks spat from his fingertips. James was pleased to see Matthew actually take a step back. “Might be too thrilling for a Wednesday,” Matthew said. “I’ll go put on my gear then, shall I?”
I want to think you and every fanfiction writer (but mainly you cause yours are my favourites) for your smut: yesterday I gave my first blowjob ever and the guy couldn't believe it was my first time and asked how I knew what to do if not from experience. I didn't really tell him it was from reading so much fanfiction, but I'm telling you now, thank you and all writers :D