#besides his father (alastair) would have his hide

[reality-exodus]

The Last Hours of a Herondale

Ch.5 The ball

Pairing: Matthew Fairchild x Herondale reader Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: mentions of seizure, violence, angst, mention of alchohol and drugs, sexual content, sexual harassment ( these do not apply on every chapter but they are sen through out the story )

“Aiden… Good evening” I smiled at him faintly. Part of me regretted sending Matthew to Cordelia. Altruism is overrated at points like this one.

“Good evening Y/N, I saw Fairchild over your head, I thought I might come to your rescue.” He spoke up and I was so impressed at the constant delirium he was into. Thank god Ariadne was not his biological sister.

“Oh trust me there was no need” I maintained myself composed as he took my hand and brought to his lips. I smiled politely as he softly dragged me back to the dancefloor. I couldn’t deny.

“Perhaps tomorrow. You could come to meet my father, he would be delighted to meet you.” He suggested and smiled at me as we were waltzing around the ballroom.

“I am certain your father is very aware of my being. Besides, such meeting ought to be permitted by my family. And I believe they are rather busy right now. I am afraid this must be postpone.” I spoke up and kept my smile. My gaze scanned the room and I saw plenty of people speaking and dancing around me. I unexpectedly gazed Alastair Carstairs as Aiden was babbling.

“… So how do you like the Carstairs? I am sure you have heard about Elias, he is such a drunk. I am certain that he fairly is held in the Silent city.” He babbled and at the mention of the name Carstairs I tensed. “Excuse me, I just trust you so I express my thoughts rather carelessly.

“As a matter of fact us Herondales tend to adore the Carstairs and accept them as they are…” I started speaking as Aiden paused dancing.

“Ah then I am at the right place, May I still Y/N? I haven’t had the chance to catch up with her and it had been a year hasn’t it?” Alastair Carstairs commented.

“Fine by me” I spoke “We will talk later Aiden” I excused us as I changed partner for the second time. “Thank you, but how did you understand?” I asked.

“Well I saw that desperate scan to have an eyecontact. And you are also so bad at hiding boredom annoyance and such as.” Alastair explicated and looked at Aiden “I believe he was speaking to you about my father…” He spoke and I realized why he truly came and interrupted.

“Look Alastair. I know that Bridgestock isn’t only interesting at my charming smile. I do not know much about what has occurred with Elias, however even if I knew, be certain, that I would respond the same way.” I assured him. I was being wholeheartedly sincere with what I was saying. I disliked lying except if it was to prevent my parents from yelling at me or James. “I really meant that us Herondales tend to adore Carstairs.” I chimed lightly as I looked over and saw Grace and James waltzing.

“Well surly your twin has an odd way of showing.” Alastair commented and looked from James and Grace to Matthew and Cordelia. “But a Herondale saved a Carstairs yet again.” He commented.

“I like very few people of our kind that are not related to me by blood. You your mother and your sister are from those people Alastair. And despite of the Merry Thieves’ opinion I like you and frankly I can relate to many things. I am grumpy and moody all the time myself.” I added with an amused chuckle.

“Wow, that was pretty sincere indeed” Alastair spoke and a loud yell was heard as I felt a someone crush on us. I turned my head and saw Barbara collapsing right next to me, my glove caught on her earing and got off as I got her along with Oliver who carefully laid her down.

I kneeled next to her my hand automatically going to her neck to find a pulse. The feeling of my bear hand touching someone’s skin had my breath caught to my throat as I realized it late. “She- she has a pulse” I spoke and looked at Oliver. “She probably didn’t eat well” I tried to reason as I looked at him with an assuring smile.

“She needs air” Cordelia commented and looked at me. “Do you have a knife we need to cut the crochet, it is too tight.” She added and I nodded.

I stood raising my skirt to my knee, I pulled out a silver knife with a heron on its candle.

Anna arrived to the spot and looked at me and then Barbara, took the knife from my hand as I kneeled again next to her. “Let me.” She offered and brought with extreme gentleness Barbara’s body to her and gently cut off the crochet. I held Barbara’s face on the side with one hand that rested on her cheek as my other wiped the strands of hair from her face. Soon aunt Sophie was at the spot. I started feeling dysphoric as I only found out now that Barbara was awake.

“We need a stele. James?” Someone said, I think it was Thomas. I hadn’t noticed my brother’s arrival to the spot and I couldn’t be more grateful for that. I slowly turned at him. I must looked as bad as I felt. He immediately gave Thomas the stele and got my arms and pulled me up.

“Its happening” I informed him “Its going to be bad” I added and inhaled deeply as I felt that I was getting enough oxygen. There were very few times James was present when I was to have an episode. It was usually our father.

“Trust me I can see it” James informed me as his grip over me was getting tighter as I was starting to leave. All of a sudden I felt another pair of arms pulling my fully gloved arm above his shoulders. It was Math. Everything started going blank.

‘I looked to the bed next to me, it was Oliver, it was only a few moments until I saw people storming in and out. It was the infirmary of the institute and aunt Sophie was right next to me. I turned and looked at her she had tears in her eyes and stroked my face. I could see the fear and the love in her glare. She was aching more than I did at that point.

I was in pain. Stinging and penetrating pain, I needed to scream but no word would come out as suddenly my gaze froze. Aunt Sophie was crying, her woe was heartbreaking and She was screaming but I wasn’t moving, I wasn’t responding. I was trying to but I couldn’t. I started seeing her from  above, I was rising… And as it felt like I was flying almost to the ceiling I saw Barbara’s soulless body next on the bed…’

James Herondale

Matthew came to the other side of my twin hoping we would manage to get out of the ballroom before she could collapse. I was thinking plethora of stuff at that point like how we had together an episode, first me and after a few moments her. However, the dominating thought was what to do. I had been next to her when she had a heavy seizure only five times and none of them I actively assisted.

Before I could ask how she felt she collapsed, started shaking. Her arms and her legs shaking and convulsing, stretching and unstretching. Me and Matthew laid Y/N on the floor. “Hold her down, her head.” I exclaimed as I tried to stop her from injuring herself on the stone floor. I was above her body trying to hold her arms atleast

“I can’t” Matthew spoke as he moved above Y/N’s head and got her cheeks trying to  steady her. I turned to see her expression, her eyes were rolled back, her mouth was moving as if she wanted to speak, it was the vision I realized.

“Kneel and place her head between your knees it will help.” My father appeared and I couldn’t be more grateful as he got her arm. Matthew did as he was advised.

My glance was pinned on her face, it was only a few seconds later that the apples of her eyes were back, darting in terror as a groan escaped her lips as if she couldn’t breath. “Dad?” I thought for a moment it was my voice as I was seeking his reassurance as well, but it was Lucie standing above us with mother.

“Luce, its normal, can you tell me does she wear a crochet?” Our father spoke, his voice was incredibly calm as if his daughter was simply asleep next to us.

“No, she never wears” Lucie replied immediately, she was crying I didn’t need to look at her to know.

“Dad she struggles to breath” I exclaimed, I was panicking.

“She will, just keep her from injuring herself, it is almost over.” My dad spoke up “Matthew don’t be afraid keep her steadier.” He added and my gaze returned to my parabatai, he looked scared as he looked back at me. He was as terrified as me…

“She coughs blood!” Matthew exclaimed.

[melanielocke]

Always used to feel like there was something wrong with me

Sorry for the delay, but this is the Alastair&Matthew friendship fic my poll had promised. It is set sometime before the epilogue and has some spoilers for ChoT. Title is from Happy Loner by Marina. One of my favorite things about Matthew and Alastair's friendship in Chain of Thorns is that Alastair is just honest with Matthew, but in a sort of gentle way. Like, you can't have alcohol around, that's not going to work, but also, why not make it easier for yourself?

CW: discussions of mental illness and addiction

Alastair was surprised to hear the doorbell ring, he wasn’t expecting anyone. His mother was out for a walk with Zachary and he wasn’t expecting her back yet. Alastair would have joined them if it weren’t for an injury in his leg that was still healing. It might be Thomas, who had decided to take care of him after he’d gotten injured despite Alastair’s objections, but wasn’t he spending the day with Eugenia?

He limped to the door, wincing as he moved his leg just the wrong way. Demon attack, just a week ago during patrol. Demon activity in London had been normal ever since Belial’s defeat, but patrol remained and Alastair had gotten unlucky. It happened.

He opened the door to find Matthew Fairchild. He looked around to see if perhaps Thomas was hiding somewhere, but no, it was just Matthew, with Oscar beside him, on a leash.

‘I wasn’t expecting you,’ Alastair said.

‘I know,’ Matthew said cheerfully. ‘I heard from Tom that you were injured, so I figured Oscar and I would pay a visit. He’s missed you.’

‘Oscar is always welcome here,’ Alastair said, bending down to scratch the dog behind his ear.

Alastair had never been a pet person, he’d never had any growing up and didn’t think he wanted any. But now he was starting to think it might be nice to have dog. Alastair had always struggled with being liked, with most people he still half expected them to tell him he was still awful and they wanted nothing to do with him anymore. But dogs weren’t like that. Oscar seemed to like everyone, and Alastair’s early insistence to not like the dog back had only made Oscar more determined to win him over.

Now was not a good time to get a puppy, Zachary took up all their attention, but maybe in time Zachary would also like having a dog.

It had gotten warm enough to sit outside, so Alastair led Matthew into the garden. It would be nicer for Oscar there, who lay down at Alastair’s feet. Literally on top of his feet, that was, and Alastair could not imagine the dog was comfortable that way.

‘How is your injury?’ Matthew asked.

‘It’s healing,’ Alastair said. ‘Did Tom give you instructions?’

‘No. Usually, he’s the one who refuses to slow down when he’s sick or injured. He really could be a handful.’

‘I’ve noticed,’ Alastair said, remembering when Thomas had gotten injured after fighting a watcher, and how Alastair had to fight to keep him in the infirmary, resting.

Compared to that, he wasn’t so bad at taking care of himself, he told himself. He’d taken plenty of rest, stayed home when he could have gone out with Zachary.

‘I was actually wondering if you could give me some advice?’

Matthew’s posture was a bit more slumped than usual, his voice soft. He sounded vulnerable, and Alastair could guess what kind of question he meant to ask.

‘That depends on the matter you require advice on,’ Alastair said.

‘I’ve had some close calls lately,’ Matthew said. ‘I am trying to find ways to keep my mind off of… it. But sometimes it’s all I can think of. It helps that there’s no alcohol in my vicinity to drink.’

Alastair nodded, he was glad Matthew had taken his advice on that. His best chances trying to keep his father from drinking were usually when their was no alcohol in the house. Not that he’d had any control of that when he was young, his father bought what he wanted, and Alastair had never dared empty his father’s bottles out of a window. Doing that for Matthew had been satisfying.

‘I think alcohol is always going to be on your mind, to some extent,’ Alastair said. ‘Sometimes, I could talk my father out of drinking. He was nowhere near as motivated as you are, though. What you need is a plan, for when you feel like you can’t stop yourself. What that looks like for you, I don’t know.’

Alastair had done something similar, with help from Jem. They’d spoken every other week lately, focused on Alastair’s experience with his father mainly, and how it affected him still, and at some point they’d made a plan for whenever Alastair felt too overwhelmed. He still didn’t know exactly what was going on with him, why he kept reliving his past, but having such a plan made it bearable.

‘Have you ever spoken with Jem? Brother Zachariah, I mean.’

At the mention of that name, Matthew stiffened. Alastair didn’t understand why, he’d been under the impression Thomas and Matthew both viewed Jem as an uncle of sorts.

‘He’s been a great help to me,’ Alastair added. ‘I started speaking to him just after Leviathan attacked. I don’t think I could have helped you if I hadn’t. He is helping me make peace with past.’

Before speaking with Jem, he’d viewed Matthew as dangerous. He’d noticed Matthew’s alcoholism not long after arriving in London, and he’d believed Matthew another version of his father. Another threat he’d need to protect Cordelia from. It had taken time to learn that Matthew and his father were two very different people. That alcoholism was a sickness and Matthew was a vulnerable person who needed help. That Matthew had never meant to hurt Cordelia, and that he’d sent her away the moment it had mattered most, rather than let her take care of him. His father would never have done that.

‘Maybe I should give it a try,’ Matthew mused. ‘I never would have come this far if it weren’t for you. James and Christopher and Thomas are good friends, but they were also wildly optimistic. I was too. I had no idea I couldn’t stop until I tried. And then when Christopher came with his remedy for withdrawal, I figured after that I would be done. But you had a more realistic and honest outlook, because of you I knew what I’d gotten myself into and what I’d need to do to get myself out.’

Alastair nodded, he was glad for that. Thomas was wildly optimistic, he’d noticed that too. He and Thomas had spoken with Jem together, because Thomas needed to learn that he could not fix everything, and that some of the damage his father had caused might never quite heal. It was what it was, and Alastair had no choice but to accept that. There were awful days, days he had to force himself out of bed and through the motions like he was a puppet. But he was already doing so much better. He had good days, wonderful days spent with Thomas, or holding Zachary in his arms.

‘The best advice I can give you right now would be to speak with Jem,’ Alastair said. ‘I only have my experience, and it was mostly bad. What worked for my father might not work for you.’

‘Burdening other people with my problems is not what I had in mind,’ Matthew said. ‘But I’m not sure I can do it on my own.’

‘You have Oscar,’ Alastair offered. ‘But when you make a plan, I think it is good to involve your friends. They want to help.’

It was nothing at all like what Alastair had had to do for his father. Alastair had wanted nothing more than to help, at first, but he had been far too young for that burden and had taken far too much onto his shoulders. Alastair wasn’t yet sure how much he could help Matthew. He had the experience, he knew better than anyone what might help, but it also harmed him far more than it would for Thomas.

‘Perhaps,’ Matthew said. ‘Talking to Jem might be a good start. He knows about my situation anyway. I taught Oscar a new trick, do you want to see?’

@alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @life-through-the-eyes-of @astriefer @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @amchara @all-for-the-fanfiction @imsoftforthomastair @ddepressedbookworm @queenlilith43 @wagner-fell @cant-think-of-anything @laylax13s @tessherongraystairs @boredfangirl16 @artist-in-soul @beyondlifebeyonddeath @ikissedsmithparker

[casspurrjoybell-30]

Cry Me a River - Chapter 53 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

The Mating Party

I sat up in our bed, slightly disoriented as hushed whispers swept in through the crack of our opened balcony door.

I grew stone-like.

Amidst all the comings and goings during our party, some unwanted person must have sneaked in and decided to camp out on our balcony.

'Is the person planning on harming us?'

My body began to vibrate.

My hands reached for Alastair, shaking him in an attempt to wake him yet he remained deep asleep, unwavering.

My heart pounded against my chest as my eyes searched the room for something to defend myself with.

Yet, all I could find was a paperweight.

'It will have to do.'

I slowly lifted myself from the bed, creeping quietly across the room to not be heard as I grabbed the paperweight from Alastair's desk.

Though, once it was in my hand I wasn't sure what to do.

Should I wait for the person to came out from the balcony?

Should I initiate or retaliate?

After waiting a few minutes that felt more like hours, I took a slow couple steps to the balcony door, peeking through.

Yet, I couldn't see anyone.

'Is the person hiding behind the door? Is that why I can't see anything?'

I carefully pushed the door open.

Though, as a slight squeak resounded from the door, I jumped, nearly falling backward as I held the weight out in front of me.

As if it would protect me from the intruder.

Though, as I circled the balcony, there was no one there.

My brows scrunched together in confusion as pivoted on my heels, searching every part of the balcony.

Yet, again.

There no trace of anyone there.

I nearly jumped again when I heard the sound of hushed whispers.

'Where is it coming from?'

I dropped the paperweight to my side as I pressed my palms against the balcony walls to peer down.

I caught myself from gasping as my eyes locked on His Highness, standing right beside our balcony, whispering with a man wrapped in a black cloak that was covering his face.

I fell to the floor, in fear of being sighted as I held my palm to my face in shock.

'Who is he talking to?'

It seemed like far more than innocent socializing.

That was for certain.

It was then that I felt a sharp pain in my stomach.

Like a knife was lodging itself within me, twisting and turning as it wished. I blamed it on hunger, for I hadn't eaten much at the dinner.

My meal consisted of a glass of wine and cup of tea.

No wonder my stomach was crying out in pain.

I crawled to the balcony door, still afraid of being sighted snooping by Alastair's father or the mysterious man in the black cloak.

Something told me I wasn't going to be left off with a warning had they thought I heard their conversation.

I carefully closed the door behind me and lifted myself from the floor, brushing whatever dirt had gotten on my nightgown.

My stomach continued to pulse as a rubbed circled in it, hoping to ease the pain.

'I get it, I get it.' I repeated in my head as I hurried down to the kitchen.

I had expected none to be up and to quickly grab something from the kitchen but as I was met by frazzled maids running back and forth from the ballroom and back such a thought was proven wrong.

One maid sighted me on her journey to the kitchen and let out a slight gasp.

"Your Majesty, why are you up?"

And like that, all the maids stopped what they were doing to see me descending the stairs.

"I'm just a little hungry, is all," I tried for light laughter.

"Do you want me to get you something from the kitchen?" another maid asked.

"No, no. It's fine," I raised a hand.

"I can get it," I began to make my way to the kitchen.

"You shouldn't, Your Majesty," the maid commented.

"The kitchen is in a frenzy right now. If you need anything, it would be better for us to get it for you."

"Alright," I succumbed.

"A piece of bread and some water would be great."

She nodded just as four other maids scrambled after her.

"Wait," a big-chested maid called after the group of girl who stopped in place.

"You don't need five girls to get His Majesty such a simple order. You," she pointed at the maid who had just spoken to me.

"You can go. The rest of you stay and help set up for the ceremony tomorrow."

The four girls frowned but nodded anyway as they slumped back in the direction of the ballroom.

I suddenly felt guilty.

Here they were working themselves through the night for our ceremony while I did nothing.

Surely I was being selfish.

The maid returned moments later with the bread and water in hand, handing it to me with a smile.

"Thank you," I breathed as I took a bite of the bread.

She was about to leave as I stopped her.

She rose a brow quizzically.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked.

She seemed even more puzzled.

"To help, I mean. With the preparation."

Her eyes widened as what I was intending dawned on her.

"Your Majesty," she gasped, seeming utterly horrified.

"We would never put a royal to work."

"But it's Alastair and my mating ceremony. Surely I'm to partake in it."

"And that you will. By being there tomorrow."

I opened my mouth to protest but she wouldn't allow it.

"You must be tired. You've just woken up. You're still disoriented."

"I'm fine."

She sighed.

"If there's something you truly want to do. Go to sleep. We can't possibly have the mating ceremony tomorrow if you're to pass out in the middle of it."

I sighed, giving up.

"Very well," I managed as I turned and went back up the stairs to Alastair and I's shared room.

I opened the door to find Alastair still sound asleep.

A small smile played on my lips.

'Of course.'

I finished the bread and chugged down the cup of water, placing the empty glass on our night table before crawling back into bed.

As if sensing me, his body immediately turned to press against me, arms encircling my waist and head resting on my shoulder.

I hadn't even gotten a chance to make myself comfortable and already he had wrapped himself around me, making it unable for me to move even an inch.

I let out a puffed breath.

Oh well.

I pressed back against his chest as my nose brushed against his arm.

His arm twitched momentarily against me as a soft breath brushed across my neck.

His scent wafted through my nostrils, filling my senses with his calming smell.

It reminded me of exotic fruit and cinnamon, sweet yet with a hint of bitterness.

A perfect blend.

And with that thought and his intoxicating scent filling my very pores, the darkness overtook me.

[books-i-finished-reading]

(21)

Chain of Iron - Cassandra Clare

( The last hours - book 2/3 )

27th February 2023

"... it's usually either terribly delightful or delightfully terrible,"

"..., 'He's indeed very dashing, but you must not forget your own heroism.'..."

"This is part of being a husband," said Will... "Might I give you a bit of marital advice?" "Would wild horses be able to stop you?" said James. ... "That depends," said Will. "Do you currently have access to any wild horses?" James had to smile. "Not at the moment." "Then no," said Will. "So here it is: always tell Cordelia what you feel." He looked James in the eye. "You may fear what will happen if you speak your heart. You may wish to hide things because you fear hurting others. But secrets have a way of eating at relationships, Jamie. At love, at friendship-they undermine and destroy them until in the end you find you are bitterly alone with the secrets you kept."

"Well, you know what they say," said James. "All the best men are either married or Silent Brothers."

... Magnus Bane levels of magnificent,...

... just as it was torment to love, it might be a torment to be loved.

"... the question is never whether you know Magnus Bane. The question is always whether Magnus Bane knows you."

It felt such a relief, not to be facing it all alone.

All one had to do was pretend,... and everyone else would fall into line pretending along with you.

"So much of managing in society is keeping one's chin up,"... "And disregarding the ignorant things people say."

"... Love is a prison, and I have no desire for shackles. They would clash with my outfit."

Tessa was smiling up at Will as she tucked her hands into fur - lined gloves; he bent to brush her hair from her forehead. James cleared his throat loudly. Cordelia glanced up at him. " Otherwise they'd start kissing," he said matter - of - factly. Believe me, I know."

The skinny footman.... "Demon!" he shouted hoarsely. "Demon!" ... Will was looking at Tessa, his blue eyes wide. "Can I ?" Tessa smiled indulgently, as if Will had asked for a second helping of cake. "Oh, go ahead." Will made a whooping sound... he leaped down the stairs and raced off, chasing the wheel - demon. James and Tessa were both smiling. ... James grinned. "No. That demon and my father are old friends. Or rather, old enemies, but it amounts to the same thing. It likes to chase him around after parties." ... As they rolled off into the night, they passed Will, brandishing a seraph blade as he happily chased the wheel - demon through the Wentworths' rose garden.

...given the limits placed on women by the world, they often had no choice but to seek assistance from men.

"... When you give people your heart, you deliver them the opportunity to hurt you,..."

...even in a crowd, you might be alone.

" love is complicated," ... "... it lies beside anger and hatred, because only those we truly love can truly disappoint us."

"... plagued with dark thoughts."

... starved to death among the plenty.

"... Hope is a prison, truth the key that unlocks it."

"Just wound me, then," James said to Cordelia. "Stab me in the leg if you need to. The left one, if you can-I'm fonder of my right."

"We are special, unusual, unique people. That means that we must be bold and proud, but also careful. Don't think you have so much to prove that it makes you foolish..."

"Because I was following him," Alastair said, ... "I've been following Thomas for days...,and I wanted to make sure he was safe. Cordelia is fond of him." "You're the one who's been following me?" Thomas said, astonished. "You knew someone was following you?" Matthew demanded. "And you didn't say anything? Thomas!"

"I didn't see you-you were this boy, following me around at school, and then I met you in Paris and you'd grown up and turned into Michaelangelo's David. I thought you were beautiful..."

Will's mouth twitched almost imperceptibly. "Do you have any other secrets, Thomas Lightwood?" ... "Question retracted," Will said, and the dragging weight of the Sword lightened immediately. Will gave Thomas a hard look and, after a moment, said intently, "Is Gideon aware that he still owes me twenty pounds?" "Yes," said Thomas, without being able to stop himself, "but he is pretending not to remember." "I knew it!" cried Will.

There was little point being stubborn when you lived forever. You learned to bend rather than break.

...an almost physical longing to be moving, traveling, free of constraint, with the wind at her back...

"... It is natural to believe that you can outrun your miseries. ... But the truth is that sorrow is fleet and loyal. It will always follow you."

"You cannot save people who do not want to be saved," said Magnus. "You can only stand by their side and hope that when they wake and realize they need saving, you will be there to help them."

[diabolimeservavit666]

If it is true that Belatrix and Voldemort were a thing... What the fuck, people?!

Who the fuck do you think is his mother? Lilith, you dipshits! You just put a son with his mother! I don't care that he's well over six thousand years old, it's still paedopholic incest. THAT'S HIS MOTHER! Lilith may have her (sexual) needs but I seriously doubt that that includes fucking her own son. Get the Hell out of pornhub, you sickos!

Besides, if you must be a fucked up little shit, at least, get your facts right. He is not the most powerful Demon. That's his parents, Lilith and Alastair. I swear, the stupidity of this Fandom- Argh....

[cuebooks]

A Night of the Lonely

Main Character: Alastair Carstairs

Series: No, but two parts separated by: {}{}{}{}{}

Word count: 2,542

Reading time: 3-5 minutes

Any questions? Ask them in a reblog or in the comments and I’ll happily answer them

Hope you enjoy!

The cold winds caused Alastair’s skin to prickle and flush red with the bitter temperatures. He had taken these roads every night for the past week to find his father in the rundown bar. Sipping whatever drink infatuated him that night.

Alastair wanted to head home and see if Elias could make it alone. If he could survive in this cold without Alastair. But Cordelia was tucked in her bed. Her soft snores echoing from her bedroom to his ears. He and Sona had finally read her to sleep, getting her just calm enough to slip into it. She was waiting for Elias. So was Maman. They wanted to see him in the morning.

So he continued on. Letting his cheeks get whipped by the winds. His hands shivering in the pockets of his maroon coat. His favorite coat that Cordelia picked out for him. It showed off his complexion and his beautiful eyes, his Maman had said. He always wore it during these treks to remind himself that someone cared for him. It was his armor against his father.

He walked into the rundown bar, a mix of discolored woods, a lively hearth, and soft chattering from the small crowd filling it. He looked up to the bartender that was maybe a foot or more taller than him. Her hair tied back into a plait allowed him to see her face. “He’s over there, Alastair. Be careful; he’s had more than usual tonight. I took the last drink away from him, and he….”

“It’s okay. Thank you, Anira. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

Alastair stared up at her. Her features soft and shaded from the light of the flames. “I can pay, I promise. Besides, I don’t want you to get in trouble again.”

The look in her eyes told him she wasn’t going to say anything, so instead, he handed her a few bills that were more than enough. “Plus tip.” He grinned, showing his missing tooth on the left side of his mouth. He had lost it two days before, an achievement that made him proud; his mother smile, and Cordelia gag. She only offered a smile and said thank you.

As she walked away, he heard her mumble something along the lines of ‘he shouldn’t have to.’ He didn’t ask for her to repeat it. He’d heard it before. He knew he shouldn’t have to fill a role other than big brother and child, but he did. What was he supposed to do? Let his mother and sister handle Elias? No. At least it only hurt him. At least he could protect someone.

He found his father on the same stool as yesterday. His hair a mess, and his jacket off, strewn somewhere. His beard had started to grow back, and Alastair made a mental note to help him shave later.

His feet made small sounds against the wood, his weight not enough to make much noise. He placed a hand on his father’s, and Elias looked at him and smiled. “Esfandiyār!” He slurred, and Alastair wanted to step back. But he didn’t. Maman and Cordelia, he repeated in his head. He did this for them. For their happiness. Besides, Elias wasn’t as bad as he could have been. He seemed happier than he had earlier in the day.

“Come on. I want you to read me a bedtime story. Like you used to.” His voice was soft and warm, mimicking the way his mother spoke when she was reading them bedtime stories or in her children’s blanket forts.

“You’re old enough to read on your own. Let me finish this.” Elias said, staring into the bottom of his glass filled with a tinted brown liquid.

“Cordelia wants you to read to her.” Alastair tried again; usually, her name helped catch his attention more than his own. He didn’t know if it was because she was younger, his little daughter with her bright smile, or if he favored her. Maybe it was simply because she wasn’t the child in front of him. Elias set down the glass at her name, and turned— falling off his stool— and headed for the door. Alastair righted the stool, thanked the bartender, and left. His short legs falling behind.

Elias started to wander down the street aimlessly as if he didn’t know where he had come from. “This way,” Alastair waved him over, and Elias straightened his back. The cold wind righting him. Or alerting him. “Did you know brother Zachariah has a meeting in town soon? I could summon him if…” Elias only gave him a disapproving glare. Elias did everything to keep Alastair and Cordelia away from Jem. Maybe because he had left Jem. Maybe Jem— Zachariah, Alastair corrected himself, knew that their father wasn’t alright.

Elias told Alastair stories about the silent brothers— how they crept into your mind and tore into you and corrupted your sanity. Alastair knew it wasn’t true, but the seeds had already been planted, and the vines only continued to grow. But still, Zachariah was family. Alastair always asked the angel to protect him when he heard of his travels. He recalled the kind stories he heard of him, hoping one day to carry the Carstairs name half as well as he did. Kindness, open-mindedness, and honesty, he thought. That’s what makes Zachariah amazing, along with his never-ending love and strength. Never-ending love Alastair remembered. Love the man in front of me.

So with love in his fragile heart, he slowed down and held his father’s hand. “I don’t need your help. I can make it home just fine. I’m not you,” Elias grumbled and pulled his hand away from Alastair’s, and stalked ahead down the wrong street.

Another piece of his heart broke off. He wondered how many were left. How much more could his father break his heart?

Alastair looked at his father ahead, “I only wanted to hold your hand,” he whispered. The cold wind whistling over his quiet words.

The door unlocked, and Alastair held it open for his father.

Elias walked in and stumbled a bit to a table pressed against a foyer wall, but it was barely noticeable if it hadn’t been Alastair who was watching. His father was good at hiding when he drank too much; of course, he always pushed his own limits. But Alastair knew him too well. Watched it happen too often. He had to. It’s how he knew when to pull Cordelia and Maman from him and distracted them when Elias went too far. Like always, he fixed himself a drink, and Alastair went to fetch water to refill the liquor that had been poured.

The only footfall was from Alastair’s tiny feet. He couldn’t hide their sound. He was too tired, too— he should have been in bed hours ago.

He went to the couch and found his father asleep. Snoring softly like Cordelia did. He smiled a little at the reminder that Elias was a father to Cordelia; people could tell— she looked like him and Maman. Alastair had always been happy he garnered his looks from his mother’s side— at least, that’s what Maman had always said.

Alastair slowly moved to sit on the floor by his father’s hand and pried the glass from his grip, and returned the glass to the table. He took the water he collected and poured it into the alcohol bottle along with the remaining liquor from the short glass. Filling the bottle so no one would notice the sunken level.

Alastair pulled a blanket from the closet and carried it to the couch, laying it on the floor and pulling Elias off the couch carefully. A small thud of his father’s body to the blanket made Alastair look around to make sure Cordelia hadn’t woken up. He pulled the corners of the blanket off the floor and tugged. Tugged the blanket into the guest room, through the halls, and past the stairs.

Alastair eventually got him on the bed. The covers pulled to his father’s feet.

Alastair had finally untied his father’s shoes and placed them under the bed. Undoing his shirt next, spraying a scent to cover up the sour smell his father radiated from the night before. Alastair knew you didn’t smell drunk until the next day when you started to sweat it out. He sighed— he hated that he knew that.

He changed Elias’s pants next. His mother hated when people slept in items that had been worn outside to bed— the distinct smell of dirt, she passed the disdain onto Alastair.

He set down a glass bowl filled with water. And slowly grabbed a razor and shaving soap. Dabbing Elias’s face with a washcloth wet with warm water. Elias only groaned.

Alastair gently lathered the soap onto his face. Shaving where his father preferred. Gentle and with the grain. Never nicked or cut. Perfect like it had to be. And wiped the rest off with the cloth.

Alastair’s hands were tired as he shakily poured the water out as he was tired and barely tall enough to see over the counter to the bathroom sink.

He reset the bowl under the sink—the razor on the side of it, next to the shaving soap.

When he returned to the bedroom he placed the covers over his father. “Night, baba. Sleep well and have only good dreams.” He crawled back off the bed, careful to close the door behind him quietly. He left the water on the nightstand and moved back to the couch. He picked up the bottle of alcohol and placed it back where it belonged. The sun hadn’t started to rise, but as he moved to the steps, he saw the moon passed halfway across the sky. He wished there was a rune to transport him instantly to his room, under his soft blankets.

The stairs were quiet underfoot. But something stopped him in the halls— Cordelia.

Cordelia stepped out from her door and looked at Alastair.

“Layla? What’s wrong?” He asked, moving beside her.

“I’m thirsty, Ali.” She whimpered as she rubbed her eyes. Her hair was falling out of the braid their mother had styled.

“Come on, Layla.” He offered her his hands, and she jumped to him, giggling lightly as he picked her up. Her small frame was easy to hold for him. As he walked to her bed, she asked him, “may we play ‘save the castle’ tomorrow? You always play a great knight. Always so protective and kind.” She giggled as she struggled to say the words coherently at her young age. Their mother taught them big words, working with their speech every day like she had when she learned English. She was determined to make them perfectly fluent in Farsi and English, among a few other languages.

Alastair tucked her back in. “I’ll get you some water, and of course, we can play ‘save the castle’ tomorrow, but you have to sleep.” She nodded softly as she recrawled under her sheets and smiled at him. He slipped out of her room, saying he’d be right back.

He didn’t want to make her wait, so he went to his room, where he had a few glasses of water for Layla. She always did this. Sometimes knocking on his door for help. His hair was a darker red than hers for now. He knew it would turn black soon, and he was excited about it. He would look more like his mother and his mother’s parents— something his mother told him to be proud about. He hoped he would always be proud to be Persian.

He placed the glass on the nightstand. “There you go, Layla, be careful; it’s only a glass. There is no lid.” She smiled at him and grabbed the glass. She was slowly drinking the water. Then carefully placed it back.

“Thank you, dadash.” She cuddled back under her blankets, and he kissed her forehead like their mother always did. He sang her a short lullaby in Farsi. His voice carrying around the room, and her eyelids became heavy.

“Sleep tight, Layla.” He let go of her hand.

“Sleep tight, Ali!” She whispered.

He closed her door again and passed his mother’s a few doors down, and checked on her. Her deep sleep let his heart settle a bit more. And he moved on to a dark room, where he lit a candle. His father’s study. He opened a book and looked at the latest news of silent brothers. His father had some connections, and Alastair had written to them and asked about Zachariah. He knew if his father found out, he’d threaten to kill Jem, but Alastair couldn’t help it. Jem was a Carstairs. He was family. He read over the latest news. Jem had just gone off to London again for William Herondale, claiming that Gabriel had demon pox. He shook his head and laughed softly.

Mr. Herondale had the dedication he had to admit. But Jem had made it there, safe. He smiled, happy Jem was okay. He put the book away and pulled out another piece of paper— to write a letter to Mr. Herondale. Asking, just like his father would have, when Cordelia could see Lucie again. Cordelia missed her and Lucie’s family. Alastair had to admit he missed them too. He always laughed and felt happy in London. Not the place but the people that surrounded him. He admitted that he also liked how the Herondales and Mrs. Gray were buffers between his father and his family. Cordelia had been asking, and he could tell Maman wanted to get out of the city. So he wrote. Over and over— perfecting his handwriting, his diction, his grammar. Making everything perfect.

He placed it in an envelope and left it for Raisa. She would send it off in the morning. He scrambled off the chair. Lowering his feet off one at a time since they couldn’t reach the floor while sitting yet.

After doing some of his father’s work, he left the office, and the sun had started to rise. He huffed softly and frowned but shook his head and moved toward his room. He could get a few hours before he had to wake up and help Raisa get breakfast ready.

Maybe tomorrow, his heart will heal, and his father will help put it back together— not destroy it. But he knew better than to give himself false hope. He knew better than to trust the man that was weak. That had put the weight of the family on Alastair’s shoulders instead of holding it himself.

He pulled the covers over himself. His maman, sister, and father were all tucked away by him, and yet he sat in the dark room. Alone. No light. Wishing for hope.

But he knew better.

Just one more day, he said. Like he had for the past several months.

The shadowhunter academy, he thought. Just make it there, and you’ll be okay, he whispered into the dark.

He hummed himself a lullaby his mother taught him, and when he finished, he drifted off to sleep. His tired bones and aching heart settling into the mattress. Accepting the dark.

Tag List: @itsjusta-j-really @magigingercal @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1

(Let me know if you want to be added or taken off, please)

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

you're not living in this world alone

i wrote this in one sitting and i'm sorry i don't really know what the point is i was just frustrated lmao, the song title is from "enjoy your life" by marina which is what i'm manifesting for COT. i don't think there are any triggers beyond what you would expect: mentions of bullying and elias' shitty parenting

Fanfiction Masterlist | AO3

“And how would you know where Alastair was yesterday afternoon?” Matthew mused.

Thomas exhaled. The truth was a long time coming. “Because I was with him. Alastair and I are friends.”

“Friends? After everything he’s done? You can forgive him so easily?”

“It’s been years since school, Matthew. He’s grown and changed since then, just as you and I have. I have forgiven him, and I ask that you respect that, even if you choose not to.”

“Respect that? Thomas, how could I-” He moved closer and lowered his voice as if that would effectively prevent Cordelia from hearing him, despite her sitting mere feet away. “I don’t know what he said to you, but you don’t owe him anything just because he helped you with the whole serial killer business. Listen, Thomas, you’re very kind, and Alastair… Well, I know what type of person Alastair is, and he’s the kind that understands well how to take advantage of kindness. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Thomas could see Cordelia straining to stop herself from reacting. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“And you do?”

“I know more than you, continuing to reduce him to the horrible nonsense he said over four years ago.”

Matthew flinched. “Horrible nonsense? That’s what you’d call the things he said about my parents, about your parents, the things that made your mother cry?”

Thomas bit back involuntary tears. He knew how those words had hurt his family. His intention was never to reduce the gravity of them. “Don’t you dare use my own words against me! What about the things you said, Matthew?”

Matthew crossed his arms. “I have not a clue what you’re talking about. Whatever he told you were lies, I’m sure-”

“Did you forget that I was there that day? I’d nearly forgotten because it was so long ago, but I remember. I was trying to help Alastair because he was in a very bad way. Clive had just died. I know that the prank affected you, too, maybe even more so, but Alastair said that the prank wasn’t his idea, and I believe him. Clive was Alastair’s bully long before he was any of ours, and I don’t blame Alastair for fearing his own safety and going along with his stupid, dangerous plan. At the end of the day, it’s just not something you need to blame someone for. Alastair learned his lesson in the worst way possible. Someone died.

“I could tell that the other boys’ parents coming to the school in the aftermath of it all was upsetting him because he knew that Elias would never come to his rescue. You can jest all you’d like, Matthew, about how if he was your son, you wouldn’t care about him either, but it’s never going to be funny.”

A stillness fell on the room, a look of guilt creeping over James’ face, a look of panic having set in on Matthew’s shortly after Thomas began speaking. Cordelia stood up abruptly. “Excuse me?” She turned to Matthew. “Tell me that isn’t true.”

“Never to his face! It was just a joke. I didn’t mean it-”

“Is that supposed to make it better? All those times that you acted as if were some heroic feat for me to love him… Now I’m not sure if they were jokes or if you genuinely believe he’s less deserving of love than you or I. All this time my brother suffered in silence, he shielded me from it all so that I would never have to know what kind of person my father really was, he sacrificed his own well-being for mine, meanwhile… you all were here, making jokes about it.”

Thomas expected Cordelia to be angry, and she was, on some level. Her expression was haunted, however, her eyes holding even more guilt than Matthew’s. He realized, suddenly, what she must be thinking: How dare they discuss in passing something she never realized herself? How could Thomas and his friends see it so clearly when she could not? Thomas wanted to tell her that Alastair didn’t try to hide it from them, not in the way that he hid it from her, that he’s learned from his parents that in many cases you it’s more difficult to see the bad in those you love, your heart always searching for the good, but James began to speak instead.

“Daisy-” James started.

“No,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to hear it. Thomas, finish.”

“I- What?” he stammered, nearly forgetting how the conversation began. His heart was racing; he shouldn’t have said so much, he knew. It would only cause more pain. He simply needed all of this nonsense about Alastair to stop, and he did not know how besides telling the truth.

“What happened that day at the Academy,” she prompted.

“Right. He… he was in a bad way, because of Clive’s death and because of his father. He told me to leave him alone, but I didn’t because I thought that I could help. I… I thought that he shouldn’t be alone. Now I wish that I had gone, because Matthew went looking for me. He found me with Alastair and started insulting him. He made fun of his hair, which I know sounds silly, but it wasn’t, was it? That’s why he changed it,” Thomas realized as he spoke. “So that he would- so he wouldn’t look Persian. Matthew could tell that it bothered him so much, that’s why he continued to say it.”

Thomas sighed as he continued. Alastair should be the one saying all of this, but he would never, nor would Matthew ever hear it. “Matthew asked him if no one cared about him enough to tell him that he looked silly, not his friends or his father. He told him that the prank was entirely his fault, that it was his fault Clive was dead. And then Alastair asked me to leave. I assume that’s when Alastair said the things he did, and I’m assuming that’s where he got the bruise I saw on his face later.”

“And Matthew placed Alastair’s belongings in the wing that Christopher blew up,” James offered.

“Sorry,” Christopher chimed in, though no one was much concerned about him or his actions that day.

“What? Was I meant to not retaliate after he said those things to me?” Matthew’s eyes narrowed at them.

Thomas was exasperated. “Of course that’s not what I’m saying! I’m saying that you need to stop pretending like you haven’t said and done things to Alastair that were just as terrible as what he’s said to you!”

“Are you serious?” Matthew asked. He looked to James for a defense, but none came.

“This entire time you’ve acted as if the whole ordeal was one-sided,” Cordelia said. “Like you were just some child helpless against my brother’s cruel words, but that was never the case, was it?”

Matthew didn’t respond.

“I need some time to think,” she said finally, walking quickly out of the tavern without waiting for a response.

Matthew turned back to Thomas. “Is this how it’s going to be now?”

“What do you mean? Me, not letting you mercilessly take out your own problems on someone who’s been trying to make amends, someone who has been through far enough? I suppose so. It’s up to you, Matthew. As I said before, you don’t need to forgive him, but I have. You are my friend, but so is he. He doesn’t have a problem with that. Do you?”

Matthew finally resigned himself. “No,” he said quietly.

Thomas knew this was only the beginning. Cordelia was almost certainly on her way to confront her brother, and soon this would be an even larger discussion. There were apologies and amends that still needed to be made. Even more, Thomas knew that Matthew’s issues with Alastair ran deeper than his actual dislike for the man, but he knew that allowing him to continue to take his own guilt and self-hatred out on Alastair would only continue to make life more difficult for all of them. Both Alastair and Matthew deserved to be free of it. Once Matthew was free of this nonsense with Alastair, Thomas knew that the real work towards true freedom would begin. And once Alastair was free of it… Thomas could only hope for what would come next.

Thanks for reading! Tagging my usual suspects (lmk to be added/removed): @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @zosiaenrique @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @jem-nasium @fortheloveofthecarstairs

[merry-thieves]

Alastair and the Merry Thieves  being friendly toward each other...(in CoI)

I hope I found all the important scenes!

““I have tried to apologize. and to change,” Alastair said, and even through the door Cordelia could hear his voice shake. “How can I make amends for my past when no one will let me?” When James replied, there was real kindness in his voice. “You must give people time, Alastair,” he said. “We are none of us perfect, and no one expects perfection. But when you have hurt people, you must allow them their anger. Otherwise it will only become another thing you have tried to take away.” Alastair seemed to hesitate. “James,” he said. “Does he-””

“...and even told Alastair that his hair looked nice.”

“She’d had no idea James knew any Persian beyond a few words for food, “thank you,” and “goodbye.” Even Alastair was staring at him with a mixture of surprise and respect.”

““You told me before that Alastair kept your father’s condition from you during your childhood. That you never knew about it.” “That’s true.” “I suppose I never realized until tonight what a great effort that must have taken. It is not an easy thing to hide. And not an easy thing to confront someone about it, if you fear they have - such an illness.””

““Bloody hell,” said Alastair. “I hope James sent him packing with a flea in his ear.” “Good for James, which are words I never thought I would speak during my lifetime.” “James will understand that.””

So, James is the first of the Merry Thieves, what we know of, to be (sort of) genuinely friendly to Alastair

it’s not a friendship but James starts to respect Alastair for what he did for Cordelia all these years

in turn Alastair also respects James and actually calls him by his first name and not “Herondale” any longer

““That was the first decent thing Alastair ever did in his life. And to think I was here to see it.””

Matthew still can’t really stand Alastair but he’ll admit to Cordelia that Alastair is not always a terrible person 

“Thomas cleared his throat. His hazel eyes were steady as he said, “I came to tell you that I’m sorry about you father. I really am.””

Thomas starting to think about Alastair’s feelings again ;)

“Matthew sat down with a thump. Thomas stared at Alastair with a dazed expression. Gideon looked pleased, if not a little bit baffled by every else’s stunned expressions. “Er - what?” said Christopher - speaking for them all, James felt.”

I don’t know, I just love how Alastair surprised everyone 

also, Alastair protecting Thomas but I don’t think that he had platonic reasons 

“Alastair kissed Cordelia’s forehead. As he did, he closed his eyes, and James felt the strange sense that he was getting a rare glimpse at the intensity of Alastair’s true feelings.”

James seeing the real Alastair :)

““I know you don’t care particularly what happens to Alastair, but I do.” She hadn’t meant she words to come out quite so pugnaciously. After a moment, James said, “Daisy, what Alastair did was quite brave. Not in the least because he did it for someone he knows dislikes him.” “it was rather selfless,” said  Lucie. “Honestly, we do care what happens to Alastair.” “We do?” Christopher sighed. “I feel as if I can never quite keep up.”

So, we have James caring for Alastair’s fate

and we see that Christopher isn’t against liking Alastair but he will only do so if the others can forgive Alastair

which probably means that he has no personal grievances with Alastair (Christopher is simply perfect <3)

I tried not to include any romantic scenes between Thomas and Alastair but rather scenes with them actually speaking with each other

“Alastair looked amused. “Never before have I ever heard such a concise statement of the ludicrous philosophy with which you and your school friends go through the world, running toward danger,” he said.”

““My point,” Thomas went on, an edge to his voice, “is that I don’t think you believe the rude things you say. And I don’t understand why you say them. It doesn’t make any sense. it’s as if you want to drive everyone away.” He paused. “Why were you so awful to us in school? We never did anything to you.””

““Then you lot arrived, a bunch of boys from famous families, too well brought up to understand at first what went on far from home. Expecting the world would embrace you. That you would be treated well. As I never had been.” Alastair pushed back a lock of hair with a shaking hand. “ I suppose I hated you because you were happy.””

“But they had spoken more truthfully to each other in the last few minutes than they had in their entire lives.”

I think we can safely assume that Thomas likes Alastair and that Alastair likes Thomas after the Sanctuary

Alastair finally told one of the Merry Thieves why he did what he did and can tell Thomas that he sees his errors

Yet, I’m not sure if Thomas has actually forgiven Alastair or just tries to repress his memories of the Academy 

“Alastair looked dismayed; Thomas, who was used to his uncle’s ways, shrugged. “You’ll get used to it,” he said to Alastair. “The more alarming the situation, the more frivolous my uncle’s demeanor becomes.””

Thomas talking to Alastair in a friendly way in “public”

““Do you want some seraph blades?” Thomas was about to protest that he’s already taken several when he realized  Christopher wasn’t talking to him. he was talking to Alastair, who seemed to have remained at Thomas’s side.” “Alastair nodded his thanks and took the weapons. He headed to the front doors while Thomas was still fastening his jacket. Christopher followed -” 

“Thomas exchanged a quick glance with the others. He had no intention of being kept back so he could stand at a window with a witch light. If the Institute was being attacked, he wanted to be out there, defending it. It was Alastair who moved first. He started down the steps, Christopher and Thomas on his heels. Thomas coughed as the air thickened around them, suffused with the rank,  damp smell of salt, fish and rotting seaweed. As they reached the bottom of the steps, Thomas’s boots came down in freezing water. He could hear Christopher exclaiming about scientific impossibilities. “Well, it might be impossible,” said Alastair, rather reasonably,“ but it’s happening.”” 

“He sloshed farther into the courtyard, through the ankle-deep water, Christopher and Alastair nearby.”  

“Christopher shouted hoarsely and ran toward his father as shilling-size drops of scarlet blood pattered down around him. Thomas scrambled to his feet and dashed after Christopher, hurling himself at the massive tentacle. He plunged his seraph blade into the rubbery treen-black flesh, over and over, dimly aware that beside him, Alastair Carstairs was doing the same.” 

“Alastair clambered onto a pile of rubble, spear in hand, turning to help Thomas up after him.”

Probably one of the best parts in the book: Alastair, Thomas and Christopher fighting together

Christopher noticing that Thomas and Alastair are seemingly on good terms and immediately being friendly to him

“Thomas had taken Cordelia aside; James heard him say something about the battle, and the name Alastair, and he saw Cordelia brighten. So Alastair was alright; James realized he was relieved about it, and not just for Cordelia’s sake. Interesting.”

James starts to actually care about Alastair’s well-being, interesting indeed James

I’m starting to sense a new and fifth member of the Merry Thieves

““Alastair,” Matthew said.” “Stuff good terms,” said Matthew. “Alastair, Cordelia assures me that you have a heart. She says you’re different than you were at school. The boy I knew at school. The boy I knew at school wouldn’t visit my brother, just to spite me. Don’t make your sister a liar; she’s a better person than you are, and if she believes in you, you should try to be someone she can believe in. I know I do.””

Not exactly a friendly conversation but Matthew actually called him “Alastair”

Though, I’m not sure what to think of what he said after that; it’s a mix of acknowledgement that Alastair can be a good person and a threat

““Alastair!” he called, again, and Alastair turned, a look of surprise crossing his face. Alastair said something to his cousin, then beckoned to Thomas as Je mood some distance away, offering them a semblance of privacy. Alastair looked at Thomas inquiringly. Thomas, who had realized almost immediately that he had no idea what to say, shifted from one foot to another. “You’re all right?” he said eventually. “I didn’t get to ask you, after the fight.””

Thomas caring about Alastair’s well-being ;)

“We cannot pretend forever,” said Alastair. “eventually the truth must be faced. All of your friends hate me, Thomas, and with good reason.”

I wanted to end with this quote since it shows what Alastair thinks the Merry Thieves think about him

in reality: Thomas is in love with Alastair (but he definitely should face his own inner demons before starting a relationship with Alastair)

Christopher seems perfectly willing to forgive Alastair and begin a friendship with him when his friends also forgive Alastair

James cares about Alastair and respects him -> possible friendship on the horizon

So, everyone basically forgave him except Matthew 

Matthew and Alastair did make progress but also not really

What did you think about this whole thing? Be free to tell me if I missed some important quote and if you would add anything to my comments!

Also, should I do something similar like this again? I was thing maybe a Gracetopher or Thomastair compilation?

@thegreatests @my-lady-of-roses @foxglove-airmid @blackasmysoul 

[astriefer]

Let Me Kiss Your Bleedings Goodbye / Look Around And See How Much You Are Loved

Summary: Alastair just wants to listen to music in his room, but the world won't have it.

Word count: 5718

Warnings: alcohol, implied mental abuse, manipulation, toxic relationships, cursing, mentioned alcoholism, neglect, negative thoughts.

@littlx-songbxrd that one is for your birthday! You chose angst the other day so I just rolled with it-

Happy birthday!! You're an amazing, creative,talented and such a special friend! I'm glad I got to meet you ^-^

All Alastair asked for was to listen to music on his phone and mind his own business. But of course, the fates weren't happy unless Alastair has had a shitty day.

Cordelia knocked on his door politely. "Alastair?"

It was Saturday, so she had no reason to bother him. Lunch had already been served, and she was about to go out with her friends. So why come bother him now?

He made no move to unlock the door, and his annoying little sister repeated, "Alastair!" 

She started to slam her fists at the door like some sort of a madwoman, and Alastair groaned and tore himself from his bed. "What?" he hissed as his bedroom door flew wide open.

"Mâmân wants you downstairs," Cordelia answered, backing away slightly. If she heeded Alastairs's pissed mood, good. She interrupted in the middle of his favorite song. The call of reason would say it was because they were almost nose to nose, and she was repulsed of his closeness as any other sibling would, but he liked the first option better.

"And that you couldn't tell me through the door because?" he snarled, and Cordelia rolled her eyes. He glanced at her and noticed what she wore - one of her favorites clothes Lucie picked up for her a few months ago. He arched a perfect eyebrow at his sister."Is there some special occasion?"

Cordelia's cheeks flushed red, and she decisively didn't meet his eyes. "It's nothing. Just going out with some-- That's none of your business. You're so irking. Oof."

She exchanged to the annoyed-sibling-defense-system mid-sentence. It was Alastair's turn to roll his eyes so he didn't waste it. "Whatever. Go play dolls with Lucie." Closing the door behind him, he ambled down the staircase to the ground floor, ignoring his sister's protest. 

He entered the drawing-room, which he found deserted. All that laid there were a few magazines Cordelia left on the table and an empty cup of coffee. He didn't stall to wonder who besides him drank coffee in the house since his mother was pregnant - and it was unhealthy for the baby - and Cordelia didn't like it. He headed to the dining room, finding his mother seated on one of the dinner table's seats. In front of her, seemingly a pristine-white unopened letter.

"Dearling," Sona smiled at her son, the light not reaching her eyes. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he answered. He perched on the chair next to hers and took one of the pastries Risa brought the previous day that laid in a basket. She would occasionally check on Sona and them. Their aunt had assisted them in any possible way was able to in the past few months. And even before that, she volunteered to do things Alastair wished she wouldn't. She once contacted James Herondale, Cordelia's boyfriend, to give him  the talk . It was hilarious as much as it was terrifying because while Risa picked fundamental English words, she had him by the arm to help her translate. And Holly Lord in the sky, he couldn't look James in the face for a month.

Sona just studied him for a few moments, before her features softened. "You always so self-reliant." she shook her head. "I'm sorry. You don't need your mother to nag you."

Alastair inclined toward her, squinting. "Mom, I never said that."

"You seem peeved at me," she adjusted her deep green roosari - it matched the wide yellow and green dress she wore - before resting her eyes on the letter. "I would think it has something to do with puberty if I didn't have a second teenager in the house."

"I'm not angry at you." Alastair scoffed.

"Alright," Sona said.

"Are Cordelia and I in a competition of who is the worst teenager? Well - at least I'm on the lead. Cordelia should level up her game."

"Dear, it's not it," Sona lifted both her hands, like in a plea, before she dropped them on the table again. Alastair noted her eyes wandered around the room - deviated from how she usually behaved - and suspected he was going to be apprised of some news.

Brows furrowed, he asked, "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Well-" she rubbed at her eyes, and Alastair noticed - not for the first time - the dark circles around his mother's eyes. Does he keep you awake at night? He wished to ask in worse days, to see if it hurt her as much as it hurt him. Or is he haunting you with nightmares?

Alastair long knew the figure Elias is in Cordelia and Sona's dreams is of some immaculate hero. One with kind eyes, a guiding beacon, a loving man. In their dreams, he would outstretch a comforting hand and still be young and caring. He's the best version of himself, a father and a husband that loves them. He is also the man that dwelled in his most horrifying nightmares  - A drunk, nothing more. He was swigging vodka by the bar, with cold eyes and tousled white hair. This version of his father, he knew, would call him a brat, would complain about his mother pestering him to visit rehab. His father would hug his bottle and glance at him as if he was a nuisance to get rid of,  and he would close his eyes and wish to be elsewhere. But he's small again, and just wants his father to leave the bottle to hug him goodnight, tucked safely under the blankets. But his father wouldn't come.

Was it foolish his heart still stung whenever he came across this truth?

She cut the pleasantries and readied herself. "Your father's lawyer declared he wouldn't waive the trial," Sona conceded, her shoulders sagged. His mother laid a protective hand on her belly, where Alastair's sibling has been growing in her womb for the past few months. "A letter was dispatched."

It was all it had to take to ruin his day. He barely had the restraint to not leap on feet and scream at the cursed photo of his father, hung on one of the walls. Before it was all revealed, before it exploded in their face, and far before Cordelia became aware of their father's afflict, they used to do it often. To talk about what they would do next. How to protect Cordelia, how to help Elias, how to hide the appalling secret of their family their best. Now they did it for an entirely different reason.

Up to a few months ago, they were still a picture of a family in a broken frame. When the court exonerated Elias from any blame, they reunited and returned to posture like they always had been. Act, because that is all they could do. However, upon Elias's trial, Cordelia discovered the truth. Alastair was so exhausted from hiding it, he didn't perceive it until he let the lie collapse. He had blamed himself, he still did, but it changed nothing from the fact Cordelia knew about their father now.

She knew, and she was livid. At Alastair, at their mother and father, at the world. After all, she lived a lie. Who could have blamed her?

It was that day he confessed to her in a shaken voice the utter truth and let the wall between them succumb and burn to ashes. When he looked her in the eyes then, he saw the light in her eyes dimming, reality striking, the way he desires it never would. All those years he kept her safe from Elias were in vain. Although he received his sister back into his life, there was little Alastair could do but blame himself for shattering the delicate reality they threaded around her, the needless pain he caused her. She needed to comprehend, he told himself, what was behind the mask her father put in front of the world. 

But if he never wanted to tell her, did it still count?

And his mother. She looked stiff, if not a bit tired. She held herself straight and proud, yet it was useless. Because what could she do? What either of them could do?

"He accuses me of Parental Alienation," Sona went on, caressing her belly delicately. She peeked at the letter again, and Alastair did as well. Now he realized the sign on the letter, and the fact it seemed unopened but in fact was. "The court is checking out at his claims."

Alastair exhaled through the nose, rocking his leg in rage. "That's nonsense. He's irresponsible alcoholism that can't take care of himself. He was tipsy on the day of the trial! Any feeling we have toward him, it's his own making." Throughout the very beginning of sending the Divorce Complaint to court, Elias had refused to accept he was divorcing. Alastair was awfully aware his father wanted custody over them, and he fought with all his unmighty power to prevent it. When he imagined his younger siblings suffering a fraction of his father's attitude, his nerves set on fire. He was aware his mother fought teeth and nails to proceed in this divorce even without this additional claim.

And Alastair was even more aware they barely had had the money to pay for this. 

"What does he want?" Alastair growled. "He knows we don't have that money! He doesn't have the money to pay for this prosecution either!" His father, being put in jail, fired from his job, and wasting their money on wine, probably couldn't even provide Child Support.

"I thought it was going so well," Sona returned his stare, kind and calm. The giving sign she was upset was that rustling sound her roosari made when she fixed it restlessly.

"And Cordelia?" he made to quiet himself on the spot. He spoke in something similar to a whisper. "Bloody hell, she's upstairs. How can we tell her?"

"Language," she warned, then reached and rested her hand on his comfortingly. "She already knows."

He whipped his head in her direction. His mother didn't bat an eyelash. He managed only to let a strangled "What?" escape his mouth. He couldn't wound his mind around it. The father Cordelia looked up to betrayed her, over and over again.

His mother closed her eyes. Maybe she couldn't look at his desperate, fumed face any longer. "She was the one to fetch the letter from the post." Alastair held himself from swearing again and rose to his feet. It's good his mother didn't look at him - he wasn't sure he could look at her either. He was trembling with agitation, his vision red.

"He can't do that. He can't- get to win. Not after all the pain we've been through because of him. That's not fair. That's not fair." He was breathing hard.

"He wouldn't. Alastair, dear, look at me."

Her words were veracious, so was her voice. He couldn't manage himself to do as she said.

"Joonam-"

"I'm going for a walk." He declared strongly, hastily. "I need to chill out. Go and rest, Mother. You shouldn't work yourself out."

And with that, he took his leave. He ignored his mother calling him from behind. He brought no chattel but himself and whatever he bore that instant as he closed the door behind him and rushed down the street to disappear among the many passersby of London. Before even thinking about it, his phone was out, and he typed feverishly and pressed send without waiting to reread his text. He tucked his phone back into his trouser's pocket and took a deep breath.

His father wouldn't desist from haunting him, no matter how much he prayed it to come to an end. When his mother announced she wants a divorce, he - not lacking guilt - felt glad. Each day home was a misery. His mother was confined to bed, his father trailed the streets as if he didn't return from rehab just a month before. And this life was a cage he longed to escape, to set free from the crushing weight on his heart. 

His father-

He came to a halt in the middle of the street, letting his head fall all the way back with closed eyes. He wanted to punch a wall or lash out at someone. When he talked with Jem the other day, his cousin told him bottling things inside would only result in a breakdown. He recommended he contact a person he trusted when it all felt too much for Alastair to bear.

Perhaps he should...

No. he shook as head, trying to toss this idea into an imaginary dump bin. There's no need. A nice, solitary stroll is a splendid solution. Alastair needn't anyone to look at his back worriedly like some ailing lost kitten. He didn't need it. He can be fine if he simply composed himself.

He let his legs carry him mindlessly, losing himself in his thoughts. He walked, and walked, and walked. It was a great aid to clear his mind. Even in a crowded London street in the afternoon, he felt the tight cloud of thoughts loosening around his mind. Not for long, however. 

He walked near a club - a club he knew very well, but not because of his father. And in the entrance stood a freckled figure, with silken ginger hair and piercing green eyes.

The sight of his ex-boyfriend was enough to startle Alastair out of his thought. They locked eyes, and Alastair nearly lost his footing. Charles blurted something to whomever he was talking to and advanced toward the dark-haired boy. Alastair felt himself go stiff as if he prepared for a hit.  Swiftly, he considered turning around and flee, and just as he was about to put this thought into effect, he felt a hand seizing his forearm. While Collecting his confidence, he turned to give Charles a blank glare.  

"Alastair." greeted the older boy. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business," Why did his voice sound hoarse? "Let go of me," Alastair demanded.

Charles's grip on his dark skin did not weaken. It felt warm even though there had been a layer of cloth between them. Alastair attempted to break free, however Charles pressed his hand harder, not enabling Alastair to move. "Come."

And so Alastair was led by his redhead ex-partner to an alley, hidden from any of Charles's companions. Alastair had the sudden urge to laugh - still so furtive. Still so abashed. Charles shoved him into the alley, blocking his way out with his body. "Alastair. I haven't seen you in a long time."

However mad he felt, his voice came out calm. Cold. Indifferent. Like he practiced in front of a mirror when he was small. "That was the point of breaking up with you," he retorted evenly.

Charles ignored his remark. "You haven't answered any of my texts, nor my calls. I ought to speak with you."

A lump rose in his throat. "I can't fathom anything to be said to matter."

He dug his nails in his palm, then understood he'd been doing it and forced himself to relax. Charles had no authority over him. He couldn't reach him now. Yet, it felt far away when Charles studied him like a very interesting political certificate. He hesitated before lifting his hand to touch Alastair's cheek tenderly. Alastair, in turn, backed away. Which was a difficult talk considering Charles still held his hand around his forearm.

"Unhand me," Alastair almost spat. He felt his own shield build up. "Do you want any of your colleagues to see you so close to a man?" The dark-eyed boy knew it would work. Charles always aspired to appear pivotal, even when it was clearly pretentious of his side. Charles's grip loosened him and Alastair hastily put distance between them. Charles gave him a look - one Alastair could only describe as wistful.

"Had I known what I did wrong to make you stop caring for me, I would have made sure to keep you closer to me," Charles said softly.

At first, it sounded almost sweet. Almost. Rather rapidly it turned disgusting as the words sank. Keep you closer, toughen the chains, tell lies to a love-famished soul.

He felt fire spreading in his stomach. Not the good sort of fire - but the kind that consumes everything it touches, that destroys and demolishes and injures.  "You didn't know?" Alastair's voice quivered as he spoke, barely tamed anger in every syllable. "Shucks, so what could tell? What could tell you did something wrong when I told you I was upset you were with Ariadne? And later on, when you went and pushed your tongue into Grace's mouth in front of my eyes to make everyone believe you're straight? Or perhaps that whenever I expressed any feeling that wasn't gratitude you grace me with your presence, you said I'm overreacting? "

Charles straightened. "I wasn't bad to you. I tried to give you everything I could."

"Damnit, Charles, not today," Alastair whirled in his place, his words hot and sharp. "That's not on you to decide if you were bad or good to me! You have no right to decide for me. You gave me what you thought would be enough so I won't talk, and I was a boy desperate to be loved." He exhaled slowly. "So no, Charles. You weren't good for me at all."  

"You wanted me to out myself for you when I wasn't ready?"

He was never going to be ready, Alastair thought. "If you think I was upset with you because you weren't out, you don't know me at all." A mirthless laugh slipped Alastair's lips. Did Charles even listen to him? 

"Don't say that." Charles objected. "I know you better than anyone else. You know that too." he huffed and loosened his tie. "No, that's not it. Do you not love me anymore?"

It was ridiculous. "No, Charles, I don't." The smell hit his nostrils, and the realization dawned on him. Charles's mouth stank from Alcohol, despite not smelling it on his clothes at all.

Ah.

"You're drunk," Alastair condemned.  It was almost an accusation, spoke so offhandedly. But he truly didn't care enough for it to be an accusation.

"I drank only a drink or two." Charles dismissed, and he looked so ugly at that moment, Alastair wanted to flee from his presence. "If you didn't want me, don't blame me for why this relationship broke apart. I try to make things right."

It was comedic to watch Charles exculpate himself and put the blame on Alastair, had it been another day. Now, it only pissed Alastair furthermore.

"Stay away from me," his words sounded like acid in his ears. "I am not fond of drunks. Or ex-boyfriends. And you seem to be both."

Charles made a comical face, one in another day Alasair might laugh at. Distantly, he realized now why Cordelia and Sona were so reluctant to break him the news. When it came to this case, and to his father, Alastair was always on his toes. He is still too easily riled by the words and deeds of others sometimes. When he had to tell the court about his deeds revolving around his father - the late-night walks outside to pubs, the frequent help; the fear someone would find out - he poured all of his being to try and help his family. Defend them from Elias. But seemingly it had no use, and all Alastair was left with is his contempt with nowhere to pour it into. It slipped from the cracks of his armor like Lava.

He passed Charles, who no longer blocked the alley, and Charles perked up and said, "We haven't finished talking."

His phone buzzed repeatedly, signaling Kamala had received his previous message. "We are done," Alastair growled, loud. These green eyes widened, and he opened his mouth. To shush him, most probably. However, blood boiled in his ears and his words demanded to be heard. "Unassuming, quiet, dark," Alastair snapped. "A bloody puppet, that's what you want. And I refuse to be your puppet any longer. What is in my words unclear to you? Stay. Away. Should I spell it for you?"

Charles glanced at the sides nervously, looking for leery eyes even though there were none. Alastair couldn't believe it. Charles still tried to subdue him. It made him smirk ruthlessly at the older boy. "But you can't take no for an answer, do you? You think you deserve everything."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," The redhead scoffed, squinting at him. "If you're angry at something, don't take it on me."

"Oh, I will do whatever I want to do," His grin widened viciously." All I do is tell you exactly what I think of you. Does it hurt your white-man-superiority complex?" he mocked with a false sad nod. "Too bad."

His phone started to ring, and he could already tell it was Kamala, worried about what he told her. She was straightforward when she told him once to never hesitate to call her if her help is required. In some of his worst days, it was his best friend that contributed to preventing him from knocking his head in a wall. Moreover, Alastair told Kamala everything about the lawsuit and what they'd been through - the Carstairs saw her like family - and she was nothing but understanding. It took every gram of control in Alastair's body to clasp his phone and say, "I must go."

He didn't wait for an answer.

His phone went quiet in his hand. He pressed a few buttons and gripped the phone close to his ear.

After the fourth ring, someone picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Our place," Alastair's voice was strained. It felt like it came out from far, far away. "Now."

With adrenaline still driving through his system, he headed to his hideout. When life would be too much, he used to wander around town or find his escape in the calm of nature. And if this meant hunkering down next to a fence in Hyde Park, that's his business alone.

His phone raged up, and he felt stable enough to answer. The first thing Kamala said over the call was, "Love, I'm so sorry."

"Yes," Alastair mumbled darkly. "Me too."

Eventually, they hung up, and he sat on the ground, so his legs were against his chest and his arms surrounding them. For however long it'd been, he rested his head on the fence and let his overloaded mind take a break. When it didn't work and his head still throbbed, Alastair kicked at the ground in frustration, raising a cloud of dust. Then he sounded the low noise of feet against the sand, and a long figure climbed the fence he leaned on.

He stared at what Thomas was securing at his hands before he made a noise of annoyance. "Hell with this," he reached his hand, "Bring it over."

He grasped the can of beer, opening it with a loud pssh-pop! The can was cold in his hand, as if fresh from the store, and he took a sip. Then he lowered the can, revealing again the image of Thomas in a hoodie and pajama pants. He looked like he put random combination clothes and went outside, which probably wasn't far from the truth. Alastair didn't have the power to hum appreciatively.

"You sounded like you were crashed by a motorcycle, and then was chewed by the cats and dogs of the neighborhood," Thomas offered. "Thought you might need it."

"No shit," Alastair mumbled. "Thanks." He cradled it to his chest and looked away. Thomas looked a bit worried, but he said no words. As silence as a cat - no, Thomas was better described as a tiger - he went and sat next to Alastair. He opened his own beer can, gulping the drink in big sips.

Alastair had not opened his mouth, and Thomas didn't pressure him. For long moments that stretched even longer than they should, none of them uttered a word. They set together, side by side, surrounded by trees and leaves and the sun sinking from the west. With a big 'Ugh', Alastair dipped his head and slipped into Thomas's arms. 

"I don't want you embroiled in this," Alastair murmured, not moving as Thomas started tracing circles on his arm.

Thomas sighed softly, resting his chin on top of Alastair's head, not before he planted a kiss on the line of his hair. "Alright. But you know you can tell me whatever you want, yes?"

"I do," Alastair fell silent for a few seconds. His cheek was against Thomas's pulse point, where he found himself calming down with its steady beat. "I met Charles today."

"Charles?" at this sole word Thomas went rigid, ultimately relaxing as Alastair captured the hand on his arm and intertwined their fingers. "What has happened?"

"Nothing," Alastair answered and he knew without looking Thomas had his adorable face twisted in bewilderment. Therefore he added, reluctantly, "The usual."

Thomas moved to eye him suspiciously, but Alastair's head was still tucked under Thomas's chin. "I wouldn't think you call me if it was nothing."

"I call you for all sort of things. It doesn't have to be because my toxic ex is a dipshit."

"It feels like a low bar."

Alastair chuckled. "It really is."

Silence ensued and the presence of his boyfriend made everything brighter. Later at night, he would wonder how one man could make it so much better, yet now he just felt blessed to have Thomas by his side. A few minutes passed with Alastair closing his eyes and melting into Thomas's hug, while Thomas stroked his back comfortingly.

"Alastair?"

"Mhh."

"Alastair. "

He dug his fingers at the cool ground, taking a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure. "What?"

He pushed Alastair back gently, and the short boy complied so they were face to face. "Are you alright?"

His dark eyes refused to meet with Thomas's hazel ones. There had been a quiet, "I'm not sure."

Thomas picked at a loose string of his hoodie, and Alastair made a mental note to steal his boyfriend's hoodie and sew it. He sat next to Thomas and reached for the beer, gulping the content of the can. He turned to Thomas, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He furrowed his brows when his boyfriend looked at him oddly, but it soon disappeared from Thomas's face. 

Alastair fiddled with the hem of his shirt, and his eyes were yet low on the ground. He sounded rustling by his side and glanced at his boyfriend as he took off his hoodie. Alastair cocked his eyebrow, and Thomas huffed at him with flushed cheeks. He handed him the hoodie. "You - might be cold. It's rather late, and you wear nothing but a T-shirt."

He scanned Thomas's underneath jumper and deemed it not much warming. "And you?"

"I am big, I make a lot of heat. Cellular respiration and all that."

Alastair snorted, shaking his head. "You daft med student."

He found solace in the warm hug of his boyfriend. And wearing his hoodie was almost the same, although he missed the heat. Yet, it was soft and familiar and all Thomas. His smell was enticing to Alastair, and he put it on and sniffed it -indistinguishably - even if Thomas was just a few inches away. 

As the sun set, it tinted the forest around them orange.

"You're doing the thing," Alastair commented, causing Thomas to blink.

"The what?" the tall boy asked.

"The thing. That you do." he poked Thomas's side. "You get all pensive and thoughtful and furrows your brows in that adorable way of yours. You caress your rose compass tattoo."

Thomas gave him a slight smile. "Genie has been ecstatic ever since Kamala agreed to join our family trip. I'm afraid my father is going to ask you himself if I won't."

"Ah."

"It's a bad timing, though," Thomas cackled nervously. "Sorry, never mind."

"That's fine, I don't care," Alastair said. "What family trip?"

"We thought to visit mom's country last year, but this year we want to visit some rural parts of England. Uncle Will keeps telling us how visiting North Wells, where his family lived. Eugenia keeps threatening to steal my sweets." 

"She certainly would still all your snacks," Alastair speculated. He flapped mindlessly the sleeves of Thomas's hoodie to himself, which were too long for him. Thomas sent him a soft side smile.

"She will," agreed Thomas in false despair, resting his head on the fetch they leaned on. "She's like some sort of sweets monster. The only way to calm her down is to sacrifice our food." 

"I know," was Alastair's response. "She's my friend. My very own short chaotic, havoc-causing, maniac goblin friend." It startled a laugh out of Thomas, and he went to rest his hand on Alastair's knee.

"Dad keeps joking he will cancel the trip if not all of the honorary lightwoods join as well. But honestly, I'm not sure he's joking any longer."

"Honorary Lightwoods?"

"He adopted y'all the moment you steeped a foot into our house. You know that." Thomas's voice sounded almost longing. He added, with a good laugh, "I think he favors you over his own children."

Alastair didn't know why he had to be this way, but it caught him off guard. It made a weird pang in his heart to think Gideon Lightwood would consider him his son. Even more so, when he knew his own father would prefer to engage in a foreign bar than to eat with him. Alastair's throat felt thick all of a sudden, and it was hard to breathe. He made a shaky inhale, as soft and thin as paper. Thomas captured that, of course.

"Baby," Thomas whispered. He acted cautiously, like he was afraid to scare Alastair away. 

"No," Alastair chocked out. He hid his face in his elbow, struggling to take another breath. "Nope."

It was silent for at least a minute before Thomas piped out, "Alastair joon."

Abruptly, Alastair lifted his head and turned to his boyfriend, a spike of anger ignited."I should be stronger," Alastair burst out, heat in his words, like flames. "It shouldn't - why does it affect me like this? This isn't - nothing has happened, so why-" he cut himself off, watching Thomas's countenance. He was the epitome of calm, deep understanding eyes and soft around the corners. His lips were pressed, and he was utterly handsome. Ridiculous. 

Thomas swooped him into a hug, and Alastair didn't accept it. He fought to break loose and jumped on his feet. Raving fear and outrage and agony all mixed together on the tip of his tongue. He felt angry at himself for reacting this way, at Thomas for having such a perfect family, at the world because there was no one to blame for his situation. "A few months ago I still searched for my father in pubs to return him home safely. Now I look for my father from the other side of the courtroom and watch him try to take away my sibling. And my mother - she wouldn't admit it but I know she's stressed. She probably can't even sleep at night without my ass of a father to haunt her! And Charles wouldn't even realize he's in the wrong, because as always, it's just my fault it all broke apart. Mine. Mine alone."

"And Charles is still a jerk, and Mâmân is still unwell, and my goddam father is the worst father of the year," Alastair gritted his teeth. "And I feel so useless. Utterly useless.  because I can't do anything about it. The court will prefer my father's white ass to my brown skin. They would think he's a better fit to take care of the child, even it's crystal clear he isn't. He wasn't for us, he will never be. And this poor child - it deserves a real family. And my drunken father is nothing of what it deserves. So how can he try to get custody over it, Thomas? How can they let him? " 

"Alastair," his name sang on his boyfriend's tongue was like thick syrup. "You are not useless."

The shorter man flashed at him with a growl. "I couldn't help my father with his problem. I can't help my mom in court. I can't even be a good sibling to Cordelia, so how could I be a good one to the baby-?"

He was shuddering, he perceived, even though the night wasn't very cold. Was he sobbing? he couldn't tell. It was like he felt everything detached from afar. He felt bulky arms close around him, and he didn't protest this time. He tried to catch his breath, albeit it kept escaping him.

"None of this is your fault, Azizam. Life can be unfair to fair people. But you mustn't question yourself because of it." Thomas grazed a big, warm hand on Alastair's cheek, sweeping his tears. "And your love is so profound, it can build bridges. It's so selfless and raw and pure, can't you see it? It's all your heart, all of you, aching because you want those you love to be well. And they will be well, Alastair. They can move mountains because it's you on their side. They are lucky to have you." His voice lowered to a whisper.

"This is just too much," Alastair shook his head. "I just- want to be out of my racing mind. I want some quiet."

Thomas gave him a sad look. "I can't tell you it will pass soon. But you're not alone, Alastair. You have many people to hold you when you feel you're about to fall. All you have to do is look."

They set there in their hideout, and Thomas leaned in and left a gentle kiss on Alastair's lips. A promise.

Alastair tilted his head and closed his eyes. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"If anything, it's the opposite. You're spectacular," Thomas leaned in again, so their foreheads and noses touch. It startled a bubbled giggle out of Alastair, and Thomas smirked. He repeated it again and again and again. Until Alastair started to believe his words.

[rainingpouringetc]

so hug all your friends and let them know you’re not letting go

ch 2 - remembering the time you saw them just yesterday

ch 1 | read on ao3 | masterlist

---

It took time for Alastair to grow used to Grace, more than it had taken when he’d become friends with Ariadne. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be friends with Grace—it was more complicated than that. She had been a key instrument in much of Cordelia’s pain for quite some time when they all arrived in London. Even if Cordelia and James were now engaged, it did not erase the past.

But that also did not mean he wouldn’t give her a chance. He knew nothing of her motives or childhood, and for him to judge her for such things would make him the highest of hypocrites. So when they left the library and Ariadne suggested dinner, Alastair agreed and directed the carriage toward a restaurant he’d been to with his mother and sister a few times. He’d wanted to take Charles, but Charles always had a strict policy of not being seen together in public. Really, it was a wonder that they had lasted as long as they did.

Dinner was a pleasant affair, full of more laughter and light than Alastair thought any of them were capable of. Ariadne had been wrapped up in Anna for so long, head over heels for a girl who refused to fall in love, and Alastair was still trying to deal with the scorn of the Merry Thieves on top of worrying for his mother and father. And, of course, Grace was dealing with her own problems, what with her mother being arrested. Then there was the matter of her engagement to Charles. Alastair knew there was no chance they were in love, and he wouldn’t wish a loveless marriage on anyone. Not even them.

Ariadne had the carriage drop Alastair off at his house before she and Grace returned to the Bridgestock residence with a promise to talk again soon. Alastair could see them whispering together conspiratorially as they pulled off into the night. It made him smile. Ariadne deserved more friends, more so than anyone he’d ever met. 

He bounded up the steps and into his house, shutting the door quietly behind him. His mother might already be asleep, and if she was, the last thing he wanted was to disturb her.

A light shining under the door to the library caught his attention. Who could be up still? Frowning, he pushed the door open carefully and glanced around.

Cordelia was curled up on the sofa with a volume of poetry, her feet tucked beneath her and her red hair tumbling down to block her face like a curtain. She looked up as he entered, a discontented frown forming on her face. “Hello,” she said in a small voice. “Did you have a good time?”

Though the question would usually be sweet and thoughtful, there was a sharp undercurrent to it that had Alastair furrowing his brow. “Yes,” he said simply, sitting on the opposite end of the sofa. “So sorry we missed the party.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not.” He tried for a smile, but it was quite difficult with the look Cordelia was giving him. “I was sure it was going to be dreadfully boring, and I avoid all such things on principle.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Ariadne?”

Alastair stared at her for a moment. Cordelia wasn’t one to beat around the bush, but he hadn’t quite expected her to state it so bluntly.

He found he had no answer. It wasn’t as though he had intentionally kept it from her. It just… hadn’t come up.

When he didn’t respond, Cordelia made a noise of frustration and closed her book with a heavy thud. “Did you know Lucie asked me if the two of you had an understanding? And after you left Matthew stormed off in a huff. And I was so stunned I couldn’t say anything to either of them.” She looked down at her hands, still clutching the book. “I thought we were past this, Alastair. I thought we were telling each other things again. I thought—” She looked up at him, dark eyes beseeching. “I thought we were getting better.”

“That’s not fair, Cordelia, and you know it,” Alastair snapped, his defensive walls slamming into place.

She scoffed and returned her gaze to her hands, the movement sending her hair in a cascade over her shoulder. Her face scrunched and Alastair realized she was trying to keep tears at bay. Stunned, he pushed himself forward, sliding closer to her, and pulled her into his arms. He was no longer sure she had been talking strictly about the two of them. “Oh Layla,” he murmured, and he held her while she wept silently.

They stayed there, clinging to each other, for several long minutes. Cordelia cried herself out after a bit, and now she drew back, wiping at her eyes and apologizing profusely. “Layla, tell me what’s happened,” Alastair said a bit sharply, cutting her off.

She gazed at him sadly, looking immensely tired. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Try the beginning,” he teased, and it made her chuckle, which was enough.

And they talked.

Alastair got the distinct feeling that Cordelia wasn’t telling him everything, but it was more than she’d told him before. She told him that she was worried about her engagement to James—though she didn’t specify why—and that she wished the Merry Thieves would end their silly feud with him, and that she didn’t know how to feel about their father’s return. She asked about Ariadne, and Alastair told her. He told her about their friendship and how it came to be, how it wasn’t at all like his so-called friendships at the Academy because it was real and substantial, and how he wanted Cordelia to come with them sometime because he just knew she and Ariadne would hit it off.

At some point just after midnight, Alastair realized that Cordelia’s head was pillowed on her arm and her eyes were drifting shut for longer and longer periods of time. “Off to bed now, Layla,” he whispered, grasping her hand and pulling her to her feet. She groaned sleepily and leaned her head on his shoulder as he escorted her up the stairs. Once she was safely tucked away under her covers, Alastair descended the stairs and glanced at the clock. He should go to bed as well, he knew, but the gears of his mind wouldn’t stop turning.

A walk it was, then.

Walks were his go-to for nights like this when the world seemed too big or too small, too much or not enough. They cleared his mind like nothing else he’d tried. He checked to ensure his spears were still in their places in his jacket and set off.

It took a while for his mind to catch up with where his feet were leading him. Somehow, he’d let himself wander all the way to Thomas Lightwood’s residence without noticing. He stopped quite suddenly, feeling his face warm with embarrassment. What was he doing, running to Thomas’s house in the middle of the night? Thomas despised him. If you come near me or speak to me at any point after this, I will knock you into the Thames. For good reason, too, Alastair supposed, but that didn’t lessen the sting.

Alastair shook his head at himself, at his foolishness. He’d had a good day. Ariadne had convinced him that Grace Blackthorn was, for whatever reason, worthy of a second chance, and he’d allowed himself to think that perhaps Thomas could believe the same about him. But Thomas didn’t believe that.

It didn’t seem to matter to Thomas that Alastair had tried to apologize and make up for what he’d done. It didn’t seem to matter to Thomas that Alastair was trying to change. 

Frustrated with himself and with the man he held in such esteem for reasons he didn’t wish to consider, Alastair started to turn on his heel with every intent to march home and stew in his thoughts for the rest of the night. Before he could get far, his attention was caught by a door closing hard. He looked up and down the street. There, at the door of the Lightwood residence, was Christopher Lightwood.

Alastair stared at him, a bit puzzled. What on earth was he doing here so late? The hypocrisy of this question was not lost on Alastair, but the fact remained that Christopher Lightwood was jogging down the front steps of a house he didn’t live in at what must have been almost one in the morning.

Alastair started to duck away, trying to hide behind a lamp post or a shrub, but Christopher spotted him and stopped immediately, raising a hand in greeting as a small smile spread across his face. “Alastair? Is that you?” he called, unmindful of the late hour and empty street.

Heaving a sigh, Alastair straightened his jacket and stepped cautiously toward the Merry Thief.

Christopher approached him eagerly, as though he had forgotten they were meant to be on bad terms with one another. “What ho!” he exclaimed as he drew near, a pleasant smile lighting up his peculiar lavender eyes. “I was just on my way back to Grosvenor Square, think I’ve just about ironed out the mistakes in my fire messages, and I want to try it out before I forget. Are you stopping here or just passing through?”

Put on edge immediately by Christopher’s friendly, loquacious nature, Alastair stuttered, “I—er—well, just… passing through, I suppose. What are you doing out so late?”

“Oh, just thought I’d pop by and say hello to Aunt Sophie, see if she had any compost I could use for a project Henry’s been thinking about. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” Christopher had started walking as he talked. Thoroughly exasperated, Alastair followed.

“You didn’t notice the sun wasn’t out any longer?” he asked incredulously as they turned a corner, putting the Lightwood residence firmly out of view.

“This is London. The sun is hardly ever out.” Alastair was sure if it was a joke or not. Before he could ask, Christopher continued, “And besides, they don’t tend to care all that much when I come and go, long as I’m home for supper and don’t get into trouble.”

Alastair cut a glance at him. “Who’s they?”

Christopher made a broad gesture, as though to indicate a great many people. “Oh, you know. My aunts and uncles. Thomas and Anna and Eugenia. Them.”

Though he doubted Christopher meant it in a sad way, Alastair could not help the pang of secondhand loneliness that came with the words. Someone ought to care, he thought. Someone ought to notice.

“Would you like to come help me at Grosvenor Square?” Christopher asked suddenly, devoid of self-consciousness. “I’m sure Henry and Matthew are asleep by now, and I could use an extra set of hands. And—well, you’re good with equations, aren’t you?” A contemplative look filled Christopher’s eyes. “I think I remember Thomas saying something about that. Even if you aren’t, I could still use your help. Thomas said you were quite helpful with the antidote.”

Alastair’s heart clenched at the use of Thomas’s name, but he simply swallowed and set his jaw. “I am good at equations. Are you sure it wouldn’t cause any trouble, though?”

“What do you mean?” Christopher looked completely puzzled.

“I mean—aren’t you supposed to hate me along with the rest of your little friends?” Alastair said plainly. He got the feeling Christopher would appreciate getting straight to the point.

“Oh. Oh!” It was as though a fog had lifted, allowing Christopher to finally see the source of Alastair’s apprehension. “Well, I suppose I should, but I have to admit, I’m not quite sure as to why. I mean, sure, you were always a bitter pill while we were at school, and James and Thomas especially were a bit disappointed when you turned out to be so mean, but that was only for a short while and time has passed now. We’ve all grown and changed. You’re no more the same person you were then as any of the rest of us.”

He let out a sharp sigh, looking increasingly fretful with each word, like it was important that Alastair should understand him but he wasn’t sure he was accomplishing this goal. “I’m a scientist, Alastair. I believe in the evidence that is set before me, that I can examine and make conclusions from. And the evidence says that you can still be quite rude at times, but you can also be kind. I know you helped Thomas make the antidote. You haven’t been nearly as cruel as you were at school. You even apologized and everything. It doesn’t make logical sense not to forgive you under the circumstances,” he insisted.

Alastair was so stunned he stopped walking in the middle of the street. Christopher looked back at him in surprise. “Are you coming?” he asked, gesturing toward the road. It would lead them to Grosvenor Square, with Charles and Matthew all under the same roof. Two people Alastair was desperate to avoid.

Something in the way Christopher was looking at him made Alastair square his shoulders and nod. “Yes. I am.”

kit is here!!! i love him so much i loved writing with him. let me know your thoughts!! <3

tagging @ohcoolnice @stxr-thxif @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @doitforthecarstairs @axoloteca @clockworknights lmk if you wanna be added or removed from the tag list for this fic <3

[cant-think-of-anything]

Pirate AU (Part Four)

TW: Violence

Cordelia sat on the rails, allowing her legs to dangle over the calm water. She enjoyed going out with her newfound acquaintances, but those stuffy dresses suffocated her. She tipped her head back, enjoying the breeze that the sea always brought when a sudden voice nearly made her topple off the ship. 

“Cordelia?” 

Lucie Herondale was standing behind her, staring openly. Cordelia loved that Lucie knew her name now, but all she could currently feel was the flush creeping up her face. She hoped her skin would hide it. Alastair stood behind her, clearly trying to cover up his smile. 

 “You didn’t tell me she was going to be here,” she muttered, pulling her coat tighter around her. 

“Well if you trust her so much-” he broke off with a laugh, glancing at her upfronted expression. “Less than a week Cordelia! How does one manage to blow our cover that quickly?” 

“Not my fault,” She grumbled, face heating up. 

They had made plans to meet up, she just hadn’t expected it to be here, when she was dressed like this. Her only comfort was that Alastair was wearing something identical, though he looked far more comfortable than she did. She ought to find someone that made her brother embarrassed the way Lucie did her. 

“Eugenia?” Cordelia asked, purposefully letting her eyes stay on the sky. 

“She’s with her family. I met up with her earlier.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, really. I will be going to the city, to map the area out.” 

“Map? What for?” Lucie asked.

Cordelia’s guilt gnawed away at her. It was Lucie’s family they were planning to steal from after all. She knew the Herondale’s had huge amounts of money, they certainly wouldn’t be impacted that greatly, but she didn’t want Lucie to think she was using her. 

“Dinner of course,” Alastair said, his voice an intent but his words sarcastic. 

He glanced at the carriage near the trees and sighed deeply before disappearing down the ladder. Cordelia knew what he really was out to do of course. When night fell Alastair would observe the bank that Mr. Herondale’s money was kept and find a way to get in without being caught. Just the night before Alastair had taken their mother to a hospital under a fake name. It was part of the reason they need money so quickly. She finally looked at Lucie.

“Why are you here?” 

Lucie’s face reddened. “I can go if you wish, I just wanted to see,” she gestured wildly around them. “All of this.” 

“Don’t go,” Cordelia said quickly, hopping off the railing to come sit next to her. 

Lucie reached out and touched the thin material of her billowy white sleeves, her eyes widening when they fell to wear Cortana rested. Cordelia tugged the sword free of its sheath and placed it in front of her, a sign of great trust. She watched as Lucie gently ran her fingers over the words engraved in metal. 

“I can’t believe you live on a ship,” she whispered, her eyes almost fervent as she looked around her. “I mean I didn’t think you were lying but still.” 

Then she straightened suddenly. “I have to get back to the institute before night comes.” The words were deeply mournful, as if walking off this ship would make everything less real. 

Cordelia smiled and took her hand. “I’ll come with you.” 

~~~

Alastair hated London. The streets, he thought, were absolutely filthy. Repulsive even. His only saving grace was he was a few stories above the cobblestone sidewalk. His dark coat was buttoned to hide the bright white of his shirt and he had picked a pair of boots where the silver had mostly dulled. The problem with clothes that were practical for the sea was that they were very impractical for everything else. He still preferred them to suits. 

The bank was further from the institute than he would have expected, meaning it was also in one of the quieter areas of the town. A shadowy figure on the street snapped him from his thoughts. He checked his pocket watch and logged the time. Night had fallen and the sky had fully darkened. He squinted and caught a flash of light brown hair. What fool, he thought, drawing a field telescope from his pocket, walked around at this hour without so much as a hat?

As it turned out, those were the least of his worries. Yet another figure came down the street. He wasn’t too concerned until the shorter of the two whipped a long narrow blade. Alastair stiffened, recognizing the weapon as a rapier immediately. But that hardly made sense unless…

Alastair drew a dagger out and unbuttoned his jacket before digging the sharp edge into the bricks lightly enough for it to slide and pushed off the windowsill.

~~~

Thomas’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. He was searching for anything suspicious that connected back to Barbra but he couldn’t quite wrap his head around this. A girl, quite petite in size, was standing in front of him with a blade pointed at his chest. 

The figure was completely covered, he couldn’t see any defining features that would help him place her. He jerked back, instincts taking over. He’d been looking for something suspicious, people armed with swords roaming London certainly qualified. The rational part of his mind reminded him that the killer used poison not...a pirate sword? 

Suddenly she lunged, sweeping her sword out. Thomas caught her arm before she made contact, a flash of white blond hair under the hood of the person’s jacket visible. Ripping out of his grasp somehow, she pulled back as if she were about to run but was cut off by a person dropping off the building in front of them.

This one also wore a hood, but they didn’t have anything covering their clothes. A loose white shirt that tightened at the wrist, a crushed velvet vest, black breeches, and gold buckled boots that all combined to make quite a striking outfit. They straightened, hands tightened around two golden daggers. The blonde one tilted their head and then struck out. The two of them parried and lunged which should have left Thomas to feel quite awkward. Or at least he would have if he wasn’t staring. The silver haired figure whipped back from the fight suddenly, hissed something at their opponent and took off, her black cloak blending her into the night. 

That wasn’t why Thomas was staring though. The man’s hood had fallen back, revealing what Thomas had to believe was one of the most beautifully crafted faces ever made. Then the other boy’s lips twisted into a scowl, his dark eyebrows pushing together as he regarded Thomas. An unpleasant expression on a very pleasant face. 

“Bloody hell,” He murmured to himself before tipping his head back to look at him. “Thomas Lightwood?”

Thomas stiffened, the reality of what had happened finally sinking in. Somewhat. “How do you know who I am?” He demanded. “And what in Lord’s name was that? Who were you fighting just now?”

The man groaned and rubbed his head. “I’m going to torment you forever for this Eugenia.” 

Before Thomas could question him further he cut him off. “Yes, yes I know. I suppose we’ll just add you to the list of people who know everything about us they shouldn’t?”

~~~

Lucie sat with her legs crossed in the “Sanctuary”, the name her father gave to the large room that housed a fountain along with a few murals. Cordelia was beside her, red hair turned to flames from the fireplace, her dark eyes deep with excitement as she recounted a story.

Lucie adored fiction, piled off started novels scattering her room, but there was a different sort of feeling that came with a story that she knew was true. What Cordelia was speaking about was a train robbery she and Alastair had done a few months prior to coming to London. As she put it “Those stuffy nobles hardly needed the money,” before casting an apologetic look at Lucie.

Lucie found she didn’t mind. Cordelia laughed a little as she spoke and the small noise seemed to drown out every other thought in Lucie’s mind. She hoped Cordelia would think the red on her face was because of the fire. 

A sharp knock on the Sanctuary door startled her out of dreamy haze. Lucie frowned, glancing at the door, shouting for them to enter but no one did. Cordelia tensed, her body straightening as her fingers wrapped around Cortana. Somehow the room felt much colder than it did a moment before. 

“Lucie-” 

The sconces lighting the wall suddenly flickered out, the fireplace went dark as if it had somehow doused itself. The room plunged into near darkness, the only light filtered from the windows lining the wall. She felt Cordelia’s hand wrap around her shoulder tugging her closer to the moonlit squares on the floor.

Lucie started to speak, turning around- and then cried out, scrambling back. Cordelia wasn’t the one who had touched her. As miserable-looking as she remembered, stained dresses and faded hats stood Tatiana Blackthorn. 

“Lucie,” Tatiana murmured, her voice dropping into a horrid, gravelly whisper. “How you’ve grown.” 

She was unable to prevent the shiver that ran up her spine. “I don’t understand. You left after-”  

Tatiana scowled viciously when her voice broke. “You don’t get to mourn my son, not when this was your family’s doing.”

Lucie stepped further away, backing up into another body. She stifled a yell, swinging her arm out. Cordelia’s callused fingers wrapped around her wrist. “I’m here.” 

“That won’t do you much good Carstairs girl. I hadn’t expected the two people I was searching for to be this... closely acquainted,” she said, sneering as she looked at their locked hands, “but I suppose that makes things easier for me doesn’t it?” 

She felt something cold press into her hand, glancing down to see a dagger. She turned, but Cordelia was standing in front of Tatiana now, her beautiful golden sword gripped in her hands. And then she attacked, bringing Cortana down in a large golden arc. Tatiana dodged, her hideous face twisted into a crude grin. Lucie heard the word “foolish” before Tatiana drew her own blade and slammed it into Cordelia. 

~~~

Cordelia felt as if she had been punched in the arm- at first. Then it burned. She had spilled some of her mothers boiling hot tea on her a few months ago when a rather unexpected wave crept up on them but this felt as if someone had set small fires to each of her nerves. Cortana clattered to the ground, but she stayed standing, her arm clutched to her chest. She refused to fall. 

Her ears were ringing but she could still hear Tatiana’s twisted laughter, and a few moments later she could see Lucie creeping up behind her, dagger in hand. Before she could cry out, stop Lucie from walking to what would certainly be her death, Lucie plunged the dagger into Tatiana’s shoulder. 

The repulsive woman shrieked, more from surprise than pain she was sure. Lucie, wide eyed, moved away, her chest rising and falling fast. Cordelia tried to reach out to her but a blinding pain made her drop down to her knees. Lucie knelt next to her, pulling her up onto the chair, murmuring something, her head swiveling between Cordelia and Tatiana with panic in her eyes.

“You little wretch,” Tatiana spat, staggering to her feet and stumbling closer to Lucie as if she were drunk. “I ought to do with you what I did to the worthless twat you called your cousin.”

Lucie’s face twisted in outrage, but before she could lunge forward,  Tatiana pulled a dagger from her dress and smashed it into the glass window. Without hesitation she leapt down when it broke, but there was never any noise of impact. But by that point Cordelia’s ears were already ringing too loudly. 

And that was all Cordelia remembered before blacking out completely. 

~~~

Apparently if you get stabbed in the chest and are bleeding out your head will feel very large. Like really, really big.

Tagging: @adoravel-fenomeno and @barbra-lightwood

[imherongraystairstrash]

Hello! I read your fics and I absolutely adored them? Can I request a Thomastair with the prompt “You look awful.” Thank you ❤

Aww, thank you so much!! Just a quick note for context: I wrote this fic after the picture CJ drew of Thomas being tied of in COI. Hope you enjoy!!

THOMAS AND ALASTAIR: YOU LOOK AWFUL

TW: Blood

(not you, lovely readers, that’s just the prompt. You look gorgeous ❤️)

Wind crashed into Thomas’ face as he stumbled into the night. It lifted his hair–which was matted with blood–from his forehead providing pure bliss in such a moment of desperation. The cool breeze encircled his wrists, and relieved the burning from where the soft, sensitive skin was torn due to his struggling against the unbearably tight ropes that had bound him to a chair. 

Air. It had never felt so pleasurable as now, when he could finally breathe it clean. Most of all, it felt like freedom. Thomas took a deep breath, so deep his abdomen hurt from where he had been cut. He held it in and was overtaken by the feeling of euphoria that compassed him when he finally released it. 

Then, someone screamed. 

Thomas woke, sitting up and panting heavily. He winced at the flare of pain that shot up from his side. He braced an arm on the tender area. Where am I? He thought, briefly panicking. 

“Thomas,” said a voice he recognized as his cousin’s. “It’s alright.”

Thomas tried to speak, but his throat was screaming for water. He saw a water jug beside Kit, and could have drunk it straight from the pitcher, had the lavender-eyed boy beside him not procured a cup, filled it and handed it to Thomas. 

Thomas drank deeply and didn’t stop until there was no more water. Kit filled it again and once more before Thomas finally spoke.

“Where are we?”

“Don’t you remember? You freed everybody who was abducted by the murderer. We set up a medical bay so that we can tend to the injured while the Clave investigated the you were being kept in. I wanted to stay to see if you were alright.”

Thomas was touched. Christopher had always felt like a brother; their relationship was different from that of other cousins. For the longest time, they had been the two Lightwood boys. Even when Christopher's blood brother had been born, the two were as close to brothers as they could get. 

“Thank you, Kit.” 

“What are cousins for?” Christopher said with a rueful smile.

…

Thomas spoke with his cousin a while longer, before the latter was summoned to observe some specimen found in the building. 

Thomas waved him away saying that he wanted to go for a walk and get some fresh air anyway. He had been strolling in between tents when he heard someone call his name.

No, not someone. Alastair. Thomas could distinguish his voice even if the voices of thousands others were slamming into his ears. He would always know if Alastair was there. 

He turned around and saw Alastair, jogging up to meet him, his brown hair blowing in the wind. Thomas’ heart lurched. 

He was supposed to be bitter towards Alastair. He was supposed to hate him and throw him in Thames for what he did to his family. He was supposed to hurt him, to pick him up and kiss him—

No. He thought quickly. Why does thinking about Alastair always end with Thomas wanting to kiss him?

Alastair was looking at him, as though waiting for something.

“What?” Thomas asked, having missed what Alastair had said during the feud he had had with his subconscious. 

“I said, ‘You look awful.’”

“Well, I did just wake up from having been held hostage by a psycho murderer.”

“Just be quiet and come back here.” Alastair said, rolling his eyes and pulling out a stele. “Your bleeding.”

Thomas hadn’t realized until he looked down at his wrists. He held one out to Alastair’s outstretched hand.

Thomas felt his breath hitch as Alastair’s warm hand wrapped around his forearm, like he had done long ago, one day in Paris. It felt like ages ago. Alastair drew on his skin, which felt delicate like a butterfly’s wings flapping softly against the cupped hands of a child.  

Alastair’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he worked. Thomas could help but admire how neat the rune was; how it was being drawn meticulously and with infinite care. 

While he was held hostage, he dreamed a lot. He dreamed of the people he loved. He dreamed of his childhood; his mother rocking him to sleep in a rocking chair; hugging and hiding behind his father’s legs because he made him feel safe; watching his sisters put on a play for him when he was too sick to get up. Then, he dreamed of when he was older: running across London’s rooftops with the Merry Thieves; a midnight kiss in Spain; learning Farsi with Lucie; visiting the Louvre with Alastair. 

Lucie had talked him into pardoning Alastair, right before he had been kidnapped. Thomas was stubborn, but while he was tied to that chair all he could think of was Alastair. Not about kissing him but about how blaming him was foolish. He, of all people, knew that sometimes people changed for the better; his father is proof of that. If Will and Gabriel could forgive each other, if Charlotte could forgive Gideon, why couldn’t he forgive Alastair?

Alastair looked up at him at that moment, as though hearing his name through Thomas’ thoughts. They locked eyes. Thomas felt himself drowning in those beautiful dark eyes. He couldn’t breathe. To be fair, it didn’t look like Alastair was breathing much either. It wasn’t due to lack of oxygen; on the contrary, there was too much oxygen between them, and neither knew how to fix that. 

Take initiative, Thomas thought to himself.

“You have blood on your—” Alastair started.

“Be quiet and come over here.” Thomas said hoarsely.

And just like that, from one moment to another, they were kissing. Gloriously kissing. Alastair had obliged Thomas’ request with alacrity. His lips felt soft against Thomas’, to whom were most likely dry from days of dehydration. In that moment, nothing else mattered. It was like the crescendo played in an orchestra. A climax so grand, it could only be ended by a clashing large enough to leave theater in utter silence.     

Suddenly, Alastair tore his lips away, gasping as he looked up at Thomas. They were shining, but not from happiness. 

“I—I must leave.” 

Thomas reached out, but Alastair shook his arm away. 

“Please, Thomas. I need time.”

Thomas felt like he’d been slapped across the face. “Yes, yes of course. Take as much time as you need.”

Alastair pressed his lips together, nodded curtly, and walked away. Every step he took felt like a dagger in Thomas’ heart.

He walked back to where the makeshift hospital was and sat down on the side of a bed. 

…

After the blood had been washed from his hair and his wounds cleaned, Thomas was rewrapping his hands when he heard a familiar voice. 

“Where is my son?!”

Thomas looked up from his bandages. Sophie Lightwood came into the room in a whirl of blue skirts and tendrils of flyaway hair that had escaped it’s chignon. When she turned and caught his eye, he offered her a small smile before she came rushing to where he was sitting. 

“Oh, Thomas. Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” She said, holding him close to her chest. 

A couple of years ago, Thomas might have been slightly annoyed at this display. He definitely would have been embarrassed. Now, however, he let his mother hold him and comb his hair with her fingers. 

“Oh, look at what they did to you.” She said, pulling away and holding his face in both her hands. She stroked his cheek softly with the pad of her thumb. “They even hurt you from the inside.” Her voice cracked.

That was Alastair, he thought. Only people I love can hurt me from the inside.

“I’m alright, mama.” He said, seeing her eyes pool with tears. “Trust me, I’m fine.”

Sophie responded by hugging him again. He closed his eyes floated in the comfort she provided. It would be alright, he thought. Alastair needed time, and perhaps he did as well. Time to stay with his family, who were still grieving Barbara’s death. Time to drink tea and sleep and just exist. He needed to mend his broken heart and help his family do the same. And Alastair had to fix his relationship with his family as well. They both needed to love themselves, before they could love each other. And no matter how long it took, he was confident that they would wait for the other to be ready.

Tagging: 

@hitheresomeoneusingthus @celias @livvyheronstairs @rinadragomir @autumnangel20 @livia-dovehallow @tsccreatorsnet @youngreckless

DM me if you want to be tagged in the future!

[melanielocke]

Conceal, don't Feel - One

Do you wanna build a snowman?

This is the first chapter of my Frozen Carstairs sibings AU

CW: abuse, toxic relationship, alcoholism

@alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 and I both came up with a similar idea separately from each other, so this is a story separate from hers, but if you like this one I recommend you check out Frozen Heart. I’m not yet sure how often I will update, but I’m currently working on chapter 7 and 35.000 words in (chapters are pretty long).

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @alastair-appreciation-month @writeordie-4 @amchara

I cannot seem to tag @lightwoodsimp, sorry

Alastair didn’t know where his parents were taking him. It didn’t matter. He would go anywhere, would do anything if it meant she could be saved. It was his fault she’d gotten hurt. He called out to her. Warned her.

‘You’re going too fast. Slow down, Layla!’

It had been too late. Cordelia was hurt. His fault. He’d hurt her, he’d hit her with his ice. His father had been furious, of course. He’d deserved that. His mother had been more gentle, had taken him into her arms and whispered that it was going to be okay. A lie. It wasn’t going to be okay because he’d hurt his sister and that made him a monster. Just like Father had been afraid of.

But Father knew where to go. Father knew how to fix this. A trail of ice followed their horses. Alastair barely noticed it anymore. It would draw attention. It pointed right to him, to his wrongness. Just like he deserved. Alastair didn’t know why he couldn’t control it anymore. He’d been too excited about it, had used it to play and have fun and build snowmen in the middle of the summer. But that was wrong. Ice was wrong and shameful and dangerous. And so was he.

They stopped in a small village hidden at the foot of the North mountain. Alastair had studied the geography of the kingdom many times but did not know there was a village here. He’d heard stories, there were trolls living here. That was why people avoided this place. Alastair would say he was too old to believe in trolls, but he was magic. Who knew what else was out there?

He descended from the horse, hiding behind his mother. He’d always been closer to her than to Father. He trusted her to keep him safe. Not that he deserved her protection.

A man approached. He was a little shorter than Father, with dark hair like Alastair’s, but blue eyes and light skin that was common in Arendelle. Alastair had never seen the man before, who was he? Certainly not a troll. There was a girl around Cordelia’s age behind him, stepping forward curiously to his sister. Cordelia had not woken since Alastair had hurt her.

‘Hello,’ the little girl said. ‘My name is Lucie, who are you?’

‘Lu, I don’t think the princess can hear you right now,’ her father said. ‘Don’t worry, your Majesty, I’ll get my wife. She’ll find out what’s wrong with your daughter.’

The man disappeared into one of the houses, but the little girl remained behind, poking at Cordelia.

‘She’s not going to wake up,’ Alastair said quietly.

His father glared at him, whereas his mother took his hand firmly. ‘Don’t say that, joon-am. Your sister will be fine.’

‘Who are you?’ Lucie asked him.

Alastair frowned. This was part of Arendelle, wasn’t it? How did someone not recognize the king and his family?

‘My name is Alastair,’ he said softly, not meeting the little girl’s gaze.

‘Come, Lu,’ Will said. ‘Tessa and Jem are going to take care of the princess.’

A woman with brown hair kneeled down in front of little Cordelia, a man with dark hair and eyes beside her. He looked familiar, but Alastair wasn’t sure why.

‘Jem, please help my daughter,’ Father pleaded.

‘Of course, uncle,’ Jem said. ‘You and your family are always welcome here, you know that.’

Alastair was confused. Jem was his cousin? But then why had they never met? He knew about the mysterious cousin, of course. His father had been the youngest of two brothers once, his older brother Jonah had been king before him. He’d had a son too, prince James. King Jonah and his wife had died though, and prince James had disappeared, during his father’s regency. When it became clear prince James was gone for good, his father had been crowned king. Alastair had always assumed he must have died. There were rumors king Elias had murdered his nephew so he could claim the throne. Alastair was glad to know those rumors weren’t true. But why had Jem been here all this time?

‘My wife Tessa can heal her,’ Jem continued.

Elias raised an eyebrow. ‘I though she was Will Herondale’s wife.’

‘All three of us love each other,’ Jem said and Alastair was intrigued. ‘Arendelle might not understand, but there is no need to conform to what society wants from us here.’

He’d always been taught love was between a man and his wife. Clearly Jem didn’t think so. He couldn’t find love, he reminded himself. He had his ice, his cold heart. It would be nice, to live here with a love, but that was not his destiny.

‘It is for the best you left, I think,’ Elias said.

‘Don’t be rude, dear,’ his mother said. ‘They can help Cordelia.’

‘There is ice in her head,’ Tessa said. ‘I can remove it, don’t worry. It’s good the magic didn’t reach her heart. A frozen heart is the one curse I cannot break, but the head can be persuaded.’

Alastair wasn’t sure what Tessa was. She was magic, like him, right? How did she know so much about the ice, about the frozen heart? Did that mean there were others like him?

‘Lucie!’ Tessa called.

The little girl sat down beside her mother. ‘Yes, mama?’

‘You want to help, darling?’

‘Of course.’

‘My daughter is the heir to my gift,’ Tessa explained. ‘She will learn in time how to remove ice herself, in case the prince has more accidents. But for now, we’ll do it together.’

Tessa and Lucie both put their hand on Cordelia’s head. Alastair held his breath, this had to work right? Otherwise he would have killed his sister. Alastair knew he was a monster, of course, but he didn’t want his sister to suffer for what he was.

‘I must warn you, there will be a side effect,’ Tessa said. ‘Messing around in her head will affect her memory. I am doing the best I can to contain the effects and limit the memory loss, but she will lose all memory of Alastair’s magic.’

Alastair frowned. ‘So she won’t remember I have powers?’

‘No,’ Tessa said. ‘But when you’re ready, you can explain it to her. I think it might be good to work on your control first and tell Cordelia once you feel secure you won’t hurt her again. Remember, fear is your enemy. You’re always welcome to stay here, with us. People think trolls live here and stay away, you would be safe..’

The offer sounded tempting. Away from his family, from the people he hurt…

‘No,’ his father said. ‘Alastair is the crown prince of Arendelle, he will be king one day. Power or not, he must be prepared for his role. We’ll limit our staff, close the gates to limit his contact with people, so no one will find out and no one else will get hurt. He’ll learn to control it, I’m sure. Besides, your lifestyle would be a bad influence.’

Alastair’s heart sank. Of course, he was prince too. Destined to be king. It didn’t matter what he wanted. Why should a monster like him be king, he wondered, but he knew his father wouldn’t budge on the subject.

Cordelia coughed a little before opening her eyes. ‘What’s happening?’ she said, a little sleep drunk.

‘You’re all better,’ Lucie declared. ‘Although I think you still have a strand of white hair. Otherwise your hair is very pretty.’

Cordelia smiled. ‘Where am I?’

‘My name is Lucie,’ she said. ‘Will you play with me?’

‘Of course,’ Cordelia said. ‘I like making snowmen.’

‘We must go home now,’ Father said sternly.

‘Oh, that’s too bad,’ Lucie said. ‘Will you come another time, then? I’d so love to have another girl my age around. It’s just me and my cousins here and they’re all older than me.’

‘Of course,’ Cordelia said. ‘I’ll play with you.’

‘I think it would be good for us to check on Alastair’s progress regularly,’ Tessa said. ‘It would be unsafe for me to leave this village, so please come here whenever you’re ready, or if you need help.’

In the end, Alastair never returned to the village where his cousin lived. Neither did Cordelia, not even to play with Lucie. A day later, she did not remember what had happened at all. As far as the people of Arendelle knew, that village didn’t exist. Tessa was a witch, after all, and so was her daughter. The people might turn on her, his father had explained. They might turn on him too. And he would deserve that. That’s why he needed to learn control.

‘You’re too sensitive, Esfandiyar,’ his father would say.

He’d learnt a rhyme over the years. Conceal it, don’t feel it. He repeated it to himself whenever he felt too much, whenever he was going to lose control. He’d received a pair of gloves from his father, something he claimed would help him.

It didn’t take long for Father to grow more absent though. Often he was sick. His fault, he was putting too much pressure on the family. All his fault. His thoughts were spiraling as they so often did, out of control as the storm inside. His fingers tingled, ice formed on the floor, on the walls. Conceal, don’t feel, he told himself. That was the only way to control.

When Alastair was eight years old, not long after the incident, his father was interested in how using the sauna would affect him. He’d never been, as he was too young and his mother wasn’t so sure it was safe for him, but his father insisted it was worth a try.

‘It might be the solution to your control problem,’ Elias had said. ‘The sauna could melt the ice.’

Alastair had been scared, but he’d been willing to give it a try. Most humans in Arendelle used a sauna from time to time, so why shouldn’t he?

It had been a nightmare. As soon as the sauna had been turned on and gotten warm, Alastair had started screaming. It was agony, fire burning his skin and everything inside, the ice begging for release.

He couldn’t use magic in here, and it hurt so much.

‘Let me out!’ he’d screamed.

It had taken some time until Father had given up and finally let him out. He wasn’t burnt, there were no signs on his body that he’d suffered. The pain had been real though. He was still so shaken he froze the entire corridor, for which his father had become angry. Later that day, Father had disappeared into his bedchambers with a bottle of a smelly drink.

Alastair would never get into the sauna again. Never. There was ice inside of him, and it didn’t like the heat. Perhaps he should try it, perhaps he should stay for longer and let it burn out the ice inside of him. Perhaps he could be free. But Alastair didn’t dare go inside the sauna again, he never wanted to feel that pain again.

***

Cordelia was lying on the floor of the ballroom. She was sure her mother would hate to find her here, but what else was she supposed to do? She sighed, would there ever be a ball here? There had been balls once, that much she remembered. She and Alastair weren’t allowed to attend yet, but they’d snuck out of bed to watch from the corridor together.

There had been so many people. Nowadays, it was only the staff, her family and Risa, her mother’s lady in waiting. Didn’t her parents understand she wanted someone to play with?

Once she’d played with Alastair almost every day. They would build snowmen and ride a sled and have snowball fights. But that had been a long time ago. Nowadays Alastair would barely acknowledge her. If he spoke at all, it was to tell her to go away and not bother him. He spent most of his time in his bedroom. Cordelia didn’t understand how one person could spend so much time in bed, especially considering he was not sick like Father. Didn’t he want to have something to do? She would play with him all day if only he opened his door.

But Alastair preferred the solitude, it seemed. He rarely even yelled at her to go away anymore. He just pretended she didn’t exist. He was studying to be king now, whereas Cordelia did not have such a responsibility. She guessed he was too mature and grown up for her now and she was just his stupid little sister. It was frustrating.

It had all started so sudden, and Cordelia had never understood why. One day they’d built a snowman together, the next Alastair didn’t even speak to her anymore. He only ever emerged from his room to eat, and to take walks on the palace grounds. Her mother didn’t want her to go there, for she might fall and hurt herself, or rip her dresses. It didn’t make much sense, because she’d followed Alastair from a distance once and there was barely anything to trip over. When Alastair had spotted her, he’d gotten angry and yelled at her to leave him alone, that this was his place, why couldn’t she at least let him have that?

Cordelia guessed her brother didn’t like her anymore.

‘What would you do, Joan?’ she asked.

No response. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Joan, of course, was a painting in this room, a woman in armor riding a horse. The painting had always fascinated her, because Cordelia wanted to be a warrior too and carry her own sword. It was probably all very improper, a princess talking to a portrait, but what exactly did her parents expect her to do?

Father was sick all the time nowadays, and Cordelia would often sit with him and read him stories. Alastair came in sometimes, glared at both of them, and left. At least her father still cared for her. At least it was something. Even if he mostly ignored her when he wasn’t sick, or talked to her about a potential marriage alliance when she was older. She’d never even met someone around her age, how was she supposed to get married? Her mother didn’t have time for her anymore, she had to take over from father when he was sick and run the kingdom and whatever free time she had left she spend with Alastair.

No one knew what was wrong with Father, and Cordelia worried for him. She vowed to spend as much time with him as possible, to always be there for him, because even if he was sick, he was the only one in her family who still had time for her.

‘If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?’ she asked Joan.

No response.

‘That’s right, me too. Anywhere is better than here.’

***

When Alastair was nine years old, a year after the incident, he’d made little progress on controlling the ice. If anything, it had gotten worse.

‘You’re not trying,’ his father accused him. ‘Do you want to turn your bedroom into a snow landscape? Do you like the cold? Do you like that by freezing the bathroom, you broke all the pipes? It cost a fortune to replace everything, and I couldn’t explain what happened.’

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ Alastair had said, the fear he often felt around his father gripping him.

Would he be locked inside the sauna if he didn’t do better? He was trembling on his feet as his father grabbed his elbow and took him down stairs into an old dungeon.

‘When my brother Jonah was king, he stopped using these dungeons to hold prisoners. He believed keeping people in dark and dirty cells like this was inhumane. But we do not always have the luxury of choice.’

His father showed him to a cell with a pair of cuffs, chained to the floor, designed to fit around his hands. Because that was where the magic came from, that was why the gloves helped.

‘If you cannot control yourself and become a danger to those around you, I will have no choice but to use these. Do you understand?’

Alastair was shaking, snow escaped from his hands and twirled around him. He swallowed. ‘Yes, Father,’ he said weakly.

‘And don’t act so scared,’ his father scolded. ‘With that poison inside of you, you absolutely cannot feel.’

Of course. Conceal, don’t feel. That was the only way to keep it hidden.

That night, Alastair dreamt about the chains in the dungeon, about his hands being bound, his father leaving him there.

‘You’re too dangerous,’ his father said. ‘You must stay here from now on.’

Alastair pulled at the chains, tried to break free, but it was no use. He woke up in the middle of the night, lying in the snow. On his bed, he reminded himself, but everything was covered in snow and ice. He should clean this up, he determined. He did not know how to unfreeze anything, but he could sweep the snow up and outside of the window before Father found out and determined he should be chained in that cell.

He’d considered telling his mother about the cell and the chains and that he was scared, but ultimately decided against it. He was far too scared to find out that when it came to it, she would let it happen. Worse, that she already knew.

***

Alastair was thirteen when his father presented him with the family sword. Legend had it the sword was magic, but the properties of the weapon had been lost over time. No king of Arendelle had ever died in battle while carrying it though, and some speculated the sword watched over them, protected them. Alastair didn’t know what too believe when it came to cortana. He knew his sister wished she could be the one to own the sword, but Alastair knew as future king he was supposed to bear it. He was sure Cordelia could practice with it when he wasn’t using it.

‘Now, Alastair, this is an important part of the Carstairs legacy,’ Elias said. ‘If you can use this sword, you would be protected if people ever learnt of the ice that’s inside your heart.’

That’s what Elias often called it, the ice inside his heart. Don’t feel, Alastair reminded himself. He wasn’t supposed to feel, or he would upset the ice. Elias treated it as something separate from him, a demon that would strike if Alastair didn’t work hard enough. He didn’t think that was right, but didn’t dare say anything.

Elias presented him with the sword. Alastair had never held it before, had only admired it from a distance. He took the hilt in his hand and immediately dropped it, yelping in pain. As soon as the hilt touched him, a pain shot through his hand. His skin was red, blisters were forming where the sword had touched him. He’d sustained burn marks.

His mother came in when she heard him scream and rushed him to the infirmary immediately, where he’d gotten his hand bandaged and lied about what had caused the burn, claiming he’d wanted to help in the kitchen and touched a hot pot. A horrible shame crept over him and gripped his stomach. He was unworthy. He couldn’t even hold cortana. The family sword, the weapon that had been carried by all great kings and queens before him, had chosen to burn him.

***

‘I have a surprise for you, dear,’ her father said with a smile.

It had been ages since Cordelia had seen him so healthy and she was glad he was having a good day. She missed him. She’d wanted to go to his bedroom and read to him, but Alastair had told her she couldn’t. When she’d asked for more information, he’d refused to explain and just said she wouldn’t understand. Alastair often treated her as if she was stupid and did not understand anything, but Father never did.

She didn’t know what to do with her brother anymore. She’d loved him once, that she knew. Part of her still did. But she was fairly certain he didn’t love her anymore. He’d left her all alone. At least he still had her father, even if he was gone so often. It wasn’t his fault he was sick.

‘What is it?’ Cordelia asked.

‘It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?’ Elias said with a chuckle.

Cordelia’s dark eyes went wide as her father showed her to the room where cortana was kept. For years she’d begged to touch the sword, to practice with it. But the sword wasn’t hers. As heir, it belonged to Alastair. Even if he’d never shown interest in it, even if wielding cortana had been Cordelia’s dream for a long time.

‘I’ve discussed with your brother, and we decided that since you are so attached to cortana, it should be yours,’ her father said. ‘You are worthy of the sword.’

Cordelia picked it up. She’d never trained with it, although she did know the basics of swordplay. With nothing else to do, she’d watched the guards train from a distance and had copied their movements. It felt good in her hands, like it fit perfectly and had always belonged to her.

‘Now, a sword is a great responsibility,’ her father said. ‘Cortana has a sharp edge and a dull edge. You can always choose mercy, and that is what the old kings and queens of Arendelle became known for. Remember that.’

Cordelia nodded. ‘Of course. I will not let anyone harm us, but when I defeat my enemy I will always offer mercy.’

***

There was only one other person outside of his family and Tessa’s who knew about Alastair’s powers. It had been an accident, really. Alastair was allowed to go outside onto the palace grounds and practice. Cordelia wasn’t allowed to go there with him, so no one would see if he lost control. It was the only place where he could get some air. But it wasn’t enough, and sometimes the walls of the palace felt suffocating. He longed to get away, to disappear.

So one day, he’d made sure no one saw him and had snuck over the wall. It had been easy, really. He’d built a ladder out of ice. In the summer heat, it would melt and no evidence of his escape would be left behind. He could control the ice inside him when he set his mind to an explicit goal.

Honestly, the problem arose when he felt. Better to freeze his own heart. But he couldn’t help but feel when Father yelled at him, when he drank so much he couldn’t stay awake anymore. It was all his fault, he knew. Father wouldn’t have started drinking if he’d been better, if he had never hurt his sister. But he was a monster and he deserved his father’s anger.

He knew Cordelia hated him. He had accepted it. She would be safe and Alastair would never hurt her again. If that meant she hated him, it would be alright. Tessa had said once he could tell Cordelia about his powers when it was safe again, but Alastair feared it would never be. He had nightmares sometimes and woke up in a snow landscape instead of a bedroom. Sometimes the emotions just became too much.

On the other side of the wall was another forest, and here he could be himself. He would be alone, yes, but Alastair would always be alone. Most of the time he didn’t mind the solitude so much. At least here he wasn’t trapped within those walls.

He just walked, not sure where he was going. He would find his way back to the wall eventually, he told himself. A castle was hard to miss. He didn’t even notice the boy in the woods until he was right behind him.

‘Hello.’

Alastair was startled. He wished he could say he’d responded with some decorum, but that would be a lie. Instead, ice had shot out of his right hand, with which he had been leaning against a tree. He was stuck, frozen against a tree. Great, just his luck.

‘Are you alright?’ the boy asked.

Alastair wished he could have turned around, but his hand was still very much stuck, glove and all. There was only so much the glove did. He still had to control his own emotions. Conceal, don’t feel. He’d broken that rule, and for what?

He finally broke off the chunk of ice from his hand and turned to face the boy. He was around Alastair’s age, with brown hair and hazel eyes. There was a reindeer following him, sniffing Alastair curiously.

‘I’m fine,’ he said between his teeth.

‘Were you born with the powers, or cursed?’ the boy asked curiously.

‘What kind of question is that?’ Alastair bit at him.

‘I’m sorry. That’s what my aunt said is what distinguishes sorcerers. But you don’t have to answer. I just never met someone with magic like yours before. What’s your name?’

Alastair had to think quickly. The boy didn’t recognize him, didn’t know he was the prince. He couldn’t know, because then he would spread his secret and soon the whole kingdom would know the crown prince was a monster with ice in his veins.

‘Esfandiyar,’ he said.

It was his middle name, and a little known fact. It was a name from his mother’s home country, an ancient hero his mother used to tell him stories about. It was one of the few fond memories Alastair had of being young. So much had revolved around his cursed ice.

‘Thomas,’ the boy said, offering his hand. ‘Thomas Lightwood. And this is Sven, my reindeer.’

Alastair smiled weakly, refusing to take the boy’s hand. He knew he had to go home, but he hadn’t spoken to another boy his age in forever. He didn’t want to go.

‘Why are you here in the woods?’ Alastair asked.

‘Oh, I was just on my way home with Sven after delivering my mother’s cakes. I like this part of the woods. I always came here before I was allowed to leave by myself. Why are you here? Is it because of your magic? Are people scared of your ice?’

‘People don’t know,’ Alastair said. ‘And you can’t tell anyone.’

‘I won’t,’ Thomas promised. ‘But your powers seem so awesome. I wish I had powers.’

‘No you don’t,’ Alastair said. ‘No one would want to have ice inside of them. It’s very hard to control, and you can hurt people. Badly.’

Thomas tilted his head. ‘You’re not going to hurt me, are you?’

‘I don’t want to,’ Alastair said. ‘But that does not matter. The ice does what it wants.’

‘I’m not afraid, Esfandiyar,’ Thomas said. ‘That’s a beautiful name, by the way. I wish my name was even half so extraordinary.’

‘I need to go,’ Alastair said, determined.

He would not hurt someone else, he vowed to himself. Conceal, don’t feel. It didn’t matter that Thomas was the first person in years to see him and not be afraid.

‘Will you be here tomorrow?’ Thomas asked. ‘I always take this route after delivering my mother’s cakes. I can meet you around this time every day of the week.’

Against his better judgement, Alastair said yes.

He met Thomas in the woods everyday for nearly two weeks. He didn’t lose control of the ice anymore, not when they were together. Thomas was nice, and liked telling him about his life. He didn’t even seem to mind that Alastair avoided all of his questions. One day, Thomas had baked some extra cakes and shared them with Alastair. It was Alastair’s fifteenth birthday, and although he still hadn’t told Thomas about who he was, he had mentioned that his birthday wouldn’t be celebrated. Cordelia had given up on him a long time ago, and his parents didn’t have the time. It was sweet of Thomas to think of him, the only person who had in years. It was almost better than the cakes themselves. Almost.

‘I really hope my mom won’t find out, but these are the best cakes in the whole world,’ Thomas said. ‘My mother taught me how to make them herself. Well, my cousin Christopher likes the lemon tarts more.’

‘Your parents are both bakers?’ Alastair asked.

‘No, just my mom. My father is on Arendelle’s council, although I don’t think the king listens to him a lot.’

‘Oh, that’s too bad,’ Alastair said.

He wasn’t surprised his father didn’t listen, often he wasn’t even there for meetings. But his mother would, right? She’d always been calmer and gentler than Father. But she wouldn’t go against his father’s wishes.

‘And my uncle Gabriel and aunt Cecily sell ice. They travel to the north mountain and the frozen lakes at winter and cut off ice and transport if back to the city and sell it.’ Thomas smiled. ‘I always wanted to go with them when I’m old enough. But what’s the point of going all the way to the north mountain when you can just conjure ice out of thin air?’

‘Believe it or not, making that journey is probably less dangerous than asking me to supply the world with ice,’ Alastair said.

‘Perhaps,’ Thomas said. ‘But I’m certain there’s a way to control it. I haven’t seen you lose control at all since when we first met and I startled you.’

‘I feel less around you,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m not supposed to feel and at home I do that a lot. But with you, it’s better. I don’t think I feel anything.’

Thomas frowned. ‘Oh,’ he said and Alastair suspected something was wrong.

‘What is it?’

‘I thought you liked spending time with me,’ he said. ‘But now you say you don’t feel anything.’

‘That’s a good thing,’ Alastair insisted. ‘I’m not supposed to feel.’

‘Everyone’s supposed to feel, Esfandiyar,’ Thomas said. ‘If you don’t feel anything when you’re with me… I guess you don’t like my company as much as I thought. Maybe it’s better if I don’t come back.’

Alastair’s eyes went wide. His fingers started tingling. No, no. Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let it show.

‘No!’ he said. ‘Please. I’m all alone, you’re the only person who understands. You weren’t meant to find out, but you did, and now you’re all I have.’

Thomas looked confused. ‘But that means you did feel something, right? If you truly felt nothing, you wouldn’t care if I left.’

Alastair shook his head. ‘No, when you said you would leave, I did feel. Please stay with me, Thomas. I don’t want to feel. Usually, it’s like a storm and I have to fight to keep the ice inside. You make everything better. With you I don’t feel the storm.’

‘I think you’re a little confused about what it is to feel,’ Thomas said. ‘You know it’s more than sadness and fear, and anger right? Happiness is also feeling. I feel happy when I see you in the woods.’

‘Perhaps that’s it,’ Alastair said. ‘Do you think it’s alright for me to feel happiness? Even if I’m not supposed to feel?’

‘Of course, Esfandiyar. What is the point, if you can never be happy? I have to go home before my mom realizes I’m late. But can I see you again tomorrow?’

‘Always,’ Alastair said.

The last day he met Thomas, the other boy was acting a little shifty. Alastair wasn’t sure what it was. It made him nervous. He knew to expect bad things when people acted like that.

‘Esfandiyar, there’s something I need to tell you,’ Thomas said.

His cheeks were red, and Alastair didn’t think it was from the cold. Alastair waited expectantly, but Thomas didn’t continue.

‘What is it?’ Alastair asked.

‘Well, you see,’ Thomas began, stumbling over his words, but he was not to finish them.

His father came stumbling into the woods, Alastair could tell from his demeanor that he’d been drinking. His fault, he should have stayed in the castle. Of course they’d notice he’d snuck out.

‘Alastair, where have you been?’ the king asked.

Thomas looked at Alastair, and then at the king. ‘Alastair? Oh heaven, you’re the prince, aren’t you?’

Alastair sighed. ‘Esfandiyar is my middle name. I’m sorry Thomas. I shouldn’t have lied to you.’

‘Who are you?’ his father hissed at Thomas, and Alastair hoped Thomas wouldn’t notice his slurred speech, betraying to a trained ear that he was drunk.

‘Thomas Lightwood, your Majesty,’ Thomas said softly. ‘My mother is a baker. My father is Gideon Lightwood, he represents the commoners on your council. I was just on my way home. I swear I didn’t know he was the prince. I am so sorry.’

‘Go home, Lightwood,’ the king said. ‘And do not let me catch you here with my son again, or I’ll have you thrown into the dungeons.’

Thomas took Sven and disappeared. Alastair dreaded what would come next. Father could be unpredictable when he was drunk, dangerous even. Alastair was terrified he would be dragged into the dungeons to those cuffs, or to the sauna.

‘I’m sorry, Father,’ Alastair said softly.

‘What were you thinking,’ his father snapped. ‘You’re a prince, not some peasant boy. How can you risk them finding out?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Alastair repeated. ‘He was nice to me.’

‘He’s a peasant boy, of course he’s nice to you if he thinks it’ll win the prince’s favor,’ Elias said. ‘You must learn these things, or you’ll fall for anyone with even a little bit of charm.’

‘He didn’t know I was a prince,’ Alastair protested.

Elias didn’t even look at him. ‘Of course he did. Everyone in the kingdom knows who you are. He lied to you to bring you into a false sense of security. You’re so naïve, to have believed him. I have sent for someone to come and teach you about ruling a country. It’s about time you learnt to be a proper prince.’

Alastair looked back once more, but Thomas was long gone. Alastair went back to the forest the next day, desperate to hear what Thomas had wanted to tell him, even if it was only once. But Thomas had been nowhere to be found, and Alastair had returned to the palace, defeated. He was all alone.

His father was right, it was time to be a proper prince. He was fifteen now, he was old enough to understand how the kingdom worked. His father couldn’t fulfill his duties anymore, not with his drinking eating away at him and his mother doing everything she could to fill in the gaps. It was time for him to step up.

[casspurrjoybell-30]

Cry Me a River - Chapter 41 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

A Council Meeting From Hell

"Alastair has returned," his father's voice boomed through the room, silencing the men.

"And with him the leaving of the rebels."

"Leaving not demolishment?" a man questioned across the table.

"Yes," Alastair spoke.

"As all previous times, they had left before we had reached their hiding place."

"Hmm," a familiar voice spoke up, stroking his stubbled beard with a crooked grin.

"Perhaps we should have sent my son after all."

He turned to Alastair's father.

"I had told you nothing would come out of this."

His Highness ground his teeth together as Derek's voice broke through the sudden tension.

"Hyde would have caused nothing but havoc and you know it..."

"You know nothing, child."

The man's eyes grew ablaze.

"Perhaps you need to replace this advisor as well, Your Majesty," his eyes directed to Alastair.

"It appears he has none of the mind for matters like these."

"I believe my choice of advisors is a choice of my own, Victor," Alastair's voice hardened.

"Perhaps," Victor continued.

"But is it not the job of an advisor to give needed advice? You are to be our future king. As a royal advisor, it much concerns me who you choose to place as future advisors to the council."

"Perhaps it's a good choice then that I chose of riding your position then, yes? At least then our council will be ridden of one pig."

A series of gasps filled the room.

"Alastair," his father gasped out.

A short laughter escaped Victor's mouth as he eyed Alastair.

"I can already see how long your reign will last, Your Majesty. The people you surround yourself with are those lacking in intellect. This council is already soon to be filled with nothing but children."

"At least it will no longer be filled with those old enough to be impotent," Keith scoffed from the doorway.

"I don't remember you being invited to a royal council meeting," Victor eyed him.

"I'm the eldest. Of course, I'm to be present."

"You gave up being the heir when you.."

"I told him to come," His Highness interjected.

Victor remained silent, crossing his arms and leaning back into his chair.

"He may not no longer be the heir but he is still part of the royal family."

Alastair's father eyed Victor to which Victor merely let out a sigh of annoyance.

Isaiah stood from his seat and sat beside Derek, allowing Keith seat beside his brother.

Keith nodded his thanks to Isaiah before turning to Alastair.

"What did I miss?"

I looked up at Alastair and watched a long scowl cross his face.

"Just Victor fighting with Alastair," I whispered back to him as Alastair seemed too annoyed to utter a word.

"I believe," Isaiah began.

"That the best course of action now would be just to continue what we've been doing, sending men to each city to scout out the area to find their next hiding area."

"It appears such a passive approach won't work," another man interrupted across the table.

"It hasn't been working. A more drastic approach should be taken."

"Drastic?" Alastair interrupted.

"Do you expect my men to enter with fire and pitchforks, cause havoc to the cities we enter to perhaps scare the rebels to show us where they are?"

"No," Victor spoke up.

"We should make an example."

"An example of what?"

"We have a rebel in our possession."

"What?"

I felt myself tense as images of those I knew of flew through my mind.

Is it someone I know?

I peered back at Alastair to read his expression.

"When?"

His face was hard, stone-like, lips pressed together harshly as he pushed the word out.

"During your absence."

The room was silent for a few moments as Alastair watched Victor through narrowed eyes, the other advisors too afraid to speak up.

"What do you have in mind?"

"We need to instill fear in them. Show them the repercussions to their actions."

I remained silent, waiting for him to get to the punchline as I fiddled with my fingers.

Who had he caught?

How had he caught someone?

"Hang her," was all I heard as my mind went blank.

What?

I spun in Alastair's hold.

"No," I managed.

"Where?"

Is he considering it?

"In the town's square for all to see."

"How will that accomplish anything?"

"You'll make an announcement before, give a leeway. Say, whoever of the rebels turn themselves in personally and take the needed shots will be left alone."

"What?" a man spoke up angrily.

"You're just going to allow them to..."

"Allow me to finish," Victor said sharply, shutting the man up.

"And to all those who don't..."

"Will be hung like the girl," Alastair finished.

"And you think that will cause them to all just turn themselves in," the same man scoffed.

"I don't think," Victor laughed humorlessly.

"I know. They're afraid. The whole lot of them. They need the incentive to free themselves from their havoc-filled lives and an incentive I will them."

I continued to peer at Alastair, trying to read his face yet no emotion would appear.

What is he thinking?

"Very well."

The whole room turned to Alastair's sudden reply.

"Father?"

His father's face remained neutral.

"We'll see how it plays out."

My eyes widened.

They couldn't be serious.

Alastair stood from his seat, taking me into his arms as he pushed the chair back.

"This meeting is dismissed. We'll regroup tomorrow to discuss the time."

Before I could even hear their replies we were out the door and down the hall.

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 45: A Father’s Love

Chapter 44

Read on AO3

Claire swore she had never been happier in all her life.

Jamie had been antsy all through breakfast, despite Claire’s endless assuring squeezes of his hand under the table. She thought he was going to explode when Brianna set her spoon down and said:

“Ready, Da?”

It had amazed Jamie to see how confident she was, how unabashed, unafraid.

“Ready, lass.”

Now, Claire stood outside the corral, arms crossed atop the fence, leaning limply on the worn wood.

“D’ye ken how to brush a horse, Brianna?”

“ ’Course I do.” Brianna stuck her nose up at him quite adorably.

“Aye, forgive me fer asking such a foolish thing.” This at first made Claire nervous, but the way Jamie smiled after he said it, the way Brianna giggled, convinced her that they were only teasing one another.

So natural together.

“Can ye show me, then?”

Brianna nodded curtly, almost smugly, and brushed Alastair precisely the way she always did.

“See?” she said pointedly, her little nose in the air again.

Claire shook her head at her cheekiness. Perhaps her daughter took after her just a bit too much.

“Aye, that’s braw, a chiusle,” Jamie said gently. “Short wee flicks; who taught ye that?”

“Fergus. Said he learned from you.”

That took his breath away; a long lost memory of showing his son how to properly care for a horse long before he ever even learned to ride. “Aye. I suppose he did.”

Jamie took his own bit of hay and began brushing Alastair’s other side.

“Fergus,” Jamie continued. “He isna cross wi’ me fer taking his place wi’ ye in the corral?”

She shook her head, her eyes still fixed on Alastair’s coat.

“That’s good. I wouldna want to upset him, or you.” Brianna didn’t respond. “I ken ye’re…used to things being a certain way. I’m very grateful that ye allowed me to spend this time wi’ ye.”

Brianna smiled and looked up at him. “He likes you.”

“Does he, now?” Jamie moved in front of the beast, narrowing his eyes slightly, pretending to size him up.

“Aye,” Brianna confirmed with a little giggle. “He likes when ye do this. I’ll show you.”

She nestled herself right beside Jamie and reached a hand up to cup right beneath Alastair’s snout, then ran three fingers gently up and down between his eyes.

“Ye have to use three,” she said very seriously. “Two doesna feel as good, and four would make your fingers get too close to his eyes, and he doesn’t like that.” Brianna glanced down at his hands. “Except your fingers are giant…so maybe you should use two fingers.”

Jamie laughed out loud. “D’ye no’ ken well enough now that I’m no’ a giant?”

She giggled. “ ’Course. But ye still are giant.” She gently removed her hands from Alastair’s snout, but not before rising up onto her toes and pressing a wee kiss right on his nose. The sight of it warmed Jamie’s heart to its very core.

She’s fiery, aye, bold, brash…but so, very tender as well.

Like her mother.

“Your turn,” Brianna said, cocking her head to Alastair.

Jamie nodded and carefully placed his hands exactly where she had, taking care to use two of his giant fingers.

“Like this?”

“Aye.” Brianna beamed in approval.

“Ye’re a very clever lass, Brianna,” Jamie said tenderly, stroking Alastair. “Very caring and considerate. Ye took special care to learn exactly what yer horse likes and doesna like.”

Brianna’s grin grew ever wider, and Claire’s heart was fit to burst.

“He trusts me,” Brianna said proudly, rocking on her heels.

“Aye, I can see that. He’s a lucky horse.”

“He trusts you, too, now.”

“Then I am a lucky man.” Jamie removed his hands from Alastair’s snout.

“Kiss his nose!” Brianna said urgently, as if the matter were serious as death.

“Oh, aye,” Jamie said sheepishly. “Canna forget that.”

Claire had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the sight of Jamie bending slightly and kissing a horse’s nose. He was putty in their daughter’s hands.

“Alright then, lass. Let’s see how ye ride.”

Brianna bit her lip with excitement.

“D’ye need help mounting?”

“Only a little,” she insisted. “Just can’t reach her neck yet. So I need a hand.” She put her foot in the stirrup and looked up at him. “But you don't need to hold me. Fergus hasn’t done that since I was seven.”

Jamie chuckled softly; to hear her talk you’d think it had been quite a while since she was seven, and not a mere few months ago.

“Alright then, lass.” He reached his hand out to her. “Up ye get.”

Jamie was quite impressed to see the way she heaved herself over, despite how she gave several little bounces before fully committing to it. How many times, he wondered, had she attempted this with Fergus, only for her to fall short and collapse into the lad?

“See?”

“Braw, Brianna. Very braw, Indeed.”

She smiled smugly again. She took hold of the reins.

“You should take hold of the rope before Mummy starts shouting,” Brianna said.

Jamie threw his head back for a loud laugh at Claire’s expense, and Claire rolled her eyes, though she could not help her own laughter.

“Mummy shouts, does she?”

“Oh, aye,” Brianna said gravely, nodding, looking very much like her auntie. “If Fergus isna holding on for just a little tiny bit she has a conniption.”

Jamie laughed even harder at that, never imagining an eight-year-old to come up with such a word.

“Am I hearing things, Brianna, or did you just accuse me of having conniptions?” Claire called indignantly from behind the fence.

“But it’s true, Mummy! ‘Fergus!’” Brianna’s speech immediately melted into Claire’s posh English. “‘Take hold of the rope this instant! Fergus! Don’t you dare let her go!’”

Jamie’s eyes were leaking with tears of laughter.

“You are both in for it when you get out here!” Claire called, though, again, she was powerless to stop her own fit of laughter. Brianna’s impersonation really was quite spot on.

“Then we’ll stay in forever!” Brianna declared, sticking that nose up again. “We’ll eat grass and hay like the horses! Won’t we, Da?”

Jamie had to wait a few more moments before his laughter subsided enough to answer. “Aye, lass. We’ll be just fine out here. But I’ll only stay if ye brush my hair wi’ the hay the way ye do Alastair.”

Brianna laughed out loud.

“You are insufferable! Both of you!” Claire called.

“Why thank you.” Jamie gave a low bow, causing Brianna to laugh all the harder. “Alright then, a nighean.” Jamie finally took hold of the rope. “Off we go?”

Brianna clicked her tongue and gave the beast a light squeeze with her legs, like an expert wee jockey. Jamie didn’t know what he expected exactly, but he hadn’t expected her to be so natural. Claire had told him the lass loved her horse, but he had no idea how deeply this love ran for her. As he held the rope and led her around the corral, watched her steer the reins, listened to her gentle praise of the creature, he could not help the tears in his eyes, nor the hard lump in his throat.

It’s almost as if I taught her myself.

Claire, too, was nearly beside herself with emotion. This image, her daughter’s father smiling up at her, glowing with pride, doing something together that they both loved so deeply, it was more than anything she ever dared hope for. It was indescribable, overwhelming; the fierceness with which she loved them both.

“Yer Ma said ye were a fine rider, Brianna. But she didna tell me ye were a natural,” Jamie said, the pride in his voice uncontainable. “Reminds me of myself as a wee lad.”

“Mummy says I get it from you,” she said lightly, grin wide as ever.

“Does she now?”

“Aye.” Brianna nodded, curls bobbing. “She says I get a lot from you.”

“Aye, my thick skull being one,” Jamie said, recalling their first encounter.

She giggled. “Aye.”

“What else does she say ye get from me?” His voice was suddenly light, lilting, entranced at the idea of his child taking after him.

“My eyes and hair, o’ course,” she said, then her nose wrinkled slightly. “My temper.”

Jamie laughed. “Aye, s’pose that’s so. Though I’d wager yer mam had something to do wi’ that as well.”

“That’s what Auntie Jenny says.” Brianna nodded in serious agreement, causing Jamie’s head to toss back with laughter again. “Once, I heard Mummy say to Auntie Jenny: ‘She’s far too good at lying.’” Her posh English came back, much to Jamie’s delight. “And then Auntie Jenny said, ‘Oh, aye, that she gets from her father.’” She thickened the Scot in her voice, then, imitating Jenny’s cadence quite impressively.

Jamie laughed again. “That’s true, indeed. Yer mam canna lie to save her own hide. I always say she’s got a glass face. Ken what I mean?”

“Aye.” Brianna nodded, smirking.

“Yer a sneaky wee thing as well, then? Listening to yer Auntie and Mam talking?” She blushed a bit at that, but her mischievous wee smirk didn’t go anywhere. “Ye get that from me as well,” he whispered, leaning in.

She giggled. “I’m always scaring Auntie wi’out meaning to. ‘Ye scairt the bowels out of me!’”

“Aye! I used to get that a lot when we were bairns.” Jamie’s cheeks were sore from smiling. “Yer also quite braw at switching between tongues. Dinna get that from me or yer mam, I should think. That’s a trait that’s special fer Brianna.”

She beamed at that, sticking her chin up proudly. “Aye. Mummy says I sound more Scot when I’m excited or angry. But I can sound whatever way I want to,” she said smugly. “When the Redcoats come I talk full Scot so they dinna find out I’m half-English. Works every time.”

Brianna’s tone was light and playful, but Jamie couldn’t help it when his face darkened with that knowledge. How often, he wondered, did Brianna have to hide who she was? Did they stuff Claire in the priest hole? Or did she manage to get away without speaking every time they came by?

Jamie cleared his throat, afraid of putting her off with his silence. “That’s very clever, lass.”

“It was Mummy and Auntie’s idea. When they come, we pretend that Auntie is my Mummy and that Mummy is my Auntie. Though I canna say ‘Mummy,’ have to say ‘Ma’. Too English, ye ken.”

Jamie nodded hesitantly. “Does it happen often?”

“Not as much as it used to.”

“Ye’re a brave wee thing, Brianna.”

“Och, it isn’t scary,” she assured him. “It’s fun pretending that Kitty’s my real sister and no’ just my cousin.” She smiled warmly.

Jamie’s heart felt heavy. To Brianna, it was a game, a fun source of entertainment: outsmarting the British. She got to do her playacting and pretend that her very best friend was her sister. She had no idea what the dire consequences would be if the charade was discovered. He hadn’t even asked Claire, or Jenny and Ian for that matter, how they’d fared in terms of Redcoat harassment while he was gone. He hadn’t at all considered the implication of Claire, clearly English as soon as she opened her mouth, raising a child so thoroughly resembling Red Jamie. Jenny’s idea to pretend she was hers was a braw one indeed.

“Ye get along well wi’ Kitty, then?” Jamie said lightly, eager to change the subject.

“Oh, aye. She’s my very best friend since the day I was born. We fight sometimes, but Mummy and Auntie say it’s because we’re both stubborn as mules.”

He chuckled. “Aye, the two of ye seem to share the thick-skull trait.”

She nodded. “Maggie is my best friend, too. But it’s different than wi’ Kitty. Maggie doesn’t like horses like we do, and she doesn’t like to run around or shout. She’s very quiet.”

“Nothing wrong wi’ that.”

“I know,” Brianna assured him. “Playing with Maggie is just different than playing with Kitty, that’s all. We paint instead of running and shouting.”

“Aye, that makes sense to me.”

“Maggie helps Mummy in the garden,” she went on. “ ’Course I do, too, but Maggie really loves it. Says she wants to be a healer like Mummy when she grows up.”

Jamie’s heart warmed at the knowledge that Claire was passing her gift down to his own kin, her bonny wee niece. “And what about you, Brianna? What do you wanna be when ye grow up?”

Her face screwed up, her nose wrinkling again. “I dinna want to grow up, Da.”

He laughed out loud again. “Aye, that’s fine, lass. I dinna want ye to grow up just yet either.”

——

The day continued as such, and eventually Claire ended up sitting on the wooden fence, leaning on her hands, knocking herself off balance every time either Brianna or Jamie had her tossing her head back. At one point, Fergus appeared behind her and deliberately spooked her, almost causing herself to jerk forward and fall on her face. Brianna insisted that Fergus join them in the corral, so he did, walking alongside Jamie, holding onto Alastair’s bit to keep pace as Jamie led with the rope. Claire could not hear what Jamie and Fergus were saying, but there was a great deal of laughter, from them and Brianna as well, and it warmed her from head to toe.

They haven’t skipped a beat.

My boys.

“Mummy!” Brianna called, jolting her out of her blissful reverie. “I want to go fast! All around! May I?”

Claire shielded her face from the sun with her hand. “Alright,” she called back. “Would you like to ride with Fergus? Or me?”

“Neither!” she cried. “I want tae ride wi’ Da!”

Claire could literally see the wind being knocked out of Jamie. She blinked in shock for a moment; not shock that Brianna would want to ride with him, but purely because Claire was not at all used to Jamie being included in the mix. Even as he stood right there in front of her, it hadn’t even been a thought in Claire’s mind that Jamie would participate in something that had become somewhat ritualistic for this family.

Our family. Mine and his.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Alright, darling. Let Da get you down, and then we’ll put Alastair away and get everyone else saddled up.”

Claire could hear Brianna from where she sat, insisting that she did not need help dismounting, and she chuckled to herself. Jamie stood back and let her dismount, instinctually putting his hands out to catch her when she wavered on the ground. She didn’t miss a beat, however, standing up tall and brushing his hands away. Claire shook her head, laughing, and she heard Jamie and Fergus laugh as well.

Brianna led Alastair back to his stall herself and, with a bit of help, she removed his saddle and bridle herself as well. Jamie ruffled her hair proudly, beaming down at her. It was such a simple gesture, so natural for a father to do to his child. And yet it meant more than the world to Claire, and to Jamie as well. She could tell.

“Aye, she’s spirited,” Jamie said as he and Claire were saddling their horses, and Brianna helped Fergus with his. “Like ye said. I kent it well from this past week, but tae see her out here…” He shook his head, his grin wider than ever. “She reminds me of myself as a wee lad.”

Claire chuckled. “That’s a terrifying thought.”

“Och.” Jamie rolled his eyes, but his grin did not fade. He finished saddling his horse, and he leaned on the leather with his elbows. “She wants to ride wi’ me, Claire.”

Claire looked up, gazing at him over her horse with eyes aglow with adoration. “Of course she does.”

Jamie’s eyes glistened, and Claire was overcome with the desire to kiss him, unfortunately unable to reach him over two horses.

“You’re slow!” Brianna cried. “Fergus and I are done already.”

Claire and Jamie snapped out of their longing gazes and whipped around. “Aye, slow indeed. If ye’re sae clever, get o’er here and help us, aye?”

Brianna bounded over, helping with the finishing touches of the bridles and saddles.

“Do you have the rope, Fergus?” Claire asked.

“Aye, it was with my other things,” he confirmed, holding it up.

“What’s that for?” Jamie asked, leading his horse out of his stall.

“For you. And Brianna,” Claire said. “It goes around both of you so she doesn’t fall off the horse if a seizure comes unexpectedly.”

“Which it never has,” Brianna said with slightly more attitude than Claire appreciated.

“I know that, Brianna Ellen,” Claire said with the smallest hint of a threat. “It’s just in case. You know that.”

With one final look, Brianna shrank, nodding. “Yes, Mummy.”

“And don’t try to pull a fast one on Da,” Claire went on as the four of them emerged outside from the stables. “He knows all the rules and all the precautions.”

“Yes, Mummy.”

Claire exhaled lightly with a smile. “Alright. Here we go, love.” She crouched down to kiss Brianna’s head. “Have fun with Da.”

Brianna smiled, squinting in the sun. “I will.”

Claire mounted her horse, as did Fergus. Brianna looked up at Jamie, shielding her eyes with her hand.

“I do need your help mounting this time,” she said. “Your horse is giant. Like you.”

Jamie laughed out loud, then crouched down to poke her nose. “I’d look rather foolish on a wee beast like Alastair, would I no’?”

“More than rather,” she said, giggling.

“Alright. Up we go.” Jamie scooped her up under her arms, and Claire did not miss how he lingered with her there. She knew the feeling, the overwhelming knowledge that you alone were holding your child, you alone were their safety. He deposited Brianna on the saddle, then swung himself on.

Jamie felt the air blown out of his lungs as Brianna inched back, pressing her entire back against Jamie’s chest.

“Make sure you tie it tight,” Claire said as Jamie began winding the rope around them both. “Stop the horse immediately if she slumps over. You know what to do.”

“Aye,” Jamie said, finishing off the knot. “I’ve...I’ve got her.” He placed a protective, loving hand on the top of her head, pulling her tighter against him with the other. Claire smiled sweetly at him.

I’ve got ye, lass. Now and forever.

“I get to hold the reins, you know,” Brianna said.

Jamie chuckled. “Aye, lass. I know.”

She nodded curtly, taking the reins in her hands, and Jamie willed his fingers to stop trembling as they closed around her tiny wrists.

“Ready, lass?” he whispered into her ear, and her enthusiastic nod had her curls tickling his face.

“One...two...three…” Brianna said, anticipation building in her voice. “Go!”

In perfect tandem, Jamie and Brianna snapped the reins, and Jamie squeezed the horse’s torso with his legs, and they were off.

Jamie was in awe. If Brianna was happy on Alastair in the corral, she was alive now.

She hunched over as much as the restraint of the rope would allow, and Jamie followed, crouching as much as he could without crushing her. She really was excellent with the reins, even at this speed, and Jamie hardly had to intervene. Her hair was free and wild, obstructing his vision more than was probably safe, and he made a note to plait her hair next time. After a while, she was whooping with joy, positively laughing her head off, and Jamie could not help but join her.

“It’s like flying!” she cried over the pounding of hooves and rushing of wind. “Aye, Da?”

“Aye, lass!” he called back, his stomach flipping with joy. “Indeed i’tis!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Fergus and Claire occasionally blur into his field of view, but he could hardly see anything but the fiery tendrils dancing in front of his eyes, could hardly process anything over the whooping laughter of his daughter.

His heart physically ached with how deeply he loved her.

Her joy was putting a light inside of him that he did not think existed, was bringing to life something that he had thought long gone. He’d expressed to Claire that he did not think he could connect with children anymore, that his spirit had been too broken beyond repair.

But Brianna was putting his spirit back together, and she wasn’t even trying. All she had to do was squint up at him with that gap-toothed smile, or shake her head so that her curls bounced, or cry out with joy on her horse.

She was making him whole again.

My beautiful, sweet, cheeky, perfect lass. My flesh and blood. My daughter.

----

And that's a wrap on this one! Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and Happy New Year as well! All my love! Stay tuned for a sequel to this story sometime in the new year!<3

[sheisbeautyweareworldass]

Better days

Thomas has a nightmare, Alastair is there for him.

Words count: 1.783

TW: death mention

Author note: This is fluffy, very fluffy. I wasn't kidding when I said I was a softie. I know a lot of people love angst stuff so..... just letting you guys know <3

---------X---------

Thomas woke up sweating, gasping – his heartbeat sounding like a drum to his own ears. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake away any trace of sleep from them. The room was still dark, dim moonlight coming through the window. He looked at the other side of the bed, where Alastair was sleeping peacefully. The last thing Thomas wanted was to wake him up with his ragged breath.

Thomas really wished he could go back to sleep, but he had no idea how. His mother always said that there was nothing that tea couldn’t heal – maybe the tea he’d drunk before going to bed was still warm? Or maybe he should go outside for some fresh air, and walk for a while – clear up his mind. His gaze followed Alastair’s frame next to him – it would be easy for him to calm down if his lover was already awake, but he would not wake Alastair up just because of a bad dream. Last night tea, it is then, he decided.

The taller boy was on mid-step when he heard a noise coming from behind – duvets moving and a sharp breath of someone who didn’t expect to be awake.

“Thomas?” Alastair said, destroying any hopes he had of sneaking out in secret.

“I’m sorry.” He turned to face his boyfriend. “I tried to not make any sound to wake you.”

“It wasn’t your noise who woke me up, hamsar-am, it was your absence.” He said calmly – his hand was resting on the spot of the bed where Thomas was seconds ago. The Lightwood boy felt his heart flip, as it always did when Alastair directed such words to him, warm content spreading all over his body. “Why are you awake?”

There was no point in lying, he knew. “Nightmare,” Thomas told him.

He watched the way Alastair’s eyes got darker in understanding. Thomas’ nightmares didn’t happen as often as they did in the first months after Barbara’s death, but they could always return – especially when he was too tired from the battle of the day before like he was tonight.

Alastair was silent for a couple of seconds, just looking at him, then he sat up, back against the headboard with arms wide open. “Come back to bed, Thomas.”

Thomas went easily, as if answering to Alastair’s call was his second nature. That’s what I needed, what I wanted, he thought, as his face sunk deep into the other man’s neck. Alastair smelled like coffee and wood - everything about him was warm and strong, in a way that made Thomas’ mind travel back to summer days in Paris and lazy nights next to their fireplace. In his honest opinion, everything about Alastair was a reminder of home, like a compass needle finally settling down and finding its place.

“You should’ve woken me up,” Alastair whispered.

Thomas shrugged. “You looked way too handsome sleeping,” He said, resting his chin on the dark-haired boy’s shoulder, hoping to sound flirty and playfully.

“And I would look way too handsome awake, azizam,” Alastair made no effort in hiding his eyes rolling.

Thomas also made no effort in hiding his smile. “I wanted to admire you,” he tried again.

“And I want to admire you too, Thomas. So, next time, just wake me up so we can admire each other simultaneously, alright? Don’t be selfish.” He said but there was no real heat behind his voice.

They stood like that for a few minutes, Thomas hugging Alastair’s mid-section, Alastair playing with Thomas’ hair and caressing his tattoo. It was a quiet night, the wind wasn’t too cold and no sound came from the streets. Peaceful nights were a rare occurrence to Shadowhunters, and Thomas mentally cursed the fact that his nightmares returned in what seemed to be the best night of the month. He heard Alastair’s almost inaudible humming next to him, a familiar melody that it took him a while to recognize as the first song he’d shown to his boyfriend.

For most of his childhood and teenage years, Thomas had been too thin, too sickly, too small to properly fit anywhere. Then, suddenly, he’d gotten too tall, too muscular, too big – and there was still nothing suitable to him. But in moments like these, when he and Alastair were curled up against each other, Thomas knew that he’d never been too small or too big: he’d always been in a perfect size to fit Alastair’s body.

He remembered the nights when he wondered if his curse was to never feel like he belonged to somewhere – if the feeling of lacking and excess would always be there. But when he looked at the shadows of their bodies melting in one, when he listened to their synchronized heartbeats, Thomas knew that his body had been made to fit right into Alastair’s frame, by his side, in his arms.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He heard him ask.

“Not really,” Thomas said. “I barely remember what happened in the dream, you know? Jus-just the pain? The desperation and powerlessness.” He blinked away the tears, refusing to cry.

He’d never been good in talking about losing Barbara. His parents and friends had assured him it would be okay for him to open up, to speak out about the pain, but Thomas didn’t think he could do it. He’d tried to put down in songs, in poems, to describe how it felt to have an empty spot on his chest – the voidness that would always be there from now on – but his words never seemed to capture the reality and the rawness of having a loved one taken away. It was a vulnerability he wasn’t used to and he hated how there was nothing that could’ve prepared him for it. More than anything else, he hated the fact that he couldn’t mend his mother’s heart, hated how the shadow between his father’s eyes would never leave and how Eugenia was now deprived of the company of her dearest confidant. It was like Thomas was 8 again, too fragile to have any power over how things worked – except that now he was older and bigger, but still powerless.

Alastair’s voice brought him back, “Do you want me to play the piano?”

They’d found out, by accident, at the beginning of their restored friendship, that Thomas’ restless mind felt calmer if he listened to Alastair playing the piano. It had been good, back then – but that was before they’d found out that Alastair’s arms could bring him more comfort than any music, and way before they discovered the effect of his lips. Still, it was rare for him to deny an opportunity to listen to the other man.

“No.” Thomas pressed his face deeper into the curve of Alastair’s neck. “We’re in the middle of the night, better not risk to wake the neighbor. Besides,” he grinned, “that requires for you to get up of the bed and let go of me.”

He felt Alastair shaking from silent laughter. “I don’t remember a time where you were clingier than you’re right now”.

That made Thomas look up, his boyfriend was sounding way too satisfied for his liking. “That’s very brave coming from you, Mr. I-Searched-For-Every-Potential-Date-Idea-In-Paris-Because-I-Wanted-To-Stay-With-You-The-Whole-Time.”

Alastair pinched his arm playfully. “I don’t record you saying no to my invitations.”

“How could I?” He could see that small, not-so-rare-anymore smile on Alastair’s lips, the one Thomas wished he could draw and get it tattooed on his other arm, on his eyelids, and on his heart. He leaned closer, “You were paying for everything.”

Alastair let out a surprised laugh, disbelief addressing his features before raising his chin up, using his more dramatic voice. “For someone who doesn’t want me to stop holding you, Lightwood, you sure as hell dedicate lot of time in tempting me to do it.”

Thomas made a hmph sound. They both knew that Alastair’s arms would stay around him as long as Thomas wanted to – but he tangled their legs together anyway. Just for assurance.

“Thank you,” he muttered against the man’s skin. He didn’t need to elaborate; they both knew what Alastair was doing.

His lover was looking at him, his black eyes glittering in a way that made Thomas shiver with adoration - even in the dark of the night, Alastair’s eyes were the brightest spot in his world. “We should go back to sleep now.”

He felt a brief kiss being deposited on his lips and another one on his temple. “We should. Believe me, you want to be at your best for your sister’s wedding.”

Thomas’ eyebrows quirked up, “Speaking from experience?”

“Obviously.” Alastair made a sour face, “but at least Eugenia is marrying a nice man. There’s no need to worry.”

Thomas grinned in response and kissed him one more time.

He would still have bad days, he knew. It would be foolish to believe that Barbara’s death wouldn’t come back to haunt him sometimes. She was his sister, his flesh and blood; he’d known her face before he’d learned to walk, had known her voice before even knowing his own. He would never stop missing her, and if at some nights the pain became unbearable, that was okay. Thomas looked at Alastair, whose eyes were already closed, another person who knew grief and loss. Alastair also had his bad nights, moments when his father’s yelling was too loud and his mother’s death bed became vivid red again.

At least they had each other. Thomas knew it wasn’t enough – wounds like the ones they had weren’t healed by kisses and hand holding – but it helped to have someone to carry your burden with, someone to listen to your words, and to be by your side throughout your journey of recovery.

They had other people too. Cordelia, Alastair’s most fierce defender was always with him, as were his own set of loyal friends. Thomas had his parents, his sister, and the brothers of his heart. They had a very exigent 2-years-old toddler sleeping in the room next to theirs, the neighbor who always made his presence known whenever he heard his brother playing the piano. They had a family, people with whom they were bonded by blood or by heart.

It wasn’t good to have nightmares and Thomas absolutely hated them, but he would always be grateful for the privilege of waking up in a reality where he was surrounded by so much love and companionship, a reality where the people he cherished the most were only a touch away. He entwined his hand with Alastair’s, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of calmness. Thomas sighed and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow would be a better day.

---------X---------

Azizam: my love

Hamsar-am: my equal head