#i would get the dark!herondale james i was PROMISED

[monmouthmintleaves]

i would give all the money in my bank account to have tlh rewritten by maggie stiefvater

[sour-leminies]

My little Fairy

Pairing: Hook x Fairy F!Reader

Summary: Coming to Merlin Acadamy you grew very close to the pirate with a hook. Everyone had declared you Hook's pirate Fairy. Truth be told, most people couldn't believe how loyal and caring you were to the pirate. So, when you finally snap, for the first time in a long time James didn't have you by his side, and all he knew was he wanted you back. Now.

Warnings: None I can think of, but let me know otherwise.

Taglist: @astrynyx @snixx2088 @4ng3l-ch1ld @herondale-lightworm Just ask to be tagged!

Navigation — other works!

I watched as Bridget and her friends all danced around the court yard - singing and dancing. It was sickening, they were so sweet and yet I couldn't help the part of me that yearned for that kind of friendship.

My only friend was Captain Hook, and if given the chance I'm positive he would have ditched me long ago if not for my help with things. Whenever he wasn't prepared for a test, I'd skip my own class to be in my smaller form tucked away in his shirt - telling him the answers. Or whoever he wanted me to spy on one of his victims he terrorized, I'd do so. Or when he wanted pixie dust, etc. The point was, I'd give my soul for Captain James Hook, and I don't even think he sees me as a friend.

Snapping out of my haze I landed on James's shoulder, whispering in his ear - telling him how Bridget was in the courtyard being all happy. A message he hurried to tell Uliana, before he made his way to the spot. I was still on his shoulder as he entered the courtyard with a dramatic flair.

I remained on his shoulder as he sang and danced, until Uliana turned into a flamingo. Something I couldn't help but smile at. Part of me was jealous of Uliana, and her relationship with James. It looked more intimate than his with Maleficent.

I pulled James through a different door, Maleficent following after us - and we cut the girls off. I now rested on Maleficent Horns. I let out a gasp, that came out like a jingle.

The Vk's all retreated once Uliana ran away - screaming and soaking wet. At least she was no longer a flamingo.

Once everyone cooled down, I was now in my human form laying on my bed, dressed in a nice pretty black dress. My makeup and hair had been done and all I had to do was wait for Hook to get here so we could go to that birthday dinner he promised me.

"Still no Hook?" Maleficent - who was also my roommate asked me. "No, you would think he'd show by now. I mean he's twenty minutes late." I praised the lord that my voice didn't come out as jingles when in my human form. Annoyingly so, only other Faires and James could understand me when I was in my smaller size.

"I hate to say this," my roommate spoke as she sat onto my bed with me. "But maybe he forgot."

I quickly shook my head. No way - he promised me. He had promised. He wouldn't forget me.

Slowly the hours ticked by and by the time it struck eight, two hours after the time we agreed on, Maleficent forced me up, and her hand Hades took me to dinner.

I wanted to cry, but how could I? Just because I love him, doesn't mean he loves me. At that very moment I accept that cold hard truth.

So as Maleficent rubbed my arm, and Hades even pat my head - I had decided that I would stop trying with Hook, it'll never happen anyways.

—

Over the next few days you ignored Hook. You hadn't made the first move to talk to him, and it seemed he had nothing he wanted you to do for him.

When the third day of you ignoring him he grew antsy. He didn't know what the sudden change in you was, but for some very odd reason - he didn't like it.

He walked out of detention - Something he had gotten when he was caught breaking in Merlin's office. His very first thought was that you weren't there. Typically, when he'd get detention - if you didn't sit in there with him in his jacket, then you'd always greet him with a hug once he walked out the doors.

"Yo, Mali." He called out to the mistress of evil. "You heading to your room?"

The dark fairy nodded her head silently, and James took that as an invitation to walk her to her room. Even though he would never admit it, the real reason was so he could check on his little fairy. The one he was now growing worried about.

—

You jumped at the sound of the door opening. Looking up from the books you were reading on your bed, you were surprised to see Maleficent, but also James.

"Hook." You spoke, but kept your voice neutral.

The man couldn't help but flinch at the name you used. You never called him that, you always either used Captain or James. Now he knew somethings wrong.

"We need to talk." Came his short reply, but you weren't dumb, you could see the slow anger bubbling up in his eyes.

You slowly got off your bed, and walked out into the hallway with him. "What's the problem?" You were honestly he hadn't already listed things he wanted done, but you were sure he'd start soon.

"The problem? You tell me. You suddenly ignore me, I haven't seen you in three days - but I know good and well Hades has. So you fucking tell me the problem." His voice was slowly growing louder and louder.

"Hey calm down." You tried to keep your guy's voice quiet - but that only set him off more.

"Calm down?! How can I be calm when you vanished. You were gone." Suddenly both of you stopped. You both could hear the hurt, the insecurity, but most importantly the fear laced in his tone. His chest breathed up and down heavily as he realized just how much he bloody missed you.

"Listen, Hook." "James."

He took a step closer to you, slightly pushing you into the wall as he pushed into you, leaning down to breath you in.

Fuck he felt like an addict who needed a hit, and finally scratched that itch under their skin.

"You call me James." His breath fanned over your face, as he slightly leaned up to get a look at your face.

Part of you loved this, as you placed your hands onto his chest, the open part of his shirt so you both could feel the skin to skin contact.

For James it was like your touch awakened something in him. Something that called for your name. Something in him burned for you.

He leaned down, his breath fanning over your lips. Making you close your eyes in anticipation. Hook didn't was a single second. He dropped his hook from his hand, and placed it onto your cheek, while his other hand grabbed a hold of the back of your neck.

You in this moment couldn't deny you loved this - the feel of his lips on yours, the feel of his wanting you. But it was too late.

He had made it clear that you weren't a priority. And even though bread crumbs of his affection felt like a feast - it wasn't enough. You hand to stand up, You deserve better. Something that Captain hook couldn't give you.

You built your strength and pushed him away. "No."

Hook looked at you confused, did you not just feel what happened between the two of you? Because he was more than happy to give a repeat.

"I deserve better than you." You pushed him again, finally letting the tears out. Letting the tears out of a woman who wanted nothing more than the man she was crying over. "I deserve so much more than what you give me." Which was nothing. You pushed him again and this time he grabbed both your hand and pulled you into him, letting you hit him over and over until you were drained - but never letting go of you.

"You done?" You glared up and him through your pretty wet eyelashes. "Good. Now listen. You will have no one other than me. There will be no other man, woman, I don't give a fuck. Your my little fairy." You went to shake you head. No - maybe once you were his but not anymore.

"You don't even make a priority - how can you say that?" Your voice was horse from the mini break down you had while punching him.

"You are my priority." How could you say you weren't? Even when he though nothing of you, from the first moment he met you he had put you as a priority on his list.

"Ask me about how I spent my birthday three days ago." Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

You could see the panic cross his face. The regret and self loathing as well. And maybe once upon a time that would be enough, but not anymore.

You pulled yourself away from him and hurried into your room, locking the door.

He banged a couple time before he spoke through the wood.

"I'm sorry, fuck I'm sorry. Sorry can't even explain, let me make it up to you." When he got no response from he, he continued on. "I am sorry about this but we will move past it. Just remember you may think you are free of me, but your are not. I will haunt you, beg for your forgiveness. You want better - I'll be better."

You silently cried while Hook poured everything he had from his heart into his next words.

"I'll be so much fucking better for you, my little fairy. So better."

—

The rest of the entire week, Hook would try his best; he'd bring flowers to you in the morning, he'd always walk you to class - despite how much you told him to leave you alone.

James knew he screwed up, and he hated himself for it. He didn't know what he had and he took it for granted.

He would scowl at Hades and Maleficent when you all were hanging out at the black lagoon.

Just because you and hook were on shaky ground didn't mean you were no less a Vk. Something that the crew grew to respect about you.

Every time you walked past him - not giving him a glance, he felt his chest tighten. He miss how you would cling to him. How you would rest on your shoulder when you felt over stimulated. The way you would accidently spray him with pixie dust, causing him to float.

He missed teaching you sword fighting, and all the basics. He missed you.

"Y/N!" He called out to you, desprate to get your attention. For the first time, since that kiss you didn't glare at him - nor push him away.

Instead it was worse. He felt his stomach grow cold at the neutral and emotionless look in your eyes. At least when you hated him you still cared. Now he didn't know. Your walls were up so high - it's shadow could darken a valley.

"Yes Hook?" He closed his eyes, shaking off the feeling he had.

"First, it's James. Second, will you go to dinner with me." You opened your mouth to disagree but he covered it before you could make a sound.

"Don't say no." He could hear his heart pounding in his head. "Just come. Meet me at Dip and Go dinner tonight at eight."

He dropped his hand from your mouth, and he found his courage to speak his next words.

"If you don't come I'll leave you alone." He would not, but he needed to know that deep down he still had a chance. And if he didn't have one then he would spend the rest of his life fighting for one.

He walked away, nervous for the reality check that he would soon face tonight.

—

The clock on your dorm wall ticked, and ticked. Each second growing closer to eight. The diner was an hour away and if you were to make it in time you should be leaving now.

But you just couldn't. You were too afraid. You weren't a fool, you could tell James was sorry, and regretful, but you didn't know if you could trust him.

He had unknowingly held your heart - and then crushed it. What would he do if he had known how much you cared for him? Would he treat you different?

"You should go." You looked over to the dark fairy, you had thought she was out with Hades.

"I'm scared." You had once thought James was your only friend, but Maleficent and even her boyfriend proved me wrong. "That's what makes it worth it."

She walked over to your bed, sitting down beside me before she carried on. "If you even have a chance for love then it's worth it to fight. And if you decide that he's not worth it, then at the very least you owe it to yourself to find closure." Maybe she was right.

—

Hook glanced at the clock on the wall of the diner, it said eight forty, and he knew that she wasn't going to show. He blew his shot. He wanted to throw the glass Infront of him, the one where he poured rum into it.

He had decided to dress nicely, wore his best clothing, even left his hook at home. He wanted to look his best for you - to show you he could be a good guy for you.

He had already paid for his drink, so he left a twenty bill on the table and walked out. He would wait longer, but he could tell the employees had wanted him out.

He felt like he couldn't breathe as he walked down the path, he wanted to take you on. The trees lit up with beautiful fireflies at night, and it was a view he wanted to share with you.

His vision blurred, and his chest breathed up and down, as his heart ached, pounded. He had no problems with ripping his heart out for you, but fuck, all he needed was you. He felt like a fool - not because you didn't show, but because he was too self-absorbed and if he had opened his eyes from the beginning thing would be different.

He was a villain, and villains don't get happy endings. He knew that he could never have you, simply because you were his happy ending.

He stopped walking, as he tried to calm his heart with his shaking hands. Was he having a panic attack?

"James!" He heard your voice scream out his name, as you started to run to him. Fuck, he didn't care if he was dying as he ran to you with all the speed he could muster.

Once you were at arm's length you jumped into him, and he wrapped his arms around you as tight as he could. Loving the smell that invaded his senses with open arms.

You were late, he didn't know why, nor did he care. You were here with him. That single thought caused him to break. He couldn't hold onto his sobs anymore.

He thought he lost you because of himself. He thought he would spend his entire life alone - longing for the feel of you. He thought that truly lost you. Every part of him rejected that. He couldn't live with that.

He felt his knees start to weaken as he fell to the ground, you still in his arms and he clanged to you crying. You felt your heart break once again - and all you wanted was for your pirate to feel better. You kiss the top of his head, rubbing his back as he let all his fears out, all his emotions.

"I... I love you so so so much." He heaved out, his breath making him repeat. "And I'm... I'm sorry." He was and even you knew that. You were tired as well.

You pulled his face away from your neck, and for a moment he fought you - thinking you were once again going to push him away. You rubbed you thumb across his cheek as you looked into his beautiful eyes. His brown eyes were bloodshot red from the crying, and his eyeliner had started to smidge. His eyelashes soaking together, his lips trembling as he tried to get himself together.

"I forgive you." You whispered out, before pushing your lips against his soft, and wet ones. It was a small, and short kiss, but it was full of the love you had for him. The love he felt like he no longer deserved.

"I'm sorry." His voice came out like a while as more tears dropped from his eyes.

"I forgive you." You whispered once again, and this time he initiated the kiss. Soft, craving, and you could feel his sorrow. Despite the fact he was kissing you, you could still feel him begging for forgiveness.

"I love you." You told him, and while that's all he wanted to hear. He no longer felt like that was the case. How could you love him when he hated everything about himself? How could you forgive him, when he's still kicking his own ass.

"I love you two, my little fairy." Fuck his voice broke again as he rested his forehead against yours. You also couldn't help but cry as well.

—

James kept his promise. He did become better for you, and only you. He was still a villain, but he was a gentleman to you. He kissed you every time he saw you, gave you flowers every month when your old ones would die.

He did everything he could to become a good enough person for you, and while daily you'd reassure him how happy you are - he couldn't get your heartbroken face out of his mind.

He'd have nightmares of you leaving him all alone. You loved him, and he didn't feel worthy of it, but he'd be damned of someone else had it. He was still a villain.

The first moment where he finally felt okay to breath was when you told him the future you wanted with him. You had wanted a future with him. Him.

You wanted three kids, three girls, and you would love to watch him become a father as you all lived on his ship.

When you were all banished to the Isle of the lost, he hated himself for getting you stuck there, but you'd remind him you'd rather be with him then in some land without him.

When you first got pregnant, he couldn't help but be so joyous of the boy in your stomach. He never told you he wanted a son, but you knew so you also felt happy.

You had named him Harry, after James repeatedly told you he couldn't think of one. The second born was a girl, and you demanded he named her. So, he stole your idea and named her Harriet. Then on the final and last born, you told him he couldn't name your baby girl after he just stole Harry's name and gave it to his sister.

You, James, Harry, Harriet, and CJ lived on hook's ship. And despite the living conditions, you loved your family no less.

—

A/N: Hiii, if you see this and sent me an Elsa reader x Hook request I promise I am working on that!!

[spacehero-23]

Something that's been bothering me for a while is the way Cassandra Clare did a complete 180 on James as a character.

The James we were promised way back when the Midnight Heir and Nothing But Shadows came out is nothing like the James we see in the main series. And it makes me viscerally angry. James in the last hours is well…it pains me to say this because I do love him, but... until chot he’s not that interesting.

Most of his struggles that were set up in the short stories magically resolved themselves before the series began. He’s no longer insecure about how different he looks compared to other shadowhunters, suddenly he’s just as quick and witty as will and matthew are, and everyone loves him and wants to marry him! When the James we were promised was a social outcast, who was reminded everyday that not only is he not like his father, he is worse. 

James in the Midnight Heir is shown to be jealous of his parent’s perfect love. When he himself is suffering because he’s madly in love with Grace and she just broke things off with him. We also see this hint of resentment towards Will for being so “perfect”.

Which shows up again in Nothing But Shadows. James constantly compares himslef, and is being compared to Will. Will is so handsome, and James is so odd looking. Will is able to make everyone laugh and everyone likes him, James is awkward and often does not know how to express himself.

And we can see in the way James talks about this that he’s annoyed at his father for making him feel like he is inadequate. And then he gets to the academy and all the kids start to make fun of him for the way he looks. They keep telling him how odd he looks, that he looks like a goat. And then his powers manifest and once again he is reminded just how different he is from everyone else.

The Last Hours was originally pitched as a love triangle with a Herondale in the middle. So when i first found this out i thought this story was finally going to challenge the godawful “Herondales love but once” rule. And this would also fit into this idea that James is somehow “wrong”. He’s not extroverted and witty like his father. He has demon blood and demonic powers, which creates a wedge between him and other shadowhunters.

And on top of that, he loves two people! One of them being an amazing shadowhunter warrior from a respectable family with close connections to the Herondales (Cordelia). And the other not so proper, maybe kind of evil, weird daughter of a mad woman who hates the Herondales (Grace). So the story wouldn’t just be about James choosing between two women he loves, but also about him being torn between the expectations of his family and society, and his “dark side”. 

But then Cassie made the gracelet and erased all of James’s problems. And we ended up with yet another boring love triangle that no one asked for…

[tetsunabouquet]

Heir To The Lands Chapter 53

Of Tearful Goodbyes Masterpost

Using the emergency line Aline had set up, Dru managed to get through to her family. She quickly explained what happened and that they needed to break into Idris as fast as possible which in return would require the L.A Institute to house Jem, Mina, an unconscious Ty and Gwyneth. Helen agreed to it on the phone and that they could portal them to L.A immediately and she made sure to alert everyone of what was happening. Dru felt the conversation get heavy and heard Helen's breath shake. "Promise me you don't get killed either. I cannot stand losing my only sister left." Dru thought she could hear Helen's voice break a little at the end and she felt bad but she needed to go through with it. "I won't, by the Angel, I swear I won't die." Dru hung up the phone, her heart was breaking and she tried to control her breathing as she felt this close to breaking out in a panic attack at the thought of who she was going to lose this time. Then she felt hands on her shoulder and she looked over it to see Thais looking at her with a reassured expression. "You got this Dru. We got this." She breathed out and hugged her best friend tight. "You're coming out of this alive too." She told her friend, who chuckled against her hair. "Of course I will." "We all will." Tomas' voice was firm and Thais smiled lovingly at her boyfriend, relishing in what could be one of their final moments together. Dru tried not to think about it.

Kit rushed from the stairs after grabbing hold of James Herondale's gun. Whilst having such a unique weapon was far from his favorite thing and neither was the reason why it worked for him, but he figured that such a powerful weapon was best to have at his side, just in case. However, he did not wish to be too late to say goodbye to Jem and Mina. Tessa was setting up the portal, Jem was holding an upset and confused Mina whose dark eyes were just taking everything in teary eyed. He rushed to her side and stroked her cheek. "Hey hey Mina, don't cry. We'll all be back home together again soon." She pouted at him and said, "Unfair." Kit's smile faltered a little. "I know you want to help, and you are. You'll be looking after baby Eleanor. She has no older siblings or whatsoever to protect her. Isn't that sad?" Kit quickly invented the lie, knowing far too well little kids just want to feel useful. Mina's gullible face was clearly considering the idea and Kit thanked the Angel for having adjusted so quickly. Never had Kit understood his father's many lies and secrets the way he had now, looking into Mina's sweet eyes. But he felt like perhaps he was beginning to see where his father could have been coming from. It was better to have an illusion to comfort you, at times, then to know your family could be brutally torn apart at any second. Sometimes, the truth was just too cruel. Tessa finished up the Portal, her own eyes shiny with unspilled tears as well. "Take good care of each other, alright?" She asked Jem who kissed her lovingly and Kit just had to look away, disturbed by the prospect of seeing his foster parents intimate. Tessa went on to pepper Mina's cheeks with kisses. "Now onto you, - you will be a good little lady, won't you?" She asked Mina, who nodded bravely. "I will pwotect baby!" She proclaimed and Tessa smiled bittersweet. "We will be reunited again my love, I have faith." Jem said as he walked forward towards the Portal, Mina waving to them in his arms. Every second was agony as Jem got closer and Kit practically felt relief for the mild distraction of Gwyneth- who has been keeping her distance to allow the family to say their goodbyes to each other, bumping into Kit as she rushed forward towards the Portal. The group of three stood in front of the Portal, Gwyneth deciding to hold onto the fabric of Jem's pants. "Goodbye," He said and Mina continued to wave enthusiastically as they disappeared into the swirl of the Portal, Gwyneth saluting to Kit as she disappeared too and Kit held Tessa as their hearts ached.

[quillify-tries-to-talk]

Defense and Love

(A rewrite of that scene in Chain of Gold where Cordelia does not defend her brother when James calls him unworthy of his sister's love. Because I was angry. Because CC knows zero things about sibling interaction.)

Lemme know if you like it!

“I know you hate me for how I treated you in school, and rightfully so,” Alastair said. It was a wonder his voice was not shaking. “But however much you hate me, do not take it out on my sister.”

Please, the word hung from the very tip of his tongue, unspoken and desperate. His heart was galloping inside his chest with an almost painful intensity, even more so under Cordelia's watchful gaze. He couldn't break now. Not in front of her. She would ask, and how was he going to explain why he'd distorted into something he didn't recognize himself?

“Alastair," said Herondale in that low, cruel voice that took him back to the Academy, his own past coming back to haunt him, "you made my life a living hell at the Academy. But I’d never take it out on Cordelia. That’s something you would do, not something I would do.”

So he thought Alastair would hit his own sister. Good God. You don't know anything, rich boy, he wanted to snap. You have no idea what you're talking about. 

Perhaps it was his own fault. He’d hurt so many people in his quest to guard his family. His life had turned into one horrific, monotonous nightmare. Protect them. Protect Layla. Let her be happy. Let my mother be happy. Let Father never come back.

The rational part of his brain had taken over the reins. He stood up straighter, schooled his expression into blank, icy indifference, the mask he’d perfected at school. Let Herondale think what he wanted. Alastair had a job to do and he wasn't about to let patronizing sermons get in his way.

“I see how it is. In school I had the power, and here you have the power to lord it over me. What’s your game? What do you want with my sister?”

“Your sister,” James said, speaking with a slow, deliberate coldness. “Your sister is the only thing keeping me from punching you in the face. Your sister loves you, Angel knows why, and you aren’t even the least bit grateful.”

The words were more powerful than any Shadowhunter weapon. They ravaged the remains of his heart over and over again.

He was ten and watching his father trip on the floor of his bedroom as he collected the brandy bottles littered around. Elias had been too drunk to tell who’d been into his room.

He was twelve again and practicing the iratze. It will help Baba, he'd thought then, childish hope still guiding him through the dark descending over the horizon of their lives.

“You have no idea what I’ve done for my sister." His voice came out rough and shaking. Horror of all horrors, Cordelia was still looking at him as though seeing him in a new light. Did she agree with James? She could. She was thriving here. "You have no idea about our family. You don’t know the first thing—”

He was fifteen again and refusing to train with Layla for the hundredth time because his body ached like one giant bruise. It was Pounceby. His jaw and neck tingled with the sting of the phantom bruise. He was watching the hope in his sister's eyes die. I am sorry, he'd wanted to say then. I truly am. But I can't let you see this. Live, Layla.

Something knocked against his shoulder. Hard. Only his training, both physical and mental, kept him from stumbling back in surprise.

It was Cordelia. She’d come to stand in front of him, the way Alastair had done when they were kids whenever their father had been home. Like a shield, he realized in disbelief. He wanted to push her out of the way, but her outstretched arm only resulted in him shifting to the side so he could catch her expression.

Anger.   

He'd seen his sister annoyed. He'd seen his sister frustrated. He'd seen her distressed. He'd seen her scheme and calculate, always finding a way out of anything with her brilliant mind and ambition.

But never before had he seen her like this: dark eyes aflame, hands curled into fists, shoulders bunching up as though she was preparing to land a blow.

Oh. Oh no, no, no, no. A number of curses flashed through his head in all the languages he knew. Farsi. French. English. Urdu. 

He looked down at her, and his expression visibly softened. Alastair tried not to narrow his eyes. 

"James," Cordelia was saying. Her voice sounded normal. "You'd better go."

“Are you sure?” he said in a low voice. “I won’t leave you alone, Cordelia, not unless you wish me to.”

She seemed to rise taller, and in that moment Alastair was reminded why Cortana had chosen her. His sister looked the way their mother was, fire and embers and a gaze so piercing that the other person was left stuttering, though they'd originally come to scrutinize every inch of her. The colour of her eyes, her skin, why she covered her hair with a roosari.

He wished he had their courage. He wished he hadn't withdrawn into the shadows.

Thorns in your way, Esfandiyār, whispered Baba's voice inside his head. Why look back when you can look ahead?

But that would've entailed far worse consequences than a sermon.

Ahead? His thirteen-year-old, iratze-fumbling himself had wanted to snap as he'd stared at the glass sticking out of his foot, blood dripping on the floor. Ahead at your next bottle, Father? 

Cordelia's voice rang out in the hall, sharper than the crack of a whip. "I will say this once and only once, James Herondale. So listen carefully." She took another step closer and Herondale's eyes actually widened. In surprise? Or in whatever the hell had happened between them before coming home? Alastair thought dryly. 

"Do not for one moment think that you are my saviour," Cordelia said through her teeth. The words sent a jolt of surprise through him. "I am thankful for all your help, believe me, but my love for my brother has absolutely nothing to do with this."

A faint smile curled on the edges of Herondale's lips. "You still don't know what he did?"

Cordelia raised her brows, and oh there it was. The sibling resemblance. Clear as day in the anger cloaked behind disdain and a smile. "Why does my love for my family have to come between your feud?" she demanded. "Do I require your blessing to love them? You have notions about my brother that I would have expected from the Pouncebys."

He looked like she’d slapped him awake. "Daisy,  I—"

She took a step back, and the anxiety on his face heightened. Cordelia herself was trembling.

And Alastair? He still couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn't move, save to draw breath. The scene unfolding before him seemed like a fever dream. Cordelia didn’t know how he’d tormented Herondale and Fairchild at the Academy. She had no idea of the bomb going off when he’d been mere inches from the building. She didn’t know why everyone hated him so much. He knew, and perhaps he was a greedy monster for making his sister choose between her love and her family.  

She raised a silencing hand when Herondale opened his mouth. "You assume that you know my brother better than I do. You assume that I am still Daisy—the girl with pretty ribbons in her hair, who needs your help to distinguish right from wrong. I will find out what happened at the Academy, but I will not stand idle while you say Alastair doesn’t deserve my love. You don’t get to choose who does or does not deserve me." She smiled, eyes glittering with the storms of the night. "You hurt my family, Mr. Herondale, and you will face my blade.”

Silence descended. Herondale’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between Alastair and Cordelia. A flicker of longing passed across his face as he saw Layla, there and gone. Alastair was gifted with a long, hard, assessing look. 

“You may take your leave now," Cordelia said coldly.

James's expression shuttered. Was Alastair the only one who noticed his sister's wince? Guilt twisted in his gut.

"Very well, Miss Carstairs," Herondale said in a low monotone. "As you wish."

As soon as he was out of sight, Cordelia seemed to shrink, deflate. 

Alastair snapped back to his senses. There were a number of things demanding his attention but he crossed the room to catch his sister by the elbow, older brother once more. His head was still reeling with the impossible absurdity of what had transpired. 

"Layla?" He tested out the name hesitantly. "What? I mean, you shouldn't have—"

"He said you don't deserve my love." She turned to face him, and to his horror, her dark eyes gleamed with tears. Tears on my behalf, he thought dizzily. 

What was this day?

In all the eighteen years of his life, he’d been used to working from the sidelines, slow and quiet. People did not need to see his tears, his frustration at himself. Only the anger and the sneering indifference he put up to keep them away. It had always been that way, ever since he had held Cordelia in his arms as a confused two-year-old. 

She is so small, mâmân!

I know, joon. Will you promise to help her?

“Why, Layla?” he snapped, and she flinched. He wanted to hit himself all over again. “Why did you do that? Herondale is not wrong. I have hurt people. I have done horrible, despicable things. You’re going to lose out on potential allies because of me, do you realize that? How will you save Father then? I thought--” He broke off, not wanting to say the dreaded word.

She lifted her chin and glared. “You thought what, dâdâsh?”

It was jarring to have heard her defend him, even more jarring than hearing the language of his home, the language he’d spent years shoving down because it tended to attract the wrong sort of attention. It was jarring that she’d even noticed his trembling hands or the tears that were clawing at his throat, begging to be let out. It had been years since he’d truly cried but London seemed hell bent on breaking him. He'd never really thought how much he'd needed Cordelia by his side. How many years had passed with just pushing and pushing and pushing people away until time sped by and they simply grew out of their love for you.

His sister was no longer a baby. She was nearly as tall as him, looking him in the eye, silent and waiting. 

"I thought you-you... loved him."

She closed her eyes. "I do. I think so. It doesn't mean I stand by idly while he goes on insulting my brother. It certainly does not mean that I hold back on my own feelings." Her eyes opened. A wry smile played on her lips. “You keep forgetting that only I am allowed to insult you, Alastair.”

Hoarse laughter escaped him, and Cordelia looked delighted to have been the cause. 

Taglist: @youngreckless @eugeniaslongsword (look, your annoyance inspired me lol), @cant-think-of-anything @reesecarstairs @cherilyn-rose @carstairs-hopelessly

[ninacarstairss]

PARABATAI WEEK -> day 2, Will Herondale and Jem Carstairs @carstairgray & @clarys-heosphoros

tw mention of blood

“They really should start sending us after more dangerous demons” Will said, his head turning to look at Jem as he walked up to him, a playful smile dancing on his lips. “They're wasting all our potential.”

Jem grinned back at his parabatai and Will threw his arm around his shoulders as they made their way back to the institute. Charlotte had sent them off on a mission to neutralize some demons on the banks of the river Thames, near Blackfriars bridge. It was a small horde of ravener demons, easy to take down for Jem, Will and Henry.

As soon as they'd defeated the demons Henry ran back to the institute babbling something about a new antidote to the raveners' poison he had to work on, and Jem and Will stayed behind to apply  iratzes where the demons had scratched them and to catch some breath.

“I know you're rather fond of hydra and raum demons, my friend” Jem countered as they walked. “But not all demons can have laughable protuberances.”

“Oh, come on, that hydra demon from two weeks ago had somehow managed to knot two of its necks together and couldn't free itself.” Jem rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to speak, but Will cut him off before he could. “I saw you stifle a laugh too, James Carstairs.”

Jem's cheeks flushed pink and Will smirked at him.

Tuned out he really couldn't lie to his parabatai. Jem threw his head back and laughed with Will, then they fell into lighthearted conversation as they closed in on Fleet Street.

The adrenaline of the battle still coursed through them both and Jem only saw the new ravener demon when it was too close to them. His jaw clenched and Will understood and turned with him, a hand going to his sword without hesitation, his senses sharpening again. Jem felt Will move beside him, but the demon took a leap and climbed up the nearest building. Jem threw a dagger at it and severed one of its legs, causing it to fall off the wall, but not hurting it enough to kill it. He lunged forward and sliced a cut on its side as Will slashed another of its legs off, their movements swift and sure, steadied by the strength of the parabatai in battle.

Jem managed to cut the demon's tail and it soon vanished back to its dimension, but before he could see or hear it, another ravener demon crawled up to him from behind, and Will lunged forward to cover him as it attacked.

Everything seemed to happen too fast. Jem saw Will running to him and throwing his blade at the demon, but before he could kill it, the tail reached his chest. Then he saw Will fall on the ground and the world seemed to vanish. He ran to him, slashing at the demon and sending it back to its dimension, but his vision was blackened at the edges and his chest hurt. He kneeled besides his parabatai and took out his stele. Will's blue eyes were closed and his breaths ragged and heavy.

“Will. Will, wake up. Open your eyes!” Jem drew three iratzes on his chest and Will's eyes fluttered open; Jem let out the breath he'd been holding.

“Jem” Will whispered, before a violent cough shook his body. He coughed blood.

Jem drew another iratze on Will's chest but the wound didn't seem to grow any smaller and the blood wouldn't stop flowing. He felt a wave of panic catch hold of him as the pain in his chest widened. He felt heavy and lost, and Will was shutting his eyes again. “Will don't close your eyes, please. Stay with me.”

Jem drew another iratze, then another one, but nothing happened. Will's breathing was slowing and he was loosing too much blood. Jem felt him slipping away. He summoned all the strength he could muster, picked up Will and ran to the institute.

———

Everything in him hurt, and Jem couldn't tell whether it was the aftermath of the battle, the effort of carrying Will, the yin fen low in his blood or Will's own pain getting to him. But he didn't care about his own pain as two Silent Brothers told him that Will's wound was deep, no vital organs were damaged but his situation was delicate.

“Will he recover?” asked Charlotte from beside him.

We cannot know yet. We will come back tomorrow to see that the injury is not infected.

Jem let the words sink in. He couldn't find anything to say or ask.

He walked in the infirmary and as his eyes laid on Will's body, still on the white sheets, his heart skipped several beats. It felt wrong. Will was always moving, always talking, always full of life. Now he laid too still, his face expressionless and his blue eyes shut.

Jem took a deep breath, then he grabbed a chair and sat besides his parabatai. He took one of Will's hands in his and brought it to his lips. “My Will” he whispered against his scarred knuckles.

———

For four days Jem didn't leave Will's side. The Silent Brothers came to check on his parabatai’s injury and they seemed less hopeful every passing day. Charlotte came in too, every day. Jem knew it costed her dearly: he could see the pain and guilt in her eyes, the fear of the knowledge that Will might not wake and that she would have been the one to send him off to his last mission. Jem wished to console her, to reassure her that Will did it to save Jem and he would have done the same for his parabatai, and that Will was stubborn and no one could have stopped him. He wished to tell her not to worry, because his parabatai would open his eyes again. But the words caught on his lips every time he tried to speak them.

Henry, Sophie and Jessamine visited too, but the sight of Will, so silent and still troubled them too. Charlotte brought in food for Jem and pleaded him to eat and go to sleep for a while, she would watch over Will, but Jem couldn't leave and he wasn't hungry.

When the Brother came back on the fourth day Jem only heard their words from a great distance.

We cannot do anything more. Should he not wake in the next 48 hours his condition will worsen.

Jem's breathing hitched. He felt something inside him break as he sat back next to Will. His Will. The other half of his soul.

He felt the thread between them loosen, he had been feeling it for days, but he clung to it like a lifeline. A tear rolled down his cheek as he leaned on and pressed his forehead to Will's, closing his eyes. “You do not get to leave first” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “You don't get to leave me alone on this earth, Will Herondale. That is not how it was supposed to go.” His voice broke and he let the tears roll down, unable to stop the pain that was invading his heart. Jem took his parabatai's hand and squeezed it hard, willing him to open his eyes, to protest about the tight grip and make one of his witty remarks. “Prove me” he continued, “how truly stubborn you are. Prove me Raziel would truly send you back out of annoyance. Come back to me, Will.”

———

When he opened his eyes the light of morning painted the room in tones of yellow and gold. He didn't remember falling asleep. He shouldn't have fallen asleep.

He turned his head with a swift movement and his breath caught. Will was awake. Strands of dark curls clouded his eyes, open and beautifully blue, his face was still paler than usual but his features were relaxed and his lips curved in a smile. His hand was still clutched in Jem's.

“Oh Will.” Jem surged forward and hugged his parabatai, nuzzling his head in the curve of his neck and burying his hands in his dark hair. He heard Will chuckle and everything in the world and inside him fell back into place.

“Easy, easy” Will said, laughing softly. “I still have a massive gash somewhere around my person, I hear. Let us hope it won't scar my beautiful body too badly.”

Jem drew back and laughed as he apologized, but he stayed close to Will and drank the brilliance of his smile and the light gleaming in his eyes.

Will was finally awake.

“Oh, Will” he repeated, resting a hand on Will's cheek. “I was so worried. I felt– I felt something slitting our bond and I thought– ”

“I know” Will said before he could finish. “I felt it too. And it was worse than the pain of the wound.” He squeezed Jem's hand. “I'm sorry” he said.

“Don't you dare apologize.” Will smiled and dipped his head. “But don't ever do this again, please.”

Will's eyes met his and his parabatai’s smile grew bigger. He nodded firmly and pulled Jem in for another hug.

Jem knew that was a frail promise. Will would throw himself in front of any demon to shield Jem countless times again, if it meant he would save his life. And so would Jem. They would be in that room again, tending to wounds less serious, he hoped, but it would happen. It was the life they’d been given. it was the life they chose.

The words of the parabatai oath echoed in the back of his mind and he thought of how much of a gift and an honour it was to have, and to be, a parabatai, but how much strength it required, too.

And, as he watched the light shine in Will's eyes, he thought that Will had been his strength all along, when he couldn't fight for himself or find hope in the depth of his bones. Will was his heart, and he’d been too close to losing him.

tag list: @cordaisya @im-not-ruined-im-ruination @surrounded-by-exquisite-clutter @stxr-thxif @icycoolslushie @writeforjordelia @gabtapia @fair-childd @clarys-heosphoros (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

[delicatebluebirdruins]

the last hours spoilers below the cut

thoughts as i read Chain of Thorns so spoilers duh and it got long so under a read more (also as a safety measure against spoilers and tumblr tags not working) feel free to chat with me about it

In april i will change the tags to something more general (I say April because not all versions of the book are out yet I think Italy doesn’t get their editions until March so)

James honey tell your Dad.

Matthew fight me and get help outside of Cordelia asking you not to drink in Paris

did i mention how much i hate the misunderstanding of chain of iron? yeah still hate it... quick moment

much better

honest about his love for Grace for the love of god Cordelia

Matthew is not keeping to his promise is he? one way or another he is up to something and I don’t like it

23 lmao Will same Magnus i can’t believe it either and lmao James “I haven’t not since last Thursday“

why is Grace arrested? was she arrested? I very vaguely recall her admitting to the shenagins

i love Kamala by the way I hope she goes back to her true name... what was the letter

Lucie is up and atom

*through gritted teeth* what good reason? to dislike Allistair? *eyes twitch*

Thomas’s note *clutches heart* I want to watch that scene in 10 things i hate about you again but also lmao i think the message would get to who its addressed to

Tatiana can fight me... poor Grace

oh Malcolm

Jessamine mention!!!!. finally adults knowing what do. Aww Will singing to James in rusty welsh

back to Matthew and Cordelia *grits teeth* ohh poor faeirie having to deal with this shit. Cordelia admitting that Matthew and Allistair don’t like each other and I loathe it, I loathe her not defending her brother

MADAME DOROTHEA???? oh the waking up theme is back (Madame channeling Elias). wow fun

Malcom don’t steal food... I feel uncomfy please for the love of god grab the poker and impale me with it... Dad has arrived

No you won’t conquer the pain in Paris Matthew. It wouldn’t be that easy to overcome pain WITHOUT THE ONES CAUSING YOU PAIN

.... the truth will out with the Herondale family reunion (Tessa is there we just don’t see her as she’s yelling at Malcolm) and Magnus being upset at not being asked for help as he is the warlock they usually annoy first lmao i love him

73 yes be proud of Jesse “the last bulwark of Englishman under stress. Tea? he suggested“ lol Malcolm

ah the letter Kamala found was blackmail... towards Charlotte maybe?

80 laughing hysterically

Jem is here.... Allistair! i knew the note would be read

97 Matthew are you sure you’re not a idiot

a good plan i suppose... good old Ezekiel

Alexander Bridge (another song coming on)

110 FINALLY SOME DEMONS... fuck off both of you (also I thought Matthew got bitten by the demon?)

Aw Kit/ Christopher best boy

yay back to this hell and now James is here (also looked at later at art so accidently spoiled myself to some dark haired guy wearing a crown)

Thomas I love and LMAO Will and Magnus best bros

I knew Matthew was lying... can i bang Cordelias head off a wall? Oh James... Eugenia! I missed you baby

I don’t wanna go back to Cordelia... yes it was as painful as expected

Matthew shut up. James use your fucking words

Magnus I love you... I wish I was Balios right now

Jesse’s “helpful fellow called brother Zachariah“

Cordellia is annoying me

tell it like it is Allistair they are idiots

@ James (image id: GIF of the Genie from Aladdin in front of white board reading tell her the truth)

I love you Allistair and Risa never leave me with these three again (Magnus, Efffie and Eugenia as well)

Oh Christopher I love you, Thomas yay

actual footage of Cordelia getting Allistair into the carriage

image id: dog on a leash being dragged text around it reading “um no/no mean no/ do not want/ heard you say vet/ wow no/ such abuse/ um wtf r u doing/ not wow/ so forceing“ end id

185 Cordelia and Matthew not planning on saying anything yet why

good idea Allistair and plans on how to find out who is being blackmailed. hatred of ducks is a noble cause

BRIGDET I LOVE YOU

Will is being great embarresing James and scolded by Tessa for quoting Charge of the Light Brigade at the table

I like Jesse I think, lemon drops? lemon drops

Albert Pangborn is great... Lucie you’re making me feel cold and Cordelia i know you are going through it but why

With Jesse and Lucie I am kinda hoping for a Pushing Daisies scenario

Oh Kamala why lie to yourself... Poor Grace kinda... 231 happy place Christopher and Alistair talking about books and languages (showing their brain works)

new day

Jesse spill the beans?

yay back with Cordelia *sigh*... poor Jesse.... No Cordelia you do not know what you saw you are a coward who is certain what you saw was the whole truth and nothing but the truth

would love to see the full evil vanity set it has to exist I won’t accept other wise

i do like Hypatia and Jesse is great... Hi Winston and Ari and Aratia is pretty so back to calling her this then

poor Oscar he is such a good boy

James good with words? I am not so sure

I am scared of Tatiana... but also every single time (image id: screenshot from Lion King 2 Simbas Pride song My Lullaby)

Beliel is making zombies apparently

so close yet so far... lmao Effie

308 if you spoke to your wife you’d know... I thought Letty be possessed good job me

312 Christopher deserves the world honestly. Go on Grace do the things

aww Mama Tessa, never shut up Thomas you’re great to be with. aw Mama Sona... the fear of god that Malcolm just experiences is priceless and relatable

laughing at the things like the weapons tree

parents what to do? oh chatting and we came so close. Also Esme i love you

Anna and Ari finally got that dance

FOR FUCKS SAKE this is the bad place... no its not Alistair and Thomas almost kissed but got interupted by Cecily screaming

FUCK OFF TATIANA AND EVERYONE LISTENING TO HER

it would also cast more suspicion to be honest

pick up a rock or something Cordelia, poor baby Alex and I DO NOT TRUST this

poor denzins of the Cornwall Institute

Alistair was not wrong and not to bring up lion king 2 again but not one of us? fits kinda well

FUCK YOU CHARLES!!!! FUCK OFF BRIDGESTOCK

go on Ari, Jem is bae and I love you guys

Charles might be the one being blackmailed and yes he is a pompous git

Lucie saw Edom I think

please not on the staircase think of your back it would hurt i imagine

what did the door knob do to you (reread that section oh it was jammed) still poor door knob

yeah big bath tubs for the win (dream home item big bath tub and swimming pool if i can’t live by the sea/ sea where it is private then i will have to make do)... oh no the adults are leaving

poor Effie can’t wait to see her opinions on everything

also side note last book James was pracitcally begging Cordelia to top him will that make a return?

aww Grace and here is Tatiana of course who i can’t wait to see die... what is going on

come Matthew tell them, James told them about Grace its your turn

Christopher is too good for this world

Matthew fight me (i was actually warming to him and now its two steps back)

lets go help Charlie. Go on Alistair (update i’ve been tabbing as i go and i am running out of pinks)

I love them feeling about conflicted about Grace and her actions... Grace is here and lets go zombies (or guys from black cauldron?)

there is so much kissing and so many characters

and lets go face Tatiana.. oh wow possession is every where apprently

go on Lucie do what needs to be done which is summon RUPERT buddy I missed you

Grace why are you following your “mother”... hi Lilith

CHRISTOPHER NO

I saw this picture in the run up it is really cool (side note i do like the illustrations my favourites being the blackstairs beach kiss in queen of air and darkness though- also if TWP does not start with the Clace wedding that we have two full chapters of I will sue)

Tatiana is dead? yay... but Christopher no

poor lady under the milkcart... poor people being possessed by Beliel

oh wow Beliel is... yeah this is a lot

James is going with Beliel, and Beliel took Matthew as well good grief

Lmao the title for the next chapter is Intermission: Grief

what if the escape route is a lie? what if its a trap?

new day?

490 Winston is a pretty bird, Oscar what is it puppy? oh it was planned thank god

girl talk time and James/ Matthew being in Edom is so funny to me for some reason

thomas watering the fairchild plants, watered my plants and cleared my skin

Carstair siblings rise!

Jessamine you good?

sup Lilith... if beliel dies by Cordelia’s blade this is strange wording

I love Jesse and Graces dynamic actually

yes destroy the wound

Anna what’s up?... good point

finally the truth comes about Matthew part 2/ bye Carbos it was fun I will remember you next time I read TMI

I want Christopher back (564 I ran out of pink)

They did! they got the fire messages working! I am so proud

oh Lucie, hi Filomena and are we going to be told this plan?

ahh Beliel wants to crown himself and all I can think is this image

Image id: Queen Elizabeth the 2 and text from christopher eccleston reading “parasite in chief in her idiot hat“

Go on Charlie *pumps fist*

I love you Eugenia

Statues attack and I am out of green tabs

stay safe everyone... Lucie what do?... aw Anna and Ari

Bridget is god and you can’t change my mind

I did think that wording was strange... bye Lilith see you later

herongraystairs mention... JEM YOU ARE OWED A FAVOR FROM BELIEL I have so many questions like does he still have it in SoBH? will he have it TWP? is this thing something I kinda remember being Ghosts of the Shadow Market? (its been awhile okay)

Aw Alastair I forgot you were blonde for a bit... good for you bud

oh so this is how the things got in the coffin like the gun Christopher made for James :(... I hope the locksmith recovered the bullet from it

Alastair the best big brother

(I didn’t put this in my physical notes so I don’t know where it fits in but i am so glad Matthew told his family)

666 Malcolm is here for a chat and it went well

OSCAR GOT A MEDAL!!!

Eugenia remains the best...  croquet lmao yes

image id: screenshot of Pall Mall scene from Bridgerton season 2

I like the ending

bonus story: love you Jem... I cannot imagine why people would be twitchy at seeing the robes of Silent Brothers (and I wonder if they feel the same?)... the ghosts made me tear up

random thoughts

- too many characters having povs just made it not work for me? especially when a few of them know things that others don’t (like the Gracelet and the fallout)

- Matthew grew on me which surprised me with how much he irritated me during Choi heck I downright hated him. And the same goes for Grace and Anna

- I don’t think I will ever like the love triangle

- scared for Charlotte and her pregnancy is going to be fun

- I wished we could have seen the trials for Wessa and Jesse (and other random scenes)

- because of things do i think we could potentially have something in between TLH and TMI? yes yes i do (i say things because its just the vibe I got from finishing it. I’ll get a better idea when i reread)

hello people who made it to the end of this long ass post go treat yourself with something nice

[ohnotoomanyfandoms]

On Cordelia’s Persian heritage and how it relates to future Herondales

“If Cordelia’s skin is so dark, how come Jace is blond?” is a question I get at least a few times per day, so I decided to intervene. Many Jordelia shippers have come to the Help Desk wondering about this. Many Fairstairs shippers feel that Jace’s blond hair is the validation they need to prove their ship is canon - although I’m not sure how Jace Herondale’s hair in 2007 relates to who Matthew Fairchild married in 1904, but I digress. 

Anyhow, I get so many lovely questions like this one every day, both on here, on Twitter, on Instagram, and even among my friends (yes, I operate Jordelia Help Desk sessions in real life too). 

Sit tight, kids, cause mama is about to give you a very sound explanation and put your minds at ease.

I understand the concern for Jordelia, I truly do. But I promise genetics and Jace’s looks are the only things we don’t need to worry about. I am going to give you two very separate answers to this question, both proving my point that Jordelia is endgame. 

1) The Scientific Answer: 

It’s been a few years since I aced AP Science, so forgive me for probably using improper genetic terms here, I might be oversimplifying things for the sake of this post. To put it bluntly, Cordelia and Alastair are mixed-race. They’re not white, they certainly wouldn’t be Black (I’ve seen some confusion about this too), they are Brown. However, they are the children of a Persian (Brown) woman and of a very white (English) man. 

What this means is that their genetic code is already 50% white. It may not show in their physical exterior, but it’s in their DNA. Their children - regardless of who Cordelia or Alastair may or may not marry - would be inheriting that genetic code that is already half Persian and half English. If Cordelia and Alastair and their Unborn Carstairs Baby Sibling stay in England and their hypothetical children and then their children keep marrying white people (for 3 more generations until The Mortal Instruments), there is actually very little part of Sona’s initial genetic code that is being transmitted by that point, and the more you go forward in time, the less likely it is that those genes would manifest outwardly in significantly dark skin. 

James and Cordelia’s babies (the found family tree tells us they have one son, you can do with this information what you will) have the potential for skin as dark as Cordelia’s, as pale as James’s, or something in between. But as we go on with the generations of marrying white people, the skin tone will become lighter and lighter. 

If you think that’s a load of scientific crap that you don’t trust coming from me, I will give you one other thing to hold on to when it comes to Herondale descendants: while Jace is in no way a person of color (he’s the whitest boy to ever walk this earth, and I mean that in the worst way possible), in later books Cassie has taken care to never describe him as pale, which could be a subtle nod to one of his ancestors being a Persian woman. In earlier TMI books - keep in mind that City of Bones was published in 2007 and written years before - Cassie had no idea who he would descend from, the thought simply had never occurred to her. Additionally, in super early concept drafts of The Last Hours now dating almost ten years ago, before the series even had a confirmed name, Cordelia was most certainly white. You can see this from the way she was described and also depicted in official artworks commissioned by Cassandra herself. 

Jace’s blond hair can come from literally any of the women who married a Herondale in the following three generations. We know from City of Ashes that Imogen’s greying hair was once blond. She passed it on to her son Stephen Herondale. Stephen married Celine Montclaire, who is also blonde: Jace’s blond hair therefore comes from his parents passing on predominantly blond genes to his DNA. That’s it. 

Now, on to my second answer.  

2) The Logic Answer 

I will prove that you’re all stressing over Jace Herondale for no reason with one very short sentence: Emma Carstairs is also white. 

In her case, we have absolutely no doubt who she’s descended from. She is a direct descendant of Sona. Whether Alastair decided to marry and have a child to carry on the Carstairs bloodline, or Unborn Baby Carstairs is a boy (which I think is the most likely option), Emma’s ancestors are undoubtedly Persian. We fully know there are no other relatives to carry on the Carstairs name at the time of The Last Hours (this issue arose in Clockwork Princess when Elias wanted to give Cortana to Will because Jem was dead and he had not married Sona yet).

So if Emma descends from one of Cordelia’s brothers, and you guys aren’t worried about HER being white and blond, I don’t see why you should worry about Jace being the same. 

3) BONUS - the @destinedtobemine​ Crack Theory answer

(Please know that we’re just being Fairondale clowns here.) Matthew is the biggest Herondale fanboy and upon marrying Lucie, he would take on the Herondale name. That’s how you get to Jace. (We’re truly joking. Jace has James’s eyes so we know he’s descended from him.)

Just kidding with that one, obviously. But you get my point: genetics = not at all against Jordelia being endgame. I hope this helped!

[astriefer]

If you want to, how about prompt 36 with thomastair?? 🤍

Prompt 36 - "Don't move. it'll be okay."

Thank you for this ask!! This is so terribly late but I hope it's enough for you. This is really bad because I had inspiration and then it died and then assignments and family and I'm running late. But... just in time for holiday! So have this piece please 🙏 Didn't check it too much so sorry for type errors and such thank you

TW throwing up and illness.

When the Merry Thieves had gotten the message Thomas wouldn't join them that day, they were suspicious.

"It's not Thomas's handwriting," Matthew said thoughtfully to James and Christopher.

Christopher fixed his spectacles on his nose and took a glance at the parchment. "But who wrote it if not Thomas?"

As always, the group of Thieves (lacking Thomas) was hanging around the Herondale manor. Cordelia and Lucie had gone to train together, and Effie was busy preparing titbits and coffee for them. They waited for Thomas to approach in all his giant glory, half-predicted him to come with Christopher, but he did not arrive. After half an hour, and just as Matthew complained, "Had Thomas gotten himself kidnapped in the course of the night?" a runner came at the front door. The message he carried was what they had been looking at for the past few minutes.

James shrugged. "Alastair, I assume," his golden eyes scanned the carefully written words. "They do live together."

"It claims him to be feeling unwell," Matthew said. "Do you think it's because he finally realized what a nuisance Alastair is?"

James gave him a look. "Matthew."

"It's in good spirits!" Matthew defended, raising his hands. When James still looked at him pointedly, he lowered his hands and murmured. "To some extent."

James sighed. As long as he didn't say it in front of Thomas, Cordelia, or Alastair himself, he concluded it wasn't the worst thing. They were civil with each other's presence, which was progress. He couldn't be mad at Matthew anyhow. He placed the paper down, regarded his friend with a shrug.

"What ho," Christopher said. "Your definitions for good spirits may cross the traditional ones."   

"Well, it's not my fault the ordinary interpretations are substantially dull," Matthew retorted.

Christopher hummed and stopped paying attention, seemingly engrossed in a new idea of an invention that must have captured his mind. Matthew gave him a fond smile and then cut his gaze back to James. "So, are we going?"

"Where?" James asked as Matthew stood up. His parabatai straightened his double-breasted waistcoat, which had decorations of an exotic animal on it.

He must have looked dumbfounded because Matthew added kindly, "Oh, Jamie bach," Matthew clicked his tongue at him. "Can you truly believe Thomas is sick?"

"That's what written here," he tapped on the papyrus. Matthew clicked his tongue again. His eyes were shining dangerously. "I know that look. What ill thing your mind hallucinated this time?"

"Everything I think of is a masterpiece, mind you. And clearly," Matthew said, leaning forward in his seat, "He scribbled some poor excuse to spend time with Alastair. But he said he would come. And if he won't come to us, we will come to him. So we shall step up to their flat and demand our Thomas."

"It doesn't sound like Thomas to fake such a thing." James's eye deterred away to the clock on the wall. He had the idea if it was something else, not a possibility of Thomas favoring Alastair's company over theirs, it would die silently. 

"It sounds a bit petty," Christopher noted. His hands tapped on the floor, fingers twisting as if he desired to be in Henry's lab and write down his findings.  

"It's not," Matthew promised. "We needn't have a reason to see Thomas. Besides, don't you want to tell him about your latest experiment?"

Christopher's eyes lit up at that. He shoved his spectacles up his nose, nodding. "Yes, it would be good. I made some progress he should be filled in about."

"Great!" Matthew commented. "Let's go."

"Poor Kit," James teased as he got up. "You use science to tempt him?" 

"I have no clue what you are talking about," Matthew graced him with a brilliant smile."I merely harness the power of science for my good deeds."

~~~~

As it turned out, unwell was an underestimate.

"What are you doing here?" Alastair asked when he opened the door of the flat. James was a bit stunned to see how disheveled and bedraggled he looked, a stark contrast to his usual display. His clothes were rumpled and crumpled and he looked awfully gassed.

The three soon cut free of their astonishment, and Christopher talked first. "Hullo, Alastair. We have come to see Thomas."

Alastair blinked but otherwise remained still. "I delivered you a message. He isn't feeling well."

"We had an essential piece of enlightenment to share with him," Matthew supplied. Alastair gave him an indifferent look.

"He isn't feeling well," Alastair repeated. James started to think it was a bad idea to come - Alastair clearly wasn't fancy to usher them inside. From inside the flat, a smell of soup traveled in the air.

Matthew's green eyes faced Alastair's unabashedly. "Why, let us see him, then. There's nothing our engaging presence can't aid. Tom will be feeling much better if he sees us."

"He needs to rest, not play games with his friends-"

A broad-shouldered figure came behind him, towering over him. " 'm fine."

Matthew wasn't the only one with a twisted interpretation of rudimentary words, apparently. James was fairly sure 'fine' shouldn't mean being so pale or to have big bruises-like black shadows under your eyes; nor did he think someone feeling fine should be looking so lightheaded and sick. Thomas's moss of light brown hair was mussed and tousled. He looked, frankly, even worse than Alastair - sweaty and tapped up.

"Thomas?" James asked.

The tall man shifted his gaze to James rather slowly. Instantaneously he realized Thomas was leaning his hand against the wall for support, and not for the sake of doing it. He was unsteady. "Greetings. I was going to get ready and come by your house, James."

"You should be in bed," Alastair protested.

Thoams's stance was defensive. "I am plenty fine, thank you, I don't need any rest in bed."

A muted sigh escaped Alastair's lips. He glanced at the three of them. "May you put some reason into him? You could at least do that after turning up here."

"I am standing right here," Thomas pointed out. He sounded almost too drained-out to resist. Alastair seemed unimpressed.

Christopher hesitated. "You do look a bit green around the gills, Tom."

"You look liverish, and not in a neat way," Matthew added.

"You have no need to dot on me," Thomas insisted. Annoyance took over his features. "I have rested enough. I shall-"

He cut off abruptly, gagging. He turned over back into the apartment, a hand over his stomach, and ran inside.  With a last skeptical glance thrown toward them, Alastair charged after Thomas.

James stood in front of the front door, bewildered, till Matthew passed him and flung the door open for them to enter.

Christopher followed with no protest. "What?" Matthew asked when James shot him a dark look. "They left the door open, thus I regard it as an invitation to permit ourselves inside."

With that philosophy in mind, they passed the corridor into the parlor. Accompany to the horrible sound of vomiting - James guessed it was Thomas's part - they could catch a low, soothing murmur of calming words. Alastair.

"You were wrong," Christopher said as he turned to Matthew. His voice was not self-righteous whatsoever, just matter-of-factly and troubled. "He is feeling ill."

Matthew seemed abashed, just slightly. "I wouldn't have been aghast if told he wanted to spend time with his lover."

They settled themselves nervously on the Aegean-blue sofa.  As a few minutes passed -  slow, confused, and worried - the sound of retching had finally petered out. They heard the noise of the water goes down the toilet.

"You think we should check whether they are fine?" Christopher asked.

"He honked up all he ate for breakfast. He must need to collect himself, and we should let him - unless you think he can somehow drown himself in the seek of the toilet." Matthew pondered over the last part amusingly.

Christopher seemed satisfied with the answer, and he cut his gaze back to the corridor through Thomas and Alastair had disappeared.

When he finally came back into the parlor, he limply made his way to the sofa, bearly holding himself straight. He hung his head low, sweat pooled on his neck and forehead and glimmered on his cheeks. His face reminded James of a red balloon, shiny and oddly red.

"Are you all right?" James inquired when he finally sat. Thomas made no sudden movements as he decisively faced them. It was clear as day Thomas, by all means, was not all right.

"Yes," he said. Matthew, James, and Christopher exchanged concerned looks between them. Alastair had not returned yet. "I must have eaten something spoiled."

"Are you sure?" Matthew pressed. "You still look dreadful."

"Surely I couldn't guess it," Thomas quipped.

"We can entertain you, though," Matthew pondered, giving him a smirk. "You stay in bed, and we will keep you a worthy company."

Thomas moved in his place, uncomfortable. Christopher, on the other way, smiled at Thomas. "Mam and Aunt Charlotte said I could use the lab tomorrow morning if there will be someone with me. The enclave has an important meeting early that day, and even Henry attends."

Thomas seemed grateful for the change of topic. Mattew said, "We might go and eavesdrop in case something interesting will come up."

"I will be there first thing tomorrow," Thomas avowed, although none of them asked him to. Thomas succumbs to a brutal coughing fit, and It was at that moment Alastair approached from the corridor.

"You need to rest," Alastair chided.

Thomas commnented hastily. "You are over-worried. I am fine."

"You're behaving frivolously," he proclaimed. "You ought to relax and rest, not to run around with your friend as if you are not sick."

"I'm just tired."

Alastair gave him an incredulous stare. "Really, you," he scolded wearily. "Utter madness, what that mouth of you blurts out." The dark-haired man turned over to the kitchen. Then he turned again. Alastair's dark gaze moved to the rest of the Merry Thieves. "You could at least bring a soup or medicine," he countered.

Matthew lifted his arms mockingly as if to surrender. "I am sorry, O great lord, that I didn't know how sick Thomas was. From your message, he could also have a slight headache."

Alastair scoffed and went into the kitchen. Mattew shot a look at Christopher and James, who nodded. he returned his eyes on Thomas.

"Hark, I, for once, agree with Carstairs. An advent I thought I would ever do. But I do think you should stay in bed."

"Shan't." Thomas regarded the idea of being treated by others with disdain. he rubbed his eyes, mumbling under his breath. "I am fine," he insisted. "I can hang out with you."

Alastair came back into the room, placing himself next to the sofa Thomas was resting on. He put down a large bowl. Haze of steams rose from the Broth. "Eat this. Then you go to bed."

Thomas's glare snitched up at him. He rubbed his eyes wearily.  "I am fine," he repeated. "I am already feeling better."

The look Alastair gave him made it clear he wasn't buying it. "Bed." Alastair crossed his hands on the chance and his gaze determined. "I am not supposed to teach you how to take care of yourself. So eat the soup and go to bed.

Thomas's grumpy mood seemed to worsen. He would've thrown hands if he hadn't felt so indisposed. "I can take care of myself."

"So don't be so stubborn and do as I say."

"It doesn't sound like taking care of oneself," Thomas grumbled. He coughed again into his forearm."And you're not my mother." 

"A very fine observation. No, I'm your partner," he gave Thomas a meaningful look. "So either you eat the soup or expect to get it shoved down your throat."

"That you very better not do."

Christopher looked at Thomas with concern. "You do not look good, Tom. You should rest."

Thomas sighed inconspicuously. It was tenuous confidence he held against them. "You too, kit?"

"As he should," Alastair sneered. He was losing patience. "Stop playing around, and drink your bloody soup."

Thomas grunted, his back straightening. He seemed dizzy and ready to tell Alastair off once again, before he gaped loudly. He must have felt queasy for he scrambled to his feet, fighting his nausea to make it to the bathroom. He almost knocked into a wall.

James glanced at Alastair, who had been mumbling grumpily under his breath, for a moment just watching his swaying partner with distaste. His dark hair flew as he followed him, for the second time since James and the other Marry Thieves arrived, to the bathroom. They followed their ailing friend and the scaling man dashing after him, then looked at each other. 

Christopher looked baffled, "Why would Tom resist so much to rest in bed?"

Matthew shrugged, furrowing his brows. "I can't fathom a reason for him to be that way," He cringed as the sounds of retching reverberated from the other room."He's supposed to be the reasonable one between us lot."

"Poor Tom," James said. "Maybe because he is so terribly ill he can't get hold of reality."

In the meantime, James investigated the furnishing of the drawing-room, which was unadorned. He drifted over to a colossal bookcase at the corner of the room, full of books in English, Persian, and Spanish (and some other languages he could not tell). He traced the spines of the books and glanced at his friends. Matthew was animatedly talking with Christopher, who tried to listen, even though it was clear to James that it was only half-hearted. He mused over browsing briefly at a shabby, worn copy of Hamlet when the noises from the other room finally stopped.

After a few minutes with no noises at all coming from the corridor, James stood up. "I will check on them," he told his friend, "Maybe Thomas passed out, or he is in distress."

Matthew and Christopher were up on their feet in the bare minimum of time. "We shall come as well."

"We won't fit there, all of us," James mentioned. Thomas would've felt better if they all would come and help take care of him, he was sure, but facts were facts. "Just let me see if he needs anything from us."

The other thrives reluctantly sat back on the sofa. In quiet, stealthy steps, he headed into the candle-lit corridor. He moved past some doors - their bedrooms, he assumed, or a library, perhaps. He stopped when he reached an open door, meaning to knock first to announce his presence, but it flew his mind when he poked his hand into the bathroom. He absentmindedly noted the porcelain clawfoot tub, the decorated primrose tiles, and the wallpaper - intricate floral trace and lines in moderate colors, which he pondered over who of the two men chose. There was also a high-level cistern toilet, Thomas leaning on its ream seat. A washbasin stood nearby, and Alastair was taking a flannel and dipping it in water before he handed it to Thomas. The unpleasant smell of vomit still stung the air.

Thomas's laid with his half-lidded eyes cracked a bit more open, still regaining his breath, and took the flannel. He managed to wash his face as Alastair took care to clean any mess created. Then he knelt in front of Thomas. Thomas pulled Alastair close weakly, buried his face in Alastair's chest. James could hear he was breathing deep and long, trying to control his upset stomach. He moved very little, very carefully, trying to shield his eyes from the light that shone in the room.

"Tom," Alastair said, surprisingly gently, unlike before. Suddenly James felt he was invading their privacy. "Hold on and cease for once in your life. You need to rest."

Thomas did not move nor talked, and James had the idea he fought back another gagging.

"Hamsar-am," Alastair tried again after Thomas seemed to curb the urge to regurgitate. "Why won't you rest?"

His friend talked tentatively and out of breath, his voice dry and hoarse and quivering. "I don't want everyone to chip around me like I'm some sickly fledgling. If my parents knew, they might even make a silent brother come. Being like this - reminds me of times I was sickly and small and weak. But I am a shadow hunter. I am an adult. I am sick of people thinking I'm incapable of taking care of myself."

James studied Alastair's face. To his grand surprise, he saw his face softens. Tenderly, he pressed their forehead together. "I am more than confidant you can take care of yourself, Thomas. I just try to assist and make you more comfortable, but we go nowhere if you fight me on every single decision. Drinking soup and resting in bed is something all people do. It helps you to get better."

Thomas's eyes were unfocused. "Sorry."

James wasn't certain to what of it all Thomas was sorry for, but Alastair seemed to accept it. He sighed breathly, backing away from Thomas. "It's fine. Just let yourself rest, shall you? I still have a desire to -" he cut off when his eyes captured James, who leaned on the doorframe. "James."

James bolted straight and made sure his countenance revealed nothing as if he did not hear the conversation between the couple. "We will take out leave, see as you go and rest, Tom. We will come to check on you tomorrow."

Someone came behind him, and he found Christopher and Matthew looking into the bathroom. "We will tell Aunt Sophie and Uncle Gideon you are sick," Matthew intervened. "They can bring you some food and take care of you. Lucie will be glad to tell of the last mischiefs of The Beautiful Cordelia. Speaking of which, Lucie will tell her parents, and they will rush to make Brother Zachariah come to visit them-"

"We can also keep quiet," James offered. Thomas's words echoed in his head. He looked at Alastair. "I suppose Alastair can be enough of caretaker. But do tell us if you need anything. Alright, Tom?"

Alastair gave him an odd look, almost appreciation - but not precisely - on Thomas's behalf. The latter had only nodded his thanks and seemed relieved by James's offer.

"Recover quickly," Christopher said, his spectacles reflecting the light. Behind of them was a pair of caring eyes."There is just so much we Thieves can do without our heart."

~~~~

The Merry Thieves bid their goodbye and Alastair went to accompany them out, while Thomas made his way to their bedroom.

They had two bedrooms, one for each of them, despite they spent the nights together. He chose to go to Alastair's room, where his smell was strong and comforting. His steps were fatigue, his mind racing and hammering. The sunlight felt like a blow to his face, making his stomach perilously twist and turn. He wasn't sure he had left any contents to honk up. He was iffy and aching, couldn't find the power to shut the curtains close. Alastair's bed - wide enough for the both of them - was too compelling to resist. He grunted loudly, resting his head on the soft pillows. He felt cold. So cold.

What fought the place of the ill-feeling that settled in every bone of his body was his great dismay from being ill in the first place. Every time he got cold, his parents would worry themselves out as if he still was the sickly child from his childhood days. His friends will all dot on him, Alastair would lay him out for days, everyone will tell him he must rest to heal. And he despised it. He despised it with all his might. Like a rope tightening around his neck, like an invisible cage surrounding him. A cage made of love and care was still a cage, in his mind. Thomas did not like to be incarcerated. This creeping feeling of losing your independence frightened him, reminded him of times he was bedridden, out of necessity for his frequent ill-health.

Thomas didn't notice his eyes were shut until he tilted his head toward a noise - Alastair coming into the room. Thomas heard the door creak quietly, heralding Alastair's presence, and again as he closed it quietly. He felt rather than saw the quilt placed over him, hugging his body, giving a little warmth to the cool world he was in. Not warm enough, however.

"You're lucky you're my favorite," The well-known voice of Alastair mumbled.

They've butted heads around this the whole morning. Thomas refused to stick to bid despite Alastair's stubborn protests. Now, he felt his body turn to halves and his head throbbed as if the Angels gathered and made a party there. He hated Alastair to see him this weak, yet he hated it more to see the pain in his eyes because of his refusals. Thomas stirred in his place, every movement of his head making a new wave of headache hit him. "Stay." He reached his hand and tugged weakly at the fabric of the sleeveshirt of, not truly commending as asking.

"I will. Wait a moment." Thomas's grip went loose and with that, the half-Persian man disappeared again. He shifted, despite his throbbing head, so he could leave some place for Alastair to lay next to him. He moved slowly and painfully, fighting on every inch he could force himself to move. He hearkened Alastair marching back into their bedroom.

 He tried to leave some space for Alastair. "Don't move," Alastair's tender voice cut through the void. "It'll be okay." Then a wet cloth softly landing against his forehead. 

Cold.

He shivered. He tried to whisper "cold" but he felt no energy left in his body to protest. His eyes were heavy, his tongue even more so. "This is chiefly for your own good," Alastair comforted apologetically. "You are burning." He climbed to bed from the other side of the bed, slipping under the beddings and placing himself close to Thomas. It slipped from Thomas's mind beds had two sides.

Thomas's jumble of thoughts wandered freely anywhere and nowhere - he couldn't put enough effort into imagining, it just made the constant thumping in his head worse. A warm hand was tentatively wrapped around his chest. Alastair put effort into hugging him lightly as possible, offering the warmth Thomas was seeking. He tucked himself a bit closer to Thomas, pressed a soft kiss to his head, then sunk into the bed. The heat Alastair radiated was drugging, and the arm which rested on his chest felt more comforting than any other thing the world could offer. He tried to breathe but the feeling of bile rising in his throat made him stop.

Alastair must have noticed because he backed away from him. "I put a bucket down your side, in case you have any food to get rid of," he acknowledged.  His presence was calming and needed. Thomas wanted to apologize for being so stubborn, to tell him he appreciated him and what he did for him. When he tried, he could not force himself to speak up, his vocal cords exhausted, and he wanted nothing but to let his mind slip into nothingness. He could not. Thomas felt drowsy, the strings of sleep dragging him into a feverish slumber.

Alastair removed his arm and his weight abruptly shifted, and the cloth had been taken away from Thomas's forehead. He startled, fighting to open his eyes, and then it was back, cold and piercing, and Alastair returned his hand to hug him. He felt a soft graze against his cheek - Alastair's lips - that ignited fire where it touched, just like his arm, making it a little less freezing. They kept resting in an awful silence for a few more minutes. Thomas had no problem with silence - he even liked it. Yet, knowing Alastair was watching him, concerned, putting everything aside to take care of him, was unbearable for him. He was supposed to see his mother and sibling today. He was excited to see them. Thomas desperately wanted the stillness to evanesce.  

"Would you like me to read to you?"

Thomas couldn't quite realize how Alastair knew, but he hummed lowly in agreement. The weight beside him lifted, missed instantly before it came back with a small thump.

Alastair began to read. He desired to look at this chiseled face. When he tried to open his eyes, he found he couldn't. A blazing headache stroke him the moment he cracked them the tiniest bit. "Sorry for ruining today," Thomas sputtered. He didn't think he could force any other words to come up his throat.

"I'm here with you, my day can't be ruined. Even if you have a fever and acts like a stubborn fool." Alastair continued to read, Thomas felt himself being carried away to Lady Sleep, a cruel mistress, sometimes, and also a gentle one, if you approach her the right way. He felt himself falling into her arms, the voice of Alastair guiding him to a safe place in the realm of dreams.

[ladyhindsight]

This was a nice chapter in the respect that Jace wasn’t really in it.

I’m wondering how does Clary’s ability to see visions in her dreams in The Dark Artifices work because her prophetic dreams in The Mortal Instruments were sent by Ithuriel.

Also, Ithuriel can’t catch a break. First at least a part of him was trapped in a necklace in The Infernal Devices, and then later he was trapped by Valentine.

Isabelle’s grief here is very raw and the writing really delivers her despair well, but whose or what hair is she tugging? (her own of course, but you know..)

→ “Isabelle [...] tugging her (black) hair threaded through her fingers with such force that Clary worried she would rip it out.”

Clary’s thoughts over Max are a bit insincere because, although they did discuss manga at one point, Clary barely interacted with Max, and the last time she saw him, Clary brushed him off completely when she was looking for Jace.

Magnus hasn’t really given any reason for Clary to be mistrustful of him. He went off to do what he promised, he’s probably focused on that and waking Jocelyn up, so this line, although probably meant to be a bit humorous, falls short.

Having to wait with no word makes people anxious because of the uncertainty of the circumstance, but come on. How much one wears eyeliner has got nothing to do with it.

Since this is a Clare book and this is Clary, Simon probably wanted to stay in Alicante to look after Clary and to take care of her. But imagine being Simon and having just being held prisoner, then being rescued from what otherwise would’ve been a certain death and learning how his best friend is central to the very war her father is waging. The demon attack and all the death surrounding the city both added to that. Would Simon really want to go back to New York and be left to wonder what is happening in Alicante and to Clary?

*Maia

Same subject, no comma.

Same subject, no comma.

It’s been told that the Lightwoods stayed with Penhallows, but it was never told why there instead of their own. The wikipedia states that “The Lightwoods lost their home in Idris in the 1990s, upon the exile of Robert and Maryse Lightwood for their involvement with the Circle.” But there was no source cited and I couldn’t find anything from City of Bones or City of Ashes relating to the Lightwoods losing their home. Right now it seems this was never explained.

Also, quite some warriors these Nephilim.

Only girls Simon has talked to are Clary, Isabelle, and Aline. And it’s been like a month. It’s a bit early to make any conclusion from having never heard any girl say that about Jace when the basis for it is incredibly insufficient.

Jace is so hot, we get it. Only girls who don’t want him are apparently gay women. Also, great representation here with Aline. This is the only thing written about her sexual orientation (followed by Simon’s question whether Aline has made up her mind yet) in this book. Clare truly did a service here.

As in quit being Shadowhunters altogether? It doesn’t make Valentine seem more threatening rather than make the Nephilim seem too scared to do the one thing they were born to do and have done all their lives: fight and kill demons.

I remember reading the series for the first time and thinking that the Inquisitor is the one with the most power, because City of Bones and City of Ashes have no mention of Consuls. It is explained for the first time by Alec in this book. The Inquisitors Herondale and Aldertree were both written as high-handed authorities, and here the Consul is compared to being like a bodyguard of the Inquisitor. Both somewhat distort the idea what and how high a position the Consul is supposed to be.

Except James Herondale, but Clary wouldn’t know. I have yet to figure out what kind of here dye works like this. Also, Clary thinking it instead of saying it out loud is telling enough as it is.

Imagine making a little boy’s funeral about yourself. Clary doesn’t think, “but the Lightwoods are his family and Max was his brother, not mine.” Instead she thinks what an effect she would have on Jace if she had attended Max’s funeral. While not being Max’s family.

Sebastian was a human container for demon blood, since apparently there is no way to just take a bottle of demon blood and walk it through the gates into the city. So what stops warlocks who gain the entrance from doing exactly this?

It is not clever.

All I’m able to find is that the wards are against demons, and that the Shadowhunters and Downworlders can pass through wards no problem but the mundanes can’t. Luke was able to sneak into the city unnoticed, so werewolves obviously do not set off wards. Later in the book it the matter seems more about keeping the Downworlders out of the city and the Nephilim letting them in, not that they wouldn’t be able to pass the wards because of demon blood.

So logically warlocks wouldn’t set off the wards either, no matter did they have permission to enter the city or not. So if warlocks are able to enter the city and they have demon blood that can bring the towers down, how come no one ever thought about this before?

The man is a silhouette UNTIL he steps forward, meaning that he no longer was just a silhouette after.. Valentine’s grand entrance would be more effective if Clary stopped butting in.

He was only a silhouette until he took a step forward into the Hall.

Valentine.

Going back to an earlier point. Anything containing “for some reason” is just an excuse to do whatever the following is, here to describe Valentine instead of just doing it.

→ “He was clean shaven. It made him look younger, more like the angry boy in the memories of Ithuriel had shown her.”

I would leave the last sentence out, because in certain terms it doesn’t make sense. Valentine doesn’t look just like anybody or anyone’s father really. With a pin-striped suit even less.

Stop giving away that something is about to happen or be explained.

How could he come in here like this without weapons?

Inquisitor Aldertree made a noise like a wounded bear and tore himself away from Malachi who was trying to hold him back. He staggered down the dais step and hurled himself at Valentine, only to pass though Valentine’s body like a knife through paper.

Valentine turned to watch Aldertree...

→ “Last time they’d been together in a room Luke had been half-dead from fighting and covered in blood.” (Less hand-holding)

→ “Now they both stood here, Luke in his ragged flannel and jeans and Valentine in his beautiful and expensive-looking suit; Luke with a day’s worth of stubble...” (Less like just wanting to outright tally their differences and make an unsubtle point of it)

The Clave is dumb because plot needs it to be. Don’t be that surprised, Valentine. They are doing it for you.

What is gravely blue? Is a cause of an alarm? → “Luke’s eyes were grave.”

Yes, because it was Valentine who made his “predictions” happen. None of that would’ve happened because of the Downworlders. 

And everyone is like

Only if he knew how many of the Nephilim fled the city and the Clave and how many Downworlders are going to fight against him. Kind of makes his point futile that many of the Shadowhunters have already left.

Clare. Are you trying again to tell me something about Valentine without just showing it?

Or has Valentine merely brought up some underlying differences between the Nephilim values that people didn’t discuss before? Did Valentine just make way for those differences to surface? Because why would families be against families if there already wasn’t something below surface that was fundamentally disagreeable.

There is a choice to abandon the Clave and form rogue leagues of Shadowhunters. There is a choice to fight against Valentine, no matter the outcome. There is a choice to ally themselves (which they do).

It’s really not like this is a trap without any other choices. A pipe view is what this is.

Again, stop telling what is about to happen and how it happens before it actually happens.

→ “The Consul moved to restrain him, but Aldertree wriggled free and darted toward the dais.”

Aldertree’s eyes rolling back to whites is just weird to imagine. But then again, he’s such a caricature if his shouting is anything to go by. 

Here to remind you that Valentine is a projection just before he does what a projection cannot do in case you forgot that he was a projection and projections can’t touch things in the course of couple pages.

→ “Valentine reached out a hand, almost as if he meant to touch the Inquisitor on the shoulder. Instead Valentine’s hand passed through the Inquisitor’s skin...”

Valentine’s hand goes wrist-deep but is bloody like he’d rammed half his arm in.

Valentine ripping someone’s heart out is pretty sudden on its own without any urgency signals.

→ “Then Valentine twisted his wrist hard to the left, as if he were turning...”

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - chapter 5

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

CW: mentions of PTSD, mentions of alcoholism and past abuse, mentions of past toxic relationship

Taglist @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon

The thick fog that hovered above the ground made the forest seem like the scenery out of a gothic movie. Not that Alastair minded, he felt at home among the trees, in the darkness. He and Thomas had met after breakfast before Lucie or Cordelia had woken. Alastair had always been an early riser and he was glad to see Thomas was too. More than that, though, Alastair was a poor sleeper. He had frequent nightmares and so far he’d found nothing that helped. Not even his stuffed hedgehog, which he was ashamed to admit he still slept with.

‘Look. Over there,’ Thomas pointed, his finger aimed at the ground.

Alastair followed his gaze and saw a small hedgehog, walking along the shrubs. Hedgehogs were nocturnal creatures, he knew, it wasn’t common to see them during the day, even in early morning. It was adorable.

‘Aw. I love hedgehogs, they are my favorite animals,’ Alastair said with a small smile that was rare these days.

‘They suit you,’ Thomas agreed.

‘How exactly?’ Alastair asked.

‘Well, you’re prickly and need to be handled with care or you’ll sting, but when you can look past that you’re actually adorable.’

Thomas’ cheeks flushed a dark red. ‘What I mean is,’ he began, but Alastair interrupted him with a grin.

‘Adorable, huh?’ he said.

‘I guess so,’ Thomas said. ‘Cordelia told me you still sleep with your stuffed animals. She said your favorite is a hedgehog.’

‘Little traitor,’ Alastair said.

‘I sleep with mine too,’ Thomas admitted. ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I have several owls. I just sleep more comfortable that way. I need something to hold on to.’

He was surprised Thomas didn’t judge him. He felt his father would have, had he known, but he’d been too drunk to notice.

Alastair’s smile returned. ‘Now that is adorable. To tell you the truth, I keep mine around to protect me from nightmares.’

Thomas frowned. ‘Does that work?’

‘Not really. But at least holding onto something helps me relax enough to fall asleep.’

He could lie awake at night sometimes. Lately, Alastair was always tired. He did what was expected of him during the day, but he never felt rested or energetic. Even after a long night sleep with minimal nightmares, he woke tired and staying in bed didn’t help.

They talked about all sorts of topics, history, books they read, what Alastair’s first year at university had been like. Thomas told him about previous summers, which they’d usually spent in Spain. He’d spent enough time there to be fluent in Spanish now, partially because his parents had studied there and his father liked to speak Spanish at home. Alastair was surprised how easy conversing with Thomas was. He’d always struggled with making small talk, with keeping the conversation going, but Thomas didn’t shy away from more serious topics and seemed genuinely interested in what Alastair had to say.

He and Thomas continued their walk, and Alastair could tell something was bothering Thomas. He was tense, his shoulders a bit hunched. Alastair had learnt to sense when people were anxious or tense and tended to get nervous himself whenever that happened. He wondered if he’d always been hypersensitive to other people’s moods, or if he’d learnt after having to anticipate his father’s moods and then Charles’ for such a long time. He narrated a description of his surroundings to himself in an attempt to ground him in reality, to calm down enough that he could help and support Thomas. He felt useless, what was the point in being able to read people if their anxiety bothered him so much?

‘Are you alright?’ Alastair asked after a silence.

‘Why do you ask?’ Thomas asked, his voice uneven.

‘Because you seem anxious about something. Is it about me? Are you still mad about what happened at school?’

Alastair had always been more tolerant around Thomas himself, but he’d treated Thomas’ friends awfully. All he felt right now was a horrible guilt and regret for what he’d done. For how he’d justified his actions, telling himself that it was better than being bullied, that what he did wasn’t as bad as what other students had done to him. All empty excuses, and it had never been alright.

‘It’s not about you,’ Thomas said. ‘And I’m not mad. I can’t say I understand why you did it, but I know you were going through some difficult times. Besides, it happened so long ago. James and Matthew are still upset, I think. But they’re not here. I don’t think Matthew would like it much here anyway. He prefers to spend his holidays shopping and drinking at bars until late night.’

Alastair tensed a bit when Thomas’ mentioned Matthew’s drinking the way he always did when alcohol was mentioned. Once he’d been able to take care of his drunk father with little emotion, pushing everything to the bottom until he was sure his father was alright and Cordelia wouldn’t discover he wasn’t ill. Nowadays even mentions of alcohol or drinking tended to make him feel sick, as if an invisible hand was clutching at his stomach, at his heart. Just breathe, he told himself.

‘Oh shit, I’m sorry,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m not supposed to mention alcohol around you, am I?’

Alastair sighed. ‘I take it everyone knows, then?’

Alastair still found it difficult when people knew about his disorder. It was difficult to ask for adjustments, to admit a weakness and ask people to not drink in his presence, to ask people to change their own behavior for his sake. He knew most people wouldn’t be willing to do that, and he’d much rather not ask and pretend everything was fine. But eventually he’d had to admit to himself he just couldn’t handle being around people drinking and alcohol was so normalized in Britain it was difficult to avoid sometimes.

‘Not the particulars,’ Thomas admitted. ‘But Mr. Herondale warned us that we shouldn’t drink, nor discuss alcohol when you’re there.’

‘It’s fine,’ Alastair said. ‘As long as I don’t see you drink, or smell it on you, it’s fine.’

People talking about alcohol could be difficult, but he could manage. He would. Matthew Fairchild was across the sea, and him drinking alcohol didn’t harm Alastair. It wasn’t his problem.

‘You don’t seem fine.’

‘It’s not easy, but it’s alright. I can handle mentions of drinking,’ Alastair said.

He hated how some people who knew about his diagnosis had started to walk on eggshells around him, like he was a bomb that would explode the moment someone said something wrong. It made him feel like he was fragile, broken, like there was something horribly wrong with him, when Alastair desperately tried to convince himself that wasn’t true. Deep down, he knew it was true though. He knew there was something wrong with him and that he wasn’t normal and would never be.

‘You don’t have to,’ Thomas said. ‘Look, I don’t think you want to talk about it and you don’t have to. But if you want to talk… I’m here for you, alright? I can promise I am a good listener.’

Alastair nodded. ‘You still haven’t told me what’s bothering you,’ he said in an attempt to deflect.

Alastair took a sip out of the flask of water he’d taken to carrying with him. Ever since starting paroxetine, he often had a dry mouth. He’d also gained some weight. Risa in particular was very happy with that development. Before starting his medication he’d been underweight, often unable to eat because of his nerves. Aunt Risa had worried about his weight loss, and had been very happy when he had started eating again and gotten back at a normal weight.

Apart from that no side effects, and Alastair was mostly glad his medication didn’t cause any sexual dysfunction because he’d heard that happened sometimes. Even if he didn’t have a boyfriend now, he guessed he wanted one someday. He tried to ignore the voice in his head, reminding him that no one would want to be his boyfriend, that he wasn’t worth the effort. Charles had often told him he was difficult to love, that other people wouldn’t bother, and Alastair had believed him. Part of him still did.

The effect taking antidepressants had was only partial, paroxetine on its own wasn’t enough to treat PTSD, but when it came to this specific disorder it was the most effective out of all antidepressants. Alastair had agreed to give it a try. Two months in, it was definitely better than nothing and he had more good days, but he hoped the EMDR treatment he would be starting after the summer was more effective.

‘It’s something that happened yesterday,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I’m not sure I should tell you.’

‘You can trust me to keep your secret,’ Alastair promised. ‘But you don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.’

‘You know your cousin Jem used to fight the evil creatures of the supernatural, right?’ Thomas asked. ‘And your father too, before…’

Before he’d started drinking. People who knew about his father’s past as a hero sometimes said it was the price he’d had to pay, for seeing so many horrors and fighting for so long. Alastair hated it, it made him want to scream. What about the price I had to pay?

It was what had set him off when Jem had come over for dinner, not aware that anything was wrong with him. His cousin had talked about the struggles of life as a hero, the effects it could have on someone. Later, Alastair had learned his mother had become so desperate she’d confessed Elias’ addiction to Jem and had asked him if he could convince him to seek treatment.

Jem had agreed, and had used Elias’ past heroism as a gentle way to bring up the problem, but Alastair had felt as if Jem was trying to justify his father’s addiction and by extension what he’d put his family through. He’d screamed at Jem, at his father, at everyone present really. What about the people surrounding such a person? What about the people who were hurt when a hero’s burden became too much, did they not matter? Horrified at his own outburst, Alastair had ran to his room and attempted to calm himself by putting on Metallica and turning up the volume until he could block everything else out. When Jem had come upstairs, Alastair had expected him to be angry. Instead, Jem had been worried. It was the first time someone had realized his moodiness wasn’t just a “turbulent adolescence”, as his parents had long thought.

‘Yes,’ Alastair said. ‘When I was younger, my father would tell me stories about the creatures he’d fought and defeated.’

Once he’d loved listening to his father’s stories. Once he had sat down in his father’s lap and asked him to tell him about the incubus in Greece, or the kelpie in Scotland. Now he only wondered if his father had been drinking already back then. He wasn’t sure when it had gotten out of hand.

‘Well, I can see them. What I mean is, I have gift that makes it so I can see anything without having to learn at all. My mother and my oldest sister Barbara have the same gift.’

Alastair nodded. ‘So does my aunt Risa,’ he said. ‘She taught me and Cordelia how to see.’

There had been times in his life where he’d felt like Risa was the only person who cared about him. He hadn’t dared tell her about his father’s alcoholism, desperate to keep his family together and in one piece, but she’d been there when he needed her. No one else had done that for him. She used to take him to see the gnomes play in parks, since she didn’t have a garden of her own. She used to cook and bake in her kitchen with him. Risa was a cook in a local Iranian restaurant and had taught him everything she knew about making good food.

‘Yesterday, I walked into the woods and I encountered the washing woman. They say seeing her is an omen of death, although in my case it could just be that she didn’t intend for me to see her, but with my gift I see her anyway.’

‘I’ve heard of such creatures,’ Alastair said. ‘You must not approach or they might attack and paralyze your legs. But if you can sneak up on them, they are said to grant a wish.’

Alastair thought not so long ago he would have given it a try if he’d seen such a woman. He might have asked her to fix his family, or at least fix his father’s alcoholism. Nowadays, he wasn’t sure what he’d ask for. Fixing his father’s alcoholism wouldn’t cure his PTSD, it wouldn’t allow him to love or trust his father again, wouldn’t erase the past years. Perhaps he would ask for a cure for his PTSD, but he didn’t think such a thing existed, he wasn’t sure what exactly the result of such a wish would be. Nor did he know who his father would be without his addiction. He did not think his father would love him sober either. The best he could hope for was that EMDR treatment would help him.

‘Well, I ran,’ Thomas said. ‘But not before it called out to me. Warning me about some unpaid debt from my grandfather who made all sorts of deals with dangerous creatures.’

Alastair had heard plenty of stories like that from his father. There were all kinds of creatures that generally left humanity alone, but could trick people into making deals with them. It usually ended badly, and sometimes required intervention.

Alastair tried to think, was Thomas in danger? He’d always known about the supernatural, of course, but preferred to stay away from it. Cordelia was the one who had been given their father’s magical sword, and although Alastair hated the idea of her living the kind of life Father used to live, it suited her more than it suited Alastair.

‘From what I learnt, deals with supernatural entities often go wrong,’ Alastair said. ‘Is your grandfather still alive?’

Thomas shook his head. ‘I never knew him. Apparently he turned into a giant worm and uncle Will, uncle Jem and uncle Gabriel had to kill him. My parents are trying to look into it a bit more, but it’s difficult since my aunt has all his journals, his possessions, and isn’t willing to share. According to my father, his mother died as a result of his dealings, and my cousin Jesse might have too.’

Alastair wasn’t sure what to think. He had heard some vague stories of the Lightwoods and Herondales who used to fight dangerous creatures, but had no idea a relative had made such deals. Of course, he didn’t think his father had been involved in this. His cousin Jem had carried cortana for one of two years before retiring and giving it back to Elias.

‘I think something might be after me,’ Thomas added. ‘I was often sick as a child, and so was Jesse. No one could figure out what was wrong with me.’

Alastair frowned. ‘I don’t remember you being sick often when we went to the same school. You were always there, trailing behind me, I would have noticed if you were absent often.’

‘I grew over my sickness when I was almost fourteen, we met soon after that,’ Thomas said. ‘I always kind of took it for granted, since no one could tell me what was wrong with me I figured it was normal I’d grow over it eventually. But I got better around the same time Jesse died, and then my aunt Tatiana, Jesse’s mother, came by our house and yelled at my parents that it should have been me.’

Alastair frowned. ‘And you think that means that your cousin dying had to do with your grandfather’s debt?’

‘My aunt believed it, at least.’

‘But what does that have to do with you getting better?’ Alastair asked, not sure if he could make sense of that theory.

‘Well, both Jesse and I were sick. I didn’t know him well, Tatiana kept him away from us, but he did know Lucie and she told me his symptoms were almost exactly the same as mine.’

‘And it’s not a genetic disorder?’ Alastair asked.

‘No one else in the family was sick, just me and Jesse,’ Thomas continued. ‘I got tested for pretty much everything they could think of, all negative. They couldn’t find out what was wrong with Jesse either. My grandmother already died as payment for what my grandfather did. So it’s not that farfetched that Benedict owed them a grandchild or something and they had to choose between me and Jesse. Except Jesse’s death wasn’t enough, and now some creature came to warn me I’m next.’ Thomas looked resigned. ‘I think I’m going to die.’

Alastair took Thomas’ hand, hoping that would not be too forward. ‘You’re not going to die,’ he said. ‘I have never heard of debts being passed on to next generations, or going on for so long. From what I’ve been told, it usually ends when the person who made the deal dies.’

‘Not in this case,’ Thomas said. ‘Jesse got lost in the woods where he lived and died. People searched, but no one could find him until he was already dead.’

Alastair could tell Thomas was getting more and more anxious and Alastair wasn’t sure how to help him. He couldn’t say for sure that was Thomas was saying was wrong, even if he still tried to think of more mundane explanations for what was happening.

‘But getting lost in the woods is not supernatural, is it? If we strayed off the path here, it could be a while until we found our way out.’

‘Yes, but the woods where he got lost weren’t big like here. Realistically, they should have found him much sooner. That’s weird, unless there was magic involved. It wasn’t particularly cold either, it happened during spring.’

Alastair had to admit that was odd. Not all forests were big enough to get lost in and die. Even here, he suspected if they didn’t make it back, people would raise alarm soon enough and find them long before they could die of natural causes. Of course, their chances of surviving a couple of days might be better than those of a twelve year old boy.

‘Could the entity that claimed Jesse’s life have picked him over you because you have the sight?’ Alastair speculated. ‘That’s something you inherited from your mother, isn’t it? Jesse didn’t have that.’

‘It is,’ Thomas confirmed. ‘No one in my father’s family has it. It feels kind of awful, doesn’t it? That I lived and got better because Jesse died?’

‘That’s just speculation,’ Alastair said sharply. ‘Don’t beat yourself up over things we can’t prove. But there is something we could do to gather more information.’

‘Beyond convincing my aunt to give us those journals?’ Thomas asked.

‘So, I haven’t done this with someone else in a very long time. Perhaps it’s best I show you.’

Alastair chose a neutral memory. He had considered a happy one, but he didn’t think he’d be comfortable sharing any of that with Thomas, not yet. Besides, he didn’t have many happy memories. It had to be nice, with his ability, to have infinite happy memories he could revisit at any time. Instead, Alastair mainly got caught in the bad ones. He picked a memory from a lecture on the history of socialism. Alastair remembered being horrified at some of the comments other students had made, only later had he realized Charles probably agreed with them. But that wasn’t the point right now. Instead, he showed Thomas a bit of the start of the lecture. The professor was animated, talking about the subject like it was the most interesting thing ever.

‘Was this at university?’ Thomas asked when they were back in the woods. ‘What did you just do?’

‘I showed you a memory of mine. Not a particularly interesting one, but it gets the point across. I can revisit any of my memories.’

‘That must make it easy to study for exams,’ Thomas said, but it wasn’t accusatory. Alastair sometimes felt like using his ability was cheating, but what was the point of having a magic memory if you didn’t even use it?

‘I do need to remember where the information I need is. So if I don’t remember the answer to an exam question, but do remember which lecture it was discussed, or which book, I can go back there. Fortunately, I am also good at studying and usually know where to look.’

Alastair had a whole library inside his head. At home, he kept a list of every book he ever read to organize it.

‘But how will that help?’ Thomas asked. ‘Is there anything you remember?’

Alastair’s dark eyes gleamed. ‘No, not related to what’s happening to you. But you have your memories. Perhaps your parents remember things, details they didn’t think were important at the time. I can help you rewatch your own memories, help you recall things you might have forgotten. It is something that I do not usually do, as it feels rather invasive. But if it helps save your life, I’m willing to give it a try.’

Thomas nodded. ‘Yes, of course. You can look in my memories all you like if that’ll save me.’

[artieistired]

liebestraum

thomastair fic

inspired by this song || read on ao3

Alastair didn’t know how Thomas talked him into dinner. Everything had happened rather quickly.

They’d just arrived at the Paris Institute when there was a knock on Alastair’s door. He’d expected one of the hovering heads of the place—he was so grateful Charles was still recovering in London—but instead, it opened to familiar hazel eyes.

“Mr. Lightwood.” Alastair tried to scowl, but his heart simply wasn’t in it.

The two had been traveling together for several days, and faking indifference was growing more and more difficult, especially as they both knew it was a lie. For his part, Thomas—kind, respectful Thomas—hadn’t pushed matters. He was keeping his distance, and Alastair, though he’d never say so, was eternally grateful. He didn’t think he possessed the willpower to hold Thomas at arm’s length much longer, no matter how often he told himself it was a horrible idea to engage himself in any sort of relationship with the man.

But this trip was necessary. Matthew and Cordelia were still gallivanting about Paris and it seemed everyone else was too wrapped up in the disappearance of Lucie Herondale to do anything about it.

Alastair knew that wasn’t true, of course—James had been sincerely disappointed that he could not accompany them, but he needed to stay behind and aid in the business with his sister. Still, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was the slightest bit resentful at the fact that this left him alone with Thomas Lightwood.

Not that there was anything wrong with Thomas. In fact, that was the worst thing about him, the whole reason Alastair resented their situation so much. He couldn’t find a single flaw besides the man’s refusal to wear a hat. If there had been anything else, a glaring warning sign or two like there had been with Charles, then Alastair could better reason with himself to stay away. Instead, he was resigned to reminding himself of Matthew’s words, something he never thought he’d find himself doing, but something necessary all the same. Cordelia assures me that you have a heart. Alastair could have scoffed at the words. It was obvious Matthew himself still did not believe this. Alastair was certain this feeling was not his alone and likely extended to the rest of Thomas’ friends.

So, as Alastair stood there, staring down the man who had somehow managed to steal away into his affections without Alastair’s knowing, he reminded himself once again. This—him and Thomas—wasn’t possible, and it never would be.

“Well,” Alastair said, aware of how tired he sounded, “what is it then?”

Thomas blushed and stammered for a moment—the act had no business being attractive, and yet somehow it was—before he managed, “We arrived too late for dinner, it seems, so I was wondering if you might care to get something. From—a restaurant, or, er… something like that.” Thomas rubbed at his neck.

Alastair bit back a smile. He really was hopelessly endearing, wasn’t he?

It isn’t possible. It won’t ever be. Alastair knew that.

One night out couldn’t hurt.

---

He was completely and horribly wrong.

The night started with an impromptu walk along the Seine. Thomas did his best to engage Alastair in small talk as they walked, commenting on the chill weather and the dazzling lights, but Alastair could already feel himself falling.

They found themselves at a small bistro not unlike the one they’d been to the previous year. There was a small corner table available, which they fit themselves into carefully. Alastair ordered for them both after Thomas sheepishly admitted his French hadn’t improved since their last adventure in the city.

“English, Spanish, and Persian,” Alastair couldn’t help but laugh, “and yet you can’t seem to get a hold of French.”

Thomas laughed with him. Alastair’s heart clenched. He’d gotten used to the feeling by now.

They chatted idly as they waited for their food, Alastair feeling more and more like he was simply an observer, an outsider in his own body. He didn’t dare let himself give in too much to the conversation. He answered Thomas’ questions with cold politeness, aware that as he did so he reverted further and further into his old harshness. Thomas didn’t push, didn’t say anything he would not say to a stranger at a dinner party. It felt so odd. Alastair knew Thomas’ dips and curves, the freckles dusting his cheeks and the callouses on his hands and the way his eyelashes were light enough that they didn’t get credit for their length. Yet here he sat, deflecting questions as soon as they cut too deep, questions about his mother and Cordelia and if there was anything he could do to help. No, Alastair told him, his eyes drifting to a spot over Thomas’ shoulder, there’s nothing.

Their food came, and they ate in silence. It wasn’t awful, the silence, it was just… unusual. In all the time they’d known each other, they had rarely had nothing to say to each other.

At the end of their meal, Alastair was struck with the sudden memory of Thomas’ tattoo. When they’d last been in Paris, Thomas had spoken of getting a tattoo, and Alastair, like the idiot he was, had allowed himself to trace the spot on his arm, to revel in the feel of his skin under his fingers even if only for a moment. In the Sanctuary, Alastair had traced it again, had grinned into Thomas’ mouth as he’d done so. Though only a handful of days earlier, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Alastair pushed the thought from his mind and raised a hand for the check. He paid quickly, thanking the waiter and avoiding Thomas’ gaze as they left.

They walked down the street side by side, and with the wind roaring in his ears, Alastair could almost let himself think things were different. He could almost pretend he and Thomas were something more than… whatever this was. Just because it could never be real didn’t mean Alastair couldn’t indulge himself every once in a while. Once they arrived back at the Institute, Alastair would slip away to his room and remain firmly detached from his feelings for the man.

Thomas, it seemed, had other plans. About a block away from the Institute, he put a hand on Alastair’s arm to stop him and said, “When we get back, there’s something I wish to speak to you about.” He paused heavily. “Privately.”

Alastair stared up at him, keeping his face as impassive as possible. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Lightwood.”

Something flickered in Thomas’ eyes, and he snapped, “To hell with good ideas. I need to speak with you, Alastair, and you haven’t exactly given me the chance.”

“Yes, and there’s good reason for that, isn’t there?” Alastair retorted, tearing his arm from Thomas’ grip.

“Please, Alastair,” Thomas whispered. His voice was so soft, so gentle, it nearly broke Alastair’s heart. “Just give me five minutes. Five minutes to talk to you and split my heart open for you and then you can do whatever you wish. You can ignore me for the rest of our lives if it pleases you. Just give me this.”

He sounded desperate enough that Alastair could only swallow and nod once, not trusting himself to speak. Thomas let out a breath and nodded once, twice, then started down the street again as though nothing had happened.

They arrived at the Institute to find the halls empty, everyone else already having gone to bed. Thomas led the way to his room, even going as far as politely holding the door open for Alastair.

Thomas cleared his throat as soon as the door was shut and locked behind him. Alastair turned to look at him, crossing his arms as he did so, and raised his eyebrows.

Thomas let out a breath and began, looking vaguely sick as he spoke. “You told me that you didn’t want to make me choose between you and my friends, so you chose for me.”

Alastair rolled his eyes. “Yes, Lightwood, I was there. What is your point in all this?”

Undeterred, Thomas pushed forward as though Alastair hadn’t spoken. “You were wrong to choose for me. And you were more wrong to think it isn’t you I’d choose.” Alastair blinked, his composure slipping for a fraction of a second. “If my friends , as you said, aren’t willing to accept me—aren’t willing to accept you —then they are not and never have been a true friend, and therefore their opinion is of as little import to me as that of a passing stranger on the street.” He paused, his hazel eyes wide and vulnerable. “You chose for me because you did not wish to cause me any pain. You took the burden on for yourself, and while I’m grateful, I want you to know you needn’t have done it. I would’ve chosen you, if I’d gotten the chance.”

---

Thomas waited for Alastair to say something. Anything. He waited for him to acknowledge what Thomas had just said, whether to accept it or scorn it—but Alastair just stood there. It was as if he was waiting for Thomas to take it back.

Then he chuckled, a low, easy sound, and smiled softer than Thomas had ever seen. He spoke, and his voice was rough and thick from emotion. “Careful, Lightwood,” he said, his smirk tinged with sadness. “I just might take that as a love confession.”

Thomas cleared his throat, suddenly far more nervous than he’d been mere seconds ago, and took the slightest step forward. “Perhaps you should.”

Alastair’s eyes were open and dark as he looked up at Thomas through his lashes. Beautiful, as always . “Then I suppose I will,” was Alastair’s answer, and he closed the gap between them.

This, Thomas thought, Alastair’s lips soft on his like a promise, is what I’d choose every time.

---

Alastair woke slowly, his surroundings unfamiliar to his sleep-blurred eyes. He blinked a few times and the light-bathed room came into focus. More importantly, Thomas came into focus.

They were laying beside each other beneath the covers—fully clothed, Alastair realized with a twinge of relief—and Thomas’ face was turned toward him in sleep. Memories spilled into Alastair’s mind like sweet honey. A whirlwind of emotion had surrounded them both—there had been, to Alastair’s memory, more than a few tears between the two of them. That’s what happened, he supposed, when a dam came toppling down: the flood it held back came rushing out.

The night reminded him vaguely of the Sanctuary—they really had to get away from Institutes, Alastair had thought—in that it was the talking, truly, that meant the most to him. They’d fallen asleep talking, their whispers evening into steady breaths sometime far past midnight.

Thomas’ face was soft in sleep. It erased the trials of the year etched into the lines of his forehead and eyes. He was beautiful as ever, and Alastair was hit by the preemptive grief that accompanied leaving. For one of them would have to leave, wouldn’t they? Perhaps Thomas would even be upset that Alastair hadn’t yet—but no, Thomas didn’t seem like the type to be upset about this sort of thing. He wasn’t Charles, Alastair reminded himself with a smile.

Still, they couldn’t risk being found out. Especially by the people Thomas held closest. And that was the catch, wasn’t it? It always would be.

Alastair reached out and cupped Thomas’ face, his pinky slotting behind his ear and his thumb resting at the corner of his eye. He was rewarded by Thomas leaning into the touch, waking slowly. “G’morning,” Thomas yawned. His eyes were still closed.

“Hello, love,” Alastair whispered.

Thomas smiled and opened his eyes a fraction. He let out a sigh. “Esfandiyār.” Something tugged in Alastair’s chest at the name. “A beautiful name for a beautiful man,” Thomas said quietly, closing his eyes again.

Alastair swallowed heavily. Don’t, he wanted to say. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be. He moved his hand to Thomas’ hair, threading the short strands through his fingers. “I’m sorry,” Alastair said, gazing at Thomas’ sleep-soft face.

Thomas opened his eyes. “Why?” he asked, furrowing his brow and stretching adorably.

Alastair gave him a sad smile. “Because this is a dream,” he whispered hoarsely, “and sooner or later we’ll have to wake up.” Thomas stared at him, puzzled, his hand raising to grasp Alastair’s wrist. Alastair’s fingers stilled, his hand resting behind Thomas’ head. “Don’t be sad, joon-am. It has been my favorite dream.”

“It doesn’t have to be over.” Worry coated his words. Before Thomas could tighten his grip, Alastair pulled away, swallowing hard as he rolled over, away from Thomas’ pleading eyes. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone; he buttoned them as quickly as he could, his shaking fingers stumbling from exhaustion or—or something else. Thomas was still talking. “Alastair, I meant what I said last night. All of it.” Alastair sighed through his nose, closing his eyes and touching his chin to his chest. His jacket had been discarded and was now hanging on a chair. Alastair opened his eyes and reached for it, shrugging it on numbly.

“ Alastair .” He felt pressure on his shoulder. Thomas’ grip was firm—he pulled Alastair back toward him, turning him so they were looking directly into each other’s eyes. There were only a few inches of space between their noses. “I’m serious,” Thomas whispered. “I choose you .” He leaned forward, pressing their lips together, and only moved away a fraction of an inch to say, “I love you, Alastair Carstairs, and I won’t let you walk away from me again.”

There was a time when Alastair might’ve brushed it off, sneered at him for being so vulnerable, said something to quash the hope shining in his eyes.

Now, he found himself speechless. Thomas was looking at him with such intensity and—

And he wanted to believe him. Alastair wanted them to make it work. Because. Well.

“I love you too, Tom.” There it was. The words came out without thought or resistance. “That’s why… that’s why I’m so scared you’ll regret this.”

“I will never regret us, Alastair.”

“I know you think that, but…” Alastair swallowed and touched his hand to Thomas’ cheek again. “Could you really give up your friends? Your family? You say they would mean nothing to you, but it would leave a hole that I could not fill. I could not bear to see you friendless for my sake.”

“And what makes you think I would be? Alastair—here, just—” Thomas twisted so he was sitting cross-legged atop the blankets. His shirt was unbuttoned down to his navel, and his hair was mussed from sleep. He took Alastair’s hands in his and rubbed his thumbs along the backs of his hands in broad, soothing motions.

Alastair closed his eyes, filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. Even just being around Thomas had a calming effect on him, and being able to sit here and hold his hand… it was overwhelming in the best way.

“Look at me.” Alastair looked at him. Thomas told him, “The only way this could ever work is if we both choose to make it work. It won’t just happen on its own—you know that, as do I. But, if you mean it when you say you love me—” his voice caught on the word, snagging on the incomprehensibility of their situation, of the fact that they’d said it aloud to each other “—then I implore you to listen to what I’m saying. We can choose to be together. It may not be easy, but—God, it’ll be worth it. It would be worth losing the world if it meant gaining you.”

Alastair couldn’t help but chuckle, hanging his head as tears finally escaped and race down his cheeks. It was all so much, so different than what he’d grown accustomed to. With Charles, it had been a year before he’d uttered those words— I love you —in some nondescript hotel in this very city, and then it had been slow and relaxed, void of the urgency dripping from Thomas’ words. This was better, though, wasn’t it? This time, he was being asked to let himself be loved instead of begging for the feeling to be reciprocated. It was quite a turnaround. Alastair much preferred being on this side of it, he decided.

But then—there needn’t be sides, after all. They could be in it together. That was all Thomas was asking, wasn’t it? For him to choose to fight—and Alastair was rather good at fighting—even when the odds were stacked against them and it seemed there was no way they could be together?

When he thought of it that way, well. Alastair wanted it to work.

And Thomas did, too.

So, really, the answer was clear. It had been there all along—Alastair had simply been too afraid to see it.

He picked up his head, opened his eyes, and looked at Thomas. Really looked at him. He looked at his freckles and lashes and the veins of brown and gold in his eyes and realized that, if he chose it, he could watch that face grow old. He could learn all its secrets and tells. He could do that , if only he said yes.

It was obvious, then.

“All right,” he croaked out. He nodded once, then again, and then he was nodding and laughing and leaning forward to kiss Thomas just because he could. Thomas was laughing too, and then they were kissing and Alastair was thinking, I could do this forever. I could sit here with him forever and I’d never get tired of it.

Perhaps this was all a dream. Perhaps he’d wake up and find none of it had been real. It would be worth it, he thought, just if it meant having these memories of happiness.

Perhaps it was a dream, but it was the loveliest dream of his life.

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XXII

(Author’s Notes at the end)

Parts I-XXI:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

.XXII.

“Lucie!” Her father’s voice came from the other side of the door as it cracked open inviting in a warm light that chased away the darkness from inside Lucie’s bedroom. Lucie, being only five years old should have been asleep hours ago, but was sitting up in bed with her old stuffed rabbit in her lap, and both hands firmly clamped over her ears.

Will, dressed in his white stocking pajamas, his black hair a mess of tangled curls stepped into the room. “Lucie, I heard voices-- what’s the matter?”

Lucie uncovered her ears and slowly opened her eyes as her father walked into the hazy moonlight that came in through the oval window like a dramatic spotlight. “They won’t stop whispering at me, Papa.”

“Who?” Will looked around her room. “Is someone else in here?”

Lucie nodded.

“Where?” Will demanded.

“They’re not here now,” said Lucie. “You frightened them off, but they wouldn’t stop whispering to me.”

A strange recognition filled Will’s expression. He walked over to Lucie’s side of the bed and climbed in beside her. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “They can be so loud. I think they just want someone to talk to, and I don’t mind, but I want to sleep.”

Will smiled. “As you should be. What do these visitors say?”

Lucie played with the silk ear of her rabbit. “They mostly just say my name. Whisper it over and over again, like they can’t say anything more. Are they ghosts?”

Will nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“How come I can see them?”

“Because you’re a Herondale,” said Will, proudly. “All Herondales can see ghosts.”

Lucie contemplated this for a moment to the best ability of her still developing five year old brain. “So even James and Mam?”

“Only James, not Mam,” explained Will. “Mam was a Grey before she was a Herondale. It’s hard to understand, but you will.” He tilted her chin up with his finger. “Only born Herondales have this particular talent.”

“And devilishly good looks,” parroted Lucie.

Will barked a laugh. “Exactly.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “They’re nothing to be frightened of. They can’t hurt you. They’re just looking for a friend. Now, you go to sleep and if these ghosts visit you again, you remind them that your bedtime is seven-thirty and if they’d like to visit you it must be before then.”

Lucie nodded and slid down beneath the thick comforter. Will tucked Lucie in all around until she resembled a log underneath a fancy blanket. With his white slippers shuffling along the floor, Will left the room and closed the door behind him.

For a moment, her room was quiet and she thought her father might have chased the last of the voices away.

When she was almost asleep, she felt a cold breath of air against her cheek.

Lucie.

Lucie.

LUCIE!

The whispering could be heard even as she folded a pillow over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. They continued until finally she sat up and yelled into the void, “BE QUIET!”

The voices went out in a whoosh like a candle being snuffed. Nothing could be heard except for the grandfather clock’s ticking on the wall in the hall and the crickets chirping in the warm summer’s air outside. With a curt nod, Lucie closed her eyes and fell asleep.

“Good,” said Belial as he stood from the bed. “You received my message.”

Lucie’s eyes flickered to Grace cowering in the corner beside her mother. Tears stained Grace’s face and her chin shook with more to come as she looked apologetically at Lucie.

“What have you done?” Lucie whispered.

“I had no choice,” said Grace. “He was going to kill my Mum and he would never bring Jesse back. I wouldn’t be left alone— not again.”

Blood boiled in Lucie’s cheeks. “You really think he’ll uphold his promise? He’s about as reliable as a trained lion. He’ll get what he wants from you and then tear your face off.”

“What do you know of it?” Snapped Tatiana Blackthorn. “You’ve been handed things your whole life. Blessed. You’ve no idea what it means to lose something you love.” She turned her attention to Belial. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I killed seven innocent souls, I’ve released six demons from captivity using Shadowhunter blood, and I’ve brought you the girl. Now, return my son and we’ll be on our way. You can do what you wish with her.”

Belial blinked lazily.

Lucie hadn’t noticed before since her focus was entirely on the prince of hell lounging on Grace’s chiffon bed. The two women broke apart like curtains and resting behind them, on the bench beneath the window like he’d fallen asleep reading a book, was Jesse’s body.

Lucie gasped and took a marginal step closer to him, but stopped.

Death begets death begets death. You cannot take from death without giving to death first and sometimes it takes more than its share.

“Grace!” Lucie reached forward.

Belial snapped his fingers and Tatiana’s body crumpled to the floor with a sickening crack. Her neck lolled to the side like a broken stick. Grace screamed and fell back against the wall behind her just as Jesse gasped from the window seat.

Limbs flailed around as if he were trying to save himself from drowning until he fell to the floor on his hands and knees gasping for breath in lungs that haven’t been used in years. Lucie thought she could hear his heart beating until she realized it was her own. He sat up and clutched his chest, his blue, green eyes darted frantically around the room.

Grace fell to the floor beside him. “Jesse, it’s alright. It’s alright!”

Jesse wouldn’t look at her. His eyes locked on Lucie. “No, what have you done.”

“I haven’t done anything,” said Lucie.

“Then why are you here?” His face turned red in the cheeks. “I told you specifically not to come. Damn it, Lucie, why didn’t you listen.”

Lucie moved back a step. “I did listen. I came here to tell Grace that I no longer wanted to be a part of our agreement. I came here to tell her that I was giving up. I thought I was honoring your wishes. How was I to know that he was waiting here for me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t believe me,” groaned Jesse. “I thought you’d think I was bluffing to keep you from trying.”

Lucie scoffed. “And look how well your dishonesty worked out.”

Grace cried over their dead mother and clutched at her thick collar in a feeble attempt to wake her up.

“Enough,” said Belial, growing bored of the exchange in front of him. “I have upheld my bargain. It’s time for us to go.”

“No!” Jesse tried to stand. Belial cocked his head and Jesse fell back against Grace.

“Another move and I’ll kill you again, this time with no chance of return.” Belial’s eyes flickered over to Lucie. “I’ve realized I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I tried to capture the Carstairs girl thinking that she would get you to join me, but she’s far too much trouble. No, there was another pawn hiding right underneath my nose. The Blackthorn boy. It didn’t occur to me until you came to visit Grace and asked for her assistance in bringing him back. She was a good pet and delivered the message to Tatiana who in turn delivered the message to me.”

Lucie glared at Grace with her arms wrapped around Jesse’s shoulders. But how could she blame her? If the tables were reversed and it was James she was trying to revive, she might have done the same. No, she was positive she would have done the same. She’d allowed Jesse to give his last breath to her brother to save his life. In the end, she had been willing to give something up for the life of someone she loved. She could not fault Grace that.

“I’m not going with you,” she said. “The entire clave will be here shortly and you’ll be banished back to whatever level of hell you came from.”

Belial grinned. Despite herself, Lucie found it quite a charming smile. “Wonderful. A family reunion. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to my daughter. I’ve wondered how she fared all these years.”

“She fared nicely without the likes of you,” said Lucie, cursing herself for not bringing a short blade or at least a couple of throwing knives. She’d left in such a rush, she didn’t find a need. Her uncle was notorious for hiding weapons about the manor. Her aunt was always cursing him about it when they were children and Christopher or Anna would somehow wander down the hallway with a curve blade in their chubby little hands.

The hallway, Lucie nearly gasped as she remembered the cross blades hanging in the hallway.

The door behind her remained open. Only a few steps back and she could make a break for it and at least have a chance at defending herself.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” said Belial, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Not unless you want me to start breaking bones in their bodies starting with the smallest.” He raised on his hands and folded his fingers. The door slammed behind Lucie and she heard the faint sound of the lock. “We don’t have much time. I have a very short window back into my realm and we’ll need to be going now. That is if you want your friends to live.”

“Lucie.” Jesse fought against Grace’s hold. “Do not go with him. I’m not meant to be here. I’m not meant to be alive.”

“How rude,” said Belial. “Do you have any idea how hard your mother and sister worked to bring you back to life. The least you could do is be more grateful.”

“If I go with you,” said Lucie. “If I agree to do what you ask, you’ll promise to leave them alone?”

“You have my word,” grinned Belial and extended his hand towards Lucie.

Every instinct drove her to pull away, to run, but then some stronger instinct took control, and of their own free will her fingers closed round Belial’s. Heat seared down and through her, swift as wildfire chased by wind, and as it moved she felt something strong and heavy wrap around her waist.

Her connection broke with Belial as she was dragged back to the center of the room. She turned her neck and looked up.

“Thomas?”

His face was contorted in rage as he yelled over his shoulder to the hallway, “Now!”

A figure dressed in Shadowhunter gear stepped into the room. Lucie didn’t recognize him at first as his face was hidden behind a curtain of black hair.  A spear flew from his hand towards Belial.

Before she could even blink, it’d somehow stopped inches from Belial’s chest, and shot back at the shadow hunter with blinding speed impaling the person in the chest and pinned them to the wall like a collected insect.

It wasn’t until then that Lucie caught a glimpse of the face against the wall. Mouth open and eyes glossy as he stared down at the stick protruding from his chest was Alastair.

A/N: Hope you all are well! Good news, next update is coming in just a short seven days, Dec 13. You know the drill: hit that like, share, leave me comment, and follow along for more updates. Stay safe and stay healthy!

[lostcliches]

So you want to get into The Shadowhunter Chronicles. Good luck.

In this post I’ll be saying what books there are, who the main characters are, and giving suggestions on the order to read them in.

First, in order of release. Since I am separating them into categories, please note that the spin-off trilogy and some of the short story collections (i.e The Bane Chronicles) may have been released before or during the publication of the books in the main series and trilogies.

Main Series/Trilogies: The Mortal Instruments, The Infernal Devices, The Dark Artifices, The Last Hours, The Wicked Powers.

As of May 1, 2021, the last book in The Last Hours trilogy has not been released. Nor have any of the books in The Wicked Powers trilogy.

Short Stories: The Bane Chronicles, Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy, Ghosts of the Shadow Market.

Spin-Off Trilogy: The Eldest Curses.

As of May 1, 2021, the third book in The Eldest Curses trilogy has not been released.

—

Next, we have the books in chronological order. Note: Since the spin-off trilogy and the collections of short stories are hard to place, I will not put them in this list and instead will explain where they belong afterwards.

The Infernal Devices (1878)

The Last Hours (1903)

The Mortal Instruments (2007)

The Mortal Instruments is regarded as the main series in The Shadowhunter Chronicles. There are 6 books. The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones, released in 2013, is the movie adaptation of the first book in the series. Shadowhunters, a TV show consisting of 3 seasons, is based (albeit loosely at times) on this series. The first episode was released in January 2016 and the final one in May 2019.

The Dark Artifices (2012)

The Wicked Powers (TBD)

The Wicked Powers is currently set to be the final trilogy in The Shadowhunter Chronicles. It is currently unreleased, but it is expected to take place 3-4 years after The Dark Artifices.

—

Here is the placement of the spin-off trilogy and the collections of short stories.

Ghosts of the Shadow Market and The Bane Chronicles are both centric to one character and follow them in many different time periods.

Ghosts of the Shadow Market follows a character from The Infernal Devices. I suggest reading The Infernal Devices and The Mortal Instruments before you read it. The first two books in the Dark Artifices can be read before reading Ghosts of the Shadow Market, but it is best to read the short story collection before you read the last book in the Dark Artifices trilogy and before you read The Last Hours.

The Bane Chronicles follow a character in The Mortal Instruments (Magnus Bane). It will spoil both The Infernal Devices and The Mortal Instruments for you, so it should be read after you finish both of them.

Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy can be placed between the final book in The Mortal Instruments series and the first book in The Dark Artifices trilogy.

Do not read Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy until you are done reading TMI.

The Eldest Curses is a spin-off trilogy following a couple from The Mortal Instruments. The first book can be read after you read the third book in The Mortal Instruments. The second can be read after you read the final book in The Mortal Instruments and before you read the first book in The Dark Artifices. It is also suggested that you read both The Bane Chronicles and Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy before you read the second book in the trilogy.

The third book has not yet been released but is expected to take place between The Dark Artifices and The Wicked Powers.

—

Suggestions on the order to read the books in can be found here: https://rivetedlit.com/2020/03/04/cassandra-clare-books-in-order/

—

Here are the main characters of most of the books in The Shadowhunter Chronicles. I’ll be doing this in chronological order so it’s easier.

I will not be stating the main characters of the short stories/the spin-off trilogy because revealing the main characters of most of them (Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy, Ghosts of the Shadow Market, or The Eldest Curses) would contain spoilers. Additionally, the main character of The Bane Chronicles is obviously none other than Magnus Bane.

The Infernal Devices

Main Character(s): Tessa Gray, Will Herondale, James Carstairs.

The Last Hours

Main Character(s): Cordelia Carstairs, The Merry Thieves, Lucie Herondale.

The Mortal Instruments

Main Character(s): Clary Fairchild, Jace Wayland, Alec and Isabelle Lightwood.

The Dark Artifices

Main Character(s): Emma Carstairs, Julian Blackthorn and the rest of the Blackthorn family, Cristina Mendoza Rosales.

The Wicked Powers

Unreleased. Main characters TBD.

—

I hope this post was informational and helps you keep track of how the these books are connected. I promise that the Shadowhunter Chronicles are worth the confusion that comes with reading them. I’ve been reading them since 2015 and I’ve never had a guide like this, and somehow I’ve made it this far. I plan on going farther as well. I hope that you do, too.

Note to seasoned readers: Please feel free to share this post with your friends who want to get into TSC or are currently getting into TSC.

[purplebass]

Dark Light Ch. 6 // Blackdale

I admit I intended to make this a 5 chapter sort of fic. As I have been writing it, though, I got more and more ideas, so it will probably have 10 chapters. I have already outlined it, which means I know what to write.

Couple/Characters: Blackdale, Lucie Herondale and Jesse Blackthorn Rating: T

✨  You can also find it on AO3 ✨

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5

6.

Lucie’s hands turned cold after they were empty. Was that an aftershock of the Mortal Sword? She felt like throwing. She had never been on a ship, but she thought that if she were to travel on one, that would be the sensation she’d feel. She didn’t like it.

“We’ll take our time to deliberate,” the Inquisitor said, and left the room with some of the other members of the Clave. Lucie noticed that Charlotte, who was the Consul, was with them. She spared Lucie a quick glance, filled with worry. She was aware that she couldn’t help her situation either, no matter her position. When they left the room, she dared another look at Jesse. He rose from his chair, and walked towards her.

Her mouth opened in surprise. She had been waiting for that moment for days. The moment she could finally see him. Her family surrounded her before Jesse could come close, and she frowned. He managed a smile behind her, and returned to his place. She thought how sad it was. She was bathed in a circle of affection and love, with her parents assuring her that she hadn’t done anything wrong. She shifted her attention on them not to seem too suspicious, until the Inquisitor and the other members returned and everyone sat down.

The Inquisitor cleared their voice. “We have had a hard time making a decision, but we believe that this is the best solution for this situation,” they said. “We decided to punish Lucie Herondale with two years of exile, starting next week.”

The crowd started talking louder, but Lucie’s ears weren’t working anymore. She froze in her seat.

“Just because she stole a book she never used?” someone asked, and she didn’t know if it was someone from her family. “She didn’t break the law!”

“Silence, please. The law is hard, but it is the law,” the Inquisitor remarked severely. “And the law is the law to everyone. Even our children, Herondale.”

…

It all happened in a blur, and Lucie still hadn’t realized that she would be leaving the Institute in a few hours. They had let her go back with her family, but they had still considered her like a semi-criminal. Tatiana hadn’t been happy about the outcome, and she requested that they stripped Lucie’s marks, and they kicked her to the curb. The Inquisitor stayed neutral, and ordered Tatiana to stay silent, since she had no authority over the Clave’s decision.

She hadn’t dared to look at Jesse after the verdict. Was he satisfied? Was he hurt? He had sided with her when Tatiana first made her accusations, but what if that was a trap to send her away from her family? What if it  was payback? He told her that his mother didn’t love her family because of events from the past, but that was too much, even for her. Was it?

Her father had tried to put a word with the Inquisitor after the verdict, but they were unshakable. They even went as far as to threaten his position as the head of the London Institute. Lucie insisted that he didn’t risk it, and that she had to face the consequences of her actions. She had admitted to her family that she had indeed stolen the book in order to use it. It was half a lie, since it was Grace who had given it to her, but Lucie didn’t want to put her into this. She was already in a tough situation as it was. She would be the only one to face the music.

That she had revived Jesse, that much was true. She was still wondering why the sword had let her outright lie. It wasn’t possible, since the sword pushed the truth out of people. She was thankful for that, at least. If she had uttered another yes , she was sure she would be with mundanes now. She shivered when she thought about the possibility. She would never be able to see her parents anymore. The exile would last two years. What were two years in comparison to a whole lifetime without her loved ones?

She sighed as she arranged her things. “I really wish you didn’t have to do that,” Cordelia said. She had spent the last two days with Lucie. “That woman is insane.”

“She is,” Lucie agreed. “We can’t help it,” she added with resentment, trying not to shed a tear. She had ordered herself she wouldn’t cry in front of the people she loved.

“Do you at least know where they are sending you?”

“I still don’t,” she informed her. “I guess I’ll know when I’ll get there.” She was gloomy as she finished putting everything she needed in her trunk. She decided she wouldn’t bring many books with her, but she wouldn’t leave her typewriter behind. That machine was important for her survival.

“The carriage is here, Lucie,” her mother called from the door, and she and Cordelia exchanged a look.

She would tear up, she knew it. Cordelia enveloped in a tight hug, and started crying. “I will miss you, Lucie. Promise me you’ll write me letters. Can you write, right?”

“Yes, I suppose it’s not against the rules,” she said, and stifled a sob.

The evening before, Lucie’s parents had thrown a celebration in the ballroom so she could say goodbye to her relatives and friends. She was convinced Jesse would come with the Lightwoods, but he didn’t. She didn’t ask about him, although she was tempted to. She had done her best not to cry, but it had been impossible. It would be harder not to weep now.

Lucie told her mother to wait, because she needed to retrieve one last thing, and to wait for her downstairs. Cordelia asked if she wanted company, but Lucie told her friend to go too. She didn’t wonder why, but perhaps, she knew. Lucie wanted to be alone to say goodbye to the Institute too. She had already walked around each room to ingrain the details in her mind. She knew she wouldn’t remember everything. It would cost her to say farewell to the people she loved. That was a bitter price to pay, although she was aware that she had done something wrong. She thought the Clave would have punished her more harshly.

Once she was ready, she went downstairs. Her family was gathered by the door. There was Cordelia, who she considered like a sister, who was already moving to tears, a handkerchief in her hands to wipe her eyes. Her brother James stood by his fiancée’s side, his hand behind her back as to console her. He wasn’t crying, but he had shed his good deal of tears already. Then, there were her parents. Her mother was weeping silently as usual, but she was also grinning. Lucie knew that smile was an encouragement, a way to be positive despite it all. Her father broke down when he saw her. He had always been the emotional type, but she knew that he would be alright.

They all went outside, where a black carriage waited for Lucie. Her uncle Jem was also there, waiting. James helped her trunk in the vehicle, which meant that their time was up.

“I promise that I’ll write a lot,” she said, her voice broken by the tears. “I’ll send pieces of my writing too, so you can read them.”

“We will also write to you, Lucie. Don’t you worry,” Will reassured her.

She hugged each one of them until Jem advised them that they had to go. Lucie and her uncle got in the carriage, and it took off without warning. The last thing she saw was her family trying to hold in tears and behind them, what used to be her home until two minutes ago.

…

We are here, Lucie.

Jem’s voice in her mind woke her up. Her eyes adjusted to the dark outside, and she sat up straighter. She had fallen asleep at some point during the trip. She was exhausted not only because of the journey, but also because she hadn’t stopped crying after she left London. She hadn’t been able to stop herself. Jem’s presence had been reassuring. She knew that even if he couldn’t speak much, he supported her silently. It would have been worse if she had been left alone or with another Silent Brother.

She gathered her skirts and exited the carriage. It was extremely chilly that night, although it was almost summer. She tried to understand where she was, but the night was too dark to take notice of her surroundings. She could make out trees all around.

Jem started walking, and she followed. The driver will bring your trunk inside, he informed her. He walked briskly as usual, while she glanced around.

There were several different noises in this place. Was that an owl? She could smell the scent of leaves after rain too. She had been distracted that she didn’t notice that they had reached the main door. The wood was dark, she suspected it was ebony. She would inspect it the following day, she decided, and added it to the list of things to do to pass the time.

She opened the door, and saw that at least there were a few sources of light inside. The driver had meanwhile taken her trunk there, and she was about to get in, when Jem stopped her.

I’m afraid I must go, uncle Jem said. My duty was just to take you here. I know you will make it, Lucie. I believe in you.

He didn’t give her time to answer, that he started walking away. “Wait, wait,” she hurried after him, and he stopped. “At least, tell me where we are. Please.”

He took several minutes to answer, that Lucie thought he wouldn’t disclose this information. It wasn’t like she would run away.

This is the Cornwall Institute, he replied. And then, without adding more, he left.

…

It was odd. Lucie had written several stories where her main protagonist was alone during some parts of her journey, but she had never known what it meant until now. She waited to take a tour until the morning after she arrived. The Cornwall Institute was small, all black and grey stone, and was deserted save for a cook slash custodian who had the duty of taking care of the property. No one else apparently lived there.

The cook seemed to be taking good care of it, at least. The room she had chosen to occupy was tidy and it didn’t smell like a sewer. The woman told Lucie that she didn’t live at the Institute, and that she would only come to cook and clean, which meant that she would be alone for most of the day. She wanted to cry, and she did. She thought about her family, about her friends. About Jesse. It would be impossible to have news about him from that place. They were still in the British Isles, but not within reach. She couldn’t even escape in order to meet him in secret. She thought that if she hadn’t tried to bring him back, this wouldn’t have happened. And yet, she would have done it again.

She had already written a letter to her family during the first week, and she was writing another one while she waited for the cook to get there, hoping she would have a letter for her. It was barely midday when she heard noises coming from the corridor, and she rose from her chair with the pretense that she had to take a break. The truth was that she wanted to meet the woman so they could talk.

She was about to open her door when she heard a grunt. It didn’t look like it came from a feminine voice, but she might be hallucinating. She grabbed a book from the desk and exited the room. Better safe than sorry.

The door of the room next to hers was open, because the light of the afternoon sun bathed the corridor with brilliant tones. She tried to get in that room when she got there. She wanted to choose her room since she would spend two years there, but the door was locked.

She advanced quietly. The sunlight reflected the shadow of the person inside. She hadn’t hallucinated yet, it seemed. She held the book higher, and she struck the person on the back two or three times to make her point. It was definitely not a woman.

“Who are you?” she asked warily, trying to look confident.

“Thanks for the warm welcome, Lucie.”

She opened her mouth in surprise. “Forget it. I must really be hallucinating,” she shook her head.

“What?”

“No, Lucie. Wait. You hit him with the book,” she told herself, frowning. “He is real. By the angel, Jesse!”

“Yes?”

“You are here.”

“I swear, I’m not a ghost,” he teased her with a smirk.

She couldn’t help herself. She cut the distance between them and she hugged him, inhaling his scent. He smelled like clean clothes and moss. She placed her head on his shoulder, forgetting that they weren’t much acquainted. She was about to detach herself from him, when his arm came about her upper back. He was returning the hug. Being the gentleman boy Lucie had known when he was a ghost, he was trying not to cross the line. The embrace lasted longer than Lucie intended, but he didn’t say anything.

…

Come evening, Lucie believed that Jesse would leave. She still hadn’t asked why he was there. Not that she minded, of course, but she was afraid that he would tell her that he just came for a courtesy visit. They ate lunch and dinner together. It felt so domestic, so heartwarming.

Cath, the cook, she had once worked for his grandparents in London. She told Lucie while they were momentarily alone. She had the perfect occasion to ask him when they decided to take a walk in the flower garden outside of the Institute after they ate their meal. She didn’t see any carriage in view, which meant that he was probably staying.

“It’s a beautiful sunset, isn’t it?” she asked casually.

He glanced at her and smiled. “You can tell that winter is over, and nature is different, yes.”

“I can’t remember I’ve ever seen something like this before,” she commented. “You know London is full of smoke coming from the factories and the chimneys. You can never see the sky as it is, the way you can see it in the countryside.”

“I wouldn’t define this place in the countryside,” he frowned. “We’re closer to the ocean than you really think, Lucie.”

“And how do you know that?” she asked, curious.

“I know because I’ve paid attention while I was coming here,” he replied.

“It was night when I came,” she retorted, and crossed her arms on her chest. Don’t be a petulant child, Lucie. Don’t. She relaxed her arms again. “I couldn’t possibly see.”

“Yes, I understand,” he nodded. “The truth is that I’ve already been here, when I was a child. This place belonged to someone in my family.”

“Does this mean this Institute is yours?”

“You know better than me that Institutes can’t be inherited, Lucie,” he said. “It was just being taken care of by the Blackthorns for generations, but at some point, everyone moved to London and it was left in the care of a guardian.”

She nodded, and looked at the path in front of them. They had reached the gates, and Lucie could finally see that there were three separate roads in front of them. She hadn’t noticed, and she had been here for a week already.

“I still have to explore this place,” she said. “I didn’t feel like walking out of the building,” alone , she wanted to add, but bit her lip. “Since I thought I’d have plenty of time to do that,” she chuckled softly, and looked away for a moment.

“Then we could go see the ocean one of these days,” he proposed, and Lucie’s heart quickened its pace. She smiled widely before she knew. “What do you say?”

She hoped she didn’t look silly. “I say that is a plan.”

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed, send me a PM): @princesslucretia @kit-12 @immortal-enemies @lucian-evander @esa-emery @danieldyers @blackthorn-trash @rinadragomir @fortunesandfables @itsdaughterofthemoon @silvenys@thomastair3 @livvyheronstairs @ holding-infinity-and-a-book @lovelaces

[themostawesomehuman]

Whispers of Evil part 1

Another Matthew Fairchild and James Herondale fic! (Look out for Thomstair)

Thank you @mitsuhamiyamizi for helping me edit and all the suggestions! Ur amazing! 🥰

If there’s any way I can improve plz tell me! Also if u like it plz reblog n comment! Thanks for checking it out! It means a lot

Tagging: @lily-chen-deserves-better @zafirafox4636 @brotherlipsmackariahs @idontgetit-whydoihavetosaymyname @banesbitch @matthewfaichild @cecilyfightwood @morgnstern @raccoon-dog-from-mercury @daisyherxndale @beclynn-herondale @fieryfantasybooklover @tessagraycarstairs @fairchild-blackthorn @immyownghostwriter @friendlyneighbourhoodreader @liam-h-205 @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @simon-lewis-is-a-skinny-legend @ineedadrinkorsleep @bridgestocksariadne @moonbender @fairychildmatthew @katie33333 ———————————————————————————————————

James was the one who discovered Matthew’s body— his bloody, broken parabatai. Lifeless. Matthew’s emerald eyes were still open, staring off into the unknown—into the darkness of the night. Why were they open? This was same pair of eyes that gave him comfort when their parents told them off for doing something stupid—the familiar gleam of mischief, the warmth. All gone. James couldn’t feel his limbs. All James knew, as he screamed into the night, screaming in agony until his lungs could only allow him to quietly sob, was that Matthew would no longer mock him about his hair or complain to him about waistcoats. He didn’t care if the world was looking. Matthew was gone and that’s all that really mattered. So damn the world and damn everything else.

James’ face was wet, his vision blurred with tears, his hair messy from all the pulling in an attempt to ease his frustration. His hands were aching from drawing Iratze after Iratze after Iratze—the cramping of his hand was nothing compared to the overwhelming amount of pain in his chest—he found that he couldn’t breath. Come back to me! James screamed silently. His chest was burning and it felt as though he was drowning in an ocean of flames—his chest was on fire! He could feel the parabatia bond slowly fading, the black on his skin turning white. When they'd said that losing your parabatai was the worst pain a Shadowhunter would feel, James had known it would hurt like hell. But it was so much worse.

For hours James sat holding on to Matthew’s lifeless body, refusing to leave his parabatai’s side. His shirt was soaked with blood: from crimson to coppery-brown. Matthew was gone. The morning after when the silent brothers made an attempt to move closer to them—James begged and begged them not to take his best friend away. He needed more time. They needed more time. James didn’t leave Matthew’s side even for a minute—eating wasn’t necessary. Nor was sleeping or taking baths or talking to anyone else. Everyday he would read Matthew a chapter or two of Matthew’s favorite book: Picture of Dorian Gray, hoping that Matthew would like before get up and went on for hours about Oscar Wilde. He would do anything to hear Matthew’s comforting voice again. James would held Matthew’s hand for as long as he could, whispering words of comfort into his ears, wishing for a time when he could smile back. He would kill for Matthew to smile back.

At Matthew’s funeral, James saw the remaining Fairchild family excepting everyone’s condolences. Charles who looked completely normal like the body on the pyre wasn’t his little brother. James hated Charles then. He hated Charles who was supposed to be Matthew’s older brother. Charles who was never there. Charles who James knew only use this as an opportunity to gain more votes. It made him felt sick to his stomach. Matthew’s father was there in a bath chair and he eyes were full of grief—the amount of grief that could destroy a man. He only nodded at James and gave him a faint smile. Henry Fairchild’s smile was so familiar and James found himself searching for someone in that smile. Next to uncle Henry was aunt Charlotte dressed in all white with the red mourning rune on her left arm. Aunt Charlotte who had collapsed at receiving of the news of her youngest son’s murder—in that moment, she wasn’t the consul or the former head of London institute. She was a women who lost her son. James noticed her eyes—they were bloodshot possibly from long nights of grieving.

He quickly glanced around the sea of people, his hands were fiddling with the ring he once gave Matthew when they first became parabatai. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Thomas who was staring blankly into space, leaning into Alastair Carstairs for support. His eyes were icy and there was no trace of his kind smile left. Christopher who was always in his own little world was sobbing uncontrollably into Anna’s suit. For once perfectly in tuned with what was happening around him. Anna’s tidy raven black hair was messy, it was sticking out from every direction. Her face was as hard a stone. It was hard to look, knowing that there was nothing that he could do to take their pain away. In that moment he made promised to himself. He would find the murderer. He would find them and make them pay for this unspeakable crime. For the death of his parabatai, his best friend, his brother. His Math.