#piers wentworth

[viornefni]

You're in my head

I had plans for the weekend

But wound up with you instead

Back here again

Got me deep in my feelings

When i should be in your bed

You and i go back to like '09 it's like forever

And you were there my lonely nights, yeah, keeping me together

So wouldn't it make sense if I was yours and you could call me your baby

But we say we're just, say we're just

Friends

Just for now

Yeah but friends don't say words that

Make friends feel like more than just

Friends

Just for now

Now I'm over pretending

So let's put the "end" in friends

Friends

Just for now

Yeah but friends don't say words that

Make friends feel like more than just

Friends are not supposed to get too close

And feel emotions that we're feeling now, now, now

We ain't slowing down, down, down

But once we cross the line, there's no denying you and I can never turn around, round, round

Know we'll never be the same

You and I go back to like '09 it's like forever

And you were there my lonely nights, yeah, keeping me together

So wouldn't it make sense if I was yours and you could call me your baby

But we say we're just, say we're just

Friends

Just for now

Yeah but friends don't say words that

Make friends feel like more than just

Friends

Just for now

Now I'm over pretending

So let's put the "end" in friends

V 'FRI(END)S' Release

🎧 Listen now: https://ingrv.es/friends​

Credits:

Director: Samuel Bradley

Production Company: Iconoclast TV

EP: Maeva Tenneroni, Jean Mougin, Guy Rolfe

Head of Production: Kate Sharpe

Producer: Martha Mcguirk

Directors Agent: Yoni Yosef

Casting: Road Casting

Casting Director: Coralie Rose

Casting Assist: Luis Torrecilla, Laura Meredith

Love Interest: Ruby Sear

Production Manager: Chanel Parkinson

Production Co-ord: Alice Hayes

Artist Liason: Jo Thompson

Cast Co-ord: Beth Rubery

Production Assistant: Callum Anderson

Production Runner: Mia Tessema

Intimacy Coordinator: Stella Moss

Movement Director: Yagamoto

Location Manager: Ryan Colaco

Location Assistant: Eser Savrin, Lois Constantinou

1st AD: Ben Gill

2nd AD: Gabriel O’Donohoe

3rd AD: Kitty Rajakulasingham, Aloha Kulieshova

Runner: Kai Rajakulasingham, Joe Heap, Danny Zanre, Anna Kovalevska, Grace Goodworth, Kwesi Mcleod, Darren Sintes, Tyson Douglas, Tiger Brewers

DOP: Jake Gabbay

A CAM Focus Puller: Rozemarijn Stokkel

A CAM 2nd AC: Ania Bahadrian

Trainee: Guillem Zamora

B CAM Operator Day 1: Juanjo Salazar

B CAM Operator Day 2: Jomar O’Meally

B CAM 1st AC - Alex Rawson

B CAM Trainee: Ollie Wesley

Camera Car: Davide Viera

Key Grip: Darren Quinn

Crane Tech: Henry Stone

Grip Trainee: James Quinn

Gaffer: Kieran Brown

Electrician: Shuan Clark, Ed Irvine, John Joe Besagni, Akeel Fleary, Cieran Nash, Amarjeet Singh, Laurent Arnaud

Master Rigger: Lee Doran

Rigger: Joe Parrott, Jamie Brindle, Ryan Ross, Alfie Berry, Scott Allen, Joe Knight

Video Playback: Liam Coles

Playback Assistant: Elvis Mcgovern

DIT: Lilly Palmer

Production Designer: Staci Lee Hindley

Art Director: Nia Samuel

Prop Master: Ezra Piers Mantell

Prop Buyer: Jessa Thorpe, Shopie-Mai Wigans

Art Assistant: Harry Beedle, Camilla Byles, Tom Hope, George Mein, Freya Wentworth, Alice Moles

Home Economist: Olivia Somary

Action Vehicle Driver (Car): Dan Chester

Action Vehicle Driver (Bus): Tom Burnage

SFX; Sean Harland

SFX Technician: Danny Matters

Stunt Coordinator: Jim Dowdall

Stylist: Justin Hamilton

Stylist Assistant: Samela Gjozi, Colleen Finnerty, Lorna Lane, Chris Atkins, Vania Monteiro, Katherine Somavia, Anna Menshykova, Mel Lyse

Hair Stylist: Simon Izard

Hair Assistant: Julie West, Aaron Dorn, Natasha Rose, Natasha Lawes

Makeup Assistant: Sophie Gia Moore, Marta Wozniak

Makeup Trainee: Rebecca Robinson

Medic: Alex Gardner, Richard Drakesford

Paramedic: Lynsey Shewring

Mini Winnego Driver: Phil Rainer

Honeywagon Driver: John Suttion

Production Sprinter: Jos Benschop

Minibus Driver: Rob Higgs, Gavin Baker, Granger Goodey, Dean Cumbers

Label Vehicle: Blerim Morina, Othman Abashikh, Peter Tarling, Steven Smith

Artist Trailer: Paul Haddock

Artist Wardrobe: David Czekalski

Honeywagon Driver: Martin Dean

Wardrobe Truck: Warren Smart

Hmu Truck: Wally Smart

Dining Bus: Andy Byrne

Location Security: Randal Berbick, Billy Bridger, Alan Laney, Kerri Mccann, Malakai Mars, Angelo Evangelou, Richard Johnson, Mathew Richards

Edit House: Assembly Rooms

Editor: Jack Williams

Edit Producer: Phoebe Armstrong-Beaver

Edit Assist: Bruna Manfredi, Tamara Ishida

Post Production: Cheat

Grade: Toby Tomkins

Post Producer: Joanna Dawson, Jen Saunders

Post Sound House: Soundtree Music

Sound Designer: Jack Patterson

Sound Producer: Neil Athale

BIGHIT MUSIC. Rights are reserved selectively in the video. Unauthorized reproduction is a violation of applicable laws. Manufactured by BIGHIT MUSIC, Seoul, Korea.

Connect with BTS:

https://ibighit.com/bts​

   / bts_bighit  ​

   / bts_twt  ​

   / bangtan.official  ​

    / bangtantv  ​

   / bts.bighitofficial  ​

   / bts_official_bighit  ​

https://weverse.onelink.me/qt3S/94808190​

https://www.weibo.com/BTSbighit​

http://btsblog.ibighit.com​

#V_FRIENDS​ #FRI_END_S​ #뷔​ #V​

[wtransportsolution]

Top 5 Chicago Destinations Perfect for Private Group Tours

Explore the Windy City Together, Stress-Free and Trouble-Free. Planning a group trip to Chicago? Whether it's family, friends, colleagues, or a club, private group transportation enhances your experience making it more convenient, safe, and a lot more fun. At Williams Transportation Solution, we manage group travel that keeps everyone together and hassle-free so that you can enjoy the experience, not the planning.

To help you plan, here are five must-see Chicago destinations that are perfect for private group tours:

1. Museum Campus (Field Museum, Shedd Aquarium & Adler Planetarium)

1400 S Lake Shore Dr, Chicago, IL

This scenic lakefront area is home to three world-class attractions in one spot—perfect for school trips, family reunions, or educational group tours.

Why it’s great for groups:

Easy group entry options and discounted tickets

Walkable between sites

Gorgeous views of the skyline and Lake Michigan

Pro tip: Book your group ride with Williams and enjoy a smooth drop-off and pickup loop so no one has to deal with parking or directions.

2. Navy Pier

600 E Grand Ave, Chicago, IL

One of Chicago’s top entertainment destinations, Navy Pier offers something for everyone—from shopping and dining to boat cruises, public art, and fireworks shows.

Group favorites:

Centennial Wheel for skyline views

Chicago Children’s Museum

Lakefront dining options and seasonal events

With group transportation, your party can arrive in style, stick together, and skip the hassle of downtown parking.

3. Chinatown

Cermak Rd & Wentworth Ave, Chicago, IL

For a vibrant cultural experience, Chicago’s Chinatown is a fantastic destination for group dining, sightseeing, and shopping.

Don’t miss:

Traditional dim sum lunches

Chinese-American Museum of Chicago

Ping Tom Memorial Park along the Chicago River

Williams Transportation makes it easy to coordinate multiple stops and wait times, so your group can explore at its own pace.

4. Chicago’s Historic Bronzeville Neighborhood

South Side, Chicago

A cultural gem, Bronzeville is a powerful place to connect with Black history, art, and community in Chicago.

Highlights include:

DuSable Black History Museum & Education Center

Historic murals and jazz legacy

Community art galleries and soul food spots

Perfect for church groups, community groups, and educational group tours. Our drivers know the area and can suggest neighborhood stops to enhance your visit even further.

5. Wineries & Breweries in the Suburbs

Southwest suburbs, NW Indiana, or along the Illinois Wine Trail

Looking to escape the city for a fun, laid-back afternoon? Group wine or brewery tours are a girls' weekend, birthday, and even corporate retreat favorite. Popular spots include:

Wild Blossom Meadery & Winery (Beverly)

Cooper’s Hawk (multiple locations)

Three Floyds Brewing Co. (Indiana)

Our spacious, clean vehicles let your group ride together comfortably—no need for a designated driver, GPS stress, or rideshare juggling.

Conclusion

Chicago is packed with unforgettable destinations, and exploring them with a group doesn’t have to be stressful. Whether you’re planning a family outing, a girls’ getaway, a company trip, or a cultural tour, private group transportation is the smart way to travel. No parking headaches. No getting lost. Just comfort, convenience, and shared memories.

[originalwinnercheesecake]

Chain of Iron Theories on the Killer’s 5 victims

tinSo we know that the chain of Iron will have a mysterious killer who will kill 5 shadowhunters. Here are my theories on who will die.

1.) Maurice Bridgestock

Lets start with the obvious first, of course this man will be killed. He is Inquisitor and that is a powerful yet cursed position, take it and you will die a horrible  death. I am hoping he dies pretty early, because I have a feeling until then he will be gunning for the Fairchild family. Remember he and his wife were the ones who really wanted Charles and Ariadne to marry. Charles and Ariadne were originally friends, who both figured that being forced into a hetro marriage was inevitable and that they could both do worse. Charlotte and Henry gave there blessing because they thought Charles and Ariadne were actually in love. Once Charles told this parents that he and Ariadne weren’t they immediately gave him permission to break the engagement and gave their blessing for him to marry someone else (who he doesn’t love either, Oh poor messed up fairchild family). This infuriated Bridgestock. Charles and Charlotte know to avoid him unless it is for official business, done in public, with witnesses. Does Matthew? Chapter 4 is called “The King is Dead”; so maybe the Inquisitor is the “King” listed. The next half of that phrase is “Long live the King” symbolizing the transition of power, so that would mean choosing a new Inquisitor. The most obvious ones to get the promotion is one of the TID dad’s given how close they are with Charlotte and the sway her vote would give. According to the cards it looks like she gives the position to Will (cough Gideon would have been a way better choice cough), we will see how that goes.

2.) One of the Wentworth’s

The Wentworth’s will have importance in the COI.They have been referenced and set up like the Lightwood’s in CWA. We know at least 3 of their names, we know that Martin Wentworth is kind of a thorn in Will and Gabriel’s side. We know that Piers and Rosamund have a... tense relationship with our mains, but do have their own friends and seem close to each other. Honestly with how much this family is mentioned/established I was thinking for a while that it would be just like the Lightwoods in CWP. Like maybe Piers was Eugenia’s ex boyfriend, maybe he had wanted to marry her but bad stuff was happening at home, his dad keeping secrets, and he couldn’t get blessings. Then that snip-bit at the party came out and I read about Eugenia being done with suitors and Piers hitting on Catherine. Piers still may be Eugenia’s ex, and he may trashed her rep and then moved on to courting his sister’s best friend. If so and he dies I will not miss him.

I would say Rosamund is pretty safe. She has a fiance now, and is planing her wedding. Wedding are actually great places for interactions and drama. Rosamund is good friends with Ariadne. Maybe Ariadne will try to bring Anna to the wedding, or maybe Ariadne will have Eugenia ask Anna to accompany her to the wedding, because Anna is less likely to say no to that, and then use that as a chance to “win her back.”

3.) At Least One of The Carstairs Parents

Risa Included. We all care about this family, we all wish their troubles could be over, and tat things and the next two books could be rainbows and sunshine for them. And we all know that will not happen. Terrible things will befall London. Elias is unbalanced from PTSD and weak from detoxing after years of addiction, Sona is weak from a difficult pregnancy/ recent childbirth, Risa is a mundane and lacks the ability to kill demons. They don’t have a lot of friends, all three are old. It is not fair and I hope whoever dies is at least given a good death.

4.) Cecily Lightwood Nee Herondale

I hope I am wrong, please let me be wrong. The family tree and CWP2 epilogue say that she will live through this, but those were written 7 years ago and are no longer accurate. The Second book always has one tragedy that will emotionally destroy us and leave us crying till the third comes out. It is unlikely that all The TID gang will live through another series. Other people have been guessing Gideon, but his branch already lost Barbara in COG2. In a book with so many nuclear families why kill from the same one twice? No it won’t be Gideon. After careful analysis I have determined Cecily is the most likely of the one to die.

First off Cecily didn’t come into TID until the final book and she was mostly squeezed in as a secondary character. That means that CC put less time and development into her and while she probably likes her, is maybe less attached to her. Secondly Cecily is some one very important to Both Will and Gabriel, two people Tatiana hates more than anyone in the world. She also played a key role in Killing the Lightworm, she caused it to wound itself to were Gabriel was able to kill it. For Tatiana Cecily would be three birds with one stone. Another reason she might die is Cecily is the only one of The TID characters who I cannot find any information on what her job/role in the clave is. Everyone else has a job listed, is seen investigating or talking at meetings, Cecily is just a mother, okay the best of the TSC mom’s. But having to take so much time off shadowhunting to raise her children might have put her out of practice, and having such a strong bond with her children, nieces, and nephews would make it all the more heart breaking if she died. One final reason is that unlike her Gabriel does have an overall arch. He idolized a fantasy of who his father was, had that come crashing down, then wanted to become someone different. His wife dying would put Gabriel just were Benedict was when Barbara Lightwood the first died: A single father with three kids, one of whom is coincidentally about the same age as Gabriel was when he lost his mother.

I love Cecily and writing this has made me very say (Please let me be wrong about her dying) but moving on...

5.) Tatiana Blackthorn Nee Lightwood

She will die. Tatiana probably joined Belial willingly, she probably does not see it, but Belial is not her ally. The truth is she is just as much Belial’s pawn as anyone he has tricked. When he is done using her and no longer has any use for her, he will kill her to keep her quiet. She will probably die last, her blood is Jesse’s and can be used as a sacrifice. She dedicated her life to resurrecting her son so she could have him back, and she will die with the knowledge that she has doomed him to Belial’s plans.

Bonus 6.) Charles Fairchild

Charles will not die. I originally I thought he might, but he is actually necessary as a foil/parallel to Matthew. Two brothers who grew up in the same family, yet have personalities and struggles that are literally flip sides of the same coin. Cassandra Clare has said she is planning on “developing” their relationship. She has also said Charles will be away for a lot of the book. So that does not leave a lot of space for this development in COI, and Charles has to make it until COT. I believe that he will disappear. No one will have any idea were he went or why, His parents will send out a search, while that is taking place Charlotte task Matthew with assisting her the way Charles usually does. Matthew will hate it. He will hate the piles of work and stuffy meetings; he will hate having less time to see his friends; and especially the cranky, foul mouthed, horrible politicians he has to deal with instead. As time goes by and the Killer at large Charlotte will become more desperate to find her older son. When she cannot find him her and Henry will start to fear the worst and cry over it at home.

Matthew will eventually start looking into his brothers disappearance, not because he misses him, but their parents are miserable and Matthew is tired of having to do Charles chores.  He might learn Charles and Alastair were “good friends” before and try to force information out of Alastair, Que to him learning one of his brothers secrets. While I do think Matthew will be the one to find Charles I do not think it will be until the end of COI or early COT, when Matthews life has morphed into a much bigger mess than it was before. I also do not think Charles will be in the same... way as he was before his disappearance. There will be a whole new list of issues when the brothers meet again.

[youwerealwaysmysecret]

Unpopular opinion but I live for Thoby and Rosamund’s relationship

It's rather funny, her chasing him around, bickering at parties. 

Plus with Piers eyeing Catherine, it provides scope for Alastair and Ariadne getting to meet up. I can just imagine her going up to Alastair like, “Our friends are in love with each other, I feel like should get to know you.” And maybe the two groups merge once Piers and Thoby’s marriages happen so they go on outings together, but Ariadne is the person Alastair can stand, and vice versa.

Plus Ariadne and Alastair would 100% gossip about their friend’s love lives to make up for the lack of their own. But due to them chatting and gossiping every party, people start to gossip, and even more drama (as if TLH needed anymore tho), but no, they’re the top-tier sapphic/gay solidarity duo.

and who else bets that they are going to talk about their lightwood love interests together.

plus I thought it was cute that Alastair tried to convince Thoby to give up cravats.

[hahahax30]

A Son Dressed in White

@ the anon who pushed me to write this. I'm also going to post this on ao3 but it's almost 2am here in Spain and I'm tired. So I'll do that tomorrow

Cecily and Gabriel find out Christopher is dead. A fic

Cecily Lightwood hadn't been to any trials in her life; neither before her life embodied her shadowhunting heritage, nor after she'd taken runes to her skin, forever sealing her fate. She found she was rather glad about that fact, for trials were very, very, very boring.

Her older brother Will stood on a dais with as somber an expression as she had ever seen him don. Left and right and before him and behind him were shadowhunters gazing intently at Will, yet he was only looking at one person: Maurice Bridgestock.

"Did you confabulate with Belial, your father-in-law?" the Inquisitor spat.

"When was a madman elected Inquisitor?" Cecily's husband wondered through gritted teeth.

Cecily squeezed his knee to let him know she agreed with him: this was ridiculous. Inquisitor Bridgestock was ridiculous.

The Mortal Sword lay balanced on Will's outstretched hands. Under its Raziel-born influence, he would be compelled to tell nothing but the truth. "I never confabulated with Belial," Will said.

"So you never cooperated with him to let Leviathan ravage the London Institute?" the Inquisitor pressed.

"By the Angel, my brother helped fight off Leviathan," Cecily protested. Her voice came out higher than it should have, which made little Alexander squirm on her lap. She could've left him in the care of his favorite maid, but after Tatiana Blackthorn had kidnapped him, she wasn't ready to leave her youngest out of her sight.

"Mummy?" Alex asked.

"Nothing. It's nothing, Alex bach."

Cecily turned her attention back to Will.

"I never cooperated with Belial."

"Are you saying that–"

Whatever it was that Inquisitor Bridgestock had wanted to say got cut off by a dozen shadowhunters swarming into the meeting room. Gabriel stood up promptly, and so did his brother –Gideon– and her wife and daughter. Soon everyone was standing up, thus blinding Cecily, still on her seat due to Alexander, to the new arrivals.

"Gabriel," she called out "Who is there?"

"Martin Wentworth," her husband said, a hand on her shoulder "Thoby Baybrook. I think I see Charles, too. He's talking to the Inquisitor– no, he's pushing Bridgestock away. It was about time he stopped being Bridgestock's lapdog, I say."

"What else can you see?" before Gabriel could reply, Cecily gently ushered Alexander down from her lap, took one of his tiny hands –from the corner of her eye she saw Gabriel taking the other one immediately thereafter– and stood up.

Charles had indeed seemed to push Inquisitor Bridgestock: Maurice was on the floor with a half-disgusted Flora Bridgestock fretting at his side. The petty part of Cecily, which had shrunken with age but not entirely been driven to extinction, wished he would break a knee or a rib or whichever other bone would keep him confined to a bed in the Silent City. Inquisitor Bridgestock ought to pay for having questioned her family's goodness.

In any case, the Inquisitor was on the floor, but Charles was nowhere near him. Instead, Cecily found him making a beeline towards her, Alexander and Gabriel.

"Order! Order!" Charles thundered as he elbowed people out of the way "Let there be order!" he reached Cecily's side "Gabriel. Cecily. May we talk?"

Cecily exchanged puzzled looks with her husband. This close, Charles had a certain panic to himself. His skin had a ghastly undertone to it; he clearly hadn't brushed his hair in over a day.

"What is the matter?"

Later on, Cecily would remember her husband's voice as impossibly faraway. Odd, she knew, for he'd been standing next to her. Always. He hadn't detached himself from her side.

Charles led them through a narrow corridor into a small room whose entrance was guarded by Piers Wentworth and Catherine Townsend. The young shadowhunters nodded once before scrambling off Raziel knew where. As did Charles. "I'm sorry," he murmured right before striding back to the ocean of shadowhunters they'd left.

Those two words reached Cecily's ears, but she didn't register them until much later. Until she found herself inside the small room and had contemplated the corpse of her son and understood she'd lost him forever.

Time halted to a stop.

Christopher lay on a bier. A white cloth covered his whole body but for his neck and face. An equally-white blindfold rested over his eyes.

Cecily began shaking. As if from afar, always as if from afar, she heard and felt herself emitting a low, guttural sound. She had to fight to keep on her feet. Cecily Lightwood couldn't break apart like every piece of her body was screaming at her to do: she had to go to her baby.

Her son's brown hair had lost its smoothness. It had become dry and brittle –just like his skin had grown cold and inhumanly pale. Cecily put her hands at either side of Christopher's face and massaged his temples. "My love," she murmured, frantically; her voice didn't sound like it belonged to her "My love, my baby, wake up. We'll fetch a Silent Brother. Jem, we'll get Jem to you," she turned to Gabriel "Ask for Brother Zachariah."

Gabriel looked at a loss of words. He'd frozen before the bier little Christopher lay on; his eyes were fixed on a particular spot. Cecily knew it to be Kit's chest.

Her hands shaking, she pressed a palm to her son's left pectoral. Cecily knew how this went.

When Anna and Christopher and Alexander and even Gabriel slept, she always felt compelled to stare at their chests. She needed to make sure they rose and fell steadily, for Cecily had lived in a family in which Death had ripped her older sister away in the blink of an eye. Ella had been asleep when she died, and Cecily had grown paranoid that those who were the most dear to her would also die in her sleep. That's why she needed to check that her children's lungs still worked, that their hearts still beat.

"They always breathe. Their hearts always beat," she told herself. She repeated those two sentences as a mantra as she first posed her hand lightly against Kit's chest and then pushed with a bruising force against that spot where his heart out to be.

Christopher's chest didn't rise; it didn't fall either. Cecily couldn't feel his heart beating.

"No," she whispered. Then, louder "NO."

She screamed her throat raw. She screamed so much, with so much pain and devastation and fury and sorrow and loss that Gabriel shook out of his stupor and finally went to her. Alexander began crying.

Gabriel's arms wrapped around her back. Her husband sat up on the floor and drew her to himself. He rocked them back and forth as Cecily sobbed loudly against the crook of his neck. Her tears were soon in communion with his own. Gabriel was shaking, and though he wasn't making the noise that Cecily was making, his pain was palpable, acute, there.

Tatiana. Tatiana is responsible for this, Cecily thought. That madwoman had taken Barbara from Gideon and Sophie, she'd captured Alexander, and now she'd murdered Christopher.

Cecily gripped Gabriel's arms. She took a deep breath. Two. Three. A small body crashed against her: Alexander. Through her tears, he looked like a black-haired Christopher when he was only three. It only made Cecily break down further.

Oh, the riches she would give to have her baby Christopher back with her. Now she could never see one of his experiments succeeding and the whole of the Clave praising him. Now she could never collect him late at night from the Fairchild's house. Now she could never see him at the breakfast table while he talked about elements and mechanisms and all those things Cecily didn't understand. Now she could never kiss him goodnight or chastise him from ruining yet another piece of furniture or wonder at how beautiful his lavender eyes were.

Now she could never see her son smile again, for Christopher Lightwood was gone forever.

"Cecy?"

Someone had opened the door, and now Will and Tessa, Gideon and Sophie, Henry and Charlotte were streaming into the room. Cecily heard one of them draw in a sharp breath.

"Who is that?" Henry asked. Of course, the bier was too high for him to see Christopher correctly.

Cecily didn't know how she did it, but she stood up, left Alexander with his father and faced the rest of her family. "It's Christopher," her words were directed at Henry, yet she was looking straight at Gideon "Tatiana will pay for this."

[boredfangirl16]

Chain of Lies

Chapter 5: Wounded Souls 

“But Cordelia is alright?” His mother asks for the dozenth time. Alastair is starting to wonder if he should’ve insisted that Cordelia comes home, solely to give their mother physical proof of her well being. It’s tiresome being asked the same question over and over in different words. 

“Yes she is fine, maman,” Alastair insists. “A couple of scratches, but nothing that can’t be fixed with an iratze. She only went to the infirmary to ‘make connections’. Something that you put into her head.”

“You would rather she knows the truth?”

“No,” Alastair says softly, his eyes downcast. 

“Then let her believe what she wants,” his mother says. “Besides she needs to marry and the best way of doing that is by charming the influential. She’s only doing what we planned.”

He refrains from saying ‘what you planned’, because while he knows it would protect his sister, Alastair couldn’t bear to see her in a loveless marriage because of their father’s mistakes. He has already given up enough for that man and he would hate for his sister to have to do the same. Besides, he already despises the thought of loveless arranged marriages for his own reasons. Ones that still hurt, even after all of the destruction of this afternoon. 

“I understand,” he says shortly. “I’m going to retire for the day, if you do not mind?”

His maman nods, but it’s evident she doesn’t like the thought of him locking himself in his room for the rest of the day. She never has understood his need for privacy. Cordelia was always a sociable child within their family, while Alastair has always been more reserved. It only got worse after he learned about his father’s “illness” and after returning from the Academy. Perhaps that’s the reason why everyone loves her more. It would make sense. Alastair was never a likable child and has grown into an equally disgruntled adult. 

He climbs the stairs, but before he can run into his room and shut the door behind him, he’s stopped by Risa. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Carstairs?” She says blocking his path. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“There’s blood and ichor on your shirt. I overheard that your sister is just fine, but I didn’t hear anything about your wellbeing.”

Alastair gives a small smile to Risa. 

“It’s nothing. I can take care of myself,” he assures her. 

“I know you can,” Risa says. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to. You do realize that you are only 18? No matter what anyone else says, you are still a child. You are allowed to show weakness and you are allowed to lean on others. You are not alone.”

“Thank you, Risa,” Alastair says sincerely. “But I haven’t been a child in years.”

Risa sighs deeply. “If it was up to me, that wouldn’t be true.” She shakes her head, seemingly lost in the past. “Now go get cleaned up. I’ll keep your mother occupied so that you can have the evening to yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says again and he means it. 

He locks himself in his room and changes into something that isn’t positively filthy. By the time he feels clean enough to burrow himself under his blankets, he’s exhausted. The day had gone even more terribly than he could have ever imagined. A dull picnic filled with endless small talk is better than one that ends in death and destruction. 

By the angel, his troubles sound insignificant given the day’s events. Piers looked dead, not injured or badly wounded, but dead. He’s always had a complicated relationship with the boy given his time at the Academy, but he would never wish this on him. Sure, he’s arrogant and can’t hold a conversation about anything that isn’t himself, but he’s just barely an adult. He hasn’t lived life, he hasn’t had time to change. He deserves more than the gruesome fate that has befallen him. Piers Wentworth is a bully and as dull as English tea, but he doesn’t deserve to die. 

Then there’s Ariadne, who he’s wished to despise, but simply cannot. She was amusing and snarky in ways that few are. If she wasn’t Charles’ fiancee, they could’ve been friends. She’s certainly more interesting than the other women who are simply looking for a hand in marriage at any social gathering. Ariadne was different. Of course that could be partially due to her attraction to women, but Alastair has a nagging suspicion that she might just be an interesting person. 

If she died, would Charles get engaged again? Surely he could claim to be mourning and put off any more engagements before he becomes Consul. The minute Alastair thinks of it, he dispels the thought from his mind. It’s disgusting. She’s more than some fiancee and certainly more than an obstacle in Alastair’s happiness. Ariadne is person, with family and friends who would miss her dearly. It’s more than he could say for himself. 

The last victim was Barbara Lightwood, who Alastair knows very little about. She has some sort of understanding with Oliver Hayward and is sister to Thomas Lightwood. Past that he can say nothing of her character or the life she led. The only reason that he thinks of her at all, is because of Thomas; he cannot imagine the pain he must be enduring. If Cordelia was dying in the infirmary, Alastair would be inconsolable. He would also probably become a very bad person, snapping at anyone who dares to cross his path. Absolutely nothing like Thomas who is the closest thing to an angel that has walked this earth in centuries. Alastair would make the argument that he is even more merciful than Raziel himself. Although, he doesn’t think too much about Thomas. It’s best to keep him in the recesses of his mind, only addressed when absolutely necessary. 

He shakes his head of all his thoughts. There’s no use to worry about the past when the damage has already been done. None of the victims will care if he lies in his bed thinking about them, so he gets up and sits at his writing desk. At first, he isn’t quite sure what he’s doing. He picks up a pen and some paper and then starts to write. 

Alastair knows who he should be writing to, he knows the man that he should be consoling, but instead another comes into mind. One, who no matter how deep down he pushes him, finds a way to rise to the surface. He doesn’t even know what he’s writing. It might not even make sense by the end of it, but it’s all true. Every word he writes is free of sarcasm or snarky remarks. It’s the bare bones of truth that Alastair rarely lets anyone see. He doesn’t even know if he’ll send it anonymously. It might just sit in some drawer collecting dust until someday he throws it away, but he knows that he wrote it. He knows that there’s a very small part of him that can still be kind and compassionate. 

Thomas looks at Barbara’s practically lifeless form in dismay. Everything happened so quickly. One moment it was picnic and the next a bloodbath with his sister in the middle of it. It was impossible. Demons don’t come out during the day. He’s equally baffled and terrified. The whole thing seems like some dreadful nightmare that he can’t seem to wake up from. 

He’s barely even noticed the comings and goings of the Silent Brothers. In fact, he’s grateful that none of them have tried to speak to him because it would take everything in his power not to break down as they announce her condition. 

Everything will be fine. Barbara will be fine. She has to be. 

James tried to sit next to him, but he couldn’t bear it. Not yet. He couldn’t listen to the condolences and false promises that his friends are bound to make. They have no clue what the future holds and their lies will only make everything worse. He would rather harsh truths than sweet lies. 

He sits in morbid silence holding her hand, until their parents come. His mother has tears in her eyes and his father looks as if he’s itching to do something, anything. Thomas supposes that’s one thing they have in common. He doesn’t even remember what they said to him, he’s numb, so out of it. All he knows is that he left the infirmary to stand in the corridor. Everything seems so wrong and he doesn’t know what to do in order to right it again.

Then James comes around the corner and Thomas rushes over to him.

“My parents are here,” he says, his voice low. “James, I need something to do. Something that might help my sister. I think I might go mad otherwise.”

He isn’t even joking. Every moment that he sits and twiddles his thumbs is one moment closer to Barbara leaving to a place that he cannot follow. That cannot happen. He will not allow it.

“Of course—we all must help Barbara,” said James. “Thomas, in the park, Barbara saw the demons before everyone else. She was the one who warned me.”

“She had perfect Sight even before she got her Voyance rune,” Thomas says. “Perhaps because my mother was a Sighted mundane before she became a shadowhunter. We’ve never been sure—Barbara wasn’t terribly interested in testing her abilities—but she always had unusually keen senses.”

“It is almost as if she could glimpse my shadow realm,” James murmurs, just barely audible. There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes that gives Thomas hope. He’s putting something together, something that they can do to help Barbara. He doesn’t quite know what it is, but James has always been the smartest schemer of the bunch. “We need to round up Matthew and Christopher. I have an idea of what we can do.”

Thomas nods. “Christopher has just returned from Chiswick. I saw in the entry hall. But as for Matthew I suspect he’s not in the-the best state of mind. I believe I saw him by the carriages.”

“You fetch Christopher, I’ll get Matthew,” says James with a sigh. “We’ll meet in the ballroom.”

The boys go their separate paths as Thomas looks for his cousin. He isn’t all that hard to find as there are sparks coming from around one of the corners, that Thomas promptly puts out. Christopher would set the whole Institute on fire if left to his own devices. He supposes looking after his cousin is one way to keep busy. It’s a job that never seems to end. 

“Christopher, we’re meeting in the ballroom,” Thomas says as he takes his cousin by the arm.

“What for?”

“James has something in mind.”

“How come we listen to James’s plans without question, but not mine?” Whines Christopher. 

“Because his have never ended in fire nor explosions.”

Christopher sighs deeply, but goes along with it and Thomas is secretly grateful. He isn’t sure if he could wrangle the group together given the state of things. He can barley keep himself composed. 

The pair arrives before the rest of the Thieves and Thomas decides to pace the room back and forth until the doors open, revealing James and Matthew.

“We must bar the door,” says James. “They don’t lock, and we can’t be interrupted. Matthew, can you stand?”

The boy falls onto one of chairs at the side of the room looking out of breathe. He’s blinking as if there’s too much light in the room, even though that is far from the case. 

“I am quite all alright,” he says, waving a hand. No one believes him. “Please continue with your plan. What is your plan?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment,” says James. “Thomas?”

He nods and shoves a sideboard in front of the doors. His muscles are good for one thing, he supposes. 

“Perhaps some water?” Christopher says to Matthew, looking rather worried. 

“I’m quite all right,” Matthew repeats. 

“I found you drinking from a flask and singing ‘Elsie from Chelsea’ in the Baybrooks’ carriage,” says James darkly. 

“It was private there,” says Matthew. “And well-upholstered.”

“At least it wasn’t the Bridgestock’s carriage, because they have already experienced enough tragedy today. Nothing bad has happened to the Baybrooks,” says Christopher sincerely. 

Thomas can’t help, but blink at his cousin. The strangest things come out of his mouth, at times. 

“Nothing until now,” says James in retort. “Christopher—was everything all right, dropping off Miss Blackthorn?”

His infatuation with the Blackthorn girl must run deep if he’s bringing her up at a time like this. Thomas still can’t wrap his head around that situation. 

“Oh, perfectly,” says Christopher. “I told her all about culturing bacteria, and she was so fascinated that she never spoke a word!”

Oh, Christopher. 

James busies himself by piling chairs in front of yet another one of the doors as he continues the conversation. “Did you have to tell Mrs. Blackthorn what had happened at the park? She can’t have been pleased.”

Christopher shakes his head. “I confess I didn’t see her. Miss Blackthorn asked that I drop her at the gates, not the front door.”

“She probably doesn’t want anyone to see the state of the place,” says Matthew with a yawn. “The gates alone are festooned in rust.”

“Thomas,” James says to him softly. “Maybe a healing rune?”

A while back, James discovered that healing runes sober Matthew up enough to be functional. It’s a temporary cure for his drunkenness, but none of them really know what to do about the underlying issue. None of them have dared to confront the boy about his problem, they all know he will just deny it. 

Thomas approaches Matthew slowly and sits down next to his friend. “Push up your sleeve, then, there’s a good fellow. Let’s wake you up and James can tell us whatever mad thing he has planned.”

“We’d better check the locks on all the windows. Just to be sure,” says James. What in the world is he planning? Whatever could need this level of privacy?

“It seems somehow blasphemous to use Marks to rid oneself of the effects of alcohol,” Matthew says, as Thomas puts away his stele. The rune immediately takes effect and he looks much more like his normal self. 

“I’ve seen you use your stele to part your hair,” says James dryly as he locks at the window locks. 

“The Angel gave me this hair,” replies Matthew. “It’s one of the Shadowhunter’s gifts. Like the Mortal Sword.”

“Now that is blasphemy,” interrupts Thomas.

Christopher joins James in his quest to check all of the window locks without question. Thomas and Matthew both look hesitant. 

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever, Thomas,” says Matthew. “James, why are we locking all the windows? Are we afraid of over curious pigeons?”

“Perhaps they are locking out stray ducks,” chuckles Thomas. Everyone knows about the Herondale’s strange relationship with the creatures. 

James promptly ignores his comment, “I have spent the past four years of my life trying to train myself not to do what I’m about to do. I don’t wish to even consider the possibility of being interrupted.”

“By a pigeon?” Asks Matthew. “Jamie, what are we doing here?”

James takes a deep breathe before answering. “I am gong to deliberately send myself to the shadow realm.”

Thomas’s mouth drops to the floor and joins in with the chorus of protests that his friends are issuing. He wants to do something, but this is mad. James is going to get himself killed. 

“Certainly not,” Matthew says, standing up. “The danger—.”

“I do not think there will be danger,” interrupts James. “I have been in and out of the  shadow realm many time in my life. It has been ages since I fell accidentally into that world.yet in the past week, I have seen it three times, once just before the attack today. I cannot think that it is a coincidence. If I can use this ability to help Barbaras, Ariadne, all of us—you must let me do it.”

Thomas didn’t know that he had seen the shadow realm before the attack. That is quite odd, indeed. 

“Bloody hell,” says Matthew as he rubs at his eyes. “If we don’t help you here, you’ll just try to do this after we’re all gone, won’t you?”

“Clearly,” said James. He motions towards the daggers at his waist. “I’m armed, at least.”

Matthew fiddles with his ring before responding, “Very well, James. As you wish.” Thomas isn’t sure if his hands are still shaky because of the alcohol or because he is worried for his Parabatai. 

“All right. Let’s get on with it,” says James.

They all stare at him in anticipation as if shadows will just appear around his person. 

“Well?” Says Thomas, trying to disguise the hope in his voice. He doesn’t want his friend to get hurt, but he also desperately wants to save his sister. “Go on into the shadow realm, then.”

James stares at the floor and scrunches up his face in concentration. At first, it looks rather silly as his face contorts when looking at positively nothing. Matthew approaches him as James closes his eyes and when he opens them, he shrieks. Thomas rolls his eyes. 

“I really don’t think staring at him is going to help, Matthew,” he says and Matthew steps back. “Jamie, is there anything that might help you begin the process? We’ve all seen you do it… You start to get shadowy, and turn a bit blurry around the edges.”

“When I go into the shadow realm, the realness of my presence here begins to fade,” James says. “But it is not what drives me into the shadow realm. More of a side effect for being there.”

“Often it happens when you are upset or shocked,” points out Christopher, always the observant one. “I suppose we could try upsetting or shocking you.”

“Given everything that’s happened, that shouldn’t be too hard,” says James. 

“Nonsense,” says Matthew as he climbs atop a wobbly looking table. What on earth possesses him to do things such as this? It’s one of the great questions of the universe. “The last time I saw you shocked was when that Iblis demon was sending Christopher love letters.”

“I have a dark charm,” says Christopher sadly. 

“Please recall that I am the pale neurasthenic one and you are the stern heroic one,” Matthew says dramatically motioning with his hands. “It is very tedious when you mix up our roles. We will have to think of something quite impressive to startle you.”

For just a moment, Thomas’s mind wanders to his secret. That would certainly be enough to startle James, but he also might have a heart attack before reaching the shadow realm and that wouldn’t be productive at all. 

“So what is my role?” Asks Christopher. 

“Mad inventor, of course,” says Matthew. “And Thomas is the one with a good heart.”

How wonderful, he’s the nice one. It’s as if his personality has been boiled down to the kindness he gives others. 

“Lord, I sound dull,” says Thomas. “Look, James, come here for a second.”

James walks over to him and Thomas punches him in the gut. He didn’t use all of his strength, but it still sent him flying back into the wall. It obviously didn’t work, as James has not dissolved into shadow, but it does make Thomas feel slightly better after being reduced to a do-gooder for the dozenth time today.

Matthew rushes over him and James tries to catch his breathe, “Thomas! What were you trying to—?”

“I was trying to surprise him!” Thomas yells back. He’s starting to fell bad about just hard that punch was. “This is important Matthew! You don’t mind, do you, Jamie?”

“It’s all alright,” says James breathlessly. “Only it didn’t work. If I turned into a shadow every time something hit me, I couldn’t patrol.”

Thomas shrugs, he supposes that James makes a point. But how are they to get him into the shadow realm? He’s lost in thought, when he notices that Christopher is pulling a bow from the wall. He frowns, but doesn’t really question it until he shoots an arrow at James. His cousin looks completely composed as Matthew throws himself at James and moves him away from the broken window. Sure, Thomas’s idea wasn’t the brightest, but at least he didn’t try to kill their friend. 

“In case anyone was wondering if those were purely ornamental,” says James, getting to his feet. “They are not.”

“In the name of a million bloody angels, Christopher, what the hell did you just do?” Matthew exclaims. “Did you try to kill James?”

Christopher lowers his bow as noises start to come from outside the ballroom, running feet and slamming doors. 

“I was not trying to kill James,” Christopher says defensively. “I was hoping the shock of the arrow flying past would startle him into the shadow realm. Pity it didn’t work. We must think of a new plan to grievously alarm James at once.”

“Christopher!” James exclaims. “I cannot believe you would say that! I also cannot believe you would shoot at me.”

“It had a seventy-two percent chance of working, in perfect laboratory conditions—.”

“We are not in a perfect laboratory conditions!” James shouts. “We are in the ballroom of my house!”

The doors to the ballroom rattle and all four boys look over in horror. 

“What’s going on?” Asks Will Herondale. “James, are you in there?”

“Bloody hell. My father,” James curses. “Look, all of you—get out through the window. Well, the broken one anyway. I’ll take the blame. I’ll say I shot the window out.”

“In the ballroom?” Asked Thomas. All of his friends have lost their minds. “Why would you do such a rattle-head thing?”

“I’m capable of anything!” Says James angrily, grabbing for the bow in Christopher’s hands. Christopher hides behind Thomas’s tall frame and they circle around him as if he is some inanimate pole. “Come on, Kit, give it over—.”

Thomas rolls his eyes for the dozenth time since arriving in the ballroom, “He’s going to say, ‘Because I’m a Herondale’, isn’t he?”

The pounding at the door increases and James makes another grab for the bow. “I am a Herondale,’ he says. “And I am telling you to get out of my Institute so the only one who gets punished here is me.”

“Answer me, James!” Will shouts. “Why have you blocked this door? I demand to know what’s going on!”

“James isn’t here,” Matthew calls. “Go away!”

James gives Matthew a look, “Really?”

“I heard breaking glass!” Will calls. 

“I was practicing fighting moves!” Shouts back Matthew. 

“In the ballroom?”

By the angel, his friends need to learn how to lie. It’s becoming almost physically painful to hear their excuses. 

“We’re trying to distract Thomas! It’s been a very emotional day!”

“What?” Yells Will even louder. 

“Don’t you blame this on me!” Thomas whispers furiously. 

“James,” Matthew say with all seriousness. He puts his hands on his Parabatai’s shoulders and stares into his eyes deeply. Thomas has always thought the Parabatai bond is a bit strange in that way.”If you’re going to do this, you need to do it now.”

“I know,” James says. “Math—help me.”

Matthew leans in close and whispers something into his ear that Thomas cannot hear. James physically recoils from his words and looks at him in horror. He starts to get blurry around the edges. Whatever he said, worked. James is traveling into the shadow realm. 

“James,” Matthews says. “I didn’t mean it—.”

Then James disappears into thin air. Like a shadow, gone in the light. The remaining boys can only stare at the spot he once occupied in silence and horror. What in the world did Matthew say to James to make him disappear from existence entirely? Something worse than even Christopher shooting an arrow at him. Worse than Thomas slugging him in the stomach. None of them speak as they start to comprehend what had happened. This wasn’t meant to happen. James was supposed to be alright, as he always is. This was meant to help Barbara, but now James is gone,

The door to the ballroom is busted open by force, but none of the boys even turn around. What the bloody hell have they done?

Taglist:

@artist-in-soul

@laylax13s 

@thelasthours-alastair

@ashisamess

@thedamnephilimfangirl

@youwerealwaysmysecret 

@melanielocke 

@yozinha-z

[sloshed-cinema]

Persuasion (2022)

The Georgian era costume drama will always be as much an obsession of Hollywood and the British studio system as are the World Wars and Westerns.  We will see adaptations of the works of the Brontë sisters and Jane Austen until the end of time.  But as with our current crop of Revisionist Westerns, recent takes on the material have sought to say that, yes, this is still content for today.  Autumn de Wilde captured effervescent female proclivities in a vibrant palette with her whip-smart take on Emma and Armando Iannucci’s satirical take on David Copperfield demonstrated how the failed grind of the “hustle” has been in place for centuries.  Grading by this meter stick, Carrie Cracknell’s iteration of Persuasion falls short.  It certainly reaches for these highs.  Where Emma uses subtly modern silhouettes and aesthetics in its costume design, this Austen adaptation casts a wide net in costume design and seeks to put its characters in compromising situations.  Copperfield brilliantly folds in on its own literary source by emphasizing in its structure how it is a story within a story.  Persuasion opts for direct address, leaning on Dakota Johnson’s raw charisma to leverage its social commentary.  But all the same, it doesn’t quite thread the needle.  Anne is funny and winning, the situations she is thrust into ridiculous in their mannerisms.  And yet we’re expected to weather countless Millenialisms like “I’m thriving” paired off with Anne pounding wine straight from the bottle or countless numerical ratings of eligible bachelors.  Anne as a woman outside of her own time is winning enough; let her glance knowingly to the audience every now and again, bring them into her world as a means of release.  Extra piling on of that sentiment just causes the ship to founder.  All’s I’m saying is, let me look into Dakota Johnson’s eyes more.

As performance elevates this particular angle, so does performance lead to its demise.  Again, Dakota Johnson is faultless.  She seems exactly on the wavelength that the film needs her to be, just as self-aware as the script calls for.  Always perfect, Richard E Grant is on a similar level, just as flighty and overbearing as that sort of patriarch ought to be.  The issue comes more with the boyfriends.  Wentworth, the object of Anne’s desires, is doe-eyed and giving that Jon Snow energy, but is he supposed to be in on the joke?  Is Anne supposed to be self-aware and yet fall for some sort of Navy himbo?  He says the right things, but just as often plays the weird sulky layabout who would take to the sea at any moment.  His competition comes in Anne’s cousin Mr Elliot (ew British gentry marriage customs are gross), who just plays out chad-bro vibes and yet Anne falls for him at least a bit.  At least they’re better than Louisa, who just yeets herself off a pier onto the concrete because apparently trust falls weren’t a thing yet.

THE RULES

SIP

HELLO FELLOW KIDS moment.

A rabbit appears onscreen.

Anyone makes a The Office style face straight to camera.\

Someone says ‘Wentworth’.

BIG DRINK

Large intertitle text.

Someone speaks a non-English language.

Ann boozes it up.

[rainingpouringetc]

but god i want to feel again

written for alastair pain day 2021 (even though it’s two days late) title from ‘touch’ by sleeping at last, which i listened to on repeat while writing

tw for brief implied period-typical racism, abuse, alcoholism, bullying, toxic relationships

read on ao3

all i want is to flip a switch before something breaks that cannot be fixed.

invisible machinery, these moving parts inside of me well, they’ve been shutting down for quite some time, leaving only rust behind.

well i know, i know- the sirens sound just before the walls come down. pain is a well-intentioned weatherman predicting God as best he can, but God i want to feel again, oh God i want to feel again.

~‘touch’ sleeping at last

---

Alastair rolled his shoulders back. He’d done this a hundred times before. It never got easier.

“Come on, now, Baba,” he groaned, lifting his father’s arm across his shoulder. Elias mumbled something incoherent and drooped further, stumbling over his own feet as he was dragged over the cobblestones. “Time to go home,” Alastair murmured, silently tallying how many times he had taken this exact route from this exact tavern in just the past month.

Twelve years old and he knew the location of every pub in every city he’d ever lived.

Their house was visible just up ahead—the third they’d lived in this year. Alastair noted that all the lights were out and thanked whatever god was listening. He couldn’t deal with redirecting Cordelia’s questions on top of getting his father cleaned up. Tonight was already draining enough.

He managed to get Elias up the steps and into the washroom with less trouble than usual, a sign that his father was perhaps more lucid than he’d originally believed. The clock on the mantle had read just past midnight—perhaps he was just tired as well.

“‘M fine, ‘m fine,” Elias slurred as Alastair attempted to wipe his damp forehead with a wet cloth, pushing his son’s hand away.

Alastair huffed and set the cloth aside before turning to rummage through the cabinet for a glass. They always kept a glass in the washroom for times like this. He filled it halfway and offered it to his father. When Elias only glared at it, slumping down on the seat and leaning heavily on the wall, Alastair held the glass to his lips and tipped it back, forcing him to drink. 

When he pulled the glass back—his father having blessedly drunk it all without much of a fight—Elias stood abruptly. He was still quite drunk and thus swayed on his feet for several long moments. Alastair leaped forward to steady him, but was immediately pushed away with all the force of a heroic—however disgraced—Shadowhunter.

Alastair hit the wall hard and gasped as the breath whooshed out of him. His head spun—had he hit it? He must have—and his vision blackened at the edges. Elias was still struggling to keep himself upright. Alastair watched as he took a step and immediately crumpled to the ground. He stumbled forward yet again, trying to help, wanting to help, but his father cried out and Alastair froze in place. The last thing he needed was his mother—or, worse, his sister—hearing the noise and coming to investigate. 

Alastair looked down and realized that at some point he’d dropped the glass. It had shattered on the floor. Head still spinning, he bent down to try to gather it together, instantly cutting his hands. He inhaled sharply, ignoring the pain and sweeping the remains into a small pile in the corner. He could ask Risa for helping taking it out in the morning. 

His hand was bleeding rather substantially, blood running over the Voyance rune on the back. The only Mark he had. 

“Are you alright, Baba?” he asked quietly, careful not to speak loud enough to agitate his father’s headache. 

“‘M fine,” Elias repeated. “Go to bed, Alastair. I’ll be just fine on my own.”

Alastair didn’t believe it for a second. He stood and carefully maneuvered his father’s arm around his shoulders again. He couldn’t risk taking him up the stairs—Elias might fall, or someone might hear. There was a small room just down the hallway that Alastair had left his father in on numerous occasions to sleep off a hangover. It seemed tonight would be another one.

He shouldered the door open and deposited his father on the couch, making sure to leave him on his side and support his head with a few pillows. He knew he shouldn’t leave his father alone. Something could happen, and if Elias died because he suffocated on his own vomit there would be no one to blame but Alastair and his selfishness. But his hands were throbbing now, and his stele was upstairs in his room. He took the stairs two at time, skipping the ones that creaked the most, and shut the door gently behind him.

As soon as it was closed, Alastair slumped down against it, trying to steady his breathing. In, hold. Out, hold. In, hold. Out, hold. Over and over until the spinning stopped, until he could think again.

His stele was on his desk. His mother had given it to him last year, claiming it was a birthday present. Alastair knew it was because she’d spotted the bruises on his arms.

For a moment, Alastair considered leaving the cuts be. They would scar if he did, and it would hurt until then. But Alastair would revel in the pain, in the ability to feel something—anything—besides dull fear and numbness. It was the direction he knew he was heading towards. If he allowed it to consume him—

No. He wouldn’t let it. He wouldn’t let it change him.

Carefully, Alastair picked up the stele. It stung where it pressed against his cuts. He traced an iratze flawlessly and held his hand away to survey his work. 

Practice makes perfect, he thought wryly.

---

Alastair sat almost fully turned around in his seat on the carriage, watching as Cirenworth disappeared into the distance. Cordelia, who had run behind them down the lane, struggling to keep up, had long since faded into nothingness.

“Turn front or you’ll fall off the moment we hit a bump,” Elias snapped from beside him. Alastair did as he was told, stubbornly looking anywhere but at his father.

Alastair did not understand why his father had insisted on seeing him to the Academy. Alone. There would be no one to make sure he returned in one piece, no one to steer him away from welcoming taverns or haul him out of a pub before he drank himself to death. 

But for once, Alastair found he didn’t particularly care. He was going to the Academy, and his father’s health would no longer be his primary concern—his primary burden. He would be around children his own age. He would have a chance to finally—finally—make friends.

It was much more exciting and nerve wracking than he’d expected.

Cordelia had Lucie, a fact that Alastair was endlessly grateful for. But he was all alone. Cordelia could hardly count as a friend. She was his sister, after all, and therefore obligated to tolerate him, yes, but also to tease him at every available opportunity.

This was something he couldn’t risk messing up. He needed this. He was more desperate than he wished to admit.

Alastair spent the remainder of the journey in silence, shutting down all of his father’s attempts at conversation with a stoic nod or by blatantly ignoring him. It wasn’t his favorite method, but he truly could not deal with his father making him more nervous than he already was.

When they finally arrived at the Academy, Alastair’s stomach was a jumbled mess of nerves and whatever he’d eaten for breakfast—he couldn’t even remember at this point. He was too busy praying his father would leave before he could embarrass Alastair.

The universe wouldn’t give him a break, though.

Elias clapped his son on the shoulder and insisted on helping carry his bags up to the dorms. He nearly slipped on the stairs four times. He dropped the bags twice. Alastair wanted to crawl into a hole by the time they arrived. His roommate was nowhere to be seen—likely they hadn’t arrived yet—so Alastair went to stand beside the bed nearest the window. His father dropped the bags to the floor beside the other bed.

“No, Father, this one,” he said, pointing.

Elias blinked at him. “This bed is closer to the door,” he told Alastair, speaking slowly as if the implications should be obvious.

“I know. I just—I want the one closer to the window is all,” Alastair stammered, face hot. What did it matter? In a minute his father would leave and he could take whichever bed he liked most.

“Closer to the door is safer,” Elias insisted, sitting down on the bed and folding his hands together. 

Alastair simply nodded, trying to play along. He might’ve gotten away with it, too, if the door hadn’t burst open at just that moment, revealing a slightly disheveled looking boy. Alastair assumed this was to be his roommate then.

“You’ve chosen your bed already then?” the boy said without preamble, nodding to where Alastair’s bags were sitting next to his father.

“He has,” Elias answered.

The boy nodded and swung his bags up to rest on the bed next to the window. Alastair swallowed thickly and said, “Thank you for your help, Father, but I think I’m alright now.”

Elias grinned. “Of course you are. I’ll be on my way then.” He stood and strode to the door, turning to say, “Goodbye, Alastair joon.” He disappeared into the stairwell.

Alastair turned to his roommate to find the boy was staring at him. “What was that he called you?” the boy questioned a bit rudely.

“Joon?” The boy nodded. “It’s Persian,” Alastair said hesitantly. “It’s just—something you call people you care about.”

The boy wrinkled his nose. “That’s weird.” Alastair flushed. Before he could defend himself, the boy stuck out a hand. “Piers Wentworth.”

Alastair took his hand. “Alastair Carstairs.”

Piers’ eyes widened. “Carstairs? As in—was that Elias Carstairs?”

Alastair nodded, confused at his tone. “He’s my father.”

“Your father?” Alastair nodded again. Piers dropped his hand. “I heard he spends most of his time at the bottom of a bottle.”

Before Alastair could process the words fully, Piers pushed past him and was gone from their room. When the words hit him, Alastair picked up the first thing he could find—a volume of poetry from his bag—and threw it as hard as he could at the wall.

---

Alastair wasn’t sure when he started to become numb. He thought it might’ve been sometime during winter, when Augustus Pounceby kicked him down the stairs and he broke two ribs. Or perhaps it was after that, when Piers locked him out of their room overnight and he slept curled up in an alcove, waking to find Augustus and his friends crowded around him, laughing. 

All he knew was that it was a slap in the face the first time he heard his sister’s name come out of one of their mouths. It was Augustus who had said it—said something so awful Alastair’s mind had blocked it out immediately. All he registered was Cordelia and danger. 

That was the last straw.

He’d grown used to their abuse, to their snide comments and kicks and punches, but if there was one thing that could snap him out of this it was his determination to protect his sister. She was too young, too kind, for this. He wasn’t too numb not to protect her a bit longer.

The next day when Augustus and his gang cornered Alastair again, he made sure there was a clear sight of some of the dregs—the mundane students. Alastair had tried to befriend them as well. They had turned him away, exclaiming that they didn’t realize they allowed people like him in the school. What should he care if a few of them were hurt to save himself and his sister?

The moment Augustus looked like he was going to make his move, Alastair made his, raining down insult after witty insult on the small group of dregs watching on. Augustus stared at him in surprise, then burst into laughter, even joining in once he regained his balance. Piers was there too, and Clive—soon enough the whole lot of them had turned their attention from Alastair and were focused solely on those poor mundanes.

It happened again, and again. Soon enough, Augustus and his friends weren’t seeking Alastair out to kick him around—they were seeking him out for help in their own schemes.

Is this who I’ve become? Alastair wondered faintly as Clive pulled him along down a corridor, speaking rapidly about a prank they were going to play on a few of the girls.

The numbness began to creep back in, diluting the anger and pain of which he’d long been so afraid.

---

Things were different, certainly, when Alastair returned from the Academy. Cordelia managed to pry some of it out of him, but he couldn’t allow her to see the full picture. That would mean telling her about their father’s drinking, and even he wasn’t so selfish as to tell her that yet. 

The years passed, and Alastair allowed that numb shell to solidify and thicken, dampening the swirling mass of indignation and heartbreak that lay beneath. 

And then he met Charles Fairchild.

Or, really, he met Charles again. They had seen each other—talked, even—at various Shadowhunter functions whenever the Carstairs were near London or whenever the Fairchilds were traveling to an Institute near them. Alastair had always picked Charles out effortlessly at such events, with his slicked back red hair and piercing green eyes.

Alastair knew better than to pretend he did not find Charles attractive. It had been no secret to himself that he preferred men—he’d known it since before the Academy, really. But it also wasn’t as if he’d had any opportunity to act on it. 

So, when he was sixteen and in Paris for a few months, when he saw Charles again and the man dropped one too many thinly veiled hints, Alastair allowed himself to be swept away by the romance of it all—the mystery and charm and utter newness that came with Charles and all he represented.

It was wonderful those first months. Perhaps not what Alastair had expected. He supposed he hadn’t thought there would be quite so many rules, but Charles was very insistent. No one could suspect a thing. It was exhilarating.

Until it wasn’t.

He didn’t know when, exactly, it shifted from exciting and new to tedious and tense. Perhaps it was when Charles became engaged to Ariadne. Perhaps it was after the first dozen or so broken promises. Perhaps it was when Alastair realized a life with Charles was a life with doors shut and curtains drawn.

But who was he to complain? That was life, wasn’t it? Few people in the world were lucky enough to have a perfect whirlwind romance, and those who did often left others in the dust. 

And Charles liked Alastair, had told him he loved him. He smiled at Alastair and didn’t act like he was a waste of space. 

So while that numb shell stayed firmly in place to keep everyone else away, Alastair propped open a back door for Charles to come and go in his life as he pleased.

They didn’t see each other as often as Alastair would have liked, and when they were apart they didn’t risk sending letters—“Letters can be intercepted! Opened and read without your consent,” Charles had explained—but that didn’t stop Alastair from dreaming of a time when they could be together without the strings of society attached.

He dreamed of a time when he could feel again.

So he let the little things slide. When Charles and Ariadne didn’t split up when Charles had said they would, Alastair just said, “Next time.” When Charles chose Clave meeting after Clave meeting over Alastair, Alastair simply attended the meetings himself for a chance to see Charles. 

And when Charles pushed him away at every oncoming footstep, every creak of the floorboard, Alastair pretended not to see the fear and shame in his eyes.

---

Alastair decided that Thomas Lightwood was the single most lovely person to have ever existed on the planet.

He also decided that he must be loopy from the exhaustion of the day because he’d never been prone to such sickeningly sweet thoughts before.

But he couldn’t deny it either. There was something in the way he wore his heart on his sleeve that made Thomas so approachable, so loveable.

Alastair found himself wishing he could bottle up this whole day and carry it around with him wherever he went. This whole murder trial business was far more bearable with Thomas there with him.

And yet—all good things must come to an end. Alastair knew it, perhaps better than anyone. And this… this was too good a thing to last very long.

Alastair did not wish to hurt Thomas. Thomas was good and kind and all the things Alastair never had been. Beyond all possible expectations, Thomas had entered the small group of people for which Alastair would do anything. 

Even if it meant pushing him away.

Thomas was grieving. Alastair knew that. He knew that it was messing with Thomas’ head, making him act more recklessly and crave things that were bad for him. Alastair didn’t want to be bad for Tom—he wanted desperately to be good for him. But that couldn’t happen until things changed.

If they ever did.

If anyone would ever be willing to step forward and claim their feelings for him without fearing embarrassment or shame. If anyone would ever be willing to open the door for him and let him step out into the light.

At this point it was almost second nature to pull away from his touch, turn his eyes down and let the lies roll off his tongue. If he closed his eyes, he could almost ignore the sound of his own heart cracking.

As he strode away from him—from that single loveliest person to have ever existed—Alastair wondered if this would do it, if this would be the thing to push him over the edge and break something in him that couldn’t be fixed. 

He could feel it—feel the gears inside him grinding to a halt and shutting down. Soon there would be nothing but rust left behind, and he would be blown away by the wind.

[tags - @littlx-songbxrd @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @barbra-lightwood @lifewouldbebetteronmars @imherongraystairstrash @itsdaughterofthemoon @stxr-thxif @knifescythe @axoloteca ; i just used my standard taglist, sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged <3]

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

You know what would be incredibly funny? Shadowhunter Academy hazing & harassment awareness assembly.

This would happen after the break post-NBS. Clive is dead and this is what compelled them to have this assembly.

By "them," I just mean Ragnor and Ragnor only. Everyone else wants to sweep it under the rug but Ragnor is like, nah, I should put the fear of God into these kids so they stop.

It's an all-day event. They cancel classes and have a daylong assembly to accentuate how important the information is.

Ragnor kicks things off by having all the students submit a slip of paper detailing a recent experience they have had with hazing and harassment. Piers Wentworth submits "this assembly."

At least half the students submit quotes from Alastair. Ragnor reads them out loud one after the next in a deadpan voice. Thomas, who is sitting by himself in a corner, accidentally bursts into muffled giggles because he thinks they're funny. Ragnor calls him out. He is embarrassed.

They then begin the presentation part of the event. There are posters with various examples of hazing and harassment. He has these interspersed little pop quizzes but only calls on Piers and Alastair.

Piers: "This is starting to feel really targeted." Ragnor: "Starting to?"

Alastair, in his Regina George era: "I'm a victim. I shouldn't have to be here. Ragnor:

They pair off for worksheets. Alastair and Piers try to go together. Ragnor thinks this will be counterintuitive and separates them. He assigns Alastair to Thomas because Thomas has no partner.

"Okay half-pint, just do the first half of the worksheet. I'll take the second and we'll copy each other's answers. Don't be stupid and mess it up. Don't talk to me."

They sit next to each other and do the worksheet silently. It should be awkward but the silence is companionable and comfortable. Neither of them know what to do with that so they compartmentalize it.

At the end of the day, Ragnor pulls Thomas aside. He hands a bunch of worksheets and leaflets to Thomas and tells them to mail them to Matthew since he blew up part of the school. Thomas says that he probably won't see Matthew until the term ends. Ragnor shakes his head adamantly and is like "WELL, MAIL THEM THEN."

[deardarlingcarstairs]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Alastair Carstairs/Thomas Lightwood Characters: Alastair Carstairs, Thomas Lightwood, Piers Wentworth, Thoby Baybrook Additional Tags: Alastair POV, thomas pov, Songfic, (kinda?), Alastair Carstairs Deserves Nice Things, Alastair Carstairs is a gay disaster, Sexy Times, Non-Explicit Sex, Fluff and Angst Summary:

He gripped Thomas's hand and pulled him closer.

This is your chance, Alastair thought. Let go. Push me away. Tell me I'm revolting.

But Thomas did none of those things. Instead, he leaned in and kissed Alastair.

[thomaslightwood]

Unusual asks - TLH characters

Thomas Lightwood: What is love to you? Describe it in one sentence.

Lucie Herondale: Have you ever done something illegal to help a friend?

Jesse Blackthorn: Is there anyone that you would give your life for?

Eugenia Lightwood: Name one thing that makes you feel very ashamed for doing it.

James Herondale: For which one of the seven deadly sins (pride, greed, lust, envy, gluttony, wrath and sloth) you think you would go to hell?

Anna Lightwood: What make you feel proud of yourself?

Alastair Carstairs: Who would you choose to kill you?

Ariadne Bridgestock: Name one thing you're trying to improve in yourself and why.

Charles Fairchild: Which is your least favorite season and why?

Barbara Lightwood: Would you name your child after yourself or someone? If no, why? And if yes, who would be that person?

Matthew Fairchild: Tell us one lie about yourself that you wish was true.

Cordelia Carstairs: If you have to live in one city/country for the rest of your life, where would you choose to be?

Christopher Lightwood: Tell us (if you're comfortable) about a problem you have but usually don't talk about.

Grace Blackthorn: Name one thing that no matter how little it is, always make you go crazy.

Alexander Lightwood: Name one thing that was as life changing to you as it would be a new baby.

Bonus

Catherine Townsend: Describe your perfect date/wedding day/night/day (or all of them).

Oliver Hayward: Write a love letter to one of your mutuals but don't tag them or mention their name. See if someone (or they themselves) can guess who it is for.

Rosamund Wentworth: If you could bring back one dead character but had to replace it with one alive character, who would choose?

Piers Wentworth: Tag one of your mutuals you have soft spot for. In other words: who can come and slap you and you would thank them?

[missblackstairs]

Nuevo adelanto de Chain of Iron

"Bueno, ¿por qué venir a las fiestas, entonces?" exigió Cordelia . "Si encuentras a todos tan aburridos"."La gente es aburrida", dijo Matthew. "Chismorrear sobre ellos nunca es aburrido. Mira... están Thoby y Rosamund, ya discutiendo. Me pregunto sobre qué? Lilian Highsmith golpeó a Augustus Pounceby con su paraguas antes: ¿Qué pudo haber hecho? Esme Hardcastle le está contando a Piers Wentworth todo sobre el libro que está escribiendo sobre la historia del enclave de Londres, pero él sólo tiene ojos para Catherine Townsend. Y la encantadora Eugenia, rechazando a todos los pretendientes. Posiblemente debido a malas experiencias pasadas." ¿Qué le pasó a Eugenia?" Dijo Cordelia.

[artieistired]

but god i want to feel again

alastair carstairs fic (originally for alastair pain day 2021 :))

inspired by this song || read on ao3

all i want is to flip a switch before something breaks that cannot be fixed.

invisible machinery, these moving parts inside of me well, they’ve been shutting down for quite some time, leaving only rust behind.

well i know, i know- the sirens sound just before the walls come down. pain is a well-intentioned weatherman predicting God as best he can, but God i want to feel again, oh God i want to feel again.

~‘touch’ sleeping at last

---

Alastair rolled his shoulders back. He’d done this a hundred times before. It never got easier.

“Come on, now, Baba,” he groaned, lifting his father’s arm across his shoulder. Elias mumbled something incoherent and drooped further, stumbling over his own feet as he was dragged over the cobblestones. “Time to go home,” Alastair murmured, silently tallying how many times he had taken this exact route from this exact tavern in just the past month.

Twelve years old and he knew the location of every pub in every city he’d ever lived.

Their house was visible just up ahead—the third they’d lived in this year. Alastair noted that all the lights were out and thanked whatever god was listening. He couldn’t deal with redirecting Cordelia’s questions on top of getting his father cleaned up. Tonight was already draining enough.

He managed to get Elias up the steps and into the washroom with less trouble than usual, a sign that his father was perhaps more lucid than he’d originally believed. The clock on the mantle had read just past midnight—perhaps he was just tired as well.

“‘M fine, ‘m fine,” Elias slurred as Alastair attempted to wipe his damp forehead with a wet cloth, pushing his son’s hand away.

Alastair huffed and set the cloth aside before turning to rummage through the cabinet for a glass. They always kept a glass in the washroom for times like this. He filled it halfway and offered it to his father. When Elias only glared at it, slumping down on the seat and leaning heavily on the wall, Alastair held the glass to his lips and tipped it back, forcing him to drink. 

When he pulled the glass back—his father having blessedly drunk it all without much of a fight—Elias stood abruptly. He was still quite drunk and thus swayed on his feet for several long moments. Alastair leaped forward to steady him, but was immediately pushed away with all the force of a heroic—however disgraced—Shadowhunter.

Alastair hit the wall hard and gasped as the breath whooshed out of him. His head spun—had he hit it? He must have—and his vision blackened at the edges. Elias was still struggling to keep himself upright. Alastair watched as he took a step and immediately crumpled to the ground. He stumbled forward yet again, trying to help, wanting to help, but his father cried out and Alastair froze in place. The last thing he needed was his mother—or, worse, his sister—hearing the noise and coming to investigate. 

Alastair looked down and realized that at some point he’d dropped the glass. It had shattered on the floor. Head still spinning, he bent down to try to gather it together, instantly cutting his hands. He inhaled sharply, ignoring the pain and sweeping the remains into a small pile in the corner. He could ask Risa for helping taking it out in the morning. 

His hand was bleeding rather substantially, blood running over the Voyance rune on the back. The only Mark he had. 

“Are you alright, Baba?” he asked quietly, careful not to speak loud enough to agitate his father’s headache. 

“‘M fine,” Elias repeated. “Go to bed, Alastair. I’ll be just fine on my own.”

Alastair didn’t believe it for a second. He stood and carefully maneuvered his father’s arm around his shoulders again. He couldn’t risk taking him up the stairs—Elias might fall, or someone might hear. There was a small room just down the hallway that Alastair had left his father in on numerous occasions to sleep off a hangover. It seemed tonight would be another one.

He shouldered the door open and deposited his father on the couch, making sure to leave him on his side and support his head with a few pillows. He knew he shouldn’t leave his father alone. Something could happen, and if Elias died because he suffocated on his own vomit there would be no one to blame but Alastair and his selfishness. But his hands were throbbing now, and his stele was upstairs in his room. He took the stairs two at time, skipping the ones that creaked the most, and shut the door gently behind him.

As soon as it was closed, Alastair slumped down against it, trying to steady his breathing. In, hold. Out, hold. In, hold. Out, hold. Over and over until the spinning stopped, until he could think again.

His stele was on his desk. His mother had given it to him last year, claiming it was a birthday present. Alastair knew it was because she’d spotted the bruises on his arms.

For a moment, Alastair considered leaving the cuts be. They would scar if he did, and it would hurt until then. But Alastair would revel in the pain, in the ability to feel something—anything—besides dull fear and numbness. It was the direction he knew he was heading towards. If he allowed it to consume him—

No. He wouldn’t let it. He wouldn’t let it change him.

Carefully, Alastair picked up the stele. It stung where it pressed against his cuts. He traced an iratze flawlessly and held his hand away to survey his work. 

Practice makes perfect, he thought wryly.

---

Alastair sat almost fully turned around in his seat on the carriage, watching as Cirenworth disappeared into the distance. Cordelia, who had run behind them down the lane, struggling to keep up, had long since faded into nothingness.

“Turn front or you’ll fall off the moment we hit a bump,” Elias snapped from beside him. Alastair did as he was told, stubbornly looking anywhere but at his father.

Alastair did not understand why his father had insisted on seeing him to the Academy. Alone. There would be no one to make sure he returned in one piece, no one to steer him away from welcoming taverns or haul him out of a pub before he drank himself to death. 

But for once, Alastair found he didn’t particularly care. He was going to the Academy, and his father’s health would no longer be his primary concern—his primary burden. He would be around children his own age. He would have a chance to finally—finally—make friends.

It was much more exciting and nerve wracking than he’d expected.

Cordelia had Lucie, a fact that Alastair was endlessly grateful for. But he was all alone. Cordelia could hardly count as a friend. She was his sister, after all, and therefore obligated to tolerate him, yes, but also to tease him at every available opportunity.

This was something he couldn’t risk messing up. He needed this. He was more desperate than he wished to admit.

Alastair spent the remainder of the journey in silence, shutting down all of his father’s attempts at conversation with a stoic nod or by blatantly ignoring him. It wasn’t his favorite method, but he truly could not deal with his father making him more nervous than he already was.

When they finally arrived at the Academy, Alastair’s stomach was a jumbled mess of nerves and whatever he’d eaten for breakfast—he couldn’t even remember at this point. He was too busy praying his father would leave before he could embarrass Alastair.

The universe wouldn’t give him a break, though.

Elias clapped his son on the shoulder and insisted on helping carry his bags up to the dorms. He nearly slipped on the stairs four times. He dropped the bags twice. Alastair wanted to crawl into a hole by the time they arrived. His roommate was nowhere to be seen—likely they hadn’t arrived yet—so Alastair went to stand beside the bed nearest the window. His father dropped the bags to the floor beside the other bed.

“No, Father, this one,” he said, pointing.

Elias blinked at him. “This bed is closer to the door,” he told Alastair, speaking slowly as if the implications should be obvious.

“I know. I just—I want the one closer to the window is all,” Alastair stammered, face hot. What did it matter? In a minute his father would leave and he could take whichever bed he liked most.

“Closer to the door is safer,” Elias insisted, sitting down on the bed and folding his hands together. 

Alastair simply nodded, trying to play along. He might’ve gotten away with it, too, if the door hadn’t burst open at just that moment, revealing a slightly disheveled looking boy. Alastair assumed this was to be his roommate then.

“You’ve chosen your bed already then?” the boy said without preamble, nodding to where Alastair’s bags were sitting next to his father.

“He has,” Elias answered.

The boy nodded and swung his bags up to rest on the bed next to the window. Alastair swallowed thickly and said, “Thank you for your help, Father, but I think I’m alright now.”

Elias grinned. “Of course you are. I’ll be on my way then.” He stood and strode to the door, turning to say, “Goodbye, Alastair joon.” He disappeared into the stairwell.

Alastair turned to his roommate to find the boy was staring at him. “What was that he called you?” the boy questioned a bit rudely.

“Joon?” The boy nodded. “It’s Persian,” Alastair said hesitantly. “It’s just—something you call people you care about.”

The boy wrinkled his nose. “That’s weird.” Alastair flushed. Before he could defend himself, the boy stuck out a hand. “Piers Wentworth.”

Alastair took his hand. “Alastair Carstairs.”

Piers’ eyes widened. “Carstairs? As in—was that Elias Carstairs?”

Alastair nodded, confused at his tone. “He’s my father.”

“Your father?” Alastair nodded again. Piers dropped his hand. “I heard he spends most of his time at the bottom of a bottle.”

Before Alastair could process the words fully, Piers pushed past him and was gone from their room. When the words hit him, Alastair picked up the first thing he could find—a volume of poetry from his bag—and threw it as hard as he could at the wall.

---

Alastair wasn’t sure when he started to become numb. He thought it might’ve been sometime during winter, when Augustus Pounceby kicked him down the stairs and he broke two ribs. Or perhaps it was after that, when Piers locked him out of their room overnight and he slept curled up in an alcove, waking to find Augustus and his friends crowded around him, laughing. 

All he knew was that it was a slap in the face the first time he heard his sister’s name come out of one of their mouths. It was Augustus who had said it—said something so awful Alastair’s mind had blocked it out immediately. All he registered was Cordelia and danger. 

That was the last straw.

He’d grown used to their abuse, to their snide comments and kicks and punches, but if there was one thing that could snap him out of this it was his determination to protect his sister. She was too young, too kind, for this. He wasn’t too numb not to protect her a bit longer.

The next day when Augustus and his gang cornered Alastair again, he made sure there was a clear sight of some of the dregs—the mundane students. Alastair had tried to befriend them as well. They had turned him away, exclaiming that they didn’t realize they allowed people like him in the school. What should he care if a few of them were hurt to save himself and his sister?

The moment Augustus looked like he was going to make his move, Alastair made his, raining down insult after witty insult on the small group of dregs watching on. Augustus stared at him in surprise, then burst into laughter, even joining in once he regained his balance. Piers was there too, and Clive—soon enough the whole lot of them had turned their attention from Alastair and were focused solely on those poor mundanes.

It happened again, and again. Soon enough, Augustus and his friends weren’t seeking Alastair out to kick him around—they were seeking him out for help in their own schemes.

Is this who I’ve become? Alastair wondered faintly as Clive pulled him along down a corridor, speaking rapidly about a prank they were going to play on a few of the girls.

The numbness began to creep back in, diluting the anger and pain of which he’d long been so afraid.

---

Things were different, certainly, when Alastair returned from the Academy. Cordelia managed to pry some of it out of him, but he couldn’t allow her to see the full picture. That would mean telling her about their father’s drinking, and even he wasn’t so selfish as to tell her that yet. 

The years passed, and Alastair allowed that numb shell to solidify and thicken, dampening the swirling mass of indignation and heartbreak that lay beneath. 

And then he met Charles Fairchild.

Or, really, he met Charles again. They had seen each other—talked, even—at various Shadowhunter functions whenever the Carstairs were near London or whenever the Fairchilds were traveling to an Institute near them. Alastair had always picked Charles out effortlessly at such events, with his slicked back red hair and piercing green eyes.

Alastair knew better than to pretend he did not find Charles attractive. It had been no secret to himself that he preferred men—he’d known it since before the Academy, really. But it also wasn’t as if he’d had any opportunity to act on it. 

So, when he was sixteen and in Paris for a few months, when he saw Charles again and the man dropped one too many thinly veiled hints, Alastair allowed himself to be swept away by the romance of it all—the mystery and charm and utter newness that came with Charles and all he represented.

It was wonderful those first months. Perhaps not what Alastair had expected. He supposed he hadn’t thought there would be quite so many rules, but Charles was very insistent. No one could suspect a thing. It was exhilarating.

Until it wasn’t.

He didn’t know when, exactly, it shifted from exciting and new to tedious and tense. Perhaps it was when Charles became engaged to Ariadne. Perhaps it was after the first dozen or so broken promises. Perhaps it was when Alastair realized a life with Charles was a life with doors shut and curtains drawn.

But who was he to complain? That was life, wasn’t it? Few people in the world were lucky enough to have a perfect whirlwind romance, and those who did often left others in the dust. 

And Charles liked Alastair, had told him he loved him. He smiled at Alastair and didn’t act like he was a waste of space. 

So while that numb shell stayed firmly in place to keep everyone else away, Alastair propped open a back door for Charles to come and go in his life as he pleased.

They didn’t see each other as often as Alastair would have liked, and when they were apart they didn’t risk sending letters—“Letters can be intercepted! Opened and read without your consent,” Charles had explained—but that didn’t stop Alastair from dreaming of a time when they could be together without the strings of society attached.

He dreamed of a time when he could feel again.

So he let the little things slide. When Charles and Ariadne didn’t split up when Charles had said they would, Alastair just said, “Next time.” When Charles chose Clave meeting after Clave meeting over Alastair, Alastair simply attended the meetings himself for a chance to see Charles. 

And when Charles pushed him away at every oncoming footstep, every creak of the floorboard, Alastair pretended not to see the fear and shame in his eyes.

---

Alastair decided that Thomas Lightwood was the single most lovely person to have ever existed on the planet.

He also decided that he must be loopy from the exhaustion of the day because he’d never been prone to such sickeningly sweet thoughts before.

But he couldn’t deny it either. There was something in the way he wore his heart on his sleeve that made Thomas so approachable, so loveable.

Alastair found himself wishing he could bottle up this whole day and carry it around with him wherever he went. This whole murder trial business was far more bearable with Thomas there with him.

And yet—all good things must come to an end. Alastair knew it, perhaps better than anyone. And this… this was too good a thing to last very long.

Alastair did not wish to hurt Thomas. Thomas was good and kind and all the things Alastair never had been. Beyond all possible expectations, Thomas had entered the small group of people for which Alastair would do anything. 

Even if it meant pushing him away.

Thomas was grieving. Alastair knew that. He knew that it was messing with Thomas’ head, making him act more recklessly and crave things that were bad for him. Alastair didn’t want to be bad for Tom—he wanted desperately to be good for him. But that couldn’t happen until things changed.

If they ever did.

If anyone would ever be willing to step forward and claim their feelings for him without fearing embarrassment or shame. If anyone would ever be willing to open the door for him and let him step out into the light.

At this point it was almost second nature to pull away from his touch, turn his eyes down and let the lies roll off his tongue. If he closed his eyes, he could almost ignore the sound of his own heart cracking.

As he strode away from him—from that single loveliest person to have ever existed—Alastair wondered if this would do it, if this would be the thing to push him over the edge and break something in him that couldn’t be fixed. 

He could feel it—feel the gears inside him grinding to a halt and shutting down. Soon there would be nothing but rust left behind, and he would be blown away by the wind.

[titsthedamnseason]

JAMES JUST HAD TO THROW THAT IN THERE HUH AKSHHDKSKA

we made it guys. here we are. cog reading thread. you can find chapter 1 right here. i’m doing my deep breathing excersizes.....here we go. block ‘juli reads cog’ and ‘cog spoilers’

[a-very-gay-spider]

Piers, Anna, Ariadne, Oliver 💕

Piers Wentworth: Tag one of your mutuals you have soft spot for. In other words: who can come and slap you and you would thank them?

@magnus-the-maqnificent @christophers-lightwood @sylphabelle

@redscrollsofmalec @highladyofstoriesandmusic

(i have a soft spot for a lottttt of mutuals but i feel like if we ever met thAt's how our convo will start lmao)

Anna Lightwood: What make you feel proud of yourself?

my vibe detector for people. ngl it's saved me from some very bad people.

Ariadne Bridgestock: Name one thing you're trying to improve in yourself and why.

my relationships with other people and how to stop myself from caring too much about them. It's basically because i care too much about what other ppl might say snd that's toxic oof. I also feel reluctant to let go of people or things...so yeah that too.