#some implied thomastair

[thousand-winters]

Children of dust and ashes

Trying to do this like I've seen done in this fandom, cof.

Oh, also @ibrushmyteeth-donttellanyone

Read on AO3!

Relationships: Cordelia Carstairs & Alastair Carstairs, implied Thomastair (in this one, at least)

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Chapter 1: We were angels once

Cordelia doesn’t think feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders is a normal reaction to moving places. In fact, she knows it’s not, as the feeling of detachment and exhaustion that accompanies it is one she has come to associate with the strange dreams she’s been having since she was 14.

The dreams are insistent, haunting her days as much as they do her nights. It’s strange. She has never thought of herself as someone who chases riches, and yet one of the only things she can recall after waking up, no matter how tightly she holds on to the dreams, is the shimmering color of gold.

The glimmer of a blade. The twinkle of an eye. The brush of golden strands.

Gold, gold, gold.

On the intimacy of her room, on the loneliest nights where she’s only accompanied by the stars outside her window, she thinks she must be destined for something bigger than herself, although the elation she feels at the idea sits within her chest in an uncomfortable way, as if it didn’t fit, as if it were more of a burden than the gift her young mind conceives.

Still. Destiny is destiny, she thinks, and so every time they travel to a new country, she declares it an opportunity to seek adventure, hoping that one day the golden glimpses of reverie become something tangible and real, something she can look at and say ‘there you are, I caught you’.

So she grabs onto her brother’s arm, claiming that he can’t stay holed up in his room, not this time –in spite of the fact that she drags him with her every single time, and he’s big on the habit of taking walks, no matter if they’re in a city new with promise or old with unwanted familiarity

Alastair always rolls his eyes and makes a show of dragging his feet, but he would always comply with her wishes in the end.

Sometimes she has the weird sensation that she already recognizes the places they visit.

Dejá vù, Alastair says simply when she confesses, and she frowns with the petulance only little sisters can reach, or so he claims anyway. Because each time, she can almost swear that there is recognition sparkling in his dark eyes as well, but where she stubbornly chases her dreams, her brother seems to use that determination to put another brick in the wall that separates them.

She can hold his hand through it, but there’s a fear deep inside of her that one day the wall will be so tall that she won’t be able to see him.

The bubbling nerves in her chest as they arrive in Idris do nothing for her hidden worries to subside.

On top of her unusual weariness, she feels certain anticipation; her mind is telling her something important is going to happen soon, and by this point she knows better than to dismiss the feeling as nothing. Which perhaps should be odd, maybe because her gut feeling has never led her to anything big.

That statement feels wrong in her head.

As they sit at the table of their new house to take breakfast, Cordelia wonders what kind of surprises will come in this new place they’re living in. She truly hopes they can stay for longer than a few months this time, although she isn’t sure of why; Idris is beautiful, but hadn’t Bombay been too? Morocco? What makes this so different? She doesn’t have answers, she just knows that it is.

Her dad isn’t there, probably oversleeping due to the exhaustion of the travel; she knows he was still awake when she went to bed, after all her mâmân always leaves the light in her bedroom on to wait for him. Speaking of her, she looks pensive this morning, drinking slowly from her tea without saying her usual drill about making the best of what they have while it lasts. Alastair isn’t even pretending to have breakfast, and she surmises that he must have similar thoughts to her in mind as he gently caresses the compass tattoo on his forearm, no matter how much he may deny it.

She has noticed that every time he gets in this melancholic sort of daze, he’s always touching his tattoo. She has asked him a million times why did he choose a compass and a rose of all things, when she knows him to be particularly fond of collection daggers instead, but frustratingly, he always shrugs and says it seemed like the right thing to do.

“Right to whom?” She grumbles under her breath, earning herself a glare without any real heat in it.

“What are you mumbling to yourself all of a sudden, Katāyoun?” He asks in exasperation, pointing a spoon at her.

Ready to fall into the familiarity of sibling bickering, Cordelia finds herself almost smiling, but as she opens her mouth to reply, there’s a bang on the front door followed by the sound of glass breaking and she startles so much she almost spills her own tea all over the table’s mantle. Alastair doesn’t fare much better, his spoon clattering against his cup so harshly that Sona flinches.

But when the woman turns to look at her son, she doesn’t look scolding, just sad.

“Alastair Joon,” Sona says softly, and Cordelia’s confused at the sorrow in her voice. The tension in her chest bubbles, and she knows somehow that her anticipation is about to have a payoff.

She’s suddenly scared about what that means.

“Stay,” Alastair says seriously, and naturally, as soon as he’s out of the door, she’s getting up from her chair to follow him.

“Cordelia, dear, why don’t we give him a minute?” Her mother asks without any conviction. She’s not hoping she can truly stop her, she realizes.

“You know I can’t do that,” She says. It’s too heavy of a statement for innocent curiosity, but she means it. She doesn’t know why she does and she’s tired of not knowing. Following will let her know, she’s certain of this.

“I know,” Sona’s smile is sad, her fingers cupping her mug so tight that her skin is looking fraught. “You’ll be alright, Layla.”

Parental approval acquired, Cordelia barely stops to wonder about the strange nickname –it feels right somehow–, choosing to hurry to the hallway and the entrance of the house, almost tripping over her own boots on her hastiness.

She almost wishes she hadn’t when she takes in the view in front of her.

Elias Carstairs is lying on the floor, seemingly having passed out immediately after slamming the door of their new house open. This normally would have her frantically going to his side and measuring his pulse, but there’s a trail of drool coming out of his mouth and a broken bottle at his side.

She’s not naïve enough to not recognize alcohol when she sees it.

Alastair is doubled over him. As Cordelia watches, her brother grabs onto the man’s arm and propping it up against his shoulder to get him to stand up a little. Her father groans slightly, but doesn’t wake up, too drowned in what he must have drunk of the discarded bottle to care.

Drunk, he’s drunk, she realizes, and while the thought sends a painful pang to her heart, she almost feels resigned.

“Esfāndiyar?” Her voice is thin and frail, the right name on the wrong lips. Or the wrong name? No. It is her brother. But she never calls him that. Except because that’s not right, she has called him that with affection since they were children.

Not before though

The thought is fleeting, but it leaves her unsure of what to do, unable to even fidget with the bracelets on her wrist as her brother manages to look at the same time as if he hadn’t expected her to disobey his petition and as if there had never been another choice.

“Just… let me get him upstairs,” Alastair asks, sounding so exhausted that one would think it’s midnight instead of 8 a.m.

She nods numbly.

As both disappear upstairs, presumably to go into her parents’ bedroom and leave Elias there, Cordelia’s head is spinning with unwanted images.

Her father causing a ruckus at a ceremony. A nude hand that should have been shielded by black ink. A specter seeking forgiveness from beyond death.

She feels sick.

By the time Alastair comes downstairs, she’s high-strung and irritated, ready to lash out in the only manner a wounded animal could.

It’s a good thing that Cordelia Carstairs has been cornered many times in her life.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” She demands, feeling anger and sadness bubbling inside of her. Alastair hesitates, looking surprised at her outburst and Cordelia wants to shake him. Didn’t he think she would care?

“Because I never wanted you to know,” He sounds defeated, perhaps because he can tell that to continue lying to her is a pointless endeavor. The thought should make her pleased, knowing that he recognizes that there’s no force on Earth that can keep her from finding out the truth, not when her family is involved, but instead she feels like she’s underwater, a flash of spectral hands appearing before her eyes while a strange thought takes over her mind. It wasn’t supposed to be like this this time. “Because I wanted you to have a childhood, a thing I never had.”

As soon as the last word leaves Alastair’s tongue, they both freeze. Her brother’s breath hitches in his throat, but he doesn’t move, not even to look at her. Cordelia finds that she can’t move either. There’s something about this moment that feels as if they were puppets whose strings had been loose until this very moment and have been now grabbed tightly, or perhaps actors over a stage, dancing, dancing, dancing with the glimmer of gold in front of her under a captivated audience.

She shakes her head, just as Alastair opens his mouth again, his words sounding pained, but hurried in a way that almost feels practiced.

“I wanted you to be able to love and respect your father as I never could. Every… every time he made a mess who do you think had to clean it up? Who told you Father… Father was ill or sleeping when he was drunk?” He sounds confused as he speaks, but it’s not the kind of sentiment born out of a lack of veracity. Somehow she knows these words ring as true as they always have. Somehow she knows all of this. “Who went out and…? Who…? Layla…”

Cordelia looks at the brother she has lived and grown up with all her life and for a moment she doesn’t recognize him; she sees dyed blond strands pulled back, a black tattoo flashing on his neck, and she’s oddly certain that there’s a spear hidden inside of his jacket. She looks at her own hands, somehow expecting to see a golden blade there. Her heart lurches painfully when she sees nothing but empty palms.  

When she looks up, her brother’s hair is black again.

“Lay- Cordelia?” His voice is steady, but he’s avoiding her eyes, looking instead to the side at the wall. No, not the wall, the door.

“Dâdâsh…”

Alastair recovers miraculously fast, clearing his throat and straightening his back, his face returning to a neutral look as if what just happened

“Did you need anything else?” He turns as if he’s already planning to leave. He seems ready to play this off as if nothing happened and Cordelia gapes at him, feeling furious all over again.

No, you don’t get to shut me out, not this time.

“Alastair.”

He stops, but he’s still not looking at her.

“Cordelia.”

“Don’t ‘Cordelia’ me. What was that?”

“I have no idea what are you talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” She accuses him.

“Well, then why don’t you illuminate me, Layla?” He turns with such ferocity that for a moment she’s tempted to take a step back. But this is Alastair, her Alastair, her big brother that had been looking after her before she was even born into this world, the same Alastair that always protects her.

Into this world.

And that’s the crux of the matter in the end, isn’t it?

“Why didn’t you tell me this time?” She asks softly, and her brother’s shoulders deflate.

“I told you, I-“

“No, you knew I never wanted this for you. Why torture yourself a second time?”

He hesitates.

“This time you actually had the chance to be free,” He croaks out.

“No, not like this,” She steps carefully over the broken glass and the puddle of alcohol over wooden floors before grabbing Alastair’s face with both of her hands. “Never at the cost of your happiness.”

He takes a shuddering breath.

“Mâmân helped.”

“I could have helped too.”

“You were just a child.”

“So were you.”

“I didn’t… keep this from you on purpose,” Alastair takes a deep breath and raises his hands to cover hers gently, looking at her with a mixture of affection and sadness so strong that it makes her want to cry. “I only know remembered that we…”

“… Have gone through this before?”

There are no better words to explain, and so he simply nods, closing his eyes and letting himself fall back onto the comfort of a sister that became a protector, that shouldn’t have been but that’s always willing to become one for him, for all of her loved ones.

Speaking of…

“We should find them,” She says.

“Who?”

“Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, Alastair.”

“And playing coy doesn’t suit you.”

They’re smiling at each other.

She takes a step back, but instead of releasing him completely, she extends a hand that he grabs easily. The wall has fallen back down again and her heart sings. She didn’t want a tragedy to bring it down to pieces this time, and that much has at least been avoided.

“Do you think they remember?” He asks, his tone uncharacteristically shy, and she notices with little surprise that he’s staring at the tattoo on his forearm.

“Well,” She starts slowly. Her blood is once again calling for adventure, and this time, she knows, they’re ready to take the call. “we should find out, shouldn’t we?”

[edwinspaynes]

I have a question for yall. How spicy do you ACTUALLY think the Better in Black stories will be?

I don't really think Cassie has ever written chili-pepper scenes in TSC proper besides with Blackstairs and Herondaisy. And in neither of those cases was the scene full-on explicit.

But also, BiB is a self-published project, and she has teased it as "spicy". But "spicy" is subjective, and I'm wondering what you think it means for BiB. Steamy YA stuff like in the Blackstairs and Herondaisy scenes? M-rated om page but not anatomical sex scenes? E-rated, anatomical sex scenes?

I personally think that it's going to be heavily dependent on the story. We know the Herondaisy story will have a second wedding runes scene and therefore it will have smut. This smut will imo be on par with A Single Chant and it'll be cute and emotional. I think the Sebastian/SQ story will have heavy smut because she's clearly trying her hand at Dark Fae Romance (which will be Interesting), and I think the Blackstairs story will have heavily explicit weird kinky shit because... well.

In all these cases, I think the smut will be part of a larger story. One cannot have 50 pages of smut. It's not possible. I'm glad of it. I want adorable Herondaisy fluff and adventure, and if I had to read 50 pages of Sebastian or Julian fucking I'd bleach my eyes.

But some stories imo will probably have no spice at all - I don't think Thomastair will get a sex scene (I'm not complaining - I actually don't care about sex scenes one way or the other). Theirs seems like it'll be a fluffy romcom that also involves a literal infant. I can't see her writing on-page steam for Wessa or Arianna beyond implied sex, and Luke/Jocelyn weren't even together when their story took place.

What do you guys think?

[sheisbeautyweareworldass]

okay but seriously: what's up with y'all's obsession to portray the "we don't always love people who deserve it" as a thomastair quote? what's up with y'all's obsession to imply alastair is undeserving of love?

[cant-think-of-anything]

Hiiiii, how are you? First of all I wanted to tell you that I love the way you write, I really want to be as good as you. 🥺 Anyways, I was thinking that angst never too much, so I was wondering if it was possible for you, when you're free, to write a Thomastair using that CC prompt where a person was dying and saying something about hiding their love for each other... I just can't find anymore😅

Sorry to disturb you and sorry for my English, it is not my first language, I hope you can have a good time!🥰

Half the reason this took me so long was because I COULD NOT decide on an idea, first they were in the institute, then they were in a train, then they were in paris, I wrote a solid five paragraphs for each idea before I decided I hated it, but it's done!

And I have a hard time following exact dialogue prompts so I loosely followed the words, but the general idea is there

Also thank you so so much it all means a lot to me, it makes me really happy when people say they like my writing <3

tw: implied character death (?) and violence

"Alastair!"

Thomas stood at the foot of The Institute's steps, lingering as the last of the Enclave members filtered out and brushed past him to reach rows of parked carriages. A meeting had been held in an attempt to sort out the business of the recent attack, but more answers had been demanded than answered. Thomas had spent half the time watching the sun inch down through the window.

Now, it was well past sunset, with a faint drizzle that promised rain. Thomas hesitated before calling Alastair's name again and moving forward down the pavement. Alastair, who had nearly made it to the end of the street, slowed and came to a very reluctant stop.

Thomas could read the distrust and hesitance in the tense set of his shoulders. But he drew closer, close enough to touch but far enough that he wouldn't.

Alastair tipped his head back, watching him with dark, expectant eyes.

Thomas stared for a moment, wanting to memorize the feel of Alastair's eyes on him, rapt and careful. They'd barely exchanged more than fleeting glances since the Leviathan attack, and it left a dull ache to settle in Thomas's heart.

"It's late." He said finally, knotting his hands together.

Alastair's lips twitched upward. "I know that."

"It's a long way to your house. It's not safe." Thomas winced when Alastair eyebrow raised and hastily "I know you are beyond capable of defending yourself. But considering how concerned you were for my safety, this only seems fair.”

A pause followed his words before Alastair closed his eyes and muttered “Just leave me be, Thomas.”

Thomas’s gaze flicked over the dark shadows under his eyes, pronounced by the dim streetlights. His heart twisted at the signs of clear exhaustion scrawled over Alastair’s face, but his resolve only hardened.

Thomas shook his head when Alastair’s eyes opened, motioning ahead of them. “We will get caught in a heavy rain if we don’t start soon.”

Alastair made an exasperated noise in the back of his throat but he turned, shoulder brushing Thomas’s chest, and started walking.

—-

Alastair had decided to keep his eyes trained on his own shoes for the entire walk home. Whatever reason Thomas had to insist on accompanying him home did not mean he had to acknowledge him at all. However difficult to ignore that he was.

Instead he picked out the faint noises he could hear from the houses they passed, amplified by Shadowhunter senses. The clattering of plates, music (some good, some unbearable), children laughing.

His house was nearly always silent now. It was difficult to imagine the piano being dusted off and used again or that his unborn sibling could laugh so freely there.

His thoughts felt tangled, torn between bitter jealousy and longing, he quickened his pace on the smooth ice and- he lost his footing.

His heart lurched with violently, his mind releasing a slew of curses that didn’t quite make it to his mouth. He reached out an arm to blindly catch at the railing beside him in panic, but before he managed to, he felt the sudden pressure of something wrapping around him, and pulling him steady on his feet.

Alastair froze, going completely still as his mind caught up with where Thomas’s hands were wrapped around his arm and his waist.

“Careful,” Thomas said quietly.

His arms stayed where they were, and he very clearly seemed to be waiting for a response. Alastair blinked several times before nodding, his mind a haze of how cold it was with the rain beating down faster and how warm it was in the circle of Thomas’s arms. Ridiculous, Alastair thought to himself furiously when Thomas moved away, tilting his head down so that Thomas in all his insufferable height couldn’t see his face.

He stared very determinedly at the patches of ice as he walked, too aware of Thomas’s presence beside him.

“It’s- are you sure you’re okay?” Thomas said sounding a little bewildered.

Alastair slowed, glancing at Thomas. “You caught me.”

“That’s not what I meant. I’ve never seen you lose your footing. I’ve barely seen you get caught off gaurd. You seem very…” He trailed off and gestured vaguely to Alastair’s face. “Distracted.”

“With my sister traipsing around alone in Paris completely vulnerable, and the Enclave finally starting to crumble the one time it's could be useful? Yes, I'm distracted."

"Cordelia isn't alone in Paris."

"She might as well be," Alastair grumbled, shivering slightly when the wind turned bitter. "She-"

Alastair cut himself off, straightening and frowning into the narrow alley they were about to cross.

The chill he'd felt from the wind was replaced with a different sort of chill; one that accompanied adrenaline.

He stopped short, throwing Thomas a warning look and pressing close to the building that surrounded the alleyway. He peered around the corner, feeling a little ridiculous as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

There was a harsh slash between where the streetlight reached and where it did not, but on that border Alastair could see small tendrils of shadows curling out towards the pavement. Shifting his eyes up, he could see the rough, unfamiliar outline of what must have been a demon.

The chill he’d felt ran completely cold. There should’ve been no demon that was unrecognizable to him, to any Shadowhunter, but this one was.

Even if the Academy’s teaching was less than adequate, every child was required to know what they would grow up to fight. This creature wasn’t in any recorded history Alastair had ever studied. And without the knowledge of a demons strengths and, more crucially, it’s weaknesses, even the most skilled fighters had a slim chance.

He pulled back swiftly when the demon stirred, nearly crashing into Thomas. Thomas was looking at the alley with his eyebrows furrowed before he shifted his eyes down to Alastair. He gestured across the street at a footpath that was nestled between two buildings. Alastair’s eyes snagged on the fire escape jutting off the second floor as they began walking, still casting cautious glances back at the alleyway.

"I've never seen a demon like that," Thomas said in a low, tensed voice.

"I haven't either.”

Alastair had already found a foot holding on the rough wall, hoisting himself up onto the rusted fire escape. It was just tall enough to shield from the demon, and he felt nearly dazed in relief when Thomas followed without a protest.

Thomas dropped his head into his hands, his face tense and confused. He had drawn his legs up to fit on the crammed platform. "I don't understand. We've studied every demon in the books but neither of us can recognize this one? How do we kill it without knowing how?" Thomas asked, his head lifting to watch the shadowy, now far away demon.

"We've studied the demons that we've fought. This could be something that only dwells in a different realm and considering that we aren't on the best of terms with any of the Princes of Hell..."

"But why would we become targets? If they really are in Belial's control, wouldn't they be soley attempting to target those who carry his blood?”

Alastair went silent. His hand drifted to the weight pressed against his side. A knot in his chest tightened.

"No," he whispered softly, understanding dawning on him as he reached under his coat and drew out a long, golden sword. A faint glow emitted from the blade that lit up the surprise on Thomas's face. "He would target the people carrying his weakness."

---

Thomas stared - well gaped might've been a better word, at Cortana. He could feel his pulse quicken as his eyes lingered on the sight of the sword in Alastair’s hands and immediately and viciously stopped that line of thought.

There was a dim light that Cortana emitted, one that rested on the uncertainty in Alastair's eyes. The way he was holding the sword, so lightly that it was almost slipping away, made his discomfort clear.

Of course, Thomas thought. It was Cordelia's sword, but a part of Thomas wanted to shake Alastair and remind him that it was his birthright as much as it was hers.

He doubted Alastair would appreciate that gesture though, so he waved his hand weakly at the sword. "If the demon truly is Belial's I can imagine Cortana would be useful."

The look Alastair gave him was almost desperate when he shook his head and held out the sword. "You fight with it."

Thomas's eyebrows shot up and he placed his hand over Alastair's on the hilt, pressing down so that Alastair's grip tightened. "That's a terrible idea, I'm not a Carstairs. Why can't you weild it?"

"It's not my sword."

"I don't think the demon will notice."

“Thomas-“

“Alastair. And it is your sword. By blood, at least.”

Alastair scoffed and let his head fall back on the building wall behind him. There was a long pause before he started, haltingly, "Cordelia deserved the sword. The sword chose it's bearer, it saw that I wasn't worthy. Cordelia is, she has a good heart, she wants to be a hero, but solely for the good it will do for others. And-" Alastair gently placed two fingers on either side of the swords edge, one sharp one dulled. His voice sounded achingly tight."That is the kind of heart this sword chooses."

Thomas hands tightened on his sleeves, suppressing the urge to reach out for Alastair. "I don't believe that." He cut off the protest Alastair was surely going to make quickly. "I believe that the sword chooses it's bearer, but I don't believe that you're any less worthy than Cordelia. If Cortana truly can see into the purest intentions of your heart, I don't believe that you would be found unworthy."

"You of all people should know that isn't true."

Thomas shook his head. "Cruelty for the sake of self preservation does not indicate the goodness of your heart. It's been a long time since then, Alastair. This path... it was the path you took when you were protecting me, isn't it?"

Alastair nodded stiffly, his eyes hard glass.

"You have a good heart. Take the sword now. I promise as soon as we're done, I'll lock it up in box until Cordelia comes back."

Alastair's lips twitched. "She'd have your head for that."

"A small price to pay if I've managed to make you believe me." Thomas felt a jolt of pain in his chest as soon as the words left his mouth. He hadn't meant for the words to sound so soft and unsteady, it gave away too much of what he was trying to forget.

But it felt close to torture, to see him in pain and be unable to do anything but talk. His heart ached to pull the other boy close, to run hands through his hair, and to whisper promises until he believed them.

Thomas felt a breath catch in his throat when Alastair turned to look at him with sudden intensity burning in his eyes. It was jarring, given how hard Alastair had been trying to push him away for the past week, how the gaurdedness in his eyes seemed stronger than before.

But now, he was staring at Thomas, almost consideringly, with thoughtful eyes and a startlingly open expression.

Something about the way his face looked, vulnerable but determined, was too similar to the way he'd looked in the Sanctuary. The light from Cortana relfected off his eyes the same way the candlelight had then, and Thomas felt his thoughts drown into the absolute mess his heart was.

The rain was still falling, faster now, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before the demon would find them, but he helplessly wished that the demon was just a little stupider and would grant them more time.

"Thomas?" Alastair asked in a low voice.

Thomas managed a nod, clasping his hands tightly together.

Alastair's gaze was heavy and calculating as he placed his hands very gently on Thomas's. Somehow, the contact still sent a jolt through Thomas, reducing his mind to a completely unusable scramble.

Slowly, he unclasped his hands, turning one up to catch Alastair's and reaching the other out to grip the front of his coat. He couldn't remember making the decision to move forward, he could only hear the soft, surprised sound Alastair made when their lips met.

Alastair pressed closer, his hand settling against Thomas's heart, and filling his senses with the brush of his eyelashes and the softness of his lips. The world had gone quiet, the pounding rain melting into the sound of Alastair's heart pounding against his hands.

He had tried to memorize the feel of Alastair's lips against his from the Sanctuary, but the dizzying rush of emotions that surfaced in reality could never be fully captured by memory. His hand had slid up to Alastair's hair, damp from the rain, as he felt what little comprehension he had left unravel from Alastair's gentle kiss.

He felt Alastair pull away, but he stayed in the circle of Thomas's arms. Thomas opened his eyes, feeling more than a little dazed, and looked down at Alastair.

“Thomas,” Alastair started softly. His eyes were shining with the kind of rare vulnerability that made Thomas feel irrationally protective.

But Alastair cut himself off before he could speak again, turning his face to the street with a frown.

Thomas felt him stiffen in his arms. Thomas felt a similar alertness wash over him, replacing warmth with watchfulness.

He looked at the road, the focus of an impending fight sharpening his senses. Through the rattle of an occasional carriage and the relentless fall of the rain, his ears pricked at the scuttle of claws on pavement.

Thomas couldn’t help the somewhat childish groan he let out as he, very reluctantly, reached for his weapon.

He fixed Alastair with a determined look, throwing out an arm to halt him from jumping off the platform. He very valiantly ignored the way his heart pounded in response to Alastair's rain damp curls falling into his flushed face, begging him to forget the demon altogether. "We will continue the conversation. Promise me.”

Alastair looked at him, surprised. “Okay. I- I promise.” Quieter, almost as if he wasn’t talking to Thomas at all, he added “I won’t walk away again.”

Alastair pulled away then, reaching for his weapon with cold determination settling in his eyes. A little more regretfully, Thomas did the same and then lowered himself back onto the ground.

He heard Alastair land softly next to him as the demon crept around the building corner and was fully illuminated by a nearby streetlight.

And it was… terrifyingly ugly. It somehow looked like all of the demons he’d encountered and like none of them at all. It’s skin was the same sickly white that James and Cordelia had described Belial having, and it’s eyes were focused hungrily on Cortana, gleaming in Alastair’s hands.

It lunged forward, with startling speed, into the darkness of the alley. They both pulled swiftly away from its trajectory, pressing against the walls. As soon as it crossed the shadows, the darkness seemed to almost shift.

Shadows curled unnaturally in a mass that surrounded the demon, and the alleyway grew darker, as if it was surrounding them too. The demon moved to Alastair, a flash of claws catching Cortana’s light as they came down. Panic reared in Thomas’s mind and instincts bade him to raise his blade.

Alastair slashed Cortana in a shimmering golden arc before he could move, tearing through the demons chest. Alastair pulled back, ichor dripping from his blade as he whirled it back in front of him defensively.

Thomas narrowly ducked away from the demon as it reared back, the shoulder of his jacket tearing when the demon clawed at him.

Thomas slumped against the wall beside Alastair, breathing hard. “It’s too fast.”

Alastair nodded, his eyes snagging on the tear in Thomas’s jacket, a hairsbreadth away from his skin. “No patrol teams cross this area tonight.” His voice was low and urgent. “We have no help.”

“I know.” Thomas muttered. He gripped his blade tighter as the demon righted itself, crouching low as if it was going to pounce. He tried to snuff out the fear that was pounding in his heart.

The demon leapt, a dart of movement that was too fast for Thomas to do much else than slash blindly upwards, his blade connecting with its target. But this time when the demon swiped at him, it succeeded.

He felt a flash of heat on his chest, adrenaline mercifully blocking out the pain as he staggered sideways. The demon made a rough snarling noise, and through the haze Thomas could see that he’d cut across its eye. Which seemed to have done nothing but effectively enrage it.

When the demon stalked towards him, Thomas couldn’t raise his weapon, his movements weak and sluggish.

Fear finally managed to cut through the cold focus as the demon reared forward, claws glinting. He felt something roughly shove him out of the way. Alastair.

He fell against the wall, his vision blurring. Poison, he cursed, fumbling for a stele.

Alastair had pushed himself directly under the demon, Cortana raised defensively. The demon slammed down, and the horrible shriek of claws scraping metal filled his ears.

Thomas staggered towards him, panic screaming in his ears. Desperation surged through him, Alastair could not be harmed, but the poison already had its hold on his body, draining all of his strength.

Through unfocused eyes, he could see Alastair, whose face was burning with determination and anger as he drove Cortana forward. Thomas heard the demon screech distantly, as if through a muffled screen. He vaguely registered crumpling against the wall.

He closed his eyes and time seemed to bleed together. Not, he thought dryly, the only thing bleeding. He could feel pressure on his chest, but he couldn’t remember moving his arms. He could hear something, a word repeating like a bell chiming. If a bell could ever sound so desperate.

He opened his eyes with effort, black spots crowding out his vision. He recognizes what word he’s hearing.

It’s his name, whispered over and over and it’s Alastair who’s saying it. He’s only inches away, his beautiful eyes crowded with tears.

Distantly, Thomas could feel the drag of a stele against his neck and the throbbing subsided enough for him to hook his hand weakly around Alastair’s. Alastair’s eyes flew up to his, the relief in them heartbreaking.

The rain was falling fast, running in rivets through Alastair's hair and down the slope of his face and for a hazy moment, Thomas's only comprehensible thought was that if that was the last sight he would see, he could almost be at peace. Alastair was safe.

“Keep fighting, Thomas, please,” Alastair muttered, his voice breaking.

He could feel the stele moving in the shape of an iratze, though the more Alastair drew, the more his precision unraveled.

“It wasn't real,” he murmured. He felt his chest itch in a weak response to the iratze. Darkness was crowding the edges of his vision, but Alastair still burned as bright as he always did.

“What? Are you delirious?” Alastair’s voice was low and panicked. “Hold on, I- please-”

He shook his head, his hand curling weakly on Alastair’s shirtfront. Sudden clarity rushed his mind, though he wasn’t sure if it was because of his desperation to talk or the army of healing runes scrawled on his skin. “Please I-I need to tell you. I’d spent too long attempting to convince myself that what I felt for you was hatred or indifference, but I cannot die with you believing that. It was never hatred and it never could be. I love you, and I need you to tell me that you believe me.”

His throat burned with the energy it cost to speak and his breaths grew shallower. He tried to cling to his consciousness, but he could feel his mind slipping and the pressure in his chest grow.

Alastair’s grip on him tightened almost painfully. Thomas could feel him shaking, from the freezing rain, from his own blood that now coated Alastair’s hands, he wasn’t sure.

“I won’t,” Alastair whispered hoarsely. “You’re asking for me to say the last words you want to hear, but I won’t, not like this. You can’t die, I-”Thomas felt strong arms wrap around his stomach, hauling him up. “I won’t let you.”

Somehow Thomas’s hand found his. Sound and sight seemed to bleed away. The cloudiness in his mind draped heavily like a blanket, and the pain dulled to nothingness.

He could only feel the press of Alastair’s hand, and he clung onto it like a promise as the darkness finally pulled him under.

I'd just like to say that I started writing this before the whole "demons are attracted to alastair and cortana" thing!! I couldn't say anything about it then but I felt very, very smart

Taglist: @spooky-drusilla @thewarthatsavedmylife-blog @ikissedsmithparker @life-through-the-eyes-of @littlx-songbxrd @alice-got-the-blues @the-ethereal-aura @taylorjamie @melanielocke @styxdrawings

[lifewouldbebetteronmars]

22, chalastair (derogatory) or thomastair (good)

Title from Memories by Conan Gray

Angst Prompt #22 - “I’m not going to cry, it isn’t worth crying.”

TW Manipulation

TW Gaslighting

TW Emotional Abuse

TW Alcohol

TW Implied Grooming

Summer of Angst Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But You Show Up Today, Just To Ruin Things

There was a knock on the door, loud in the silence that surrounded Alastair’s new flat. He’d only just moved in two days earlier, wanting a bit of space from his family.

He knew his mother and Risa were definitely grateful for the space, even if they would never admit it to him out loud, he knew they were secretly happy he’d left. They wanted time for themselves and with his baby brother barely sleeping through the night, it seemed impossible. So they were definitely happy for him to move out.

The knock wasn’t all that shocking, as Thomas had been helping him move in, but he’d just left with a carriage to get some things Alastair had left at Kensington Gardens.

It couldn’t have taken him so little time to do that. Could it?

He sighs as he walks over to the door, expecting to see his lover standing there but was taken aback to see a familiar head of slicked back red hair.

Charles Fairchild. His ex-lover. The man he wished would leave him alone.

“Alastair!” Charles slurred out, his name a little too loud on his lips. He was very drunk, clearly having gone day drinking, that much was obvious.

“Charles.” he answered back, trying to hide his disgust as the intense smell of gin wafted toward him.

Charles had a stupidly goofy smile on his face, a tell-tale sign of his state. He was never this carefree, always tense, always terrified someone would catch him in a vulnerable position. That they would use it against him. 

He would never look like that unless he was so drunk he couldn’t see straight. 

More vulnerable than he could ever be, not that Alastair could say that aloud to him.

“What do you want Charles? Why are you here?”

“I wanted to see you, darling.”

The darling made Alastair’s stomach tighten up with knots, bile rising up in his throat but he swallowed it back down, determined not to let Charles see how he effected him still.

He had started to hate that term of endearment even before he had ended their relationship, as Charles had used it to belittle him and manipulate him whenever they were in private.

Oh, but darling, acting like that isn’t very flattering…

Darling, you know that my engagement to Ariadne is only for show…

I only love you, darling…

I never said that, Alastair darling, you’re being delusional…

Darling, darling, darling. The word made him sick to his stomach.

“I’m not your darling anymore, Charles.” His tone was tense, he wanted Charles to leave and leave now. Before Thomas got back.

Charles let out a laugh-a real laugh-Alastair hadn’t heard him do that in years. “Oh come on now, Alastair. Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, pushing Alastair aside roughly so he could stumble his way into the flat. Alastair ended up flat against the door, helpless to do anything but watch him stumble and trip into Alastair’s small kitchen.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, bracing himself for the hell he was about to witness in his kitchen.

Why did Charles have to show up today? Today, of all days.

It was supposed to be a good day, where he moved into his new flat with the help of his lover and they made jokes and ate dinner, a good day.

But now it would be forever tainted by whatever stunt Charles was about to pull.

Alastair walked into his kitchen with hesitance, not knowing what kind of situation he would walk into. All of the years of taking care of his drunk father flashed in his mind, but he pushed it back, setting his shoulders and walking in with an air of faux-confidence.

He had to be strong if he had to face his former lover and the memories between them, both good and bad.

Charles was curled in the corner of the kitchen, his body resting against the cabinets. His closed eyes almost made him look almost peaceful. But Alastair knew he was far from that.

He was here for something, but it wasn’t peace.

“What are you really doing here, Charles?”

Charles opened his eyes, one at a time, green eyes looking lazy and soft. Not the fierce green he’d gotten used to over the years.

“I told you already darling, I wanted to see you.”

There was that word again: darling.

Alastair wanted to throw up. “No you don’t. You have another reason, Charles. An ulterior motive, if you will.”

“Why don’t you call me Charlie anymore? I used to love when you called me Charlie.” Charles mused, almost to himself it seemed, his eyes lacking focus.

“Because you aren’t Charlie anymore, the same as I am no longer darling.” he explained, hoping to get a real answer out of him.

Charles chuckled darkly in response, the sound almost eerie to Alastair. “You’re still my darling, even if you claim to be Thomas’s now instead.”

Alastair tensed at the mention of Thomas. Why did he have to mention Thomas? It was none of Charles’s business, him and Thomas. He didn’t have the right to bring him up like this, not anymore, never again.

He hoped that Thomas would hurry up and come back, being alone with Charles was starting to take its toll on him and his thoughts.

“You don’t get to talk about Thomas.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you don’t have the right, not anymore.”

The ginger rolled his eyes. “I think I have every right, my darling.”

“I am not your darling, Charles,” Alastair seethed, his temper starting to flare. “How much clearer do I need to be?”

“You will see, Alastair. When he tires of you, that I was so much better than he ever was. You will see and you will regret having left me.”

The cool fierceness in his green eyes returned, no longer hazy and unfocused. Alastair had once loved that look in his eyes but now he couldn’t fathom why he ever had.

“I will never regret leaving you, Charles. It was the best decision I have ever made.”

“Oh? But you didn’t question that he would leave you, because you know he will. Everyone leaves and you know it in your heart that he will too.”

Alastair bristled. Charles had always had a way to make him feel small, to prey on his insecurities. It was no different now than it was in Paris years ago. “He wouldn’t. You don’t know him.”

“You really think that?” Charles snickered. “He’ll leave once he finds out who you really are, how pathetic you are, how clingy. He’ll leave without a second thought.”

“Shut up, Charles, just shut up. You’re drunk, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Alastair was trying desperately to rein in his emotions, to collect his thoughts. He wouldn’t break down in front of Charles, he couldn’t. Never again.

Charles started to laugh, almost manically, as if the sight of Alastair made him downright giddy.

“What?” Alastair nearly yelled. “By the angel, what is so funny about this?”

“You’re about to cry over the truth! You must really think he loves you!” he giggled out, as if that explained everything.

Except it did, it clicked into Alastair’s mind. He had always enjoyed embarrassing him, and laughing at him when cried, that had always been Charles’s favorite poison.

He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction again.

“I’m not going to cry, it isn’t worth crying. You aren’t worth my tears, Charles.”

“As if that will change the fact that no one else could ever love you, darling. I even love you so much that I haven’t left, despite how much you want me to.”

“That isn’t true. You’ve never loved me.”

“But it is true, I have loved you since you were sixteen.”

“Just leave, Charles. Now.”

Charles sighed, stumbling as he got up. “It truly is a shame darling, that you’re wasting your time on that Lightwood. Especially when he’ll leave.”

“Get out.”

“Just remember that I’ve always loved you, Alastair, despite your…flaws.”

With that, Charles stumbled his way out of the flat, probably breaking things along the way as Alastair could hear things crashing down.

But maybe that was just his imagination, the background noise to what was happening around him and in his head.

He slumped down against the cabinets, similar to how Charles had been just moments earlier.

He couldn’t get his words out of his head.

You must really think he loves you…

Charles’s laughter rattled around in his brain over and over again.

The same words repeating with it.

His mind coming up with horrible words and darker trains of thought.

Alastair didn’t truly know what he believed anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Specially dedicated to @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas & @tessherongraystairs

And the witch is back 🙂🙃

[littlx-songbxrd]

Did you notice that alastair is doing a similar thing to thomas that sophie did to gideon

In tid she avoided him because she thought their relationship was doomed to fail because they were of different social statuses, and, from what i remember, she didn't want him to lose his friends/family/career/etc just because of their relationship. She also never showed affection, or let him show affection, while they were around people because she didn't want anyone to know

And people have the nerve to say that sophie and gideon wouldn't love him🙄

LY IVE BEEN SAYING THIS FOR THE LONGEST TIME

I WAS ONES GONNA DO AN ENTIRE POST ON SOPHIDEON/ THOMASTAIR PARALLELS BUT I FORGOT SO ALL I MANAGED TO DO WAS FIND THIS BUT THE POINT STILL STANDS

@alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer was the one to say it first so all the credit to them but thomastair and sophideon have so many parallels and a lot of people forget to notice that Alastair has some of both gideons and sophies traumas combined

Sophie for most of tid believed their relationship to be doomed because of their differences in social status and because she was against the idea of Gideon throwing his life away for her while Gideon was ready to propose at the first sign she reciprocated his feelings.

Also fun fact, Sophie was one of the first people to actually see the good in Gideon after he came back from spain. To truly believe he had changed and Gideon had always been a good person besides his previous personality he put on cause of benedict

She actualky got into a huge argument with Tessa because she was trying to warn Sophie off Gideon cause Will told her he was basically a gigantic dick and Tessa was worried. Only Sophie got extremly mad, told Tessa 1. She shouldnt judge Gideon or asume the type of person he is off Benedict because he is his own person and 2. That if Tessa truly believes after all that happened to her she'd fall for someone who was like she implied Gideon to be

There are

So many parallels

And i think a lot of people miss just how SIMILAR Alastair and Sophie are. Specially when it comes to relationships

I truly love how we all agreed Gideons now Alastaors dad but,,, mans so traumatized extea mom wouldnt hurt ok

SOPHIDEON WOULD LOVE HIM OK?!

[grace-lightwoodd]

I saw you’re updated prompt list can I request number 18 “I didn’t want to be a burden,” for my otp, Thomastair please 💕

I didn’t want to be a burden

Ship: Thomastair

Prompt list: x

Warnings: suicidal ideation, implied depression, intrusive thoughts.

Notes: Please reach out if you are struggling, you aren’t alone <3

•••

Thomas didn’t know when it started. He didn’t know when he’d stopped being able to sleep, his mind occupied with thoughts he knew he should never think.

He didn’t know when the sleepless nights had turned into something much, much worse, something he began to dread each time the sky bled as the sun disappeared under the horizon.

It was nights like this that Thomas craved relief. From what, he couldn’t be certain. He’d no reason to feel this way, he knew. Other people had it worse, so who was he to be so self-centered that he couldn’t bring himself to even think about anything but his own pain? Why did he lie in his bed night after night, considering an escape?

Then he thought of his parents, who had already lost a child. They couldn’t lose another one; It would have broken them. He thought of his sister, who’d already been through so much. She knew the worst of the world: she’d seen the cruel words and the unkind realities nobody should ever have to know. Thomas refused to be the reason she knew that pain.

He thought of Alastair. Thomas’ suffering was nothing compared to his. And if Alastair was healing, why wasn’t Thomas?

And then the realization had sunk in: the only reason he was still alive was because of those around him. Thomas only lived because of his partner, his parents, his sister, his friends.

He knew that his mere existence was an inconvenience, but his death would only burden them more.

God, Thomas was so selfish. He was selfish to even entertain the idea. Hell, he was selfish to even believe that anyone would bat an eyelid at his passing.

Would anyone even miss him?

He could feel his heart racing, his breath coming out in uneven huffs. He could feel the sting of tears in his eyes, but all he could think about was how pathetic he’d look if anyone saw him.

Then, as if Thomas had somehow manifested his nightmare scenario into reality, the bed shifted with a small groan. Alastair was awake.

Thomas quickly wiped away his tears, desperately trying to calm his erratic breathing before his partner asked questions.

Too late.

“Thomas?” Alastair asked, his voice thick with sleep. “Are you alright?”

One simple question. That was all it took for him to break down, letting go of any last bit of pride he had left as broken sobs escaped his lips.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas sobbed, his hands coming up to cover his face. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Alastair, scooting closer to his partner. “It’s alright.”

It couldn’t be further from okay. How was Alastair so nonchalant about this? Was he annoyed? He’d every reason to be—it was the middle of the night, after all. Thomas had just woken him up with his groveling and self-pity. Anyone with half a mind would be angry at him for the inconvenience.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Alastair asked gently. “You don’t have to if you don’t wish to.”

Against Thomas’ best wishes, he told Alastair everything. Words gushed from his lips like blood from an open wound; he barely processed he thoughts before he voiced them aloud, only pausing every once in a while to let another round of sobs shake his body.

Alastair remained silent, patiently listening. Even in the darkness of the night, Thomas could see the tears glistening in his eyes as he covered his mouth with his fist.

When Thomas finished speaking, the room went silent. Too silent, in his opinion. It allowed his mind to run, to come up with scenarios he knew to be unrealistic.

What if Alastair left? What if he couldn’t stand to be a part of Thomas’ life anymore?

His eyes darted around the room, searching for anything to focus on other than Alastair. There wasn’t much to look at; everything was covered with a dark veil of shadow, making it difficult to see the entire room.

Rough skin grazed Thomas’ hand as Alastair interlocked their fingers. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked gently. “Have you even told anyone?”

Thomas shook his head, still unable to meet his eye. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“A burden?” He echoed. “The people worth knowing will never be burdened by you. And the people you know are some of the best.”

“You’re not angry?”

Alastair brought Thomas’ hand up to his lips, planting a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “I’m angry at myself for letting you think that you could ever be a burden. Pain isn’t a competition. Everyone experiences it, and we all experience it in different ways. There is no pain that is lesser than any other.”

Thomas cuddled into Alastair’s chest, resting his head over his heart. Neither of them spoke, the only sound being Alastair’s steady heartbeat under Thomas’ ear.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Thomas could feel hope swell in his chest. He was beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel, the promise of something better. A life where he wouldn’t think of his own death.

He knew that it was a ways away, but he didn’t care. Now he could see a future where he didn’t used to. He could see happiness in his reach.

He wasn’t Tantalus, reaching for something that seemed within his reach but would shrink away whenever he tried to grab it. He was no longer grasping at straws in a pathetic attempt at attaining happiness.

It was within reach. It was here, even. It always would be, when Alastair was around.

Thomas could feel the light in his heart, the way that Alastair always seemed to make everything a little bit better. In the darkest of days, Alastair was the light.

Thomas hadn’t been hurt like James had, he hadn’t had his reputation compromised like Eugenia, he hadn’t been forced to grow up too soon like Alastair. Everyone around him knew pain like he never would, but his own was still valid.

In the end, they were all made out of flesh that could be cut, bones that could be broken. And that wasn’t a bad thing. Because the flesh could heal, and the bones could mend. And that was all that really mattered.

Taglist (lmk to be added or removed): @writeforjordelia @ohcoolnice @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1

[immortal-enemies]

What we know about Chain of Iron so Far: A Masterlist.

(Part 1! Here's Part 2!!)

Hey guys! With Chain of Iron coming out in less then two weeks (currently) I decided to make a Masterlist type-thing with- hopefully- all of the asks CC answered that relate to CoI!! (And the snippets!!) So here they are!

The snippets and quotes are at the bottom!!

This is very messy, but I hope at least one of you finds this useful!!

Okay! Good luck!!! ♥️

Asks

A little something about how the bracelet works.

Important Q&A round, regarding Wayland the Smith, some Jesse things, and more bracelet things.

Jordelia emojis.

MORE important bracelet stuff.

Some more things that may come up in CoI, though they were answered before ChoG was released!

From CHoG, but kinda relevant (talks about the JB+LH engraving).

We will learn what happened to Eugenia in CoI.

Cortana in CoI.

Will and Tessa regarding the fake engagement.

Chess is significant in COI.

Christopher knows Lucie is up to somethin, we are getting a scene from Christopher's POV.

Chain of Iron Spotify playlist.

KISSES, PEOPLE!! WE EVEN GET SOME SECOND ONES!!

Something to make theories based off of this picture.

Hinted some other Warlocks interacting with Grace.

Thomastair emojis!

Cordelia will know of Matthew's feelings.

We find out Cordelia and Alastair's Persian names.

Lucie and Cordelia: the parabatai ceremony.

Kill count.

Some people find out about Jesse and Lucie!

Cordelia and Matthew!

Friendships!

James and Grace 😬

Christopher's inventions!

Matthew (regarding fandom worry)

Thomas does something dangerous...

Grace things.

Matthew and Cordelia snippet!!

The Cover of CoI and how it relates to the content of the book :)

Alastair and Elias 😥

I SWEAR IF JAMES ISN'T ON THIS COVER-

Alastair stuffs 😋

James and Matthew parabatai stuff

Alastair and Jem interactions!

Italian Shadowhunter

Grace, James and Cordelia.

Random Q&A!

Alastair, Cordelia, and The Merry Thieves!

Time that passes throughout Chain of Iron!

Matthew and Cordelia Q&A!

Alastair and Friends.

Charles and Matthew!

Jesse ghosty thing :D

The Fairchilds. (About the engagement)

Thule and The Last Hours!

Several Character Asks!

James, Matthew and Cordelia love triangle!

Jesse and Tatiana!

Grace making Matthew kiss her 🤢

More James, Matthew and Cordelia love triangle things!

Alastair at the beginning of CoI

James and the bracelet!

Christopher things!

James's personality and how the bracelet affects him.

James and Matthew parabatai things!

Bracelet.

Blackthorn Sword!

Grace and Christopher in CoI!

Lucie Resurrection things!

Matthew in the love triangle!

Bracelet regarding gender!

More on the kill count.

Parabatai bonds and Secrets.

Cordelia may try to get over James

More bracelet stuff!

HERONCHILD SUPREMACY!

The Beautiful Cordelia 😂

POV's

Matthew's alcoholism.

More Matthew- relationship wise.

At least one wedding.

AHHHHH!! 😂😂😂😂 (Something funny for those who read the first two chapters of CoI!)

We see Charles and Matthew 👀

MORE bracelet details!

Magnus' love interest?

Relates to the engraving again 🙈

It's important for Matthew to save himself.

*In a sing-song voice* Grace was actually interested!

Do not trust the family tree, it's already betrayed you. (Does this imply James and Cordelia may NOT get together?)

Snippets/Quotes!

THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS OF CHAIN OF IRON!! (Keep scrolling until you find it! As long as it's before March 31, 2021!!)

A table read of Chain of Iron!

Some Grace Backstory!

Ariadne and Anna snippet (I think from Ariadne's POV)

JAMES AND ALASTAIR INTERACTING!?

Snippet

Jordelia snippet.

Thomastair "Hate me on your own behalf" snippet!

Lucie and Cordelia snippet.

Jordelia snippet!

Magnus and Matthew!

James, Matthew and Christopher!

Lucie and Jesse quote.

Lucie, Matthew and Thomas Snippet!!

Matthew and Cordelia, along with a snippet.

Jesse and Lucie quote!!

A very old snippet!! (Also- Matthew, unbuttoning James's coat? Uh-huh)

Another old snippet...

[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

"James told me some of it, then. The rumors Alastair spread. Perhaps you think I am terrible, still loving him."

idk I really do like Cordelia but this line ifuriates me like excuse me Cordelia?? What?

that whole scene drove me insane. I can give cordelia a bit of rope because her father had literally just died a few hours earlier, but I still hated every bit of it.

there is nothing I hate more than all of the instances where it's been implied that cordelia is special for being able to love her brother and the whole "the people we love don't always deserve it" or whatever tf the line is being associated with thomastair.

besides the implications of saying a victim of psychological abuse doesn't deserve to be loved (there is no doubt in my mind that elias has psychologically abused his entire family, handing alastair the brunt of it, but that's another post), everyone deserves to be loved and to feel safe, regardless of who they are and what they've done. obviously, that doesn't mean anyone is obligated to love anyone else, but alastair has never given cordelia any reason not to love him. the merry thieves and anyone else implying that his own sister shouldn't love him are truly only saying that they do not believe alastair deserves be loved at all by anyone.

[melanielocke]

Love will tie the Tourniquet

After some very valid criticism of the Sanctuary scene and the very limited canon Thomastair content I figured I’d write a scene where they talk it out and Thomas apologizes. I wrote this rather quickly and didn’t edit much so sorry for any mistakes.

Title is from “Tourniquet” by Breaking Benjamin which is definitely an Alastair song (although I find the lyrics difficult to interpret). I think it’s from the POV of someone who is struggling with something and realize love won’t fix them, but also believe nothing will. Love will tie the tourniquet and suffocate me. 

CW for period typical racism and homophobia, implied PTSD, mentions of bullying

Alastair was surprised to hear someone knock on the door. His mother was still on bedrest and wouldn’t be receiving any visitors and certainly no one would want to see him. He opened the door to see Thomas Lightwood in the door, hatless as always, snow had fallen in his hair. Even covered in snow Thomas was a beautiful sight to behold. Alastair tried to stop staring, but wasn’t quite sure how. Why was he here, after everything? Alastair had taken his time to think through what happened, but had arrived at the same conclusion, it was impossible. In retrospect, he wasn’t even sure Thomas liked him that much. Like Charles, he probably just saw someone who could fulfill his needs. After all, Thomas had seemed quite disappointed when Alastair had refused to take things any further than kissing in the Sanctuary.

‘Good afternoon,’ Thomas said awkwardly after a silence. ‘Can I come in? I… I thought we should talk.’

A bit hesitant, Alastair let him in and took his coat. He asked Risa to make them some tea, and brought Thomas into the parlor.

‘What did you want to talk about?’ Alastair asked.

‘I wanted to apologize,’ Thomas said.

Alastair frowned. ‘Why? You have nothing to apologize for.’

‘I do,’ Thomas said. ‘I was angry with you because of that rumor, but that gave me no right to publicly humiliate you. I treated you terribly, and you didn’t deserve that.’

Alastair wasn’t sure what to make of this. It had hurt, badly, the way Thomas had spoken to him, but he’d told himself over and over again that this what he deserved. 

‘Didn’t I?’ Alastair asked. ‘I was awful at school, perhaps less so to you, but still. I can’t imagine why you’d even want to be around me.’

‘Because I forgive you,’ Thomas said.

Alastair stared at him, eyes wide. He tried to hold back the tears, but wasn’t sure he could.

‘Why? Why would you forgive me? I thought you hated me.’

Thomas looked confused. ‘After the Sanctuary? After we kissed?’

Alastair sighed. ‘Charles kissed me many times, we did more than that, and he didn’t love me. He just thought I was convenient and I could fulfill his needs.’

It had been mostly about sex with Charles, and it had taken him so long to realize that it didn’t have to be like that. He’d given Charles everything he could, hoping that perhaps someday he’d receive love and affection back.  

Thomas’ mouth fell open. ‘You… you thought I would be like that? That I only wanted you for physical intimacy? Why would you think that?’

‘What else was I supposed to think?’ Alastair snapped, trying but failing to hold back the tears. ‘You wanted to kiss me only moments after you said I deserved to be hated. And because I wanted you, because I love you, I gave in. You wanted to keep me a secret, you were ashamed of liking me, so ashamed you couldn’t tell anyone, not even people who would not mind that you liked men. Just like Charles.’

I couldn’t have told them how I felt about you. Thomas’ words echoed in his head, and it was worse than Charles being ashamed of liking men. At least he understood Charles’ fears, even when it did not justify how badly Charles had treated him.

‘I never meant… I never wanted to hurt you. I’m sorry, and I said some stupid things. But I don’t want to keep you secret. There were so many things I should have said to you then, and I’m sorry I messed it up so badly. You do not deserve to be hated and I should never have said otherwise.’

Alastair wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He was desperate for affection, always had been, that was why he’d given so much to Charles, but how could he be sure Thomas wasn’t going to be the same?

‘Why not? Did I not cause you and your family terrible pain?’

Alastair was crying now and to his surprise Thomas came to sat down next to him, awkwardly putting his hands around him. Alastair pushed him away.

‘Please… please don’t.’

Thomas backed away as if he’d been burnt.

‘Physical affection isn’t easy,’ Alastair tried to explain.

He wasn’t used to hugging or even being touched at all in a non sexual way. Cordelia tried often to show her affection physically and he was grateful, but it just didn’t always work for him. Sometimes a touch could burn, be so overwhelming he only got worse.

‘What do you need?’ Thomas asked. ‘How can I help?’

‘Just keep talking,’ Alastair said. ‘Please. Tell me how you really feel. Be honest with me. If you… If you don’t really love me, it’s alright. I just need to know. Because I don’t understand anymore. Do I deserve to be hated? To be loved? I don’t get it.’

Thomas hesitated. ‘I was wrong. I was grieving and I was pushing these feelings away and I took it all out on you. But that was no excuse. You do not deserve to be hated, not when you regret what you did so much, and you do not deserve to be treated the way we… the way I treated you. And I’m so sorry. I think I do love you, I just never knew what to do with those feelings so I hid them. But I’m not going to hide anymore. I’m not ashamed of loving you.’

Alastair wiped the tears from his eyes. ‘Are you serious?’

‘I told Christopher, and he took it well. Or, well, he said he already knew and was under the assumption everyone already knew and we just didn’t talk about it. And I told my parents and Eugenia.’

Alastair hesitated. ‘Did you tell them I like men?’

‘No,’ Thomas said quickly. ‘Just about me, and how I feel. And that I’d at least like to have you as a friend, even if you weren’t interested in more.’

‘And your family, they accepted you?’

‘They were very kind and supportive, although my mother did say I might be worse at this whole romance thing than my father.’

Alastair frowned. ‘What did your father do?’

Thomas laughed, and Alastair could only think how beautiful his laugh was, how it lit up his face. ‘As you know, my mother was a servant before she became a shadowhunter, and my father decided to regularly ask her for scones, which he doesn’t like, so he could see her when she brought them. He then hid them under his bed.’

Alastair burst out laughing. He knew he shouldn’t, he knew he had no right to laugh about the people he’d brought such shame to, but at the same time he couldn’t imagine this happening. If Gideon Lightwood disliked scones so much, why not ask for literally anything else?

‘He also accidently blurted out his intentions of marrying my mother in her presence before he even proposed,’ Thomas added. ‘I’m not sure which part is worse, but it does make for good stories.’  

‘I’d say the scones are worse,’ said Alastair, taking a sip from his tea.

‘You’re very beautiful,’ Thomas said suddenly. ‘When you laugh. Also when you don’t laugh, but I like seeing you laugh. You always seem so sad.’

Alastair looked Thomas in the eye. ‘Really? You think I’m beautiful?’

‘Of course I do, who wouldn’t? I love your hair now that you’ve dyed it back to black.’

Alastair felt the tears coming back, and Thomas looked startled. ‘Did I say something wrong?’

‘No, it’s just… No one has told me I’m beautiful. And no one has told me they like my hair. It wasn’t an easy decision to dye it back. I didn’t want to pretend to be something I’m not anymore, but I thought everyone preferred the blonde.’

‘I’ve always liked dark hair, and it suits you well. And I’m glad you’re more comfortable with it. I guess I have no idea what it’s like, to be judged for the color of your hair or your skin.’

‘That’s the second part of what happened at the academy, what I hadn’t told you yet,’ Alastair said sadly. ‘No one there looked like me. They latched onto the rumors about my father, of course but they also treated me differently for being Persian, made fun of my features, my language… I thought it would get better if I adapted more to what they wanted.’

‘Alastair, I’m so sorry,’ Thomas said, reaching out his hand as if to touch him, but retreating. He probably remembered Alastair’s warning, but right now he did want to be touched. Now he knew Thomas did care for him, even if he had an odd way of showing it sometimes.

So Alastair leaned into him, resting his head against Thomas’ chest. It was comforting to feel his chest rise and fall with his breath. Perhaps he did like to be touched sometimes, but only if the other person loved him. There were very few people who did, and Alastair wasn’t so certain if Cordelia loved him anymore.

‘Is this alright?’ Thomas asked, putting a hand around him.

‘It is. It’s actually nice. But Tom, how can we make this work, if your friends still hate me?’

‘Christopher doesn’t,’  Thomas said. ‘He is willing to give you a chance. All you have to do is help him out with his experiments, show some interest, and he’ll like you. Lucie is going to adore you, I’m sure of it. As for James and Matthew… I’m not sure, but they don’t get to decide who I like or don’t like. For so long I tried to hate you out of loyalty to Matthew, but ultimately that’s his issue and not mine.’

‘But what if you lose your friends because of me?’ Alastair asked. ‘I would never want you to lose people you love for me.’

Thomas put his hand in Alastair’s hair, and Alastair thought about how Thomas had said he loved his hair. He’d never considered someone might. Charles had certainly preferred his hair blonde. He had been the one to suggest dyeing it.

‘That would be their loss,’ Thomas said. ‘You deserve to be loved too, Alastair. I will tell James and Matthew when they get back, and if they decide not to accept it, then perhaps they’re not very good friends.’

Alastair was surprised to hear him say that. He’d thought the four boys were exceptionally close, the kind of friendship he longed for but never had.

‘That’s what my mother said,’ Thomas added.

Alastair frowned. ‘Do your parents know I spread that rumor? Surely they would not accept you pursuing me if they knew?’

‘I told them,’ Thomas said. ‘But my father said that when he was young, he’d done worse. He realized he was wrong and changed, uncle Gabriel too. He said it would be hypocritical to hold this against you.’

‘Really?’

‘So far they seem to like you,’ Thomas said. ‘And they are very grateful that you made sure to keep me safe. And… I am too. I never thanked you, but I should have. I am grateful that you put so much effort into protecting me. But please do not risk your life like that again. I would never forgive myself if you died trying to keep me safe.’

‘Only if you promise never to do something as reckless as those patrols again,’ Alastair said. ‘Someone had to keep you safe, and I certainly wasn’t going to let you die because of your own recklessness. Because I love you.’  

They sat like that for a while, Alastair taking in the sensation of being held. He didn’t remember ever receiving such affection, and wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

‘I’m not going to patrol alone again,’ Thomas said. ‘I promise.’

‘Then I won’t follow you as you patrol alone either,’ Alastair said. He paused. ‘I never expected you to come back for me. I never thought you could love me.’

‘I do. I loved you since Paris,’ Thomas said. ‘I mean, at school I liked you as well, but I thought you it was daring that you said whatever you wanted. I saw your sadness too, but not the real you. Not like in Paris.’

‘I certainly did not say whatever I wanted,’ Alastair said softly. ‘I said what I thought I had to so they wouldn’t hurt me.’

‘I can’t even imagine how badly they must have hurt you,’ Thomas said softly.

Soothing words eased some of the pain, but not all of it. Alastair wasn’t sure if it ever would. Love would tie the tourniquet. It might suffocate him. He would have to find another way to starve the pain within, if such a thing were possible.

‘You were treated badly as well, I’m sure you have some idea.’

‘Yes, but you were always nicer to me than to the others, and I think that shielded me from the others as well. Are you going to be alright, Alastair? I want to help you, but I’m not sure I know how.’

‘I have no idea,’ Alastair admitted. ‘But I’m going to try. You make me want to try. I have no idea how though.’

He knew he needed to get better, if he wanted this to work, to find a way to heal from everything that had happened to him. He knew he couldn’t depend on one person to heal him like he had with Charles, someone who had ultimately broken whatever was left of his heart.

‘Perhaps you could talk to uncle Jem,’ Thomas suggested. ‘If anyone can help with that, it’s him.’

Alastair hadn’t considered that. His cousin thought he hated him. He’d reached out once, back when Alastair had attended the Academy, and he’d pushed him away like he did everyone else. He wasn’t sure Jem would still be willing to help him after everything. But perhaps he could try. Perhaps it didn’t always have to be like this. 

[thousand-winters]

Kiss the bruises til’ they’re gone

This was NOT the first thing I was intending to write for this fandom, but oh, well... sorry? 

Read on AO3!

Relationships: Charles Fairchild/Alastair Carstairs. Thomastair, but not really, just a bit of longing. 

CW: Unhealthy relationships, emotional manipulation, Charles Fairchild. Implied dubious consent (one line near the end)

Title’s from The cut that always bleeds by Conan Gray.

.

.

.

Walking away from Thomas had felt like the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, although logically he knew it was hardly so. Alastair hadn’t even been able to look him in the eyes, afraid that if he did, Thomas would see easily through his cold demeanor, see his uncertainty and his longing, the heartbreak of having to abandon the best thing that had happened to him in so long. But Thomas didn’t love him, what had happened between them in the Sanctuary had been born out of desperation, perhaps even out of some weird need to repay him for protecting him. Not that he thought that Thomas had kissed him out of pity, no, he knew his… little infatuation with him was genuine, at least, but it had been like Paris all over again; with no one else around, it was easy to indulge, surrounded by the fantasy of being the only two people in the world, to touch and to laugh freely, to make promises and even believe them. If he allowed this to continue, it wouldn’t be like that, he knew.

Paris.

He hadn’t lied; spending time with Thomas had truly been his favorite memory of the city. And now his sister had ran off there with Matthew Fairchild of all people. He had heard the story, of course, some nonsensical excuse about a honeymoon that James had been unable to attend because Lucie Herondale was currently missing, but he wasn’t stupid, no matter how close, one just doesn’t take his parabatai to his honeymoon. It was clear something else had happened, and the part of his mind that still had energy to spare was worried about his sister, she had seemed content enough on her marriage the last time he had seen her and he didn’t understand what could have happened for her to go on an impromptu vacation with Fairchild. He would have liked to at least go to Curzon Street and demand explanations from James, but not only the man was busy with the search for his sister, Alastair himself had other responsibilities in London and… and deep down he was also glad Layla wasn’t here at the moment.

He wouldn’t have been able to keep the truth from her for long. Ever since she had discovered the truth about their father, he felt unbalanced, as if the sudden weight lifted from his shoulders had left him scrambling and desperately trying not to fall. Ironically, the feeling was similar to, what he imagined, would be being tried by the Mortal Sword, as if every secret he ever had was ready to spill from his mouth if someone made the right questions.

But he couldn’t… he wouldn’t think any more of what had happened with Th… with Lightwood. He was too scared of what would happen if he looked back.  

And now he stood before the door of the Fairchild’s residence, feeling a weird mix of numb and gloomy, as if something heavy had settled itself in his gut. He’d rather not be here, if he was being honest, but he’d promised… and one talk wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

He ringed the doorbell before he could change his mind, steeling himself for the first real conversation he had with Charles Fairchild in a while.

What he saw instead, when the door opened, was the curious face of Christopher Lightwood. The breath Alastair had been unconsciously holding until now came out sounding like a huff, while he blinked repeatedly, slightly taken aback.  

It shouldn’t have been that surprising. It was fairly common knowledge that the youngest of the Lightwoods frequented the Fairchild residence to use their laboratory, but the possibility of him being there now hadn’t occurred to him, distracted as he was.  

Christopher, to his credit, didn’t even look fazed by what surely must have seemed like a condescending gesture. “Oh, hullo, Alastair, you must be here to see Charles. I think he’s upstairs in his study.”

Right. They hadn’t really agreed on the moment in which their meeting would take place; perhaps he should count himself lucky that the other man was even home, even if he wasn’t feeling particularly fortunate.

“Truly, it would be a wonder for you to get lost, the house is not that big, but I can guide you if you want” Christopher offered, and Alastair realized he had been quiet for too long.

“That…” is alright, I can find my own way he was supposed to say, ”would be very kind of you” was what he said instead.

Christopher perked up slightly, as if he was pleased with Alastair’s answer, instead of having just offered out of politeness. Then again, he wouldn’t claim to understand how the younger’s mind worked.

���Great!  It’s not hard, you just have to walk upstairs and the second door you’ll find at the right it’s his study. You’ll see.”

“You spend a lot of time here” Alastair felt the need to point out.

“Oh, yes. Henry doesn’t mind if I use the laboratory when he’s not here. But you knew that, right? You have come by before… although I suppose you haven’t these past months” Christopher shrugged, not noticing his companion’s frown.

“What do you mean?”

“Hm? I just don’t think I’ve seen you around lately, but I’m not here all the time either. It just seemed that way to me since you forgot where things were.”

“It’s been a while” Alastair agreed, relaxing once it was clear the other hadn’t mean anything more than the words themselves conveyed.

“In that case, you haven’t been to the laboratory either! I’ve been working on a faster way of communication for Shadowhunters” The younger man sounded proud, which was probably justified given that his brilliance had saved a lot of lives the past summer. No one could deny he had talent. “Would you like to hear about it?

“Sure” He said, feeling slightly perplexed, but certain of having said the right thing when Christopher smiled and immediately launched himself into an explanation about ‘fire messages’ and how they were supposed to work.

He hadn’t thought much of it before, but Christopher never seemed to hold the same resentment for him as his friends did. He didn’t try to dissuade them from insulting him, of course, but he never joined either. Moreover, he was the kind of person who didn’t hide behind a façade; whatever Christopher Lightwood meant was what he said.

It was oddly reassuring.

“It’s still not perfect, but the answer mustn’t be far. Perhaps later you would like to help us with it?” Christopher offered, and he sounded so casual about it that Alastair almost missed a step. “You were a great help with the mandikhor antidote, or so I heard anyway, but it seemed like…”

He didn’t intend to tune out the words after that, really, but he needed time to process Christopher’s unexpected friendliness. He could still hear him talking and knew he would feel guilty later if the other noticed, but he couldn’t concentrate on the words. He knew expecting the Merry Thieves to forgive him was a hopeless cause, but until now, every time he thought about the issue was with Matthew’s scowl and James’s reproaches on mind. Someone else’s angry expression for a while. He had the sudden realization that perhaps the youngest between them was someone he could befriend.

This was unexpected. He couldn’t afford to hope, but what if… what if…

A figure appeared on the door to the basement and Alastair abruptly stopped walking, feeling like he couldn’t breathe.

He thought he could hear a voice calling his name, but it wasn’t coming from the newcomer, whose lips – lips he had kissed, his mind reminded him helpfully– were closed on a tight line, longing and sorrow visible all over his face. Angel, everything was there on his eyes, for everyone to see, how had this man managed to keep his feelings a secret for so long? He wanted to go there and tell him to stop looking at him like that, like he was seeing something precious and lost, like he would like nothing more than to close the distance between them and touch him again, like he had just a week before.  

Alastair felt his hands twitching with the phantom memory of warm skin and strong muscles before he realized he had been staring, mostly because Lightwood –but not the right Lightwood– had touched his arm gently, now looking at him with the eyes of someone who is trying to work out a puzzle but still hasn’t been able to align enough pieces for it to make sense. “Is something the matter? What is…? Oh, Thomas! I was just asking Alastair if later he would like to-“

“Alastair.”

He flinched and instinctively took a step away from the cousins. Nothing of what was happening granted that reaction from him, he knew, he wasn’t doing anything wrong, and whoever he talked to was his business alone. But it had felt like the adequate response and besides, he felt slightly guilty for forgetting even for a moment what he had come for. Or rather, whom he had come for.

Charles Fairchild was standing at the top of the stairs, looking at the scene with calculating eyes. Whatever it was that he saw made him frown.

“Alastair,” he repeated. “I’m glad to see you arrived safely. Come, we have so much to discuss. We’d like to have no interruptions, if you two don’t mind” he added, with a tone that indicated it wasn’t really a suggestion, and Alastair thought he saw his gaze lingering a second too long on the Lightwood standing on the basement door just before he turned around and started walking.

He took just enough time to nod in the cousins’ general direction before following Charles, not daring to look back and see the look on their faces.  

-

He was surprised to discover Charles had led him to his room rather than his study. The feeling of heaviness returned to his gut as he told himself it didn’t matter; they would have the same amount of privacy either way, and perhaps the other simply wanted to be more comfortable. While he no longer needed bedrest, it was possible his recent injuries were still bothering him.

“You shouldn’t bother with whatever childish nonsense they’re playing at this time” said Charles with a scoff, taking a seat on the bed and making a gesture towards the free space beside him. Alastair didn’t point out how their ‘nonsense’ had saved people’s lives before. “You would think that by now they would be taking their duties more seriously, especially since-“

“What do you want, Charles?” He had meant for the question to come out harsher than it did, but he was already feeling weary.  He didn’t need to hear all the reasons why he shouldn’t want to be down there, in the basement, instead of here.

The older man looked momentarily displeased at the interruption, but it faded into hurt so fast that he thought it might have been his own imagination.

“I… I just wanted to see you, Alastair, is that truly so wrong?” Charles’s eyes were pleading, in the same way they had been in the infirmary of the Institute. He had grabbed his hand back then, asking him to stay and sounding so desperate and miserable that Alastair had been stunned into silent compliance, unable to find the strength to yank his hand from the other’s hold. I thought I was dying, he had said, and all I wanted was to see you one more time.

Alastair did his best to avoid his eyes this time, looking pointedly at the floor.

“Well, here I am. You’re seeing me.”

“Don’t be like that” A little annoyance had creeped into his tone. “Why are you still trying to make things harder than they have to be?”

“I’m not making anything harder. You still haven’t told me what you want from me.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I miss you. You keep running from me and I can’t handle it” Charles got up from the bed and extended a hand to touch his cheek, but Alastair took a step back.

“Have you forgotten already that you have a fiancée? I don’t believe Miss Blackthorn would be pleased to know what her betrothed is doing behind her back” Alastair was proud of how steady his voice sounded, even if he had to talk through clenched teeth to accomplish that.

An unexpected expression of contempt appeared on the other’s face.

“Of course, you wouldn’t have heard, not yet.”

“Heard of what? Speak clearly, Charles.”

“Grace Blackthorn is currently on the custody of the Silent Brothers.”

He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t that.

“What?”

“She confessed herself to having the power to bewitch any man she wants; she’ll remain on the Silent City until we know what to do with her” Charles scoffed. “Naturally, on light of this, our engagement is no more.”

He felt a little lightheaded. Charles was a lot of things, but he wasn’t foolish enough to make up something that big and ridiculous, something that could be disproved so easily if it were a lie. But if this was true, it meant that Charles… it meant… and Cordelia! She had spoken about her worries over James still having feelings for Grace Blackthorn, her eyes betraying more anxiety than he thought was warranted considering how attentive James had been with his sister since they had announced their engagement. What did this mean for them? Did this have anything to do with why his sister had fled from London without so much as a warning?

Layla, what aren’t you telling me?

“Don’t you understand, Alastair? I never meant to leave you.” The other man continued, and he didn’t have enough presence of mind at the moment to remind him of who had left whom “Or Ariadne, for that matter. It was all the Blackthorn girl and her powers.”

“But you…” But you still did everything else of your own volition, he wanted to say, she didn’t force you to lie to me or to treat me like a shameful secret, this doesn’t change anything. The words felt stuck on his throat, perhaps due to his lack of conviction.  

“Yes, exactly!” Charles smiled, as if his hesitance had been just what he was hoping to hear. “You know I would have never done anything to risk this, to risk us otherwise.”

“That... doesn’t make any sense,” a vindictive part of him relished on how quickly Charles’s smile faded from his face. “Even if what you say is true, that doesn’t mean we are still… together. Our arrangement is over; it has been for a while, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” The irritated tone of the question suggested he was explaining something that should have been obvious.

“I heard you perfectly well, but I’m not willing to be your little secret any longer while you parade around with your new fiancée.”

“Well, I’m not engaged to anyone right now, am I?”

“But you will be!” Alastair tightened his hands into fists to avoid messing up his hair out of frustration. He had to look composed even if he didn’t feel it. “As soon as you find someone willing to play in your charade. Or even if you don’t, you would lie to them, like you lied to me.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Alastair, I was never dishonest. You know I was doing it for you, for us, so we could be together.”

“How is getting married to someone you don’t love supposed to help?” He asked through his teeth. But he didn’t wait for an answer, they’d had this conversation enough times in the past that he knew it would be a losing battle. “I told you, you can do whatever you wish to, but I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“Well, what you want doesn’t matter!” Charles snapped at him and the harshness of his tone made him freeze. “You have to stop being so naïve, Alastair. No man will be willing to be seen with you in public like that; you have to understand the position you are in. No one can give you what you want. No one will want to.”

Alastair wanted to retort; Anna Lightwood certainly didn’t give a damn about being seen with other women, neither did Charles’s own brother seemed to care if there were rumors about him being involved with men. It wasn’t impossible, he knew that. He could prove Charles wrong, but the only thing his body seemed able to do at the moment was shiver.

The green eyes focused on him softened.

“Are you cold?” The other asked, anger apparently gone from his voice, already crossing the remaining space between them to envelop him with his arms, without stopping to think that maybe his touch wasn’t wanted. Then again, he had been clear on what he thought about what Alastair wanted.

There was a dazed nod, not because it was necessarily the truth, but because Alastair’s throat felt too constricted to speak, and he was unsure of how to express his conflicting emotions without saying a word. Not that the redhead would listen if he tried, but he supposed this wasn’t so bad… right? Perhaps this was alright. The Lightwoods were downstairs and Charles hadn’t hesitated to embrace him after all; was it his recent encounter with death what had made him temporally bolder? Or was he telling the truth? Charles had always been so full of promises and he kept so few of them, but… but he was holding him now. That had to count for something, right?

“You know the only chance there is for us is this. You might not understand yet, you don’t know the Clave like I do. But you just have to trust me.”

The hug was warm, and Alastair closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy the brief feeling of comfort, even if the grasp was starting to be on the wrong side of tight, but surely that was just regret over their disagreement. The way Charles just held on tighter when he squirmed a little was surely because he was trying to keep him warm, he wasn’t trying to make the embrace feel like a cage.

His own explanations weren’t as reassuring as he hoped, and Alastair’s heart was beating faster now. A growing part of him wanted to break away and put as much distance as possible between them, but Charles chose that moment to mercifully let him go, only keeping his hold on the younger man’s arms.

“I’m so glad you are here” He said, and his face got inches away before Alastair actually pushed him away.

“What are you doing?” His voice trembled, and he felt stupid for feeling afraid. He wasn’t a child.

“What do you think I’m doing?” Charles asked, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t say I was okay with you kissing me.”

“You never refused before.”

“Yes, before“ He emphasized rather weakly, trying his hardest to not falter under Charles’s piercing gaze. He couldn’t do this. “I think we’re done here. I’m not repeating myself; you already know how I feel.”

He turned around, fully intending to go downstairs, to go back home, or to the basement with the Lightwoods. He needed to get out of here, but a hand caught his arm and yanked him back.

“Don’t turn your back on me again, Alastair” He was now looking directly at frowning green eyes, too close for comfort. “It’s obvious you’ve missed me too.”

“I haven’t missed you at all” It was the truth. But then why did it sound like a lie even to his own ears?

Charles obviously shared the same opinion, because he snorted.

“Don’t expect me to believe that.”

And there was suddenly a hand caressing his cheek. It didn’t actually feel comforting. But it was warm enough.  

“It’s alright, Alastair.”

“I-I don’t understand” He admitted shakily, and in the fear he could still hear in his own voice he thought he could see the naïve child that Charles seemed to see every time he looked at him.

“You don’t have to understand. I’m here.”

There were arms around him again. A warm breath on his ear that made him shiver again. A whisper.

“And I’m not going anywhere.”

His armor was crumbling. It had already been cracked, but there was nothing he could do now to mend the pieces.

“What are you asking of me, Charles?” He asked softly, defeated.

He could almost feel the smirk on his neck.

“I’m just asking for you” And the answer sounded so painfully simple. He didn’t have anything to offer but himself, after all. “Will you stay with me?”

Alastair closed his eyes.

There were so many reasons to refuse.

He couldn’t remember a single one.

“I will”.

This time, when Charles went to kiss him, he did nothing to stop it. He didn’t protest when he was guided to the bed. Whatever shadow of warmth there was there to take, he took. He was tired of fighting. Yet… there was a part of his mind that was still muttering a name, a naïve plea for safety. Softly, like a caress. Thomas. He drowned it too, along with the guilt and the fear.

And he gave in.

[naerysthelonesome]

Fanfics

The Shadowhunter Chronicles

Thomastair:

Movie Night / Modern day au, Pure FLUFF.

Unravel me, slowly / Mild hurt/comfort, Fluff, Implied sexual content at the end. There’s kissing... lots of it.

The Sanctuary Scene / Alastair's POV.

The Sanctuary Scene (part 2) / Alastair’s POV

Missing Hours / Some of the missing hours from the Sanctuary Scene.

I did not choose this life / Angst. Alastair is dead.

Kitty:

Arcade / Kitty angst song fic

Malec:

Hoax / Song fic. Hurt/comfort? Thoughts and feelings.

Alastair:

Stay / Mostly just Alastair x Charles angst.

Haline:

Not just breathless / Idk. I just think they’re neat.

Percy Jackson Universe

Litpollo:

Time spent together: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Slow burn, modern day au with an unreliable narrator.

Jeyna:

Before I Go / A Jeyna song fic

Drabbles

(A drabble is a short work of fiction of precisely 100 words in length)

The Shadowhunter Chronicles

I knew you’d end up liking that cat (Thomastair fluff)

Am I not good enough for you? (Kamala Joshi // Arianna angst)

Fanart:

Capri

Book recs/reviews:

The Giver

[bemtevis]

Exactly we were robbed of so many Lucie and Cordelia moments. I really hate it. Lucie is like my favorite character and I don’t like the way Cassie just isn’t properly developing any of her relationships. I don’t really ship lucelia romantically but I wish we got more platonic moments between them at least so they could actually feel like parabatai. Thomastair also deserved so much better. I loved their scenes but it was like we took the whole book to get there and then Cassie just wrapped up their arc in 3 chapters. And you’re right. While I don’t mind Lucie’s arc being about Jesse, I wish she’d have at least some moments with everyone else. I love her and Jesse together, but as you said they felt off in choi. A huge amount of their development was left out just so we’d get more jordelia moments. It’s just that I think cc created so many intriguing characters, and implied a great story from all of them, but then decided she just wanted to focus on jordelia.

Yeah!! I'm pretty sure they only interacted twice, and both times were about their love interests. Would CHOI even pass the Bechdel test if it wasn't for Kamanna? Lucie barely has any friends, it's all Jesse, Jesse, Jesse. I get it, he's a ghost and she's a necromancer, but please let her have something besides him! Her arc should be about herself, not him! No character should ever have their character arc surrounding their love interest. People are individuals, not their romantic life ffs

I know Lucelia will never become canon so please at least let them be friends. They've known each other for life and are about to become parabatai, and the only times we've seen them interact were not even about them?

CC is just confused that it's no longer the 2000's and not everyone is gonna put her in a pedestal for simply writing queer characters. What do you mean two scenes and a half are not enough?! I gave you a toxic wlw relationship that only has 4 scenes, be grateful! *Huff* the gays were way less greedy in my days /s

Agree, CC is great at creating character concepts and even better at ruining them. I will adopt all my favorite characters actually. Y'all can adopt the rest and I can be their cool aunt or something.

[kazledazzel]

Hi! I was wondering, for the au + trope + prompt game: can I request the Merry thieves in the hogwarts au? I can totally see them as marauders! Maybe prompt 23? but honestly any one of them would be cool 💕💕💕

Thank you for the prompt! I hope you like this. I tried to stick to the Merry Thieves as much as I could, but I did end up wandering to Thomastair... so I’m sorry about that, but I have been wanting to do a Shadowhunters Hogwarts Au for ages, so I plan to do a series of one shots for this au. (I want to do more Thomastair, Blackdale, The Merry Thieves, Gracetopher, etc...). Anyways, I hope you enjoy this. I have a part two of this if anyone is interested. 

Click here to read on Ao3 or keep reading below :)

“Are you sure this is legal?” Thomas asked, peering down at the quidditch field from where he sat on the bleachers next to James Herondale. The two gryffindors sat together, supervising the other half of the friend group.

 The pitch was empty, and the group had taken this opportunity to sneak down and test out Matthew’s new broom. Matthew Fairchild was a Slytherin who was as ambitious as he was cunning, and had jumped at the opportunity for a better broom. His old one, though a cleverly crafted broom made by Matthew’s father, had suffered a rather disastrous encounter with Alastair Carstairs, and was long in the bin. It had just so happened that Christopher had been in the process of making a broom, better than any Nimbus or Firebolt. He had accomplished one of his lifelong goals; to combine magic, science and mechanics. 

 Only Thomas seemed to be worried about this experiment. He was proud of his cousin, but there was often a thin line between success and disaster when it came to Christopher’s inventions. However, Christopher did seem utterly and completely focused on his latest invention. He was so lost in his work, he seemed to have failed to noticed that he was wearing the wrong tie. Grace Blackthorn was probably in the castle somewhere, searching her room for a green tie and instead finding a Ravenclaw blue one.

 “I am sure-,” Matthew started, giving Thomas false hope. “- that what the Ministry of Magic doesn't know won't kill them,”

 Thomas frowned. He turned to James for backup, but he had his head in his book. Thomas scowled, and returned to his babysitting.

 “It’s almost done,” Christopher said, raising his voice loud enough so that both guys on the bleachers could here. He raised his wand and cast a silent charm. He cleared his throat. “Matthew and Gentlemen-,”

 “Kit!” Matthew demanded. “Are you implying that I do not qualify as a gentleman?”

 Christopher shrugged, but James took this opportunity to poke at his best friend. 

 “Anna told me otherwise,” James called down. “Did you or did you not have a rather scandalous encounter with a Hufflepuff prefect last week?”

 “Hufflepuff? Alastair Carstairs’ house? Really, Jamie? I would never,” Matthew lowered his voice. “It was a Ravenclaw,”

 James laughed, while Thomas only smiled. Although the situation was funny, he was getting rather tired of Matthew’s hatred for Alastair Carstairs. Was all this nonsense really over a broken broom, or did it run deeper? Thomas didn’t know, but he needed an explanation before he could hate Alastair Carstairs. Maybe he wasn’t as bad as James and Matthew thought. 

Then again, maybe Thomas was just being silly. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit that he had strong feelings for Alastair Carstairs. Strong feelings that caused great confusion, and Thomas couldn’t tell if those strong feelings were born out of love or hate. He’d thought about talking about it with Christopher, but Kit hadn’t really picked up on the fact that Thomas may lean more towards boy, nor the fact that his science goggles were upside down. God bless Christopher and his obliviousness. 

 Then again, Christopher may have been oblivious, but he wasn’t stupid. In fact, he was one of the smartest people Thomas knew. The sorting hat had known it when placing him in Ravenclaw, and even the Slytherin prefect Grace Blackthorn had known it. Not only did Grace seem to be aware of Christopher’s genius, she seemed to be falling in love with it. Grace Blackthorn, who was so set on maintaining her reputation of being sensible and too mature for love in all its silliness, had fallen for a softie like Christopher. Thomas often found it funny; plenty of quidditch stars from all the different houses fancied Grace Blackthorn, but she was too busy looking at Christopher with cartoon hearts in her eyes to notice. 

Thomas was constantly seeing romantic love. He saw it every time Cordelia Carstairs had walked past, making James blush red like a tomato and leaving him stutter for five minutes as he tried to remember his own name. He saw it every time he went looking for Lucie only to find her writing her manuscript with I heart Jesse Blackthorn and Lucie Blackthorn written around the edges. He saw it most of all in the way Anna and Ariadne talked about each other. Thomas was constantly surrounded by his friends and their lovesick hearts, and yet he couldn’t figure out his own.

 “James, and Matthew,” Thomas said, glaring at both boys harmlessly. “Let Kit finish,”

 “Thank you, Thomas” Christopher began again. “As I was saying, I present to you all, The Lightwood Flamethrower,”

 James chuckled softly. “Lightwood. I get it. Light-wood. Brooms are made from wood,”

 The rest of the group turned to look at James, who was slowly realising the obvious. He slouched, as if he was trying to make himself smaller.

 “Come on then. Let’s try it out!” Christopher said enthusiastically, gesturing for Matthew to get on the broom. He rambled on excitedly. “It should go faster than any Nimbus or even Fire Bolt, and it has a spacial awareness feature so that you’ll be able to tell if there are any bludgers coming your way. It started producing sparks last night, but that probably won’t happen anymore-,”

 “Probably?” Thomas asked worriedly. “Have you ran any safety tests?”

 Matthew grinned with bright green eyes. “What do you think we’re doing now?” He began to mount the broom, and Thomas felt he might go into cardiac arrest. Matthew picked up a helmet and put it on his head. “Besides, I’m wearing a helmet,”

 “That’s great Math, but you haven’t strapped it on right,” James pointed out. 

 “Oh dear god,” Thomas said, exasperated. He buried his face in his hands, while James patted his shoulder. 

 “Don’t look now,” James said, his voice low. Thomas heard Matthew give an annoyed groan, and he looked up from his depressed state. He spotted the cause of Matthew’s annoyance right away. 

 At the entrance of the quidditch pitch was the entire Hufflepuff team. Leading the team was Cordelia Carstairs, in full quidditch gear and carrying her broom, the Cortana two thousand, as if it were a mighty gold sword. To be fair, it was the greatest broom one could buy. They were extremely rare, and had been discontinued. Thomas recalled how Christopher hadn’t compared his own broom to Cordelia’s. The Cortana two thousand was faster than any other broom, and could change direction easier than even a Fire Bolt. With Cordelia as their Captain, Hufflepuff was a hard team for any house to beat. It didn’t matter if the weather was against them, Cordelia flourished in rain, hail, sleet and snow.

 Next to Cordelia was Lucie, who stuck out like a sore thumb in her Ravenclaw robes. She didn’t really need to be there, but she often went along anyways to support Cordelia. 

 “And to look at Jesse Blackthorn,” James had once said to her, with both the disapproval of a protective older brother and with the satisfaction of teasing on a sibling. 

 “Very funny, Jamie. How long did it take for you to form a full sentence the last time Cordelia spoke to you?” Lucie has snapped back, while Matthew burst out laughing. 

 Alastair Carstairs wasn’t far behind his sister. Being the older sibling, some might have thought Alastair would be annoyed that the position went to his younger sibling. If he was, he didn’t seem it. He seemed perfecting content being Head Boy. Not that Thomas payed much attention to Alastair’s behaviour, or the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, or the way he-

 “I’m going to do it,” James whispered to Thomas, interrupting his thoughts. James closed his book and practically bounced out of his siting position. “I’m finally going to talk to Cordelia Carstairs,”

“Okay, Jamie,” Thomas said, standing up and following his friend down the bleachers. “Just remember that your name is James Herondale, not-,” Thomas made a series of spluttering noises. James blushed.

 “What’s all this about, Carstairs?” Matthew demanded, glaring at Alastair. Cordelia didn’t seem to realise the question wasn’t directed at her. She seemed a little hurt. 

 “Quidditch practice,” Cordelia replied, eyebrows raised. “What’s wrong with that?”

 “Oh, sorry, I-,”

 Cordelia had her head held high as Matthew struggled to explain he was speaking to her brother. Alastair looked amused, as Thomas tried to rip his gaze away from him. He often found it amusing how Matthew could hate one Carstairs so much, and be fighting with his best friend over the attention of the other. 

 By now James was my Matthew’s side, and had gained a new confidence from Matthew’s humiliation. 

 “That wasn’t very nice, Matthew,” James gloated. He was looking at Cordelia hopefully. Cordelia broke away her gaze, and Thomas could see the scarlet colour against her brown skin. Cordelia Carstairs was blushing over James Herondale.

 Maybe Thomas wasn’t as fluent in love as he thought he was. 

 “We booked the pitch,” Alastair said, moving to his sisters side. Matthew seemed to have forgotten his desire for Cordelia immediately, and was now looking at Alastair as if he was the Devil himself coming to drag Matthew back to Hell with him. Not that Cordelia noticed. She and James were both stealing glances and giving each other soppy looks. It truly was a wonder that they didn’t know their love was requited. Lucie was making her way towards Thomas and beaming. No doubt she was about to write James into her newest chapter of the Beautiful Cordelia.

 “It’s true,” Lucie said, rolling her eyes at Matthew and Alastair’s petty feud. Her and Thomas had discussed it often, but neither of them knew the root of the rivalry other than the fact that Alastair had once broken Matthew's broom after they both collided in a quidditch match, but that had been an accident. Perhaps their hatred had always been there, and this had just triggered it. Still, even that didn't add up. Matthew wasn't a hateful person. That was something all the Merry Thieves were aware off, especially James. All of Thomas' friends were like little lights in his life, and Matthew was sometimes the shiniest. Despite coming across as overly charismatic or vain, Matthew never failed to radiate what good was in him. He was constantly willing to be the guinea pig in Christopher's experiments, and never let his obvious crush on Cordelia get in the way of his friendship with James. Thomas sometimes wondered if James was even aware of Matthew's feelings for Cordelia.

 Then there was Alastair. Mysterious Alastair, whom Thomas had never cared for until his fourth year at Hogwarts. Up until then, Thomas had known nothing of the other boy save the fact that he was a fifth year Hufflepuff with a repuation, that his friends with Clive Cartwright and Charles Fairchild, Matthew's annoying older brother, and that he and his posse sometimes liked to pick on first years. It wasn't until that one day in Third Year, when James had been locked up in the infirmary with a broken leg and Thomas had been sent on the Honeydukes run while Christopher, Matthew, Lucie and Cordelia had stayed behind to keep James company that Thomas even spoke to Alastair. It had been snowing outside and it had been difficult for Thomas to see where he was going. He accidentally walked straight into Alastair as he entered the shop. Thomas had been almost terrified; Alastair had been so intimidating when he'd had his two friends by his side before. He hadn't seemed intimidating that day in Honeydukes, though. He'd seemed lonely, and as Thomas bent to help Alastair pick up his chocolate he could see that Alastair's dark brown eyes were brimmed with red. Sometimes people weren't scary; they were just sad.

 Thomas, being Thomas, had asked the other boy if he was alright. Instead of brushing him off, Alastair had admitted he needed a bit of a distraction. This led to casual conversation, and eventually the two ended up chatting over chocolate cauldrons and fudge flies. They parted on friendly terms, and had a few encounters after. These encounters were a secret, of course, and mostly accidental. Still, Alastair seemed to enjoy Thomas' company. Thomas couldn't help but feel a glimmer of satisfaction every time Alastair laughed at something he said. 

 These accidental encounters became less frequent when Alastair and Charles became a couple. Thomas tried not to feel annoyed that he'd barely spoken to Alastar all year. It wasn't like he was in love with Alastar, was he? Besides, Alastair was a year older. There was no point in falling for someone who was going to leave Hogwarts in a year.

 "We just wanted to try out Matthew's new broom," Thomas said, trying to avoid an argument. "We didn't realise the pitch was booked,"

 "The Lightwood Flamethrower," Christopher said proudly. Cordelia's eyes widened slightly.

 "Does it work?" Cordelia asked, making her way towards the broom. Alastair looked a little put off, but then his eyes met Thomas'. Thomas could have sworn that Alastair's expression softened. 

 "We don't know yet," James and Matthew said, simultaneously. Both boys blushed. Cordelia smiled.

 "Well," Cordelia said, her smile radiant. "Shall we try it out and see?" 

[julemmaes]

Pas des crêpes // part one

James Herondale and Cordelia Carstairs modern au

Boooy I’m so excited to write this short story, I can't wait to write Matthew and Lucie’s part, it'll probably be the longest part. Anyway, enojy this corner of paradise cause I have yet to decide if they’re all gonna be fluffy or if I’m gonna put some angst in the thomastair one (cause I can’t help myself).

Word count: 4,766

The epic music was coming out of the speakers at such a high volume that Cordelia wondered how they were still on good terms with their neighbors. As the credits ran down the screen, she heard someone stand up on the other side of the couch and then the lights went on.

Thomas, sitting at the foot of the armchair Alastair sat on, grunted and Cordelia found herself blinking, trying to get used to the light. One hand landed on her knee and she turned to James, covering her mouth with one hand while yawning. Her boyfriend smiled at her with slightly red eyes because of the last three hours spent watching TV and was going to ask her if she wanted him to kick everyone one so she could sleep peacefully, she knew it, he asked her every week when it was movie night, but he was beaten to the punch by someone else.

“Guys?” Matthew asked, who was lying on James’ other side. He had not moved since the beginning of the film and Cordelia seriously thought he was dead, and after he had spoken she was still not so sure of his physical state because it seemed that he had just swallowed a lemon from how hoarse his voice sounded. Lucie, who looked just as puzzled as her and was sitting on the carpet in front of them, turned to look at him and, seeming amused, she giggled, “Oh, my God, were you crying?” she asked stunned, but with a playful tone.

All the heads snapped in his direction and Christopher was about to comment, the grin on his lips the only sign that it wouldn’t be nice for the boy, when James put his arm around Matthew, completely forgetting Cordelia, who nearly fell to the side to the sudden lack next to her. “ Don’t you dare insult him. Math has every right to cry over this movie. It’s tragic.” He said in a threatening tone, daring anyone to open their mouth.

Matthew shook him off and with a pout that would have made envy to a five-year-old child he murmured, “I wasn’t crying.”

Lucie completely ignored him, leaning his chin on his brother’s leg, stretching an arm and pricking him with a finger on his chest. “ You don’t want us to make fun of him, because you were crying, too.”

Cordelia restrained a laugh, looking at the expression of pure bafflement on the boy’s face. It was true, James cried for almost everything they watched, whether it was a cartoon, a tv series or a documentary about how basketball balls are made. “ How dare you?” he brought a hand to his chest, pretending to be shocked, “Me? Crying for a movie? Never.” he said shaking his head as an evil grin appeared on his face, very similar to the one Christopher wore a few seconds earlier, “The only softie here is Matthew.”

“Softie?” Thomas asked laughing, “What, you cry for movies and you’re eighty now?”

Lucie burst into laughter and sat on her knees, crawling towards Tom, leaning against Alastair’s other leg, who watched them all very quietly but had a big smile on his face. Cordelia exchanged an amused look with his brother, who rolled his eyes, knowing full well how it would end.

“For real, Jamie, who still uses softie?” asked her sister, ready to shoot the next arrow, “I would have used things like wimp.”

“Or pussy.” retorted Thomas, always laughing.

“Whiner would have been fine too.” Christopher stepped in and stood up to turn off the television.

“Wussy?” Alastair asked, trying to get involved. Thomas turned to look at him and Alastair’s smile grew even more, until he turned into an even more childish pout than Matthew’s when his boyfriend answered him, “No, too simple.”

“And pussy that is literally the word from which it comes is not?” asked Alastair in a huff, receiving as a response a simple hit on the knee from Lucie.

Cordelia stood up, having an epiphany, “Mollycoddle!?”

“Mollycoddle!” they all screamed together and then burst out laughing. James and Matthew were sitting on the couch, arms crossed on their chests and heads hidden between the shoulders. Both had an expression of deep sorrow.

Cordelia laughed louder, when James looked directly at her and tried to look even more upset by arching his eyebrows and almost completely hiding his eyes.

When everyone sighed and wiped their tears, they were all looking at each other, hoping someone would propose what to do. When the silence in the room became too long, Lucie and Cordelia looked at each other again and it didn’t take long before they burst into a fit of laughters again, bend in two.

“When you two are done being bitches,” said Matthew, putting his hands on his knees, a general uuh rose from the room. “Then maybe we could go get something to eat, because I’ve been starving since the beginning of the second part.”

“You mean before or after you started crying?” Christopher asked him with a strange twinkle in his eyes. Cordelia carried one hand to her mouth, blocking it with the other, to prevent herself from laughing again, fearing she would choke. A warm hand landed on her back and turned just in time to smash her lips against James’s. She broke off almost immediately, not wanting to embarrass anyone, but at least the smile was back on his face. She was used to the touches and the small displays of affection from him when they were with their friends, but kissing was more rare, especially when Lucie and Alastair were present and they never failed to make them notice.

She lost herself for a few seconds in that amber look, before returning to  the conversation– more like the quarrel– between Lucie and Matthew.

“If I wasn’t so hungry, I’d spill all the noodles on your head.” he was telling her.

“Ah yes? Can you even cook them?” she answered him sticking her tongue out. Matthew shook his head, wrinkling his eyebrows, “Yes, you dumbass, everyone knows how to make noodles.”

“Too bad though, that we ate the last portion last night and that there is nothing in the fridge.” said James scratching the back of his neck. Matthew let himself fall back on the couch, making an exasperated sound, “Jeez, this is the worst day of my life.”

“We could always go to the grocery store at the end of the road and come back here for a noodle party.” proposed Chrisopher, always with that strange glimmer in his eyes. Cordelia raised an eyebrow, curious to know what was making her friend so cheerful. Not that he wasn’t happy normally, but that pompous behavior was different than usual. He seemed more relaxed. She shrugged, she would have thought about asking him what was going on in his life tomorrow.

“Or, you could go back to the holes you crawled out of and let me and my beautiful lady here take our-” he stopped himself eyeing the clock on the wall, grumbling before continuing with whiny voice, “Four hours of beauty sleep before we have to wake up for work.” He looked at her hopefully, and she nodded smiling sweetly at him.

He heard Lucie snort and Matthew snapped up, “I can’t believe you’ve become such a softie.” said the boy while a grimace of disgust appeared on his lips. “Bros before hoes, Jamie. Bros before hoes. It’s that simple.”

Cordelia saw Alastair shaking his head amused and Thomas getting up, giving a hand to his boyfriend and the other to Lucie to help them stand up. They both accepted and nearly all three of them fell back when Thomas put too much effort into raising them. They were all too tired lately, maybe they should have taken a break from everything and go on a short holiday.

In the meantime, James was smacking Matthew over the head, telling him to stop being such an idiot.

“Come on, Math, I’ll buy you all the noodles you want.” Christopher said, offering him an arm. Matthew sighed resigned, interwining his arm with that of his friend and leaning his head on his shoulder, “Now that you and Grace have become serious, you will leave me too.”

Cordelia’s head snapped to Lucie’s direction, and when she saw that her friend was also shocked, she realized she wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what they were talking about. She turned to Christopher, clearing her throat, “Kit?” she called drawing everyone’s attention to her. She opened her arms, putting on a lost face, “What the hell are you talking about? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell us?” she said gesturing with one finger between her and the only other girl in the room, who with just as much disappointment said, “Yeah, when were you going to tell us?”

A sound very similar to the cry of a dog whose tail had just been stepped on left Christopher’s mouth, which turning red scratched his chin, looking thoughtful. Finally met the look of the two girls, “Tomorrow?” He hesitated, implying that he had never thought to speak to either of them the next day.

“I can’t believe it, you’re telling me everything.” Lucie said covering the distance between her and the young Lightwood in a few seconds and taking him arm in arm on the free side. She looked over her shoulder at Cordelia, who was now amazed, even more shocked that she wouldn’t be part of that gossip session so juicy that the idea of sending her nap with James to hell was starting to form in her head. She was going to tell her friends that they couldn’t talk about it without her, when someone hugged her from behind and her boyfriend’s familiar smell filled her nostrils. She calmed down visibly, but was still shocked by the news. Grace. With Christopher.

“Don’t think you dodged a bullet, Kit. I’ll stop by your office tomorrow for lunch and you’ll tell me all about it.” Cordelia said. A tone that left no room for reruns. “Actually, I’m supposed to be with Grace at lunch tomorrow, so…” he left the sentence unfinished, apologizing with his eyes. They all turned to the door when they heard someone sighing dramatically and Matthew appeared from behind the wall, wearing his jacket and passing Lucie’s coat to her. She gave him a grateful smile, but looked away quickly, as if she were embarrassed.

Interesting. Cordelia should have talked to Lucie as well.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Math said in a more dramatic tone than was necessary, “You are teaming up against me and finding love under rocks, as if it’s nothing, while I,” he brought a hand to his heart, holding the fabric of the jacket between his fingers, as to suggest how much this thing hurt him, “I’m alone. And I will never find my soul mate. Or eternal love.” He concluded by gasping, closing his eyes to amplify the whole. Cordelia heard James giggling with his nose buried in her hair, but she barely noticed.

She noticed, however, the color that lit up Lucie’s cheeks. Yes, definitely, she should have talked to her as soon as possible.

“Cut it and get out of this house.” Thomas said, passing by hi, to reach the coat rack and start dressing up.

The others imitated him and after several hugs and kisses and promises to talk about secret loves, James and Cordelia found themselves alone in their apartment and drew a breath of relief. The house was so quiet without their friends, but she did not mind, that calm peace…

“As much as I love them, I don’t mind this silence."Jamie whispered in her ear. She smiled, turning in his arms and holding both hands up to cup his face, "I was thinking exactly the same thing.” He smiled kindly at her and the weariness in his eyes made her melt. He was so cute when he was tired. She pulled hersel up, pushing her body against his, and then they were kissing. It was a slow kiss and not at all rough. He was stroking her hair and her hands slipped around his neck. He moaned in the kiss and when she parted her lips to let him in, their tongues clashed.

That was them. James and Cordelia. Two bodies in tune with each other. It was James who broke the kiss, but only because Cordelia’s stomach growled so loudly that he was forced to pull away in order not to laugh in her mouth. He looked at her amused, “Do you want me to call the others and ask them to bring us noodles? I’m sure Matthew would threaten to commit suicide, but I don’t think they’d let you starve.” Cordelia giggled thinking of a desperate Matthew staggering around saying he had become the slave of the group. She shook her head, pressing her forehead on his chest, “No thanks, I’d rather eat something else.” she whispered. “Plus, I want to spend some alone time with you, it’s been a long time since we spent a night together. Just the two of us.” she concluded glaring up at him.

“All right.” he laid a quick kiss on her lips, before breaking away from the hug. “What do you want to eat?” He asked her on his way to the kitchen.

Cordelia brought a finger to her lips, thinking, “I don’t know.” “How about cookies?” James asked, stopping without any notice, making her slam against his back.

“I don’t think Mr and Mrs Shaw can handle any more noise tonight,” she said, passing him, tapping on the phone to look at the time. 2:56 a.m. She opened her eyes wide, man, it’s late. She looked at James, thinking of suggesting him to go straight to bed. She would eat at breakfast tomorrow morning. But as soon as her eyes landed on the boy’s body in front of her, her mouth dried up. James was reaching for the flour on the top shelf, and the visible part of skin under his shirt blocked the words in her throat. He turned and noticing her look slowly moving from his behind to his face, he put on a smug little smile, “Seeing something you like?”

She shook her head just as smugly, “I’d say so.” James’ eyes shone with a new light. The grin never leaving his face.

That joke exchange took place at least once a day in the Herondale-Carstairs house. Normally in the morning, when they were getting ready together to go to work and ended up wasting time in more interesting activities. The presumptuous air on both faces fell as fast as it had appeared.

“How about making your famous crêpes? I haven’t eaten them in a while and I’m josening.” He proposed taking the other ingredients from the fridge. Another yawn took over and Cordelia imagined herself already wrapped in the blankets, warm… “Or maybe not. Do you want to sleep, Daisy?” He asked her by laying the eggs on the table and approaching her, worry imprinted on his face, moving a rebel strand from her face and pinnin it behind her ear.

She melted in his hand, closing her eyes and savoring his touch “Mh-mh. Pas des crêpes pour toi.” she said to him in French, smiling. No crêpes for you.

She heard James laugh, and then his hand was no longer on her cheek, and he was moving around the kitchen again, putting back everything he had needlessly took out.

“Go put your pajamas on, and I’ll be right behind you,” he said with his back towards her and opening a shelf at the bottom. She nodded, dragging her feet on the ground and heading for their bedroom. She didn’t even realize she was going to go into the bathroom to take his make up off.

It had been a really long day and she just wanted to sleep, but she also wanted to talk to James, to know what happened today, to ask him about Christopher and Grace… and maybe mention Lucie and Matthew, see if he knew anything.

Suddenly she felt less tired, like when you go to a sleepover as a child and the only thing that keeps you awake is the desire to know everything, everything, everything.

She slipped under the covers, on James’ side, so that when he came to bed his side would already be warm, and closed her eyes for a second trying to rest in the time she was waiting for him to join her.

She felt a hand touch her cheek, “Daisy?” opening only one eye, she was embarrassed to see that she had fallen asleep. She got up on an elbow, about to apologize, when she saw that James was holding a tray with two steaming cups of hot chocolate on it and a yogurt muffin (rigorously prepackaged). She looked at her boyfriend and the emotion squeezed her throat, he was looking at her with so much love in his eyes. And the smile he was giving her never failed to swell her heart every time.

“Thank you.” she managed to get out despite everything. She wasn’t as emotional as she normally was, but on that day, she was completely exhausted and he must have noticed, because it wasn’t something he did so often. He had done it two or three times when they had just started dating, but then he had stopped and Cordelia had believed that he had finally woken up and realized that she was not worth all that effort. Clearly, she was wrong.

He waved her to move and when she was in her half of the bed, he laid the tray next to her and sat cross-legged, holding his cup up. He blew into it, looking at her from above the rim of the cup and took two long sips. She was still staring at him incredulous.

“I know you’re tired, and you just want to pass out so you don’t ever wake up again, but you didn’t have lunch today, and before the others showed up, you barely pinched a sandwich.” He told her by putting down the cup and passing her the muffin. She accepted it reluctantly. So Ihe had heard her when she came home and ran into the bathroom to take a shower while she screamed that she was starving.

She twisted the muffin in her hands. She gave it a little bite and then a bigger one and then another, until she finished it and her stomach thanked her and took the chocolate, tasting every sip. When they had finished everything, James took the tray and brought it to the kitchen, coming back shortly after with a dazzling smile on his face.

He threw himself on the bed next to her, bouncing and laughing, getting as close as he could and taking her in her arms, kissing her hair and waiting for Cordelia to settle down with an arm around his chest and her head on his shoulder, “So, what did you do today?”

“I don’t want to talk about my job, I want to know about Kit.” she said, leaning her chin on his shoulder and looking him in the eye. He looked at her in turn with an unreadable expression on his face, then sighed, “Okay.”

“A while back, we found her at the gym. She came over to say hi to me, but then I had to go away and she stayed to chat with Kit and one thing must have pulled the other ‘cause four days ago he came to the tavern and told us that they had gone on a date. Three times, if iI gotta be honest.” He said everything out of breath, turned around to see her reaction, thinking he’d find her at least a little annoyed by the fact that he hadn’t told her he’d met Grace, but Cordelia was looking at him like a child watching their favorite cartoon. He raised an eyebrow as a sign of question.

“And then?” she asked him curious.

“And then, what?”

“What did they do, where did they go. Whether he asked her out or she. I want the details James.” she said, giving him a little bump on the chest, then squinting at him and lowering the tone of her voice, “If it bothers you that they’re dating.”

“No, it doesn’t bother me. Grace and I have our history, it’s true, but Kit is really happy and she seems to be too, from what little he told us.” he said without changing his voice, “And anyway, I have you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “However, I don’t have the details.” he said, stroking her arms. It was amazing how he couldn’t get his hands off her, it was like there was a greater force pushing him and he couldn’t fight it. “You’ll have to wait for Christopher for those. O Lucie. She seemed very inclined to extort every little thing from him.” Cordelia pulled herself up slightly.

Given that the subject was introduced by him, “About Lucie,” she said.

James put his head on the headboard, “What about my sister?”

“Didn’t you see how she and Matthew look at each other?” she asked getting to the point. For a moment, a shadow seemed to pass over James, but it left so quickly that Cordelia thought she had imagined it.

“How do they look at each other?” he asked her without even looking her way. “I don’t know, it seems to me that there might be something between those two. They’re not telling us everything.” she moved away from the hug, staring at the ceiling. James did not answer her immediately. In fact, he didn’t answer her at all and she thought that maybe he was tired too and must have fallen asleep, but when he turned around to check on her boyfriend, he was standing there looking at the wall. A deep frown in his face.

She touched his forearm with her fingertips, and he jumped, as if awakened by a trance, “Everything’s alright?” she asked him worried, “I didn’t mean to imply anything, if it bothers you to talk about your sister and Math we can change the subject, or not talk at all.” Cordelia thought she had gone too far. Maybe she had touched a sore point, something he didn’t want to think about.

James must have sensed that change in her tone, because he turned to her, shaking his head, “No, it’s not that. It’s just that I’m worried. For Matthew.” he sighed. Cordelia waited for him to continue, not wanting to force him to share anything that he didn’t want.

“Sometimes I think he’s really joking when he says all that stuff about love, that he’s gonna be alone forever, but then I find him watching your brother and Tom or Anna and Ari. Or us. And he is… he seems so miserably sad. And maybe Lucie is not the best person he can have beside him.” he turned to look at her and Cordelia was taken aback when he saw his eyes shining with tears. She pulled herself closer to him and now their legs were touching, intertwining. “Not that my sister isn’t a good person, I just don’t think she’s right for him.”

“I don’t think Matthew is serious when he says those things. Not as often as you seem to think at least.” She said, brushing his cheek to calm him down. “And maybe Lucie is exactly what he needs right now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because lately, Lucie’s been telling me how this whole growing-couple thing in the group is starting to weigh on her. And with Anna finally together with Ariadne…” she left the sentence unfinished. James looked at her, surprised to hear such a thing. “Maybe if they really like each other, they might try to go out sometime, see where this thing takes them.” She proposed, trying to understand how the idea made him feel.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” he replied, carelessly passing a hand through her hair, untying her long locks.

“Of course, I’m always right.” she said proudly, stretching her neck to kiss him. James closed his eyes, breathing in that touch, thinking of all the times when, while he had been with Grace, he had looked at Cordelia from afar, wondering what her hair smelled like or whether he would ever be able to hold her hand in a situation other than those in which she was forced because they had to ‘Ring Around the Rosie’ with Alexander.

“What are you thinking of?” she bit on his lips.

“Back when I was with Grace.” he said. Cordelia immediately detached from that kiss, with an expression between confused, amused and ‘you’re joking right?’. She sat up and crossed her arms.

“Wow.” she said laughing, “And here I thought you were thinking about how much you love me and how beautiful I am.”

“No, Daisy, not like that.” James reached out and grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him, “I was thinking about when I struggled to be with you, but I couldn’t do anything because I had to stay with Grace.” he said, moving her so that she lay on his body, interlacing their legs together once more. Now they were chest to chest, and Cordelia felt every point where her body touched his.

“You didn’t have to do anything, James.” she said with muffled voice, looking at him from under her eyelashes with her chin resting against his chest. His hands began to move slowly on her back, drawing circles under her shirt. “That relationship was born only because of the circumstances Grace was in before. It wasn’t true love, as you always say. She didn’t really love you either, it was just childish affection growing with the fact that you were her only friend. That’s it.”

James opened his mouth to reply, but Cordelia’s fingers landed on his lips, “Stop it. I know what you’re thinking, ‘Oh no Daisy but I’ve been so bad, I left her when she needed me the most, I’m a horrible person, boohoo’, no Jamie. You knew it wasn’t right to keep lying to her, and she knew it too.” she concluded, moving her finger to caress the frown formed between his eyebrows. “Among other things, now we are all much happier.”

It was true. They had been together for two years. Two years when he and Grace had been in love, or so hey had believed at least. Grace had stayed isolated from the whole world until she was eighteen years old and had managed to ran away from that house in ruins, but her only friend had remained James and what everyone else would recognize as simple affection for a friend, to her it seemed love. James had agreed to start a relationship out of sheer compassion, as he had only once told his sister, and after a while he had convinced himself that he loved her, too.

But something had changed when the Carstairs had returned to London, he knew it because every time Cordelia was in the room, Grace ceased to exist.

For a while he had managed to ignore all the alarms, but after a few months of falling asleep in bed with his girlfriend, hoping that there was someone else in his arms, he couldn’t make it anymore and had cried in front of Grace, apologizing for the way he had behaved, for lying to her all that time. Grace had hugged him, comforting him, telling him that he had the right to fall in love with whoever he wanted, that it was not something he could avoid, accepting that whatever was between them, it was not love.

The smile on his lips warmed Cordelia’s heart, “You’re right.”

“I told you I was always right.” she smiled at him. James laughed and the movement of his chest made Cordelia slip sideways. He kissed her forehead, keeping his lips to her head, while with one hand he stretched out behind him to turn off the lamp on the bedside table.

When the room was dark, Cordelia drew a heavy sigh of relief and letting herself be lulled by her boyfriend’s arms, she closed her eyes.

And just before Morpheus could kidnap her for the night, she heard James whispering in her neck, “Goodnight Daisy.”

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[crimziedrawings]

A Last Chance, Part 2

Alastair started to introduce himself, even though the maid had already done so, but was interrupted by Thomas.

“What are you doing here?” he seethed.

“Thomas!” Sophie gasped.

“It’s alright, Miss,” Alastair reassured her. “He has every right to be upset,”

Thomas let out sort of choked up laugh. “Upset?”

Before he could continue, Gideon spoke up. “I have to say, I am surprised to see you. I am even more so to see that you two are somewhat of acquaintances. Which makes all this hostility quite a curious thing, as I have not heard of Thomas being - upset, you say? - with anyone. Not even with the boys,”

“It’s nothing,” Thomas said to his father.

Alastair looked at Thomas closely. His hazel eyes were bright and his hair fell down over his forehead, suited for a time spent at home. His face was neutral, and one would almost think he was rather relaxed if it weren’t for his tense shoulders and the strain of his grip on the chair. His sleeves were pushed up and Alastair could see the faint black lines of his tattoo, along with runes. Thomas caught Alastair’s gaze and pulled his sleeves down.

“It is not nothing,” Alastair announced. “Thomas and I were indeed acquaintances as we went to the Academy together. My arrival in town only restored our… friendship, as it was comforting to see a familiar face. Recently though, we have grown apart, as a part of my past came to light.”

“What do you mean?” Eugenia asked, her focus now on Alastair instead of her embroidering.

“Is this some cruel joke? To come to my family and remind them of a time where these sayings put us through hell?” Thomas cut in.

“No, of course not,” Alastair spoke in a rush. “I am here to apologize,”

Thomas’s grip eased a bit, but the tension was still evident.

“Apologize? For what?” Sophie asked.

Alastair took another deep breath, bracing himself for the confession he was dreading to make. So, this is how it’s going to be, Alastair thought. I can do this. I will do this.

Alastair began, “My time spent at the Academy was not entirely pleasant, nor were my manners. You have raised a good man, Mr. and Mrs. Lightwood, as Thomas was only ever kind to me, even when I did not deserve it. His kindness did not falter when I arrived in town, and still I did not deserve it. You see, while I was at the Academy, I participated in the wrong sort of activities. I worshipped the wrong sort of people. I was only a kid, easily influential, and these people were my idols. What they did, I did. What they believed, I believed,” Alastair released a stuttering breath. “And what they said, I said. That includes rumors. Rumors that, I am ashamed to admit, involve your family.”

Alastair took his time observing each of the Lightwoods. They didn’t react. Rather, they bore a neutral face, except Sophie Lightwood, who merely lowered her gaze, as if she knew of what Alastair spoke. It caused him great shame remembering his words, all that he had said about Sophie Lightwood, about Thomas’s mother. Alastair directed his next words at her, speaking softly, “I mocked your previous status, and I maligned your upbringing, the fact that you were once a mundane. I blamed Thomas’s illness on it. I insinuated that you were-“ Alastair broke off, the surrealness of the situation hitting him with the force of tornado. He closed his eyes, taking a couple of seconds before opening them and continuing, “I insinuated that you were a whore.”

Gideon stood up at this, so fast that his chair knocked over. “That’s enough,” he cautioned. His face did not look neutral anymore. No, he looked furious. He had the right mind to be, hearing all these awful things about his wife, seeing that it was being said to her. But before he had the chance to give Alastair a piece of his mind, his wife’s soft voice broke in.

“Gideon, let him finish,”

Alastair stared at her in disbelief. Here he stood, speaking of such terrible insults in her presence, and yet this woman had the will to let him do so, to let him finish what he had to say. He couldn’t tell whether there was a motive behind this or if she was simply just a patient woman.

“Mama, you don’t need to hear this,” Thomas interjected. “It isn’t true.”

“I said let him finish,” Sophie ordered, her eyes slicing to Thomas before resting on Alastair. “Surely, there is more?”

Alastair was nearly speechless. “Yes…”

Sophie placed her art supplies on the coffee table in front of her. She sat back delicately and straightened, setting her chin higher. Even though Alastair was standing, he still had the feeling that this woman was looking down at him. “Then continue,”

“I spoke of your husband, as well,” Alastair coughed. He had started this confession by speaking to the whole family, but now he felt that he was only professing to Sophie, as if she had some power like the Mortal Sword, drawing his words out no matter how dreadful and brash they were. “I implied that he had an affair. W-with Charlotte Fairchild.”

At this, Gideon pushed off his desk, rattling the objects that rested on it.

“And I said that Matthew Fairchild was his bastard,” Fear pulsed through Alastair’s veins, yet he kept going. “I’ve said all these appalling things and spread them to others. It was not right, but at the time I did not know any better. It doesn’t excuse my behavior; I am not asking for your forgiveness. I am telling you this because I want you to know, I need you to know, how sorry I am. Please know that I am trying to make amends and become a better man, to fix myself.”

The Lightwoods were quiet, each of them looking as if they were in thought. Probably contemplating how to ruin me, Alastair thought. This silence was driving Alastair mad, but he said nothing. A few minutes went by before someone spoke up.

“Gideon, Thomas, Eugenia, please leave,” Sophie commanded. “I wish to speak to him alone.”

°°°

Alastair Carstairs is dedicated to becoming a better man. This means owning up to his actions in the past. He starts with the family that he hurt the most, the Lightwoods. But he leaves the family’s home filled with a mixture of emotions, after the reactions he received from them.

This is part two of a story about Alastair Carstairs facing the Lightwoods, because before I can accept Thomastairs, I need Alastair to own up to his actions.

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