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rainingpouringetc · 4 years ago

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but god i want to feel again

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

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

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

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

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

~‘touch’ sleeping at last

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Practice makes perfect, he thought wryly.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He has,” Elias answered.

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

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

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

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

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

Alastair took his hand. “Alastair Carstairs.”

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

That was the last straw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

And then he met Charles Fairchild.

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

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

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

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

Until it wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

He dreamed of a time when he could feel again.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it meant pushing him away.

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

If they ever did.

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

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

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

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

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

#tumblr doesn't copy italics so i prob missed some lol #if u read it on ao3 it'll be better tho #alastair pain day 2021 #alastair carstairs #charles (derogatory)#i love that tag #elias (derogatory)#ooh that one too #the last hours #coi spoilers #tlh fanfic #artie tries to write #tlh

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amourrencontreseduction · 3 years ago

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Conseil de défense sanitaire du 6 Décembre - Ce qui pourrait-être annoncé

Conseil de défense sanitaire du 6 Décembre – Ce qui pourrait-être annoncé

Comme vous le savez ce 6 Décembre 2021 va se ternir un nouveau conseil de défense sanitaire en France pour décider de nouvelles mesures contre l’épidémie de COVID-19 Parmi les mesures souvent préssenties, une intensification des contrôle du pass sanitaire, une avancée des vacances scolaires de Noël, et la vaccination des enfants de moins de 12 ans… Vous pouvez lire toutes les infos relatives au…

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#06 Décembre 2021 #conseil de défense #Conseil de défense sanitaire France #France #voyance

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demifiendrsa · 3 years ago

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My Hero Academia THE MOVIE: World Heroes’ Mission special PV

It’ll hit Japanese theaters on August 6, 2021.

Original characters cast

Ryō Yoshizawa as Rody

Kazuya Nakai as Flect Turn

Megumi Hayashibara as Pino

Mariya Ise as Belos

Junya Enoki as Sir Pentas

Yuichiro Umehara as Shidero

Shogo Sakata as Leviathan

Hirofumi Nojima as Allen Kay

Youko Honna as Claire Voyance

#My Hero Academia World Heroes' Mission #My Hero Academia World Heroes Mission #World Heroes' Mission #World Heroes Mission #My Hero Academia the Movie #My Hero Academia the Movie 3 #My Hero Academia #Boku no Hero Academia #BnHA #MHA #HeroAca #Bones #anime #film #anime film #semi late post

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sledgefuweek · 3 years ago

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Sledgefu Week 2021 - Masterlist

After another great Sledgefu Week, it’s time to share the masterlist! Thank you to everyone who participated this time around.

The numbers are in and please check under the read more for 37 fics, 13 pieces of art, 3 moodboards and 1 blackout poem from 15 different creators.

Day 1: Sickfic

Fic:

looking back at the orange glow - getmean

in sickness and in health - eugeneshelton

Hold Me Close - ramimedley

there's an art to life's distractions - speirtons/currahees

Let the Tides Shake Your Life - makesiteasier/bearkare

The Night Breeze Carries Something Sweet - alcordraw/cinderscream

Pensacola - badgerms

Falling Down - edteche2

Take my hand and lead the way - stolperzunge

You're A Lighthouse Nobody Can See - youknowmyname

Day 2: Tarot

Fic:

lay your dreams in a flower bed - speirtons/currahees

** The Witch Hunter - ramimedley

Voyance - youknowmyname

Art:

The Lovers - cajunroe

Tarot - quendtin

The Lovers - alcordraws

The Hanged Man (reversed) // The Tower (upright) - getmean

The High Priestess // The Hanged Man - badgerms

Moodboard:

Tarot - stolperzunge

Day 3: Trinket

Fic:

Taken - eugeneshelton

i've never seen nobody quite like you - speirtons/currahees

My Lucky Charm - ramimedley

leave behind things that won't decompose - getmean

The Song of Purple Summer - youknowmyname

Art:

Trinket - alcordraws

Day 4: Crossover

Fic:

Dead By Daylight - ramimedley

fascinating new thing - hoosierbi

you're familiar like my mirror years ago - speirtons/currahees

Some folks are born silver spoon in hand - stolperzunge

dust is in my veins - getmean

Through the Grindr - emmaandorlando

You Forgot Your Harpoon - youknowmyname

Art:

the princess and the frog - quendtin

les miserables - alcordraws

Moodboard:

Wuthering Heights - eugeneshelton

Day 5: Vacation

Fic:

baby, you're the end of june - eugeneshelton

i'm setting off, but not without my muse - speirtons/currahees

** close the gap of the dark years in between - makesiteasier/bearkare

** Sweet Moments In Time - ramimedley

** here is another word that rhymes with shame - getmean

Art:

vacation - alcordraws

Day 6: Historical

Fic:

and i'd no idea on what ground i was founded - speirtons/currahees

** The Maiden Voyage - ramimedley

Art:

van gogh; cafe terrace at night - quendtin

Cowboys - alcordraws

Moodboard:

^^ US Army Nurses in Vietnam AU - makesiteasier

Day 7: Horror

Fic/Flash Fic:

^^ ## peel the scars off my back - hoosierbi

^^ ## where in the body do i begin? - makesiteasier

^^ ## you awoke into my night - stolperzunge

^^ ## Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death - ramimedley

^^ and if you float you burn - getmean

Art:

Bloodborne AU - quendtin

Beetlejuice AU - eugeneshelton

Blackout Poem:

Horror - iamthemagicks

Warnings key:

** = NSFW

^^ = blood and/or gore

## = horror

#sledgefu week #masterlist #2021

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agonglo · 3 years ago

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MES PROTECTIONS

La malchance existe, elle peut toujours être un fruit du hasard, de toute façon, tout le monde y croit un peu. Quand une situation pas très bonne se produit, l’on a souvent la sensation que c’est le fruit de la malchance. Pour éliminer cette malchance, il existe diverses méthodes de vous en débarrasser et surtout, de ne pas l’attirer. Je vous propose des méthodes de protections qui vont vous…

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#différence entre clairvoyance et médiumnité #grand voyant medium #médium définition #médium voyance 2021 #médium voyance gratuite #un médium peut il prédire l&039;avenir #voyant médium ile de france

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brigittecrespo · 3 years ago

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TIRAGE ORACLES 8 NOVEMBRE 2021, HARMONIE des OPPOSES #lesoraclesdebrigitte

#8 novembre voyance #Novembre 2021 #lesoraclesdebrigitte #smoothie in love #love code

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a-room-of-my-own · 3 years ago

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1. www(.)marieclaire(.)fr/astrologie-feminisme,1371597(.)asp Ah mais attends pour le renouveau des sorcières tu as loupé ce magnifique article de Marie-Claire, "L'Astrologie nouvel outil d'émancipation féminine", j'avais failli te l'envoyer, mais fais attentions ils se sont surpassé niveau conneries. Selon l'article si tu es de gauche comme moi et plutôt rationnelle tu as un problème car tu ne peux pas développer ta propre spiritualité ou quoi. C'est juste hallucinant !

2. Si tu regarde les meufs qui ont été interviewé, c'est vraiment que des petites bourgeoises citadines, certaines mêlent ça à du développement personnel, on a le droit à de l'écriture inclusive. Les nanas ne se rendent pas compte qu'en fait elles renforcent les bons gros clichés sexistes et que ce qu'elles font n'a rien à voire avec le féminisme. Je préfère quand la presse féminine parle de shampoing sur ce coup-là. Et petit bonus : ce torchon est sorti le 8 mars.

---

Dieu sait que j'aime bien l'astrologie mais STOP (in the name of love)

"Il y a toujours eu des gens pour s'intéresser aux pratiques ésotériques, notamment dans les années 70", explique-t-elle. "Seulement, il y a eu des périodes du féminisme où il était beaucoup plus difficile de se reconnecter à une spiritualité". Car pour espérer démanteler des rapports de pouvoir, de domination et de déterminisme socioculturel, il fallait user de rationalité et de logique intellectuelle. Ce qui ne laissait que très peu de place aux parasciences. Parasciences qui avaient par ailleurs été discréditées par les hommes occidentaux ayant considéré un temps l’astrologie et l’astronomie sur un pied d’égalité, avant de s’en désintéresser et de reléguer la discipline au rang d’affaires de "bonnes femmes... Avènement du christianisme et rationalisme des lumières obligent.

Et devinez à quelle époque on a arrêté de brûler des femmes comme sorcières, celle où les souverains avaient des astrologues à la cour ou celle où la science a pris le pas sur la superstition ?

Et entre l'avènement du christianisme et les Lumières il s'est passé des siècles, sachant que l'empire romain est devenu chrétien au début du IVe siècle, que Clovis a été baptisé en 496 et que même en comptant largeos et en allant jusqu'au sacre de Pépin le Bref en 754 ça fait toujours 1000 ans d'écart. Faut retourner en CM2 .

Notons que l’astrologie n'est pas par essence féministe.

Sans blague Gonzague.

On ne la pratique pas en 2021 en France comme on la pratiquait durant l'Antiquité, au Moyen-âge, ou même dans les années 2000. En effet, au XXIème siècle, la discipline peut encore être à bien des égards sexiste et non-inclusive.

C'EST PAS FÉMINISTE PARCE QUE LES ASTRES N'ONT RIEN A VOIR AVEC L'ÉMANCIPATION FÉMININE B*RDEL

Concrètement, en séance, l'astrologie féministe promet une pratique inclusive, qui évacue les poncifs sexistes et hétérocentrés.

"Concrètement" elle a dit.

Conseiller en amour selon les astres oui, mais loin d'une construction binaire et dépassée.

Purée mais le potentiel de pigeonnerie est dans stratosphère là.

Développement personnel et empowerment

Brace yourselves

Le développement personnel, l'art, le retour à certaines traditions ésotériques donnent au féminisme de la force, le rendent plus pluriel. Et vice-versa : les sphères spirituelles gagnent à se politiser en s'ouvrant aux milieux militants.

Mais enfin mais non? J'ai des cristaux, je lis le tarot et l'ésotérisme c'est mon passe-temps mais ça ne nourrit absolument pas ma réflexion féministe, pas plus que la pratique du karting ne donne de compétences en cuisine, arrêtez de tout mélanger AAAAAAH.

Et les sphères spirituelles qui gagnent à se politiser on appelle ça des religions qui investissent le politique et c'est un grand non (*tousse* secte *tousse*).

Ainsi, l'astrologie, les arts et tout ce qui va échapper à des valeurs d'assujettissement et de marchandage seront finalement une manière de revaloriser l’intelligence émotionnelle

A deux doigts de créer Madame Tilla SARL, voyance féministe et inclusive, 120€ la demi-heure.

Une manière de lutter contre un système d'oppressions sans utiliser les mêmes arguments et techniques que ce même système.

Je suis sûre que le patriarcat et le système capitaliste tremblent devant l'astrologie voui. Grave.

C'est sûrement en cela que l'astrologie est émancipatrice : elle prend tout son sens quand on a besoin d'un éclairage, d'une impulsion, d'un coup de motivation. Elle nous fait rire, nous donne envie de nous connaître, mais laisse aussi aux communautés opprimées l'opportunité de se réapproprier des outils de développement personnel millénaires.

Point Bon Sauvage™ atteint. Pourquoi l'opprimé se ferait chier avec la science, le droit et compagnie quand il peut compter sur un shaman inclusif à cheveux roses? Hahaha prend garde Capitalisme!

Car si l'Histoire n'a que très peu retenu, considéré, ou tout simplement laissé vivre les femmes se livrant aux pratiques ésotériques, notre époque ne l'entend pas de cette oreille.

Si l'histoire pouvait avoir la bonté de déjà se rappeler des scientifiques, autrices, artistes, résistantes, combattantes, cheffes d'état, etc ce serait déjà pas mal.

F A T I G A N C E

#c'est encore pire que ce que je pensais #et j'aime l'astrologie et le tarot #et les oracles et compagnie mais #merde à la fin

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voyancegratuiteinternet · 3 years ago

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Comment va se passer la semaine du 6 Septembre 2021 ? Voyance tarot

from christophe-voyance https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LmT5JLxxV28 via christophe-voyance.com

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#christophe-voyance #prédictions voyance #voyance #voyance cartomancie #Voyance gratuite

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artieistired · 3 years ago

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but god i want to feel again

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

inspired by this song || read on ao3

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

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

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

~‘touch’ sleeping at last

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Practice makes perfect, he thought wryly.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He has,” Elias answered.

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

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

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

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

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

Alastair took his hand. “Alastair Carstairs.”

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

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

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

---

That was the last straw.

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

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

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

---

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

And then he met Charles Fairchild.

Until it wasn’t.

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

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

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

He dreamed of a time when he could feel again.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it meant pushing him away.

If they ever did.

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

#tlh fanfic #alastair carstairs #artie's writing

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