#carstairs sibling week | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luciehercndale · 1 year

Text

Brave the storm // Thomastair

Yes, you heard right. After more than one year without writing a Thomastair fic, inspiration struck me today and I was able to write something. Maybe it's not perfect, but I tried. Post Chain of Iron fic. Emotional hurt that ends with comfort. I could not bear to make it end with angst lol Read this fic on A03 if you want!

Thomas walked the main hall of the London Institute in search of his cousin James and the Merry Thieves. He told him that they needed to talk about the recent events happening in town, and decide how they could help. Thomas didn’t want to come, but he thought it would be better than doing his patrol rounds and to accidentally stumble into the only person he ached for but couldn’t be with. Thomas’ heart still wasn’t at peace after Alastair told him they couldn’t be together. It was restless, just like him. And whenever Thomas decided to go somewhere, even when he patrolled the city at night, he often ended up in the places he knew Alastair would hang around.

Well, maybe not this place- Thomas stopped abruptly. Someone was talking in a nearby corridor or room, carrying out a voice… His voice. No, it couldn’t be. Perhaps he was imagining it. There was also a female voice. The two were having a heated argument about weapons, and they were moving. He heard them approaching, and he swiftly hid behind one of the large columns. A minute later or so, two figures appeared at the bottom of a staircase. Alastair and Cordelia.

Thomas’ chest tightened. His heart skipped a beat. Every time, he had the same reaction. He felt helpless. He really wanted to go to him and talk, explain why he wanted to be with him and ask for an extended explanation as to why they couldn’t.

Cordelia was laughing about something, while Alastair looked pissed - but still amused. He could tell it from the way his eyebrows rose when his sister talked to him. And he had his arms at his sides, not crossed on his chest like most of the time. He wasn’t on the defensive with his sister. He wasn’t guarding his heart. He was closer to being his real self. He had been like that with him too, while they were locked in the sanctuary a few weeks before. He knew he could be like that, then why wouldn’t he try?

“If you stare too much, he’s going to catch fire, you know.”

“Damn, you scared me,” Thomas whispered to James. He’d appeared out of thin air. He was so intent on observing Alastair from behind that column, that he had let his guard down. Not that his cousin was a threat, but… He shook his head. He needed to get a grip.

“I don’t want to know why you’re hiding, if you don’t want to tell me,” James muttered. “But if you want, I’m here. Besides, I’m hiding too.”

“I don’t want to hide anymore, Jamie,” Thomas confessed. “But he… He doesn’t want to give me a chance.” It was hard to say it out loud. Both to himself and to James. He didn’t know if his cousin knew. Not that it was his business, anyway. But it was the truth. Alastair hadn’t wanted to give him a chance. To give them a chance.

James sighed, while Cordelia and Alastair continued their talk on one of the sofas next to the wall. “Perhaps some people just need time to process their feelings,” James reflected. “Maybe they’re not ready to face them. This doesn’t mean that they don’t feel anything. Maybe they’re just scared. Feelings are scary. Judgment is scary.”

“You’re right,” Thomas nodded. He realized that James was probably in a similar situation with Cordelia. “What if that moment never comes? What if they decide to bury their feelings because it’s easier that way?” Only thinking about the prospect that Alastair would never give him and Thomas a chance made his heart sink. He couldn’t lose hope.

“Then we’ll try again,” he said sullenly. “Until they understand that we are here, and we love them. Anything that may come, we’ll face it together. We’ll brave the storm together.”

We’ll brave the storm together. That was one nice way to put it.

The Carstairs siblings were leaving. Cordelia hugged Alastair, who patted her back lightly. Thomas saw her wipe something under her eyes… tears? James shifted his position next to him.

“I’m sorry, but that’s my cue to leave,” he said. Thomas thought that James would go in the opposite direction to where Cordelia was going, but instead, he walked up to her. He couldn’t see her expression, but he saw them leave together and go upstairs. He hoped they could fix whatever issues they had at the moment. They deserved it.

There was no one in that hall anymore, and it was time for Thomas to come out of hiding. The others were waiting for him and he felt like a coward, or a stalker. He needed to either move on or keep trying.

“Thomas.”

He stopped in his tracks. His heart skipped a beat. A lot of beats. He didn’t think he could handle it. He turned slowly, trying to show his best neutral face.

“Surprise,” Thomas tried to lighten the mood. He was tense, and Alastair’s demeanor made him seem as tense and anxious as him. His hands were clenched into fists. Probably not to show his nervousness?

“Not really,” Alastair replied, not leaving his eyes. “I saw you disappearing behind that column.”

Thomas thought that his cheeks were pink right now. He could feel the heat pooling there. “I didn’t know if you wanted to see me,” he explained. “I thought I would save you the awkwardness.”

Alastair frowned, and a hint of a smile appeared on his face. Good. He was amused. “It wouldn’t be the first time we are in the same place, at the same time. And that you’re hiding from me.”

“I thought the feeling was mutual,” he answered, a little ashamed. “Not wanting to meet me.” So he did notice Thomas whenever he casually ran into him. Keyword being casually. “You made that clear.”

“I never said that our paths should never cross, Thomas. It would be impossible that they wouldn’t, considering our relations to the people living here.” Alastair sighed, but kept his composure. “And we can talk without it being awkward, as you named it.”

“It’s always going to be awkward, and you know it!” he blurted out.

“Only if you think about that as so-”

“Don’t you understand? It’s hard for me. Unbearable. Every time I see you, I have to remind myself not to come and talk to you. To do as little as simply greeting you, just so you know I’m here,” he bit his lip furiously, beating his hand on his heart. “To be refused a chance to see how this would go,” he gestured between them, “how our future could be, if you didn’t chicken out. You denied me that chance, you denied yourself a chance, and it’s hard for me to just talk to you and pretend there is nothing, because I know that we could have everything!”

“Don’t think that it’s easy for me. Don’t you dare think that I’m immune to all of this,” Alastair said darkly. Thomas could see the fury in his eyes, or was it passion? “I’m human too,” his voice broke.

“We could put each other out of our misery,” Thomas spoke softly. “We could stop being so miserable, if only-”

“No,” Alastair replied curtly. “No, Thomas. We can’t. We won’t. I can’t.”

“Why? I’m afraid too,” he said, getting as close as to touch Alastair right where his neck met his shoulder blades. “But I wouldn’t be alone. I would have you, and you would have me. If that is what you’re afraid of, we’ll face it together. We’ll weather the storm together,” he repeated the words James told him a few minutes before.

Alastair’s face fell. He was trying not to break, and Thomas could feel it. He felt his shoulder tremble under his touch. He pressed his hand there, trying to make Alastair feel that he would support him. He would be there. If the whole world would stop caring for him, he would love him even more. Brave the storm. Survive. Together.

“You need to accept my decision and move on,” he said. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“And I don’t owe you to move on and stop feeling what I feel for you,” Thomas sighed. That was it. It was done. He turned away, ready to go wherever he had to go, and leave Alastair there. He didn’t want him? Fine. But that didn’t mean he would stop loving him and care for him.

Thomas started walking away, but Alastair’s hand on his wrist stopped him. He took a deep sigh. He knew that if he didn’t leave now, he would crumble.

“The feeling is mutual, Thomas.”

“What does it mean?” Thomas wondered in a murmur, hope in his voice.

Alastair dragged him behind the column where he had been hiding, with his back pressed on the cold stone. “It means this.”

One second they were arguing, the next they were kissing. Thomas’ hands grabbed Alastair’s neck. He had been aching to do it earlier, and he could finally do it now. Alastair kissed the edge of his jaw, then his cheek, his neck. He was hungry, eager to explore every inch of Thomas he could touch. They were both out of breath when they broke away from each other.

“What does it mean?” Thomas repeated, his hand on the back of Alastair’s neck.

“It means that I’ll try,” he offered with a shy grin. “I’ll try to weather the storm with you, like you suggested. I’ll try to be with you, even though I’m scared,” he admitted.

“I’m also scared,” Thomas assured him. “But we are worth trying, Alastair Carstairs. Don’t you think so?”

Alastair’s eyes were glassy. “We don’t know the future, Thomas Lightwood. But I can promise you that I will try my best so that we can have one together.”

“That’s all I need to know,” Thomas smiled, and Alastair couldn’t help but kiss him again.

#tsc #tlh #thomastair #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #the last hours #tsc fanfiction #chain of iron #chain of thorns #chain of gold #tweety.writes #my posts 3

30 notes · View notes

blackthorngrey · 2 years

Text

i’m planning to single-handedly create the morally grey slytherin ty blackthorn and friends universe so i bring you more headcanons!

this time, including ash and jaime.

(see previous ideas here and here)

ty lost his ability to cast a patronus after losing livvy.

his siblings had taught them both how to cast them before they would have learnt in school, and they had matching patronus’- two mischievous little foxes.

ty tried to cast a patronus at livvy’s funeral along with the rest of his family, a final send off as they burnt her body.

but he couldn’t manage anything more than a few wisps of silvery smoke.

everyone thought it was his grief preventing him from thinking of a happy enough memory, but as the weeks went on ty knew this wasn’t the case. after all, kit could cast one!

the patronus was an incredibly light form of magic.

and ty turned his back on the light the moment he saw that flash of green light and heard livvy’s teasing comment die on her lips.

ash and kit are cousins in this universe.

direct cousins.

both descended from the lineages of salazar slytherin and rowena ravenclaw, which crossed at some point.

kit and ash’s mothers were sisters.

kit’s mother died when he was very young, and ash’s mother died during the second wizarding war- killed by aurors who assumed she was a loyal death eater (she wasn’t- merely sympathetic as a result of her husband)

ash’s father was killed in the battle of hogwarts, and kit’s father was given the dementor’s kiss in azkaban a month later.

kit was adopted by friends of his late mother- jem carstairs and tessa grey.

tessa is a halfblood, which naturally was incredibly fun as they tried to teach ten year old kit that the values his death eater father instilled in him were not necessarily correct.

ash was taken in by jocelyn fairchild and her daughter clary- his paternal grandmother and aunt.

that family was a messy one- with clary and her mother renouncing the morgenstern name and family completely until they took ash in.

clary saw so much of her brother in him, but the good parts. from before he became a batshit insane, murdering, blood purist.

ash loved them, of course he did.

but he couldn’t help himself from feeling like a total outcast.

he knew he was a stark reminder to his family of what his father had done. and he knew that sometimes is hurt his grandmother to look at him.

naturally, he expressed this to kit. who told his adoptive parents. who offered to take ash in, even only temporarily.

the rosales family were right up there with the weasleys in terms with being called ‘blood traitors’ by other pureblood families.

they sided with the light in the war, being close with many order of the phoenix members and fighting against voldemort.

naturally, jaime was the outsider of his family.

a ravenclaw mother, and a gryffindor father and brother. jaime knew what was expected from him.

but the moment he was old enough to form his own personality, it was clear jaime was not going to live up to expectations.

he was a slytherin through and through. it was guaranteed well before jaime was hogwarts age.

he was beyond smart enough to be a ravenclaw, but he was dangerously cunning.

his parents panicked. it was the middle of war when jamie was young after all.

they hid him from other children, saying he was sickly. when really they were just scared of having a child that didn’t fit their mould.

jaime still held a bit of a grudge, even at age fifteen. he supposed he got where they were coming from, but still.

being sorted into slytherin in a family like his, in the first year to begin hogwarts since the battle mere months previously, was awful.

there were so many eyes on him.

it was a complete blessing to have kit and ty with him.

ty- the shy, quiet blackthorn boy who always had his head in a book, even now. he was in the same situation as jaime- light families who fought against voldemort. they had been kept apart in childhood due to the rosales’ fear of jaime’s differences. but not anymore.

then there was kit. completely different to any person jaime had ever met before. kit was the first person that jaime ever heard call you-know-who ‘the dark lord’ with a tone of fear, even if he was dead and gone.

the three boys held the top spaces in their year group for grades, almost effortlessly. with kit teaching jaime and ty mild dark arts outside of the curriculum.

it was even better when ash joined them, a year after they started hogwarts.

ash was the final piece of the puzzle.

jaime had never felt like he belonged anywhere until he started hogwarts. his family manor was a house, not a home. jaime wasn’t comfortable there.

but now, jaime knows that home isn’t always a physical place. home can be the company you keep.

and his friends? they were home to jaime.

whether it be a winter night huddled around the fireplace in their dorm, with ash sleeping in a heap of blankets on the floor as kit charmed his hair different colours.

or a summer game of quidditch at kit’s house, as tessa made them all fresh lemonade, and jaime and ty got their asses handed to them by ash and kit.

even the days the four boys spent in diagon alley towards the end of summer- getting their supplies for the incoming school year and having lunch at the leaky cauldron.

jaime couldn’t be happier to find his home in his friends.

life was rather difficult for kit and ash outside of the slytherin dorms.

five years after the war, prejudices against slytherin were even worse than before the war.

everyone knew the sins of the fathers, they had all read the reports in the daily prophet about the trials.

people jeered at kit about his father, shoving the photos of his father’s death in azkaban under his nose.

ash didn’t escape such teasing, either. people showed him photos of his father’s lifeless body lying in the hogwarts great hall, as bodies were gathered from the wreckage.

for the light side being the good side, they sure didn’t show it.

was it any wonder why so many slytherins turned to the dark? it was the side that welcomed them. the other side couldn’t even give them the benefit of the doubt.

kit and ash made a blood pledge to each other, aged fourteen and thirteen.

no matter what, they were together in this. what side one chose, the other would pledge loyalty to as well.

they just hoped this wouldn’t go badly in the future.

all four boys were mildly disappointed that they didn’t have dreams in common for their futures- having to forge their paths alone.

kit wanted to be a curse-breaker. he knew that the ministry hadn’t even considered entering the estates of death eater families who had been eradicated in the war, and he knew that he would never be out of work. who were they to know if some artefacts were kept for himself, hmm?

ty had his heart set on being a potioneer- he was top of their year for potions, and he was obsessed with brewing his own potions for fun. he knew he was well suited to the job, and he knew that the potions store in knockturn would take him without hesitation.

ash was a bit of a psychopath, they all thought. he was a year younger than everyone else, so he hadn’t needed to think about what he wanted to do in life yet. but when asked, he said an executioner or a hit wizard. they weren’t sure if he was joking about the former.

jaime had so many ideas on what he wanted to do, but he had recently settled on the idea of becoming an unspeakable. he had found that enjoyed research more than most, and very much liked the idea of not having to answer to the DMLE or the minister for magic.

#kit herondale #ty blackthorn #jaime rosales #ash morgenstern #hogwarts au #harry potter au #the dark artifices #the wicked powers #secrets of blackthorn hall #the shadowhunter chronicles #slytherin kit herondale #slytherin ty blackthorn

43 notes · View notes

lifewouldbebetteronmars · 2 years

Text

Lucie and Thomas once had an argument about which Carstairs sibling is hotter: Alastair or Cordelia?

It went on for like a week because they disagreed and didn’t talk for a bit because you’re wrong, mine is hotter

#the last hours #lucie and thomas friendship supremacy #thomas lightwood #lucie herondale #alastair carstairs #cordelia carstairs #thomastair #lucelia

46 notes · View notes

zoyalannister · 3 months

Note

I think he was an accident as well, how do you think they broke the news with Kit and Anna? In chot I wished we got some pov of Kit and Anna talking about the new Carstairs baby because they lived a similar thing not long ago, instead all was Kit saying he understood Cordelia was with her mother because the baby was coming and the house is full when a baby comes which sounded weird in the way it was said, like if Cassandra wanted to show he didn't get that James and Cordelia were facing a strain in the relationship

I think that they both realized it by noticing that Cecily is sick in the morning and gets tired easily, Anna because she is a woman and Kit because he studies biology.

So in my head the scene would be:

"Kit, Anna, you’re going to have a sibling soon."

"Oh yeh, we figured it out weeks ago."

I don't comment the canon scene, I think it’s just offensive how CC portrays neurodivergent characters and thank god I'm not going to read TWP because I am scared of how she would portray Ty.

1 note · View note

x-ceirios-x · 3 months

Text

jensen

template based on this post

Basics

Name: Jensen Adrián Ashfair

Birthplace: Idris

Places Lived: Idris, New York

Current Residence: New York

Birthday: February 14, 1995

Age: 11-12

Species: shadowhunter/nephilim

Appearance

Hair: light brown/dirty blond

Eyes: green

Height: 5'6

Clothing style: basic jeans, tshirts, sometimes basketball shorts if it's hot out. comfort over fashion

Face Claim: Bryce McKenzie

Family

Mother: Mollie Ashfair (deceased)

Father: Aric Ashfair

Sibling(s): Rowan Ashfair

Other Important Relatives: Patrick Penhallow (maternal uncle), Jia Penhallow (aunt), Aline Penhallow (cousin), Guinevere Verlac (maternal aunt), Émile Verlac (uncle), Sebastian Verlac (cousin), Élodie Verlac (aunt through marriage)

Closest Friends: Max Lightwood, Emma Carstairs, Julian Blackthorn

Romantic interest: none

Past Relationship(s): none

Personality

Jensen is, in a word, a lover. He's never been a fan of fighting and the shadowhunter life, but he'll put up with it if it means he gets to see his family. He loves with all his heart and is constantly trying to find ways to make people's lives easier with little things around the Institute. He likes small trinkets and shiny things, even if it means an acorn from the park where he and Max like to hang out a lot. He's an artist at heart and sees the world in such a different way compared to the rest of the shadowhunters---not in a way that requires he always watch his back, but in a way that makes him look forward and see what potential is ahead of him. He's never met someone that shares his view like that and it's particularly isolating.

Likes: reading (specifically modern fantasy novels), doodling, hiding in his little attic space with max until odd hours of the night to finish that one book together, cozy blankets, flowers

Dislikes: loud noises, the Big Light in his room, plain/bare walls that have space for decoration

Hobbies: going on walks, reading, random walking around places with max

Fear(s): spiders. and a little bit vampires, but that's mostly because of the places they hang out (which have spiders)

Shadowhunter Information

Familial Symbol: mountains for the Penhallow family, ashfair family doesn't have one

Institute Base: New York

Weapon: he doesn't have a distinct weapon considering he's still in training

Fighting Style: undefined

Favoured rune(s): friendship/parabatai rune, guidance, healing/iratze, voyance

Parabatai (if any): would-be Max Lightwood

Favorites/Least Favorites

Food: Maryse's famous chocolate chip cookies

Drink: slushies or a good hot cocoa from java jones with rowan and izzy

Colour: green! or yellow

Season: spring

Scent: burning wood

Music: 2000-2010s indie rock

Time of day: sunrise

Movie: LOTR series

Background

Jensen was born in Idris in 1995 to parents Aric and Mollie Ashfair, three and a half years after his older sibling, Rowan. He barely remembers the time he spent in Idris---most of his memories start with the New York Institute. He learned about his mother's death and then found himself halfway across the world with new people. However, there was another young boy like himself there, and the two got close quickly.

He and Max spent a lot of time together---when given the option, he preferred to go with Maryse and Robert when they left New York. He liked traveling and didn't like being without Max for weeks at a time. Growing up, Rowan was busy with their own friends and the "big kids" didn't want to play with their baby brother.

He did his lessons under Hodge, but since he was younger and less naturally apt, he fell closer in line with Max's training. The two would play-fight with swords most of the time and did a lot of book work together. They stayed attached at the hip most of the time, one always just behind the other in whatever they were doing.

He was eleven when Maryse received a panicked call from the Institute and was informed she and Robert needed to return urgently. He didn't really know what was going on, but they rushed home from Idris much sooner than he wanted to. It was rare he got to see his dad, and when they visited was the rare time he did.

to be continued

Extra Family Information:

Mollie Ashfair+ (formerly Penhallow) is the older sister to Patrick and Guinevere* Penhallow.

Patrick married Jia Ke and they had their daughter, Aline Penhallow.

Guinevere* married Émile* Verlac and they had a son, Sebastian Verlac. Émile* is the brother of Élodie Verlac.

all characters with a * are canon, unnamed characters that I gave namesall characters with a + are ocsref

#xx.jensen #magnus bane #shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #alec lightwood #clary fray #shadowhunters oc #shadowhunters ocs #simon lewis #the mortal instruments oc #the mortal instruments ocs #jace herondale #clarissa fray #clary fairchild #max lightwood

0 notes

cant-think-of-anything · 3 years

Text

Flower Crowns

This is very self-indulgent.

Character Pairings: Lucelia/ Carstairs Siblings

Cordelia dropped her pen and groaned in frustration. She aimed a pointed glare at her brother when he laughed, crumbling up her paper and tossing it at him.

From where he was laying on the couch, head on the armrest and legs slung over Thomas, he caught it nimbly and threw it into the dustbin.

“Honestly Layla, it shouldn’t be this difficult. Just do something meaningful.”

Cordelia privately agreed. She’d known Lucie for years, known of her feelings about her for months. Perhaps that was why it was such a strenuous task. She wanted to confess but she truly had no idea how to.

Turning, she addressed Thomas. “How did you reveal your feelings then?”

He flushed a bit, “Properly reveal them? I gave him a poetry book I wrote in. Everything I made note of was something that reminded me of him.”

“That…” Cordelia trailed off before conceding. “Fine. That is meaningful. But Lucie despises poetry!”

Alastair sighed, pulling himself upright. “Well what does she like then?”

“She likes writing. She likes bread and butter pudding. She likes making flower crowns with me. She likes many things that do not ease my confusion whatsoever.”

“It seems you aren’t well with romantic gestures. Invite her here for tea and just tell her.”

“I can’t do that! Alone? Absolutely not!”

Cordelia was well aware how panicked she sounded. She was far too afraid that Lucie didn’t reciprocate what she felt. When she voiced this, Alastair rolled his eyes and Thomas laughed with disbelief.

“Well,” Thomas interjected now, “We could stay here. I doubt it would do much for romance but we can make ourselves scarce.”

Cordelia nodded readily, feeling relief wash over her. She knew she was being ridiculous but she couldn’t help the uncomfortable flutter and the horror of losing Lucie because of her foolish feelings. She pulled a fire message out, something Christopher asked them to test. She warily held it a little ways away from her hair before sending it off. She received a response a few minutes later, her eyes scanning quickly over Lucie’s agreement to meet.

She took a deep breath, not noticing she was crushing the light green details of her dress until she felt Alastair’s fingers gently pry them off.

“You’ll be fine Cordelia.” He was kneeling on the chair next to her, traces of humor gone from his face. “I know you can’t see it, but we can all tell how strongly you feel for each other.”

She nodded slowly, before offering him a smile. “Should we bake something then?”

~~~

Cordelia balanced the bowl on her lap as a knock sounded from the front door. Thomas went to receive it, as Cordelia tried to brush off some of the flour from her face. It was a hopeless attempt really but it provided as a distraction as anticipation built up inside of her.

“Cordelia!” Lucie squealed when she made her way into the kitchen.

She didn’t seem to mind the flour at all, wrapping her arms around Cordelia, lingering long enough for Cordelia’s face to flood with heat. Lucie pulled away, looking a bit breathless as she surveyed the mess on the counter.

“Are we baking?” She said, starting to twist her hair back.

“We aren’t supposed to be,” Alastair interjected from where he and Thomas were cutting thin slices of fruit. “Cordelia’s just a dreadful baker and sets back our progress.”

“That’s perfectly okay. Eugenia and Christopher almost burned Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel’s house down when they made a cake.”

Lucie leaned over to grab a stirrer, the tops of her hair brushing Cordelia’s neck. Oh dear, Cordelia thought wanly to herself.

“Eugenia and Christopher tend to do that wherever they go,” Alastair responded, giving Cordelia a pointed look when Lucie’s head was turned.

Cordelia vigorously shook her head no, she was absolutely not in a state to confess anything. She turned her attention back to the bowl, pretending she couldn’t hear her brother’s long suffering sigh. They were making some sort of cake with fruit but truthfully Cordelia couldn’t be bothered trying to perfect the recipe.

Pouring the batter into the pan she attempted to focus on what Lucie, Thomas and Alastair were discussing. She felt a tug on her dress, and Lucie moved closer, carefully placing the fruit onto the batter.

“Well!” Alastair said, gesturing meaningfully with his hands. “We will leave you to clean up. We have to go upstairs.”

“To look at his daggers!” Thomas added when Lucie furrowed her eyebrows.

“Why are they acting strange?” She questioned when they exited.

Cordelia sighed and took one of Lucie’s hands, the only thing urging her to talk was the way Lucie’s pulse sped up under her touch. Lucie ceased talking, her bright blue eyes blown wide, the pupil expanding quickly. Cordelia was quite a bit taller, causing her to crane her neck back so they could… well stare at each other. Moving hesitantly, Cordelia moved to brush a curl from Lucie’s face.

“I need to tell you something,” she started uncertainly, her voice hushed and unsteady.

Lucie’s lips pulled up into a small smile but she didn’t speak.

“You know already don’t you?”

“I do now,” she breathed, looping her arms around Cordelia’s neck and pulling her down so their foreheads could press together.

Cordelia laced her fingers through hers when Lucie pulled back, a grin spreading across her face. “I suppose Thomas and Alastair were right.”

“That’s why they’ve been so awkward? I was afraid something had happened.”

Lucie reached into the basket she’d brought with her as she talked, pulling out a woven crown of daisies. Cordelia raised her eyebrows, sitting back on the kitchen stool as Lucie drew closer again. She placed the flower crown on top of Cordelia’s head, adjusting her hair around the dainty buds.

“Daisy,” She said happily, drawing back to look at her. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

Cordelia laughed, flushing a bit and motioning for her brother and his partner, who both had shown up in the kitchen archway to come back into the room. Alastair gave her an unimpressed look and picked up the pan.

“Next time,” he said, sliding the uncooked cake into the oven. “Try to put that in before your excruciatingly awkward confession, yes?”

Cordelia blew some of the flour on the counter onto his hair causing him to flick the remaining batter onto her dress. The room filled with laughter and warmth, lingering in the air long after a disapproving maid wiped the last bits of flour from the floors.

Tag List: @adoravel-fenomeno @barbra-lightwood @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @eugeniaslongsword

#are you only supposed to use 'pairing' when it's a romantic pair?#stairstairs appreciation month #carstairs sibling week #cordelia carstairs #alastair carstairs #lucelia #lucie herondale #thomastair #a bit #the last hours #tlh #my writing

51 notes · View notes

anarmorofwords · 3 years

Text

If we hold on together (Carstairs siblings)

After that rollercoaster of a headcanon, here's a little something. Will it mend your hearts? Not sure. Did I cry while writing? Yes. But was it because it's sad or I was simply overwhelmed with Political!Alastair? Who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I wanted to have it ready for the Carstairs Siblings week, but alas, i didn't manage to finish it on time.

Based on this headcanon we created with @apple-bottom-jeansx Since we know next to nothing about the countries/times of Carstairs moving, I just improvised. If I got something wrong regarding the customs/lore, please don't hesitate to let me know! I didn't have time for proper research, so I tried to keep things as brief as possible.

Either way, enjoy!

CW: implied/mentions of alcoholism, racism, abusive parent

Tramore, Ireland, 1895

Cordelia sighed as the new city rolled outside the windows of the carriage. It was always a weird sensation, taking in all of the unfamiliar buildings and scents, the chatter in each of those places like a unique language she never heard before. It was a little unnerving, and they were usually gone before she could as much as decipher it, moving to yet another place, so she gave up on trying to learn them long ago. She supposed it didn’t matter much – people would usually send suspicious looks their way before they even opened their mouths.

Perhaps there was some hidden trick to it - the art of fitting in - one she couldn’t quite notice, like how mundanes couldn’t see Shadowhunters when they were glamoured. Surely if her father couldn’t master the skill, it required some mysterious knowledge. She wanted to ask Alastair if he knew what it was - after all, her brother always seemed to know things she didn’t, especially about the places they lived in - but the carriage halted to a stop, and they all rushed out of it, longing to stretch their legs after the journey.

Cordelia gazed at the double doors in front of her, elegant but simple, at the faded stone walls. Even the garden seemed neglected, plants bowing to the ground, sad and forgotten. The house was located at some distance from the town - to ensure peace and privacy – and surrounded by an air of calmness that tugged at her nerves a little.

No. Those were selfish thoughts, and she shouldn’t entertain them. Layla would never complain if her loved ones needed help, so Cordelia took a deep breath and followed her family inside, through the heavy entrance and long, chilly corridors. They were lined with big windows – the view from them stretched far enough that she could get a glance of the sea.

It’s been a while since they stayed somewhere fun, she thought glumly.

It’s for Bâbâ.

She knew Father was sick. She knew he needed silence and clear air. And yet she couldn’t help but long for some – any – kind of excitement, for Cirenworth Hall, or better yet, London Institute, where her best friend lived.

At least they had the sea. Looking at the everchanging, powerful water always brought her some comfort. And Lucie would surely think of a story or two set at such location - some exciting adventure her heroine would bravely go on. One including pirates, perhaps. Cordelia needed to write her a letter.

As they settled in the sitting room, Risa immediately rushed to the kitchen, muttering about long journeys, cold countries and starving. Alastair must have already slipped from the room, as he usually did when they arrived somewhere. Cordelia wrinkled her nose in confusion – did he want to be the first one to see the city? Usually when her brother tried to best her at something, he made sure she was well aware of his attempts.

She spent some time glaring at the old fireplace, before she was sent to change for the supper, Mâmân asking her to wear the beautiful new dress she ordered for her. To celebrate this new chapter. Cordelia found little reason to celebrate in the empty rooms and cold stone, but she said nothing. Father already seemed restless, irritated. She didn’t want to upset him more.

As she sat in the room that was to be hers for the foreseeable future, anticipating the dinner call, the door opened to reveal her brother, a wide smile on his face. He made his way to her in confident strides that made him seem much older than he actually was – barely ten. He held something in his hand, a kind of wooden staff she had never seen before.

“I was in town, and I got you something.” He pointed to the stick. “It’s called a hurley stick. Kids use it to learn fighting.”

Cordelia almost jumped from the bed, reaching for the handle. “Do mundane kids need to fight?" She frowned. "They don’t know about demons.”

Alastair scoffed, and then leaned conspiratorially to her. “No demons, silly. They believe in bad Faerie Folk creatures and that sort of thing. Besides, they have wars, too, and kids like to play soldiers. And they talk of an old God of Sea here, and his famous sword – maybe the kids want to be like him.”

“A famous sword?”

“Manannan, the Son of the Sea, who has his home beyond the ninth wave, is told to wield a powerful sword, Frangnach. The Whisperer. It can cut through anything, lets you command the wind, and only a worthy person can use it - it chooses its wielder. “

Cordelia could feel her eyes widen, excitement heating her cheeks.

“Like Cortana” She whispered under her breath.

“Yes, like Cortana.” Alastair nodded. “Except you have to stand above the stone of destiny, and roar, and the sword whispers to you if it deems you worthy.” He said in a nonchalant voice, visibly disappointed that a sword would require such antics. “There’s no need for that with Carstairs sword."

“I wouldn’t mind roaring to get Cortana.” Cordelia said thoughtfully, her mind drifting to the golden sword she’s dreamt of for years. Their family’s pride and legacy.

“If you want to wield Cortana someday, you need to practice a lot. The staff should work well for that.” He placed the hurley stick on the bed, and turned back to her.

“Now, dinner will be ready any minute, come along.”

They made their way out of the room, Cordelia sending one last glance toward the hurley stick. She would train as hard and long as she needed to, and one day, Cortana would be hers. Even Alastair seemed to consider it plausible - that the sword would choose her. She just had to work hard, but she knew her brother would be there to help her train, and then nothing would be able to stop her.

Sometimes she felt like there was an empty space inside her, that terrified her when she glimpsed just how huge the world really was and how little she seemed in comparison. At times she thought Alastair might be the only thing keeping that dreary nothingness from swallowing her whole.

*******************

The dinner didn’t feel celebratory at all, even before her father's glass fell to the floor.

Cordelia was eating in silence, barely registering the heavy atmosphere in the room, her thoughts still occupied by swords and training plans. A sudden loud scoff made her head jerk up, and she realized everyone sat still, eyeing her father. He seemed unaware of the tension, staring at his glass with disgust.

“Is that water?” Her father grimaced, looking at the liquid suspiciously. “Don’t we have wine in this household anymore?” He waved his hand in a negligent gesture, and it caught on the glass, sending it to the floor. Cordelia winced at the sound it made, feeling a weird concern spark to life in her chest.

As Risa rushed to pick up the shards, with an expression Cordelia couldn’t quite name, her father stood up and headed towards the door.

“I’m going out.” He growled.

“Father, I’ll come with you.” Alastair seemed taut as he darted from the chair, and Cordelia worried her lip, thinking perhaps her father’s sickness was getting worse. If so, a walk would surely help him - and Alastair must have wanted to make sure their father would be safe outside.

“Let me join.” She said, quietly, surprising herself - but if she could help her father somehow, she would gladly do most anything. A walk didn’t seem like such a challenge. Alastair started shaking his head, but Elias turned to her with a smile.

“My dear daughter.” He shot her brother a disappointed glance. “Why would you keep your sister from accompanying us? Don't be so selfish, if she wants, she comes with me.”

They went together, the three of them, marching to the shore in silence, her father patting her head from time to time. Seeing Alastair’s worried expression, she wished she took the hurley’s stick with her, in case there was trouble. Or maybe even some seraph blades. She swallowed a gulp of fear - even without weapons, she was a Shadowhunter. I’ll protect them.

Upon reaching the town, they decided to stop at a beach, her father reminiscing about the sea travel and adventure, cursing the gloomy Irish weather. He asked her to write her name in the sand - full name, like a proud Carstairs she was. She happily obliged, even added the names of other family members next to hers. It cheered her up, focusing on such simple gestures, feeling the wet sound on her fingers.

Maybe their life was tiring sometimes, but they would get through it, as a family. Like they always did.

After a few minutes Cordelia looked up, only to realize her father was gone.

“Alastair. Alastair, where’s Bâbâ?”

Her brother startled, snapping out of daze, and then he was composed again, sending her a reassuring smile.

“He went to take care of some boring adult matter. He’ll be back in no time. We should be heading to the house though.”

She frowned – why didn’t her father tell her he was going? Was he feeling alright?

“We can’t leave him. And we’ve barely arrived. I want to stay.”

Alastair sighed - he seemed tired. The journey must have worn him off. Still, he winked at her, picking up something from the beach.

“Well then, I challenge you to a match of stone skipping. I'm sure you can’t beat me.”

Cordelia huffed at that, already turning to find a proper stone. Of course she could beat him.

And she did – though it took a few tries. Alastair told her more about Son of the Sea's life, of him glamouring the Gods’ home with mist of invisibility – That's like Idris! - his mighty boat, and the sword, again, because she couldn’t resist asking him about it. It felt almost as if his stories came to life around her – she squinted at the sky from time to time, hoping to get a glimpse of the mythical city of Gods.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, only that at some point the dusk started to settle, and she could feel cold wind snatching at her skirts unpleasantly. What was taking father so long?

“Layla.” Alastair’s voice made her turn, and she tensed at his tone.

“I think it’s time to go home.”

“But what about Bâbâ -”

“He must have got invested in some conversation, maybe made new acquaintances - you know how he is. I'm sure he’ll be fine, but Mâmân will worry if we don’t go back soon.”

He sounded so confident; she couldn’t help but agree. And maybe she was a little cold, and the shadows were getting longer, and they had no weapons with them. They should have taken weapons.

Mâmân had been worried, but she took one look at Cordelia’s flushed cheeks and ushered them inside with no scolding or lecture. Before she could process things properly, Risa shoved Cordelia to the bathroom, where a bath was already waiting, and she forgot about everything else beside the feel of warm water and scent of oils spreading through the air. When she emrged from the bathroom, Alastair’s room was already dark - perhaps he really needed to sleep off the carriage ride. She was tired, too, enough that she forgot to ask about father - he must have already been asleep, too.

At night, she could swear she heard someone on the ground floor – heavy footsteps and a loud thump, and then swearing. She might have even heard movement on the corridor, and stifled crying coming out from her brother’s room. She tossed and turned in her sleep, unsettled. But the memories of that vanished with the stars, and if the next day her father complained about not sleeping well and Alastair remained weirdly quiet, she didn’t think twice about it.

***************

Bombay, India, 1896

“You know I don’t play with dolls anymore.”

“They’re not ordinary dolls - they were originally commissioned by a king, Tipu Sultan, a hundred years ago. Kings aren’t interested in regular toys, you surely know that.”

Cordelia tilted her head in surprise, stealing another look at the colourful wooden figurine. She did still play with dolls, at times, though she would never admit that to her brother. She wasn’t proud of it, of course, but one could argue the terrible boredom she had to endure warranted all sorts of undignified behaviours, even playing with dolls at the grave age of ten years old. And she did want to know more about the king.

Ignoring Alastair’s smug grin, she reached for the doll and inspected it closer, secretly admiring intricate details and vibrant paint. Realising he finally had her attention; Alastair cleared his throat.

“King Tipu Sultan received a lacquered doll much like this one himself, and he liked it enough to have his artisans learn how to make similar wooden toys.”

Alastair smiled then – a rare smile that lit up his face and reached the eyes. “The original doll came from Persia.”

A surprising ache went through her heart at that word, some frustrated longing she rarely felt, as it was perhaps too elusive to catch her attention on a daily basis. But now, staying in Bombay, it was the closest she had been to her homeland in years, and that changed something. Though she didn’t quite know what.

“They say it is customary for visitors to dance with those dolls, in the street, so all the people can see. And you have to sing, too"

She eyed the toy. “Is that so?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Alastair shifted a little, as if he was avoiding her gaze.

“You’re pulling my leg!”

“I wouldn’t dare. Maybe you’re just too young to understand that.” He added, in a proud, confident voice, smirking.

Cordelia frowned and bit her lip. There were few things that surprised her anymore, with the world differing so much wherever they went, but that felt a little weird. It sounded like something Lucie would come up with. At the side of her eye, she caught Alastair fighting back a grin. It vanished as she turned to him, but it was enough to confirm her concerns.

“You are lying!” She jabbed his arm with her finger. “Oh, I knew it! You made it up!”

He dodged a half-hearted blow she tried to deliver, but the serious expression he wore finally crumbled under her accusatory gaze. Alastair laughed, and the sound was so startling, that for a moment, Cordelia almost forgot she was mad.

*******************

London, England, 1908

The afternoon light adorned the sitting room in gold, its rays like a gentle hand raising the weight of worries from everyone they touched. Cordelia watched as Rostam, giggling, lunged himself after Alexander - the older boy dodging his arms with a wide grin. Almost four years Rostam's senior, he didn't have trouble not getting caught, but as a merciful older friend, he did allow Rostam to succeed from time to time. They’d been running around for nearly half an hour, and Cordelia felt exhausted just looking at them. It was a lovely sight though, she thought, basking in the sun by the window. Today’s weather reminded her of her honeymoon, of faraway places she and James visited after they properly married.

Constantinople, Madrid, Rome, Tehran. And the two of them, getting to truly know each other, finally with no bracelets or demons diverting their attention. On some days, she missed the excitement of that journey, missed the scents and colours and crowds of people. Most of the time though, moments like this were more than enough to fill her heart with overwhelming contentment. She heard someone approaching, and Alastair strode into the room, his face immediately lighting up at the sight of the kids.

"Finally." She teased, moving towards the sofa. “I was worried they will tear the room apart before you get here.”

Alastair scoffed, but he didn’t even try to wipe the smile from his face. He opened his arms and run to their brother, with an overdramatic battle cry that earned him a giggle. Rostam practically jumped into his embrace, delighted. Alexander was by their side, too, almost immediately, fidgeting as he waited for a chance to tell Alastair about their game. Her older brother put Rostam down and turned to question the older boy in a conspiratorial whisper. Cordelia rolled her eyes and took Rostam into her arms, seating him at the sofa next to her.

A wooden box resided on a coffee table, weathered at the edges. It's been years since she last had it in her hands, and something in her twisted nervously at the thought of opening it. It contained memories that brought equal pain and comfort - but most of all, regret. Oh, how many times she wished it had been different, wished the stories than lingered inside were never stained with shadows of the truth. But it was their truth, and they had come such a long way bearing it, it couldn’t hold them back anymore.

“-and I was defeated.” Alexander was saying now, significantly louder, putting on a comically upset face as he eyed Alastair knowingly. “Rostam’s too quick for me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he is.” Alastair ruffled his hair with a wink. Alexander beamed, and then jumped onto the sofa.

“General.” He addressed Cordelia with a solemnity appropriate only to eight-year-olds. “Did I do good?”

She pretended to consider her answer for a moment, and then nodded.

“You both did great. You shall now receive your award.” Both boys wriggled eagerly, and Alastair finally joined them, reaching for the box.

“Are you ready to discover those treasures?” His dramatic tone was probably unnecessary, as their audience could already barely contain their excitement, but Cordelia knew she would never get tired of seeing her brother like that, with unguarded playfulness in his voice, eyes bright with joy. He lifted the carved lid.

“Here they come, from all over the world...”

Before he could say more, two heads leaned over, frowning curiously at the contents of the box. Rostam reached inside without hesitation, producing an old Spanish porcelain doll. Cordelia didn’t remember much from their time in Spain, but she did remember the crumbling house they rented there - when Alastair brought the doll, its colourful skirts seemed enough to make her sad tiny room somehow bearable.

She could feel herself smile fondly at the memory, and recalled what little she could about the city they stayed in to the boys, their eyes growing big at the mention of foreign fruits and sunny beaches.

“What’s her name, âbji?” Rostam asked.

"Lucrezia. It was Alastair’s idea.”

“It means someone who brings the light. Our house there was quite old, and Cordelia often complained it scared her at night. I told her the doll would watch over her.”

It worked – she slept soundly knowing someone would keep her nightmares at bay. Though, she supposed, it was actually her brother who watched over her, even if she was unaware of that for a long time.

“Weird name.” Rostam ruled.

“It’s not weird.” Cordelia protested. “It’s just foreign, dâdâsh. Spanish. There are many different places in the world, and they have their own names, customs, languages. It’s a beautiful variety.”

Alexander frowned. “Spanish? Doesn’t Thomas speak Spanish? He always calls Alastair some strange words.”

“They’re endearments, Alexander. Words you use for people you love. Like I call my sister “Layla joon”, and Thomas calls me “amor” or “cariño”. Your uncle Gideon knows Spanish as well - you must have heard him call his family with some endearments, too.”

The kids considered that new information with serious, thoughtful expressions, but Alexander’s face soon fell.

“No one calls me any foreign words.”

Before she or Alastair could react, Rostam turned to face him. “I can do that. I’ll call you something nice.”

“Well.” Cordelia patted him on the head gently. “That’s a great idea, dâdâsh. You can call Alexander doost – it’s a Persian word for friends.”

Rostam grinned at Alexander, trying out the word, and the other boy seemed momentarily ready to dance from joy. Alastair looked into the box again.

“Oh, look at this one!” He took out a matryoshka and held it for the boys to see. “Now, this is a Russian doll, matryoshka, and it holds a little surprise inside. A few surprises, actually.”

Cordelia watched him reveal another and another doll, up until the smallest one, which caused an audible gasp from the boys.

“The first time he showed me this, Alastair insisted they were enchanted by Faeries, and the smallest one was supposed to open as well, and there’d be a magical flower in it.”

At that Alastair chuckled, a smug smile dancing on his lips. “You did believe me, didn’t you?”

“Of course I did, I was nine!” She shoved him playfully, grinning.

“I spent hours waiting for that thing to open. I even tried to learn Russian, to persuade the doll.” She admitted, wincing a little.

Alexander laughed, and muttered how silly she must have been, but Rostam eyed the smallest wooden doll with a frown. She wondered if she wore a similar expression back then, oblivious to the quiet, empty world around her.

“It was a good distraction, I suppose.” She whispered, and Alastair’s eyes glimmered a little. So many of her childhood memories changed over time, the truth about her father sharpening them, revealing darker, violent colours underneath the dim melancholy. It was like Alastair’s part of the story was a whole other layer, one she was unaware of for so long, but without it, the picture wasn’t complete. And no matter how much it had hurt to see the real thing, it was much worse to know what her brother went through, for her. She reached above the boys’ heads to squeeze his hand, in gratitude as much as acknowledgment. They didn’t need words anymore, not after all these years of losing and finding each other again, of rebuilding their bond to make it stronger than ever. He squeezed back.

They went through a couple more items before the kids grew distracted, until finally Rostam reached for the Spanish doll again, and jumped from the sofa, waving her in the air. He started to narrate her exciting adventures - they might have included trapping several people into one wooden body, which Cordelia found adorable. Finally, Alexander slipped to the floor to join him, both their attentions now entirely on the concept of the nearest ball Lucrezia was to attend.

Cordelia snuggled closer to Alastair, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling as her body relaxed slowly. She was getting used to accepting this calmness, letting it wash over her with no trace of guilt accompanying it.

“Look how far we've come, dâdâsh.”

He took her hand and kissed it gently, sending her a quick, gentle smile.

“I’m proud of us, Layla.”

She had known all her life that they were meant to be warriors, but no one warned her the worst battles would be the ones where no sword could be of use.

And yet, they made it. Their wounds left scars that might never vanish, but they were here, despite it all, together and ready to face whatever the future brought. She knew they both had people that loved them now, all the ugly and painful parts of them, and they could always find solace in each other. Elias might have left them a painful heirloom, but it didn’t define their fate, not anymore.

She watched Rostam and Alexander laugh in the last rays of the setting sun, her little brother’s head thrown back, a carefree expression on his face. She was going to fight nail and tooth to keep him - keep both of her brothers - safe and happy. Alastair asked her once to stay with him, and she promised herself she would.

She never intended to break that promise.

Tag list (if you wanna be added or removed lmk): @foxglove-airmid @andreils-bitch @mariflorenceisabella @satanisanauthor @ohcoolnice @nott-the-best @monalo4 @stxr-thxif @shadowqueendiangelo @annabeth-clace @jennyleedream @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @clarys-heosphoros @sapphic-in @yozinha-z @pastwhereourfeetcouldtouch @wannabe-warlock

#i dont even know anymore this turned out different than i planned #the carstairs siblings #carstairs siblings supremacy #stairstairs appreciation month #carstairs siblings week 2021 #the last hours #tlh #alastair carstairs #cordelia carstairs #the shadowhunter chronicles #shadowhunters #tsc fanfiction #shadowhunters fanfiction #the last hours fanfiction

99 notes · View notes

quillify-tries-to-talk · 3 years

Text

Yet Another Rewrite (Part 2)

For the thomstair appreciation week by @youngreckless ik it's over. Sorry I'm late :(

You can read part 1 here then come back and read this one.

Thomas and Alastair working things out part 2. Enjoy!

Tw: mentions of racism, bullying, abuse, colonialism

"Even our angels have mercy, Thomas." His voice was hollow now.

Despair threatened to pull him under. It wasn't worth it. Anything. He would always be like this. It was a miracle even Cordelia was able to look him in the eye without hate. He did deserve this, he thought, settling back on his bed, all the fight drained. He deserved every blow and every bruise he'd inflicted on others.

Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa

Funny that he now remembered his Latin lessons.

The bed dipped under Thomas's heavier weight, and he felt a flash of warmth when hesitant fingers crept over his skin. Too close. He was too close.

Let go, he wanted to say, but lies seemed to evade him whenever Thomas Lightwood was present. His eyes looked dark brown in the dim lighting. There were dents on his bottom lip where he must have bitten it. It took everything in him to not let his hands rise and trace the lines of his jaw.

"I remember Paris."

Alastair's eyes widened. He sat frozen, and Thomas took that as his cue to continue. "You were kind to me when I was very alone, and I am grateful." He looked up, face a bit red. "It was the first time I realized you could be kind.”

He tried not to let the last comment needle him. “It is my favorite memory of Paris as well.”

“You don’t have to say that. I know you were there with Charles.”

His jaw went tight. Not that. Anything but that. "Charles Fairchild? What about him?”

Thomas cocked his head to the side, his expression innocent. “Wouldn’t that be your best memory of Paris?”

“Exactly what are you suggesting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything." His tone indicated the exact opposite though. Cheeky little–

"I’ve seen the way you look at Charles, the way he looks at you. I’m not an idiot, Alastair, and I’m asking …” Thomas shook his head, sighing.

He was going to say it. Right here. Angel help him.

“I suppose I’m asking if you’re like me.”

There it was.

Perhaps he could salvage this conversation. He gathered his thoughts, straightened out of his slouching position.

“Thomas Lightwood,” he said. “I am nothing like you."

Thomas stared as if he'd been clubbed on the head, eyes dazed in shock again. He was shuffling from side to side, probably preparing to launch himself far, far away from him.

A bit more effort, dâdâsh, Layla said in his head, amused and exasperated.

Right. “I am nothing like you, Thomas." His breathing was faltering again, throat closing up, fighting against the vulnerability he was exposing. “Because you are one of the better people I have ever known. You have a kind nature and a heart like some knight out of legend. Brave and proud and true and strong. All of it.”

He smiled bitterly. “And all the time you have known me, I have been a terrible person. So, you see. We are nothing at all alike.”

His head snapped up, surprise etched on his features. His eyes started twinkling again. What was he doing to him? Even looking at him made Alastair want to smile.

He hadn't wanted to smile in a long, long time.

"I'm not—" Thomas broke off. "That's not what I meant."

Don't I know that, eshgham? "I know what you meant." His voice had softened. The words hung in the air for a moment. But he needed some answers of his own now. "How did you know about Charles?"

“You wouldn’t tell me what you were doing in Paris,” Thomas replied. Alastair thought he heard a note of hurt in his voice, but promptly dismissed the notion. “But you mentioned Charles, over and over again, like you got pleasure out of just saying his name. And when you came to London this summer, I saw the way you looked at him. I know what it is to have to hide the—the signs of affection.”

“Then I imagine you may have noticed I don’t look at Charles that way anymore.”

What did you just say, Carstairs? Admitting to your own failures now? Couldn't even hold on to first love?

His jaw tightened again. Get out of my head, baba. Charles. Get out, both of you.

“I suppose I did,” Thomas said. “Though for the past four months, I’ve been trying not to look at you. I told myself I hated you. But I could never really make myself. When Elias died, all I could think about was you. What you must be feeling.”

His father's name reopened the gashes on his heart. Heat sparked behind his eyelids. “I insulted your father and blackened his name. You were under no obligation to care about mine.”

“I know, but sometimes I think that it is much harder to lose someone who we are on bad terms with than it is to lose someone with whom all is well.”

“Bloody hell, Thomas. You should hate me, not be thinking about what I must be feeling—” Alastair passed a hand over his face. It came back wet with tears. He didn’t even know when that happened. He’d never had an audience for his crying before.

"But I do," said Thomas softly. His fingers ghosted higher along Alastair's wrist, making his heart skip a beat. Once, twice, three times.

Bewildered, he marvelled at the sensation such a small touch could cause.

"I'm sorry." Thomas's voice was soft, filled with guilt. His head bowed as if in prayer. "I—what you said. What happened at school." His gaze trailed over Alastair's features, and he shook his head. "I always found you beautiful. Then and now. I didn't know people hated how you looked. You're like a poem, but in human form."

"Poem," Alastair repeated numbly. If his brain had short-circuited before, it was blown to bits now. No one had ever called him that.

Charles had called him a beautiful secret. His safe haven. His comfort and best friend.

Never a poem.

"Yes." Thomas's cheeks were slowly flushing rose. Another nice contrast with his skin and hair. "Graceful. Elegant. Confident. You were always so poised and sharp. Like one of Jamie's knives. You were smart, managed to turn people over. They listened to you. Look what you did just now. I didn't know what to do. If I wanted you. Or if I wanted to be you. Remember when I followed you around school?"

Alastair's rusty throat muscles regained a bit of their ability. He wanted me? It wasn’t the best, but it was okay. Charles had wanted him. It hadn’t been too bad. Until the end. Until the horror of his actions had dawned on him. Until he realized that all his time spent with Charles had been wasted in tending to his needs, not Alastair’s. He hadn’t even known a relationship required his own needs to be taken care of. That it was a necessity.

"I remember,” he managed. “Then I met you in Paris and you’d grown up and turned into Michelangelo’s David. I thought you were beautiful. But I was still caught up with Charles—” He broke off, regret weighting his stomach. “Just another thing I’ve wasted. Your regard for me. I wasted my time and my affection on Charles. I wasted my chance with you.”

Thomas blinked. And blinked. And blinked. A pulse had started in the base of his neck, thudding against the delicate skin. Alastair raised his eyes only to find him already staring.

"Thomas?" His name tasted strange on his tongue.

"You said angels too have mercy," he said in answer. "I—I must apologize. I'll admit I didn't know how people treated your family. I have been sheltered in that regard."

"You must know where those indigo-dyed silks came from," said Alastair softly. They were from India. Ariadne had mentioned it during their little dance, the news that had trickled in. The brown-skinned, hollow-eyed servants brought in for labour by mundanes and Shadowhunters alike. "Or why England never has a shortage of adamas, but my country does."

That one was still going on. Britain liked guising their nefarious schemes behind offers of trade.

He released a sigh, shaking his head in despondence. "They never tell you. Layla and I knew because we saw it happen; we know our histories ever since we could walk and talk. And it still happens. It's more than demons and humans for us. It’s always been that way." He held one brown hand up to the light, and Thomas’s eyes followed. “This isn’t apparently how we were supposed to look. I tried changing that, and it did work for sometime but.. I hated myself even then. I hated my family and my culture and my books. Do you flinch from your own face, Thomas? I always did. Still do, sometimes.

“I hate that my skin isn’t like yours. If it was, perhaps people wouldn’t have said so many things. Perhaps I wouldn’t have as many bruises.” He leaned his head back against the wall, ignoring the tightness in his chest. “In another life, perhaps we would’ve had our chance, you and I.”

His words ended with a plaintive note; the bone-deep weariness that there was nothing he could do, aside from ripping off his own skin or trying to be like his father. In appearance, at least. They remained silent for a long while, but it was the thoughtful sort. Alastair didn't know how many hours he passed by just counting the cracks in the walls when Thomas's voice pierced the quiet.

"Teach me."

He jerked awake. "What?"

"You said there are things I don't know about you. About where you come from and what you and Cordelia have to face. And… perhaps I'd like to know. I'd like to understand how the world works." A small smile ticked up the corners of his mouth, and Alastair found himself besotted by the expression.

By the Angel. Definitely not coming out in one piece.

"You'd like to… umm…" Words had fled when he'd needed them most. Damn you, Thomas.

Thomas’s fingers enclosed over his wrists. The warmth was steadying, comforting. His expression was hesitant, at odds with the way his body commandeered space. “I want help. Really, truly. I found myself fascinated in Spain by the difference in language and culture. And then Paris. One-time travel gave me a different perspective, so imagine what more knowledge would do.” He was practically shaking with excitement at the prospect of learning of his ancestor’s atrocities. “You’ll be teaching me, so it won’t feel like a debt to you.”

“Are you sure you want to know, Thomas? People have done some terrible things.”

“I need to know what I’m redeeming myself for before I ask for forgiveness.” His hazel eyes were clear, expression determined. Like a knight readied for battle. A scholar rewriting history on pages.

Alastair felt his throat tighten at his excitement. He wasn’t used to any of this. Apologies. Forgiveness. Love. Hope. His story was supposed to have died after all his attempts to apologize to The Merry Thieves. He’d failed then to ask for friends, so why would someone give him another chance?

“And maybe you’re wrong,” Thomas added in what was supposed to be a nonchalant tone, but Alastair detected a slight tremor in it. “About me.”

“Speak sense, Lightwood.” His tone sharpened, a defense against his wrecked emotional state. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this.” In answer, Thomas hooked his hands around Alastair’s shoulders, and the sudden onslaught of warmth and gentleness made his body sway with the sheer impossibility of the situation. No glass. No manipulation. Nothing but warmth and truth and compromise. The good sort.

This had to be a dream. He would wake up any time now, but he couldn’t stop staring at him. Couldn't stop admiring his smile, the brightness of his eyes, the shape of his mouth, that damned pulse at his throat. And more. His strength. His passion for learning. His bravery in venturing after a killer alone. The openness of his heart.

I’m not worth it, Alastair wanted to say, but by then his head had fallen on his shoulder, nestled in the crook of Thomas’s neck. He felt lighter than air. For the first time, his head felt empty of anything: trouble, grief, responsibilities, duties. It was just them. Thomas with his arms around him, holding him in the storm of his life. His heartbeat was a steady clock that Alastair could time his breaths to.

With Charles it had been all heat and desire, and the furious pounding of his heart in the thrill of being wanted by someone. This felt like coming home, sitting down for a cup of tea with his favourite book. Warm and right and natural. Tears slipped down his cheeks, freed after years and years of being locked away for the sake of his family.

Thomas set his lips to Alastair’s brow.

His body seized up at the soft pressure. It felt like someone had poured sunlight into his veins. Another tear slipped down his cheek. Impossible. Wake up, now. Happiness wasn’t a part of your life. But he was still here, feeling Thomas lean his cheek against his hair. Through the swirl of emotions, he heard his voice again.

“We’ll get past this together. I will relearn you, Alastair.” The sound of his name on Thomas’s lips sent his heart careening again. “Negaran nabash.”

Don't worry. Even with the different cadence, it would’ve been hard to miss. Thomas had just spoken in Persian.

Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow. “Where did you learn that?”

“Oh. Umm. Just something…” That adorable smile surfaced again. “A little hobby? Like Kit and his test tubes?”

Shaking his head, Alastair allowed himself a little smile. Perhaps, it had been worth it to risk his neck. For this. Only for this.

Taglist: @cherilyn-rose @youngreckless @eugeniaslongsword @nott-the-best (2nd part eeeeeeee🥳🥳🥳) @cant-think-of-anything @livingformyself

45 notes · View notes

alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 3 years

Text

all gone, all gone, all gone

part 1: yeah, there’s a lot left over

CW: suicide attempt (warnings for later chapters: emotional manipulation, PTSD, kidnapping)

i’m super serious about this y’all, dead dove: do not eat

there are parts of this that are very, very unpleasant. please don’t read if it will be triggering for you!

Read it on AO3

“It… It was you,” Cordelia said in horror, staring at her brother. “You betrayed us.”

“Is it wrong to say I told you so?” Matthew asked, and Thomas glared at him.

“I don’t understand how you could do something like this,” she told Alastair. She wanted a response from him, a flinch of pain, a sensible explanation. He had none for her. He could make one up, surely. He’d spent enough of the past week playing the good guy to be confident in that. Belial did not need him here any longer, though, so there was no purpose.

It had started just over a week ago, two days after Alastair’s deal with Belial. He wanted him to learn of the plans they had, Cordelia and James and the rest of them, and report back to him. It was straightforward enough, leaning into his father’s death as a reason to change. He never said the change was for the better. He thought it quite ironic considering the Alastair of a few weeks ago was a much, much better person than the one standing before them now.

He’d done it all. He’d comforted Cordelia, bonded with James, flirted with Thomas. He could see it in Matthew’s eyes, he had begun to be forgiven. Too late, he supposed cynically.

"He'll kill you," Cordelia pleaded. "You have to know that. You're merely a pawn. He'll dispose of you once he's done. You'll die!"

He snaked his grin in a way he was certain he could not have done before. Before he had allowed Belial to plant his darkness in him. He tilted his head with a pitying glance. "Layla, I'm already dead. I jumped off Tower Bridge a week and a half ago."

He watched her gaze fall, now horrified. The others' faces were steeled, but he could see the slight flinch in Thomas' eyes. Alastair would never flinch again. "I... I don't understand," Cordelia said slowly.

Alastair could remember it, he could remember his despair, though he could no longer feel it. He was intoxicated, just a little, just enough. He was so tired, he was so sad, he was so tired of feeling sad. His father was gone. There was no one he needed to protect his family from any longer. It was his fault. He could recall the feeling of falling, of flying, before he was caught by a cold inky hand of the scraps of the night. He could remember his panic as he floated upwards back to the ledge of the bridge, the rising sun blinding him. He recalled the figure that he could now identify as Jesse Blackthorn, possessed by Belial, his eyes black and hands twisted in inhuman magic, waiting to meet him. He held him over the depths of the Thames as he asked him to join him.

He said that he could make it so he never felt pain again. He would never feel powerless. He could have everything he ever dreamed of. A bit of assistance now and the world would be his once it was over. A true second chance.

He knew that he was lying. He was a Prince of Hell. He'd been lied to enough times, he'd lied enough times to know what it looked like. He was scared, terrified, and all he wanted was for it all to stop. He wanted to no longer feel exhausted. He wanted to no longer feel.

He said yes.

"I'm a ghost, Layla. A wraith. The brother you knew is merely a memory. Belial saved me. Your silly sentimentalities cannot touch me now."

He watched her break. He'd devoted his life to shielding her from pain. To taking it himself so that she would never need to. But he was no longer living, and in death he could protect her no longer.

He sighed, seeing her tears fall. "Silly little sister..." he mused. "How foolish I was to sacrifice so much for someone so weak. Now, I must be going. You do understand Belial's demands, don't you?" His tone was patronizing.

Her eyes flared with anger. "You are not my brother! I will get him back!"

As Alastair left, he chuckled. In life, such an act was impossible. It had been years since he'd last laughed. In death, he was free.

* * *

Looking at her father’s dead body, Cordelia had not thought her life could get any worse. She’d been naive, thinking his death would be a true low. She hadn’t known what low felt like. She felt lost in space, floating. If James hadn’t guided her, she never would have made it home.

The other boys lingered around. She understood why. Words needed to be said, but she had none.

Thomas was the first one to speak. His voice sounded more like an echo and Cordelia wondered if he even knew he was speaking at all. “It was all a lie.”

“I suppose we should have guessed that something was off,” Matthew said gently. “Given how kindly he was acting.”

James glared at him. “Matthew, now’s not-”

“Stop,” Cordelia interrupted. She took a breath and tried to compose her thoughts. “Stop talking. You don’t- You never actually knew him. I thought- The thing is, the past few days… I don’t think I’ve ever seen him act more himself. The person who he truly is underneath everything else. The person he was before- before all of the bad things started happening. Alastair before he’d experienced true pain, true cruelty. I’d thought… I thought that with our father’s death, he had finally started to heal. I thought… How could I have gotten it so wrong?”

“An Alastair without pain,” Christopher mused.

She blinked. “I… suppose? What are you saying?”

“It’s clear that Belial is controlling him somehow, or holds some type of influence over him. If nothing else, we all know that even at his worst, he would never hurt Cordelia. Perhaps he took away his pain.”

“Why would that cause him to act this way?”

“Pain isn’t… it’s many things, isn’t it? It’s sadness and anger and fear. You can’t truly feel happiness without pain, either, can you?”

“So… he took his emotions?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Do you think… Do you think this means we can get him back? We can free him?”

The boys cast worried glances at each other. “Cordelia,” James started. “You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.”

“Alastair’s not hopeless, James. He’s not a lost cause. He can heal, I know he can. He just needs a little help. If there is any part of him that wants to, I will find it. I’ve turned my back on him over and over and over again. I will not make the same mistake now. I won’t ask you to help me, but please don’t try to stop me.”

They looked at each other slowly, then nodded.

Cordelia didn’t know how, but she would do it. She would find a way to free Alastair from Belial’s control, and whatever came after, they would figure out together. They would find a way. After every terrible thing that had happened, Alastair deserved a chance to truly live. She knew this deeply in her soul, and she knew she would do just about anything to help him find it. In this moment, though, all she needed to do was get him back.

I’m not going to use my regular tag list for this one because it’s so dark, but lmk if you want to be tagged for the next part of this series! I do have most of it written out already, but it’s also finals. Thank you to @littlx-songbxrd for all of your help and support lol <3 i’d say i’m sorry but i’m not

Part 2

#cw suicide #alastair carstairs #cordelia carstairs #the last hours #tlh #fanfiction #fanfic #coi spoilers #coi #chain of iron #chain of iron spoilers #stairstairs appreciation month 2021 #carstairs siblings week 2021

60 notes · View notes

boredfangirl16 · 2 years

Text

Chain of Lies

Days Past: Idris, 1898

TW: bullying, racism, physical assault, mentions of alcoholism

“I’m going to miss you,” exclaimed Cordelia as she wrapped her arms around her older brother. She was a few inches shorter than him and went up on her toes to hug him goodbye.

Alastair returned the embrace. He didn’t mind that her unruly hair was all in his face and that her grip was bound to start suffocating him. There had never been a time when the siblings were apart for more than a week and neither of them were ready to say goodbye until winter break.

When Cordelia finally let go, she lightly punched him on the shoulder. “You better write to me about all of your adventures. If I don’t hear from you every week, I’ll storm the Shadowhunter Academy myself.”

“I will, I will,” Alastair said.

“I’m so excited for you! All the friends you make can over for a few days during break and I’ll be able to meet them. Maybe I’ll invite Lucie over as well! It’ll be the most exciting year we’ve ever had,” she said clapping her hands. It would almost look like she was the one leaving, given how excited she was.

“That’s enough, Cordelia,” his maman chided. Both her and Risa stood outside of the Carstairs residence in Idris. His father was too “sick” to say goodbye. Alastair wasn’t surprised in the slightest, but it didn’t make his absence hurt any less. “Let him say his goodbyes to the rest of us.”

Cordelia pouted and sat on one the steps leading to the manor. His mother passed her and embraced Alastair.

“Show them what a Carstairs is made of,” she said to her son, and pulled away. “But don’t forget about the rest of us.” His maman cups his cheek. “You deserve this, joon. Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Alastair nodded. “I will, maman.”

The last to say goodbye is Risa, who gave him the widest of smiles.

“Goodbye Mr. Carstairs,” she said simply. He knew there was nothing more that she was supposed to say, she was just a servant after all. Yet she was the only one who seemed to understand the true nature of his father. She didn’t make excuses or claim he was something he was not. Somedays she felt like the only true parent Alastair had. The only one who never needed a child to carry their weight. It’s why he wished, she could’ve said more.

“I’ll miss you, Risa.”

Risa stepped toward him and whispered into his ear, “Never fear, young Alastair. I’ll take care of everything while you’re away. Don’t pay your father a second thought. He doesn’t deserve to take up any space in that mind of yours.”

She stepped away and Alastair mouthed the words ‘thank you’. Risa only nodded, before returning to her spot next to his mother.

“Can I go bother Alastair again?” Asked Cordelia impatiently, her knees bounced with energy.

“Once more, but then he really has to be on his way,” his mother said.

Cordelia jumped up and nearly tackled Alastair. He rolled his eyes like any older sibling would, but he secretly enjoyed it. She would always be his baby sister, a bright burst of joy in his otherwise dull life.

“What am I going to do when you’re gone?” She asked meekly.

“I’m sure you’ll find something. Maybe you can invite Lucie over to train for a bit. You’ll need to learn to fight together if you’re to become Parabatai,” Alastair said.

Cordelia’s eyes lit up at that and she looked back at their mother.

“Can I invite Lucie over? Please, please, pleaseeeeee,” she begged.

“We’ll see about contacting the Herondales.”

His sister whined a bit more before it was time for Alastair to get into the carriage and leave for good.

“Goodbye!” Shouted Alastair out of the window. He waved through the glass at his family. Cordelia looked as if she might have run after the carriage if their mother wasn’t holding her back.

Then he was left all alone in the carriage with all of his possessions shoved into two bags at his feet. He looked out the window to see fellow shadowhunters and large mansions. They never spent much time in Idris, unlike other families, so the landscape was mostly unfamiliar to him. The towers in the distance that protected them from the outside world looked timeless and beautiful, but it also made the area seem like one big prison with fancy bars to distract them from their cage. The shadowhunters who grew up here know nothing of the real world, only seeing glimpses of it in books and stories. He couldn’t even imagine being that sheltered.

The landscape started to contain less and less buildings until only trees and open land remained. The carriage jostled about on the dirt road, causing Alastair to knock his head on the roof on one particularly large bump. He winced and smoothed his hair down. He couldn’t arrive looking unpresentable.

After a little while, the Shadowhunter Academy came into view. Alastair stared out the window, much like a small child with his nose against the glass. His eyes widened looking at the large building. It looked positively ancient with towers that seemed to touch the clouds. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve assumed it was some sort of castle, hiding in the woods. It looked like the type of thing lost princesses would be trapped in, with their knights in shining armor racing to save them. He could almost imagine a dragon perched on top of the roof breathing fire down on the land below. For a moment, he felt like a kid again, looking out at the world in wonder.

As he grew closer, he could make out students out in the front lawn. There were groups of boys, all around his age, in groups and pairs. He had never seen so many children. Alastair was used to it just being him and Cordelia. They moved too frequently to make many (or any in Alastair’s case) friends. He could almost imagine finding a group of boys here. Ones who he could entrust with anything. A close knit group of companions who he would spend his adulthood with. Maybe he could even find a Parabatai. It was a long shot, but anything could happen. In books, boarding schools were magical places that came with endless adventures and friends that could last a lifetime. While he doubted it would be as eventful or end as perfectly as the stories do, he thought that he could get some sort of happy ending there. An escape from his dreadful life at home.

The carriage came to a stop and Alastair nervously opened up the door. He lugged his bags over his shoulder and closed the door. Then it drove away, leaving him all alone outside this new and magical place.

He gathered his courage and braved the crowds of boys. Everyone already seemed to have found groups, all moving towards a line in the front of the school. He decided they all just must be older and returning. Surely, there must be countless new boys without any friends.

Alastair got into line, not knowing quite what it was for. While most boys ignored him all together, a few gave him strange looks and sneers. It was then that he took a good look around at his fellow schoolmates. Almost every single one of them was white. Where were the boys from countries other than Europe? Shadowhunters come from all over, regardless of heritage. Why aren’t they at the Academy? He swallowed his questions and kept his head down. Mundanes had a nasty tendency to judge him by the color of his skin, but he thought that it might be different here. While he knew it might not the reason some are staring, he wasn’t an idiot, at least some of them are due to his race.

“Name?” Asked a disgruntled man sitting at a desk at the front of the line.

“Alastair Carstairs.”

“Middle name?”

“Esfandiyar.”

He heard a few snickers behind him.

“What sort of name is that?” One said.

“It’s exotic,” said another.

An envelope was handed over to him. On the front was his name, his middle name spelled completely wrong, and a room number. He sighed.

Every heroine had a rough first day. If there weren’t challenges, it would be a rather dull story. This was all just a bump in the road. Things would get better. He knew it, or he hoped it.

The entrance was grand. There were hallways and corridors everywhere he looked. The ceiling was so tall, that he had to wonder how they cleaned it. The windows at the front of the school let in plenty of natural light. People swarmed like ants in the entrance way. He followed the flow of boys until he was left at a cross road. He assumed the W on his envelope meant west wing and went down that path. Alastair climbed flight upon flight of stairs until he finally reached the 6th floor. He read the signs on the doors until he saw the one that matched at the very end of the hall. He ripped open the envelope and grabbed the key out of it.

The room was small for two people, with just enough space between the beds for a walkway. There was a trunk at the end of both beds and a desk next to that. The walls were an eggshell color with red accents all over the room. He supposed it was cozy. He didn’t expect a large space anyways.

A boy sat on the bed on the right side on the room. He had clothes scattered all around him. It looked like he dumped out his bags, before simply putting it away. He smiled kindly at Alastair’s appearance.

“Hello,” he said. “My name is Alberto Maez. What’s yours?”

“Alastair Carstairs,” he replied. “Maez doesn’t sound like a shadowhunter name. Are you a mundane?”

“No,” he chuckled. “I just don’t typically give my full last name, since no one can pronounce it. Maez works just fine.”

Alastair nodded politely and closed the door behind him. Alberto was still busy organizing his clothes and shoving them into his trunk. His brown curls fell into his eyes as he worked. After a moment, he looked away and started putting his own stuff away.

All his clothes were already folded and just had to get put away. He brought two of his daggers from his collection that he hung on the wall next to his bed. All of his school supplies were piled on his desk, to be organized once classes began. Last but not least was a hedgehog plushie that Cordelia had gotten him for Christmas the year before, that he placed on his bed. It wasn’t much, but it felt a little more like home.

“Do you like hedgehogs?” Asked Alberto, startling Alastair.

“Yes, my sister got it for me.”

“You have siblings too? I have two older ones that are twins and one a younger sister who was adopted.”

Alastair nodded. “I have one younger sister, her name is Cordelia.”

“I wish I only had a younger sister,” Alberto said sounding exasperated. “My older ones are asses.”

Alastair spent the rest of the afternoon talking to his new roommate. Each spoke of their families and complained about the things they didn’t like. He left his father out of the discussion, almost completely. He didn’t trust himself to say anything kind about him, even to a complete stranger. Alberto thought it was amazing that he got to live in so many different places, apparently the boy had only lived in one house his entire life. It was the first time he ever thought that moving could be anything other than a burden.

Soon enough it was time to go to dinner and the boys left together. Doors to the other rooms were left open as boys ran in and out of them. Alastair looked in one and was startled to notice the other rooms were almost double the size of his. He shook off the uneasy feeling in his gut and didn’t comment on it to Alberto.

At dinner, he sat with Alberto in the corner of the hall. The food was alright, but nothing special. It was loud, with people moving from table to table, speaking to anyone and everyone. Alastair thought about doing the same, but he thought better of it. No one approached them until the last few minutes of supper.

“Look what we have here,” commented a boy with golden blonde hair and green eyes. He was followed by two other boys with sandy brown hair. They sat at the remaining seats of the table with mischievous grins. “The black sheep of the Academy.”

“Quite literally,” said one of his companions.

“The only thing worse than them is the mundanes,” chuckled the other.

Alberto looked absolutely furious.

“Screw off,” he said harshly. “Find someone else to pick on.”

All three boys laughed. Alastair had an uneasy feeling in his gut, yet again.

“Alberto, right? I heard your family’s been having money troubles. It would really be a shame if you upset the most wealthy Shadowhunter families on your first day,” the blonde boy said. “If you keep your head down, maybe help us out a bit, I can forgive your original outburst.”

“Like hell I will.”

“What’s your problem?” Asked Alastair.

“You.”

“People like you don’t belong here. Your kind isn’t welcome at the Academy, the only reason you were accepted is because your families were so desperate to get rid of you that they begged the deans to make an acceptation,” one of the brown haired boys jabbed.

“Your kind? We aren’t even the same race you bigoted fool,” Alastair retorted. “You do realize that shadowhunters don’t just reside in Europe, right? Or are you just that dense?”

A snarl appeared on the bully’s face. Alberto looked at Alastair with a look of approval.

“I’m going to give you both one more chance to apologize,” the blonde boy said. The look on his face was dark and menacing. “Or else things are going to get messy.”

“I’m sorry,” said Alberto. For a moment Alastair thought he really was going to apologize, before he finished his sentence. “That you’re an infuriating piece of shit.”

Alastair didn’t quite remember what happened next. Someone threw a punch and a fight ensued, but he didn’t know which of the three boys started it. That’s the thing with bad memories, sometimes they become fuzzy. It’s the only reason Alastair has stayed sane.

Alberto held his own, as the two brown haired boys came at him. Alastair didn’t have much time to help because the blonde one came at him. He ducked and parried each blow. His training with Cordelia was coming in handy. Alastair threw a few punches himself, making contact once or twice. Out of the corner of his vision, he could see people crowding around, watching the fight. There were shouts that he couldn’t make out. People who raised their fists and screamed as loud as they could. He was too distracted to notice he was being cornered into a wall, until he bumped into it.

“You have nowhere to go now,” taunted the bully. “Are you going to run away? It’s what your family does best.”

The remark took him by surprise and he felt a fist connect with his jaw. Alastair eyes lit up with fury and he brought up his knee to the other boy’s crotch. He crumpled like paper to the floor. Alastair used the opportunity to kick him in the face and pin him to the ground. He punched him, again and again and again. He didn’t know how many times, he lost count early on. He was mad at the world and he took it out on that boy. He was mad his father was a drunken bastard. He was mad that his mother cared more for him than she did for her own son. He was mad that the color of skin set him apart from other people. He was mad that his escape had already been ruined, not even a day in.

Then he felt arms pulling him back. Adults broke through the crowds and pulled both Alastair and Alberto out of the fight. The three bullies were being coddled and helped to their feet as if they hadn’t started the mess.

“He’s so violent,” he heard someone whisper.

“No one in London does anything like that,” said another.

“You can’t blame them, it’s just who they are.”

“Who let them in?”

“Disgusting.”

“Ugly.”

“Violent.”

“Dark-skinned.”

The chorus of whispers and stares made Alastair feel very small. All that rage and all that power he felt when he beat the older boy was gone. It was replaced by shame. He looked down at his feet as he was escorted out of the dining hall.

To no one’s surprise, none of the three boys who picked the fight got in any trouble. In fact they were praised for their courageous behavior against their attackers. Their fathers arrived and said harsh things straight to Alastair and Alberto’s faces. This is where children learn it from, he thought. Their families were filled with a hate that they pass down from generation to generation, not that it excuses any of the boy’s actions.

Of course, Alastair’s father never came. All he received was a letter scolding him for his actions, telling him that if he got expelled for misbehavior he would no longer be allowed under the Carstairs roof. That night he cried into his pillow. He knew Alberto had to have heard him, but the other boy never commented on it. It was a small mercy, but he appreciated it. In fact Alberto was his saving grace during those few days after the fight. He cursed out those three bullies and the Academy as a whole, every time they were left alone in their room.

“It’s unfair!” Alberto exclaimed one night. He stood on his bed with his hands on his hips. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“We didn’t,” agreed Alastair, who was lying on his bed with his hedgehog on his chest.

“How are we the one’s getting threatened with expulsion?”

Alastair shrugged. He thought about what his father wrote. “If I get expelled, my father said he would disown me.”

“What?” Alberto almost screamed. “You can’t be serious. Does he know what really happened?”

“No, but he doesn’t care. He isn’t a good man.”

Alberto was silent, which was a rarity. Alastair didn’t even realize he was hovering over his bed, until he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “If he does, I bet I can convince my father to take you in for the time being. If not the Institute in Madrid will. There are plenty of kids there without a place to live.”

Alastair nodded, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He didn’t know if his father’s threats were empty, but he didn’t want to find out.

During the next few days, the punishments were further discussed amongst the deans. They demanded punishment, some even pushed for expulsion. The only reason the decision wasn’t made sooner was that both boys came from influential families. Alastair’s father was still known as a hero even if he knew it was far from the truth and Alberto’s father’s brother held a high position in the Clave. It wasn’t until the day of decision that the later’s father spoke during one of the meetings.

“My son will no longer be attending the Academy,” he boomed. Alberto’s father was a large man, unlike his son who was tall, but a twig. “Place the blame on us if you wish. You can label Alberto as an expulsion if it makes you all feel better about yourselves, but keep Carstairs out of this. I ensure you that the Consul won’t be thrilled if you punish him for this given her history with his family.”

The deans took his words to heart and Alastair was let off easy. He was given kitchen and cleaning duties until the winter break. Alberto was gone within the day and it was as if he never attended. No one spoke of him and no one missed him, other than Alastair. It hurt more than he thought it would. If things hadn’t gone the way they had, they could’ve been friends. He could almost imagine traveling to Madrid over the summer to visit him. Cordelia would have loved him. It was all so unfair.

Thinking of Alberto also made him think of his father. A genuinely good man who came to his son’s aid, unlike Alastair’s own. He was probably to busy at the pub to even think of coming to defend his son. He couldn’t help, but get just a little jealous.

The next few weeks were lonely. He never got a new roommate, so he had the space to himself. It was good in some ways, like how he pushed the beds together to make the space seem larger. It also let him hide by himself whenever he wasn’t in class. Yet whenever he walked down the halls, everyone was in pairs. Roommates were year long best friends and Alastair no longer had one.

In fact all of his plans for making friends were ruined. Anytime he tried to talk to someone they walked away, acted like they didn’t hear, or insulted him. When group projects were given in class, he was the only one with no partner and had points taken off because of it. Some teachers weren’t any better than the students. He got lower scores than his classmates, even if he knew he had to have done just as well. It was infuriating, to say the least.

When he wrote to Cordelia, he made up tales from the Shadowhunter Academy that weren’t true in the slightest. There was just enough detail to suffice her curiosity, but he never gave any names or specifics. She was bound to grow suspicious soon, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t know the truth, and neither could his mother. They deserved to sleep easy at night thinking at he was having the time of his life at school. There was no need to worry them, when there was nothing they could do to ease his pain or his loneliness.

Every morning, he woke up early to help the cooks make breakfast for everyone and every evening, he cleaned the dining room until it shined. It left him doing his homework until late in the evening. It was an endless routine of misery that left him tired day in and day out. He honestly didn’t think that things could get any worse.

One night after cleaning, he took the long way back to his room. There was a route that went outside that led to the west wing of the building. He took it once a week to get some fresh air and look at the stars. Walks have always calmed him down whenever he was having a rough time. Often he would wander the woods of Cirenworth, but the path from the dining hall to his room had to be good enough. He didn’t trust the woods in Idris enough to start exploring.

“Look who we have here,” he heard someone say.

His blood ran cold when he turned around and saw that head of blonde hair. His two companions were also there, but there was also two newcomers. He recognized them from his classes, Clive Cartwright and Augustus Pounceby.

Alastair took a step back.

“I never got my apology,” he said.

His face had mostly healed from Alastair’s blows, but his one eye was still dark.

“I haven’t bothered you. I don’t plan on picking any more fights,” Alastair said and put his hands up in defeat. “Just let me be.”

“And what are you going to do if we don’t? You can’t afford to get into another fight,” he said and took steps toward Alastair. “If I heard correctly, you’ll be disowned.”

How did they know that? Did the school go through his mail?

“If I was him, I would want to get expelled. What family of freaks hasn’t stayed in a country for more a few years?”

“They’re probably running. He got his violent tendencies from somewhere.”

Everyone chuckled. Alastair had never felt more alone.

“I’m going to tell you exactly what’s going to happen. Augustus and Clive here are going to be beat the shit out of you and you aren’t going to do a thing to stop them. If you do, we’ll tell the deans you picked another fight. Then you’re going to apologize to each of us. Do you understand?”

Alastair had his fair share of suffering during his short lifetime, but it never seemed to end. The nightmare got worse and worse with each passing day. He was naive to ever think that anything good would come out of this place.

“I understand,” he said softly.

Pain. The next few minutes were filled with pain. Kicks and punches thrown until he could no longer stand. He curled into himself as his classmates continued to beat him. Blood filled his mouth. It had a coppery taste. He heard a snap as a shoe slammed down on his ribs. He cried out in agony. It didn’t stop. It felt like it would never stop.

When they finally did, Alastair begged. He kneeled on the ground like a pathetic creature and apologized until his throat was sore. His face was covered in a mixture of blood, sweat, and tears. He clutched his side, his rib most likely broken. Bruises already starting to form over most of his body.

“Good boy,” said the blonde. “I expect you’ve learned your lesson now, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Alastair croaked out.

“Well then, I guess we’re done for now.”

“For now?”

“Did you think we would just let you be forever?” He snickered.

That night Alastair cried once more, except this time each sob hurt. He didn’t dare go to the infirmary where they would question the origin of his injuries. Instead he found some gauze and bandages to patch himself up to the best of his ability.

He could no longer even bear to send letters to Cordelia. It hurt too much to even fake happiness anymore. He didn’t read hers either. They accumulated in his desk drawer, along with the hedgehog that he stuffed away in there.

Alastair was taunted and used as a punching bag whenever the bully boys got bored of tormenting mundanes. Nothing was as bad as that first night, but he had to spend every moment of every day on edge. He never knew when he would see blonde hair and green eyes coming around the corner. That was until the day that everything changed.

A month or two after the first incident, he was walking back to his room and some kid ran into him. A mundane if he had to guess by the scared look on his face. Alastair honestly couldn’t say exactly why he said what he did. His temper got the best of him, as it tends to and that kid was just in the way. He didn’t mean for it to be anything personal.

“What’s wrong with you?” He yelled. “Do you have no sense of space? How do you expect to fight if you can’t even walk down the halls without running into someone? You’re pathetic. You’ll never become a real shadowhunter.”

The boy cowered beneath him and Alastair looked at him in horror. He saw himself in that scared face, but what terrified him what he was becoming. How could he be so cruel to someone he had never met before? Someone who’s wrongdoing was so small? He didn’t want to be consumed by cruelty and hate.

“Good one,” said the blonde from his nightmares. “Don’t you agree Clive?”

Alastair spun around to see both the blonde and Clive behind him. They looked almost impressed.

“Maybe Carstairs isn’t so bad after all,” Clive replied.

The rest was history.

-I do have some notes at the end of this chapter on the AO3 version-

Taglist:

@artistinsoul

@laylax13s

@thelasthours-alastair

@ashisamess

@thedamnephilimfangirl

@youwerealwaysmysecret

@melanielocke

@yozinha-z

#alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #thomas x alastair #thomastair #shadowhunter academy #chain of lies #tlh #the last hours

20 notes · View notes