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the-merry-thieves · 1 month

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Curzon Street Confrontation, rewritten from Anna's POV

An Anna Lightwood fanfiction/POV rewrite

After an eventful debrief at Curzon Street, Thomas, Christopher, and Anna walked out to the front steps together. Cordelia’s news of the night was still spinning in Anna's mind when she saw Ariadne standing beneath the steps.

“Ari.” Anna moved leisurely toward her on the pavement, making a point of stopping to take a puff of her cheroot. Ariadne had donned her gear from earlier that day and was now in an olive green dress that came in at the waist, accentuating her elegant figure. She looked as beautiful as she always had. “Taking a walk?”

“I wanted to see you,” Ariadne said. “I thought we could—”

Anna stopped the other girl in her tracks. She wouldn’t let Ariadne say anything that might faze her, wouldn’t let Ariadne see the reaction her words might evoke. “Go to the Whispering Room?” Anna blew a long, slow smoke ring and watched it dissipate into the cold night. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. Tomorrow afternoon, if you—”

Now it was Ariadne’s turn to interrupt Anna. Her voice was steady with resolve. “I was hoping we could go to your flat.”

To this, Anna said nothing, only willed her face not to betray her. Over the past two years, she had worked to make her flat a place of comfort, a place that was fully hers. She did not think she could bear being in such a vulnerable space with Ariadne. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I have an assignation tonight.”

This was true; it was no secret that Anna had a penchant for debauchery, and that she enjoyed the novelty of having a different girl in her bed with each fortnight. Besides, after the battle at the courtyard, Anna had been in the mood for a little fun with a pretty mundane girl. That is, until she saw Ariadne.

Ariadne faltered, and Anna could see a momentary flicker of hurt pass through her eyes. But she covered this up with a smooth, cordial nod of understanding that made Anna’s heart pang inexplicably.

“Today,” Ariadne pressed on, “when we were in the courtyard—when we were first attacked—you pushed me behind you.”

Anna raised her eyebrows. “Did I?” she asked in her best nonchalant voice, tapping the cheroot between her fingers.

But it was no use; they both knew it was true. Anna knew that she had been unguarded in that instant, letting her face reveal true fear as she thrust Ariadne out of harm’s way. She cursed herself—two years of forgetting, reinventing, and she was still letting Ariadne throw off her guard. She wouldn't let it happen again, starting with this encounter.

“You know you did,” Ariadne said. “You would protect me with your life, then, but you will not forgive me. I know I asked you earlier—”

Anna sighed. “I am not angry at you, nor trying to punish you. But I am happy with who I am. I do not desire a change.”

“Maybe you are not angry with me,” Ariadne said. Dampness had gathered on her long eyelashes; she quickly blinked it away. “But I am angry with myself. I cannot forgive myself. I had you—I had love—and I turned from it out of fear. And perhaps it was foolish of me to think I could pick it up again, that it would be waiting for me, but you—” Her voice trembled. “I fear it is because of me that you have become what you are. Hard and bright as a diamond. Untouchable.”

The cheroot burned, disregarded, in Anna’s hand. But she merely said, in a cool tone, “What an unkind characterization. I cannot say I agree.”

“I could have managed with you not loving me, but you do not even want me to love you. And that I cannot bear.” Ariadne laced her hands together. They were chapped red from the frigid night air, providing an idea of how long she must have waited for Anna outside the house; Anna hated that she noticed this. “Do not ask me to come to the Whispering Room again.”

Anna shrugged, feigning indifference. You are Anna Lightwood, conqueror of others' hearts and ruler of your own; you will not let anyone see you otherwise, she reminded herself. “As you wish,” she said. “I had better go—as you know, I do not like to keep a lady waiting.”

Anna swiftly strode down the steps without another glance at the girl who had broken her heart once and had just broken it again tenfold. She managed to walk only a short distance before sinking down into the unforgivingly hard cobblestone steps of a neighboring house. She laid her head down on the steps and shook silently; no tears would come. She had not cried in so long, it seemed her body had forgotten how to do so.

Anna knew that she had pushed Ariadne away this time, that she had hidden her heart away with intention. For this very reason. So you wouldn't get hurt when something of this sort happened. She thought, trying to convince herself of the assertions she had clung to for years. But if they were true, why did she feel as though her heart had just been run through with a thousand daggers?

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Alright, I hope you enjoyed!! The dialogue is verbatim from the book so credits to the wonderful Cassandra Clare (and of course the characters are also Cassie's), but Anna's thoughts/the things in between are mine!

I'd love to get more involved in the fandom and meet new Shadowhunters-loving friends, so please comment your thoughts and message me if you want!

#anna lightwood #ariadne bridgestock #shadowhunters fanfiction #chain of gold #chain of iron #fanfic #the shadowhunters chronicles #tlh #tsc #the last hours #cassandra clare #shadowhunters

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livingformyself · 1 year

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So yeah everyone I'm not ready to leave tlh era... sooo any talented writer out there please add me to your taglist.... i repeat PLEASEEE

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reality-exodus · 26 days

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FANCAST: The Last Hours Fic

Last Hours of a Herondale

#fancast #fanfiction readers #shadowhunters oc #shadowhunters fanfiction #shadowhunters fandom #the last hours fancast #the last hours fanfic #chain of gold #chain of gold fancast #james herondale twin #james herondale #James herondale fancast #James Herondale aesthetic #matthew fairchild x reader #matthew fairchild #mattheew fairchild aesthetic

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heronchildlove · 1 year

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There was absolutely no need for that last sentence to read so sexy and yet-

#that is the Exact Construction of those 'he kissed his hands his wrists the base of his throat' scenes in fanfics and i just noticed that #now i can't unsee #your honour is it homoerotic to draw healing tattoos on the skin of your sworn warrior partner #heronchild #james herondale #Matthew fairchild #tlh #the last hours #tsc #the shadowhunter chronicles #canon #original #chain of gold #chain of iron #chain of thorns

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thrxughthenxght · 9 months

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You said to give you requests so here I am!

"Are we flirting?" "That's up to you." For gracetopher??

Lock & Key

Prompt: "Are we flirting?" "That's up to you."

Words: 1568

Thank you so much for this Bella!! I really like how this turned out and it's just in time for gracetopher week day 7 🤗 Thank you!

Also I haven't read CoT at all so forgive me if this isn't canon compliant. I did my best to be semi-canon. Let me know if you'd like to be on my taglist!

If Christopher wasn’t with his family or his friends he was with Grace. They were walking outside or reading in the library, but most of the time they were in Christopher’s lab, Grace preferring his home to the Fairchild household. Christopher missed the supplies Henry had but he had decent enough items in his lab, and he preferred Grace comfortable. Grace was often tense around other people, even if he tried to assure her all was well. She was quick to jump and fidget and twice she had been the first to exit a room if something startled her, always ready to exit. Now, in the light of the candles on the walls, he noticed the change in her edge.

Her shoulders were relaxed as she measured, and her knees were bent in front of her, her feet resting on the highest run of the stool she sat on. She lacked a corset so could slouch, when usually she was rigid like a log. Her hair was tied upon her head, a few bright strands falling from the hastily done updo. She wore the smallest pair of goggles he could find, and they framed her icy eyes, letting the light illuminate the iris'. Her lips were pressed in a hard line, a slight squint to her features in the thinning of her eyes and wrinkles of her nose. She was deep in thought with that face, and Christopher was both shocked and mortified when she suddenly looked up.

She raised an eyebrow at his staring, and he turned away. "Apol-apologies," he murmured softly, trying to focus on his notes. "You were very focused."

The goggles made a soft noise when the leather scraped the wood. She walked over to him, peering over his arm at the notes. "You're allowed to look at me," she said. "You're not the type to hurt a woman because you find her attractive."

"I wouldn't- I, um-" he sputtered for a moment, tripping over words as he did his own feet when he stepped backwards. He fell on all fours, his rear hitting the stone floor and a grunt flying from his mouth, cutting off his scramble for a response. They stared at each other for a few long moments, then Grace quickly turned away and covered her mouth. Christopher shot up, dusting himself off in the few steps it took him to get over to her. His hand hovered over her shoulder. "Did I startle you? I'm sorry-" Her shoulders started to shake gently and when she looked up he saw the crinkle by her eyes, but no tears. He furrowed his brow. "Are you... Are you laughing or crying? Because I'm not quite sure."

She let her hand fall, and a wide grin was on her face as she laughed gently. He started to lower his hand, relieved he hadn't upset her. He knew she was sensitive to sudden things, whether it be words or movements or memories. He smiled when her laugh got louder, and simply stood and watched her attempt to compose herself. "You fell," she giggled. "Am I truly that frightening?"

He crossed his arms and tried to further straighten his spine. "Grace Blackthorn, you are terrifying."

She smiled. "I'm just a woman."

"And a brilliant one at that."

She shifted to lean on the desk, smiling softer now, but it was close to something mischievous. "Am I not seductive enough for you?"

"That is not a part of your danger."

"No?"

"No. Some people can be seduced. Everyone can be outsmarted."

She smiled. "Well, then I guess we're very dangerous people."

"Indeed." For a moment it was silent, and Christopher cleared his throat. He shifted and broke his stance, looking down before meeting her soft, thunderous eyes. "Is this flirting?"

She shrugged and crossed her arms, tilting her head at him. More of her hair fell to the side. "It could be."

"Are we flirting?"

"That's up to you."

He stood still, trying to understand what she wanted him to do. It occurred to him that many times she had stated she trusted him, but he didn't want to break that trust. Grace was also a person he could spend him time with that involved his primary joys and interests. He loved his friends but he felt best alone with Grace in his lab, their lab. He wanted Grace to be... something, anything. Not to be his but to be theirs. He wanted everything to be theirs. His heart, her strength, his intelligence, her brilliance. He wanted them to be something beyond a friendship but he'd simply never had that before and it was frightening for him. All of Grace's experiences with such things were part of the reason she did not believe in herself or other people, and that scared Christopher most of all. He couldn't bear to be another man on the list of those who wanted her only to hurt her in some way.

"I think-" he snapped his mouth shut, correcting himself. He said he "thought" things far too often when he did in fact know things. "I would like us to be flirting."

She grinned. "So would I."

He lifted his hands gently, as though she could hand him answers. It would be much simpler that way. "What happens now?"

"Well," she said softly, pushing herself off the desk and walking to him until their chests were barely an inch apart. "I would be alright if you wanted to kiss me. Or... touch me, I suppose."

He shook his head. "You want me to do something?"

"Do you not want to?"

"I am frightened to."

She nodded, but her smile was never gone, just a little flicker of light to guide his lips to hers. It was gentle, just a small peck on each other's lips, but it was enough to make Christopher's face warm. She drew back by falling off her toes to her heels and opened her eyes. He blinked for a moment, then started to pull at his sleeve.

"Kiss me again?" She nodded, and he saw a light pink pulling at the snowy complexion of her face.

With another push to her toes she connected their lips again, but this time it was longer. His heart thumped, and another part of his anatomy wanted to join in but he wouldn't allow anything to ruin this; This rush of emotion and immense joy he felt now that he knew Grace wanted him in what was hopefully a similar sort of affection. He could only trust his brain and Grace at the moment, and when his brain slowed that trust fell to solely Grace, but he was quick to trust her to lead him wherever his heart desired. Sometimes it seemed she knew him better than he did. He had seen Matthew kiss girls before, had seen James kiss Cordelia, but he didn't want to do anything James might have done and he didn't fully trust Matthew to be his romantic guide. Instead of wrapping his arms around her he simply rested his hands on her arms, pulling her gently to him and leaning his head down so she didn't have to reach for his lips. Their chests pressed together, and she wrapped her arms around his forearms in return, much like a lock and key clicking into place.

They drew away from each other, and Grace relaxed against him, placing her head on his chest. He stiffened, but took a deep breath when she placed a hand over his heart. "Are you alright?"

She asked, turning her head and looking up at him. He frowned. "Me? I'm fine. Are you?"

She smiled gently. "More than fine, Christopher. I'm very happy."

His smile was quick and light, and he put a gentle kiss to her head, making sure to lean slowly in the event she wasn't happy with the action."I'm glad. I am not one for romance, but," he shook his head, "I have never met someone so wonderful."

She ran her other hand along his arm in soothing lines. "And I have never wanted to love someone so much."

"You could love me?"

"Anyone could love you."

He adjusted his glasses. "I'm not quite sure."

She shook her head. "I know it."

"Then love me."

She laughed gently. "It's not so simple."

"Do you understand love, then?"

"Not in the slightest. Though," she glanced down at the hand that ran the length of his arm. "I'm sure it's like an equation. You need multiple components and some time, then everything will fall into place."

He smiled. "That sounds quite nice."

"Then maybe we should work on it," she looked back up, her gaze so gentle he wanted to hold her closer. "Together."

Together was all it would take, just like many of their experiments. They could go through everything step by step, hand in hand, double checking and erasing their mistakes to make it right. They would figure out how to love, how to be together, as one. That seemed the perfect thing to him, two parts of a whole. One mind and one heart split into two people. That was how they could love, in small pieces they would eventually pick up and fit back together. It was as simple as a lock and a key, with the same hidden depths and perfect unison.

He nodded. "Together."

••••••••••••••••••••••

@iammadeofmemoriesforlife @grace-lightwoodd

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sourlemons262 · 1 year

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Every Saint Has A Past, Every Sinner Has A Future

Credits to @lemoncielart for their gorgeous Matthew fan art that I silhouetted!

Read it on Ao3 or Wattpad | Spotify Playlist | Pinterest Board | Updates at least once a month

Matthew Fairchild has a problem. After 5 years of sobriety, he’s found himself in a place where he’s ready to have a real relationship and start a life. Unfortunately, as the only child who can pass on the family name, his mother is more than ready to set him up with every Shadowhunter woman in the London Enclave. Everything changes when he meets an American Shadowhunter whose talent might save a place he loves deeply and whose boisterous personality might ruin the years of walls he’s put up around his heart.

Post Chain of Thorns Matthew x OC based on the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Filled with drama, comedy, and slow burn romance xD.

Published Chapters:

Prologue: New York, 1904

Chapter 1: The Near Death of a Bachelor

Chapter 2: A Secondary Set

Chapter 3: Night at the Ruelle, Part I

Chapter 4: Night at the Ruelle, Part II

Chapter 5: The Aftermath

Chapter 6: Az Men Zitst in der Heym

Chapter 7: Fifty-Fifty

Chapter 8: Because You Left

Chapter 9: What’s In a Name?

Chapter 10: To Be Normal

Chapter 11: The New French Couple Down the Block

Chapter 12: A Peregrination of Comedy

Tag list: @soybean-official @ibrushmyteeth-donttellanyone @tess-is-reading @lemonalienlime @bankofwildflowers @justbrainrot @akisekurahara @fangirlfreak08 @daisymydaisycarstairs @luciehercndale @streettealee @koussevitzky @rinadragomir @faithfromanewperspective

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vashs-posts · 2 years

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ohk so let's all imagine this.

Thomas loves languages. So i assume he loves travelling too, because then, he gets to explore new languages. Alastair speaks Persian, and tbh Persian was spoken in many South Asian countries as that time (zorashtrians, etc)

Imagine Alastair and Thomas going around south asia and living it up. Thomas knows hindustani (modern day hindi) and urdu. He knows Nepali and Bengali. They travel across modern day India, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Bhutan etc while having the time of their lives. They portal in and out of institutes, and bring in souvenirs for their beautiful cirenworth house.

Alastair barters with the rich Persian merchants and gets rich. We all know that Alastair is going to be an amazing politician, so by virtue he's an amazing speaker. Everyone loves him. And they love Thomas too, because even tho he's a white man, he's keen to learn their culture.

They both drink tea in the Mysore, and Hyderabadi palaces with the kings/nawabs. The nawabs gift them beautiful weaponry and paintings.

They take long walks in the palace lawns while men and women admire them through the eyes of ancient Bengali poetry.

They go hunting through the huge jungles. They train with the army and teach the new soldiers how to use weapons.

They wear kurtas with beautiful gold embroidery on it.

At night they sit on the rooftop of the Mysore palace. They look at the city below them with its candle-lit pathways, and the sky above them. They count their blessings along with the stars.

Now this is such a comfort headcannon for me.

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nerdieforpedro · 1 month

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Hi! For your ask game:

🛼 ⇢ describe your latest wip with five emojis

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

Jess!!! 😘 Hi!

🛼 = 🏠👓👦🏽📦🤝confusing as it only refers to the first chapter but you know, I don’t make sense. 🤣 It’s my Modern Din where he moves to OFC’s neighborhood after she’s had some circumstances lead her to moving in with her aunt who live next to Din and Grogu. ☺️ (I did cheat again with this but I did give a bonus this time.)

I may…or may not be working on more tales from beyond the gold chain…will they include chain restaurants? Smut? Smoking? Sweatpants? That damn silk shirt? All the above? I dunno, you tell me Jess my sister in Lucian who we may honestly trade between on the boulevard 👀 Erm…🤭 Anyway…

🏜️= Comments I enjoy are those that usually include something about my fic that they liked. Could have been the over all feel, could have been a certain part resonated with them or made them feel x emotion. Because that’s the mind of writer I aim to be. 🥰 I also enjoy ones that are surprised that I wrote something for x Pedro or Oscar character because surprise is always fun it if I enjoy exploring different characters and what I can do with them.

I’m just going to back into my puddle that had gold chains, sweatpants, silk shirts and beskar all in it. Might be 3 business days or more. Delays due to shipping and all that. 🥸

Fanfic writer ask game

#fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #fanfic writer #fanfic writer ask game #gold chains #sweatpants #din djarin #lucien flores #damn silk shirt

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luciehercndale · 1 year

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I can't sleep. Still thinking about CoT. I said this book made me happy, but it didn't mean it didn't have its flaws. There was too much at stake, too little time to unpack, and a lot of fanfiction like moments that, although I liked, probably left less space for the confrontation between characters and their secrets and feelings and the characters and their enemies. It felt often stressing, underwhelming, dragging. The plot was there but it didn't seem solid. A lot of stuff was overlooked and the writing was lazy, too intent on concentrating on getting to the point of the story (kill Tatiana? Kill Belial? Give a medal to Oscar the dog?) and quickly resolved as if there hadn't been almost 1200 pages (CoG + CoI) of build up before this. It was trashy, but I enjoyed nonetheless. At least mostly got their happy ending? And there is always fanfiction to fix canon problems

#tsc #tlh #chain of thorns spoilers #cot spoilers #chain of thorns #chain of gold #chain of iron #I'll write fanfiction to fix some messes #of this I'm sure #feel free to hit my ask to ask for fanfics

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laylax13s · 2 years

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Okay but hear me out.

I WILL do an Alastair fanfic based on Conan Gray's song named Family Line.

It fits him. Fight me.

#alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #the last hours #thomastair #tlh #chain of iron #tsc #chain of thorns #chain of gold #cassandra clare #cordelia carstairs #alastair carstairs supremacy #james herondale #laylas fanfic #layla rambles

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astriefer · 2 years

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And One Taught Me Pain

I wished I had something for all days of Alastember, but here I am popping at the very end of it to give you some hurt (and a little comfort).

This is an au where Sona died when the Carstairs siblings were young. Alastair had no one but Risa to help with Elias's addiction - but once he and Cordelia grew and had enough, the thought of running away was what they whisper about in the middle of the night.

CW: parental neglect, addiction, mentions of drinking, bullying (tell me if there are more)

@alastair-appreciation-month

"I'll be there in thirty," Jem spoke through the phone. Metal clattered together on the other side of the phone as if his cousin was rummaging through his keys. He imagined he walked out of the comfort of his house in the countryside near London in a rush, thanks to Alastair's out-of-the-blue phone call in the middle of the night.

Alastair clutched the phone firmly to his ear. "Thank you," he mumbled numbly.

He resented Jem. He was beyond grateful for this, too. His emotions were spluttered all over the floor and bare for anyone. Yet, once the blinding rage had faded, he couldn't feel anything at all. He was so bewildered, not to mention frightened beyond words. Nothing was certain anymore, and Alastair doubted it would ever feel otherwise. No. No, actually, that wasn't true. there was one thing the half-Persian boy was sure about: he wasn't returning back home.

Was it a home? Cornwall Gardens in south Kensington was where he, his sister Cordelia and their father had lived for the past few months. Since Elias came back from rehab, he turned a new leaf to be there for his children. At least this is the story the family told with a strained smile if it was ever brought up.

The truth was far more disheartening.

Having nothing else to say, Alastair turned to finish the call. His cousin wasn't done yet, though.

"How is Cordelia?" Jem asked. The younger boy heard the sound of the engine turning on. He tensed and started to tap on the kitchen marble table. "You said she's not with you. Is she still at home?"

His breath went out of his lungs involuntarily while the thought of it filled him with unimaginable dread. Layla alone with Father, having to bear his demands and his moods, and his recklessness. Layla watching the person she used to look up to with bright eyes in the past now with chagrin while he couldn't stand on his own. It almost shattered whatever small pieces were left of his heart.

"No," Alastair informed. He yielded the tapping to a stop, pressing his fingers to his thigh. He kept any emotion away from his voice, keeping it from wavering and choking. He can't be weak, not now. Not ever. "She is sleeping over at Lucie's."

"Oh," he could hear the confusion in his older cousin's voice. There was a pause.

Truth be told, he knew the Herondales wouldn't harm Cordelia. He didn't like James much, but he knew they were a respectable and kind-hearted family, and they loved her. Alastair, on the other hand? He bullied their son, he threw shade at their friends, and although he started to heal and deem himself worth forgiveness, he couldn't feel safe enough there to tell them the truth. So he left Cordelia on the steps of the Herondales' house – despite her stubborn protests of him staying with her - with her bag of clothes. When Lucie opened the door to greet her best friend and usher her in, he spiraled into the darkness of the night. It was better this way for all of them.

He expected Jem to ask why Alastair didn’t stay with the Herondales and was convinced he would question his ways. The half-Chinese man never did.

"Alright," Jem said, not probing further. That irked Alastair anyway, albeit mixed with surprise. He swallowed it – when his father was away and they lived with their aunt, through her stories he learned about how much his late mother cared for curtsey. She probably wouldn't be proud of the vast variety of swears he uttered thoughtlessly all the time, but he hoped she at least appreciated the effort to be mundane with his cousin.

"I will not tell them unless you want me to. But I recommend you speak with Cordelia, I'm sure she's worried about you. And maybe give a call to your aunt, as well." The dark-haired boy felt like he was being chided.

"And Alastair?" Jem added, a bit softer.

"Yes?"

"I'm glad you called me."

He hung up, and Alastair stared at the phone as the silence settled around him.

Alastair had two options. To seethe or to cry. It wasn't all that surprising he chose the former.

When he left Cordelia with the Herondales, he had no clear vision of where he would stay the night. Sleeping under the moonlight on a bench was the main option, but he was widely aware there were dangers in the night. He could try and sneak to Kamla's house. But although they were fast friends, she had no idea about… anything. His father, Cordelia, the debts.

Could he have trusted her with this? She would've gotten into a lot of trouble had she offered him shelter, so he dismissed the idea as soon as it formed in his mind. He didn't believe he would get any sleep at all, whatever he had done.

So he let himself walk. Which was an awful idea.

As adrenaline left his veins, and he had time to rewind in his mind the latest events in his life, it left him exhausted. And so, so angry.

The dark-eyed boy managed to walk along the moonlit Thames, stepping near street lamps that shone like fire on his skin, as he went up the river skimming the rail. It was getting colder, and he needed to find shelter from the approaching storm soon.

His fingers creased the ceremonial dagger gently in his jumper's pocket. His father owned a sword in his youth, Cortana, which Cordelia inherited. His sister took it with her when they left Cornwall Gardens in hurry earlier, the sword one of her most treasured items. It was a family heirloom - a reminder they were warriors, heroes - that passed down generations of Carstairs. It'd been said to bestow fortuity along great pain on its bearer, which Alastair had always thought quite contradictory. Besides, who wishes their ancestors to live through great pain? He had enough of it his whole life.

Cordelia took Cortana with her while Alastair took a Persian dagger Aunt Risa gifted him for Nowruz, Persian New Year, ages back when they lived in Italy. Risa was the only member of the Jahansha family to keep in touch with them after the death of their mother. Some of his relatives sent them the occasional postcard, but when they left Iran, Risa was the one who put her life on hold and join them.

There were many stories of how Sona Carstairs, eldest daughter of one of the community's strongest families lost her life – some verses claimed she had an abortion and died from complications. Others gossiped it was the heartbreak of losing a child. Others speculated she was pulled to the other world by her late previous husband, Theodore Verlac, to reunite or to demand revenge. The most popular tale, though, was that she was poisoned, just like she poisoned her previous husband.

None of those fabricated stories affected their aunt or her loyalty to her sister. Even when they were ten, two years after Sona's death, she helped to keep the house afloat in her frequent visits. Years later, when Elias was sent to rehab and Cordelia learned what his illness truly was, Risa moved in temporarily and helped them settle in London.

After he lived a somewhat normal life without Elias, he couldn't return to the hell his old ones were. Not again.

This day wasn't supposed to be any different from the new routine they had since Elias's return. It filled him with rage the way Elias treated them when they returned from school, asking them to clean and cook. Most days he claimed to suffer from a headache due to work, while he stunk from the alcohol he downed in a nearby bar. The things the half-Persian boy had done to keep his sister safe from the cruel truth, all the pieces of himself he lost in attempts to hide his broken life. It was too much to recall or think about. It merely left him feeling hollow and bitter.

He didn't get farther into the sulking. A very tall man interrupted his contemplating. He didn't pay attention and lost his footing, wide-eyed, barely regaining his balance. Large hands shot forward to steady the both of them.

The dark-skinned man's head jolted upright swiftly. His body tensed up and he placed himself in a defensive position out of instinct. One good thing his useless father did was to teach them self-defense and attack patterns to ward off any threats. Nevertheless, the person that called his name was not a threat. Not a physical one, at least.

"Thomas?" Alastair asked in amazement.

"What are you doing here?" Thomas asked, his voice stiff. He glanced at the dagger in the older boy's hand, just a fraction of nervousness passing his features. "And do you mind putting down the pointy knife?"

Alastair glanced down and realized that as he tried to keep himself standing he pulled his arm out of the jumper. Oh. He lowered the weapon, trying to stop a snide remark to leave his lips. But he always had a loose tongue when he was angry. Which seemed to be almost all the time. "It’s a dagger." Alastair spit. "And I can ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you."

It managed to shut Alastair up. He raised his eyebrows in surprise. There was a fraction less heat in his words when he asked, "What?"

"It's a personal favor for you sister, who's been trying to call you for hours, by the way," Thomas said coolly.

Alastair's heart dropped to the floor, but he kept his chin high. His phone had no battery once he left the Herondales' house. Had his sister called while he was out? She must have had if she called her friends and asked them to search London to find him in the middle of the night.

Still, something else sparked his interest. His hope.

"Do you realize," Alastair said slowly instead. "That it's a very daft idea to stroll by yourself in the night?"

Lightning appeared in the sky. Seconds later the loud rolling laugh of thunder was heard across London. It was Thomas's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Well, I can ask you."

"I am on my way to a friend," he lied. He preferred better that the hazel-eyed boy didn't know that when Alastair racked his brain to where he could stay the night, none of the options were very pleasant. Alastair had no friends. Unless he counted Charles – which he did not. "And anyhow, I considered you the least stupidity–inclined of that group of friends you have."

"Really," Thomas retorted dryly.

"Obviously, yes." Alastair huffed, trying to compose himself. "Please, no offense, but I wouldn't have followed someone all night to make sure they're safe, having no protection of my own. It'd be stupid." If it weren't for people close to him, he wouldn’t have bothered. And he didn’t think it was right to describe the relationship as close, exactly.

"I had no such expectations," Thomas assured him, crossing his arms. He was still glaring at him with such sharpness he had the urge to flinch, but Alastair was prideful and stubborn just as much.

It kept like that for a long, awkward silence. Thomas broke eye contact first. "Why?"

Alastair blinked in confusion. There was a pause, in which none of them seemed to know what to do or say.

"I-" Alastair has no idea what Thomas asked 'why' about. Why did he take a night trip in London with no appropriate clothing in an impending storm? Why didn't he make sure to charge his phone? Why was he there, having an eye contest with Thomas Lightwood? "I don't know what you mean."

"You know what I mean," anger tinted Thomas's voice now, and he clenched his hands into fists. "Why-"

Alastair was not having it. He answered the question with his own.

"Why would you come search for me?"

After all, You hate me.

Thomas scoffed. "What do you mean? Cordelia asked me to help. I wouldn't have come on my own accord."

"You went out of your way to search for a person you despise?" Alastair tried to clarify. "Why go through the trouble? Why not pretend you already went to sleep, or that you are helping with your mother's café. Anything, really?" He sounded almost desperate in the ending. Thomas must have hallucinated it.

Thomas was excellent at reading people, Alastair especially. The Lightwood boy assumed Alastair wasn't accustomed to someone understanding him, knowing his heart as easily as it is to know his own. When Thomas looked at his unreadable face, visible in the moon's soft glow, he knew that Alastair couldn't understand why.

"Because I'm not heartless, unlike you," he answered. A half-truth. He watched as Alastair gritted his teeth.

"I tried to apologize." Alastair countered, "I know what I did was - unacceptable. That it hurt you. I regret the path I've taken. But when your father is the advisor of the president and part of the British parliament, you cannot possibly pretend people don't gossip."

"You are not just people," Thomas said, a tad bit too fast and too harshly. He shut his mouth tightly as he registered what he blurted out.

Alastair did too, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "What exactly," he exclaimed, slowly, "do you mean by that?"

Thomas took a deep breath. "I mean," Thomas said sternly, avoiding his eyes. "That you knew James, still you decided to pick on him. You humiliated people. You had no reason to be cruel to us. I know the world hasn't always been there for you, but you could've chosen to be kinder."

Alastair restrained a disbelieving snort. He wanted to say, Thomas, by the love of the Angel, there's so much worse that could have happened to you lot.

What did come out of his mouth was, "What do you know?"

Thomas's gaze shot to him in shock. He opened his mouth, but Alastair cut him off with a violent shake of his hand.

"What do you know," Alastair repeated, enraged. "About my life, about what I had to do? You say I had an option, but I did not." His fingers itched, so turned them into fists and shot his hardest look at Thomas. "You whine because I spread a rumor once, when I was, what, thirteen? Try hearing everyone laugh at you all your life because you have only a father, and that's an overstatement!" He smiled then, a crooked smile that broke Thomas's heart. "Try being kind, Thomas, when the world has only ever been merciless."

He literally spat the last words. And now that he has begun, Alastair found it impossible to stop. He wanted to be heard, for once. He wanted something to take off the pain that never seemed to leave him alone. Thomas, on his part, looked mortified. "And you know why I'm not worried about walking alone at night? I've done that since I was a kid. When I did works a child shouldn't do. When I never had a shoulder I could lean on, unlike you and your family and friends. The world has never proven to me it could be anything but tedious." Alastair had no idea when the tears started, neither he knew about the rain that poured around them. But when he felt something wet on his cheeks, he realized streams of tears had constructed on his face.

He breathed a long, profound breath that stabilized him enough to continue. "So don’t assume I should be grateful that you sacrificed your pride to come search for me," He stepped closer to Thomas, poking his finger in his chest. Thomas blushed faintly. "That you were so kind as to speak to me. I might l-" he paused. It was then that he looked away from Thomas, averting his eyes. "I try to do better. To be better. And you can despise me all you want, but you don't get the tell me I should have been kinder." Alastair's throat felt dry all of a sudden. He poked Thomas's chest weakly once again. "You do not."

Thomas gawked at Alastair. He knew there was no way to answer this correctly, and he doubted he needed to. Alastair didn't say this to make him pity him. The said man moved to keep a distance between them, as Thomas found himself saying: "I don't hate you."

Alastair lifted his gaze to look at his eyes, glassy dark eyes – dark as the sky above them, that started to seriously gather clouds by now. "I tried. To think of you as a monster, to loathe you. But I can't, " Thomas whispered, looking to keep Alastair's eyes. He didn't understand all of what Alastair has said. But it was enough for him to connect the dots. "Cordelia suddenly dropped off at Lucie. You wander the city at night…" he trailed off.

They weren't close, they weren't even on friendly terms anymore. Thomas busy himself trying to convince himself the man in front of him had no heart. But he couldn't have been more misguided. He felt ashamed, all of a sudden. He was a complete fool, wasn't he?

"I…" Something shut off behind Alastair's eyes. It looked like the spirit he had moments ago abandoned him, and Thomas first took notice of the dark circles around the older boy's eyes. The way every strand wasn't perfectly in place, so unlike Alastair. What startled him the most was the look of defeat in his eyes. "I have nowhere else to go."

What does that mean?

Before Thomas had a chance to ask, a loud HONK! Startled the both of them. A car skidded to a stop next to them. As the window rolled down, Thomas gasped in astonishment.

Alastair squinted, trying to recall the name of the man in front of him. Then it clicked. "Gideon Lightwood?"

"What are you doing out, my boy?" He quizzed Thomas. His eyes reflected his curiously, with slight alarm. "Alastair Carstairs?"

Alastair nodded, not sure what to say.

"We…" Thomas thought of something to say. He looked at Alastair. What excuse could they make, when they wear bone-deep soaked in rainwater, far away from both their homes?

"Nevermind that. Get inside first, before you'll catch a cold." Thomas obliged and rushed to slide inside the back seat. He was dripping water, which his mother wouldn't be pleased about. Both for the car and himself.

"What are you doing, standing there like a statue? Get inside." Gideon told Alastair, who blinked with surprise. Gideon gave him an encouraging honk, and Alastair started to think he just really liked to blow the car's horn.

It gave Alastair a startle. This man was worried for him. It was odd and, he suspected, very much like Gideon Lightwood, because Thomas hadn’t seemed to be surprised by his father's concerned face.

Hesitantly, Alastair entered the car. He sat on the back seat, near Thomas. After he fastened the belt, he straightened his back and stiffly thanked Gideon.

"Anytime," Gideon Lightwood, the man Alastair slandered in his youth, smiled brightly at him. Something inside him twisted. "Shall we take you home, Alastair?"

Thomas glanced at Alastair as he stiffened. I have nowhere else to go.

"It's the route you take every day to work, right, Pa?" Thomas asked. "We're closer to our house. And we're both soaked. I think we should get home and change to some fresh, dry clothes."

Gideon frowned. "Is it okay with your father, Alastair?"

"Yes," Alastair answered, his voice steady and closed off, composed. It was Alastair Carstairs, the untouchable, cold, and stony persona he wore anywhere else but when it was just himself. "He doesn't mind."

Thomas couldn't stop gazing at Alastair. Gideon seemed to trust Alastair's word, so he started the car toward home.

The hidden, grateful eyes of Alastair had not gone unnoticed by Thomas. Maybe Alastair wasn't so bad. Maybe Thomas misunderstood it all. But he knew one thing: he wanted to be there for him. So he had.

Taglist: (which is very old, so please tell me if you don't wanna be here)

@life-through-the-eyes-of @rainingpouringetc @takethetrain @ary-es @justanormaldemon @tessherongraystairs

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streettealee · 11 months

Quote

You are not tracking my sister. I will do it.

Alastair Carstairs to James Herondale, Wasting Beats In This Heart Of Mine by streettealee.

#alastair carstairs #cordelia carstairs #the last hours #chain of gold #chain of iron #tlh #coi #fanfic #wasting beats in this heart of mine #wbithom #streettealee #james herondale

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lovelylovelyyylooovv · 1 year

Text

still wanting for the herondaisy cot fanfic … 😢

#chain of thorns #cordelia carstairs #chain of thorns spoilers #james herondale #herondaisy #the last hours #james x cordelia #chain of iron #chain of gold #james x cordelia fanfiction #fanfic

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grace-lightwoodd · 2 years

Text

Late night coffee

Ship: gracetopher

Prompt list: x

Notes: nothing like a self-indulgent au to get me back into the swing of things

Grace was overwhelmed. It was as simple as that. Her brain was pounding on the insides of her skull, desperate for a release it would never receive. She couldn’t seem to focus on the assignment laid before her, and it certainly didn’t help that she just so happened to have feelings for her lab partner, the boy that sat before her.

Her lab was due at midnight. It was currently nine, and Grace had been too distracted by Christopher’s unfairly pretty eyes (it should’ve been a sin to have eyes that color of purple) to actually get any valuable work done.

“You’re worrying too much,” Christopher said, looking up from his paper to give her a knowing glance.

Grace sighed. “How are you not stressed about this, then? Please, teach me your ways.”

“It’s one lab. We’ll do, what, like three more this term? Even so, I’ve done the work. I know you have, too. There’s no need to worry if you’re well-prepared.”

She nodded absentmindedly, scribbling work in the margins of the once-pristine white paper that was now marred with residue graphite that didn’t quite erase. From her peripheral vision, Christopher beamed, leaning forward and dropping his voice to a whisper, as if he were telling her some well-kept secret. “Besides, Fell loves me.”

Grace huffed a laugh against her will, looking up to give him a proper eye roll. “He absolutely does not.”

“If I tell myself he does, it’s bound to become true.”

“Fell hates everyone. And it certainly doesn’t help that we’ve almost blown up the lab on multiple occasions.”

“Everyone’s had near-death experiences in that lab.”

She hummed, turning her attention back to her paper, running her eyes over her work and groaning at the realization that she did it wrong. Again. She cussed under her breath, setting her eraser to the paper and beginning to scrub at the barely-coherent scrawls of numbers and formulas, only getting more aggravated when it didn’t erase as easily as she’d hoped.

“That’s it,” said Christopher, gently pulling the pencil from Grace’s hand. “Get your stuff. We’re going for a coffee.”

She sighed, reaching for the pencil kept just barely out of her reach. “I’m not sure we can afford the luxury of breaks right now, Christopher. We have, like, three hours.”

“Aren’t you the one that once told me breaks are a necessity?”

She elected not to respond, hoping her glare would be scathing enough to scare him away from the topic. Alas, no such miracle was granted to her.

“A change of atmosphere would do us well,” he said, scooping his own stuff into his bag. “And I’m paying, so you don’t really have an excuse.”

Grace huffed, shoving her computer into her backpack and standing to follow Christopher from the library into the empty street.

“What coffee shop is even open at this hour?”

“I know a place,” he said, tucking his hands into his pockets. “My sibling owns it with my sister-in-law.”

They walked in relative silence, only occasionally exchanging the odd joke or observation. Truth be told, it was a much needed moment of respite from the hours of work that hadn’t amounted to anything.

It was a relatively short walk, just barely long enough for Grace’s mind to clear a little bit, her shoulders releasing some of the tension they’d carried all day.

It was a small shop, but it was oddly warm and inviting, luring Grace inside with the promise of caffeine. When she pulled open the door, flinching at the bright bell that cheerfully announced their presence, she was greeted immediately by the smell of coffee mixing with the sound of the soft chatter of the few patrons the shop had at such a late hour.

A flash of dark hair rushed towards them, giving the pair a wide grin. The name tag pinned to their blouse read Anna (they/them). “Hey, Kit!” They chirped, reaching out to clap Christopher on the shoulder.

He chuckled, playfully swatting their hand away. “Hi, Anna.”

Anna looked to Grace with calculating eyes, their merry facade falling into a menacing glare. “Brought a new girlfriend, huh?”

Grace suppressed a startled laugh as Christopher turned a deep shade of scarlet. “Uh, this is my lab partner, actually.”

Their demeanor changed at once, their scowl transforming into a bright smile. “Apologies,” they said, giving Grace a wink. “Well, now that I have made things just awkward enough, I’ll leave you two to look at the menu. Kit, I trust you can give your lab partner some recommendations?”

He nodded, his eyes glued to the floor.

Anna reached over to ruffle their brother’s hair. “Call for me when you’re ready to order, alright?”

He nodded, and they entered the back room, a spring in their step. As soon as they were left alone, Christopher turned to Grace with wide eyes. “I am so sorry about that. They’re not usually like that, I swear—“

She scoffed a laugh. “It’s okay,” she said, her hand reaching for his shoulder, faltering before they could make contact. “My brother’s like that, too.”

He nodded, clearing his throat awkwardly and turning away to look at the menu. “Do you like lemon tarts?”

“I’ve never had one.”

Christopher whipped around to look at her with shock. “That’s a crime. I’m getting you one.”

“You don’t have to! Let me pay—“

“Nonsense. I’ll pay.”

Once they ordered and received their food, they settled into comfortable conversation, laughing at each other’s awkward jokes and telling each other embarrassing stories. Grace learned of the time he set fire to a part of his grade school, and in turn, she told him some of the less dark and more entertaining stories of her own childhood (not that there were many).

Her eyes caught the antique clock that hung on the wall. 10:25. “As great as this is, we should really finish our lab.”

Christopher nodded and cussed under his breath, as if he had forgotten about the responsibilities that followed him like a shadow just by talking to her. “You’re right. But before we do, I need you to answer one question for me. I need you to give me your honest answer, Grace. Do you promise?”

She fought off the smile threatening to curl her lips upward at her friend’s theatrics. “What is it, Kit?”

“Did you like the lemon tart?”

“I did.”

—

Against all the odds, Grace and Christopher managed to finish their lab report with a full half hour to spare. They exchanged high fives as they both snapped pictures of their work and uploaded it.

Since they both lived on campus, they walked together in the direction they came. Grace had always hated walking at night, perpetually afraid of what might happen to her, but with Christopher, she felt ease. Safety. It was an odd feeling.

After several minutes of debating semantics, they had arrived back to their university’s campus. Christopher, ever the gentleman, had been kind enough to walk her to her dorm building. She thanked him, about to walk through the front door when his voice cut through the silence: “Hey, Grace?”

She hummed, grey eyes meeting with lilac.

“Would you like to do this again, maybe when we’re not both running on spite and caffeine alone?”

She struggled to fight off her growing smile, to no avail. “What do you mean?”

“A date,” Christopher said, his eyes flitting from her to the ground, from the ground to her. “I’m asking you on a date.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Taglist: @ohcoolnice @life-through-the-eyes-of @all-for-the-fanfiction @my-archerboy @livvyheronstairs @livingformyself @the-enchanted-dreamer @buckley-robin @nezhcs @sapphic-in @duartesgem @thomaslightwood @cordelia-in-the-right-skin-tone (please send me an ask to be added or removed!!)

#gracetopher #grace blackthorn #christopher lightwood #the last hours #chain of gold #chain of iron #chain of thorns #my fic #tlh #tsc #coi #chot #gracetopher fanfic #gracetopher fic #no beta we die like Jesse

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