i redrew the cordelia flower card lol
DISCLAIMER: the background and text are all the original card by the incredible @cassandrajp i just redrew cordelia that’s the only thing i can take credit for
@justacrazybookworm @anarmorofwords @cuebooks @littlx-songbxrd @stxr-thxif @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @icouldnotask @apple-bottom-jeansx @carstairrs @youngreckless @jianming (hmu to be added or removed, terribly sorry if you didnt want to be tagged)
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when she asks you to retrieve the family heirloom her mother is keeping from her and then she decides to gift it to you 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩
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Why am I crying 😭😭😭😭
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Hiii, could you please write fluff prompt 13 for jordelia?🥰
Hi anon!!! Absolutely and I'm SO sorry this took me forever but it's here now dear 💚💚
I hope you like it <3
Prompt: “Did-Did you take my jacket?” “...Yes?”
James swatted Matthew’s shoulder after the other boy claimed he had butterfingers. Their whole team had showered after their latest game and were now changing in the locker rooms. Matthew was taking a ridiculous amount of time to put his socks on and James was debating whether or not to put his sweatshirt on. He couldn’t recall the temperature.
“I do not have butterfingers,” he said stubbornly, “I fumbled… once.”
“Twice,” Thomas corrected from the other side of the locker rows.
“Actually the difference is another one,” Alastair informed him, walking past “It’s simple math, really.” James noticed he had in fact stolen Thomas’s bag without the other boy noticing, and was rather proud of himself for it. James stuck his tongue out at him and Alastair flipped him and Matthew off playfully. After he exited he heard Thomas mutter, “Dammit Alastair,” and hurry out of the room after saying a quick goodbye to James and Matthew.
Matthew shook his head. “I better be off. It’s getting late.”
“I’d walk you out but I’m supposed to meet Daisy.”
Matthew snorted. “Make sure you two behave.”
James rolled his eyes. “Yes I’ll try to contain my raging hornieness that I’m clearly experiencing,” he said, pointing at his sloppy posture and drooping eyes. Their last game had been one of their rougher ones and he’d accidentally stayed up too late the night before. Matthew just waved him off, bidding goodbye and exciting the room.
James sighed, shrugging on his sweatshirt and grabbing his bag before walking out of the locker room. He was heading to the front entrance of the highschool, when total blackness came into his vision. He stopper, a grin appearing on his face as he held his hands up.
“Guess who?” A familiar voice challenged.
He raised an eyebrow. “Do I get a hint.”
“Well, that seems harsh.”
“I think you’re Dasiy,” he said, turning around and picking her up around the waist. She, through her suprise, quickly moved her arms around his neck, laughing gently. He smiled. Her hair was up in a messy bun, a two strands purposfully left on either side of her face. She wore a jacket over a white t-shirt and jeans. Normal enough for just a football game but there was one thing he noticed that raised his curiosity.
“Correct,” she said happily as he set her down. At his silence, she tilted her head. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no. I just...” he trailed off, smiling sheepishly, “Did-Did you take my jacket?”
“...Yes?” She looked down at the yellow and maroon jacket, composed of their school colors. It had his jersey number and last name on it, a little big on her but only because James liked things oversized. Cordelia was almost as tall as him, only and inch under but she had a heavily toned body, head of the girls wrestling team. “Did you want it right now? I took it out of your locker before the game-”
“Oh no, it’s fine, keep it if you like it. It looks wonderful on you.”
She smiled, tilting her head down slightly, perhaps because she felt herself. He smiled, and leaned forwards and down, kissing her gently on the mouth. She smiled into it before kissing him back, wrapping her arms around his torso shortly before they pulled away.
“What do you say we go get junk food then watch a movie at my place?” She asked.
“Sounds like a good time.”
She smiled and nodded, taking his hand and guiding him out the door, starting to discuss where to go. James didn’t think he could have a better girlfriend.
@alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @lightwoodsimp @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @melanielocke @justanormaldemon @writeforjordelia @carstairrs @lifewouldbebetteronmars @ddepressedbookworm @shadowhunting-hooligans @shadowrunner2000 @hardlymatters @littlx-songbxrd @totalbookmaniac @livingformyself @cant-think-of-anything @bookishperfection @herondamnn @myangelbach @wagnerthedragon @sanibond @livvyheronstairs @readwithlivvy @adams-left-hand @fair-childd @spearsandcarstairs @agnesandmina @readersconfessions812 @imherongraystairstrash
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Not me having a scenario in my head of Cordelia finally yelling at TMT and defeating Alastair after he was severely hurt or something because someone decided to make a joke or said a off handed comment about his injury
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I keep thinking we’ll have a scene in Chain of Thorns inspired by this
James, in Cornwall, not able to find Lucie and thinking about Cordelia in Paris, believing she hates him...
Get ready for some major Herondale pining!
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evil james herondale be like “daisy this marriage is real because i love you.”
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Jesse noticed her odd expression but didn’t press her to tell him what she was thinking. Instead he went on making his point. “What if one day we were attacked by demons? Someone would have to protect our family.” (Chain of Iron, @cassandraclare)
Or evil Jesse…
Tag list (tell me if you want to be added/removed) there’s no problem: @coffee-fandoms-and-chaos @runecarstairs @queenlilith43 @phoenix-and-dragon @blackthorn-trash @rinadragomir @adoravel-fenomeno @casualsthings @livvyheronstairs @ohcoolnice @runeless-parabatai @cordaisya @lucie-blackthorns @queenmollixofshadows @nc-scketch @lord-jethro @iespeciallyme @moonylupinhasdemonpox @sleep-hath-eluded-me @mysticstrawberryballoon @neo-lightchild-decafineator @julianblackthorn23 @luciehercndale @summergrace-art @noah-herondale-lightwood @revvs-trash @judeduarteismypresident @simpforheronstairs @imherongraystairstrash @ghostwriterfest2021 @littlx-songbxrd @julianblackthorn23 @blacktothepink @spooky-drusilla
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dare to stay and watch what we'll become
(If you know what song this is from I know it's sit, not stay, but that didn't fit as well)
Is it the best idea to start a chaptered fic when I've never been able to finish one in the past? Yes it is, have fun.
Cordelia glared at the Townsend's party invitation that had been aggressively tacked to the wall above her vanity mirror. Her distaste for parties wasn't nearly as strong as her brother's was, but regardless she felt it was, in their current situation, a frivolous expense. They were fresh out of a war, an experience that had left everyone scarred in one way or another, but she supposed even that couldn't pry extravagant parties from the London's wealthiest.
Running a brush through her hair, she looked to her brother in the mirror. Alastair wasn't going to the party, which only piled onto her misery. He had been earnestly requested for, her entire family seemed to be subjected to the prying eyes of the Enclave, but he'd managed to convince their mother that signing up for patrol on that night was more important.
Alastair looked up from his book, glancing at her curiously and effectively snapping her out of her thoughts.
"Denying these invitations is only going to make them more determined you know," she said. "They believe we're harbouring some awful secrets, I wouldn't be surprised if they sent one of their own to drag you to the party."
Alastair scoffed a laugh, closing his eyes, "Let them try, I'm sure after the stunt I pulled at the last Townsend's party they'll be glad that I've locked myself back in the house where I can't corrupt the purest minds of their children."
Cordelia frowned at the darker tone in his voice. She had always known he wasn't fond of social excursions but surely it wasn't healthy for him to be this isolated. He didn't seem bothered by it but that had never meant much had it? Seeming to sense her gaze on him, he turned.
"What is it?"
He raised an eyebrow, standing up and tugging the brush out of her hand. Carefully detangling the ends of her hair, he spoke softly. "Stop worrying about me. You're a very transparent thinker. I prefer it this way."
Sighing she turned in her chair. Alastair didn't meet her eyes, he often didn't when he was uncomfortable. "You don't."
Alastair didn't respond, but there was a tenseness in his movements. "Your hair looks presentable. Will Lucie be there?"
"She should be," Cordelia responded, absorbing the subject change.
Ignoring the knowing look Alastair gave her, she pulled a coat off her door. "I have to go now. I'd much rather prefer if you came with me."
"I know. But I can't."
When she heard the knocks on the door she turned to carefully wrap her arms around her brother.
"Have fun," he said, "Try to not let them drain all the energy out of you."
"I won't. Promise me you'll do something fun tonight."
He nodded, every bit as unconvincing as she expected.
Alastair let the curtain drop when Cordelia's carriage rolled away. Risa and Sona's steady chatter quieted and he could feel the weight of their gaze on the back of his head. Occasionally he wished for things to return to the way they were before his biggest secrets were bared to his family. He hated nearly everything about his own life then, caught up in a storm of misery that only seemed to worsen with time.
But there was a cruel sort of comfort knowing that he was the only one who knew of his own suffering. There was a safety in his brittle armour, and he felt weak with it stripped away. Logically he knew that concern didn't negate believing someone was strong, he constantly worried for his sister despite her strength, but he couldn't rid himself of the belief.
Glancing back at Risa and his mother, he could feel a flicker of a smile. They were preoccupied with fussing over Alastair's younger sibling who sat cocooned in a swarm of blankets, that were haphazardly pulled from boxes that contained neatly folded parts of Alastair and Cordelia's childhood. He moved to the couch hesitantly, claiming his spot beside Risa. He crossed his legs, shifting out of the firelight's glow, content to watch.
Thomas was wallowing. Caught up in his own bubble of misery, he watched as his family were decorating, or more accurately, attempting to decorate the ballroom. The New Year's Ball, among a myriad of other events, was a highly important annual celebration that the Institute had the honor of hosting. Unfortunately if sophistication was the ultimate goal, he thought as he watched Eugenia brandish her sword at Matthew as they attempted to arrange the candles in an acceptable way, they might miss the mark by quite a bit.
Resisting the urge to shred the mound of flowers he'd been handed, he turned to Lucie. She herself seemed to be lost in thought, her face uncharacteristically serious.
"Lucie," he whispered, kicking her ankle.
She startled, looking up with wide eyes. "Yes Thomas? I apologise, I was just..." Lucie trailed off, waving her hand as if it would make her sentence disappear.
"Do you think we'd be able to get away with sneaking off to avoid this party?"
"No, but I desperately wish we were able to," Lucie said casting a mournful look at the doors which people were starting to enter through. "We could go to the balcony I suppose. And barricade the door."
Thomas agreed with relief, catching a glance of the Bridgestocks who were being greeted by Tessa. Kamala looked up from the ground momentarily, her eyes widening fractionally when they met his.
In the two weeks that had passed since Belial's defeat, she and Alastair seemed to grow a friendship. He didn't know how much Kamala knew, though it was unlikely Alastair had told her anything considering how even now, she looked as if she was trying to piece together a puzzle at the sight of him.
Regardless he was grateful when Lucie pulled him to the balcony. Holding a hand up to shield his eyes from the light of the sunset, he looked to Lucie.
Who was firmly looking back. "Something is wrong with you." She declared, squinting at him. "You look remarkably suspicious for someone who's meant to be a voice of reason. If you have pulled off something highly dangerous you should confide in me."
"I haven't committed a crime Lucie. Nothing since the entire investigating a killer event anyway, even then I hadn't done anything illegal. I'm assuming."
Even as he said it, Thomas winced, his mind drifting to the hours in the sanctuary, to the person he'd been desperately trying and failing to forget for the past weeks. It was a cruel thing for his mind to do, to constantly take any normal thing in his life and warp it to remind him of Alastair.
Even now, watching the sunset and struck by the sudden memories of leaning on the railings that lined the walkway beside the river Siene. Enamoured by the beauty of the sunset on the water but more so by the sunset on him, turning his skin dark gold, defining every perfect wave that resulted from the wind pulling his hair out of its usual confinements. The way the light made it that much easier to note the way his pupils dilated when he saw Thomas, pushing the darker brown away and leaving Thomas wondering why is was suddenly much harder to breathe.
He was snapped out of his hazy daydream when he heard Lucie make a noise. Turning he saw her staring down at the steady stream of people entering the institute, among them and standing out quite a bit was Cordelia Carstairs. She was, he noted with a pang, alone. Not that he'd really expected to see Alastair here. He hadn't heard a word from or about the him for weeks. Lucie managed a quick word of departure before re-entering the ballroom, leaving Thomas alone on the balcony with his thoughts.
Kamala was hiding. Being the daughter of one of the most prestiges families known to the London enclave meant that she had to arrive at such parties outrageously early. Unfortunately, the girl she was trying to hide from was from equal class and had arrived before she did. She'd only caught a glimpse of Eugenia, tortuously beautiful in a deep green gown, before ducking behind a high shelf that was shoved to the corner of the ballroom.
One of the building's best qualities was the many hidden areas it created with it's dim lighting making the majority of the room fall into shadows since night had fallen. Backing away from where her parents were visible, she stumbled over the person that had materialized behind her, her elbow hitting the wooden shelf.
Rubbing the sore spot, she looked up warily, met with the sight of a very uncomfortable Thomas Lightwood.
"Oh." She said, staring up at him, unsure what to add. Kamala was sure that she was bound by some friendship pact with Alastair that entailed not exchanging a single word with Thomas, but after all she had no specific qualms with him. Alastair's relationships had all seemed strained and difficult, but knowing what she did about Eugenia's brother, he didn't seem like the cruel type.
Thomas shifted uncomfortably looking anywhere but at her. "I wanted to...ask you something."
Oh. So this was about Alastair. That she should've assumed. Watching him curiously, she waited.
"Do you know where he is?"
"You're asking me for his whereabouts? Why? Are you planning to go after him?" Kamala fought off smiling, deciding it would probably be unwise considering how distraught Thomas already seemed. But as Alastair's friend she felt she had some right to revel in his awkward situations. Or at least she assumed she did, she wasn't entirely sure how friendships worked.
"I- yes. Maybe? Most likely not. I might."
"Okay. He's scheduled to patrol the Fleet Street area if you'd like to attempt to find him."
Thomas, who was visibly red even in the poorly lit ballroom, just nodded and walked away, still appearing dreadfully discomfited.
"What did you do to the poor boy," an amused voice said from behind her.
Kamala startled at the sound of Eugenia's voice, and was even more alarmed by her hand that curled around her shoulder.
Eugenia didn't seem to be bothered by her lack of response as she watched her brother disappear behind the balcony doors. "Whatever it is, I must thank you for bringing it to my attention. I fear I've fallen behind in my sisterly duties of embarrassing him to death."
Kamala knew of no such sisterly duties. As an only child, the closest she could get would be to reveal her parrots deepest secrets.
"Always glad to be of assistance," she said, wishing she could melt into the bookshelves. "Though he has the right idea, finding a quiet area to escape this overwhelming chatter." Overwhelming chatter, she said, as if most of it hadn't been coming from her.
"If it's a place of quiet you're looking for, I know multiple. Growing up here does have a few advantages. I could... show you if you'd like."
"Of course," Kamala said, immediately and far too eagerly. "Just... a moment. I need to inform my friend of something do you know of anyone who could deliver a message on my behalf?"
Eugenia nodded, pointing at a nearby table. "Christopher could."
"He would leave the party to send a message for me?"
"No, no. I mean he might, but I meant you could try one of those fire messages of his."
Eugenia waved her cousin over, exchanging a few words before aqquiring a paper and a stele. She pressed them into Kamala's hands.
Using the bookshelf as a makeshift clipboard and thanking her, Kamala wrote.
I fear I may have sabatoged your patrol. In the spirit of communication, I'm sending this to forewarn you, if you happen to run into a certain Lightwood, I forfeit all blame.
Folding it, she gave it to Eugenia, who scrawled a quick rune into the paper, and watched it disentigrate to ash.
Cordelia watched the faux snowflakes drift above the dance floor, most likely enchanted by warlocks to never melt and stay perpetually floating in the air. It was snowing outside now too, she could feel some of the biting cold air seep in from the windows that she had pressed herself against, waiting for Lucie.
Lucie, despite her size, was easy to spot, flitting through the crowd like a hummingbird to reach Cordelia. When she neared, Cordelia felt relieved, wholeheartedly believing that there was no prideful way to stand at a party alone.
Lucie, without warning, took Cordelia's hand and pulled her along back through the crowd, too filled with chatter and music for her to ask why she was being dragged across the ballroom. They pushed through the doors, and exited through the foyer, finally stopping at the Institute's ridiculously large staircase.
"It's so loud in there," Lucie grumbled, all but stamping her foot. "Somehow their unimportant talk steals the thoughts out of my mind."
Cordelia smiled a bit, silently agreeing but still a little miffed with being dragged into the cold winter. Rubbing her hands together she lowered herself into the steps.
When Lucie settled next to her, the air seemed to grow slightly warmer.
"I'd rather we weren't required to go to these parties. They're dreadful. I want to sleep."
Cordelia nodded mournfully, longing for the warmth of her room. "At the very least we'll be here to witness any of the drama that's sure to take place."
"Do you believe anything of importance will happen?"
Cordelia looked back. Through the opened doors she could see Kamala and Eugenia walking with their heads bent low as they talked. Looking through the large windows she could see Anna looking nearly mutinous, James and Matthew looking oddly solemn as they dicussed something intently. Glancing up she could see the faint outline of a tall man sitting on the balcony, face tilted slightly downwards as if he was waiting. She turned back to Lucie, who was watching her with bright blue eyes. Resisting the inexplicable urge to draw closer, she shook her head.
"No, I don't believe so."
In the time between my last fic and this one a lot of urls changed so I might have tagged the wrong person on accident, lmk
Taglist, let me know if you want to be added or removed: @spooky-drusilla @adamariasmith @eugeniaslongsword @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @alice-got-the-blues @blackasmysoul @carstairrs
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Chain of Thorns Theory
Okay y'all, I have a new theory so buckle up! This one regarding Cordelia and her sworn fealty to Lilith.
In ChoI, the squad was all attacked by demons on the way home from the Shadow Market. It was a pretty intense fight, when one of the demons looks at Cordelia and says to the other demons "Padalin! Padalin! We dare not touch!" and then says to Cordelia "Padalin. Forgive. Tell your master. We did not know"
This excerpt shows a couple things. First, demons who feel loyalty to Lilith cannot/will not hurt Cordelia. Second, they have some kind of second-hand respect for her through their fear of Lilith. There are a few outcomes I could see from this.
Demons will not hurt Cordelia until she finds a way to reverse her pledge. This will protect both her and everyone she is with. While it will not help as much with the bigger plot, they all have a significant leg over any of the smaller demons.
Cordelia might actually be able to tell demons what to do. Not have complete control over them, but I think it's possible she could use the demons to her advantage. I'm not sure who she would use them against, but it also might just be her banishing them or at the very least commanding them to leave her and her friends again.
Everyone knows about the rivalry between Lilith and Belial. Cordelia will not be touched by the demons who are loyal to Lilith, but what with the demons who are loyal to Belial? For this reason I think her and her friends could also actually be targeted by those demons. Belial already has a personal vendetta against Cordelia, this we know. But now all of the smaller demons know she is directly on the opposing side in their battle against Lilith. This could be bad news.
I also have an idea specifically when we will she one of these manifest first. On October 1st, we got this excerpt from CC
"Daisy." Matthew spoke in a low voice, his hand tightening on hers. "I know you are lost in thought. But -- listen."
There was urgency in his voice. Cordelia turned to look behind them. Down the long tunner of the quai -- the river on one side, the stone retaining wall rising on the other, the city above them as if they had retreated underground.
Shhhh. Not the wind in the bare boughs, but a hiss and a slither. A bitter smell, carried on the wind.
We are too far along in the plot for there to be a randon demon attack with no effect on the bigger plot. CC loves to write fight scenes, but with so much going on in the plot right now, everything in this last book will be significant to the plot in some way. There is a reason that Matthew and Cordelia are getting attacked by demons. If any of my guesses are true, this is when I believe they would first be found out. It is early in the book Cordelia and Matthew are still in Paris, so this would be the perfect time.
As always, let me know your thoughts!
Tagging some people who said they're interested @anarmorofwords @queenlilith43 @icycoolslushie @gabtapia
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A demon lunged for Alastair: Cordelia brought Cortana down in a great curving arc, severing its head. Alastair looked peevish. “Really,” he said. “I could have done that on my own.” Cordelia considered killing Alastair, but there was no time.
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road trip but the goal is to cause as much chaos as possible and have it end with literally all of them hating each other
1. lucie - far too easily excited, tries to write down novel / fic ideas every five minutes and the only unity in the entire car is when everyone screams at her to focus on the road bc she almost careened into a ditch and killed everyone
2. christopher - do NOT give this boy the aux ever his music taste is so specific and not roadtrip friendly. now the chaos has a bad backing soundtrack so obviously i put him there. he’s constantly fidgeting with something or making something which a problem when you add lucie trying to see what he’s doing every two seconds but he doesn’t notice she’s looking so no one is watching the road for a solid 10 seconds every five minutes. he also forgets to watch the map so if that GPS ever goes out they are GONERS
3. jesse - i was considering putting him further away from lucie to increase chaos but i have a masterplan just wait. this placement is just as problematic bc lucie is constantly trying to talk to him which results in her shouting over her shoulder. he’s also the the one who has to deal with the chaos behind him as well as making sure good music is being played and ensuring lucie is actually driving. he will snap.
4. matthew - separated from james. look who’s behind him.
5 & 6 - thomas and alastair - they’re separated and matthew is in front of alastair they can’t hold hands or anything. so close yet so far. tensions are rising. alastair will occasionally kick matthews seat after some heated words and matthew will reach back to slap the offender which leads to thomas and jesse having to play parents all over again. it’s not going well.
the back row - my magnum opus. grace, james, and cordelia. (this obvs a modern au so no mental manipulation and abuse w grace/james, just a bad breakup or something whatever you want it to be, just as awkward but without the literal crimes.) this is the hell pit of the car. awkward central. the only friend in james’s talking range is thomas who’s far too stressed co parenting the matthew alastair debacle with jesse. he’s stuck between two incredibly awkward relationships, there is SILENCE and it’s not good. if james tries to make a move w cordelia it’s gonna be awk w grace right there. grace has no one to talk to and she’s getting annoyed at the boys very quickly, cordelias annoyed bc she’s also stuck in a corner and alastair is annoyed and annoying, both girls are pissed and it’s not gonna end well.
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"Demons in unusual places' was Benedicts motto"
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the girlies from Chain of Iron!! This started out as a doodle page and ended up as... whatever this is! Anyway I love them all to death :) Hope you all like it!!! This piece + some closeups are also on my IG @/ ladylyeart <3
characters belong to @cassandraclare thanks 4 the tears <3
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Me: *Locks entire TLH gang and main/side characters in a room*
Me: NOW WORK OUT YOUR SHIT SO WE CAN BE AT PEACE-
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Okay I would like to start by saying your prompts are all amazing and I love them-
I would like Alastair Carstairs:
“I’ve earned a solid night’s sleep. I’ve earned it. Who the hell is knocking on my door!?”
Thomastair or not works I just really want to see what you do with this 👀
Set at end of CHoI
Tw: none, I think
Word count: 767
Sooooooo I may have changed door to window!
Sleeping at Last
Alastair was just about to fall asleep when he heard a knocking-like sound at his window.
“What in the name of the Angel?!”
It’s been a long time already. After being arrest for murder, battle at the￼ institute, Cortana, and Thomas.
All Alastair knew is that he wanted sleep. Well needed sleep. He hasn’t truly slept, since his father came home and ever since he died. Alastair got lost in his thoughts for a moment then he heard the sound again. He got up from his bed, opened the window and whispered.
“I’ve earned a solid night’s sleep. I’ve earned it. Who the hell is knocking on my window!?”
“It’s me,” a feminine voice said.
“What the hell, Layla?! Shouldn’t you be with Heron-,” he cut off when he saw the state she was in. She was only in her nightgown.
“By the Angel! Meet me at the front door!”
Once he ushered her into the drawing to warm her up. He went to make them tea. Questions were going through Alastair’s mind, why is she here? What happened? Why is she only in her nightgown? Why-, His thoughts were cut off from the sound of the kettle.
He went to get the tea, while doing so he gathered his thoughts. He set the tea in the drawing room and poured his sister a cup, with no sugar. He handed her the tea. She was avoiding his gaze. He waited patiently for her to talk. He knew it was best for her to speak first.
“I’ve been lying to you for months.” His sister blurted out.
He raised an eyebrow at her. He knew she was keeping things from him, but that wasn’t usually due to their history. “About?”
“Everything. I-I,” Suddenly Cordelia breaks down. Never has Alastair seen Cordelia like this in his life. His strong and confident sister, crying as if her heart is breaking in half. Perhaps it was.
Alastair gets up and wraps his sister in his arms. He holds her till she is calm and breathing steadily. Her face is pressed against his shoulder, he hears her mumble, “I’m unworthy. I’ve told so many lies. Done so many unworthy things. I’m worth nothing without my accomplishments.”Alastair made a noise of concern. Those last six words caused him to pull away from her and look her in the eyes.
He sighs, “Layla-”
She cuts him out, “don't call me that.” As tears fall down her face again. Alastair looked at her confused. “Why not? Lay-Cordelia please tell me what has happened.” She looked at her brother, she looked as if she was scared she had failed him. “Please,” he said once again.
Cordelia poured out her heart and soul to him. She told him how her marriage was a scam, the truth about Belial, why she had given Cortana, why she no longer wishes to be called Layla, and lastly what finally broke her.
After she calmed down, the first thing Alastair asked her was, “Do you want me to go break his legs?” His question startled a laugh from her.
He then went serious, “None of those things make you unworthy. They only make you stronger and you will be able to get through this “trail” you are going through, Cordelia.”
Cordelia shook her head. “I don’t think I can. I lost so much and most of that was my worth.”
“You need to stop thinking. It’s not good to think like this. I know this Cordelia. Thinking this way will get you nowhere and I learned that the hard way. Together we can get through this. I will be with you every step of the way.”
“Promise?” Her brown eyes wide as she looked at him.
They sat there in comfortable silence afterwards drinking their tea. Enjoying each other’s company. After an hour had passed Alastair turned to look at his sister.
“You look exhausted. Come on, let's get you to bed.”
Cordelia smiled at her brother and nodded. They made their way upstairs to their bedrooms. Cordelia hesitated in front of her door. “What’s wrong, Layla?”
“Can I sleep in your room tonight? Like I know I haven’t done that in years, but I remember when I did, I would feel safe with you. I knew you would protect me no matter what. I really need that tonight.”
Alastair wordlessly opened his door and gestured to her to come into his room. Within moments they were settled on the bed, facing each other.
Within minutes both were sleeping at last.
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The King is down
Scene from Chain of Iron by @cassandraclare
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The Whispering Room: James’ POV
Here it is finally — James’ POV of the Whispering Room scene from Chain of Gold. I wanted to wait until Chain of Iron was released to give more people a chance to read the book, and also because what we learn in COI does inform the scene. I hope you enjoy!
*art by Cassandra Jean
Cortana wove with her words, underlining each one with steel. She turned as her sword turned, and her body curved and moved like water or fire, like a river under an infinity of stars. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, but it was not a distant beauty. It was a beauty that lived and breathed and reached out with its hands to crush James’s chest and make him breathless. — Chain of Gold
James had felt a strange emotion when Daisy first took the stage at the Hell Ruelle. It was a mix of several feelings...
worry on her behalf, annoyance at Kellington, curiosity, and admiration for her bravery and poise. It was unfair of these Bohemians to force her to caper for them, and, he thought, a bit insulting to Shadowhunters in general. He supposed that Matthew had given them a rather unusual view of what the Nephilim were like in such circumstances.
And then she had begun to dance. And suddenly she was not Daisy, his old friend. She was Cordelia, whose name meant heart, whose every gesture was fire. Every earthly worry he’d had had been swept out of his mind. He was conscious only of Cordelia, whirling back and forth across the small stage. Cortana danced around her, shedding light like embers. The dull glow of the lamps illuminated her body, describing her every movement, her every curve as she danced. Her scarlet hair whipped around her in time to the music, and the golden light of the lamps in the Ruelle slipped across her skin, slow and hot, like beads of honey. The cadences of her voice, rising and falling, seemed to weave a cage of silken thread about her audience, and James was no exception.
Later, James would think it was odd that he had not compared her to Grace. Grace had never entered his mind at all. Cordelia danced, and by the end of her performance, James’s entire life had been disassembled and put back together in a new and different shape. He was conscious of Matthew, beside him, also staring as the crowd cheered, his sharp cheekbones flushed. He looked dazed; James couldn’t blame him.
Cordelia descended the stage and slipped through the crowd to come back to them, blushing at the looks and murmured comments she was drawing from the audience now. James could see the desire in the eyes that followed her. Everyone wanted her. He felt a dull fury. They had no right. They did not know Cordelia. She was more than just that dance.
When she reached them she let out a long breath of relief and smiled. She glowed with the exercise of dancing. Sweat beaded along her collarbones, shimmered between her breasts. Her eyes were bright as Cortana’s blade, strapped to her back.
“Bloody hell,” Matthew exclaimed. “What was that?”
A look of uncertainty crossed Cordelia’s face. James said, “It was a fairy tale, Math,” and Matthew nodded. His dark green eyes searched Cordelia’s face, as if looking for the key to a locked room he had only just discovered.
Cordelia looked uncertain. James couldn’t bear that. She’d been magnificent; she should know it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. It would only make her self-conscious.
“Well done, Cordelia,” James said instead; when he unfolded his arms; his wrist hurt and he wondered if he’d been clenching his hands.
Cordelia. He hadn’t called her Daisy, and she looked a little surprised. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. Daisy was Lucie’s friend, the Merry Thieves’ compatriot; he found it a smaller name than she deserved. Cordelia, though—she had been a queen, hadn’t she? Queen Cordelia, daughter of Leir, ruler of Britain before the Romans had ever landed on those shores. Like Boadicea, a legendary warrior queen. A blazing white fire behind fathomless black eyes.
“Anna has disappeared with Hypatia,” James said, noting the empty settee, “so I would call your distraction a success.”
Cordelia’s lips twitched into a smile. “How long does a seduction usually last?”
“Depends if you do it properly,” Matthew said, with a wink. James felt it as a spark of relief, a bit of lightness amid the feeling that something heavy was sitting on his chest.
“Well, I hope for Hypatia’s sake Anna does it properly,” James said. He registered, with the reflexes of a parabatai, that Matthew had gone still next to him, and wondered what was wrong. “Yet for our sake, I hope she hurries it up.”
All hint of Matthew’s jocular tone from before was gone. “Both of you,” he said urgently. “Listen.”
Did he mean all the muttering about Shadowhunters? Was he only noticing it now? It had followed them since they came into the place. But when James followed Matthew’s gaze, he found Kellington staring with an expression of vexation, not at them but at the door. All questions were answered as through the door came Charles Fairchild, looking around him with a haughty expression. He looked like was about to raid the place; so much for whatever work Matthew and Anna had done for Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations here.
Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Charles,” he sighed. “By the Angel, what is he doing here?”
Charles was, James thought, probably looking for them. He was making his way through the crowd and gazing around him. Luckily for them, the crowd was not interested in letting him through, and he was moving very slowly.
“We should go,” James said. “But we can’t leave Anna.”
In one way, at least, Charles’s arrival was helpful; it threw a bucket of cold water on the roiling heat that had gripped James’s heart since Cordelia had begun her dance. Back to the matter at hand: a demon, a Pyxis, a plan.
“You two run and hide yourselves,” Matthew said, still keeping his eyes on his brother. “Charles will go off his head if he sees you here.”
“But what about you?” said Cordelia.
Matthew shrugged, but James could see the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. “He’s used to this kind of thing from me. I’ll deal with Charles.”
Not for the first time, James wished that his parabatai wasn’t in such a hurry to sacrifice his own reputation. He exchanged a long look with Matthew, but Matthew was sure, and determined, and his desire to rush into his own humiliation was an issue that would have to wait. Nodding, he turned and caught Cordelia’s hand with his own. “This way,” he said, and she nodded back in acknowledgement. As he pulled them into the crowd he heard Matthew’s voice calling, “Charles!” in a hearty tone of pleasant, if entirely false, welcome.
James didn’t know his way around the place, and the crowd made orientating himself even more difficult, but after some trial and error he and Cordelia managed to get behind Kellington and slip into a corridor leading away. This wasn’t safe in itself, since from the main chamber one would have a clear view down the entire corridor. In fact, they were temporarily more exposed than before, and James’s hope for the hallway to take a quick turn or to contain large statuary to hide behind was quickly dashed. He continued to hold onto Cordelia’s hand, not that he needed to; she seemed to know her way better than he did.
Partway down the corridor, James caught sight of an open door — its silver plaque labeling it the entrance to THE WHISPERING ROOM. Swiftly he drew Cordelia inside, out of sight. He slammed the door behind them, causing a loud noise, but he thought it couldn’t possibly be heard over the crowd in the main chamber. Only then did he release Cordelia’s hand and take stock of their surroundings.
The room was dimly lit, but not cold: a scented fire burned in the grate, filling the space with the smell of sandalwood and roses. It was a study, he guessed, based on the gigantic walnut desk against the wall and the bookshelves opposite, but it was too richly decorated to be solely a place for studious contemplation. Phoenix feathers and dragon scales danced across the gilded wallpaper; there were no windows, but the walls were hung with patterned tapestries, the floor covered with a rug so thick James felt his boots sink into it as he moved further into the room.
Cordelia had leaned her back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, full breaths, calming herself down. Cortana gleamed gold over her shoulder; the firelight gleamed a deeper gold on her skin, which seemed to take and hold its warmth. James curled his fingers in against his palm.
He wanted to touch her. He half-turned away, pretending to study the books on the wall. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the titles. Now they seemed distant, neither immediate nor imporant. He could have sworn he heard his own heart hammering. He said, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” surprising himself with the roughness of his own voice.
His gaze snapped back to Cordelia as she opened her eyes and gave a little shrug. There was something magical about the dress she wore: it followed the shape of her own body rather than the shape of corsetry or whalebone petticoats. It slid softly against her skin as she moved, just as her dark red hair tickled the bare skin of her throat, her shoulders. “I had a dance instructor in Paris. My mother believed that learning to dance aided in learning grace in battle.”
The word grace pierced James like an icicle. He could not quite picture Grace at the moment, it was true; could not quite envision her face. He had given Grace his heart — that was an immutable fact, something he knew as he knew that two plus two equaled four. But he had to admit that at the moment his heart did not feel given. It felt like a thrumming machine inside his chest, pumping blood and heat.
“That dance,” Cordelia added with a quirk of her soft mouth that struck James like a blow to the stomach, “was forbidden to be taught to unmarried ladies. But my dance instructor did not care.”
“Well,” James said, keeping his voice steady with practiced control, “thank the Angel you were there. Matthew and I could certainly not have pulled off that dance on our own.”
Cordelia turned away from him, the smile still on her face, as though she were keeping it secret from him. She trailed her hand along the top of Hypatia’s desk. At one end was a stack of papers held down by a large copper bowl of fruit, and she brought her hand up to trace its rim.
James may have been distracted beyond the capacity for distraction he’d known before, but he was still a Shadowhunter. “Be careful,” he said warningly. “I suspect that is faerie fruit. It has no effect on warlocks—no magical effect, at least. But on humans…”
Cordelia pulled her hand back as though stung. “Surely it does not harm you if you do not eat it.”
“Oh, it does not. But I have met those who have tasted it. The say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you can…have no more.”
Cordelia was looking at him now, and though it took a great summoning of courage, he returned her gaze. In her dark eyes the silver and blue flames of the fireplace danced. James could not catch his breath. He had never felt this before, this breathlessness. It was like pain, but with a sweet, sharp edge. Like licking honey from a knife. He said, in a low voice, “And yet. I have always thought…is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”
The door shook on his hinges suddenly, making a clatter that made both he and Cordelia jerk their heads around to look at it. The knob was starting to turn.
Cordelia paled. “We’re not meant to be in here —“
James’s world closed down to just this: Cordelia was here, she was with him, and she looked frightened. He would do anything to stop that look on her face. He caught her in his arms, and the relief was incredible — he had not realized how much he wanted to be touching her until he was. Until he was holding her, and her strength and warmth and softness were all pressed against him, and her face was so beautiful it hurt, and her lips were parted in surprise and without another thought he kissed them.
He could feel her sharp intake of breath with his hands, clasped together at her lower back. She gasped, but did not draw back, or away — he thought he would have died if she had — she leaned into him, her full lips opening under his. She was kissing him back. He tasted honey, smelled jasmine and smoke. His hand slid up her warm cheek and into the soft fall of her hair.
Cordelia’s arms were around his neck. Her lush mouth opened a little against his, and the kiss deepened. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he couldn’t help it; he moaned, and felt her tremble against him.
Very far away, a voice chuckled and the door closed with a soft click. This whole thing had been intended as a ruse, he knew, for the benefit of whomever was trying to get into the Whispering Room. Probably some Ruelle attendees, Downworlders most likely, who had snuck off for a rendez-vous.
Ruse accomplished, then. With intense regret, James drew back from Cordelia. Her hand, warm and soft and wonderful, was against his neck; her fingers stroked his pale white scar. Her eyes were fixed at the level of his shoulder. He could hear himself say her name — Daisy, my Daisy — instead of responding, she whispered, “I think more people are coming.”
He knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t care. He knew what she was saying: that she was asking and giving permission at once. All James’ life, he had struggled for control: control over his sudden falls into shadow, control over the dark world he could see, that was invisible to everyone else. He had worked and fought and trained for control every day, and for the first time in as long as he could remember it deserted him.
The walls he had put up burned to the ground in an instant as he caught Cordelia to him. He groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping over the silk of her dress, the hot satin of her skin. He undid the strap that held Cortana, got rid of it somehow — carefully, he hoped — and let himself fall back into delirium.
He did not ask himself why he had never felt desire like this before. He could not. He was lost in the feel of her, the incline of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped. They were kissing wildly, uncontrolled; they fetched up against the desk, Cordelia’s back to it.
Her body bent backward in an impossible arch, her hands going behind her to brace herself. Her eyes half-closed, her head fell back, revealing the bare column of her throat. He pressed his lips there, eliciting a gasp of surprised pleasure.
His hands trailed up the sleek material of her dress — he could feel the heat of her skin through it — from her waist to the neckline of her gown. His palms followed her curves until the tips of his fingers were pressing into the bare bronze skin just above the neckline of her dress. She was sleek and soft and hot all at the same time, like nothing else he’d ever touched. He heard her whimper; she was saying his name, and his heart beat in time with her words: James, James, Jamie please.
The please undid him; shrugging off his frock coat, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her until she was perched on the edge of the desk. The material of her dress bunched around her knees, her thighs, as she took hold of his shirt by the starched front and kissed him. His mouth drove against hers, hot and demanding, even as he clambered onto the desk after her. She reached up her arms for him and he sank down on top of her, bracing his weight with a hand above her head.
He paused, just for a moment, looking down at her. Her scarlet hair fanned out across the desk, her eyes glazed, her full lips red from kissing. He was cradled by her body, her legs on either side of his hips, her skirt rucked up nearly to her waist. She wrapped her long, bare legs around him and he shuddered. What was in him, what he wanted, was inchoate but insistant, a force he’d never known. A yearning like hot wires in his blood, the pain-pleasurable ache of unbearable wanting that drove him to kiss her again, kiss her harder. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling at it as he kissed her breasts, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until she gave a low scream and clutched at him with desperate hands.
He sank down against her and kissed her, hot and deep and hard. She arched into the kiss, her breath coming in gasps. He felt her through the thinner material of his shirt: the heat of her, the swell of her breasts against his chest, her hands smoothing over his chest, his sides.
His hands aching to touch her in kind, to find out what she liked, what made her gasp, and do it again and again . . . Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing. He’d known desire before; so he remembered, so he had believed. It turned out he had stepped into a puddle and thought it was the sea. As Cordelia moved in his arms, as her lips, he realized there was a depth to desire he hadn’t even guessed at: that it was more than just desperation, but joy and need and wanting and being wanted back. It was a fever dream, his hands sliding up under the heavy satin of her skirts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the soft sounds of her pleasure as she urged him closer, urged him onward, the desk seeming to spin beneath them.
He heard, as if at a great distance, the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head, saw the slim fair-hared figure in the doorway. Ice washed through his veins. Cordelia stiffened, began to scramble to sit up. No, he thought, but he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t blame her. It — whatever it had been — was over.
He slid off the desk. Already the fever was vanishing, that feeling —the glorious freedom from the burden of his own will — receding. Grasping at his control, he drew it around himself, reaching for his coat, turning to calmly meet the gaze of his parabatai.
“James?” Matthew said.
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TLH characters and with whom they would get along better of the Hogwarts students:
James Herondale - James Potter
Cordelia Carstairs- Lily Evans
Lucie Herondale - Luna Lovegood & Ginny Weasley
Jesse Blackthorn - Sirius Black
Christopher Lightwood - Newt Scamander
Grace Blackthorn - Fleur Delacour
Matthew Fairchild - Fred & George Weasley
Anna Lightwood - Nymphadora Tonks
Thomas Lightwood - Bill Weasley
Alastair Carstairs - Remus Lupin
(according to headcanons and marauders era, bc in this blog we don’t know who wrote Hp)
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TLH bookmarks part 3 — James Herondale
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