#tw elias carstairs

[edwinspaynes]

i'm sorry this is such a grim poll but i think about it whenever i read about elias

(This includes shoving Alastair off him or smacking him to get him to stop trying to take his drinks/remove him from bars btw)

[murderedbyhomework]

Alastair Carstairs would totally vibe with Melanie Martinez's Dollhouse. I can and will elaborate if someone asks.

[lifewouldbebetteronmars]

Title from Motion Sickness by Phoebe Bridgers

🙂🙃 *beep boop* @tessherongraystairs

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

I Have Emotional Motion Sickness

Herondale House on Curzon Street, 1912

Alastair was holding his nephew in his arms, bouncing him slightly with a soft look on his face. His nephew was adorable, he looked a lot like their brother Rostam had as a newborn; the same round cheeks and a head full of curling black hair, brown skin that was a few shades lighter than Cordelia’s, but brown all the same.

He was a carbon copy of Cordelia, there wasn’t a hint of James in him, from Alastair’s perspective at least.

Alastair looked over at his sister, who looked over at the two of them tiredly from her bed. Their husbands were taking a walk outside, leaving the two siblings to talk alone for a bit. “He’s a cute one, Layla. You got lucky. Especially with Herondale’s genes.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes. “Ha ha, very funny dâdâsh.”

“I’m a world-renowned comedian now, didn’t you know?”

“If the world is Thomas, then yes.”

Alastair rolled his eyes at his younger sister, fondly. “Well, Thomas is my world.”

The small boy in his arms started to squirm in his swaddle, trying to stretch out his arms and legs. Alastair smiled down at his nephew, starting to bounce him slightly, hoping to ease his restlessness a little bit.

“He’s an active little one, isn’t he?” he commented to his sister, sharing a look with her.

Cordelia chuckled. “He was restless inside the womb, it’s no shock that he’s the same way outside of it.”

“So, does this restless nephew of mine have a name? Or is he still baby boy Herondale?”

“We’ve decided to call him Owen, after James’s father, since his middle name is Owen.”

Alastair considered it. “Owen Herondale, son of the wielder of Cortana. A strong name for a strong boy. Does he have a strong middle name as well?”

Cordelia hesitated, deciding to look anywhere else but Alastair and Owen. She didn’t seem to keen on sharing the rest of Owen’s name, if looks were anything to go by.

“Oh come on, Layla. It can’t be that bad of a name, that you can’t tell me.”

Her hesitation showed in the furrow of her eyebrows and the wrinkle of her nose. “His name is…Owen Elias James.”

Cordelia whispered, still not looking at him.

“What?” Alastair was shell-shocked. How could Cordelia name such an innocent child after a…monster, like their father?

“Well, we were already naming him after James’s father, so I decided to add a bit of our father into his name as well. To honor him.”

To honor him. Alastair scoffed, putting Owen back into his cradle. “Why, and I say this in the nicest way possible, would you ever want to honor a man like him?”

Anger flashed across Cordelia’s face, a fierce expression lighting up her features. “That man, was our father. And our father was a hero, so excuse me for wanting to honor him.”

“A hero? Is that really how you still see him?” Alastair let out a dry, bitter chuckle. “How about a drunk? A cheat? An abuser? Really Cordelia, how can you still be so naïve after all these years?”

“Why can’t you just let it go, Alastair? It’s been years and he’s gone now! It is merely a name, it’s not as if anyone is going to call him Elias.” Cordelia hissed out at him, her gaze as fiery as her hair.

Alastair turned his own fierce glare at her. “That isn’t the point, Cordelia! The point is that you are naming your son after a horrible human being and show no remorse. Especially knowing what he did for years, to me and to Mâmân. You will never know the full lengths we went to to protect you from him. You will never know the pain, the suffering, the embarrassment that he put our family through.

“And maybe, that’s my fault. For coddling you from his abuse all those years. But I always thought you would be on my side, if you ever found out. Today I was proven wrong. You are defending the person who hurt your family for years. I can’t believe you, Cordelia. He’s been dead for nine years and you’re still defending him.”

He took a deep breath and turned around, he couldn’t look at his sister right now. Not after this.

“You cannot blame me for his actions, it is not my fault that he hurt you. Or Mâmân. But he was still my father and I will always love him for that, no matter what you say.” Cordelia’s tone was eerily calm and quiet, her gaze was no longer fiery, just steely and matching her tone.

“I never asked you to stop loving him, all I want is for you to acknowledge his sins against us. But clearly you can’t even do that.”

“He was our father Alastair.”

Alastair scoffed, turning towards the door, his hand hovering over the door knob. “So you keep saying. But I’m starting to think that we had different fathers.”

“Dâdâsh, wait-”

“I’m done, Layla. I don’t want to speak to you anymore. I hope you, your husband, and your son have a good life. Goodbye.”

And later, when Thomas joined him in the carriage, he wouldn’t admit to crying. Not over Elias. Or Cordelia.

He wouldn’t cry another tear over them.

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

“I have emotional motion sickness

Somebody roll the windows down.

There are no words in the English language

I could scream to drown you out”

~Motion Sickness, Phoebe Bridgers~

[melanielocke]

CW dysfunctional family

I was rereading the scene where Alastair and Cordelia fight over Cortana for research purposes and I realized something.

At the end when Cortana flies to Cordelia, she thinks Elias already knew this would happen. Meaning Elias decided to give Alastair Cortana while expecting the sword would then choose Cordelia. Which seems so needlessly cruel to Alastair? Like, he could have explained Cortana favors heroes and would choose Cordelia. Instead he tricked Alastair and gave him something he then took away.

[a-dream-dirty-and-bruised]

Look all I’m saying is that Alastair has constantly had to play nice with all his abusers and I think he deserves to very publicly snap and call them out

[cant-think-of-anything]

i still can’t believe cordelia’s father died and then she had to apologize to james for blaming him as an indirect cause to his death, when that is exactly what matthew did to alastair, and also not something she should have had to apologize for?? the entire handling of elias’s death was god awful but this was the hardest to read

it also completely breaks apart the assumption that cordelia’s reason for not being able to fully grasp the severity of her father’s abuse was because of how she couldn’t process it and how she idealized him for so long?? cordelia wishing alastair would “pretend to be happy” after seeing the man she knew had traumatized him throughout most of their childhood and then completely and passionately shaming him for asking james for money is just too ridiculous

[astriefer]

Let Me Kiss Your Bleedings Goodbye / Look Around And See How Much You Are Loved

Summary: Alastair just wants to listen to music in his room, but the world won't have it.

Word count: 5718

Warnings: alcohol, implied mental abuse, manipulation, toxic relationships, cursing, mentioned alcoholism, neglect, negative thoughts.

@littlx-songbxrd that one is for your birthday! You chose angst the other day so I just rolled with it-

Happy birthday!! You're an amazing, creative,talented and such a special friend! I'm glad I got to meet you ^-^

All Alastair asked for was to listen to music on his phone and mind his own business. But of course, the fates weren't happy unless Alastair has had a shitty day.

Cordelia knocked on his door politely. "Alastair?"

It was Saturday, so she had no reason to bother him. Lunch had already been served, and she was about to go out with her friends. So why come bother him now?

He made no move to unlock the door, and his annoying little sister repeated, "Alastair!" 

She started to slam her fists at the door like some sort of a madwoman, and Alastair groaned and tore himself from his bed. "What?" he hissed as his bedroom door flew wide open.

"Mâmân wants you downstairs," Cordelia answered, backing away slightly. If she heeded Alastairs's pissed mood, good. She interrupted in the middle of his favorite song. The call of reason would say it was because they were almost nose to nose, and she was repulsed of his closeness as any other sibling would, but he liked the first option better.

"And that you couldn't tell me through the door because?" he snarled, and Cordelia rolled her eyes. He glanced at her and noticed what she wore - one of her favorites clothes Lucie picked up for her a few months ago. He arched a perfect eyebrow at his sister."Is there some special occasion?"

Cordelia's cheeks flushed red, and she decisively didn't meet his eyes. "It's nothing. Just going out with some-- That's none of your business. You're so irking. Oof."

She exchanged to the annoyed-sibling-defense-system mid-sentence. It was Alastair's turn to roll his eyes so he didn't waste it. "Whatever. Go play dolls with Lucie." Closing the door behind him, he ambled down the staircase to the ground floor, ignoring his sister's protest. 

He entered the drawing-room, which he found deserted. All that laid there were a few magazines Cordelia left on the table and an empty cup of coffee. He didn't stall to wonder who besides him drank coffee in the house since his mother was pregnant - and it was unhealthy for the baby - and Cordelia didn't like it. He headed to the dining room, finding his mother seated on one of the dinner table's seats. In front of her, seemingly a pristine-white unopened letter.

"Dearling," Sona smiled at her son, the light not reaching her eyes. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he answered. He perched on the chair next to hers and took one of the pastries Risa brought the previous day that laid in a basket. She would occasionally check on Sona and them. Their aunt had assisted them in any possible way was able to in the past few months. And even before that, she volunteered to do things Alastair wished she wouldn't. She once contacted James Herondale, Cordelia's boyfriend, to give him  the talk . It was hilarious as much as it was terrifying because while Risa picked fundamental English words, she had him by the arm to help her translate. And Holly Lord in the sky, he couldn't look James in the face for a month.

Sona just studied him for a few moments, before her features softened. "You always so self-reliant." she shook her head. "I'm sorry. You don't need your mother to nag you."

Alastair inclined toward her, squinting. "Mom, I never said that."

"You seem peeved at me," she adjusted her deep green roosari - it matched the wide yellow and green dress she wore - before resting her eyes on the letter. "I would think it has something to do with puberty if I didn't have a second teenager in the house."

"I'm not angry at you." Alastair scoffed.

"Alright," Sona said.

"Are Cordelia and I in a competition of who is the worst teenager? Well - at least I'm on the lead. Cordelia should level up her game."

"Dear, it's not it," Sona lifted both her hands, like in a plea, before she dropped them on the table again. Alastair noted her eyes wandered around the room - deviated from how she usually behaved - and suspected he was going to be apprised of some news.

Brows furrowed, he asked, "Is there something you want to tell me?"

"Well-" she rubbed at her eyes, and Alastair noticed - not for the first time - the dark circles around his mother's eyes. Does he keep you awake at night? He wished to ask in worse days, to see if it hurt her as much as it hurt him. Or is he haunting you with nightmares?

Alastair long knew the figure Elias is in Cordelia and Sona's dreams is of some immaculate hero. One with kind eyes, a guiding beacon, a loving man. In their dreams, he would outstretch a comforting hand and still be young and caring. He's the best version of himself, a father and a husband that loves them. He is also the man that dwelled in his most horrifying nightmares  - A drunk, nothing more. He was swigging vodka by the bar, with cold eyes and tousled white hair. This version of his father, he knew, would call him a brat, would complain about his mother pestering him to visit rehab. His father would hug his bottle and glance at him as if he was a nuisance to get rid of,  and he would close his eyes and wish to be elsewhere. But he's small again, and just wants his father to leave the bottle to hug him goodnight, tucked safely under the blankets. But his father wouldn't come.

Was it foolish his heart still stung whenever he came across this truth?

She cut the pleasantries and readied herself. "Your father's lawyer declared he wouldn't waive the trial," Sona conceded, her shoulders sagged. His mother laid a protective hand on her belly, where Alastair's sibling has been growing in her womb for the past few months. "A letter was dispatched."

It was all it had to take to ruin his day. He barely had the restraint to not leap on feet and scream at the cursed photo of his father, hung on one of the walls. Before it was all revealed, before it exploded in their face, and far before Cordelia became aware of their father's afflict, they used to do it often. To talk about what they would do next. How to protect Cordelia, how to help Elias, how to hide the appalling secret of their family their best. Now they did it for an entirely different reason.

Up to a few months ago, they were still a picture of a family in a broken frame. When the court exonerated Elias from any blame, they reunited and returned to posture like they always had been. Act, because that is all they could do. However, upon Elias's trial, Cordelia discovered the truth. Alastair was so exhausted from hiding it, he didn't perceive it until he let the lie collapse. He had blamed himself, he still did, but it changed nothing from the fact Cordelia knew about their father now.

She knew, and she was livid. At Alastair, at their mother and father, at the world. After all, she lived a lie. Who could have blamed her?

It was that day he confessed to her in a shaken voice the utter truth and let the wall between them succumb and burn to ashes. When he looked her in the eyes then, he saw the light in her eyes dimming, reality striking, the way he desires it never would. All those years he kept her safe from Elias were in vain. Although he received his sister back into his life, there was little Alastair could do but blame himself for shattering the delicate reality they threaded around her, the needless pain he caused her. She needed to comprehend, he told himself, what was behind the mask her father put in front of the world. 

But if he never wanted to tell her, did it still count?

And his mother. She looked stiff, if not a bit tired. She held herself straight and proud, yet it was useless. Because what could she do? What either of them could do?

"He accuses me of Parental Alienation," Sona went on, caressing her belly delicately. She peeked at the letter again, and Alastair did as well. Now he realized the sign on the letter, and the fact it seemed unopened but in fact was. "The court is checking out at his claims."

Alastair exhaled through the nose, rocking his leg in rage. "That's nonsense. He's irresponsible alcoholism that can't take care of himself. He was tipsy on the day of the trial! Any feeling we have toward him, it's his own making." Throughout the very beginning of sending the Divorce Complaint to court, Elias had refused to accept he was divorcing. Alastair was awfully aware his father wanted custody over them, and he fought with all his unmighty power to prevent it. When he imagined his younger siblings suffering a fraction of his father's attitude, his nerves set on fire. He was aware his mother fought teeth and nails to proceed in this divorce even without this additional claim.

And Alastair was even more aware they barely had had the money to pay for this. 

"What does he want?" Alastair growled. "He knows we don't have that money! He doesn't have the money to pay for this prosecution either!" His father, being put in jail, fired from his job, and wasting their money on wine, probably couldn't even provide Child Support.

"I thought it was going so well," Sona returned his stare, kind and calm. The giving sign she was upset was that rustling sound her roosari made when she fixed it restlessly.

"And Cordelia?" he made to quiet himself on the spot. He spoke in something similar to a whisper. "Bloody hell, she's upstairs. How can we tell her?"

"Language," she warned, then reached and rested her hand on his comfortingly. "She already knows."

He whipped his head in her direction. His mother didn't bat an eyelash. He managed only to let a strangled "What?" escape his mouth. He couldn't wound his mind around it. The father Cordelia looked up to betrayed her, over and over again.

His mother closed her eyes. Maybe she couldn't look at his desperate, fumed face any longer. "She was the one to fetch the letter from the post." Alastair held himself from swearing again and rose to his feet. It's good his mother didn't look at him - he wasn't sure he could look at her either. He was trembling with agitation, his vision red.

"He can't do that. He can't- get to win. Not after all the pain we've been through because of him. That's not fair. That's not fair." He was breathing hard.

"He wouldn't. Alastair, dear, look at me."

Her words were veracious, so was her voice. He couldn't manage himself to do as she said.

"Joonam-"

"I'm going for a walk." He declared strongly, hastily. "I need to chill out. Go and rest, Mother. You shouldn't work yourself out."

And with that, he took his leave. He ignored his mother calling him from behind. He brought no chattel but himself and whatever he bore that instant as he closed the door behind him and rushed down the street to disappear among the many passersby of London. Before even thinking about it, his phone was out, and he typed feverishly and pressed send without waiting to reread his text. He tucked his phone back into his trouser's pocket and took a deep breath.

His father wouldn't desist from haunting him, no matter how much he prayed it to come to an end. When his mother announced she wants a divorce, he - not lacking guilt - felt glad. Each day home was a misery. His mother was confined to bed, his father trailed the streets as if he didn't return from rehab just a month before. And this life was a cage he longed to escape, to set free from the crushing weight on his heart. 

His father-

He came to a halt in the middle of the street, letting his head fall all the way back with closed eyes. He wanted to punch a wall or lash out at someone. When he talked with Jem the other day, his cousin told him bottling things inside would only result in a breakdown. He recommended he contact a person he trusted when it all felt too much for Alastair to bear.

Perhaps he should...

No. he shook as head, trying to toss this idea into an imaginary dump bin. There's no need. A nice, solitary stroll is a splendid solution. Alastair needn't anyone to look at his back worriedly like some ailing lost kitten. He didn't need it. He can be fine if he simply composed himself.

He let his legs carry him mindlessly, losing himself in his thoughts. He walked, and walked, and walked. It was a great aid to clear his mind. Even in a crowded London street in the afternoon, he felt the tight cloud of thoughts loosening around his mind. Not for long, however. 

He walked near a club - a club he knew very well, but not because of his father. And in the entrance stood a freckled figure, with silken ginger hair and piercing green eyes.

The sight of his ex-boyfriend was enough to startle Alastair out of his thought. They locked eyes, and Alastair nearly lost his footing. Charles blurted something to whomever he was talking to and advanced toward the dark-haired boy. Alastair felt himself go stiff as if he prepared for a hit.  Swiftly, he considered turning around and flee, and just as he was about to put this thought into effect, he felt a hand seizing his forearm. While Collecting his confidence, he turned to give Charles a blank glare.  

"Alastair." greeted the older boy. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business," Why did his voice sound hoarse? "Let go of me," Alastair demanded.

Charles's grip on his dark skin did not weaken. It felt warm even though there had been a layer of cloth between them. Alastair attempted to break free, however Charles pressed his hand harder, not enabling Alastair to move. "Come."

And so Alastair was led by his redhead ex-partner to an alley, hidden from any of Charles's companions. Alastair had the sudden urge to laugh - still so furtive. Still so abashed. Charles shoved him into the alley, blocking his way out with his body. "Alastair. I haven't seen you in a long time."

However mad he felt, his voice came out calm. Cold. Indifferent. Like he practiced in front of a mirror when he was small. "That was the point of breaking up with you," he retorted evenly.

Charles ignored his remark. "You haven't answered any of my texts, nor my calls. I ought to speak with you."

A lump rose in his throat. "I can't fathom anything to be said to matter."

He dug his nails in his palm, then understood he'd been doing it and forced himself to relax. Charles had no authority over him. He couldn't reach him now. Yet, it felt far away when Charles studied him like a very interesting political certificate. He hesitated before lifting his hand to touch Alastair's cheek tenderly. Alastair, in turn, backed away. Which was a difficult talk considering Charles still held his hand around his forearm.

"Unhand me," Alastair almost spat. He felt his own shield build up. "Do you want any of your colleagues to see you so close to a man?" The dark-eyed boy knew it would work. Charles always aspired to appear pivotal, even when it was clearly pretentious of his side. Charles's grip loosened him and Alastair hastily put distance between them. Charles gave him a look - one Alastair could only describe as wistful.

"Had I known what I did wrong to make you stop caring for me, I would have made sure to keep you closer to me," Charles said softly.

At first, it sounded almost sweet. Almost. Rather rapidly it turned disgusting as the words sank. Keep you closer, toughen the chains, tell lies to a love-famished soul.

He felt fire spreading in his stomach. Not the good sort of fire - but the kind that consumes everything it touches, that destroys and demolishes and injures.  "You didn't know?" Alastair's voice quivered as he spoke, barely tamed anger in every syllable. "Shucks, so what could tell? What could tell you did something wrong when I told you I was upset you were with Ariadne? And later on, when you went and pushed your tongue into Grace's mouth in front of my eyes to make everyone believe you're straight? Or perhaps that whenever I expressed any feeling that wasn't gratitude you grace me with your presence, you said I'm overreacting? "

Charles straightened. "I wasn't bad to you. I tried to give you everything I could."

"Damnit, Charles, not today," Alastair whirled in his place, his words hot and sharp. "That's not on you to decide if you were bad or good to me! You have no right to decide for me. You gave me what you thought would be enough so I won't talk, and I was a boy desperate to be loved." He exhaled slowly. "So no, Charles. You weren't good for me at all."  

"You wanted me to out myself for you when I wasn't ready?"

He was never going to be ready, Alastair thought. "If you think I was upset with you because you weren't out, you don't know me at all." A mirthless laugh slipped Alastair's lips. Did Charles even listen to him? 

"Don't say that." Charles objected. "I know you better than anyone else. You know that too." he huffed and loosened his tie. "No, that's not it. Do you not love me anymore?"

It was ridiculous. "No, Charles, I don't." The smell hit his nostrils, and the realization dawned on him. Charles's mouth stank from Alcohol, despite not smelling it on his clothes at all.

Ah.

"You're drunk," Alastair condemned.  It was almost an accusation, spoke so offhandedly. But he truly didn't care enough for it to be an accusation.

"I drank only a drink or two." Charles dismissed, and he looked so ugly at that moment, Alastair wanted to flee from his presence. "If you didn't want me, don't blame me for why this relationship broke apart. I try to make things right."

It was comedic to watch Charles exculpate himself and put the blame on Alastair, had it been another day. Now, it only pissed Alastair furthermore.

"Stay away from me," his words sounded like acid in his ears. "I am not fond of drunks. Or ex-boyfriends. And you seem to be both."

Charles made a comical face, one in another day Alasair might laugh at. Distantly, he realized now why Cordelia and Sona were so reluctant to break him the news. When it came to this case, and to his father, Alastair was always on his toes. He is still too easily riled by the words and deeds of others sometimes. When he had to tell the court about his deeds revolving around his father - the late-night walks outside to pubs, the frequent help; the fear someone would find out - he poured all of his being to try and help his family. Defend them from Elias. But seemingly it had no use, and all Alastair was left with is his contempt with nowhere to pour it into. It slipped from the cracks of his armor like Lava.

He passed Charles, who no longer blocked the alley, and Charles perked up and said, "We haven't finished talking."

His phone buzzed repeatedly, signaling Kamala had received his previous message. "We are done," Alastair growled, loud. These green eyes widened, and he opened his mouth. To shush him, most probably. However, blood boiled in his ears and his words demanded to be heard. "Unassuming, quiet, dark," Alastair snapped. "A bloody puppet, that's what you want. And I refuse to be your puppet any longer. What is in my words unclear to you? Stay. Away. Should I spell it for you?"

Charles glanced at the sides nervously, looking for leery eyes even though there were none. Alastair couldn't believe it. Charles still tried to subdue him. It made him smirk ruthlessly at the older boy. "But you can't take no for an answer, do you? You think you deserve everything."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," The redhead scoffed, squinting at him. "If you're angry at something, don't take it on me."

"Oh, I will do whatever I want to do," His grin widened viciously." All I do is tell you exactly what I think of you. Does it hurt your white-man-superiority complex?" he mocked with a false sad nod. "Too bad."

His phone started to ring, and he could already tell it was Kamala, worried about what he told her. She was straightforward when she told him once to never hesitate to call her if her help is required. In some of his worst days, it was his best friend that contributed to preventing him from knocking his head in a wall. Moreover, Alastair told Kamala everything about the lawsuit and what they'd been through - the Carstairs saw her like family - and she was nothing but understanding. It took every gram of control in Alastair's body to clasp his phone and say, "I must go."

He didn't wait for an answer.

His phone went quiet in his hand. He pressed a few buttons and gripped the phone close to his ear.

After the fourth ring, someone picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Our place," Alastair's voice was strained. It felt like it came out from far, far away. "Now."

With adrenaline still driving through his system, he headed to his hideout. When life would be too much, he used to wander around town or find his escape in the calm of nature. And if this meant hunkering down next to a fence in Hyde Park, that's his business alone.

His phone raged up, and he felt stable enough to answer. The first thing Kamala said over the call was, "Love, I'm so sorry."

"Yes," Alastair mumbled darkly. "Me too."

Eventually, they hung up, and he sat on the ground, so his legs were against his chest and his arms surrounding them. For however long it'd been, he rested his head on the fence and let his overloaded mind take a break. When it didn't work and his head still throbbed, Alastair kicked at the ground in frustration, raising a cloud of dust. Then he sounded the low noise of feet against the sand, and a long figure climbed the fence he leaned on.

He stared at what Thomas was securing at his hands before he made a noise of annoyance. "Hell with this," he reached his hand, "Bring it over."

He grasped the can of beer, opening it with a loud pssh-pop! The can was cold in his hand, as if fresh from the store, and he took a sip. Then he lowered the can, revealing again the image of Thomas in a hoodie and pajama pants. He looked like he put random combination clothes and went outside, which probably wasn't far from the truth. Alastair didn't have the power to hum appreciatively.

"You sounded like you were crashed by a motorcycle, and then was chewed by the cats and dogs of the neighborhood," Thomas offered. "Thought you might need it."

"No shit," Alastair mumbled. "Thanks." He cradled it to his chest and looked away. Thomas looked a bit worried, but he said no words. As silence as a cat - no, Thomas was better described as a tiger - he went and sat next to Alastair. He opened his own beer can, gulping the drink in big sips.

Alastair had not opened his mouth, and Thomas didn't pressure him. For long moments that stretched even longer than they should, none of them uttered a word. They set together, side by side, surrounded by trees and leaves and the sun sinking from the west. With a big 'Ugh', Alastair dipped his head and slipped into Thomas's arms. 

"I don't want you embroiled in this," Alastair murmured, not moving as Thomas started tracing circles on his arm.

Thomas sighed softly, resting his chin on top of Alastair's head, not before he planted a kiss on the line of his hair. "Alright. But you know you can tell me whatever you want, yes?"

"I do," Alastair fell silent for a few seconds. His cheek was against Thomas's pulse point, where he found himself calming down with its steady beat. "I met Charles today."

"Charles?" at this sole word Thomas went rigid, ultimately relaxing as Alastair captured the hand on his arm and intertwined their fingers. "What has happened?"

"Nothing," Alastair answered and he knew without looking Thomas had his adorable face twisted in bewilderment. Therefore he added, reluctantly, "The usual."

Thomas moved to eye him suspiciously, but Alastair's head was still tucked under Thomas's chin. "I wouldn't think you call me if it was nothing."

"I call you for all sort of things. It doesn't have to be because my toxic ex is a dipshit."

"It feels like a low bar."

Alastair chuckled. "It really is."

Silence ensued and the presence of his boyfriend made everything brighter. Later at night, he would wonder how one man could make it so much better, yet now he just felt blessed to have Thomas by his side. A few minutes passed with Alastair closing his eyes and melting into Thomas's hug, while Thomas stroked his back comfortingly.

"Alastair?"

"Mhh."

"Alastair. "

He dug his fingers at the cool ground, taking a deep breath in an attempt to regain his composure. "What?"

He pushed Alastair back gently, and the short boy complied so they were face to face. "Are you alright?"

His dark eyes refused to meet with Thomas's hazel ones. There had been a quiet, "I'm not sure."

Thomas picked at a loose string of his hoodie, and Alastair made a mental note to steal his boyfriend's hoodie and sew it. He sat next to Thomas and reached for the beer, gulping the content of the can. He turned to Thomas, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He furrowed his brows when his boyfriend looked at him oddly, but it soon disappeared from Thomas's face. 

Alastair fiddled with the hem of his shirt, and his eyes were yet low on the ground. He sounded rustling by his side and glanced at his boyfriend as he took off his hoodie. Alastair cocked his eyebrow, and Thomas huffed at him with flushed cheeks. He handed him the hoodie. "You - might be cold. It's rather late, and you wear nothing but a T-shirt."

He scanned Thomas's underneath jumper and deemed it not much warming. "And you?"

"I am big, I make a lot of heat. Cellular respiration and all that."

Alastair snorted, shaking his head. "You daft med student."

He found solace in the warm hug of his boyfriend. And wearing his hoodie was almost the same, although he missed the heat. Yet, it was soft and familiar and all Thomas. His smell was enticing to Alastair, and he put it on and sniffed it -indistinguishably - even if Thomas was just a few inches away. 

As the sun set, it tinted the forest around them orange.

"You're doing the thing," Alastair commented, causing Thomas to blink.

"The what?" the tall boy asked.

"The thing. That you do." he poked Thomas's side. "You get all pensive and thoughtful and furrows your brows in that adorable way of yours. You caress your rose compass tattoo."

Thomas gave him a slight smile. "Genie has been ecstatic ever since Kamala agreed to join our family trip. I'm afraid my father is going to ask you himself if I won't."

"Ah."

"It's a bad timing, though," Thomas cackled nervously. "Sorry, never mind."

"That's fine, I don't care," Alastair said. "What family trip?"

"We thought to visit mom's country last year, but this year we want to visit some rural parts of England. Uncle Will keeps telling us how visiting North Wells, where his family lived. Eugenia keeps threatening to steal my sweets." 

"She certainly would still all your snacks," Alastair speculated. He flapped mindlessly the sleeves of Thomas's hoodie to himself, which were too long for him. Thomas sent him a soft side smile.

"She will," agreed Thomas in false despair, resting his head on the fetch they leaned on. "She's like some sort of sweets monster. The only way to calm her down is to sacrifice our food." 

"I know," was Alastair's response. "She's my friend. My very own short chaotic, havoc-causing, maniac goblin friend." It startled a laugh out of Thomas, and he went to rest his hand on Alastair's knee.

"Dad keeps joking he will cancel the trip if not all of the honorary lightwoods join as well. But honestly, I'm not sure he's joking any longer."

"Honorary Lightwoods?"

"He adopted y'all the moment you steeped a foot into our house. You know that." Thomas's voice sounded almost longing. He added, with a good laugh, "I think he favors you over his own children."

Alastair didn't know why he had to be this way, but it caught him off guard. It made a weird pang in his heart to think Gideon Lightwood would consider him his son. Even more so, when he knew his own father would prefer to engage in a foreign bar than to eat with him. Alastair's throat felt thick all of a sudden, and it was hard to breathe. He made a shaky inhale, as soft and thin as paper. Thomas captured that, of course.

"Baby," Thomas whispered. He acted cautiously, like he was afraid to scare Alastair away. 

"No," Alastair chocked out. He hid his face in his elbow, struggling to take another breath. "Nope."

It was silent for at least a minute before Thomas piped out, "Alastair joon."

Abruptly, Alastair lifted his head and turned to his boyfriend, a spike of anger ignited."I should be stronger," Alastair burst out, heat in his words, like flames. "It shouldn't - why does it affect me like this? This isn't - nothing has happened, so why-" he cut himself off, watching Thomas's countenance. He was the epitome of calm, deep understanding eyes and soft around the corners. His lips were pressed, and he was utterly handsome. Ridiculous. 

Thomas swooped him into a hug, and Alastair didn't accept it. He fought to break loose and jumped on his feet. Raving fear and outrage and agony all mixed together on the tip of his tongue. He felt angry at himself for reacting this way, at Thomas for having such a perfect family, at the world because there was no one to blame for his situation. "A few months ago I still searched for my father in pubs to return him home safely. Now I look for my father from the other side of the courtroom and watch him try to take away my sibling. And my mother - she wouldn't admit it but I know she's stressed. She probably can't even sleep at night without my ass of a father to haunt her! And Charles wouldn't even realize he's in the wrong, because as always, it's just my fault it all broke apart. Mine. Mine alone."

"And Charles is still a jerk, and Mâmân is still unwell, and my goddam father is the worst father of the year," Alastair gritted his teeth. "And I feel so useless. Utterly useless.  because I can't do anything about it. The court will prefer my father's white ass to my brown skin. They would think he's a better fit to take care of the child, even it's crystal clear he isn't. He wasn't for us, he will never be. And this poor child - it deserves a real family. And my drunken father is nothing of what it deserves. So how can he try to get custody over it, Thomas? How can they let him? " 

"Alastair," his name sang on his boyfriend's tongue was like thick syrup. "You are not useless."

The shorter man flashed at him with a growl. "I couldn't help my father with his problem. I can't help my mom in court. I can't even be a good sibling to Cordelia, so how could I be a good one to the baby-?"

He was shuddering, he perceived, even though the night wasn't very cold. Was he sobbing? he couldn't tell. It was like he felt everything detached from afar. He felt bulky arms close around him, and he didn't protest this time. He tried to catch his breath, albeit it kept escaping him.

"None of this is your fault, Azizam. Life can be unfair to fair people. But you mustn't question yourself because of it." Thomas grazed a big, warm hand on Alastair's cheek, sweeping his tears. "And your love is so profound, it can build bridges. It's so selfless and raw and pure, can't you see it? It's all your heart, all of you, aching because you want those you love to be well. And they will be well, Alastair. They can move mountains because it's you on their side. They are lucky to have you." His voice lowered to a whisper.

"This is just too much," Alastair shook his head. "I just- want to be out of my racing mind. I want some quiet."

Thomas gave him a sad look. "I can't tell you it will pass soon. But you're not alone, Alastair. You have many people to hold you when you feel you're about to fall. All you have to do is look."

They set there in their hideout, and Thomas leaned in and left a gentle kiss on Alastair's lips. A promise.

Alastair tilted his head and closed his eyes. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"If anything, it's the opposite. You're spectacular," Thomas leaned in again, so their foreheads and noses touch. It startled a bubbled giggle out of Alastair, and Thomas smirked. He repeated it again and again and again. Until Alastair started to believe his words.

[thepictureofsdr]

i’m genuinely scared for matthews arc. we all know alcoholism is an extremely serious issue, it’s a chronic disease that deserves to be handled with delicacy and respect and i just know it’s not gonna receive the necessary page time. the only alcoholic character we’ve seen in this world was killed off before his illness and its effects on him and his surroundings could be addressed, and the only main group character to have trauma resulting from direct contact with the alcoholic character has never been given a chance to speak about his own trauma from his point of view, we’ve only heard him talk about it from someone else’s pov. in addition to that the family was never given a chance to receive closure from the abuse tied to the alcoholism, which would be fine if that lack of closure was going to be a plot point that would in turn be explained and given page time but we all know that’s never gonna happen, so the trauma and lack of closure are both going unaddressed.

alcoholism has shaped a lot of this series (elias’s alcoholism led to the poor treatment of his children that’s caused quite a few of the emotional hurdles of this series whether directly or by the domino effect as well as it impacting matthews entire arc through both the domino effect of elias and him suffering from it himself) yet it’s barely been addressed at all in either character and all i can do is hope that matthew and his story are done justice and that this isn’t treated like a small throw away character trait that can disappear overnight bc im genuinely worried that that’s the direction we’re headed in. sobriety is lengthy painful trying process so if this part of matthews arc is magically solved in one night,,, i might have to commission a fanfic author to rewrite this entire series bc absolutely not

[starlight-in-my-eyes]

I am soo pissed of at the fact that Cordelia didn’t attend the Shadowhunter Academy

The reason definitely is not the fact that their family was constantly moving considering Alastair did attend the Academy

And if the reason was that Elias didn’t agree to his girl being sent to the Academy then we have one more reason to hate that bastard

[immortal-enemies]

Very sympathetic of CC to kill off Elias right after him and James fight, I must say.

Like. If James and Alastair ever started talking then that man would have been done for.

[bemtevis]

Golden

Chain of Iron Countdown // Masterlist

February 22: a scene from CHOG

This is a little late lmao but here it is :)

Trigger warnings for mention of internalized homophobia, hints of emotional/verbal abuse and alcoholism.

“It’s mine!”

   Alastair tried to take the sword again, filled with determination. “It certainly isn’t!” 

   Cordelia tried to get away with the weapon, stumbling her way back, but she was considerably shorter than him and he easily took it away. “Tell her, Father,” he said as he shook his head in an attempt to take his hair out of his eyes. “Tell her it isn’t hers!”

   “Kerm nariz, Alastair. Enough.” His father’s monotous voice called. Of course he wouldn’t call his precious little girl out. In different circumstances, Alastair would probably laugh. 

   Elias stood up — and stayed that way without his help, he thought in mocking surprise — and walked toward his children. Alastair still held Cortana over his head, away from Cordelia’s grip. If she wanted the sword, she would fight for it. He wouldn’t take part in spoiling his little sister. That is unfair, he scolded himself, but he didn’t find it in himself to feel sorry.

    Alastair hated how familiar that scene was. For a moment, they were just two siblings fighting over some petty thing until their parents made them hug each other like when they were children. I still hate you, little Alastair would whisper in his sister’s ear, and she’d stick her tongue out. Those were simpler times, their father making them train until they were covered in sweat, but at least he was there. Low bar, Alastair called himself out.

    “Cordelia,” his dad said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Why, exactly, do you want Cortana?”

    His sister considered for a moment. She glanced at him for a second, just a second. Alastair could see the stubbornness in the way she tilted her chin up, so similar to his own expression, but there was a casual fierceness in hers that reminder him of their mother.

    “Cortana was made by Wayland the Smith. He made swords for all the greatest heroes—” she kept rambling as his mind slipped away.

    “Cordelia, we all know this,” he interrupted her, half wanting to prove his dad wrong and half wanting this whole thing to be over. “No need for a history lesson.”

     Cordelia glared at him, and for a moment he wondered if she just wanted the sword so she could stab him. 

   Elias moved closer to the siblings as if to take the sword away, but didn’t move to do so. “So you want to be a hero,” he asked, with a spark in his eyes Alastair was sure he would never look at him with. 

    “Cortana has one sharp edge and one dull one,” she ignored her brother’s comment. “Because of that, it has often called a sword of mercy. I want to be a merciful hero.”

     Elias nodded. If he felt satisfied by her answer, he didn’t let it show. “And you?” he asked his son. 

     Because I’m worthy! he wanted to shout. Because every time you told me I wasn’t, it made me train harder, made me want harder! Alastair tried his best to keep any emotions out of his face. He wouldn’t give his father the satisfaction of his anger. 

     “It’s a Carstairs sword,” he instead replied as if it was obvious. “I’m Alastair Carstairs and I always will be. When Cordelia gets married and has a passel of brats, one of them will end up with Cortana- And they won’t be a Carstairs.”  

     He mentioned nothing about starting a family himself, and the reason thumped on the back of his mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m still worthy. He had lost track of his surroundings, his family disappearing in a moment of doubt and peace. 

     “He’s right.” Elias’ deep voice brought him back to the training room. “Cordelia, let your brother keep the sword.”

      Was it a trick? Surely his dad wouldn’t let him have their family’s legendary sword so easily. What about the times he told him it would never choose him, that no one would, drunkenly mumbling to himself about his eldest son as if he wasn’t there listening? 

     Maybe he changed his mind, the most hopeful, useless part of him insisted. Maybe he’s seen how hard you’ve been training, how hard you've been trying. Thousands of maybes crossed through his mind, but Alastair didn’t allow himself to think about them any further.

    He waved his thoughts away, sneering arrogantly at his indignant sister. His sister, he remembered, who had a heartbroken look on her face. The reason he dealt with their dad every night. He’s sacrificed everything to make her happy. How could he be so selfish as to take away the only thing she’s ever wanted? Elias’ voice came back to his mind. You’re so, so selfish, just like your mother.

No, he reminded himself louder. I’m worthy, I’m worthy, I’m worthy. He walked to the edge of the platform, suddenly wanting to get away from all of this.

    “But Cortana is mine!” Cordelia suddenly shouted. “I know it is!” 

    Alastair was about to protest, not wanting to deal with his entitled sister with such a strong headache. Then, in a blink, Cortana flew to Cordelia’s hand across the room. She closed her hand around its golden hilt, looking as surprised as he felt. 

    “Father,” Alastair refused to sputter. “Is this some sort of trick?” It had to be. He could barely hide the confusion in his voice, the kind of vulnerable emotion he deep down knew Elias was looking for. As if he had heard his son's thoughts, his father smiled, never taking his eyes away from his humiliated, empty-handed son. 

    “Sometimes the sword chooses the bearer. Cortana will be Cordelia’s. Now, Alastair—” 

    But Alastair wasn’t listening. He wanted to argue; he wanted to scream; he wanted to whisper and break down and ask why. Most importantly, he needed to leave. He stalked out of the room, the bitterness in his brain felt like poison. 

    He imagined Elias would want to congratulate his golden girl, as if his silver son wasn’t silently crying his heart out upstairs.

Taglist: @llaertes @dianasarrow @nott-the-best @littlx-songbxrd @upsidedown-cats @stxr-thxif @tsccreatorsnet [Send me an ask/private message/comment if you do or don't want to be tagged!]

[last-lane-of-liv]

COI SPOILERS

Okay, so Elias is finally dead. 

And I know lots of people were upset with the lack of resolution in his storyline, and in his relationship with Cordelia and Alastair, but . . . I kind of wonder what kind of resolution was really available? Elias showed no signs of self-awareness or thinking about how is actions have affected his family -- the scene with James solidified that. I’m not sure he would have ever sought help with his addiction, which means that he was going to continue behaving the way he did until he passed.

At the end of the day, this man was selfish and awful and Cordelia and Sona and Alastair were probably better off without him, but it’s still going to hurt so fucking badly to watch them mourn him.

[lifewouldbebetteronmars]

Castle Towers Fall

Chapter 15 *Angst Warning* *TW PTSD, Panic Attacks, Mentions of Abuse* *Mentions of El*as Carstairs*

Alastair felt like he couldn’t breathe. It physically pained him to breath. Why did it have to hurt so much?

He wanted to be prepared for what his mother was going to say. He wanted her to say things about his biological father, how he was better than Elias, that he would’ve loved him.

But she didn’t.

She went on and on about Elias and how bad she felt for putting them through that. Putting him through that.

And she kept saying how good Elias had been in the beginning. How it wasn’t so bad, that he was a good father, better than he was later.

What a load of bullshit.

Maybe it was true, just maybe. But the Elias she had known wasn’t the same one he had known, same with Cordelia.

The Elias he knew was the one he dragged home drunk every night from the age of ten. The Elias he knew who would hit him on nights when the alcohol fueled his anger, rather than soothe it.

But to his mother, that was the same Elias she met and fell in love with. The father of two of her children. She couldn’t hate him and they both knew that. She couldn’t hate the man who gave her two of the best things in her life.

That Elias was the Baba to his sister, who read her storybooks and played games in the garden with her. The father who was always sick, but was amazing when he felt better.

Elias was nothing to the baby. He was merely someone who contributed half of his genes to him. But there was no doubt that he would be something to the baby. From stories told by Cordelia and his mother, this baby would never know the horribleness of his father.

Alastair would never be able to escape him. And that thought made the pain in his chest blossom farther down.

He felt like he was drowning.

Nobody could save him when he was ten years old and no one could do it now.

He wanted to scream and cry and he wanted it all to stop hurting all at the same time.

Why did it have to hurt so much? It was the only clear thought he had in his mind, everything else was garbled gibberish, all mixed up together as they raced and ran as fast as they could.

He slumped against a wall somewhere in the Silent City, he didn’t even know how far he’d ran at this point. He just wanted to get as far away as possible from his mother before he said anything else he’d regret. 

His legs were so tired from all the running, his whole body was tired. His brain was tired.

He just wanted everything to stop. He didn’t even care if it was for five minutes, he just wanted everything to stop.

He wanted the pain in his chest to go away, he wanted to breath again, but right now it seemed impossible.

“Alastair?” He heard his name being called but it was muffled, like his head was under water:

“Alastair? Can you hear me?”

Yes, I can, is what he wanted to say, but his mouth couldn’t form the words.

“Alastair, it’s Thomas. Can you hear me? Please answer me.”

It’s Thomas, why was he here?

Tom, he tried to say, he wanted to scream.

Why couldn’t he speak?

He could see Thomas’s mouth start to move, but he could barely hear him.

“Alastair, I need you to breath with me, okay? In and out.” Thomas placed Alastair’s hand on his chest. “Follow my breathing.”

In and out…

In and out…

In and out…

He could do this, he just needed to breath.

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

Blame Ly, she started the angst war @thomas-thedavid-lightwood

Tag List

@youwerealwaysmysecret

@styxdrawings

@imchaotic-dontmindme

@devikaontheoffbeat

@banescrown

@kit-herondale-blackthorn

@fantasy-rep

@king1pin

@the-come-n-stare-family

@lovelaces

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@fatilightwood

@melanielocke

@writeordie-4

@thomas-thedavid-lightwood

[hahahax30]

Elias and Thomastair

I've been thinking about Elias's addiction. Correct me if I'm wrong, but we have no substantial reason to believe that he'd actually be willing to overcome his alcoholism in Chain of Iron. In fact, the opposite may be true instead, given that COI's synopsis describe him as "bitter and angry".

This basically means that he'll keep on drinking excessively, going out to get wasted in the middle of the night... And since I doubt Alastair will be willing to let Cordelia handle any of it, he'll most likely than not have to keep taking care of his father.

I'm pretty sure that'll affect his mood one way or another. Thomas is a very perceptive person, so he'll probably notice something's wrong with him. However, I think he won't realise exactly why until he comes face first with Elias's state. It would make sense if he stumbled upon Alastair having to deal with a drunk Elias in the Devil Tavern (I mean, at the end of the day, it would be a place they can both coincide).

I highly doubt Thomas would even have a conversation with Alastair, if his idea of him remains as it did at the end of Chain of Gold, and showing him the most "vulnerable" (or rather naked) side of Alastair could perfectly prompt a change of his perspective.

(Also, on the topic of Elias himself, I am very concerned about the Carstairs's home situation. I fear his bitterness and anger will shift into straight out abuse).

[amchara]

Tears - Whumptober Prompt 9 / Angst War 1

Tears

Cordelia Carstairs, Sona Carstairs, Alastair Carstairs, James Herondale, Lucie Herondale, other TLH characters mentioned

Prompt: Tears

TW: (Major Character Death... but is it permanent?) 🤔

The February air was biting on her cheeks and her flimsy shoes - meant for London streets, not Idris fields - slid on the wet snow that had freshly fallen overnight.

She pulled her cloak close to her as she looked up to the pyres, their hulking presence blocking out the weak, winter light.

Her brother’s pyre. And beside him, her husband’s pyre.

Less than a month ago, she had said good-bye to her father in this very same place. The Imperishable Fields.

At the time of Elias’ funeral, she had thought it the most painful day of her life, unmatched by any other.

But this day, these funerals… the pain she had felt then was nothing compared to the bone deep, hollow feeling in her chest. It alternated with a mindless, raw anger - at the demons who had killed them, at the rest of the Merry Thieves, at Charles… but most of all, at herself.

Beside her, her mother let out a noise that might have been a sigh or a sob, as the Silent Brothers brought out the biers holding Alastair and James’ bodies.

As in life, Alastair was elegant in his white suit, his black hair arranged in a slightly different part than he had usually worn it, and her fingers itched to smooth it to its rightful position. But it would be improper to do so, Cordelia thought, as she stepped up beside the bier.

“Good-bye, Alastair joon,” she whispered, allowing herself to touch his cheek briefly with her gloved hands.

The expression on his face was oddly peaceful, she thought and not reflective of how he had been in life- sardonic, thoughtful and caring. His soul had already gone to join Raziel in heaven- this was merely an empty vessel.

Sona was taking her last moments to croon words into Alastair’s ear, her heavily pregnant body trying to find the best position to reach across and place one last kiss on her son’s forehead.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cordelia could see Thomas, his tall presence marking him out from the crowd. Though he hid it well, Cordeliai could see the agony kept just in check as he viewed Alastair and despite her anger, her heart went out to him. She did not know for sure what had passed between them but she did know that Thomas cared- had cared - for her brother a great deal.

Ahead of her, she could see the Herondales huddled together. Will Herondale - his face blank and despairing, supporting his wife under his arms, as she held onto him, as if she could barely stand to look down at her son. Despite the expectations around funeral etiquette, she could see tear tracks on both of their faces.

Cordelia wished she could cry - she did not care at this point for societal expectations - but the tears would not come and her eyes burned with the dryness.

Standing a little apart from Will and Tessa, was Lucie.

Cordelia could barely look at her, remembering with cold shame their conversation the night before.

“But Lucie… you could bring them back, I know you could,” she had cried, grabbing the other girl’s hands, even as she pulled away.

“I… I want to with all my heart, Cordelia. But I musn’t- I… I- I almost had my marks stripped for bringing Jesse back, and that had been unintentional.”

“Then you’re a coward,” Cordelia had said, almost spitting out the words. “If I had the ability I would do so - I would bring my brother back in a heartbeat.”

Lucie’s blue eyes had filled up with tears and she had fled, begging off due to a headache the rest of the evening.

She did not want to look at James’ face- the boy she loved and had finally seen her love returned, only for it to be snatched away so cruelly. It was more than she could bear.

The faint smell of cloves and expensive cologne brought her back to herself and she looked up to find Matthew standing in front of her. He stood a proper distance but she could see the indecision he held, in trying to decide to approach her. His green eyes also held unshed tears.

“Cordelia…” he started.

But she couldn’t. Not right now. Not today.

“Matthew,” she managed to nod politely. After a moment, he left and she could see him stop at James’ bier- and throw his arms around his parabatai, his shoulders shaking with grief.

Cordelia closed her eyes and turned away.

Shortly after, the bodies were placed on the pyres and as the smoke stung Cordelia’s eyes, finally provoking tears, she thought she could see a woman hovering in the air between the pyres.

Her blood ran cold as she recognised the woman.

Across the field, Lilith’s eyes locked on hers.

And in a voice that only she could hear, Lilith’s voice drifted across to her. Let me in, Cordelia. Let me in, my paladin. And I will bring them back for you.

Cordelia hesitated. And then, she nodded.

-----

Joining in on the Angst War!! (and crossing off a more prompts on the whumptober list)

Tag list: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @littlx-songbxrd @writeordie-4 @lifewouldbebetteronmars @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @thomas-thedavid-lightwood @fair-childd @melanielocke @dontmindmyshadowhunting @of-same-steel-and-temper

Previous Whumptober fics:

Prompt One - “You Have To Let Go” (James Herondale, Cordelia Carstairs, Matthew Fairchild)

Prompt Two - Choking/Gagged (Dru Blackthorn, Ash Morgenstern, Ty Blackthorn, Kit Blackthorn, L.A. Institute inhabitants)

Prompt Three - “Who Did This To You?” (Cristina Rosales, Mark Blackthorn, Kieran Kingson)

Prompt 4, 7, 22 "In Cold Blood" (Kit Herondale, Belial, Sammael, Carstairs-Gray family)

(link to prompts)

[rainingpouringetc]

but god i want to feel again

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

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

read on ao3

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

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

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

~‘touch’ sleeping at last

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Practice makes perfect, he thought wryly.

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He has,” Elias answered.

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

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

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

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

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

Alastair took his hand. “Alastair Carstairs.”

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

That was the last straw.

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

And then he met Charles Fairchild.

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

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

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

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

Until it wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

He dreamed of a time when he could feel again.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if it meant pushing him away.

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

If they ever did.

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

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

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

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

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