Seven of swords represent: manipulation, lies, cheating, abuse, irritation
On this card you can see this man is looking back bc he is trying to get away with something. Swords represent mind so you can interpret it as getting away with gaslighting. As we know he is gaslighting 24/7. He is also manipulating Alastair and just trying to get away with the marriages but also keeping Alastair at the same time.
THIS CARD SCREAMS CHARLES
Eight of swords represent anxiety, being silenced, psychological issues, feeling trapped in situation
You can see that that woman has blindfold on which signifies being blind to reality, but this blindfold can fall if this person wants it. I think feeling trapped in situation is saying a lot. He is kinda silenced by what Charles wants and he is not standing up for himself. Not seeing the reality that this situation is not serving him but also being controlled by Charles thinking that's how it should be.
Reversed 8 of swords is about relief, leaving this situation, standing up and finding solutions
As we saw at the end of CoG
In tsc deck you have them as Jessamine and Nate which suits them as well but in this deck you don't have tlh only 3 or 4 cards in 78 cards deck Alastair is not there
Tw: outing, toxic relationship mention, after affects of toxic relationship (?), alcoholism mention, physical abuse implications.
I feel like my matthew is out of character, lets just pretend this takes place in an au where he doesn’t out Kamala to Cordy.
also since this has some triggering topics, pls feel free to call me out/give me shit if I didn’t handle it well. srsly. do it. That’s how I will learn and improve.
also I tagged every. single. one. of you! (it took like 20 minutes)
Don't look at him, Alastair told himself. Just look straight ahead. Yes, keep going. Breathe.
"Al- Mr Carstairs!" Called out a voice.
Alastair rolled his eyes before turning around.
What did Charles want this time?
"What?" He snapped, before looking around to check if there were any curious onlookers.
The two of them were alone outside the London institute, everyone else was on the inside attending what Alastair was certain to be the twentieth party they held that year.
"My mother told me something about you. I didn't believe what she said at first, I thought she was joking-" answered Charles. He burst out laughing before he could finish his sentence.
"She wasn't joking. It's true" confirmed Alastair, much to Charles' horror.
"She said that you expressed interest in running for the position of Counsul!" Said Charles, raking his hands through his hair.
"I am of age and I have been studying for it for a while now" shrugged Alastair.
"But- you can't just do that! You know how much I've wanted it! You're just trying to take the one thing I've ever wanted from me out of spite!". Charles' face almost turned to the colour of his hair.
"I'm not taking it away from you" said Alastair, his tone even although his hands had began to shake from being in such proximity to Charles. "I'm only competing for the same position. It's more likely that you'll win anyway, you know you have an advantage over me". He didn’t use the word ‘nepotism’ only because he didn’t want to escalate things further.
Charles opened his mouth to speak but closed it again because he believed him. "And I'm not doing it out of spite. I'm doing it because I have wanted to do it for quite some time. I've wanted it even before we met, actually"
Charles let out a frustrated noise. Closing his hands into fists, he stepped closer to Alastair. As if out of reflex, Alastair shuddered and took two steps away from him.
All of a sudden, witchlight from inside the institute spilled on the ground between the two boys' shoes.
The door had opened, and Matthew fairchild stood in the doorway, looking thoroughly bored.
"Mother sent me here to check up on you two. Charles, we could hear your noise from inside the room. Stop fighting and come back inside or take your fight elsewhere. Although, mother probably would prefer it if you did the former"
Charles instantly regained his composure, but Alastair caught Matthew noticing his brother's distressed expression.
"Is something wrong?" asked Matthew, no longer bored. His eyes were on Charles, and didn't take them away to look at Alastair.
"It's none of your business" snapped Alastair. The last thing he wanted at that moment was to draw attention to himself.
Matthew's eyes met his. "If it involves you, then I don't see why I shouldn't be involved as well"
"Matthew, Listen to Mr Carstairs" said Charles.
Matthew set his jaw. "No. What do you have to say to him that you cannot say to your own brother?"
"It's about politics, it'll bore you" said Alastair, hoping he could reason with the younger Fairchild.
"Don't worry, it won't"
Charles stepped up. "Fine. Mr Carstairs and I were having a disagreement because he is running for Counsul. He knows-"
Charles stopped talking immediately, and looked at Alastair with a cruel expression on his face. It felt oddly familiar.
Charles stepped closer to Alastair and spoke in a low voice so that his brother couldn't hear him. "Tell my mother that you've lost interest in being Counsul or I'll tell my brother right now. About us. And he is very fond of gossiping"
Alastair tried to keep a level head. "But that would mean that word about you would get out as well”
Charles laughed without humour. “Do you think that will matter to me after losing the one thing that I care about? Alastair, please try to look at this from my perspective”
Alastair softened. “I- Charles, I think we both know know for a fact that you will be the one who will be elected Counsul. I just-" he broke off, not finding the right words.
"What is it that that two two of you are discussing so intently? I'm still waiting, you know" said Matthew, stepping closer to the two of them.
"it's nothing" dismissed Alastair, who decided to head back inside the institute as it was less likely for Charles to pursue him when there where others nearby. He didn't turn back to look at Charles as he entered.
“Alastair and I once had an understanding” Charles blurted out.
Alastair whipped his head back and looked at Charles with widened eyes and then at Matthew. Why did it suddenly became so hard for him to breathe?
Alastair didn’t know how he expected him to react, but what he knew that the way he actually reacted wasn’t it.
Matthew threw his head back and burst out laughing. Was he drunk? From his years of taking care of his father, Alastair was sure that Matthew was sober. Maybe he had lost his mind.
“I’m sorry,” said Matthew, trying to recover from his laughing spell. “but that’s just absurd. How did-” he broke off once again and resumed his laughter.
Charles let out an exasperated sigh. “It began around two years ago. A year later the two of us spent some time together in Paris during his travel year”
Matthew’s smile faded upon noticing the look on Alastair’s face. “You’re being serious”
“But it doesn’t make sense. Wasn’t he seventeen two years ago? And you twenty-three?” he continued. He looked at Alastair and added, “did the two of you ever-”, he shook his head, disgusted. “I don’t want to know. But Charles, he is six years younger than you! And he was not an adult yet!”
Heat crept up Alastair’s face. “I don’t require you to stand up for me” he said to Matthew. “I can do that myself just fine. I’ve been doing it for quite a while”
He turned to Charles and glowered. “Every time I think you have an ounce of decency left in you, I am proven wrong. You want to know what I was thinking when you told your brother about us?”
Charles opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Alastair.
“That wasn’t an invitation for you to speak. At first, I was terrified. Terrified of what would happen when people heard about it. Then, I was relieved, because that was the only way in which you could have power over me and now there that it’s out, you have no hold on me. You’re a spineless, pathetic creature, you know that? Now that you’ve told your brother about us, I can say things like this, which I have been saying behind your back, to your face”
From the corner of his eye, he could see a grin slowly spreading across Matthew’s face. He ignored it and went on.
“Lastly, I was angry. Not at you, but at myself. I don’t know what mental state I was in to fall for you. Back then, I thought that was how love was supposed to make you feel. Now that I have someone else who actually loves me as much as I love him, I realise how wrong I was”
Charles’ left eye twitched a little as he clenched his jaw shut. His hands were fisted inside his coat.
“I am going to stand for Counsul” said Alastair, “and I am going to win. Do what you must to prevent it”
With that, he headed out the gate, after having ultimately decided to walk to his house instead of going back to the party. He kept his head high and didn’t bother looking back at Charles or Matthew.
He didn’t turn around even after hearing the sound of footsteps behind him, he was beyond caring about anything at that point. He held up a single finger, it should’ve been enough to shoo Charles away.
“I didn’t expect you to be familiar with the rude gestures of the Americans” remarked Matthew. “I thought you to be too proper for it”
“You’re the one coming from a prestigious family” returned Alastair, relieved to find Matthew behind him instead of his brother.
“Listen,” said Matthew, his expression solemn, “I don’t know- this is a bit hard for me to say, but I was hoping we could put our past in the Academy behind us”
“I did move past it, you’re the one who kept holding on to it”
Matthew looked like he had something important to say, but instead just laughed. “This doesn’t mean I am going to start being polite to you all of a sudden. It’s just- people like us need to look out for each other. And I know this is none of my business, I’m only asking because I’m curious and feel the need to protect others like us, so would you mind telling me who it is that you are seeing now? I think I might know him, I know a lot of-”
“Thank you” said Alastair, “and as for the second bit; It’s none of your business”. He tried to hide his smile and fought the urge to add ‘and you do know him’
no one:
me doing research for this fic: when was flipping the bird invented?
ahh hope everyone liked it and its not disappointing pls I need to go sleep after this but I won’t bc my country’s education system sucks. I’m tried so pls lmk if there’s a grammar/punctuation/spelling error.
Tagging all who interacted with that post where I asked if anyone would want to be tagged in this :
It hurts to love someone who stopped loving you. He knows from experience.
He knew from all the times he’d dropped everything because Charles ‘needed’ him and how whenever he needed Charles he was ‘busy’.
He knew from the way Charles wouldn’t look at him in front of ‘important people’ even though he never took his eyes off of Charles for that very same reason.
He knew from the way Charles worshipped his body but rejected the color of his skin in the presence of anyone else.
He knew from the way Charles was his everything and he was nothing but a dirty little secret meant to stay in the backroom in the middle of the night where no one could see him.
He knew from the way a part of him died when he realized it was one-sided and Charles seemed perfectly fine and unaffected.
It hurts when someone stops loving you but it hurts even more when you realize it was never love.
A while ago I wrote a fic about Alastair’s relationship with Charles and posted it on AO3 (titled Tolerate it there)
The original: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31293734
I rewrote it because some of the details were wrong and some parts I didn’t like anymore, so I’m posting the new one here.
CW: toxic relationship, mentions of sex (nothing explicit), some of which sort of pressured (Since Alastair is a minor, it definitely cannot be considered consensual), mentions of alcoholism
It had been a long time since Alastair had visited the Paris Institute. Last time must have been the Herondale party when he was fourteen. It was a magnificent building, often said to be second only to the London Institute, and the second largest in Europe. He would be staying here for a year, away from his family. He’d pressed his parents about it for months. They’d thought he was too young for a travel year at sixteen, but after speaking of it with his mother he’d been allowed to go. Alastair guessed she felt sorry for him, being trapped at home again, and had decided he deserved a break.
Paris would be a chance to start over, or at least he hoped so. He’d thought the same of Shadowhunter Academy though, and what a disaster that had been… He didn’t quite dare hope here would be better, but he did know Charles Fairchild would be here and the few times they’d met he’d been very kind to him. Alastair had met him here, ironically, at the Herondale’s party when he was fourteen. Alastair had been so eager to impress powerful people, and Charles had seemed very impressed with his manners and his knowledge on shadowhunter politics. They’d started writing each other letters, and Charles had become Alastair’s first real friend. He certainly didn’t consider any of the boys from school his friends.
About a year ago Charles had sent him a copy of Machiavelli’s the Prince, which had become his favorite book. And recently Charles had informed him that he would move to Paris for a year to replace the head of the Institute, and had suggested he come there for his travel year. He was a bit young, that was true, but being so isolated wasn’t good for his progress and even his parents couldn’t deny that spending time with the consul’s eldest son was good for their family’s social standing.
He entered, carrying his bags with him. He’d tried to pack lightly, but Risa and his mother had added all kinds of things over the past week and now it was still heavy even for a trained shadowhunter to carry on his own.
‘You must be Mr. Carstairs,’ a woman said.
Judging from her dress and lack of runes, Alastair guessed she must be one of the mundane servants here.
‘That’s right,’ he said.
‘I’m Madeleine,’ she said, ‘I’m a maid here. Come, I’ll show you to your room.’
He followed the servant woman to a bedroom, where Alastair dropped his bags. Madeleine left him there to unpack, and Alastair took his time. He hated mess, and preferred it when everything had its proper place. He’d packed a few of his favorite daggers, and took them out, looking carefully for a proper place for them.
After a while he noticed someone was standing in the doorway. Familiar red hair, styled carefully, and dressed in a stylish grey suit. Charles Fairchild. He didn’t look much like his younger brother, and although everyone was always fussing about Matthew’s looks, Alastair preferred Charles’ serious face, the way he dressed like someone powerful instead of like a clown.
‘Look at you, all grown up,’ Charles said. ‘It’s been a while, Alastair. I’m glad to see you arrived.’
Alastair hadn’t seen Charles in person in over a year. He still looked very handsome, and Alastair was glad he was here. Everything was better than being home around his father.
‘I’m glad to see you too,’ Alastair said. ‘Congratulations on making interim head of the institute.’
‘Thanks. It is a great opportunity for me. I feel like every shadowhunter politician should have some experience at an institute. Growing up in Idris leaves one a bit sheltered from the harsh realities of Shadowhunter life, I’m afraid.’
Alastair wondered where his childhood fit in. He certainly hadn’t grown up somewhere safe and sheltered, but if it made him a better Shadowhunter he had no idea.
‘That’s why many shadowhunters take a travel year, don’t we?’ Alastair said.
‘Exactly. I lived in London myself before coming here, although of course that is where my family is from and demonic activity there is exceptionally low. Come, I’ll show you around the institute. I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks myself, but I have figured out the lay out.’
Charles showed him around, leading him to the main hall where most of the meetings were held.
‘You’re not yet old enough to be in enclave meetings, are you?’ Charles asked.
‘I will turn seventeen in a month,’ Alastair said. ‘So no, not yet.’
‘Shame, I think you would do well. Of course, I will give you permission to come and watch. That way, you’ll still learn plenty.’
Did Charles really think he would do well?
‘You’re very mature for your age,’ Charles continued. ‘Nothing like my brother. I can’t believe you’re only sixteen.’
Alastair did not want to discuss Charles’ younger brother, but was flattered Charles thought he was mature. Of course, he had to be, since he’d had to take care of his father from a young age. Being young and immature was a luxury Alastair did not have, unlike Matthew Fairchild.
‘I think I would like to watch enclave meetings,’ Alastair said.
Charles showed him to the training rooms next, and asked him about his preference for weapons and Alastair told him about his spears.
‘Spears, huh? I thought I saw you with daggers in your room.’
‘Those are decorative, mostly. I collect them. But I always carry at least one spear with me when I go outside, you never know when something might happen.’
Alastair remembered the vetis demon Clive Cartwright had released all these years ago at the academy. How he’d been too scared to tell his “friends” how he felt about the prank, that it was a terrible idea. He’d gone along anyway, thinking that if he was there at least he had some control of the situation. Then Clive had died, and perhaps Alastair could have saved him, had he carried his spears. He’d never left them behind again.
‘Seems a bit unpractical,’ Charles said. ‘How do you even carry a spear?’
‘Not at all. You see, these can be folded, so I can comfortably carry them underneath my suit. And they allow me to fight demons from a bit more distance.’
Alastair hated it when he got covered in blood, ichor, and other bits of demon parts, but fortunately that didn’t happen as often anymore. He still hated the way he looked after a fight though, with his hair all over the place and his clothes messy, but it was better than being covered in blood. He always put great effort into his appearance. With people constantly judging him for how he looked, he couldn’t afford to be seen with even a hair out of place.
‘Would you like to show me a bit? I’ve never trained with spears myself, nor seen anyone else do it. It’s a bit of an unconventional weapon after all.’
Alastair hesitated, and then unfolded one of his spears from underneath his suit. He’d still been carrying it even when there was no need inside. He guessed he’d forgotten to take it off, that’s how comfortable they were underneath his clothes. It was convenient now though, since he didn’t see any spears in the training room. He didn’t feel like changing into gear just for a demonstration, that would come later during training, but he did step into the training room. It was much bigger than what he was used to at home.
Alastair threw the spear, hitting a target about as far away as he could hit from here, hoping it would impress Charles.
‘I usually carry more than one spear, so I can throw them as well without ever being left unarmed.’
‘Clever,’ Charles said. ‘I’ve mostly trained with swords myself. Of course, I do spend most of my time on Shadowhunter politics and there’s much I can teach you about that. And maybe someday you can teach me how to use a spear.’
Alastair suspected Charles wasn’t much of a fighter, but he didn’t mind. At least he didn’t have to worry about someone who spent most of his time writing letters and arguing with older shadowhunters. Charles was very unlikely to get hurt somehow, which allowed Alastair to let down his guard a bit.
During his first few weeks in Paris he continued to spend much time with Charles, the older man showing him around and telling him everything about his work, how to run an institute, and the experience he had helping his mother with her work as Consul.
‘Have you considered a career in politics yourself, Alastair? Maybe head an institute someday, or even become Inquisitor.’
Alastair had not, but he was intrigued. ‘I’d probably not do such a great job. I’m not great at getting people to like me.’
At the academy some people had liked him, of course. His “friends” who’d found his witty insults hilarious. And little Thomas Lightwood, who had followed him around for some reason. Alastair had always found his presence a bit uncomfortable, the way Thomas had seemed to see right through him. Yet at the same time, being adored did feel nice.
Most of the time he tended to antagonize people, keep them at a distance. It was safer that way, people who were scared of him would not hurt him.
Charles put his hand on his shoulder. Alastair knew it was only supposed to be friendly, but it didn’t feel that way. It sent a shiver down his spine and Alastair desperately hoped Charles hadn’t noticed. He didn’t want to know what Charles would think of him if he knew how Alastair really felt about him.
‘You don’t have to worry about getting people to like you,’ Charles said. ‘Not when you can make them owe you.’
Alastair wasn’t quite sure what Charles meant, but it sounded promising. He could make people owe him. And perhaps with Charles’ help, he could make his way up in the Clave, and escape the shame his father had brought to the Carstairs name.
He also knew none of that was likely to happen. He knew that if people discovered what he really was, he’d lose everything. He’d bring more shame to his family than his father did, which Alastair thought was completely unfair.
‘I like that,’ Alastair said. ‘I can work with that.’
‘Sure you can. But if it’s any consolation, I like you.’
At that, Alastair smiled.
The evening before Alastair’s seventeenth birthday, he discovered a note in his room.
Come to my bedroom at midnight. Make sure no one sees you.
C.F.
Alastair wasn’t sure why Charles would want to see him in his bedroom, but he was also curious. He liked Charles in a way he hadn’t often liked people. Sure, there had been men he found attractive, but he felt like he connected to Charles. The older man seemed to understand him in a way no one else could, and was always willing to give him advice and teach him about shadowhunter politics. He had no idea, however, if Charles was like him. He would think it unlikely. Charles was a respectable man, a powerful man. Charles would be consul one day. But Alastair guessed powerful men had their secrets too, and why else would Charles invite him to his bedroom?
Alastair decided to go. He used his stealth to get through the institute unseen, something he had been good at for some time. When he was young, he’d always made sure no one discovered him before he found his father passed out somewhere. He knew even then what could happen if the wrong people found him alone on the streets at night.
No one was up at this hour, but he made sure to be quiet and not wake anyone. He found his way to Charles’s room, and quietly knocked on the door. For a moment he worried he might have gotten the wrong room and someone would be asking what he was doing here at this hour, but Charles opened the door, and rushed him inside, closing the door behind them.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d come.’
‘You asked me to.’
‘I did. Come, sit.’
Alastair sat down in the armchair. ‘Why did you want to see me at this hour?’
‘You seem like a man of many secrets, Alastair,’ Charles said.
Alastair couldn’t deny that exactly. Between his father and his romantic feelings for Charles, he had plenty of secrets.
‘You might not have realized,’ Charles continued. ‘But I have a secret of my own. Something that I’ve had to hide. I haven’t told a soul.’
Alastair tilted his head. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I wanted you to know my secret, because I’ve suspected for some time that your secret is similar. And I couldn’t risk anyone else finding out, so now is the best time.’
‘What sort of secret?’ Alastair asked, trying to sound more innocent than he was.
He suspected what Charles meant, but he wasn’t about to reveal that in case he was wrong.
Charles took in a deep breath, and Alastair could tell he found it difficult to share, even now. ‘I like men,’ he said. ‘I’ve known for several years, but I’ve never been able to tell anyone. But I’ve noticed the way you look at me… The way you respond when I touch you. I thought you should know that… that you aren’t alone.’
Alastair was left speechless for a moment. Even if he’d suspected, hearing Charles say it out loud was different. He’d known he liked men for several years, but he’d never told anyone and had never met another man he knew was like him. And Charles was a man he was definitely attracted to.
‘You’re right,’ Alastair said after an uncomfortable silence. ‘I do like men. And I like you.’
Charles took his hand, brushing over it with his thumb. ‘Can I kiss you?’
‘Please,’ Alastair said, a bit overwhelmed from everything.
Charles leant over and kissed him, gentle at first, then a bit firmer. Alastair had never been kissed before, had never considered it possible, and certainly not with someone like Charles Fairchild. He’d never imagined Charles might be like him, and even then that he would want this with him.
They broke apart. ‘I presume you understand, Alastair, that no one can know,’ Charles said. ‘We would both be ruined, if people found out. But if we’re careful, we can be together.’
Alastair was fine with that. He wasn’t ready for anyone to know about him liking men and wasn’t sure he would ever be ready.
‘I won’t tell,’ Alastair promised. It wasn’t like he had anyone to tell.
Charles didn’t say anything and kissed him again, hungrier this time. Demanding. He dragged him to the bed. Alastair wasn’t sure what was happening, but it felt good. He’d never thought someone could love him, but Charles did. He was a bit scared of rushing it, it was all so new. Charles began to remove his clothes and Alastair allowed it, still not sure what was going to happen.
When they were finished, Alastair tried to find a comfortable position next to Charles.
‘Happy birthday, Alastair,’ he said, kissing him again. ‘But you do have to leave.’
‘Can’t I… Can’t I sleep here?’
‘I wish you could, but it would be suspicious if people saw you leaving my bedroom. At this hour, no one would see you leave. I’ll see you tomorrow. I have a gift for you.’
Alastair was a bit disappointed he couldn’t stay any longer, but he quickly dressed himself and sneaked back to his own bedroom. He slept well for a change. He could still feel Charles’ lips, his hands exploring him.
The next morning, Charles did indeed have a gift for him. ‘I realized how important your dagger collection was to you,’ he said. ‘I don’t think you have one of these yet. It’s called a poignard, and was popular in France during the renaissance.’
Alastair smiled as he took a look at it. He didn’t have a dagger like this one, that was true. He’d wanted one for a while, but hadn’t gotten around to buying it.
‘Thank you, it’s beautiful. It’s true that these were popular in western Europe for a while, but they were also the primary weapon of the army of the Savafid empire in Persia during the 16th and 17th century.’
‘Oh, I did not know that,’ Charles said.
He spent much of the next months sneaking his way in and out of Charles’ bedroom at night. Hiding an affair was exciting, of course, and Alastair loved the thrill of it, but it was also difficult. When they saw each other during the day, Alastair had to fight to keep a neutral face, to hide any signs of affection. But at night he could be with Charles, comfortable for a while until he had to leave his room without being seen. With Charles he could let his guard down in a way he’d never done before. And he gave Charles everything he had, everything he could give. The other man could be demanding, and Alastair did not want to disappoint. He wanted to be enough for him, to be able to give him all he needed.
After a few months, Charles mentioned the topic of marriage when they were alone at night.
‘When I return to London, it is very likely I will enter an engagement with miss Ariadne Bridgestock. She’s the daughter of the Inquisitor, and such an alliance could prove quite useful.’
Alastair felt his heart sank. ‘But I thought…’ He wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. I thought you loved me, he wanted to say.
‘It will likely be a temporary engagement,’ Charles said, taking his hand. ‘I do not care for her as I do for you, you know that. But to be allied to the Bridgestock family will certainly help me be elected Consul when my mother’s term ends and maybe then we could truly be together.’
Alastair’s eyes went wide. ‘Do you really think that’s possible?’
‘Perhaps. But I would not mind if you chose to marry. I would still want to be with you.’
Alastair determinedly shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t do that. I know I could never love a woman like I love you, and I’d never want to deceive someone of my love.’
‘Not all women mind,’ Charles said. ‘But I understand.’
Alastair was not so sure he did. But he didn’t like fighting with Charles and his lover had the gift to make him forget about whatever he was angry about as soon as they were in his bed together.
There were times when he did worry about the state of their relationship. When Charles decided he couldn’t accompany him when he wanted to see the city, claiming they couldn’t be seen together. Working together wasn’t an issue, nor was Charles teaching him about politics, but they certainly couldn’t go see the city together. And especially when Charles again brought up the topic of marriage, this time suggesting it would be good for both of them if Alastair got engaged.
‘I’m not going to change my mind on this, Charles,’ he said. ‘I do not want to be married to someone I do not love.’
‘And what will you do when your parents ask why you refuse to get married?’
‘I’ll figure something out. Besides, since we move around so much we barely meet other shadowhunters. It’ll be easy enough to convince them I simply haven’t met anyone I like.’
Alastair dreaded going back to his parents, away from Charles and from Paris and from everything that made him feel safe. But he also missed his mother and sister and regretted not being there to protect them. He wanted to mend the bond with Cordelia, but he didn’t know how. He couldn’t tell her the truth about their father, and he certainly couldn’t tell her about Charles.
Charles paused. ‘You are very young. You still have plenty of time to find someone. But at some point you will be expected to marry. It could become very difficult to get ahead if you refuse. And what would your parents think, when you show no interest in women or marriage whatsoever?’
‘I guess so. But plenty of people marry for reasons other than love. My parents did, although they did fall in love over time. You’ll understand when you’re older.’
Alastair felt uncomfortable when Charles said that. His lover considered him a child still. Hadn’t he complimented him on how mature he was? Yet Charles often did not take him seriously, as if he was too young to understand. He often commented that he would understand things better when he was older. He was old enough to sleep with Charles though. He couldn’t make sense of it. So he did the best he could to please Charles, to show him he was mature and that he did understand. But when they differed of opinion, Charles always dismissed his ideas. That was fine though, he would be an adult soon enough and then Charles would have to take him seriously.
Except when Alastair arrived in London, nothing much seemed to change. Alastair attended every enclave meeting, now old enough to speak there himself, and did the best he could to have valuable input in these meetings, but Charles rarely listened. He preferred the sound of his own voice, even in the emergency they were in, which Charles wasn’t handling well at all. Just let me help you, he wanted to say. Just admit you cannot do this and you need me.
Not to mention here he was confronted with the presence of miss Ariadne Bridgestock, Charles’ fiancée. Alastair didn’t resent miss Bridgestock, he didn’t know her very well but he understood that as an adopted Indian woman, she was in no position to refuse to marry Charles. But he wanted Charles all to himself, to be the first thing on his mind, he didn’t want him to get married. He guessed that was not possible for someone like him. They’d always have to keep up appearances. He’d always have to be a secret.
Charles wasn’t there when Alastair needed him either. He was busy with his work, or with his fiancée who was ill and unlikely to wake up anytime soon, when Alastair just needed someone to talk to, someone to hold him. He had no one but Charles, no one he could confide in. He loved his sister, but he needed to protect her, not burden her with his struggles. Nor did he think she’d understand how he felt about Charles and he did not think he could take that rejection. He knew Layla was frustrated by his distance, but what else was he supposed to do?
So instead he was alone in his bedroom, after Charles had told him he didn’t have time to talk, to be more careful and not speak to him like that in public. Charles had promised he would come see him late in the evening, and he would just have to hold on until then. He knew Cordelia was spending more and more time with James Herondale and although he didn’t hate them as much as he pretended he did, he didn’t trust them either. They were so reckless, running towards danger and dragging Cordelia with them. Just like Charles, Herondale and his friends had no idea what they were up against and vastly overestimated their abilities to solve the situation, and one of these days Cordelia would get hurt because of it. And what would happen when his father was convicted? When Cordelia would inevitably find out the truth? Alastair didn’t want her to know, but at the same time he could barely stomach how she tried to rescue him as if he was some sort of hero.
Alastair cried for most of the day. His mother and Risa had gotten used to him locking himself in his bedroom by now and had left him, Risa only knocking once to announce she’d made tea. He hated crying, he hated being vulnerable like this and having to hide, but sometimes he couldn’t do it anymore. The anger had faded away and all that was left was emptiness. He wasn’t sure what exactly he was crying over, the way Cordelia kept putting herself in danger, the state of his relationship, his father. Plenty of options. It happened more and more frequently that he collapsed when he was sure no one would see, and Charles was never there to help him through it. He guessed he was expecting too much. But if Charles asked for him, told him he needed him, he would be there, always, no matter how inconvenient. Because he loved Charles.
He’d calmed a bit when it was time for dinner, and when everyone else had gone to bed, Charles did come for him. Alastair didn’t feel like arguing again, and instead accepted that even if it was a bit late, at least Charles was here now. He drew a soundless rune on the door, just in case someone would wake up and hear them.
‘Have you been crying?’ Charles asked.
To anyone else, he would have denied it. But Charles he trusted, even if his lover was not careful with his feelings at all. ‘A little,’ he said.
‘It is unbecoming for a man to cry,’ Charles said. ‘You’ll learn, in time, to deal with your emotions better.’
‘Perhaps I would have if you had actually made time for me when I needed you,’ Alastair bit back.
‘You know I was busy,’ Charles said. ‘Really, Alastair, I thought you were past this.’
He didn’t dare say anything else on the topic. He wasn’t sure he could take Charles’ dismissal. Charles was right, of course, he was too old to cry, had been for a long time, but what else was he supposed to do? The longer he held it in, the worse it got, and as long as no one actually saw him when he cried, it was alright.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you came.’
‘I am too. I missed you.’
Alastair wished Charles would stay with him, but as always he left when they were finished. It made sense, of course, Charles wouldn’t be able to explain sleeping over at the Carstairs house without anyone suspecting. Still, he wished he wasn’t alone. So he cried again, even if Charles had said it was unbecoming. No one would hear him. No one would know just how broken he was. He’d considered leaving Charles, but who was he kidding, Charles was all he had. He didn’t know how he’d survive without him.
When Cordelia came to talk to him about Charles, Alastair panicked. He was relieved to hear she still accepted him, but how could she have eavesdropped on his private conversations? That hurt the most, knowing that even if she claimed to love him, she didn’t trust him. He knew she hadn’t meant to find out he liked men this way, but she’d followed him because she’d expected him to reveal secrets he’d promised to keep. He remembered how she’d called Charles cruel. How he’d defended Charles’ actions to her, claiming he wasn’t cruel, how everything he did was so they could be together.
Charles said that all the time, but Alastair wasn’t sure he believed it anymore. It seemed more like everything Charles did was to further his career, and sometimes Alastair felt like an afterthought. Or perhaps someone Charles could satisfy his physical needs with, only tolerating that Alastair loved him with everything he had. They usually met to have sex, after all, but there could be much more to being with someone. Like how he’d taken Thomas to a museum, had walked along the Seine with him… Charles didn’t want any of that. The longer he thought about it, the more sick he felt. He still went to see Charles, even if he was disgusted by what he’d done to miss Bridgestock, how he’d abandoned her when she was in coma and replaced her with miss Grace Blackthorn. Even if he wasn’t sure he still liked it when Charles touched him.
Perhaps Cordelia was right, perhaps he should leave him. Charles wasn’t going to be what Alastair needed. And then there was Thomas Lightwood… Thomas, who’d grown up to be tall and strong, but also brave and kind and heroic. Someone Alastair didn’t deserve for sure. But perhaps he could have another chance. Perhaps he could leave Charles.
He looked at his dagger collection, one of the few things that brought him comfort anymore. It felt like there was one stuck inside of him, had been for years. Removing it would hurt, but it was the only way to survive. Having made up his mind, Alastair began to write a letter. He remembered how Alastair had refused Thomas entry into his house, refused to let him make the antidote. How Thomas had insisted that he did know what he was doing. Thomas was a hero. Charles had almost ruined the antidote, and Alastair wasn’t even sure he would have minded. If miss Bridgestock had died, no one would be able to contradict his story of breaking off the engagement before she’d fallen ill.
He knew it wasn’t the best way to break it off, that he should face Charles, but he wasn’t sure he could. He knew how well Charles manipulated him, making him forget his worries with soothing words and kisses. He couldn’t face him, but hopefully if Charles read his letter, he’d know to leave him alone. He was done with this half love, and even if he would end up alone it would be better than whatever he was to Charles. He deserved better.
Alastair was tired. For weeks now, he’s had two different men try to prove that they were worthy of him; Thomas Lightwood and Charles Fairchild.
Their constant competing was giving Alastair the worst headache of his life.
They wanted him to choose and he didn’t know who he wanted.
At the moment, he didn’t really want either of them with their current behavior.
From Charles offering a pay-raise for his unpaid internship (something he declined because he wasn’t going to be paid to be someone’s boyfriend). To Thomas constantly sending him flowers. His work, his apartment, it was getting annoying.
Now they were at a bar, all three of them, and Charles and Thomas were trying to see who could get Alastair a drink first.
Alastair sighed, having already gotten himself a club soda. He wasn’t drinking tonight, not after sleeping with Thomas the last time.
He was not going to he hooking up with anyone tonight. Not Thomas. Not Charles. No one.
Life would be so much better if he didn’t feel pressured into having to make a choice.
“Alastair!” Both boys called to him, surprisingly in sync. He refused to call them men when they’re acting like two kindergartners fighting over a stuffed animal (and Alastair didn’t take kindly to being treated like a stuffed animal).
He sank down into the seat of the booth, sipping his club soda. This was going to be a long, long night.
And indeed it was.
Constantly changing conversation topics, Thomas trying to get him to dance in a bar that had honestly crappy music because he knew Charles wouldn’t, Charles trying to steer the conversation into jobs (specifically Thomas’s lack of prospects for after college).
The whole thing was just draining, honestly. He couldn’t even go to the bathroom in peace.
At least it was over now, or so he thought.
He was leaning against his car now, watching as Thomas and Charles argued about who was drunker and who should get a ride with Alastair (no one was winning that argument).
He finally snapped when they asked for his opinion. “You know what? I think that both of you should call a cab, Lyft, Uber, whatever. Just leave me out of it.”
“Alas, wait.” Thomas whined.
“Alastair, darling, please.” Charles sounded pathetic, not as whiny as Thomas. But still…
“No. I’m done with you two fighting over me like children, because guess what? I’m not a prize that needs to be won.”
And with that, he left, quickly dialing Cordelia’s number when he was safely out of the parking lot.
“Alastair, dâdâsh? Why are you calling so late?”
“Can I come over? It’s an emergency.”
“Of course, you’re always welcome here.”
“Thank you.”
“Always.”
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🎶I don't want a lot for Angstmas🎶
🎶There is just one thing I need🎶
🎶I don't care about the presents underneath the Angstmas tree🎶
