#shayf fic
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ok bc it seems i have no motivation but all the time in the world
one note = one minute of writing my main fic wip (the so hug all your friends one)
in about two hours i’ll check the notes and start my timer
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so hug all your friends and let them know you’re not letting go
chapter 4: sing me a song, tell me your thoughts / i could listen to you all night long (part 2)
The next morning was quite pleasant for Ariadne. She woke to find Grace already in the dining room—unusual for the girl who usually preferred to flit about like a ghost. They had stayed up until midnight the previous night exchanging stories of their childhoods. Ariadne had missed thinking of India. She had told Alastair about it at his request, and at hers he’d spoken of Persia. This had been different from that, though. This had been less about the place itself and more the family she’d left behind. Grace had left family, too—or had family leave her. The feeling was familiar; it pooled in Ariadne’s gut when she was left alone with the thoughts. Having someone to pick them apart with helped.
The girls ate breakfast together, chatting aimlessly about the weather and the food and anything else they could think of. Mr. and Mrs. Bridgestock were, graciously, away for the week. There was some business they were tending to somewhere else in the country. Ariadne had long since stopped trying to make sense of her father’s trips.
They stumbled awkwardly into a brief discussion of the day’s plans, finding that neither of them had any designs beyond breakfast.
“Well,” Ariadne said carefully, “would you perhaps like to train with me today, then? I could use a partner.”
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so hug all your friends and let them know you’re not letting go
ch 4 - sing me a song, tell me your thoughts / i could listen to you all night long (pt 2)
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The next morning was quite pleasant for Ariadne. She woke to find Grace already in the dining room—unusual for the girl who usually preferred to flit about like a ghost. They had stayed up until midnight the previous night exchanging stories of their childhoods. Ariadne had missed thinking of India. She had told Alastair about it at his request, and at hers he’d spoken of Persia. This had been different from that, though. This had been less about the place itself and more the family she’d left behind. Grace had left family, too—or had family leave her. The feeling was familiar; it pooled in Ariadne’s gut when she was left alone with the thoughts. Having someone to pick them apart with helped.
The girls ate breakfast together, chatting aimlessly about the weather and the food and anything else they could think of. Mr. and Mrs. Bridgestock were, graciously, away for the week. There was some business they were tending to somewhere else in the country. Ariadne had long since stopped trying to make sense of her father’s trips.
They stumbled awkwardly into a brief discussion of the day’s plans, finding that neither of them had any designs beyond breakfast.
“Well,” Ariadne said carefully, “would you perhaps like to train with me today, then? I could use a partner.”
Grace seemed taken aback. “Oh! Well, sure, I suppose. I must admit,” she said sheepishly, looking down at her plate, “I have very little in the way of training. I’m not sure I could be of much help to you.”
Ariadne brightened immediately. “Of course you can! I could teach you, if you like. I always thought the best way to practice something you already know is by teaching it to somebody else.”
“I agree,” Grace said with a smile.
They agreed to meet in the drawing room after changing into gear. Grace was surprisingly quick to go up the stairs, though she never lost that elegant smoothness in her stride. Ariadne lingered a moment in the dining room, her heart thumping painfully.
There were many thoughts going through her head, bumping into each other and leaving little space for much else. She barely knew Grace, and here she was offering to train her. Their friendship—if it could be called that—was moving awfully fast. Though, things had moved rather fast with Alastair as well. Perhaps they were all so starved for friendship that they were wiling to try to bond with anyone who showed the barest speck of interest.
That wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, after all.
Ariadne sighed and wished Alastair was there. He was better at this than she was, though one may not think it. If Alastair liked someone, or thought he did at least, he could keep a conversation going well enough. Ariadne had always struggled with small talk—it seemed so frivolous and unnecessary. She hoped Grace would feel the same.
When she and Alastair had first started testing their friendship, Ariadne had relied heavily on him to guide the conversation. He’d wanted to know about Anna, and she’d told him—then he’d told her about Charles before she could figure out if she was supposed to ask. He’d also mentioned Thomas vaguely, though how exactly he felt for the man hadn’t come out until much later.
Ariadne smiled fondly at the memories as she ascended the stairs and looked for her gear. Alastair was, surprisingly, a bit of a mess when it came to Thomas Lightwood. Usually so calm and collected, he stumbled over his words when he tried to explain what it was like falling for someone who hated him so thoroughly. It’s not as though it could ever work, anyway, Alastair had said with false casualness. I doubt Thomas is even interested in men.
Only one way to find out, she’d teased. It had earned her a pillow in the face, but it had certainly been worth it.
As she carefully slipped into her gear, she wondered, not for the first time, if perhaps this was what having a sibling was like. She and Alastair got on so well, it was almost a shock whenever she remembered they hadn’t really known each other all that well until a month ago.
A knock startled the memories from her grasp. She finished buckling all that need buckling and opened the door to find a sheepish Grace still in her morning dress. “I’m sorry to bother,” she said before Ariadne could so much as draw breath, “it’s just I’ve realized I don’t actually have any gear.”
Ariadne frowned. It had been quite a few minutes since Grace had disappeared upstairs—what had she been doing all this time?
Seeming to read the question on her face, Grace glanced at her hands and said, “I’d have said something sooner, it’s just… I’m sorry. I didn’t not want you to think less of me as a Shadowhunter.”
Most people did, Ariadne was coming to realize.
She smiled as gently as she could and held open her door, gesturing for Grace to follow as she strode to the closet. “I’m sure I have some old gear that will fit you.” Grace was a few inches shorter than her, but sure enough, there was some gear she’d outgrown when she was fourteen at the very back. Ariadne pulled it out and handed it to Grace. “Do you need any help with it?” she asked.
Grace shook her head quickly. “No. Thank you for offering. I have worn it before, I simply have none of my own.”
“Well, now you do,” Ariadne said, indicating the gear in Grace’s hands.
Grace smiled, and it made her look much prettier, Ariadne thought. This was quite a feat, seeing as how she was already quite gorgeous. It was as though it thawed something in Grace’s features, making her seem warm and kind. Ariadne decided to make it a priority to make Grace smile more.
After Grace changed, they headed outside. Ariadne was increasingly excited about the prospect of training Grace.
She figured they could start with fighting stances, then move on to hand-to-hand, then staffs.
Grace was surprisingly competent about stances and hand-to-hand for what little experience she’d claimed to have. They were able to move on from instruction quickly enough and begin sparring. Neither of them could quite get the advantage, Ariadne because she was holding back to spare Grace’s feelings, and Grace because she simply had no real experience.
Eventually, Ariadne managed to hook her foot behind Grace’s knee and pull, causing her to fall flat on her back. Unfortunately, this put Grace in the prime position to grab Ariadne’s legs and bring her down as well. They collapsed on top of each other in a fit of giggles.
“Truce?” Grace gasped, struggling to keep her composure as she struggled to a sitting position. She extended her hand.
Ariadne eyed it from where she was propped up on her elbows, then grasped it and shook solidly. “Truce.”
They giggled again, helped each other stand, and began brushing themselves off. There was a fair amount of dirt and grass stains on Grace’s gear; Ariadne made a mental note to help her clean it off later.
“Pardon me, Miss Bridgestock,” came a soft, motherly voice from the house door. Ariadne turned to find their maid, Mrs. Webster, watching them with a smile. Her dark hair was streaked with gray—Ariadne wondered when that had happened. She could’ve sworn it hadn’t been that way earlier this year. “I don’t mean to interrupt, miss, but there’s a young man by the name Mr. Carstairs here to see you. He’s waiting in the drawing room whenever you finish.”
“Oh.” It was all she could say. She turned to find Grace’s face had gone cold again. “Do you mind wrapping up for the day?”
Grace looked at her with steely eyes. “That’s fine. I’ll be upstairs.”
“Oh. All right. Er—let me know if you need anything, then.” Before she had even finished speaking, Grace was turning on her heel and pushing past Mrs. Webster.
Confused and greatly disheartened by the sudden loss of all the progress she’d made with Grace, Ariadne followed the maid inside and began walking toward the drawing room. She was stopped by a hand gripping her shoulder and spun around sharply to find Mrs. Webster staring at her with what could only be described as horror. “Miss Bridgestock, you are not truly going to entertain company in your fighting gear, are you?”
Ariadne blinked at her and let out a laugh. “It’s just Alastair, Mrs. Webster.”
“Ohhh, just Alastair, is it?” Mrs. Webster’s next look was far too knowing for Ariadne’s liking.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said lightly. “He’s a friend. He probably just wants to talk for a bit, he won’t mind if I’m not dressed properly.”
“Your parents would mind,” Mrs. Webster replies meaningfully. “Especially after that whole ordeal with Mr. Fairchild and Miss Blackthorn—please, dear.” She gripped Ariadne’s arm. “For my peace of mind.”
It was a fair argument. Ariadne still had some semblance of a reputation to maintain. Figuring she might as well humor the old woman, Ariadne let out a sigh and headed toward the stairs. It took her several annoyingly long minutes to change out of her gear and find a suitable dress, and by the time she finished, she’d almost forgotten about Grace.
That was, until she stepped out of her room and found Grace glaring at her by the staircase, dressed in a dazzling display of lilac and silver. “I wish to speak to Alastair with you,” she said simply, then turned so fast her hair splayed out behind her and descended the stairs soundlessly as ever.
Ariadne followed, swallowing heavily and wondering what she was getting herself into.
Alastair was standing already when they entered the room, examining the various paintings they had hanging on the walls. There was a jacket on the couch, which was odd—it wasn’t one that looked like it belonged to Alastair. He turned and, upon seeing Ariadne, did that thing where he very nearly smiled—his face relaxed and the corners of his mouth, rather than pointing down at an alarming angle, evened out into a straight line.
Then he caught sight of Grace, and his jaw tensed again. “Good morning Ariadne, Miss Blackthorn,” he nodded politely. His eyes lingered on Grace for a moment before he shot a displeased look at Ariadne. She shrugged, eyes wide, and gestured to the settee.
Alastair sat on the end farthest from the armchair Grace was occupying, gathering the strange jacket into his arms, leaving Ariadne to sigh irritatedly and sit in the middle of them to mediate.
“How are you this morning, Alastair?” Ariadne asked blandly.
“Fine. Thank you.”
There was silence for a long moment.
Ariadne was about to comment on the weather—really, she should not have been allowed to ever attempt anything resembling small talk—when Alastair glanced and Grace, then back at her, and said, “Pardon me if this is out of line, but I had been hoping to discuss something privately with you, Ariadne. If this is a bad time, I can come by in the afternoon.”
He made to stand, but before he could, Grace interrupted, “Are you doing anything today, Mr. Carstairs?”
He looked stunned, the lowered himself back onto the couch. “Well, that’s actually what I wished to discuss with Ariadne. I did not want to be rude in excluding anyone from the conversation.”
Ariadne nearly winced at his tone. It was clear he had not wanted to include Grace in whatever he had planned.
“Just tell me,” she whispered. When Alastair glanced over her shoulder at Grace, she said, “It’s fine.”
Alastair sighed through nose and held up the jacket. “I ran into Christopher Lightwood last night.” A dozen questions raced through Ariadne’s head—where? when? why?—but before she could voice any of them, he was saying, “It’s a long story for another time, but I ended up with this—” he shook the jacket “—and I don’t know what to do.”
“The jacket is Christopher’s?” Ariadne questioned first.
“Thomas’s,” he corrected quietly.
Ariadne sucked in a breath and nodded in understanding. That would explain it, then.
“You should return it, then,” Grace said slowly. Alastair’s eyes slid over to hers blankly. “I could help, if you wish,” she continued, sitting up straighter. “Be a distraction. The Merry Thieves are far more cross with me than they are with you, I suspect.”
Ariadne looked between the two, waiting. After a few seconds, Alastair’s face softened again, and the corner of his mouth twitched up. “I would appreciate that. Thank you, Miss Blackthorn.”
“Please, Mr. Carstairs, call me Grace.”
Alastair narrowed his eyes even as he smiled. “Well. Then you must call me Alastair.”
Grace smiled fully, then, the warm smile from early that morning. Ariadne understood suddenly why the coldness had crept back when Mrs. Webster had announced Alastair’s arrival. She hadn’t wanted to be shut out by their friendship. The best solution, clearly, was to bring her into it, then.
“When do we leave?” Ariadne asked with an air of adventure, standing with her hands on her hips and looking between the two.
Alastair shrugged. “Now?”
They looked at Grace, who nodded, grinning. “Now.”
*hides* i’m sorry this took so long lol. pls tell me ur thoughts on mrs webster :) (more christopher to come i promise)
tagging @ohcoolnice @stxr-thxif @foxglove-airmid @littlx-songbxrd @eugeniaslongsword @clockworknights @writeforjordelia @axoloteca @ninacarstairss @lifewouldbebetteronmars lmk if i forgot you or if you’d like to be added or if you want to be removed, i’m so disorganized at this point lol
#tlh#the last hours#tlh fanfic#ariadne bridgestock#kamala joshi#grace blackthorn#alastair carstairs#artie tries to write#shayf fic#this is unedited be nice to me
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so hug all your friends and let them know you’re not letting go - masterlist
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
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have a non-angsty quote from the next chapter of my fic just because
He draped the jacket over Alastair’s head and said, “Just… run really fast. I’ll open the door for you. They’ll never know.”
Alastair would have glared at Christopher if he could see him through the jacket.
have a good day everyone
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to keep myself writing i figured i’d try to do a little wip wednesday for my fics (and my original wip on my side account :)) sooo here’s that !
excerpt from ‘so hug all your friends chapter 5′
It didn’t seem to matter, though. Christopher started again, saying, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s you they’re really angry with at all.”
Grace furrowed her brow. “Well, what on earth is that supposed to mean? They’re certainly taking it out on him, aren’t they?”
That’s putting it lightly, Alastair thought grimly, but he waited for Christopher to elaborate all the same. “Well…” Christopher sighed and laid back on the ground. “It’s like this: they all have something in their lives that’s causing them pain, but they can’t attack the source of it. So, instead, they focus on a more manageable pain, though it should be long forgotten.”
“It makes them feel in control,” Ariadne whispered, sounding far off in a way Alastair didn’t care for at all.
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I love shayf!!!! Grace smiled! Ariadne is a thomastair shipper! When Christopher joins the group they’ll have 95% of the brain cells in tlh.
omg i'm so glad you like it!!!
i've decided that for this fic we stan grace 100% so yes i can't wait to write more happy grace scenes :)
and more christopher scenes !! and of course more alastair and ariadne arguing like siblings bc you can't tell me that isn't exactly what they'd do
this friend group is literally everything i've ever wanted from tlh so i'm glad other people are enjoying it too <33
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me, writing ch 2: u can pry adhd kit talking in long rambling sentences from my cold dead hands
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i’m not dead i just have to study for ap tests, next chapter of shayf out sometime next week i hope <3
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*writes a grandmotherly oc into my fic for no plot related reason* it’s personal wish fulfillment time babes
#good news is i'm basically done with drafting this chapter#i have like three more paragraphs and then i'll edit and post#artie rambles#shayf fic
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ok i need help
do i write the first chapter where alastair and christopher REALLY interact from alastair’s pov or from christopher’s? like which would y’all rather read??
seriously would like y’all’s opinions
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for the most part my chapter outline for this fic is very nice and organized and detailed and then there’s just one chapter (the number of which i haven’t even decided on yet) that’s just all caps ‘LOVE CONFESSION IN THE RAIN ITS HAPPENING THIS IS NOT A DRILL’ and i think that’s very valid of me
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so hug all your friends and let them know you’re not letting go
chapter 3: sing me a song, tell me your thoughts / i could listen to you all night long (part 1)
They arrived at Grosvenor Square quickly and with little conversation. Or, at least, with little response. Christopher talked almost the whole way, but Alastair’s replies became shorter and shorter, and Christopher couldn’t help but worry he was annoying Alastair. But when he looked at the older boy’s face, his eyes were contemplative rather than unfocused and uninterested, so Christopher continued to explain the experiment he was working on.
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so hug all your friends and let them know you’re not letting go
chapter 2: remembering the time you saw them just yesterday
It took time for Alastair to grow used to Grace, more than it had taken when he’d become friends with Ariadne. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be friends with Grace—it was more complicated than that. She had been a key instrument in much of Cordelia’s pain for quite some time when they all arrived in London. Even if Cordelia and James were now engaged, it did not erase the past.
But that also did not mean he wouldn’t give her a chance. He knew nothing of her motives or childhood, and for him to judge her for such things would make him the highest of hypocrites. So when they left the library and Ariadne suggested dinner, Alastair agreed and directed the carriage toward a restaurant he’d been to with his mother and sister a few times. He’d wanted to take Charles, but Charles always had a strict policy of not being seen together in public. Really, it was a wonder that they had lasted as long as they did.
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so hug all your friends and let them know you’re not letting go
chapter 1: what’s it like to be alone on a sunday
It took them a rather long time to all find each other. Looking back, it seemed almost a miracle that they had. It seemed a miracle that they hadn’t allowed childhood gripes and societal biases to come between them and tear their little found family apart.
Alastair and Ariadne credited themselves with being the first of the group. Grace disputed this, saying she and Jesse had known each other far longer; Christopher and Eugenia chose to remain silent on this matter.
“You lot might’ve known each other,” Ariadne liked to say, brown eyes gleaming, “but Alas and I were the founds of this group. We’re the ones who brought the six of us together.” And she was right.
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because i feel bad about how long this chapter is taking, have my writing playlist for the fic! basically just songs that remind me of the characters and how i want some of their relationships to be and grow :)
#artie rambles#music#playlist#shayf fic#tlh#the last hours#if you squint you can make out major plot points in the fic#but we don’t have to talk about that
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