what were his last thoughts

the art of being a gentleman

because who doesn’t want a muggle au? 

James should be thinking about several things.

He should be thinking about his history course work due in two days or his match on Saturday. He should be thinking about the prefect timetable he has yet to organise and he definitely should be thinking about the niggling pain in the back of his knee and if he should mention it to his coach. What he categorically shouldn’t be thinking about is the pretty redhead at his bus stop and how he wants to kiss the colour out of her lips and hold it in his chest.

She’s wearing those bloody jeans again, the same as the week before, that hug her legs and around her waist (and other areas James definitely isn’t looking at). The streetlamps have already clicked on, her skin is woven gold under the amber light.

He can’t look away, won’t look away as she wanders up and down the bus stop, her fingers tapping at her phone screen and her mouth lifting into a lazy smile as she reads a text. Thunderous grey clouds hang heavy in the sky and he wonders if he is going mad, standing in the cold about to be soaked when with one call he could have a car pick him up with complimentary tea and biscuits.

The girl smiles again and he knows he’s going mad because his heart is pumping in his throat and flowers are growing through his ribs. His phones rings and he lifts it to his ear, noticing there is still a smear of blood across his bruised knuckles.

“We need your help,” Sirius tells him. James can hear what he thinks is Pete trying to move a bed. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the bus stop, I need to nip to the flat to grab something.” James tells him, craning his neck to see if the bus is coming. The girl glances at him, pulling her bottom lip through her teeth. James flashes her a grin and blood burns up the neck he so desperately wants to press his lips against.

“I thought that’s what you were doing last week?” Sirius replies.

“Yeah, I just need something else.” James winces at the silence that follows. There’s another crash and Pete is violently swearing.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that redhead who was on the bus last week, would it?”

James can’t stop his eyes flickering to where she stands, leaning against a lamppost, her silhouette cut from the shadows. “Err- potentially- anyway why did you need me?”

“We’re trying to find Moony’s philosophy notes, he’s hidden them.”

He runs his hand through his hair, it needs a wash to get rid of the remnants of mud. “Obviously, last time you used them you spilt gin all over them.”

“That wasn’t my fau- oh you utter bastard you know where they are don’t you?”

James laughs and leans against the crumbling brick wall behind him. “Look, Pads, I’ve got to go, I’ll see you tonight.”

There’s more crashing and what sounds like ‘James you fucker’ before James can press end call. The girl is staring at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. He pockets his phone with a sheepish grin at her. He’s about to ask her something, anything. Words are climbing up his throat and dancing across his tongue, a ballet of letters held between his teeth.

Then the sky opens.

The rain isn’t particularly heavy but it’s the sort that seeps under the skin and lingers in the blood, James’s hair is already damp by the time he gets his hood up. The girl is shivering, her thin jumper soaked through. James’s legs start moving before his brain does, his hands unzipping his rugby bag and fishing out his school hoodie. The girl looks confused, James must too because he’s not really sure what he’s doing.

“Here, it’ll stop you freezing to death.” He says, offering it to her. She reaches for it, uncertainty spilling out of her eyes. “I’m James, by the way.”

“You’re not a serial killer, are you?” she asks once she’s tugged it over her head. He almost misses the question, thinking too much about how she would look in nothing but his rugby shirt.

She’s staring at him expectantly, her brow crinkled ever so slightly.

“Only on Thursdays, you should be safe.”

She laughs, sunlight falling from her lips, her fingers tucking strands of copper hair under the hood. “I’m Lily,” she says. Lily. He nods, it settles in his stomach like it’s always been there, Lily. The rain keeps up it’s symphony on the pavement.

“So how posh are you, on a scale of Eddie Redmayne to Prince William?” she asks. Her eyes are alight, her voice bubbling like cheap champagne. He thinks he might be already drunk.

He raises an eyebrow, pretends to look offended, drinks in the light that’s pouring out of her. “Me, posh? Never.” Her phone beeps but her hands stay tucked in the pockets of his hoodie, he lets a drop of warmth creep into his bones.

“Seriously though, I hear your school fees are insane.”

He glances at the crest stitched into his jacket, into the hoodie, into his skin. Red and gold and laughter and adrenaline and home. “I’m not that posh. Sirius, he’s a lord, but I’m nothing special.”

He knows the weight the name carries, knows the looks in the street, the eyes noting the tie and blazer, the polished shoes and tailored trousers. He knows what they think of, arrogance smirks and burnt fifty pound notes, wrecked cars and opportunities thrown about like paper in a classroom. They’re not all like that, he’s not like that.

“A lord, huh?” she says, “Can you get me his number?”

Keep reading

12x12 Coda: Watching Over You

I think this is the fastest I’ve ever written a coda.  Dean takes Cas to a motel to recover.  For the second coda this season, someone loses their shirt and there’s some bed sharing.  Sort of.

Cas isn’t stupid, not by a long shot.  Even through a haze of growing pain, he could watch.  He could listen.  And he didn’t miss how Mary’s eyes dropped for a fraction of a second when Ramiel demanded a stolen object returned.

He’d filed it away for later.  Well. That is, if there was a later, which at the moment, hadn’t seemed that likely.

Now that later is a reality, he can’t bring himself to impart the knowledge to Dean.  It’s been too stressful of an hour to add that.  So Cas quietly allows Dean to lead him, slowly, to the car Mary had taken to get them here.

He’s also not unobservant.  He doesn’t miss the way Dean’s hand is trembling, however minutely, on his arm.

“Only a few more steps,” Dean says in his ear.  Gentle. Soothing.  Like Cas imagines a hospice nurse would speak.  Dean’s still afraid he’s going to shatter into a million pieces, dissolve into oozing black goo. (Again.  Which recalls a few memories that Cas would rather forget.). “Take it easy, Cas.  This isn’t a race.”

“We’re crawling,” Cas points out, but he doesn’t argue.

Technically, he shouldn’t be tired at all, but there’s a certain lethargy to his bones that he can’t quite shake.  He suspects that there will be some time before he feels normal again.

“Shut up.” It’s said teasingly, but Cas can feel Dean’s eyes lingering on the back of his head a few beats longer than they normally would.

Keep reading

  • ’ I believe if you were dead the world would be a better place. ’
  • ’ You are not my knight in shining whatever. ’
  • ’ I’m not sure we’re worth fighting for. ’
  • ’ I’m gonna eat candy in the dark and pretend I’m home alone. ’
  • ’ Sometimes it’s actually painful to be around you. ’
  • ’ They say if you talk out loud while you look for something, you find it faster. ’
  • ’ This is your love day. ’
  • ’ I’d lose that crazed smile before you start cramping. ’
  • ’ It’s harder to love someone than walk away from them. ’
  • ’ No, I choose me. ’
  • ’ We’re adults, we’re going to fight. ’
  • ’ Everyone said I was ready. You said I would be okay, so I thought I should just do it and get it over with. But I wasn’t ready for…to be… ’
  • ’ I met a puppy once that was half German Shepherd, half teacup Chihuahua. And all I could think was…how did you happen? ’
  • ’ You should go. Cause I’m about to nut punch you. ’
  • ’ Found it. It’s so old, it’s not even in the computer. ’
  • ’ I wasn’t sure what you’d be in the mood for, so I kind of got everything. Champagne, tequila, pinot noir — pick your poison. ’
  • ’ You are not a person who makes promises he doesn’t keep. ’
  • ‘ I only dance it out when something bad’s happened. ’
  • ‘ People aren’t always who you think they are. You learn to see through it. You learn fast. ’
  • ‘ You’re a surgeon, we make mistakes. We need to be forgiven. ’
  • ‘ You don’t teach by shoving someone else’s face in the dirt. That’s just being mean. And small. ’
  • ‘ Did he say anything to you before you killed him? Can you tell me what his last words were. ’
  • ‘ I’m happy and I never thought I would be again. But I am, and that’s all I need. ’
  • ‘ Aw sweetie, this is about me, this isn’t about you. ’
  • ‘ THIS is what feminism looks like, sir. ’
  • ‘ I think you’ll be a good dad. Your babies will be so foul-mouthed and dirty and cute. ’
  • ‘ I am qualified to tell you how to survive. ’
  • ‘ My husband is dead. Yeah, I’m gonna play that card. ’
  • ‘ Why do people constantly feel the need to kill their arteries. ’
  • ‘ Optimism for the win. ’
  • ‘ I told you to keep that baby in. ’
  • ‘ All my orgasms are gonna be self-made, hand-crafted ones. ’
  • ‘ Just because we can live without something, it doesn’t mean we have to. ’
  • ‘ You want to be a mess, be a mess. I don’t care, I can take it. ’
  • ‘ I just got here. I haven’t had a chance to screw anything up yet. ’
  • ‘ Maybe you’ll get lucky and you’ll snip out the part that makes her kinda bitchy. ’
  • ‘ It’s her song, so get off the stage and let her sing it. ’
  • ‘  I love you in a really really big, pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your window, unfortunate way that makes me hate you, love you. ‘
  • ‘ I’m not good at relationships or talking about stupid feelings. ’
  • ‘ I’m still in love with you. I tried not to be, but it didn’t work. ’
  • ‘  You’re my sister, you’re my family, you’re all I’ve got. ‘
  • ‘ Everyone needs help from time to time. Someone to look out for them. Make sure they’re okay. ’
  • ‘ There comes a point when you have to suck it up and stop whining and start living. ‘
  • ‘ You died in my arms. You freakin’ died. ’
  • ‘ That’s where love exists. In delusional fantasies. ’
  • ‘ Ah, tonight I have things planned that don’t include her screaming your name. ’
  • ‘ I take things personally. I get too emotional. ’
The Greatest Thing You'll Ever Learn (1/?)

Takes place after the events of 12x12 “Stuck in the Middle With You”.

Castiel has been in love with Dean ever since he first laid a hand on him in Hell all those years ago. But finally, painfully, he realises Dean will never return his feelings and forces himself to move on. Dean misses the presence and attention of his angel, and comes to some realisations of his own.

Chapter 1/?

Castiel has known it all along, if he’s honest and admits it to himself. That Dean doesn’t harbour the same feelings for him that he does for the hunter. He still isn’t exactly proficient in the complexities of human communication, but this time he had been as plain as he was able to be, and still Dean had failed to respond to him. If telling his friend that he loved him in what they all thought were his last moments didn’t make Dean confess it back, then nothing ever would. For a fleeting moment, Castiel had tried to convince himself that it was because Sam and Mary were there, but that line of thought trailed off as he realised that if Dean was unable to admit his feelings in front of his family then it was unlikely they were particularly strong anyway.

Dean’s love for him is a platonic one, the kind you have for your brother or a parent. It isn’t the romantic, all-consuming love that Castiel suffered from and now the angel has his proof. He has spent years hoping, wondering, even sometimes convincing himself that he saw something reflected in Dean’s glittering green eyes, but now he has his answer - and as painful as it is, at least it’s something tangible.
Something final that he can cling onto, suffer through, and move past. But god, the suffering Cas is feeling now is staggering, incomparable; he feels like his heart is being torn from his chest, like his soul - if he had one - is shattering one piece at a time. He loves Dean more than he can admit, even to himself, and how he’s going to be able to be around him after that rejected confession is something Cas hasn’t got an answer for just yet.

And why the hell would Dean love the fallen angel? What is there to love about Castiel? He has lied to Dean, betrayed him, done unspeakable things in the name of God and heaven…Dean probably sees him now as damaged, jaded, something to take pity on. Wait…Is that why Dean keeps him around? He pities him?

That thought brings a fresh wave of agony, and Castiel leans forward to vomit again into the toilet bowl, collapsing back against the cool tiles when his stomach just can’t expel any more. He’s still coughing up black slime, his skin is still raw and burning, and his insides feel like someone is going at them with sandpaper. He had been OK for a while, on the journey home. Had felt almost normal. He had excused himself the moment they had got back to the bunker, first to his own bedroom then the bathroom when he realised how ill he truly felt, and has now been locked in solitude, alternating between vomiting and trying not to hyperventilate, for over an hour. His skin is wet with sweat, his clothing soaked, and he can’t stop shaking. He remembers when he last felt remotely ill, when his stolen grace was fading inside him, but this is another level entirely. He’s violently sick again, and trades sitting back against the wall for lying down on the bathroom floor, his overheated cheek against the cool tiles, and tries to hold in a fresh wave of tears. If Dean saw him now…

He hears a door slam from deep in the bunker, raised voices, but can’t find the energy to even sit up let alone go and see what’s happening. Sam and Dean are probably arguing, and Mary is probably trying to placate them. Castiel is more than familiar with their family dynamics now; his family dynamics he supposes, after the events of today. He truly does see himself as a part of their family - the words ‘Castiel Winchester’ run through his mind and he huffs out an almost delirious giggle at the thought - but the worry dragging gently at him is that Dean only said what he did because Castiel was dying. He tries to reason with himself, pain, discomfort and distress clouding his logic, and only comes to conclusions that cause him further pain and upset. He should really think about this stuff later, when he’s feeling better, when he’s had a chance to talk to Dean…
Fuck. He has to talk to Dean. He doesn’t have to mention what he said, when he feverishly confessed his love, but he’ll have to talk to the hunter at some point, he can’t just ignore him for the rest of his life. He could leave, he supposes, sitting up suddenly to spit more black bile out into the toilet and collapsing again with his head spinning - but isn’t that a cowardly thing to do? To leave, to run away? He doesn’t fucking know, all he knows is that he’s hurting, in every way possible, and he want it to just stop. A knock at the door draws him back to reality just enough for him to turn his head and focus as the bathroom door swings open.

“Cas? You OK? Oh God, Cas!”

Sam’s expression immediately drops to one of intense concern, and he kneels down beside the fallen angel, sliding his hands under Castiel’s shoulders and helping him to sit up. Cas slumps back against Sam, the back of his head hitting the bone of Sam’s shoulder with an unpleasant crack, and he tries to catch his breath.

“‘M fine, Sam. Just…taking longer than I thought…to get back to normal…”

“Cas, are you sure?” Sam’s voice is laced with worry. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No…” Cas knew he should feel embarrassed, lying collapsed in Sam’s arms the way he currently is, but he can’t find it in him to care. “Just need to wait it out…”

“Let me get you some water,” Sam manoeuvres Cas until he’s leaning against the wall; the angel lets his eyes fall shut and listens to the sound of a tap running, then Sam is pressing a perspiring glass of water into his feverish hands. “Try and drink it slowly.”

Castiel complies, feeling a little better with each sip. He supposes he’s dehydrated from all the vomiting - another pesky human affliction he will never be able to get used to. He wants to ask Sam how Dean is, but at the same time doesn’t want to open the door to any potentially awkward discussions, not in his current state. However, in true Castiel style, his brain doesn’t always have control over his mouth.

“How’s Dean?”

“Dean?” Sam seems surprised, but then the narrowing of his eyes makes Cas think he knows exactly what the angel means. “Dean’s fine. He was really worried about you; we all were. Are. You look dreadful, man.”

“You try getting stabbed with the Lance of Michael and see how you feel,” Cas gripes, dragging himself into a better sitting position and trying to wipe sweat from his brow with his even sweatier palm. “In fact no, don’t. I wouldn’t wish this affliction on any of you.”

“Not even Dean?” Sam teases lightly, sitting down against the opposite wall to keep Cas company for a while. “I’m sure he’s deserves it once or twice.”

“No…” Cas’ voice grows soft with contemplation. He isn’t in any mood to joke. “Especially not Dean.”
To his horror, his eyes fill with tears and he can’t react fast enough to wipe them away, and they spill unchecked down his cheeks. He scrubs at them savagely, eyes burning with embarrassment now as well as pain, and hopes Sam won’t say anything. That, of course, doesn’t go his way either.

Sam is silent for a while, alternating between watching the angel and playing with nonexistent fluff on his jeans. His next words cement the truth that Castiel already knew; any tiny glimmer of hope he still held onto is completely and irrevocably destroyed.

“I’m so sorry, Cas. We all thought he felt the same, we really did. I’ve thought for years that the two of you…you know, would end up together. I thought-”

“Don’t, Sam.” Cas’ voice breaks and another flood of tears stream down his cheeks. He drops his head, chin almost on his chest, and gives in to the grief. “Please. Don’t. I can't…I just can’t.”

He doesn’t care any more if Sam is watching him, if he’s in the room, or what he thinks of him. He doesn’t have the energy to fight any more, and the sobs that have been threatening him since they returned to the bunker now burst out of him and he’s powerless to control them. The glass of water splinters on the ground beside him and he drops his head into his hands; the tears start and they won’t stop. The angel cries for what feels like forever, barely feeling Sam’s arm come around his shoulders, barely hearing the empty words of comfort whispered into his ear; everything he thought his future would eventually be had been smashed to pieces in front of him, and Sam has confirmed it all. Dean doesn’t love him; he never has.

Minutes tick towards hours, and Castiel just can’t stop crying.


♡ 2013-2015 ♡

Not to Leave Thee

Note: Apology to those who stumbled onto this post before I finally managed to fix the HTML. I’m afraid I’m not very tech savvy. ;)

I’ve recently become obsessed with Shadowhunters. Malec and Jalec are two different kinds of love that fulfill all of my character relationship needs. So here is my first Shadowhunters fanfic, a little imagined scene set right after the events of 2x03.

Summary: After the events in Parabatai Lost, Alec is determined not to let Jace down.

* * *

Not to Leave Thee

In Alec’s world, things were still spinning. He was trying desperately to anchor himself, but he felt more and more like he had been pulled out of one nightmare only to be dropped in another—one that he didn’t have a clue how to wake up from. He felt as lost now that he knew where Jace was as he had when his brother had disappeared with Valentine. Because once again, Jace was nowhere near where he was supposed to be. And where he was supposed to be was by Alec’s side. Until Jace was back where he belonged, there was no way out of the nightmare as far as Alec was concerned.

He rolled over onto the luxury mattress that was way too soft for him. He looked at Magnus’ sleeping form beside him, and he thought about how this was not how he had pictured entering the warlock’s bed for the first time. Magnus tossed his head from side to side in his sleep, brow furrowing, breath quickening, eyes darting around behind closed eyelids. And Alec realized he was not the only one who was stuck in a nightmare.

Without thinking, he found Magnus’ hand in the dark and held on for dear life. It didn’t even come close to repaying all that Magnus had done for him, but it was all that Alec had to offer and it would have to do for now. Magnus quieted almost instantly. Alec wondered if perhaps the warlock could sense his presence the way he had sensed Magnus’ while he had been lost in his own nightmarish world. He liked to think that might be the case. It was a comforting thought. It made him feel adequate.

He left his hand where it was, his fingers firmly entwined with Magnus’, and he rolled onto his back. He stared at the darkened high ceiling in Magnus’ bedroom, eyes vacant and thoughts swirling. He felt too weak and too lost still to think straight, and so he didn’t try to. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and he willed himself to sleep. He could not afford a clouded mind nor a weakened body.

He was almost drifting off when the words came.

“Entreat me not to leave thee.”

Alec’s eyes flew open.


His heart began to beat a mile a minute in his chest. It slammed over and over against his ribcage, violently enough that it actually hurt.

Jace’s words had stayed with him, and now they were coming back, demanding to be heeded. He had heard them before, of course; the day when he and Jace had taken their parabatai oath was forever engraved in his memory. But he had never heard them as loud or as clear as today, when Jace had come and rescued him from oblivion. He had never felt them as deeply, had never quite grasped the enormity of their meaning. He thought he had, but today’s events had shown him that he hadn’t quite known, not really. Neither him nor Jace had ever spoken the words like that before, with the same life-saving intensity.

Jace’s voice had gotten deeper than under Alec’s skin—they went past nerves and muscle and straight to the core of his being. Jace had saved more than just Alec’s life today. He had saved all of him, all of his essence.

And what was he doing? He was lying in bed, sleeping.

‘No way,’Alec thought fiercely. ‘No fucking way.’

He sat up and let go of Magnus’ hand. The darkness spun about him for a moment, but it was nothing that a few seconds of furious, rapid blinking could not fix. Gingerly, Alec slipped out of bed. He cast a quick look down at Magnus to make sure he hadn’t disturbed his sleep. He knew that if he woke now, Magnus would try to stop him, and he had no energy to waste on an argument.

But the warlock did not stir. It was a testament to just how drained he was, and Alec promised himself he wound find a way to make it up to him. Later. Magnus would have to wait; he had someone else to see to now.

Alec took a deep breath, gathered up his discarded boots and shirt, and walked out of Magnus’ home. His feet were unsteady, but his resolve wasn’t.

“For whither thou goest, I will go.”

* * *

“For whither thou goest, I will go. And where thou lodgest—”

The sound was forever burned into Jace’s memory, etched into his brain as indelibly as the runes on his skin. The terrible, devastating sound of Alec’s breathing rattling helplessly, convulsively in his chest. It still rang in Jace’s ears.

Jace Wayland had seen plenty of scary things in his life and lived through more than his fair share of terrifying experiences, but he had never been as petrified as when he had stepped into Magnus’ living room to find his parabatai dying. He was currently sitting in a cell in the most soul-sucking prison in this dimension, awaiting trial and sentence for treason he hadn’t quite committed, and still he was less scared now than he had been just a few hours ago.

There were screams in these dungeons—the Brothers may be silent, but the prisoners they guarded were not. And yet none of these sounds could begin to compare in horror to what he had thought were his brother’s last breaths. If anything, the screams were almost a welcome distraction; if he listened intently enough, they might just drown out the blood-curling sounds of Alec dying.

Jace leaned his head back against the damp wall of his cell and closed his eyes, and he tried to will himself to regain some of his bearings. He did his best to focus on the fact that while his own future had become more than a little uncertain, his parabatai would have one. But it was no use. The fear still coursed through his veins, pumping like dark adrenaline. It robbed him of all peace of mind—not that he had any idea what peace of mind felt like.

Jace wasn’t much for what ifs. He believed in what had actually been and what actually was. This time, however, he seemed unable to stop dwelling. The thing was, he wasn’t quite sure Alec had learned his lesson. As far as he knew, what had happened today may very well happen again. And then what? It terrified him, the lengths to which Alec was willing to go for him. What he was willing to give up without so much as blinking. How ready he was to jump all in without a second thought. To die. For him.

Jace used to think he understood their bond, but he realized now that he never really had a clue. He used to think he knew exactly how deep it went. He didn’t, not really. Alec had shown him today, and what he had seen terrified him. Because he may be cocky, but he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe himself worthy of the sacrifice Alec had proven himself more than ready to make. And because he couldn’t even begin to contemplate life without Alec. It just didn’t work that way. Jace didn’t work that way. Without Alec, Jace couldn’t even function, let alone live.

“Entreat me not to leave thee.”

Irrational anger began to spread across Jace’s chest. Because Alec had almost broken the oath. Alec had almost left him. And Jace couldn’t get the sound of his parabatai’s ragged breath out of his ears.

* * *

Alec’s body was indeed weakened. By the time he made it to the Silent Brothers, he was practically seeing double. The fact that he had made it this far without passing out or being noticed was nothing short of miraculous, so much so that he had to wonder if maybe some of Magnus’ magic had stayed with him. Everything hurt and he felt as though he was moving underwater, but still he pushed through. He may have been somewhat out of it when he had finally come to, but not enough that he hadn’t noticed Jace’s haggard appearance. He knew his parabatai had gone through so much worse to get to him.

He also knew showing up on the Silent Brothers’ doorstep in such a weakened condition may not be the best idea; they were hard enough to face at the peak of one’s shape. But it didn’t matter. He had to get to Jace. had to.

Alec took a deep breath to steady himself on all levels and stepped through the entryway masked as a rundown, graffiti-covered metal door in a godforsaken part of the city. He passed by the statue of the Angel bearing that ominous inscription.

“For Shadowhunters, the descent into Hell is easy.”

He snorted out loud and thought about how nothing was easythese days, not even eternal damnation.

Once he had stated his business, the Silent Brothers led him to Jace without comment or further questioning. They didn’t care that Aldertree may not appreciate him being there. They didn’t care about Shadowhunters internal politics. All they cared about was fulfilling their purpose, which currently was guarding the prisoners. And by the Angel, were they guarded.

The minute the Silent Brothers left him alone in the chamber where Jace’s cell was, Alec forgot about it all. He forgot about the pain and the weakness and the exhaustion. He forgot about everything but the wave of red-hot rage that washed over him and engulfed him almost completely. Because there was Jace, sitting in a damp cell like some kind of criminal. It drove Alec mad, that sight.

After a few moments of furious immobility, he somehow found it in himself to swallow the growl that had been mounting at the back of his throat, and he stepped forward into the dim light of the dungeon.


Jace jumped. Literally. One minute he was asleep with his back against the wall, the next he was scrambling to his feet, eyes wide as he tried to make sense of his brother standing there.


Alec walked up to the bars of the cell and wrapped his hands around the cold iron, hating it fiercely. His eyes scanned his Jace’s figure, looking for injuries. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Almost automatically, Jace had gravitated towards his parabatai, also stepping close to the bars and curling his fists around them. They were now standing close enough that Alec could see the play of emotions in the blue/brown of his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you.”

Jace cast a quick look around, but they were still alone. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Alec’s jaw twitched in anger. “Neither should you.”

“If Aldertree finds out—”

“Fuck Aldertree.”

Jace blinked in surprise, and then a proud little grin came to carve dimples into his cheeks. “Okay then.” There was a pause, and the grin faded. Jace covered Alec’s hand with his own, both their fists curled around the hard metal of the bars like they were trying to anchor each other. “I’ll be all right. You know that, right?”

“I know.” ‘I’ll make sure of it.’ After a beat of silence, Alec noticed that Jace was eyeing him as critically as he had done to him when he had first stepped into the dungeon. “What?”

“You should be resting.”

“I’m fine.”

Jace arched a blond eyebrow. “You don’t look fine.”

Alec shrugged. He didn’t have any argument to offer. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it matters, damn it!” Jace let go of Alec’s hand and slammed it palm-first against one of the bars. He began pacing, like the caged tiger he was.

Alec gaped at him. “What’s with you?”

Jace rounded on him, blue/brown eyes ablaze in the light of the torches. “Why’d you do it?”

Alec frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“The stone, Alec,” Jace snapped, spitting the words out through gritted teeth. “Why did you agree to use it? Why did you go so deep?”

“It’s not like I wanted to go so deep, you know?” Alec snapped right back. “It just happened.”

“‘It just happened’?” Jace stared at him incredulously. “You almost died!”

“But I didn’t, did I?”

Alec spoke in an almost challenging tone. He could feel himself crossing over to the defensive side, as he always did when someone he loved openly disapproved of something he had done.

Jace ignored the rebuttal. “Why did you do it?”

Alec couldn’t believe Jace was actually asking, but he answered anyway. “I had to find you.”

“Not like this, Alec. Never like this.”

Alec could read the real fear in Jace’s eyes, and he softened a little. “It was the only way.”

“I don’t care!” Jace all but roared. He grabbed the bars again, so tight that his knuckles went white. “Dammit, Alec, do you have any idea how scared I was? How lost I would be if—”

“I know!” Alec snapped again. “I know, Jace! That’s exactly why I did it.”

Jace blinked, taken aback. “What?”

Alec took a deep breath, but it didn’t do much to help him get his emotions back under control. “When you were missing, I…I felt like I was losing my mind. I had to find you, Jace. No matter the consequences.”

“The consequences matter, Alec,” Jace said quietly. He found his parabatai’s gaze and held it steady. “You matter.”

Alec’s breath caught in his throat. This was the kind of moment that up until a few weeks ago would have made him want to kiss Jace senseless. Right now, he just wanted to hug him. He took a deep breath and decided he would deal with that little epiphany later.

He cleared his throat. “I came here to tell you something.”

Jace frowned. “What is it?”

Alec gripped the bars tighter, mostly to keep himself upright as the world was once again threatening to tilt on its axis.

“Alec?” Jace clutched at his wrist. “Are you okay?”

Alec didn’t acknowledge the question. He met his brother’s concerned gaze straight on. “I came to tell you that whatever happens, I’m getting you out of here.” He grasped Jace’s arm in return. “You hear me, Jace? No matter what Aldertree and the Clave say or do, I’m getting you out of here. I promise you.”

Jace smiled. “I know. I know you won’t forsake me.”

Never,” Alec said fiercely. “Trust me.”

“I trust you, Alec. Always.”


They grasped each other’s forearm tightly, cementing a bond that was already stronger than the iron of the bars that separated them.

And then, just like that, the world carried out its threat and lurched, and Alec was falling.


* * *

Alec had no idea where was up and where was down anymore. All he knew was that the blood was rushing and roaring in his ears, and that he had no strength, and that he was falling. He became dimly aware of something breaking his fall, strong arms catching him.


But Jace was locked in a cell, wasn’t he?

“No,” a mellifluous voice said from somewhere very close to his ear. “It’s me, Magnus.”


Alec blinked. Slowly, the world stopped its wild dance and came back into focus. He was half-sitting, half-sprawled on the cold floor of the Silent Brothers’ dungeons. He was slumped against Magnus, who was looking down at him with a mixture of relief and reproach in his silver-rimmed eyes.

In response, Alec blinked owlishly a couple more times. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to fetch you, of course.”

Alec sat up a little straighter. “How did you know where I was?”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Believe me, it took no magic to figure it out.”

“Alec? Are you all right?”

Jace was watching him anxiously from his cell, where he was indeed still imprisoned.

Alec flashed him a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”

Magnus scoffed. “You are not fine, Alexander. Your body is still recovering. You should not have come here.”

“That’s what I said,” Jace offered unhelpfully.

Alec glared at him and pulled himself to his feet with Magnus’ help. The warlock’s hand remained firmly under his elbow, effectively holding him up.

He met Magnus’ dark eyes. “I had to see Jace.”

The warlock gave a long-suffering sigh, but then he smiled. “Of course you did. Can I take you home now?”

“I’m not going back to the Institute.” ‘Not tonight. Not yet.’

Magnus gave him a knowing grin. “I didn’t mean the Institute.”

“Oh.” Alec felt himself flush.

From behind the bars, Jace cleared his throat. “Hello? Am I interrupting you guys with my captivity?”

Alec rolled his eyes. He gently disentangled himself from Magnus’ hold and walked unsteadily over to the cell.

“I’ll come back for you,” he vowed.

“Just take care of yourself.”

“I’ll come back for you,” Alec said again. He was not going to let Jace ignore the message.

Jace stared at him. He swallowed visibly and nodded. “I know you will, my parabatai.”

Alec nodded firmly in return. He let Magnus lead him away from Jace, but they all knew it was only temporary.

“Entreat me not to leave thee.”

And Alec wouldn’t. Ever. No matter the consequences.


I think way too much about Danse’s past, and I don’t know which headcanon to settle with, because I don’t know which one makes me sadder:

the idea that his past as he remembers it is entirely fake, that there never was a little homeless orphan Danse scrapping junk for food out there, but that that’s the kind of childhood memory M7-97 was given; like, why?

You’re already wiping a synth’s entire personality, and the morality of that is debatable enough as it is but okay, you’re doing that to give him a new chance at life, starting over from scratch, from a clean slate - but why, then, implant that kind of terrible memory on him? Why not give him memories of a generic okay childhood, so he comes into his new life with a good outlook on things, instead of this already jaded experience at such a young age?

And it raises so many other questions, like who was M7-97? What was he like before he became Danse? Would he have liked who he became as Danse? Was he scared when he agreed to the wiping, was he excited for it? What were his last thoughts? Did it feel like a new start, did it feel like he was dying?


the idea that the original Danse was a real person that M7-97 was made to replace for some reason, and whose memories he had implanted as his own, to the point that he doesn’t know where the original Danse ends and who he knows as himself as Danse begins anymore (which is Nick’s entire storyline);

In which case, instead of asking myself who was M7-97, I ask myself, was there ever a M7-97? Was he ever his own person, did he ever have a personality of his own, did he at some point stop being M7-97 and become Danse; or was he purposefully custom-built from the start to replace a specific person, like Hancock’s brother or the Warwick guy? Was he designed to replicate a real person out there and then somehow fell through the cracks, somehow the Institute lost track of him and he ended up in the Brotherhood?

And why? Why would the Institute care about some junk vendor in Rivet City? What was original!Danse even doing that got their attention? Was it the land he owned, was it some trinket he came upon? And if that’s how it went down, then what happened to original!Danse? Did they kill him, did they torture him to make their replica convincing enough and then dispose of him like Warwick? What a short stick this poor guy drew at life, such a shitty childhood, only to get killed by the Institute and replaced by a synth when he was finally making it. How would Danse even feel about this, sharing those memories and experiences, knowing he only made it because the other Danse didn’t?

I think about this too much and I just have so many questions about everything.

anonymous asked:

Hi!!! (I love u <3) Could you maybe write a sequel to The letters on our skin? When Amami finds out that he killed his soulmate and yeahhhh

Ahahahahahahah eat your heart out :pp (also unoriginal name is unoriginal XD) (Also, is sad, like, sad ending sad ;m; )

Part 1 here

The Letters On Our Skin - Part 2

‘Hey… are you there?

… I guess not. You might be busy, but that’s fine. I actually wanted to talk to you about… something I did. Something I’m not too proud of. But… you said to me, that, you’d hurt someone to see me, right?

I… I hurt someone. Really bad. But, it was for you. I… I haven’t been honest, I’ve also done bad things… And I’m scared. I’m scared to meet you. I’m disgusted with what I’ve done just to see you. But… It’s already done with and in the past, right? There’s no point in dwelling… I just hope that they can forgive me, for hurting them. I don’t deserve their forgiveness, I know, I shouldn’t even hope that… I… I don’t know. I… I really don’t know. I want to see you so badly… I just…

I’m going to fight. I’m almost done clearing this obstacle between us. By tomorrow, I’ll be free and… I’ll tell you everything. I want to tell you everything. It’s been too long and… I want to get this off my chest. I’m about to hurt a lot of people, just to see you…

But… I’ve already made up my mind. I just want you to know, everything I did today, it was for you.

Sorry for taking up space on your arms. Hope it’s of no inconvenience to you.

Hope to hear from you soon.’

Keep reading

Friendly reminder that Uryuu thought he was going to die on top of that dome when he charged against Ulquiorra. Friendly reminder that even when he lost an arm, he told Orihime that he was fine so that she wouldn’t have to divert her attention to him from Ichigo. Friendly reminder that what he thought were going to be his last words, he said to Orihime, and he told her that he leaves Ichigo in her hands so that she can heal him properly.

This child is so fucking selfless I’m gonna cry

“AT LEAST TRY TO LOOK LIKE YOU ARENT GOING TO SHIT YOURSELF!” Ashton yelled, holding the camera up to Luke’s face. “I’m so fucking nervous, Ash. What if I trip?” Luke asked, fiddling with his fingers and Ashton took a quick picture, “You won’t. Let’s go. You want to be there before your bride” he said, and walked with Luke, joined by Calum, Michael, and his brothers. Luke stood facing his back away from his closest family and friends, still unable to stop worrying. ‘What if she doesn’t show up? What if she decided to change her mind in the last minute? What if-’ his thoughts were cut short by the music that began to play. “Here she comes, Lukey!” Jack whispered to Luke, and Luke felt the same flutter in his heart that he did every time he thought about her. Behind him he heard gasps and a few sniffs, and from that he knew it was the love of his life walking down the aisle towards him. “You’re a lucky guy, mate” Ben said, patting Luke on the back as she walked up at stood next to him. “Hi” she whispered, and Luke finally looked at her, her beautiful face just about showing through the veil. “You made it!” Luke replied, smiling at her. “I figured I should be at me own wedding” she said, wanting to kiss Luke’s nose because she knew it always made him feel less nervous. 


 "Do you, Luke Hemmings, take Y/F/N to be your lawfully wedded wi-?“ "I do” Luke said before the sentence even ended, causing a few laughs. But she knew it was only because they’d waited so long to finally say it. “Do you, Y/F/N, take Luke to be your lawfully wedded husband..” and she really didn’t hear the rest of the sentence because she knew what her answer would be, what it always would’ve been, no matter what the conditions were. “I do” she answered, her stomach filling with butterflies when she watched Luke’s smile grow bigger than ever before. More words were spoken but all they heard were “You may now kiss the bride” and Luke leaned down, holding her back and pressing his lips to hers, and they fit together like they were meant to be, and it was true, a love like theirs really was meant to be. “We did it, baby” she whispered, smiling against Luke’s lips, “We did it. I love you so much” he replied, and felt a small tear slip out of his eyes as one left hers.

Never Forget - A REALLY SAD drabble by Rickseriastar

(I’m not crying, you’re crying. Not me. No no.
Anyway this is shorter then originally intended and I may rewrite later but for now, enjoy~)

“It should have been me.” Those words echoed through his mind, those final words. They were the last he heard. Joaquin hadn’t thought about what his words would do, instead snapping amidst his own grief and pain. He had never thought that those would be the last words Manolo would hear from another living being. He didn’t think about it. It wasn’t until a few hours later that he realized just how harsh he had been. This wasn’t Manolo’s fault, regardless of how the townsfolk seemed to feel. Joaquin knew that Manolo would have never intentionally hurt Maria. He took a deep breath and stood up from where he had been kneeling beside Maria’s bed.

“Would you.. Excuse me for a moment?” He asked solemnly, before taking his leave. His stride was slow, the rain beating down on him heavily. He felt so weighed down, by his regret and his grief. His best friends in the world… They were really the only ones he really had. And now he had lost one of them. Maria. His one true love. The woman of his dreams. His heart ached and yearned for her to wake and laugh it all off as a terribly cruel joke. But he knew that wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t. She was gone. All the hero could do was make sure his other friend, or rather his brother, was ok. Manolo had not been in a good state of mind when the townsfolk had left him.

Thunder quietly echoed over the land, the storm quietly slipping off into the horizon. Joaquin took a deep breath, looking at the tree across the bridge. Something did not feel right. It was quiet… Way too quiet. Manolo was never one to be quiet for long. He was a musician, always playing his heart out. There was no music.

“Manolo? Hey! Brother! Are you there?” Joaquin called out as he crossed the bridge. “Hey! I.. Wanted to say I’m sorry. For earlier. I didn’t mean it. I.. I should have-” he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the body before him.

“Manolo…?” Joaquin quietly called. “Hey.. Manolo!” He dropped next to his brother’s lifeless body. Ashen and tinted blue already, the lack of pulse was the confirmation of what Joaquin had feared. Manolo was gone.

“No… No! This.. This can’t be real! Wake up! C’mon! Wake up!” Joaquin shook Manolo’s body, trying to hold back his tears. He had kept himself controlled in front of the townsfolk earlier, but the stresses had finally gotten to him. His love and his brother were both gone, taken by the same snake. He let go of his sorrows, crying and holding Manolo’s body close, his cries a mix of apologies and self-blaming. This was all his fault. He shouldn’t have left Manolo alone. He shouldn’t have said those things. This.. Had to be his fault.

“Joaquin? What are you—” A worn voice said from behind Joaquin. “M..Manolo?” Carlos bit back tears as he knelt down beside Joaquin.

“Yeah..” Joaquin said with a sniffle, wiping away his tears. He regained his composure, as much as he could. Carlos blinked a few times, realizing that his son, his only son, was dead. The end of the Sanchez family had passed, not in the ring, but of a broken heart. He stood and let out a deep sigh as he went to tell the others.

“I’m sorry… Manolo. I’m so sorry. I promise you, I will never forget you.” Joaquin took a deep breath. “I will never forget you, brother.”

But the fact that Dean’s last words were: “I’m proud of us.” Four words that are SO heavy they bring the fandom to its knees. In those four words are all nine seasons wrapped into one sentence, and any “hate” or “resentment” Dean had for Sam or what Sam had ever done, as well as what Dean himself ever did went away. Dean didn’t know he’d be coming back a demon in just a little while. These were honest to god what he thought would be his last words on this earth and of even greater importance, to his brother. “I’m proud of us.” I’m proud that we found our father together, that we avenged our mother together, that we stopped the apocalypse together, that we stopped the leviathan together, that we saved countless lives together. Dean wasn’t clinging on to Sam in that scene because he was afraid to die, god knows it’s what he’s wanted for the longest time, he was clinging on to Sam because he was ready, he said those four words because he needed Sam to know he was ready, that he was content with dying right then and there. That even with all the crap they’d been though he was proud of them both, he was proud of his little Sammy.

  • Sherlock: *trudges out of his bedroom in his dressing gown*
  • John: *sat in his chair* Afternoon.
  • Sherlock: *yawns; coughing* Is it? Long night… *sniffs*
  • John: *grimaces* Sorry, I didn’t realise you were sick-
  • Sherlock: Yes, well… *coughing; shivering* I am.
  • John: You were fine last night.
  • Sherlock: *annoyed* It happens. Goodbye *coughs hard*
  • John: *frowns* Alright…I’ll tell Greg you don’t want the case, then.
  • Sherlock: *dismissive* It’s a four. It can wait…
  • John: *stands up* Okay…well, get some rest, yeah?
  • Sherlock: *nods* Yes *coughs*
  • John: *putting on his coat* I almost brought Sharlotte with me *chuckles* A cough is the last thing she needs, let me tell you. Did I tell you she’s started-
  • Sherlock: *urgently* I’m at death’s door, John *nods at the door* Goodbye.
  • John: *nods* Right. Um, did you want me to bring you anything?
  • Toby: *running out of Sherlock’s bedroom, a pair of pink underwear in his mouth*
  • Molly: *chasing after him, wrapped in a sheet; hissing* Toby! Give it- *stops dead in the living room* -back.
  • John:
  • Sherlock:
  • Molly:
  • Sherlock: *no longer feigning illness* I can explain.
  • John: *smug* No need.

what if bill chooses to possess wendy tho think about it

both dipper and mabel obviously trust her and it would be so easy for him to lead dipper into telling “wendy” about the rift and possibly even showing her where it is

anonymous asked:

I could not care less what 1d might think of me, tbh they should be more concerned about what /i/ think of /them/ since I'm the one with the money they're after. This whole "you're not a real fan unless!!!!" thing is mindboggling. The fuck kinda business is this?

it’s such a strange, twisted situation how it is now.  I’m not saying that the band should be totally beholden to us just because we have the $$ – there are definitely issues with fan entitlement – but it’s sickening the way 1dhq is encouraging fans to bully and police each other.    

I know a lot of people have been saying this, but it’s really frustrating how the fandom seems to be putting Liam’s hypothetical feelings before the feelings of their fellow fans.  I think that a certain part of the fandom was undeniably the target of a lot of negativity last night and that a lot of it stemmed from his comments in the Attitude article.  That makes me really upset.  Larry or no Larry, what was said hurt a lot of people, and they are allowed to expressed that hurt without having to be immediately reminded that Liam is a human too.  We know that.       

It’s natural to be afraid of dying. At least for humans. But it’s never easy with the Winchester brothers. Looking at Dean standing calmly in Stull cemetery and arguing with the two most powerful archangels, who have decided to wear the younger Winchesters as their expensive meat suits, Castiel realizes why Dean is not afraid of dying: he is already dead inside.

Castiel understands that this is the end, that there is nothing they can do to fix it. It’s too late. Everyone will die: Dean, Bobby, himself included. Michael will kill Lucifer, as there can’t be any other way. The blast of the battle will raze the city to the ground, taking the lives of thousands. Maybe it will destroy the whole country. The world. Castiel doesn’t know.

Keep reading

So Zuko states he doesn’t understand what happiness means for his sister.

I wonder why.