#revolutionarywriters

[sircharlesthepoet]

Trapped

to fly is to have no limitsto dream is to have no limitsto exist, is to have no limits anger and frustration withholding satisfactionas the iron chamber closesand tightens to an inch of breath scream and scream, “away with death!”scream for breathing’s sakedream for living is at stake freedom oozes out of the earslike a life evaporatingleaving behind intentions, and tears dreaming so…

[mysilverwords]

Braver || Thomas Lightwood (with a special guest Magnus Bane) one shot

Fanfiction request by @my-failed-attempt

I also combined it with @revolutionarywriters event 2: “a set of priceless jewels, a makeshift group of thieves, a plot to start a war”

Is it obvious I couldn't come up with a good title?

Words: 1 779

•

Thomas anxiously looked around. Situations like this always made him restless. 

Two days ago James and Matthew together with Lucie and Cordelia went on a trip they called "only for parabatai". Thomas had no idea what they're talking about. He decided that the parabatai are just strange. 

Christopher wasn't here either. He was with Henry in Idris, working on something. 

This left Thomas alone in London to patrol with other people. He only knew one of them was Anna but had no idea whose were the rest. It was killing him. He didn't like it when he didn't know what was going on.

After a while, two figures appeared. As they approached him, Thomas saw this were Ariadne Bridgestock and Alastair Carstairs. Thomas tightened. He wasn't sure why but the sight of Alastair made his stomach flip.

They were talking.

“...do this. The demon activity in London is so low.” Ariadne said. “I doubt we'll find a demon.”

“I suppose,” Alastair said. “But there are probably still a few.”

When they stood in front of Thomas, Ariadne smiled and greeted him. Thomas did the same. He didn't know Inquisitor's daughter well but the few times they talked she was always kind.

Alastair just nodded, “Lighwood.”

“Carstairs,” Thomas said. He hoped he didn't sound as excited as he was feeling.

“Are we waiting for someone else?” Ariadne asked.

“Yes,” Thomas said. “My cousin, Anna.”

Ariadne looked startled for a second. “Oh,” she said. “Good. I haven't seen Anna for a while.”

Thomas wondered why she reacted so strange but then Alastair said, “Isn't this her?”

Thomas looked at what Alastair was pointing at. There was really someone but Thomas couldn't really see who because of the shadows. As this person stepped on the residual sunlight, Thomas recognized them. It was Magnus Bane.

He smiled at them as he approached. 

“Isn't this…” Ariadne said.

“Hello, dear Shadowhunters,” he greeted. “I want to say I'm very happy to see you but I wouldn't be very truthful.”

Alastair raised an eyebrow.

“However,” he continued. “I'm looking for Lucie Herondale. Is she here?”

Thomas shook his head. “I'm afraid not. She will probably be gone for a few more days.”

“This is very disappointing,” Magnus sighed. “I have an emergency note for her,” he looked at Thomas with cat eyes thoughtfully. “You're her friend, aren't you?”

“Yes, I am but…”

“Look at it.”

Thomas took the paper but hesitated. This was Lucie's private business. He didn't know to overstep in her personal space. But Magnus said it's an emergency. If he could, Thomas would help her.

The note was very messy. It wasn't the handwriting but the content of the text. The author clearly didn't want anyone but Lucie to understand what the matter was about. The initials were G.B. Thomas didn't know who they belonged to.

All Thomas could understand was that there were some priceless jewels and this person was in trouble because of them.

“Why are you sending the note though?”

Thomas raised his head to see that Alastair suspectually stared at the warlock. 

Magnus returned his gaze coolly. “I'm doing a friend a favor.” 

“Did you know who wrote this?” Thomas asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” he said. “But I'm here to help steal the jewels.”

“Whait, what?” Thomas got anxious. There wasn't anything about stealing in the note.

“We have to patrol. There is no time…” Alastair began but Ariadne interrupted him.

“Actually,” she said and smiled at Magnus. “We may be able to help you, Mr. Bane. But we're waiting for…”

“I'm sorry, beautiful lady,” he said. “But there is no time to chat, much less waiting. We have to go. Our time is limited.”

Thomas didn't like this but he must help Lucie. He looked at Alastair and Ariadne. “I should go. I would understand if you don't want to come.”

Alastair looked at Magnus first, then at Thomas. Sighed. “Fine, I'm coming too.”

Thomas felt relief when he heard that. For reasons he couldn't explain, he wanted Alastair to come with them. With Thomas.

Ariadne hesitated. She looked at the place where Magnus came from. Like she was hoping to see Anna there too. 

“Good,” she said eventually. “Count me in.”

•

As they were walking, Magnus explained what they're gonna do.

The place where these jewels were, is a bar, owned by a werewolf named Robin. There were two options - to come and go without anyone noticing or with distraction. 

The Shadowhunters agreed that the best plan was the first one.

Alastair asked more about this man Robin and why they need to steal some jewels from him.

And how does Lucie fit in the whole picture, Thomas thought but didn't say it.

Magnus hesitated for a second.

“Well,” he said. “The jewels aren't his, in the first place. He stole them from a warlock. And she really wants them back.”

Thomas had more questions. But he didn't insist. As they walked, Magnus and Ariadne started to chat. Thomas envied people who could do this. Why does it come so easily to them? Was there some kind of trick? It was almost impossible for him to make small talk with people, especially the one who he didn't know well.

He looked at Alastair with the corner of his eye. Thomas had promised himself, when he was in Spain, that he would do things differently when he returns to London. That he would do what he was afraid of. He promised himself that he would be braver. 

He opened his mouth, deciding he would talk with Alastair, when Magnus spoke.

“We arrived, dear people,” he said. “This is the bar.”

Across the street was a building, not very welcoming. It seemed dark inside but Thomas could see a light coming from under the door and some windows.

“This abandoned edifice? Seriously?” Alastair frowned.

“Believe me, there is more to see.”

They decided that if they go together, it will cost too much attention. So the plan was Ariadne and Alastair to go first to search the second floor. A few minutes after them Magnus and Thomas would go to search the first one. 

“What are we looking for actually?” Ariadne asked. “There could be many jewels. Can you tell us something more specific?”

“As far as I know it's a whole set. In a wood box with a gold flower on it. Looks pretty old.”

“It probably would be hidden somewhere,” Alastair said thoughtfully. “Do you know any hidden spots? A basement? Maybe a vault?”

“These are excellent questions for which I'm afraid I don't have answers for.”

Alastair frowned. “Have you ever been inside?”

“No,” Magnus said cheerfully. “But the place was very well described to me. It isn't big.”

After Alastair and Ariadne asked a few more questions, they went.

Magnus and Thomas watched as they approached the bar, almost invisible in the night, in absolute silence.

“Well,” Thomas turned to him as Magnus said this. He was watching him with smart cat eyes that were seeing too much. “How long have you liked him?”

“What?”

“The blonde,” Magnus explained. “You clearly have… feelings for him.”

Thomas stood stunned. Panic raised in him. His hands started to shake.

“Don't worry,” Magnus said as he looked at the bar. “I will not tell him. Or anyone else.”

Thomas tried to calm down. He remembered how his family panicked when he was younger over every little thing about him. Now he was doing the same. There was no need to overreact.

“I know it's really not my business,” the warlock said quietly. “I just wanted to let you know that you can talk with me if you want.”

Thomas was silent for a few seconds. Be braver.

“I am not confirming anything,” Thomas said slowly. “But if what you're saying is… true. Then… what can I do?”

A smile curled Magnus' lips. He tried to hide it (unsuccessfully) and said, “Well, for a start, you can make a conversation with him. While we were walking, the awkwardness between you two was painful.”

Thomas blushed. “You noticed,” he murmured.

“Yes, I did,” he said. “Really, just try a normal conversation. I promise it's not hard.”

For you maybe, Thomas thought but didn't say anything.

A few minutes passed and Magnus and Thomas decided they should go too. 

As they approached the building, something moved in it. Someone shouted and then they heard a sound of a breaking glass. It was one of the windows on the second floor. It was Ariadne and Alastair. They jumped out of it, graceful landing on the ground. 

“We need to run,” Ariadne shouted. But it was too late. The four of them were surrounded by werewolves.

“Don't hurt them!” Magnus said. Blue flames appeared in his hands. Alastair was with a spear in his hands, Ariadne with a whip, and Thomas with his bolas. “Most of them are just kids.”

He was right, Thomas realized. Most of them were only a little younger than Thomas himself.

One werewolf growled and jumped at him.

•

They slowly were walking toward the place they started from. When they were sure no one was going to attack them, they stopped.

“This was an exciting night,” Magnus sighed. “Please tell me you got the jewels.”

Ariadne nodded. “We did.”

“Thank Raziel,” Thomas murmured.

As Magnus was examining the box Ariadne gave him, Thomas felt a pain in his shoulder when he moved his hand.

“You're bleeding,” Alastair said, looking at his arm. “Let me help.”

Without even waiting for an answer, Alastair took out his stele.

Thomas didn't know what to say. He looked at Magnus who was watching them. The warlock raised eyebrows and nodded.

Thomas took a deep breath. He said the first thing that came up in his mind. “How is London so far, Carstairs?” What a stupid questions, in the name of Raziel, how Thomas be so...

“It's fine, I suppose,” Alastair frowned. “I don't really know the city, so…” he shrugged.

“I can show you around,” Thomas said before he could think. “If you want.”

Alastair was done with putting Marks on him. He looked at Thomas. “I would be happy, Lightwood.” Was he… smiling?

Thomas bite his lips to hide his smile.

“What in the name of Raziel,” someone approached them. “Do you have any idea how long I was waiting for you?” 

It was Anna. And she didn't look happy. Thomas felt guilty. He completely forgot about his cousin.

“We can explain,” he said. “We had to… do something.”

Anna arched an eyebrow. Her gaze kept on Ariadne a second longer than on the others.

“I want to hear everything.”

•

Explanation: So, these jewels are something that Grace and Lucie need for the necromancy magic. At first, they belong to Hypatia Vex but are stolen by werewolves. Grace and Lucie make a deal if they bring them back to Hypatia, she would give them half of the set. At the night when Magnus is send to deliver the note to Lucie, Grace tris to steal them on her own because after that the werewolves are moving unknown where but she fails. So she send the note to Lucie, informing her that the jewels need to be stolen tonight. Hypatia asks Magnus to help by delivering the note and eventually helping to stole the jewels.

[thescarletgang]

Christmas Miracle (KitTy)

For @revolutionarywriters Event 1 (July 2020)

Prompt : "People can live for a hundred years without living a minute"

Kit had been anxious before coming to the LA Institute. He had wanted to argue against Tessa and Jem's decision but that would have led to a really long discussion and Kit did not want that. He had cried enough times as it is while remembering that night.

Emma had invited the Carstairs family to Los Angeles for a Christmas celebration. Kit understood that Jem would like to spend time with Emma as he wasn't able to while he was searching for Kit, but did Kit really have to go with them? He would happily spend his Christmas with the sheep. It wouldn't bother him either as he had spent many Christmas alone.

But Jem and Tessa would, of course never let a Herondale alone at the house. And even Kit knew, he wouldn't survive a day without seeing Mina.

Which now lead to his present situation, standing in front of the LA Institute with his family, a bit dizzy. He didn't know for sure if it was because of worry over seeing him again or if it was due to the portal travel. Kit decided over the latter, as those kind of things only happen in movies.

Kit was freaking out inside even though he had a calm expression on his face. If Jem or Tessa ever heard about it, they would put it down as a Herondale trait.

Mina normally cried when going through a portal but this time she was sleeping. Kit's excuse to take Mina to a bedroom for calming her down went down the drain.

Kit knew that the inhabitants of the LA Institute would probably not care that he left. Julian and Emma had already visited them many times. Kit was never close to Mark, Cristina and Kieran. Helen and Aline didn't know him at all. Tavvy wouldn't when remember him. Dru probably hated him for leaving.And Ty-

Ty had said that Kit was nothing.

Kit pushed his thoughts away.

They went inside.

Emma rushed up to them and hugged Tessa and Kit. Jem was holding Mina who was sleeping, so she just waved at him. Others came to welcome them. Kit was surprised when Mark and Cristina both hugged him and Tavvy waved at him.

Then Dru came up to him. Kit was waiting for a slap or a punch but she simply hugged him and said, "I'm glad you came back."

By the time everyone appeared, Kit and Dru were talking and laughing, after Kit had apologised and promised to teach her to pick other kinds of lock.

While they were laughing Ty appeared and came up to them, Kit had the same thought in his mind from all those years ago.

How beautiful.

Ty looked so different but still so beautiful.

Ty didn't say anything and Kit didn't know what to say. Dru continued the conversation, "Ty just came back from the Scholomance yesterday."

Thank the angel Dru was there. Kit thought.

"Oh! How is it there?" Kit asked feeling slightly awkward.

"It's nice." Ty said pleasantly.

Maybe Ty really never cared.

After a while they flowed back into a conversation and Kit didn't feel awkward anymore. He felt happy while talking to Ty.

After a while, everyone went to their rooms. Dru left too. Neither Ty, nor Kit was sleepy so they settled to go to the beach. Ty and Kit were still talking about how they had spent their last 3 years while going around the institute. When suddenly Ty brought out the topic, Kit dreaded most.

"Why did you leave?"

Kit wondered which excuse would work but Kit knew he couldn't lie, because this was Ty, who Kit still loved after all these years.

So he just said "You know why."

"No, I don't. All I know, one second you were with me, and the next you disappeared during the battle! You never even said goodbye! Magnus told me, it was because of- , because of what we did. But I know that's not true."

Ty took a deep breath. He was shaking with anger suddenly, no it was not anger. He was trying not to cry.

Kit's heart hurt. He hurt because he had hurt Ty. The one thing he never wanted to do but had done it because he was selfish.

"I'm sorry I didn't say goodbye. I didn't think you'd care enough about it."

"I don't want to hear a sorry! I want to know why you left!" Ty shouted in annoyance.

Kit finally shouted all he had felt since three years.

"Because I said I loved you and you didn't care! You said I was nothing! I felt so ashamed and embarrassed about myself that I didn't want to see you again!"

Kit stopped for a moment and said "Tessa once told me that people can live for a hundred years without living a minute and I hadn't lived a single minute in my life before I met you. I enjoyed being with you and I was always happy and I was living then. But when you said I was nothing, I knew my feelings were one sided and that you wouldn't want to see me again, so I left."

Ty was stunned. He realised what Kit was talking about and said, "I didn't mean it. I was just overwhelmed then."

Kit sighed "Ty, we both know you don't say things you don't mean."

"But I didn't mean it for you." Ty replied "I loved you too."

"Wha-?"

"I still love you. I was going to stop doing the ritual when you said you loved me and was going to say it back but then I felt guilty for forgetting Livvy. And I had to bring her back."

Kit was shocked and relieved and happy but he didn't know what to say to that.

He asked "Can I kiss you?"

Ty was suddenly looking happy too, like Kit and nodded.

Kit leaned forward and looked up at him. And when their lips touched, Kit felt his broken heart heal. He felt Ty smile against his lips and heard him say, "Never again are we missing a single minute of our life. We'll live every minute."

And like a Christmas miracle, Kit and Ty had finally found their way back to each other.

A/n : So, I hope you guys like this fic! This is my first TSC fic, I have only written two fics for Raven Cycle. Feel free to correct me if I had made an error (which has a 99.9% chance of happening) and have a good day ahead!!

[polin-erospsyche]

Would you write 20 anger for jordelia if you have time please (only if you want to)

Hello sweet anon, thank you for sending me a prompt, I took the line but I didn’t write anger, I hope you like it 😊 (I’ve also added the prompt that @revolutionarywriters gave us which was  ‘People can live for hundred years without living a minute’) 

“Let me go.” // A Jordelia One Shot 

Warning: death

Turned out Belial’s army was much bigger than anyone anticipated so they had decided to split up to fight on several fronts. James and Cordelia had fought together against Belial, just like they had that first time. The adrenaline of the fight was rushing through her, they had finally won against Belial. A big smile started to spread on her face, happiness glowing in her eyes. She was so euphoric that she did not feel right away the wound she had received while fighting Belial. She looked at James ready to share in the joy when, to her confusion, his smile slowly turned into a look of pure terror.

“Cordelia!” he shouted rushing to her side, ignoring the fatigue in his swaying legs. He reached her just when her knees went out from under her. He laid her gently on the ground and crouched next to her, fumbling for his stele, drawing healing rune upon healing runes. None of them worked, each one disappearing as soon as it had been drawn. The poison in her wound was too strong.

“Work you bloody thing! Why is it not working?” he asked in a high-pitched voice betraying his anxiety. If he couldn’t stop the bleeding now, he would not be able to save her.

“James, it’s okay.” She murmured. He looked up, ready to contradict her but what he saw stopped him. He saw no trace of fear, instead he saw courage and an absolute resolution, silently communicating to him that things were going to be alright. She seemed to be unafraid of death. She might have been insecure in social circumstances but never when it came to fighting. Always charging head-first with a solid plan, always one step ahead. After all, that was who Cordelia was, infinitely smart and brave. His Cordelia was invincible.

“No,” James said, his voice cracking, shifting his position so her head was resting in his lap “no, I’m here. You’ll be all right. You have to be. We’ll bring you home. I’ll be here with you, always, you can’t leave me, please.” He begged, rocking slowly back and forth on his heels, as slight tremors took over his body. There was so much blood. It was slowly spreading, seeping through her gear, his, the ground. James believed that no amount of scrubbing would ever cleanse this amount of blood off of the cobblestone streets of London. He felt his throat drying up, he couldn’t think clearly. He knew he should have said something or done something perhaps but he could see her life slowly draining away, and for the first time he felt what real helplessness felt like.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, tears stinging his eyes.

“Because someone had to.” Her answer rested between an affirmation and a question; her voice becoming shallower. Frowning slightly, she tried to focus through the pain, through the growing exhaustion taking over and threatening to send her in a long peaceful sleep. “Lucie, Alastair, they need to know …”

“You’ll tell them yourself.” James’ voice rose with anger, not at her but himself and the world. At the unfairness of it all. She had been standing, fighting, smiling and now she was frail and pale in his arms. It should have been him; it should have been anyone else but her. He couldn’t make himself believe it. Cordelia was the strongest person he’d ever known. She’d fought off the darkness in a way he never could. She’d saved everyone. She deserved better. But death didn’t play fair, it took, and took, and took, wrecking things and leaving an immeasurable amount of grief behind. Death was a thief and it had stolen her youth and the promises of a life yet to live.

“James you have to know it’s not your fault.” she said, reaching to cup his cheek, her touch barely there “Nor theirs, tell them, please. They have to know it was my choice, only mine.” Despite the shallowness in her voice, there was no mistaking the importance of those words. Through his tears James gave a wistful smile, of course she would be selfless even now, ever thinking about others before herself.  

“I won’t have to tell them, you’ll be able to tell them that yourself my angel.”

“James,” she said “I’ve heard once that some people can live for a hundred years without living a minute. I’ve been so, so lucky. My life has been so full of wonderful things, I’ve done and seen more things than I could ever imagine I would in a lifetime. I wanted to be loved and I was so fiercely loved by every single one of you. I wouldn’t exchange my life, no matter how short it ended up being, for anything in this world.” She stopped to take in a ragged breath, closing her eyes, when she opened them again, they were glassy “Please Jamie, tell them." But he shook his head, he couldn't agree, if he did he would have to let her go. "Jāné del-am," she said, barely loud enough "it's okay, let me go.” This time when she closed her eyes, she didn’t open them again. The only thing indicating to James that she was still here was the rise and fall of her chest.

One, two.

"Daisy?"

One, two.

"Please Daisy, open your eyes."

One. Two.

“Daisy? Daisy, Daisy say something please, open your eyes, it’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, just open your eyes, say something, anything, please, please …” But there was no answer save for his ragged sobs. And then a sound escaped, a sound not quite human nor animal. A sound more guttural than any scream or howl tore out of his chest as he shared his agony with the world. He stayed a long time like this, bent over her broken, lifeless body. Until the sun began to rose, the birds began to chirp, and the streets of London began to be lively again. Later on, stories of Cordelia would be told throughout the Shadowhunter world, stories of a brave heroine sacrificing herself to save them all. Upon hearing these stories James would often think back to the last words she had said before dying. I wanted to be loved and he would reply silently, a confession the world never heard, I love you beyond words my angel, life of my heart, in this life and the next and in every life beyond that. I will love you as long as it is possible to love.

Note: Jāné del-am means the life of my heart

[oscar-fairchild]

RevolutionaryWriters Event 1

I finally did this y’all lol

Prompt: “What if something happens to you?” / “People can live for a hundred years without living a minute”

Ship: Blackdale (Lucie x Jesse)

For the lovely @princesslucretia!! 💕 (I hope it’s okay that I used this prompt for the event! I just thought it fit really well!)

As the grasping fingers of nighttime overtook the day, Jesse Blackthorn awoke with excitement in his heart. The moment after he opened his eyes, he willed himself into darkness again, the great black nothingness suffusing him for just a second before he appeared in Lucie Herondale’s bedroom.

The excitement disappeared when he saw she was crying.

“Lucie!” He hurried over to her, wishing desperately that he could lay a hand on her shoulder. She sat on her bed, her pale pink dress spread before her, her body wracked with sobs. She would have, should have, been a vision of beauty, a goddess come to life, if her face hadn’t been crumpled in sadness. My light should never be so dim.

She looked up at his approach, then quickly covered her face with her hands. “Jesse, not now.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, but Lucie didn’t answer. He watched her cry for a long moment, shifting nervously. “Lucie, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

She sniffled behind her hands. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just leave me alone, please.”

He reached out a hand, but of course it just passed right through her. Tentatively, he positioned himself on the bed next to her. If I were alive, this would be very improper, he thought. Lucie had never seemed to mind, though.

“You wanted me to come hear your story, right? So read it to me. Maybe that would make you feel better.” He tried to use as gentle a voice as possible, but Lucie broke into fresh sobs anyway. Her small body shuddered, her hair bouncing in its curls. Jesse could feel his heart cracking into pieces.

Wordlessly, he stood up, walking over to Lucie’s desk, where a flickering candle sat next to a scattering of papers. Stories were her refuge, and he couldn’t bear to watch this go on for another second. The paper on top looked like the final page of a story, and he scanned it quickly.

“...spent his days in bed, too weak to do anything but cry. He was convinced he would never be strong, and he felt like he’d failed everyone he loved. His mother was despondent, and it was his fault. His sister, lovely Princess Grace, would bring him tea and sit at his bedside, but he was sure he’d failed her, too. “

Jesse felt his throat tighten. Oh, Lucie. He almost didn’t want to, but he let his eyes slide down the rest of the page.

“The terrible disease slowly overtook him, and he died without joy and without hope. Now the beautiful Prince Jerrod is condemned to a wispy ghostly existence, longing to return to his loved ones, watching as they carried on their lives without him.”

Jesse stood in stunned silence for a long moment, staring at the paper. He no longer needed to breathe, but his chest felt desperate for air anyway. “Lucie, I’m-- What is this?”

She pulled her face out of her hands and saw him gazing at the paper. “No! Don’t read that.” She darted up from the bed and snatched it off the desk.

“Is this about me?”

“No.” She crossed her arms, the story crumpled in one hand. She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Lucie. Lucie, look at me.” He reached his hand out again, letting his ghostly fingers trail along her cheek. He knew she couldn’t feel it, but she slowly raised her eyes to his regardless. “I will admit that my life was not easy. My mother loved me, but she was stern, and it was very lonely, even with Grace. I cannot pretend that I was happy.”

“It’s just… it’s so unfair. You deserve so much better.” Tears rolled down Lucie’s cheek. She turned her face into his hand, closing her eyes, and he would have given more than he was willing to admit to be able to wipe the tears from her face.

“My Lucie, my light. I am happy now, happier than I ever dreamed I would be.”

Lucie blinked. “You--you are? But you’re still…”

“I may be dead, but my soul has never been more alive.” Jesse stepped closer, putting his forehead against hers. She took a shuddering breath. “People can live for a hundred years without living a minute; that’s what I was doing, all those years, locked away at home. But meeting you has filled me with life in a way a living body never could. You are my light, Lucie, my happiness and my soul.”

Lucie’s eyes fluttered open, and she gazed at him, her eyes brimming with tears. Jesse smiled softly at her. He had wondered before if ghosts could cry, and now he found the answer to be yes; tears streamed steadily down his own cheeks as well.

“You need not worry about my past, Lucie. Think only of the now. In the now, I have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

“But what if something happens to you?” She pulled away, and her hands became fists at her sides, wrinkling the material of her dress. “If this-- if this is your happiness, if you truly have what you’ve always wanted, I can’t help but fear that the universe, cruel as it is, will take it all away. Your ‘life’ as a ghost is so tenuous, and it could all fall apart so easily.”

“Oh, Lucie, it’s--”

“You’ve suffered enough!” Her voice was half whisper, half shout. “I can’t bear-- I simply could not bear to see you unhappy, ever again. I could not bear to lose you.”

Jesse stepped closer to her again. “You won’t, Lucie. I swear by the Angel, you won’t lose me.”

They stood there, together, for an endless moment, the oversaturated silence sinking into Jesse’s heart. Her eyes, locked on his, sparkled in the candlelight, and he almost had to look away. The look in her eyes was so vulnerable that his oath did not feel like enough, but he didn’t know what else to offer.

Lucie smiled, then, just slightly, but it lit Jesse’s world like a beacon. “You shouldn’t make promises you’re not sure you can keep.”

He smiled back. “Anything for you, my light.” Anything for you.

[purplebass]

A Shot in the Dark: a Blackdale One Shot

Format: @revolutionarywriters​ event 1: “People can live for a hundred years without living a minute.” 

Title: A Shot in the Dark Fandom: The Shadowhunters Chronicles/The Last Hours Characters/Couple: Jesse Blackthorn and Lucie Herondale, Blackdale

Here’s my story for the first event. I’ve wanted to write it for days but I couldn’t find the voice to actually do it. Then it came to me and I decided to use the first person POV to make it even more real, so this story is from Jesse’s perspective. 

What a beautiful night to stay alive.

If I were actually alive. Now I sound bitter. I’m sorry, but you probably don’t know that I’m a ghost, and I have been for long. During this time, the only people I could talk to were my sister and my mother, but they can’t be with me all the time. After all, since I am now a mere shade which disrupts the colors of my childhood house which is just like me, discoloring and decomposing like a corpse, I can only be visible when the sun goes down and everyone is already safe and dreaming under the comfort of their thick covers.

The dead never sleep, they vanish.

We are like darkness despite existing because of reflected light on our achromatic bodies. We dissipate when the sun rises and we reappear when our enemy, the light itself, evades the day. We long for the light. I long for the light. Even if I am able to do as I please and roam where I want to when it’s dark, sometimes it isn’t enough. It’s true that at night I can see, I can live. But what is a blind light for a shadow like me?

I can’t be helped. Death is the only thing which can’t be undone, and after spending the last seven years of my incorporeal life as the shadow of my former self, I accepted that I am to remain in this state for the rest of my existence in this universe, which is until this world ceases its own life.

Pulvis et umbra sumus. We are dust and shadows.

That was what Horace wrote in his Odes, and that is what shadowhunters decided to use as one of their mottos. Isn’t it true, though? Especially when we die. I am the proof that despite I was fated to turn into dust after my body would be set on fire because I have stopped breathing, I am a shadow. A living shadow. Living, nonetheless, even if this can’t be considered life.

Lately, however, I am waiting for the nighttime. And you wonder, what could excite a ghost? Aren’t dead people without feeling? Aren’t dead people without a heart? Aren’t dead people… well, deceased?

It may shock you to know that ghosts, despite being very dead, are not disembodied specters. To some extent, we are still in this world and we see and hear things the living ignore. We roam silently through the streets, through the houses, and we have fun because it’s boring to be dead, but our feelings are very much present. When you die, it’s your body that fails. Not your soul. Your soul is very much attached to this world if no one bids it goodbye. And my soul is…

It’s complicated, but I’ll try to explain.

I didn’t mention that not only my mother and sister can see me. After giving up all hope to have a change in my daily routine, a change finally presented itself in front of my eyes, and it shifted the axis of my existence. My shadowy form rooted around the only family I had left until a few weeks ago, but now there is a new addition, which I would also define as my addiction because I just can’t get enough. The turning point to a routine marked by indistinguishable nights and days.

My current fixation has bright and light blue eyes and brown hair. She has a petite frame but she’s fierce, she is strong willed, she is adventurous. And she wants to do what my mother has tried to do in the last years since my death, which is not only against life itself, but against the rules of the world I was forbid to enter ever since I was a small child.

Lucie. My Lucie. My light.

It is ironic and also delusional on my part to think that there is a reason why she is the only other person in this universe who can see me, and who also represents what I crave but I can’t have. Whoever came up with her name was longsighted, because she truly is a light that can’t be put out. She is my beacon of hope. As much as I shouldn’t wish for things I cannot have. Considering I am but a haze in the midst of her vivid and intense life, I long for her color, for her sparkle. I am just a blanched speck in the course of her ordinary days, and, in spite of that, she sees and feels me. Which is… excruciating.

People can live for one hundred years without living a minute, until they realize that they have just barely survived all along but not legitimately thriving. I can relate to this. Because after the night I met her again, I started believing that perhaps there is a chance for me to be happy in this life, however short lived that is. However rare moments we may have. I have always tried to stay hidden not to let her see me, but I can’t do it anymore. I want… to be alive. I wished I was alive, so that I could wait for her outside of her home like any boy my age. And I want…

“Jesse? Are you here?”

I was too caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t hear her calling me. “Did something happen, Lucie?”

She was sitting behind her mahogany desk in her room, her hair was not in place and she looked tired as she passed a hand on her forehead. “Nothing,” she replied, then she gazed at me. I had appeared in front of her bed, and since we weren’t as close as I wished, I moved closer to her desk. “Would you mind listening to my ideas for The Beautiful Cordelia?”

I grinned as usual when she asked me ordinary things like that. “Sure, Lucie. Tell me about it,” I agreed, and sat on a chair nearby. “I always want to know about your stories.”

And then Lucie started talking. She told me about what she had in mind for the next chapters of her first book, and I listened, raptured, to her flowing of creative ideas, and I fell even more enamored with her, to the point of being embarrassed to hide my blush from her not to let her notice that I fancied her.

Then I remembered. I can’t blush. I can just glow under the light of the moon. I am devoid of color, and yet… as Lucie Herondale tells me about her plans for her manuscript, I can’t help but feel my faded body filled with hordes of hues.

[inscribedwords]

War Cries

For @revolutionarywriters event 2 (August 2020)

Prompt : a set of priceless jewels, a makeshift group of thieves, a plot to start a war

tw death, tw war, tw blood

Shaking hands, trembling mouths, stuttering words were often said to happen when you were scared. He had never believed it to happen in the real life. 

His moment of glory had come when he had gotten the letter. The letter he had been waiting for, since months. The letter had spelled out his future. His destiny.

 He had heard the tales of The Vicious War. People had died left and right. People had killed their enemies viciously and brutally. Without any remorse.

It had been ten years since.

The rivalry is still there. The hatred is still there.

All of the deaths had been for just a set of jewels. But they were the jewels.

The story leads back to the origin of the two kingdoms, Orden and Violetley. When the founders of both had found a number of jewels in the land in the middle of the kingdoms and decided to divide it equally to support the people of their kingdom. Everything had been well for thirty years, until it was found that the new ruler of Violetley had wasted most of the jewels and had realized that when they had been left with enough resources to wage a war which led them to the decision of causing a surprise war at Orden and taking their jewels would be the way to Violetley’s lost glory. A stupid decision by a unworthy king. 

It was Violetley’s luck that they had won the war. And the stupid decision was now considered  and praised as strategy.

Now, fueled with revenge and restored with resources, after ten years, they were going to steal back what belonged to them.

After ten years, Orden will get a chance to get what always belonged to them.

Several people had joined. Some to find an ambition for a period of time. Some to avenge those who died in the previous war. And some to leave the miserable lives they had at towns they lived in.

They all were ready for the war that was bound to follow up. 

The plan was to distract the crowd the kingdom of Violetley with a war as the group of twelve people sneaked into the castle from a tunnel underneath built in the dead of the night since months by the spies living in shadows there.

Now when they were in the castle, the silence surrounded them. Even a slight sound could have caused an echo, it seemed. When they were almost at the chamber of the jewels, a wave of sounds of footsteps flooded through the walls. The sounds from the wall threw them off their plan and they all stood for a while before realizing what was about to happen. 

Soldiers came in through a hidden passage in the walls. Ambushing them. Blood spilled on the ground. It was twelve- now eight- against fifty soldiers.

Orden had not considered the fact that they could have a spy in the mindset of their organisation too. The only flaw in the plan.

No one noticed how the traitor had got a slightly different letter. No one had noticed how slyly the traitor got involved into the center of all the major work of the organisation. No one had noticed how close the traitor had gotten to the people that he spent the nights with a battling heart. No one noticed anything amiss.

 As he saw the bloodshed around, he moved to the sides.

He had known that there will never be a forgiveness for him, or a more severe punishment than seeing the realization shine into the eyes of his allies and friends as they bled out.

He had known this was going to happen. He had known that his new made -and only - friends might die today. He had made it happen. He had become the savior of Violetley and the traitor of Orden and a murderer of his friends. All in a single minute. 

His steps staggered as he moved backwards and felt a wall behind him. He could see people falling down to their deaths. His thoughts repeating the same words as if they were embedded in his mind, “What had he done?” 

But he still did nothing as the war cry bellowed out through the windows.None of the soldiers outside fighting even knew that they had already lost the battle they were getting ready to shed their blood for. He slid down the wall he had been leaning on and tried to calm his pounding heart.

It felt to him as if the war cries that bellowed out were screaming out “Traitor! Traitor!” in the voice of his friends, even though he knew it was just his imagination. He couldn’t think outside of the blood of friends flowed on the floor, as if they meant to capture him. He just couldn’t think. His breath came short. His fingers were shaking.  

All he knew was that he was never going to be the same again.

I don’t know if you guys wanna be tagged to this but I’m gonna need some validation, even though this is real bad, so here we go!

Taglist @dil-toh-pagal-hai @slytherclaw-lair @emma-carstairs-herondale @immortal-enemies @purplebass @dot-eli-mary @bazsnow @an-awkward-nerds-world @themostawesomehuman @stavromula-beta

[bijemcarstairs]

a way out

| some thule!cameron in the silent city

He woke up in the darkness, the sound of the air passing through the cracks in the bones, his daylight. He creeps around for as long as he can count the hours pass. Another day, he guesses, in the Silent City. Down with the ashes, Cameron Ashdown.

As first, he thought he was going to go crazy, here, alone. And maybe he did. He thought he was going to die. And maybe he did. You couldn´t stay in a place like this and not become a part of it. Maybe his flesh and skin and pulse didn´t mean anything in a place made of death, and he was just bones getting tired and more tired until they stopped to rest at last.

But he wasn´t going to stop. The walls watched as the foreigner made his way day after day, as his soul moved his flesh and skin and pulse to survive. But the walls failed to see what was feeding him all that time. There was no food that grew under the ground, but the boy was hungry of something different. Something that couldn´t be grown on any soil on earth or in hell or under any sun. A pair of blue-green eyes like the sea, that was the water he kept drinking. A mouth that still tasted like heaven in his own, the food that kept him full. A soft voice whispering a promise in the roughest of times, what let him sleep at night.

In their eternal state of dust, the bones were jealous of him. But he was jealous of the world that had her. Livia. The only thing keeping him alive. The only reason he kept going, looking for a way out.

But just as a word when you repeat it again and again until it no longer sounds like the word you remembered, the memories he harbored start to look unrecognizable in his mind, and without them there isn´t much a beating heart would do for the boy. As time keeps passing without him being able to count it, her voice starts distorting, and the taste of her mouth is replaced with only the spit going dry in his throat. And fear starts arising.

He walks with a hand pressed to the walls and finds the rooms that the silent brothers used to sleep in. The dust makes his eyes water and his skin itch when he lays himself down on the bed. He´s not so different form them, he thinks, with their mouths sealed close and their eyes that were no use. Not only that but they also had nothing but thoughts to survive, just as him, for as long as they could, while the rest of the world forgot them. In that bed, with his limbs going numb with the cold coming from the stone, and his lungs silently struggling to breathe, he thinks about that day, when they were fighting Sebastian, finally with a chance; about the shades of the sky that he didn´t pay much attention to back then, but now color his mind.

He wouldn´t go back if he could.

No, he would go back if he could, just to hear Livvy´s voice screaming his name and to see one more time the look on her face while she fought, fierce, glorious. But he wouldn´t undo his sacrifice. There was no other way, they wouldn´t have another shot at freeing the world from the permanent nightmare it was under. Livvy wouldn´t have another shot at avenging her lost siblings. The last five years trying to survive instead of living and trying no to lose the last hope keeping the resistance together would´ve been for nothing. Now he was at peace, knowing they all lived in a better world. And in the end, does a revolution even matter, if no one is willing to die for it?

He wakes up, once again, in the darkness, and he can´t tell how much time has passed since he fell asleep. His head is spinning and his limbs are screaming, so he rolls out of the bed the best he can and starts crawling, then dragging himself across the floor, looking for his way out of there. He isn´t aware of the ground ripping his skin through what´s left of his torn clothes, or of his fingers bleeding through his nails. He isn´t aware either when he stops moving, but he knows he´s reached his destination, and in that moment, he has no fear, no anger, no sadness. Maybe that´s another way that he´s like the silent brothers, after some time of being alone, forgotten, despaired, they stopped feeling anything at all.

There´s only one thing he can still feel, as he smiles at the light he never thought he would see again.

He can´t tell how much time has passed since he saw the doors of the silent city close in front of his face. It could´ve been days or weeks or hours, but he had survived thanks to the memory of Livia, she had kept him alive, some way. And now he would see her again, and he would live forever.

 ---

this was very fun to write but it had been sitting on my drafts for weeks cause i didn´t know if it was terrible. anyway i kinda liked it. tagging @firstprince cause she is the og cameron ashdown stan. also the ending is up to your interpretation :)

[evasjacks]

Wilting Days- a Night Circus one shot

@revolutionarywriters event 1: "people can live a hundred years without really living a minute" (took the theme of belief, left out the quote)

    There were very few things the boy did not believe in.

Some might attribute that fact to his young age, as he'd only just turned fourteen, a great feat in his eyes though not that grand an accomplishment to anyone else. But the truth, as the boy knew it, was that not believing in a thing served only to close the doors of imagination, barring you from further discovery.

And he wanted to discover it all.

That is only part of the reason he was in the grassy fields on the afternoon of what would be his final day as a student.

He had been staring intently at a small flower tucked between a few tufts of grass, studying its shape, the way a thin vine curled out of the ground, parting for a single oval-shaped leaf before opening up into a violet bloom, hints of yellow staining the inside of the delicate petals. There was a touch of dew still clinging to one of the petals, refusing to part with it despite the breeze attempting to carry it away.

He focuses on that, his tutor's voice in his head, each detail serves a purpose, even if the how is unclear yet.

The boy disagreed. He believed it was not the details that were important, but the full image they created when put together. A person seeing a grass field from the top of a mountain would not notice the residue of rain or the traces of mud from earlier dwellers.

But the test does not care what he believes, so the boy keeps his eyes on the flower until the image is ingrained in his mind, until he knows the flower as well as he knows his own body. The way it sways in the breeze, the way tilts, favoring right to left likely from an incident where it was stepped on, or a more intense storm. 

And then, he lets his eyes slide shut. And to anyone else, he is just a little boy, crouched in an empty field, lost in the beauty of nature,  the feeling of the breeze against his skin.

When his eyes open, he holds his clenched fist out in front of him, and let's his fingers uncurl, one by one.

There, in the center of his palm, is a perfect replica of the flower in the field.

"How did you do that?"

The boy jumps at the sound, tripping over his new boots and falling onto the grass, hands just coming up to stop his fall, and he catches himself, hovering just inches above the grass, his body suspended in the air.

The flower sways gently with the almost-crash.

He scowls at it, and at the unseen voice, frustrated at his lack of focus. Another reason he disliked his mentor's methods was that they required him to be fully consumed in the task, leaving him exposed and vulnerable to any surprises.

The boy lifts himself up without touching the ground, letting his feet settle into the mud so he does not scare the newcomer.

He turns and is surprised to see a girl standing there. Her skin is a deep brown color and her eyes are alight with interest, rather than fear. For a moment, he is too stunned to say anything.

Alexander does not let him talk to very many people.

"I apologise for scaring you," she says, though the amused gleam in her eyes suggests otherwise.

"I was not scared," the boy replies defensively, recalling the hundreds of lessons he'd been forced to endure to 'banish his fears'. "Only surprised."

The girl nods once, though the corner of her mouth lifts slightly in an almost-smile.

"Of course," she concedes, then nods at his closed fist. "Can you show me what you were doing?"

The boy's lessons had involved more thinking than speaking, reading over writing, theory over application. He had not been taught very much about interacting with other people. Particularly, girls who wish to see him display his skills.

He swallows, then opens both hands in front of him, the way he'd seen street magicians trick their audiences- they would tuck a coin into their sleeve or conceal it between two fingers while displaying the other hand and drawing the crowd's attention away from the real trick.

Con men, Alexander called them. But he preferred to think of them as clever men.

The girl gasps, the same way the audience does with every performance, and he feels a surge of pride at the sound.

"But where has the flower gone?" She whispers, leaning in closer to examine his now-empty palms.

It was never enough to make a thing disappear, of course. A good trick good only be fully completed when the magician brought the thing back.

"Let me see your hand," he says, and watches her hesitate for a moment, brown eyes watchful. 

Then she nods, lifting her right hand so it was visible to them both. She frowns.

Nothing happens.

The boy smiles to himself. How many times had he practiced this in the mirror? 

He lets his own two hands cup her's, and hears the girl suck in a surprised breath. There, from the center of her small hand, the same flower grows. The girl gasps, retracting her hand quickly, but he holds on.

Her brown eyes are wide as the boy prompts the flower to blossom anew, still resting in her palm.

"Is this magic?" the girl whispers at last.

"If you want it to be." he says, finding he rather liked having an audience to witness his display.

He gives her a crooked smile, then lets the flower fall into her hand, as natural as if she'd picked it from the shrubbery herself.

The girl lifts the flower between her fingers, curiously, admiring the smooth petals.

Then a voice calls out from across the fields, and she winces.

"I ought to go," she says, holding it out to him. The boy shakes his head.

"It's for you," he says, "to remember me by."

"It will wilt in time, won't it? I can remember you best if you gave me your name."

He considers this for a moment before responding. Alexander does not think names are important, so it would not matter if he shared his own, would it?

"Hector," he says at last, "Hector Bowen."

tag list (idk who to tag lemme know if u wanna be added): @lucexherondale @ghostjessesgirl @princesslucretia @jesseblackthorns @cecilyfightwood @lettersfromdanni @nolu @tessagraycarstairs

[moderngirlmp3]

@revolutionarywriters​ Event 1: “people can live for a hundred years without living a minute”

Word Count: 2489

Summary: angsty short story?

“You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

Dea sighed and pressed her fingers to her temples, attempting to ward off the oncoming headache. 

“I can’t just leave work to go off on some random, possibly life-threatening vacation with you!”

“It’s not a vacation,” Jemma protested. “It’s an adventure! A quest! A journey! And it’s hardly life-threatening.”

Dea rolled her eyes and responded, “Okay, well, I can’t leave work to go off on some random adventure with you then! And it is most certainly life-endangering! At least six of the ideas you had involved jumping from high places. Don’t tell me that’s safe!”

“Aw, come on! You’re seriously telling me you don’t want to go do something fun?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize doing obscenely dangerous activities was fun!” 

“Look, Dea, people can live for a hundred years without living a minute.”

“What does that even mean?? Don’t go all obscure quotes and hidden messages on me.” Dea stood up, glaring down at Jemma.

Jemma didn’t stand up, though somehow Dea still felt looked down upon. “Dea, it means live a little! Have some fun! Enjoy life! Take risks! Don’t just exist, be alive!”

“I won’t be able to enjoy life if I’m DEAD!” Dea finished the sentence in a near yell. She internally winced at her volume but didn’t dare let her body show it. She would not let her girlfriend have the satisfaction of seeing her regret anything. Jemma was not going to win this time. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Jemma grinned and Dea blanched. Of course this was when her habit of talking to herself would choose to make its appearance.

“I said no,” Dea said with finality, crossing her arms and sitting back on the couch. Her neck rested against Jemma’s arm that was now sneakily curled around her shoulders. She hated how comfortable it was. She hated how she involuntarily moved closer. Stupid body betraying her. She was trying to win an argument, for heaven’s sake. 

Jemma pouted and Dea sat on her own hand so that she wouldn’t tuck Jemma’s lip back into her mouth with a finger. “Are you sure? I promise I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

Dea’s chest felt warmer at the sincerity in her voice. Not quite warm enough to forget about her responsibilities to her work, but still. Warm. 

“I can hear you thinking from over here,” Jemma said, a small wrinkle forming between her eyebrows. Dea hated herself for causing it. “I really do think you’ll enjoy it. And if you don’t we can always leave early.”

Dea let out a long breath. “You know how important my work is to me. Why can’t you go by yourself?”

“Babe. It’s a couple’s vacation. Going by myself would be the saddest, most pathetic thing ever. Everyone at the resort would judge me! Can’t you get off work for a few days?” 

“Have I mentioned how much Sam hates me? He’s more likely to go make friends with a unicorn than give me even half a day off. No one could take my shift anyway; Kenzie’s already working extra shifts to pay for her mom’s hospital bills and Carolina… well, I’m not exactly keen on asking my ex to do my work for me. And before you ask--yes, there are more than two other waitresses, but I barely know any of them, so that’s not an option.” Dea sighed, feeling guiltier and guiltier by the minute, a sentiment exacerbated by the sad puppy dog eyes her girlfriend was giving her. 

Jemma ran a hand through her short hair, an action Dea recognized as a tic for when she was frustrated but trying not to show it. She felt a pang in her chest followed by a sort of hollowness. She had let Jemma down. 

“Look, I’ll talk to him, okay? But I doubt he’ll say yes. Just don’t get your hopes up.” The words were out of her mouth before she could process what she had just said. Oh, shit. What did I just do. He’s gonna kill me. I can’t ask him. This is such a bad idea. Why did I just say that. Before she could spiral any further, she focused on how Jemma’s eyes lit up, the warm brown radiating happiness. Happiness because of her. Jemma’s face split into a delighted smile and Dea regretted her words just a little bit less. 

~~~

“No.”

Yeah, forget everything before. Dea definitely regretted ever saying she would talk to Sam. Honestly, what was she thinking? She stood awkwardly in front of the desk, having never been invited to sit in the chair that she was now squeezing the back of. Her knuckles were frighteningly pale with the pressure she was inflicting and her palms were beginning to cramp, but she knew if she let go she would begin fidgeting. Sam hated her fidgeting.

“Please, it’ll only be a few days. I’ll make up the time after I get back.”

The man sitting in front of her rolled his eyes uncompromisingly. “What good is that? I need you here during your shift. That’s why it’s your shift. Not a shift that you could show up to if you felt like it. Your. Shift. Your responsibility. If you’re gone, we can’t serve as many customers. Can’t serve as many customers, we don’t get enough profits. You know what that means?”

Dea ducked her head and fixed her eyes on the dirty laces of her shoes. “Yes.”

Sam gave no indication that he had heard her speak and continued, “It means I don’t get paid. And if I don’t get paid, you don’t get paid. I have a feeling you don’t want that to happen.”

“What if I could get someone to cover my shift?” The words were out. She’d said them. Of course, she had absolutely no idea what she would do if he said--

“Fine.” Dea looked up, shocked. Sam crossed his arms over his burly chest. “If you can find someone who is willing to take your shifts, you can go on whatever vacation you want.”

Adventure, Dea silently corrected, thinking of Jemma’s earlier words. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t thank me. Just go find your replacement.”

Dea nodded, smiled, and left the office, making sure to completely shut the door so Sam couldn’t find a reason to take back his words. She rushed out through the back door and waited for it to close with a click. Then, she let out a small squeal of excitement for the first time in what felt like years. 

“Someone’s happy.” Dea whipped her head to her right and saw the exact person she both needed and dreaded to talk to leaning against the wall.

“Carolina,” Dea said, stuffing her hands in her jean pockets just to give them something to do. “Hi.”

The other woman pushed off from the faded brick and slowly but confidently approached Dea. A predator stalking her prey. Taking her time. Carolina walked forward. Dea took a step back. It was almost like a dance, but the lack of breath in Dea’s lungs wasn’t from any physical exertion. In. 2, 3, 4. Hold. 2, 3, 4. Out. 2, 3, 4. Hold. 2, 3, 4. In. 

Carolina reached the space right next to Dea and stood there, bracing her hand on the wall and leaning into Dea’s personal space. Dea attempted to remember her breathing exercises, but Carolina’s breath on her face was too much of a distraction. And not the good kind.

“Y’know,” Carolina said, rolling the word in her mouth with the wicked playfulness of a cat batting a mouse with its paws, “I couldn’t help but overhear that you need someone to cover your shift.”

Dea took another breath. In, out. Slow and deep. That’s what she said. Shit. Stop it. You need to focus. Dea mustered every bit of confidence she had and said, “Are you offering?” It came out much less smoothly and far more desperately than she had intended, but she had said it. That was a positive, at least. 

If Carolina was surprised at her speaking up, she didn’t show it, simply replying with a smirk, “Depends… what do I get for it?”

A cold feeling filled the pit of Dea’s stomach. “You get the moral satisfaction of knowing you did something nice for another human being?”

“Hm… not quite what I was looking for.”

“What do you want then?” The question burst from her lips in her desperation. Dea knew there wasn’t anyone else she could go to for help. Carolina was the only one. And if there was something Dea could give her to get her to do this… it was worth it.

“What do you think?” Carolina purred, face inching ever closer. Dea wanted to move away but Carolina was just too close. If she moved… she shouldn’t move. But this was getting too much. Carolina was too close and too much and it was all in her face and Dea could not--

“I think we broke up for a reason, Carolina. Will you take my shifts or not?”

Carolina’s face twisted into a disappointed frown and she moved away from Dea, shifting to lean against the wall next to her. “You know, you’re not exactly giving me any incentives to do it…”

Dea rolled her eyes and began to walk away, doing her absolute best to stifle any emotions before they escaped. At this point, the inside of her cheek was bleeding from biting it so much, but she didn’t dare stop. The taste of iron was almost grounding; at the very least, it distracted her enough to hold back tears. 

Just as Dea reached the edge of the parking lot and was about to turn the corner, she heard Carolina call, “Wait. I’ll do it.” She turned around, barely masking the surprise on her face.

“Why?”

Carolina hesitated for a moment before responding, “You need a break from work. Sucks that it’s not with me, but you need it.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Dea said, still reeling from the sudden change of character. “Really, Carolina, thank you. I think I do need it. Um… yeah. Thanks.”

Carolina’s confident smirk returned. “No problem. See ya.” Without waiting for Dea to say anything, she turned around and walked back into the restaurant, not looking back once.

As the door swung shut behind Carolina, Dea shook her head slightly to clear her confusion. What was that? Doesn’t matter. A smile grew on Dea’s face as she began the walk home. Jemma’s going to be so happy.

~~~

“Jemma? I’m home!” Her voice resounded in the small entryway as she removed her shoes. “Babe, you’ll never believe what just happened! So first, I talked to Sam and he said I could go as long as someone covered my shift. And then when I went outside, I saw Carolina and originally she was acting like, well, Carolina, but then she said she’d do it! She agreed to take my shifts! I know, I couldn’t believe it either, but I guess she does have some good in her. So we can go to your ridiculously dangerous couple’s vacation after all! I’m so exci--”

No. Time slowed to a crawl. Somewhere in the distance, Dea heard delicate ceramic shatter as she braced herself on a nearby drawer, knocking off all Jemma’s stupid collectible figurines. Clumsy, numb fingers fumbled for the landline, holding it for the first time. Jemma always thought that landlines were pointless. Dea agreed. Now, Dea dialed 911 and forced herself to think clearly. 

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

“There’s something wrong with my girlfriend. She’s unconscious on the floor and I don’t think she’s breathing. I’m at 37 South Cypress Lane, please send an ambulance.”

“Thank you for providing your location, we will send an emergency dispatch unit as soon as possible. Try to stay calm; help is on the way.”

Help is on the way. Help is on the way. Help is on the way. Dea hung up the phone but the words still echoed in her head as she sunk to the floor, rocking back and forth. Help is on the way. Help is on the way. Help is on the way.

The help was too late.

~~~

“Jemma once told me that people can live for a hundred years without living a minute.” Dea stood in front of the sea of black. Black veils, black dresses, black suits, black shoes. “At the time, I didn’t know what she meant; I thought she was just being cryptic. But now I understand. So many people spend their lives just going through the motions. Doing whatever they think they are supposed to do, and never caring about any of it. Jemma cared, though, and she always did her best to make others care too.

“I think the thing about Jemma was that she cared too much. About her passions, her family, her friends, her pets, her political views. Everything. She cared so much that she was terrified of ever hurting anyone. I think-- I think that’s why she never told anyone about her cancer. She was petrified at the thought of seeing anyone she loved in pain. She wanted everyone’s memories of her to be beautiful, and positive, and perfect. And they were. I don’t know anyone with a single truly bad memory of Jemma. That’s how she wanted to live on with us; beautiful, positive, and perfect.

“But having been lucky enough to have known her closely, I think I can safely say she was not perfect. Beautiful? Yes. Of course. Jemma was more beautiful than anything else in the universe. Positive? Well, I don’t know about always, but most of the time, she devoted so much of her energy to optimism and bringing happiness to other people’s lives, including mine. But no, she was not perfect. No one is. I do think, though--” Dea’s voice broke for a moment and she bit her lip hard, trying to suppress the tears. Her nose stung with the effort and finally she gave in. Voice unsteady but still strong, she resumed, “I do think that she was pretty damn close. And I will miss her every moment of every day. Jemma, if you can hear me, if you are listening, thank you. You brought so much joy and excitement into my life. You inspire me to live life to the fullest, and to never let it become a routine. I will live every minute of every day, thanks to you, and I will never forget you.” 

Dea nodded to the people assembled before her and stepped down off the podium, walking away quickly before anyone could approach to offer condolences. As she turned to take one last look at the canvas photo of Jemma, a single thought drifted through her mind before settling softly. I wish we could’ve gone on our adventure.

[finchwrites]

ruthlessness

for @revolutionarywriters event 3!

you are not what they say you are.

you have heard whispers in the halls, following 

you throughout your life -- or at least

you think you have.

they say that you are sharp

and that people must be careful or they will

get hurt on your edges

but you were broken, once, remember?

you were not handled with care and someone dropped you, once, and you

shattered.

and now when people pick you up, they bleed

but is that your fault?

are hurled accusations and cold, silent treatments the only mark of friendship you’ve got?

there’s less of you than there was before

and all you’ve done is safeguard what remains

and is that your fault?

they don’t see it, don’t speak of it in their whispers

but i know it’s there

inside of you, a small glow

pushing through the cracks 

it’s there

underneath the scar tissue

you are not guilty

you are made of light

[elijah-terry]

waiting

I kept waiting to try and make this longer, but I’m resigned to it being a small thing for now. Writtten for @revolutionarywriters event 01: “People can live for a hundred years without living a minute.”

word count: 480

"What if we stay like this forever?" 

She felt Noah look over at her. Back in the world of the living, she used to get chills all the time – goosebumps up and down her spine and her arms that she at first attributed to her apartment’s lack of heating, only realizing later that she was being followed by a ghost. There was none of that here, no hair standing on end or uneasy auras, just the knowledge that he was looking. Here, where nothing lived or breathed, everything was stripped down to its barest form; Noah was just looking at her. She looked back.

“Forever?” he finally echoed, the word sounding unfamiliar in his mouth. “It’s already been forever, for me.”

He blinked, and she knew the truth of it, saw it reflected in his eyes. It couldn’t have been more than a few days since the two of them had been here together, and it already felt like a lifetime to the ever-impatient Carmen, but he had been here for longer. Eight or nine years longer. How long had he spent in this dusty wasteland? How long had he been watching from the other side of the glass, following along with people’s lives, living with them but not living at all?

“Were you lonely?” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she felt stupid; of course he was. Of course he was, right? But what Noah said next surprised her.

“Not as lonely as he was.” He looked away, his lips curling into a wistful smile. It was sad, but the hollow kind of sadness that came with time: acceptance.

“He?”

Her question went unanswered, but Carmen hadn’t really expected one anyway. It was rhetorical. Noah meant Chase. It always came back to Chase, didn’t it? Her whole life had been fine until she met him. And if not fine, it was at least passable for living, at least something keeping her going, until he had come into the cafe she worked at and brought her entire past with her. Everything had started and ended with him. Everything, from Noah to her. 

And now she was sitting on a cold, metal bench in the land of the dead, looking ahead into the empty mist with a boy who had been dead since she was seventeen. She sighed and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. 

“I don’t want to be stuck here forever,” she finally said. “I spent so much time barely living my own life, and now it’s gone? Just like that?”

“You get used to it, eventually. The watching. The stuck feeling. The loneliness.”

“I won’t,” she said, standing up. When she looked at him, he seemed surprised. 

“I won’t be stuck here. I’m finding a way out. If you’re resigned to your fate, stay here, by all means; I’m getting out.”

[mysilverwords]

Nicholas & Seiji || Fence one shot

@revolutionarywriters event 3: “Ruthlessness”

Recently I read the comic Fence... And I'm a little obsessed. This is the first thing I write outside TSC, hope it's okay 🤞

It's set at the end of Fence: Rivals, just to know.

But honestly, I don't know how to call this. Drabble? It super short but it comes straight from my heart. I hope you enjoy it 💙

Words: 657

•

“...29, 30, 31, 32...”

Nicholas Cox missed the ball.

He started again.

“1, 2, 3, 4…“

Seiji Katayama was watching him for a few minutes already.

There was something about Zero that was making him… baffled. Watching him now, Seiji thought (again) he missed something. It was frustrating how much Zero reminded him of Jesse.

They were nothing alike. In fact, they're each other opposites. Jesse was the golden boy. He was trained from the best to become the best. And Nicholas? He was just another amateur who thinks he can become good.

But this familiarness of their moves… Seiji frowned. It was ridiculous.

“...3, 4, 5…”

He approached Nicholas. He had no idea why, for god's sake.

“Oh, hey, I just…”

Seiji interrupted him immediately.

“You still tense your shoulder. Relax.”

Why didn't Zero listen to what he was saying? He put hands on his shoulders.

“Uh, what are you…”

“No, don't turn sideways. Like this.”

Seiji didn't allow him to turn. Instead he made him look directly at the ball in front of him.

“Are you… helping me?”

“So what if I am?” Zero could be so annoying sometimes.

“You don't usually, um,” his neck was red. “Is this.. is this your way of showing that we're friends?”

Seiji squeezed his shoulders harder.

“I just got tired of looking at your bad techniques constantly.”

Seiji didn't have friends. He had rivals. And if Nicholas claimed to be one of them, he had to work for it. This was all. Nothing more. Absolutely nothing.

“Relax. Softer elbow. Hitting is just the smallest motion. Can you feel it?”

“Yeah it's… that's better.

Good, Seiji thought. Maybe there was still a chance for him.

He just didn't understand why Nicholas' face was so red.

•

Since that day, Seiji has been helping Nicholas. It wasn't every day but enough often. 

Nicholas didn't know what was happening. He couldn't believe Seiji Katayama, the asshole who thought he was better than everyone else, was helping him. 

Sometimes he wondered if this was a good thing at all. He was exhausted after their training together but in a good way. What was worse - Nicholas loved it. Seiji was absolutely ruthless. He pushed Nicholas beyond his limits, he was making him angry and frustrated and confused, he made him want to fight even more.

Sometimes Nicholas thought that he was actually friends with him and his heart missed a beat.

Was it possible all this to happen to him, Nicholas Cox? Was it possible that he was at King Row, that he was in the fence team? That he's roommates with Seiji Katayama?

Nicholas only hoped he would never awake from this dream.

Seiji was telling him all about his mistakes without hesitation. Nicholas didn't expect any praises from him. Like, not ever. Seiji wasn't good at this. At all. Nicholas was happy just to train with him.

One time, there was… this day. This terrible day. The day before Christmas, when everyone was going home to be with their families. Expect Nicholas and a few other students. Seiji was going home too. 

Nicholas wasn't feeling like himself. He just wanted to be alone and to don't think about his mother and father and Jesse… He slammed the door on his locker. He was in the dressing room, right after his training with Seiji. Seiji was there too.

Nicholas murmured some excuse and continued to dress. 

“You know, Zero,” behind his back, Seiji spoke. “You weren't that bad today,” he paused. “I think you have improved.”

Nicholas felt like someone hit him with rainbows. He turned fast to Seiji but he was already leaving the dressing room.

Nicholas' heart was beating fast. He couldn't stop his smile. He couldn't believe how ridiculously happy he felt hearing these words. He even chuckled. He had a strange feeling in his stomach, like he ate a flock of butterflies.

The day wasn't so terrible after all. 

•

Do they have Christmas vacations? Do they celebrate Christmas? Can they stay at school at such time? Do they even have dressing room at King Row? I don't know but I wanted to do it this way 🤧

[ragged-t1ger]

I felt this deeply.

[blerdsunite]

#davidwalker #theappeal #1829 #revolutionarywriting David Walker, he was born in 1796, his sunset in 1830. The brother was born free, he became a writer and freedom fighter. In 1829, he produced one of the most influential writings of the 19th century. With the help of the African Grand Lodge( there goes that word again, they later became the Prince Hall Grand Lodge Jurisdiction of Massachusetts) he published the pamphlet, "published An Appeal to the Coloured Citizens of the World". The Appeal was a call to action, one which shook the south up. The Appeal was spread throughout the South by his friends and other contacts. It was read aloud to those that couldn't read. Authorities in the South were alarmed by it. Walker criticized the hypocritical Christian church and government in a way that hadn't been done before. This was very dangerous for a black man to do during that time. Death was very possible. There are "historians" who claim that the Appeal didn't inspire uprisings, that they would have happened anyway. Yet wherever the Appeal arrived the authorities were always scared of a rebellion. In Louisiana they made it a crime punishable by life imprisonment or even death if you were caught with a copy of the Appeal or any writing like it. Georgia was so scared that they started quarantining any black sailors that arrived there. Georgia put a reward of $10,000 on his head. In Wilmington, North Carolina a slave by the name of Jacob Cowan distributed around 200 copies thru a tavern that he was allowed to have. A snitching ass free black gave him up and he was locked up and sent deep into Alabama. Others like Cowan also paid a steep price for getting the Appeal out, but they had a mission that was do or die. None of the possibilities of death or prison deterred the people, nor him, David Walker had already lit the match. There were abolitionists who didn't agree with some of Walker's wording, they weren't black no how so why would they have. Even if they were anti-slavery, their people weren't the ones in chains. So they could've never felt as impassioned as Walker who wanted slavery to end immediately. https://www.instagram.com/p/ByDVc5EhpEl/?igshid=11wuzlxbh7531

[themostawesomehuman]

Prompt:“People can live for a hundred years without living a minute” [Malec]

I edited this one a bit and yeeee! TELL ME HOW TO IMPROVE Y’ALL

@revolutionarywriters event 1: “people can live for a hundred years without living a minute”

Also just side note: Magnus’ last words and last thought were “Alexander”

Tagging: @bridgestocksariadne @lily-chen-deserves-better @immyownghostwriter @proserrpina @zoyanazyalenskiy @ravenfairchild @fairchild-squad @zafirafox4636 @brotherlipsmackariahs @friendlyneighbourhoodreader @fieryfantasybooklover @idontgetit-whydoihavetosaymyname @raccoon-dog-from-mercury @cecilyfightwood @tessagraycarstairs @katie33333 @daisyherxndale @simon-lewis-is-a-skinny-legend @emma-carstairs-herondale @liam-h-205 @mitsuhamiyamizi @ginacsonka @magnus-the-fabulous-entp-bane @banesbitch @morgnstern @matthewfaichild @totalbookworm101

———————————————————————————————————————

Alexander Lightwood had never known a world without Magnus Bane in it. Bright, brilliant, beautiful. Magnus. His magnificent husband. Magnus had lived for centuries and Alec thought that they’ll have more time. Ten years. Twenty years. Fifty years. Alec had never known a world without Magnus in it and frankly he never thought he would. Never before had he been so wrong.

Alec remembered their wedding day, with runes of wedded union on his skin and magical sparkles surrounding them. It had been four years ago but the memories were fresh in his mind. How Magnus took his breath away as he walked down the aisle in warlock blue. The feeling of holding Magnus in his arms—Magnus’ green-golden eyes glancing down at him. Feeling Magnus’ light stubble. Magnus’ heartbeat.

Alec remembered the very last day before his world had turn dark.

“Don’t. Please don’t” Alec’s voice broke a little at the last word, “hey, stop that, you’re g-going to be okay, you are going to be j-just fine.” At that point Alec wasn’t sure who he was trying to convict. He was pressing desperately at the gigantic wound on Magnus’ torso. There was so much blood. Too much blood. Alec couldn’t focus. He couldn’t think straight—this is Magnus. Magnus was dying. Alec had seen and treated wounds before but none like this—this felt different. Magnus’ sparkly shirt was soaked in scarlet.

Magnus smiled, but it was shaky. Even though it was forced and every single muscle in his body felt like scotching flame, he smile for Alec to reassure him. At that moment, Alec’s heart broke. Magus could practically hear it crack in his husband’s chest. The warlock reached out and touched the side of Alec’s face. His eyes were so blue, so bright, Magnus thought. Alec leaned into his touch and for the first time since ever, Alec’s calmness fell away, leaving only desperation and panic.

“Hey! Don’t you give up on me, Magnus! Magnus, please. Not after everything. This isn’t over!” He grabbed Magnus’ hands with an urgency that took Magnus by surprise. Alec never failed to surprise him not even ‘til the last minute. “Please hold on. Please”. Alec’s voice was only a whisper by the end.

Magnus remembers when he used to joke with Regnor Fell, “I’ll die the day pigs can fly” Magnus would proclaim, after the two escaped a drunken partygoner. Unfortunately, Death took his claim a little too seriously. Now hundreds of years later, helicopters existed, and Magnus supposed a pig had once ridden in one. Perhaps it was bad to say that after all.

The edges of Magnus’ vision blurred and he felt as though his limbs were made of lead. Magnus tried to blink but his eyelids felt heavy. He was so tired but he wasn’t ready to leave. He couldn’t. He had so much more to live for. Max and Rafe’s wedding day if they wish to get married. Growing old with Alec. He had millions and millions of unfinished stories to tell. He had a family: his Alec, Rafe and Blueberry Max, but Death doesn’t wait for anyone. Death waits for no one. Death had no mercy. Not even for the immortal.

“Alexander”, Magnus’ voice was alarmingly weak.

Magnus knew he didn’t have enough time but he was grateful. People could live for a hundred years without living a minute. Alexander Lightwood already gave him years — years of love and laughter and joy — Magnus lived. A year with Alec was more than an eternity. For Magnus Bane, Alexander Gideon Lightwood gave him an infinity — Alec’s love was more than he ever thought he deserved. Alec made him feel alive. More alive. It made him realise that for the past hundred years he had only been breathing. Alec was his saviour. His angel. Magnus knew that he would never be able to go to heaven — there’s no need. He found his heaven on Earth: Alexander Lightwood. His husband. Lover. Saviour. Angel. Guardian. Protector. Alec— his Alec. He was always so gentle, so pure.

“Magnus, please. I-I love you. P-please. Stay with me. It was supposed to be me. Goddamnit. Magnus, it was supposed to be me. Stay with me. Please. I love you”.

Oh, his Alexand-

And then there was nothing at all. Magnus was gone and so all the colors faded. Alec’s Light was gone and once again he was in the dark. Alone.

From then on Alexander Lightwood stopped living— without Magnus, minutes turned into days and days turned into years. The nights were unbearable and the days passed by in a blur. Without Magnus— the world simply lost it’s color. For Alec, it was painful to even breath— to drink, to eat, to stand without feeling that his legs were giving out—to live. Magnus was his world and he lost him. Just like how he couldn’t protect Max, he couldn’t protect Magnus either. What good is he then? Alec thought to himself, never before did he realize that you could be breathing but not living at all.

Alec Lightwood was already dead.