My Face When He Was Flying. It Was Full Of SHOCK!

My face when he was flying. It was full of SHOCK!

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Beautiful Art / Illustration  by PhantomRin

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Cordelia & James

(”the Last Hours” by Cassamdra Clare)

Reblog if you ship Snowbarry

I NEED MORE WAYWOOD!! Please write another story with this amazing paring.

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N/A: there’s the angst that you asked for. It’s sad and heartbreaking. I hope you guys like it :)

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It felt like fire was being poured on his veins.

Michael didn’t even knew that he could feel so much pain. He could sense his soul being separated in half, he could feel their bond going away, and it hurt like fucking Hell. Actually, he was sure that Hell was less painful than that.

What was even worse, though, wasn’t the pain. It was hearing Robert screaming right next to him. His parabatai was screaming in pure agony, and there was nothing Michael could do about it.

He could see, through the tears of pain that blurred his vision, the men that were torturing him. Yes, because that was pure torture: severing him from the only person in the world that he was sure he loved. His mother had turned her back on him when she discovered that he wasn’t the perfect straight son she wanted, and his father…

“Robert and Michael are in the music room of the Wayland’s state. The sun is hidden behind stormy gray clouds, and the weather is nicely cold. Robert is on the piano, playing Debussy - one of Michael’s favorites. He got his beautiful blue eyes shut, and a little smile on the corner of his lips - he’s playing by pure instinct.

Michael’s laying on the floor, enjoying two of his most favorite sounds (besides Rob laughing and calling his name): the sound of the drops of rain against the big glass window and his parabatai playing. He has his old fading denim cap over his eyes, seeing the dark beneath his eyelids, and he smiles just for the sake of it. Michael does a lot of things just for the sake of them.

He lifts his cap just a little so he can enjoy the vision of the messy black hair, the perfect curve of the neck and the beautiful long fingers dancing over the keys; everything that makes Robert who he is. And Michael loves every part of it.

Parabatai. Even after almost three years, Michael adores the sound of the word. He adores to know that his soul is bent to Robert’s. If he focus, he’s almost sure he can hear the steady heartbeats of the other boy. Steady, serious and focused; that’s Robert. That boy only learned to have fun when he befriended Michael; and Michael has to admit that he only got high grades when he met Robert.

He starts considering inviting Robert to take a nap with him before they go to the weapons room, when their silent peace is broken by five men that burst into the room.

Michael sits abruptly, his cap falling on the floor. Robert’s fingers slip on the keys, making an horrible dissonance before he turns to face the intruders. Almost like following an orchestra, a thunder is heard far away.

Michael’s father is leading the men, a emotionless look on his face. Michael feels his heart tightening.

-What th- Robert starts, but the harsh and cold voice of Michael’s father interrupts him.

-Take them. - he says, and steps back, refusing to look at his son’s eyes.

Two men grab Robert’s arms and lift him up. Other two grasp Michael by his wrist painfully. The two parabatai exchange a hurt look, and they understand everything. They were discovered. They are going to be severed. Michael stares at his ‘father’ in pure hatred, and his voice sounds cold:

-I hate you. I hate you. Don’t even cross my sights again or, I swear by the Angel that I’ll kill you. I swear I will.

The men drag them to the big hall, and toss them on the floor. The Consul is standing in front of them. Robert spits blood from where he was punched when trying to fight.

-You, Michael Wayland and Robert Lightwood, were accused of having a romantic relationship, a thing completely forbidden by the Codex. - the Consul says, no emotion on his voice - Do you have anything to say on your defense?

Robert and Michael exchange a look that says that clearly, there’s no way they can get over this. Robert then, just stares at the Consul and at Michael’s father and says:

-Go to Hell, all of you. - he grabs Michael’s shirt and kisses him fiercely. Their last kiss. Michael can taste tears on his mouth; his or Robert’s, he can’t know. Robert tastes of coffee and a sweet taste all unique, and Michael knows he will never be able to forget it.

They whisper “I love you” to each other, and it’s the last thing they say. The men get their steles and the pain begins.”

Finally, the burning stopped, just to be replaced by the numbest feeling that Michael had ever felt. His shirt was soaked in blood and he was pretty sure that his soul was gone, leaving just darkness instead. He murmured Robert’s name, and the last thing he heard before passing out was his own name being moaned by Robert.

- - - -

Michael’s sure that he’ll never be able to be happy ever again.

He’s living in his state at Idris; only waiting to get enough money so he can get the Hell out of there, because he can’t be in the same place where his life was taken. Only his mother is with him at the house, but he never talks to her. He just spends most of his time at the music room, staring at nothing and crying, while carressing the place where his parabatai Mark used to be.

One day, his father gets back from devil-knows-what business at the Clave. When he enters the house, Michael’s there, staring at him with empty brown eyes and pointing a gun to his head.

-Michael, wh- the man starts, but Michael just shakes his head.

-I swore I would kill you. I always keep my promises.

In a blink, Michael pulls the trigger and the man fall on his knees, a big bloody hole on his forehead. He places the gun carefully on the table and nudges him with the foot. Michael kneels and checks the pulse: dead. He stands to see his mother staring at her dead husband.

He doesn’t feel guilty, or sad. He feels relieved, because he did what he wanted to do. And Michael Wayland does a lot of things for the sake of them.

-Hide this body and clean the floor. I’ll comunicate to the Clave that he killed himself. - his mother says. She never liked her husband.

And, without a second glance, Michael goes.

A few days later, he recieves a message from a blocked number:

That was a hell of a shot.

-R.L.

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N/A: so… What do you think? I wrote this especially to Caitlin (douze-bisous) because she is my queen and the loveliest person ever :) aaaand, forgive mistakes, please, my natural language is Portuguese, not English :) loads of love

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