"I have to fight," said Alec. "but that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it? You’re part of the fight just as much as the Shadowhunters on the ship—and I know you can take some of my strength, I’ve heard of warlocks doing that—so I’m offering. Take it. It’s yours." [x]

"I’m Magnus Bane," He went on in a soothing tone, stretching out his ringed hands. Blue sparks had began to dance between them like bioluminescence dancing in water.  "I’m the warlock who’s here to cure you. Didn’t they tell you I was coming?"
“I know who you are, but…” Maia looked dazed. “You look so… so… shiny.”
Alec made a noise that sounded very much like a laugh stifled by a cough.

Valentine reached through the bars of the cell and laid his hand on top of Jace’s. The rough, callused texture of his fingers felt exactly the way it had when Jace had been ten years old. ”I want to trust you, Jonathan,” he said. “Can I?” Jace wanted to reply, but the words wouldn’t come. His chest felt as if an iron band was being slowly tightened around it, cutting off his breath by inches. (…) ”I must go,” said Valentine. “But we’re not done, you and I.” Jace put his hand to the bars. “Unchain me. Whatever it is, I want to be able to fight it.” “Unchaining you would hardly be a kindness now.” Valentine closed his hand around the witchlight stone completely. It winked out, plunging the room into darkness. Jace flung himself against the bars of the cell, his broken hand screaming its protest and pain. “No!” he shouted. “Father, please.” “When you want to find me,” Valentine said, “you will find me.” And then there was only the sound of his footsteps rapidly receding and Jace’s own ragged breathing as he slumped against the bars.

"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.” -
Stephen Crane

"Look," Luke went on, "In all the years I’ve known him, there’s always been exactly one place Simon wanted to be, and he’s always fought like hell to make sure he got there and stayed there." 
"Where’s that?" 
"Wherever you were." 

“I could have killed you.”

“I would have let you.”

“No,” said the Queen, to Simon, in a voice like the soft slice of a knife. “That is not what I want either.”
Simon stepped away from Clary, reluctantly. Relief pounded through Jace’s veins like blood, drowning out what his friends were saying. For a moment all he cared about was that he wasn’t going to have to watch Clary kiss Simon. Then Clary seemed to swim into focus: she was very pale, and he couldn’t help wondering what she was thinking. Was she disappointed not to be kissed by Simon? Relieved as he was? He thought of Simon kissing her hand earlier than day and shoved the memory away viciously, still staring at his sister.
Look up, he thought.Look at me. If you love me, you’ll look at me.
© hawtornes