Thank you for requesting this!! I love April so much and honestly I can’t believe I hadn’t made an aesthetic for her before, so thank you for reminding me!! (also I finally watched the last episode of Class yesterday and I am dead help)
If you have a request feel free to send in an ask, but please check this page before sending :)
@dankiawarden fact of the day, this is my very first ever fenhawke artwork! I’ve never done a piece with them before :3 So I hope I did it justice! <3 Thanks for requesting this. I hope you like it! :D
HOLY COW, YOU GUYS! It’s @rizahawkye / @kyattoi‘s birthday! For a few more hours. Kat, I’ve written a short drabble based on this freaking glorious Royai you drew because I know you love blind!roy hospital fics. Also because you inspire me. Love you, friend! I hope this does justice to your gorgeous work AND I HOPE YOUR BIRTHDAY HAS BEEN SPECTACULAR <3
The words die on Riza’s lips the moment she sees the colonel sitting on his hospital bed. Whether that’s not enough or if it all just ceases to matter entirely, she isn’t sure. Standing here, in a quiet room where the only sound she’s privy to is her own careful breathing, she finds that everything has blurred: where they remain, how they feel, the intensity of what just happened, why they always, always end up right back here, and ultimately whether or not they even deserve to consider such things.
As a YoungArts finalist, I’ve spent the last week in glorious Miami with 24 of the most talented young writers in the country. It has been an incredible, incredible honor and experience. I still can’t believe I was even chosen, that’s just how amazing everyone there was. As a finale to the one week intensive, I performed my poem “Sink” at The Jewel Box and this is it!
My aunt miscarried four times and after each one, she took me to Chinatown in the city, and we would watch the gloved men gut fish after fish after fish as if it meant something.
She carried all the ultrasounds for years after, with names and the expected date of birth scribbled on the back, and on the train ride home, she’d clutch the bag of headless fish close to her body, and softly, rub her finger over the worn leather of her wallet, where the faint memories of life gathered dust inside.
My uncle used to burn hundreds of matches on the front porch, each one burning like a firefly. The first time we came home, he stared at my aunt’s stomach and stumbled backwards, something immense, something too big to understand, to describe, quaking inside of him. He stopped burning matches and started burning flowers, instead.
My aunt carries him too; in the way she walks, stooped over, with this gentle sorrow pulling her into the floor like sand.
Salma, May 17th 2003 Laila, November 29th 2006 Sophia, January 4th 2007 Hanna, August 23rd 2011
Four seasons for four daughters; every day, dawn is the time for grief, dawn is the moment where my aunt can finally sob under the weight of the world, a 34 year old Atlas with a home empty of children, and a body that deemed her unfit; I have grown into a family of grief, a life in which mourning and morning mean the same thing.
She said once: I am a shell, and you can hear the ocean sputter and cough in my bones; I swear, I would swim, if I wasn’t already sinking.
@ultimateshitbag@reborntale omfg….I’ve been hooked on reborntale by those two lovely people ;w;
Ultimates art is like….amazing and i love how they draw these two…probably got the proportions wrong. :,D hope you two like this. Eep and its not too sloppy ;u;
Warnings: violence - reader is attacked, beaten up. Also some heavy language (i never put language warnings but there’s a bit in here)
a/n: 400 followers omg! i love you all so much, eep! i hope you guys like this installment! :-)
anything you say here is confidential. Unless I feel that it may be endangering
to you or your fellow inmates, whatever you say,” the prison therapist, Melanie
Garcia, said, “shall remain in this room.”
make me want to talk though,” you muttered, playing with your hands.
went through, and you’re going on trial soon, right?” You nodded in response to
her question and she continued. “Tell me about that.”
there to say? My time has come,” you answered, not looking up at her.
“How do you
feel about being back in the courtroom again?”
absolutely terrifies me.” You laughed nervously, rubbing your hand on your
thigh. “I thought I’d be okay, but now I don’t know how I’ll cope back there.”
“And why do
you think that you won’t be okay?” She asked you, taking notes on her notepad.
Haven’t written in forever! Eep! Didn’t fact check 100% of the ages but I hope you like it.
Aelin watched the snowflakes fall, lost in thought. Her first Yulemas back in Terrasan in so, so long. Up north, snow was common nearly year round, but it was wonderfully appropreate for the flakes to fall back down. Growing up, it had always been regarded as good luck to have snow on Yulemas.
She remembered that no flakes had fallen that year.
But instead of frowning, Aelin smiled, letting the memory fade and replacing it with warmer ones. Early holidays, riding around the kingdom in the morning, breathing in the scent of pine trees. The extravagant holidays at the Assassin’s Keep. They’d been lavish in all the ways she’d adored, but she thought back to the simplest gift. Sam had tossed a package at her the moment she’d left her room the morning in her thirteenth year. She’d hissed at him, but he just growled something about not to stab him in the back. It had been a very simple, well-weighted knife.
She touched the window before her.This holiday had been wonderful, too. Aedion and Rowan had chopped down the largest pine they could find, while Aelin, Lysandra, and Evangeline spent the time covering every available surface with garland and ribbons. The tree was kept very simple: a star at the top and candy strings swung around the way Aelin and Aedion had done when they were younger. Aelin had told Fleetfoot very clearly that if anything happened to the tree overnight, she would be blamed.
Fleetfoot did not pee on the tree.
In the morning, Dorian, Chaol, and Nesryn had finally arrived and the gift exchange began. Notably, Dorian, the smart boy, brought a ten pound bag of candy. This time, he managed to take a receive a few back before Aelin finished. Nesryn had baked pounds upon pounds of Yulemas tarts, which disappeared very quickly. Aedion attempted to give feeble handmade ornaments to each of the friends, the most ornate suspiciously going to Lysandra. It had been a day of love and laughter and fun. It had been a day of family.
Night had come, and people had retired to their respective rooms. She and Rowan had opted to save their gift exchange for the evening.
Aelin smelled Rowan’s pine-and-snow scent before even reaching the room. In all honesty, she didn’t know what to expect. She’d hardly known what to get him. Still, Aelin wanted to know what he’d gotten her. Not that’d she’d peek, she just wanted to find it. Aelin had(lightly) checked around the castle and had seen no trace of any gift. She didn’t know what he would get her. But she wanted to know. And she wanted him.
When her eyes reached her fae, she smiled broadly. A tender kiss served as greeting before the two sat on the bed.
“I’ll go first,” Aelin declared. She was nervous, not hesitant.
Rowan growled lightly. You’ve gotten bossy since you became queen, he teased.
She didn’t bother hiding her eye roll. I’ve always been bossy.
Rowan nodded, and the two smiled gently at each other. After a second, Aelin lept off the bed and dug around in her wardrobe. At the very back was a large box.
“That’s where you hid it?” Rowan exclaimed. “I searched every nook and cranny, figuring there was no way this oh-so-brilliant queen would hide a box right in her bedroom.”
“Our bedroom,” she corrected. And it worked, didn’t it? Naughty boy, she added cheekily with a glance.
Rowan looked about two seconds from snatching the gift from her hands, very different from his usual relaxed and controlled demeanor. She wondered how long it had been since he’d had a real Yulemas.
The gift was neatly wrapped in green and white paper. Aelin’s smile grew as he so obviously struggled to resist the urge to tear the paper.
Inside the box was a very frilly, very short, golden nightgown.
Rowan stared at the gown for a long minute before fixing her way a bored expression. It’s not quite my size.
Maybe you’ll find some other use for it was the coy response.
Rowan tugged a little at the material before glancing meaningfully at the bed. “Well,” he mused aloud, “it might look very good around your wrists.”
With a deep blush, Aelin gritted out that he should look further into the box. What had been hidden under the dress was a flower. Not any flower, but a terrasen rose.
The terrasen roses was considered very special to the kingdom. When Rhoe got engaged to Evalin, Evalin’s family presented them with an enchanted rose bush that was said to never prick the well intentioned and to smell sweet without ever wilting, even after plucked for eternity. But it was more than that. Whenever Aelin got sick, Evalin Ashryver would make Aelin a tea from the rose petals. Even though no one had ever claimed the petals had any healing properties, it was comforting.
The bush had been burned, those years ago. It stood to reason the roses were gone forever. But a few weeks ago, while Lysandra and Aelin went for a walk, there was a single rose at the base of a tree. How it got there, Aelin could not know, but she knew it was for her.
And now she gave it to Rowan. Because the terrasan rose was a kind part of her childhood, and flowers would always have a special meaning to Rowan. He knew what the rose was, too, because Aelin had mentioned it before. Rowan fixed his gaze at her, a bittersweet smile.
A moment later, Rowan slid off the bed and grabbed a package from under it. Apparently over the past centuries Rowan hadn’t learned how to properly wrap a box.
It was a small shape, and it smelled odd.
Aelin sniffed. Why does it smell like dirt? she asked with a tilt of her head.
Rowan shrugged. I didn’t want you to find it early.
You think I’d be as childish as to look for it early?
So you buried it?
Fae brat, she thought before carefully opening the present.
It was the dagger.
Inside was the dagger Sam had given her seven years ago.
She stared at the dagger, then back at Rowan. How?
Her fae prince shrugged. “When I was in Rifthold a few weeks ago, I stopped by the Keep. Your scent was very faint, but I smelled it.
She still didn’t know how he’d found it; she’d tossed it aside so carelessly for something shiny when she was so young.
Aelin clutched the dagger tightly and then hugged him.
Welcome to knb-hell!!!! Hope you do well with this blog 😘😘😘 Akashi fluff please?
(this fluff isn’t really working(?) eeps I hope you like it :3)
You blindly reached out for your phone, answering the call without even checking the caller ID.
“Good morning,” The person on the other end said.
Out of reflex, you replied, “Morning, mom.” Said person chuckled at your reply, successfully snapping you out of your daze. Shooting up from your bed, you looked at your phone screen and squeaked. “Morning… Akashi-kun.”
“So you are awake, my daughter. Did you get your beauty sleep?” You hummed softly as you listened to your boyfriend soothing voice. “Get some more sleep. I will pick you up for our date later,” He said and you nodded absentmindedly although he could not see you.
You woke up for the second time that day to the touch of someone stroking your hair. Thinking it was your mother, you asked, “What time is it, mom?”
“Almost half a day is gone, darling.” The familiar chuckle effectively drove away your drowsiness and you scowled at Akashi with no ill intention. You snuggled against the warmth of Akashi’s palm and sighed contentedly. You lifted your blanket and invited Akashi to join you. He complied to your request and laid beside you as you snuggled to your new source of heat.
I wonder why it’s less terrifying to face the boy
you love once you know that you love him. Why I’m not half-sick at the thought
of going down to supper with a headful of sweetheart ribbons declaring my love,
knowing that he will never love me in return.
love is not an expectation, catkin, murmurs my father in my mind, an echo of a
conversation from my childhood. It
doesn’t cease to be simply because it isn’t returned. That’s why so many hearts
break: the weight of love, borne alone and unreturned, becomes too much.
Sometimes they shatter, sometimes they split cleanly in two and fall apart, and
sometimes they crack slowly and silently over a period of weeks, months, even
any broken thing can be repaired, he explained, but
not all choose this path. Some prefer a heart full of holes that can never
truly hold love again, and for those pitiable folk whose hearts have been
shattered, every last piece must be found before the heart can be made whole
once more, and some of those pieces they’d rather remain lost forever.
will never be broken,
I told him firmly, with an eight-year-old’s stubbornness and ingenuity. I’ll build a great stone wall around it so
no one can get in.
late for that, catkin, he replied with a gentle laugh. Your heart is brimming with love already: for your mama, your sister,
and me. What’s more, you could build a tower as high as the sky and your
sweetheart would still find your heart. Be he a sparrow sheltering at your
shutters or a mousekin burrowing through the soil to make a nest in your
cellar, a bee in the honeysuckle growing up your walls or a sunbeam spilling across
your hearthrug at noon, he’ll find you and you’ll love him so fiercely that
you’ll tear down those walls with your bare hands just to embrace him.
I look in the mirror again and raise a hand to
cover my naked heart. “You were wrong, Dad,” I whisper. “I didn’t have to tear
down the walls. They crumbled when I saw him.”