on most day's she's beautiful

To him,

The lucky man she ends up with,

Love her. With every ounce of your being. Make sure she knows you love her and care for her. Do the small things. They’ll go a long way. Treat her like a princess. She’s the most amazing girl and deserves the best. Buy her flowers randomly, especially daisy’s, those are her favorite. Or if you really wanna make her happy dye some roses with a bunch of cool colors but make the prettiest rose purple. That’s her favorite color. She’ll smile huge and not know what to say but she’ll love it. Buy her candy and put on a movie. She loves air head bites and watermelon sour patch, she can eat the whole bag in 1 sitting. Order a pizza. She loves pepperoni and pineapple. It sounds weird but it’s actually pretty good, but be careful because she’s allergic to normal pineapple. Let her lay her head on your chest and play with your hair. Let her listen to your heart beat. It’ll calm her heart when she gets nervous. Tell her how beautiful she is, she should hear that multiple times a day because she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. If she has an anxiety attack, make sure she knows it will be okay. Be there for her the whole time. Comfort her. Hold her. Try to get her mind off of it. Play music, especially Big Jet Plane. That’s her favorite song and it’ll calm her heart beat. Take her on dates and hype her up. Tell her how gorgeous she is and how when your with her it’s like the stars align and everything is perfect. Tell her that she’s your daisy in a field full of wild dandelions. She’s a rarity. There is no one like her so make sure she knows that. Massage her feet. I know it’s random but she likes it. Kiss her feet, let her know that there is nothing about her you don’t find flawless. Everything she finds as a snaggletooth, you should love with all of your heart. Let her know you’re thinking about her at random times throughout the day. It’s cute. When you drive past daisy’s on the side of the road, be ready to stop because she loves to pick them. If she ever tells you she needs to stop picking them, don’t let her. It’s one of her favorite things to do. When she’s mad at you, kiss her. Don’t go to bed mad at each other, fix the issue, trust me it’ll be worth it in the morning. Let her paint on your back, she always wanted to do that wth me but never got the chance. I wish we did but she will love to use your body as a canvas. Let her take pictures of your eyes. Everyone’s eyes have a different story and she loves taking close ups of them. Let her wear your deodorant, especially if you wear Old Spice Fiji, she loves the way it smells. Take her to pick strawberries. Eat them all and make some cool desserts with them. She loves Nutella so make sure she has some with her strawberries. Fall asleep with your faces right next to each other. Hold her hand wherever you go. Draw circles on her body with your fingers. Whenever she is self-conscious about her body, make sure she knows she was made in the image of God. Make sure she knows how beautiful she is. Kiss her in the places she’s worried about. Kiss her everywhere. Kiss every one of her fingers and then kiss them again, she loves it. Support her. With whatever she wants to do. She’s so determined to be successful and needs a strong man behind her pushing her forward. Be a man of God in her life. Lead her closer to God because that’s the most important thing in this world. Make her feel safe. Make her feel at home. Treat her like a queen because she is a queen and she deserves the world. Love her with ever ounce of your being, I mean everything you have. You’ll never meet anyone like her ever again so don’t let any moment pass without taking it all in. Take pictures of her randomly. Fill your phone with thousands of pictures of her and then send them to her at random times telling her how beautiful she is. Don’t rush her, let her take her time. You can’t rush love. Let it come naturally. Just never give up on her. Fight for her. But promise me this. Promise me you won’t hurt her. Protect her heart and take care of her. Please. She deserves the world.

Fall in love with a writer and she will remember every moment, every second she spent with you. Fall in love with a writer and she will keep those memories because one day she will want to write her love story with you and share it to the world. Fall in love with a writer and she will make the most painful day she ever had becomes a beautiful memory and made into book of tragedy with a beautiful pain. Those who read her writings will feel how much she was in love with you and how lost she felt when she lost you. And one day, people will talk about her book, how heart-breaking it is, and suddenly it becomes a movie. Your new girl wants to see the movie without knowing that it is about you and her. Seeing the movie, you remember again a lot of things. The day you met her, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she dance around whenever she was happy when no one was looking, you remember again all the things that made you fall for her. And you don’t know what to do about it because you threw her away years ago.
—  Excerpt from the book I’ll never write #53
My wife is the most beautiful woman I know

Not because she conforms to my definition of beauty.

But because my definition of beauty conforms to her.

Only the Beginning


Originally posted by yourcoffeeguru

Feyre blew warm air into her hands as she made her way through the busy city streets. White snow was falling from the sky, and she could spot some children across the street sticking their tongues out to catch the falling snowflakes. A smile formed on her lips, and she continued to walk passed the crowds of people, finally reaching her destination.

Rita’s was one of the best coffee shops she knew, and as she opened the door, warm air and the smell of coffee greeted her. Today it wasn’t as crowded as it usually was, and she was thankful that she wouldn’t have to wait in a long line. She pulled her gloves off and tossed them into her small purse, glancing over the menu.

She decided that today was a hot chocolate kind of day, especially with the cold weather outside. December was one of her favorite months, and since she moved to the city, she loved it even more.

“Next!” She heard someone call from the counter, and she quickly made her way to the register.

Her breath caught as she took in the man standing in front of her, and he seemed to freeze as well. His eyes were so blue that they looked violet, and they were staring at her with so much intensity that she cleared her throat and looked down at her hands.

Keep reading

don’t let anybody tell you you’re any less than what you are!! you are important, and you deserve to be treated that way!


TID APPRECIATION WEEK (day 1, favorite character)

He had the most beautiful face she had ever seen. Tangled black hair and eyes like blue glass. Elegant cheekbones, a full mouth, and long, thick lashes. Even the curve of his throat was perfect. He looked like every fictional hero she’d ever conjured up in her head.

anonymous asked:

Modern Glasgow prompt please: In the books, Claire briefly mentions a time where the emergency department got robbed at gun point for meds. How would she react to this and what would Jamie do when he found out?

Modern Glasgow AU

“Dr. Fraser – ”

“I *said* I’m fine, Constable. Perfectly fine.”

“Beg pardon, ma’am – I’m no’ doctor, but yer hands are shaking.”

Claire swallowed, lay her – trembling – hands flat on the table in the break room, and breathed deeply.

Turning inward, is what she always called it – taking stock from head to toe, checking for soul-deep wounds and bruises when physical trauma had (praise God) not occurred.

Heart racing – breath shallow. Both normal symptoms post-trauma, considering she had been *right there* when the crazed man had stormed into the A&E, wielding a meat cleaver.

Palms cold and clammy – not bad, considering the circumstances.

Scrubs sticky with blood, from where she had knelt to apply pressure on the wounds.

But most importantly – the baby slept within her. Just over five months gone, she was just barely showing – and she (and Jamie) were attuned to every movement of this little one.

Christ, Jamie. He had to know by now –

“I’ll be fine.” Infusing her voice with bravery she didn’t believe – just wanting to get out of here, out of this room, out of these clothes. “It’s just shock – I’m going into shock. I should know.”

The Constable raised one dark, skeptical eyebrow.

“Ye were right there when Mr. Hodgepile allegedly came into the waiting room – ”

“Allegedly, my arse. I saw him right before my eyes come in, raving about God knows what, demanding the prescription medications we keep at the nurse’s station.”

He shifted a bit in his seat. “And I understand ye were standing right beside the victims.”

Claire closed her eyes. Her left hand drifted to settle on her belly, thumb tracing her wedding ring. Craving Jamie.

“I was asking Nurse Ellesmere to adjust the dosage of pain medication for an elderly patient. The – the man just started hacking at her when she refused to hand it over.”

She swallowed – seeing so much blood.

“Ye ken she’ll be all right – ”

“Of *course* she will – I cared for her, after all.”


Her eyes still closed, Claire enjoyed the simple peace of the small room. The scrape of the constable’s pencil in his notepad. The scent of that disgusting industrial-grade cleanser used to sanitize the floors. The murmur – like bees in a hive – of voices and footsteps and distant ringing of telephones down the hallway.

Familiar, comforting sounds. But not the sounds of home – the shrieks of her two girls, the deep rumble of Jamie’s laughter, the gentle hum of the ancient refrigerator in their kitchen.

“Dr. Fraser?”

Claire opened her eyes – focusing on the young, eager man on the other side of the table.

“I think I’ve got all I’ll need for now – though I may ring you up later, once we’ve completed more of our investigation.”

“I know you have a job to do, but trust me – he’s guilty as sin. And stupid as fuck, since he picked a hospital to attack. The poor bastard is probably getting better medical care right now than at any other point of his life.”

The Constable rose and extended a hand. Claire took it, shook it firmly, and stepped out into the hallway.

The chaos had died down, to be sure – but uniformed police officers still stood at the nurse’s station, photographing the pools of blood and discarded cloths Claire had used to stanch the bleeding.

Clearly her colleagues had already gone home – she recognized nobody in the waiting area, save for a few hospital administrators. And then looked up beyond the cordon –

The most beautiful sight she had seen all day.

Jamie’s hair was all mussed. Even from here she could see the tendons straining on his neck – feel his soul calling out to hers.

Somehow she ducked under the cordon and within two heartbeats was crushed to Jamie’s chest.

His throat rumbled with the *Gaidhlig* - first sweet, sweet words of endearment. Then –

She pulled back, brows creased. “What?”

His blue eyes darkened. “I *said,* what in hell were ye thinking? How dare ye do something harebrained like try to fight off a knife-wielding bandit? And you with child, too! Have ye no sense at all?”

“Let go!” she hissed, fighting against him. “What do you mean, how dare *I* do something harebrained? I took an oath to do not harm, to heal others – and what right do *you* have to tell me what to do?”

Still he held her close, refusing to release her arms. “What right do *I* have, ye ask? I lay claim to the child in yer belly – and to our other two wee bairns, unless ye’ve forgotten? They need a mother, and I need a wife, much more than this world needs you as a hero!”

His grip was iron on her arms and shoulders. “Let go of me! I have a fucking MD degree! I’m not an idiot, I assessed the situation and acted rationally – ”

“I dinna doubt ye did,” he hissed. “But ye canna blame me for panicking when I’m giving the girls their wee bath and I get an emergency text on my phone, so I roll them up in a towel and race over to Murtagh and throw them through his door and then race over here, not knowing what in hell is going on and worrying ye are alive or deid, and then waiting behind the cordon and hearing the doctors say ye had saved the lives of three people and – ”

Suddenly exhausted, he slumped against the wall in the corridor. Eyes closed.

His hold on her relaxed – but now it was her turn to hold him. Cradle him to her, like she had with their daughters – like she would with this new baby. His hands skimmed up her sides – one resting on the baby, the other on her shoulder.

“It’s all right. It’s done. All is well. *We* are well.”

“I love ye, Claire,” he rasped against her cheek. “I’m glad ye’re no’ harmed. But dinna do that again, aye?”

She pulled his forehead to rest against hers. Now both his hands spanned her belly – sheltering, cradling their bairn.

“He is all right?”

Finally, finally she smiled. “You’re still so certain it’s a boy?”

“I am. After two girls, why not?”

He nuzzled against her cheek. “I hope he grows to be a braw laddie. As stubborn and smart and brave as his Mam.”

She dipped closer for a quick kiss. “Flatterer.”

Now it was his turn to smile. “Let’s go home? I’ll call Murtagh, ask him to keep the girls till the morning.”

She sighed against him, so happy. “Yes – as much as I love them, I *need* you.”

He kissed her forehead, and took her hand, and they walked out toward the car park, blinking at the flash of police lights, happy to be alive.  

Whoever loves her next,

She will set fire to your soul,
In the most beautiful way,
Her eyes tell so many stories,
And hers alone is not easy,
She is the most beautiful girl to ever step foot on earth.

She will make you mad,
Do not yell at her,
Stay calm,
Talk things out.

You might need to push a conversation on her because she won’t make a first move,
But never push it if she’s uncomfortable,
Drop it right then and there,

Trust her,
No matter what it is, trust her,
And build your trust in her for you.

Please treat her with nothing but respect,
She’s the biggest pain in the ass but that’s who she is, but she deserves the best,
She’ll test your limits, but don’t give up on her too soon,
She gets these moods where you just have to give her space,
Just be yourself, that will be plenty.

When you wake her up in the morning be sure to be gentle,
Kiss her forehead, nothing too extreme,
When she sends you a picture of her,
On god you better respond with the heart eyes and hearts and freak the fuck out asking how she’s yours,
You’ll see the most beautiful smile you have ever laid eyes on start to form on her face.

She likes the little things,
Naps together, forehead kisses, late night talks,
But she loves exploring,
Take her on a hike,
Take her to new places, and watch her eyes begin to glow, and that smile of hers shine.

She’s picky when it comes to food,
So don’t be pushy, if she’s not hungry, don’t ask again,
But one thing she usually won’t pass up,
So you better get your ass out of bed at 3am like me to make her one that’s not from the bag.

She loves her rocks and different energies,

So you better sit there at 2 in the morning,
Or 2 in the afternoon listening to her talk about them,
And don’t stop or interrupt her when she’s rambling on about them,
Her voice should be your favorite sound,
It’s what she enjoys,
It’s what she’s passionate about,
She also loves to paint,
Especially on rainy days,
It gets her mind off of things,
She’s in her own world,
So don’t interrupt.

She. Will. Not. Make. Decisions.
So when it comes down to it, she’ll tell you she won’t be the one to have the last word,
Unless she’s right,
Always let her have the last word,
Even when she’s dead wrong, if you agree with her and say “baby, you’re right” she will be the happiest girl in the world,
And that better be your goal.

She’s never wrong,
Cocky as all hell about it,
But she’s never wrong,
Even when she’s dead wrong and knows it.

She’s needy,
So when you’re laying in bed with her,
Make sure you’re in reach of her being able to touch you,
If she can’t, she’ll make it known,
She loves touch, a simple touch,
If your hand is on her leg, don’t move it unless she moves it for you,
She’s at ease.

Sometimes she’s judgmental about herself.
So worship her,
Cherish her,
Tell her that she is the most beautiful girl in the world day in and day out,
Call her beautiful like it’s her name,
She loves it,
She loves being called cute names.

Show her off in public,
Make it known that she’s yours,
Protect her, make sure she feels safe with you,
Never make her do something she’s not up to do.

Respect her and every decision she makes,
Be there for her through the ups and downs,
The small things and the big things,
The not so serious problems and the serious problems,
If she calls you and says she needs you,
Get in your car and go find her,
Make her and her happiness your number one priority,
And make sure you worship the ground she walks on.

Remind her that her feelings are valid,
Remind her that her emotions are valid,
Remind her that her thoughts are valid,
Remind her that it’s okay to cry,
Remind her that it’s okay to be upset,
Be there for her,
And never let her go.

Hold her when she cries,
Comfort her when she feels uneasy,
Play with her hair so she falls asleep at night,
And love her, with every god damn ounce of your soul.

And if you’re lucky,
She’ll love you too.

—  I’m still in love with you
- 8:00pm
  • Sansa’s needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. “Sansa’s work is as pretty as she is,” Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. “She has such fine, delicate hands." 
  • Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily.
  • Sansa could sew and dance and sing. She wrote poetry. She knew how to dress. She played the high harp and the bells. Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother’s fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys. 
  • Sansa already looked her best. She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone, and picked her nicest blue silks.
  • Her eyes were red from crying, but she did her best to make herself beautiful.
  • "Sweet Sansa,” Queen Cersei said, laying a soft hand on her wrist. “Such a beautiful child.”
  • She smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. 
  • The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful.
  • “I saw Sansa at the court, the day Tyrion told me his terms. She looked most beautiful, my lady. Perhaps a, a bit wan. Drawn, as it were.”
  • Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was.
  • A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding.
  • The skirts were long and full, the waist so tight that Sansa had to hold her breath as they laced her into it. They brought her new shoes as well, slippers of soft grey doeskin that hugged her feet like lovers. “You are very beautiful, my lady,” the seamstress said when she was dressed.
  • Ser Kevan told her she was beautiful, Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue, and Lord Redwyne wished her many fat children and long years of joy. 
  • Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful.
  • Shae had arranged her hair artfully in a delicate silver net winking with dark purple gemstones. Tyrion had never seen her look more lovely, yet she wore sorrow on those long satin sleeves. “Lady Sansa,” he told her, “you shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight.”
  • “I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You’re crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. How long have you been out here? You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa.”
  • The girl was too young and too plain to be Sansa Stark, but she was of the right age to be the younger sister, and even Lady Catelyn had said that Arya lacked her sister’s beauty.
  • "I was never beautiful like Sansa, but they all said I was pretty. Does Lord Ramsay think I am pretty?”
  • The Lord Protector’s daughter,“ the bald knight announced, all hearty gallantry. He rose ponderously. "And full as lovely as the tales told of her, I see."Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.”
  • “Had we known such beauty awaited us at the Gates, we would have flown,” Ser Roland said. Though his words were addressed to Myranda Royce, he smiled at Alayne as he said them.
  • “Oh, I think you do,” said Littlefinger, with one of those smiles that did not reach his eyes. “You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age.”
  • A beautiful bastard, and the Lord Protector’s daughter.“ Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks. "The night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always.”
  • “Saffron is very beautiful, I’ll have you know. Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey."Alayne raised her head. ”More beautiful than me?“

-Sansa and her beauty

“Game of Survival”

@hermajestymanon Let the battle begin, dear friend. 

The throne room was a massacre. The throne room was where Prythian ended and a new force began. Feyre stood, her sword barely gripped in her right hand, blood slowly rolling down her skin. 

Her eyes fluttered closed as she looked around the carnage that surrounded her. The High Lord of the Dawn Court was pinned to the wall, his mouth still open, his skin still glimmering. Feyre watched that light fade. 

His wife and chosen soldiers decorated the floor with their golden blood, which carefully slithered across the floor. The Lady of the Dawn Court’s eyes were open, the golden orbs staring into space.

Feyre had never learned their names.

Kallias was lying down motionless, the blade in his back frozen over. His bright blue eyes seemed dull in comparison to a color Feyre once knew. His fingers were digging into the ice that painted the ground. In the process of crawling away from a force you can not out run: Death. 

On top of him, as if in the last moments of her life she was determined to guard him, a female rested. Her back was arched, her own jagged blade sinking into her sternum. White blood stained her lips, her fingers curled helplessly around the metal. 

Their own warriors were discarded and ruined around them, white and gold blood slowly swimming together, mixing like they were made to. It created a marble design, and slowly it swam to Helion. 

Hellion’s golden tunic was stained with a vibrant red, brighter than any red Feyre had ever seen. She would have loved to paint with such a bright color. His beaded head piece was tossed from his head, laying on the ground, far away from the High Lord. If Feyre didn’t know any better, the High Lord could have just been sleeping. He still looked magnificent. 

His wife lay beside him, those deep brown eyes forever unseeing. Her mouth opened in a scream the world would never hear again. The fiercest battle cry she had ever witnessed. Her crown still rested on her head, as if it knew it belonged there, even in death. Blood ran down her deep brown skin, and Feyre thought it was the most beautiful horror she had ever seen.

Warriors of the Day were thrown and destroyed around their High Lord and Lady, their bright red blood crawling across the throne room floor, until it met with the white and gold. Their deaths were brutal, yet undeniably stunning. 

The blade fell from Feyre’s fingers, clattering against the ground, when her eyes saw Tarquin. Young, brave, fearless Tarquin. She should have let him alone after she had betrayed him in his own Court. She should have never involved him in this. 

Tarquin’s white hair was matted with blood, his eyes peacefully closed. He was crumpled on his side, his body broken in several ways. Of all of them, he had fought the hardest. Feyre wished his eyes were open, so she could see that blue one last time. 

A male warrior had fallen on top of Tarquin, his body resting over the High Lord’s long legs. His left arm was reaching out, only a few inches from Tarquin’s unmoving fingertips. 

In their last seconds, the lovers had reached for one another. Feyre saw Varian and Cresseida amongst the Summer Court Fae who had fought bravely. Blood swam down Cresseida’s arms, her eyes glazed over. Varian’s own sword had betrayed him in the end, lodged in the Fae’s chest. 

She nearly staggered to the side when she saw Lucien’s bright red hair. 

His good eye was closed, his scarred eye staring at the far wall. Feyre had a sick feeling that Lucien could still see with that eye, even as he lay there, stone still. He was horrible to look at. Her friend, dead, gone, brave, but gone. 

Unnamed Autumn Court warriors had died by their High Lord’s side. Had accepted him as their rightful High Lord, had given her friend love, compassion, strength, everything she could not. And Feyre couldn’t even bother to learn their names. Faes with dark skin, natural tans, or olive undertones had died for Lucien, for a ray of hope. Their red hair, brown hair, golden hair, all soaked in blood; their blood. And all of their veins, empty of that raging fire. They had given that power up the moment they fell to the ground. 

The ends of Tamlin’s golden air was soaked in his own blood. Feyre stared at him, blood slowly trailing down her face, sliding down her cheeks, dripping off her nose. She knew she was covered in it. White, blue, red, and other colors alike. 

He looked peaceful. 

Like he was waiting for someone. 

Feyre’s knees began to tremble as she looked closer to her. The bodies created a path, a path to her. She swallowed a lump in her throat when she saw Elain and Nesta. Nesta with her burned hands, Elain with her tranquil face. 

Feyre wanted to collapse when she saw Azriel. His wings were bent against his back, a siphon cracked and broken, scattered across the floor, never to hum and glow again. 

Feyre looked at her friend, someone she would have called a brother, someone who would never breathe again. Cladded in Illyrian leathers, Azriel had gone down with a fight, Feyre knew that much. 

And so had his brother. Cassian, collapsed by Azriel’s side, motionless. His wings were gone from his back, once again. Feyre knew one thing. In death, Cassian deserved his wings more than anyone else. Fate was a cruel, wicked thing. His siphons were also cracked, broken, and gone. 

Another male she would never be able to call brother. 

Female Illyrians surrounded the two warriors. Wings. A sea of wings, all broken, tattered, torn, or simply gone. It was a sea of destruction, a sea of pain. Feyre blinked, and she saw another blonde head. 

Blood still seeped from Mor’s stomach and Feyre pressed a shaky hand against her mouth. Her blonde hair was pressed against her face, her brown eyes open, positioned on Azriel. He was the last thing she saw. 

Amren, her firedrake friend, their last hope in the seemingly impossible war, was  just as dead as the rest of them. Silver blood still poured from her neck, her silver eyes on the ceiling. Silver painted her and Feyre thought it was fitting. She sparkled like one of her beloved gems. 

She hoped her friend was back home, back with those who she loved and loved her. 

Feyre’s eyes drooped closed, then she forced them to open. She forced herself to look at the body at her feet. Her heart laid bare before her, crushed and broken, never to beat again. 

Her mate, her husband, her High Lord. His violet eyes so dark, not nearly as light and glowing as she remembered them. Her everything, her salvation; the one she saved, the one who had saved her. Broken and dead. 

The realization hit her hard. Rhysand was dead. Feyre finally fell, her head hitting the smooth floor. She moved one last time, determined to hold Rhysand’s hand. Determined never to die alone again. 

Her fingers clasped around his and Feyre looked up, letting loose a shuddering breath as she saw the King, skewered on his throne. His head thrown back, his body lifeless, all that power, gone. 

Unmade and Made; Made and Unmade - that is the cycle. Like calls to like. The Book of Breathings had warned her. The Book had warned her of the price. The Book had told her she was the princess of carrion. If only she had listened, truly listened.

For something to be Unmade then Made, something had to be Made then Unmade. For Feyre to hold the power of all the High Lords, it was fitting they should all be destroyed. Her eyes fluttered and the King wavered in her vision, as the Cauldron toppled over. 

The water raced across the floor, washing away blood in its wake, drowning the Fae in its cold grasp. It swam closer and closer to her, seemingly hissing and cackling. Soon, it soaked her, head to toe, along with her mate and her friends. 

Her family. 

Together, the deaths of the High Lords, they had Unmade Prythian. Feyre saw a figure in the doorway, their bare feet slick with the Cauldron’s water. The water began to shimmer, carrying the seven High Lord’s magic as well as the King’s through the liquid. 

Feyre heard a faint thumping, as if the figure had fled. Her eyes finally closed, she finally slipped away. She could only hope the Cauldron had chosen correctly; chosen someone to end this cycle. 

She would be the last to be Made. 

And with her, Prythian would be the last to be Unmade. 

World War Maas II has officially began. 

There will be casualties. 

People will not survive. 

Only one will come out victorious. 

anonymous asked:


Artist & Actor
Word count: 1690
“Tom sit still for goodness sakes, I swear you are worse than a dog”.

This was the 5th time you had scolded Tom in the last 30 minutes, he was severely sea sick so you were doing your best to add some color to his face.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I forget that you’re doing my makeup and well sometimes you just have to move”.

You stop what you’re doing to look at the only other person in the trailer with you and Tom. He’s a boy about your age with dark hair and soft looking pale skin. He had been staring at the two of you since you finally got Tom to sit in your chair. Tom didn’t understand why you had to “cake on” so much “stuff” as he put it.

“Tom, I’m almost done with your foundation then all I have to do is contour you”.

Toms eyes got big at the word he didn’t know, plus the fact that he had to sit in your chair for a bit longer. He was beginning to pout like a little boy.

“But Y/N, you’ve been doing this for hours”.

He said dramatically as your rolled your eyes and grabbed the bronzer.

“It’s been 35 minutes”. You said dryly now applying highlighter.

“Ok you’re done you can go”.

Tom quickly jumped out of the chair quickly running past you and slapping the brown haired boy on the butt as he passed.

Laughing the boy turned and faced you standing up a bit straighter, turning shy.

“Umm… you are Y/N, right?”

He must be one of yours, you were assigned to 3 people’s hair, makeup, and costumes. There were a total of 6 makeup, hair, and costume assistants on set, two of them being assigned to the main cast along with you and the other three all had to handle the extras.

“Uh yea, and what might your name be?”

Shyly smiling at you a small dimple popped in his cheek, making him impossibly cuter than before. You knew this was your job and you had to keep things professional, but it was getting difficult with how attractive the cast was.

“It’s Fionn, I think Um…I think I’m one of yours”.

Ok the whole cast was attractive, but this one, you already knew it would be hard to stay away from this one.

“Yes you are, along with Harry and Tom, but don’t let Tom scare you away from me, I’m not as bad as he made me out to be a few moments ago, he just really can’t sit still. It’s nice to meet you by the way Fionn”.

You held your hand out to shake his, the boy stretched his arm out to meet your hand, but his eyes were looking everywhere but at you.

“Well let’s get started shall we. Today I’m just going to apply some basic foundation and that’s all … looks like you have pretty good skin so you don’t need much”.

Fionn took a seat in your chair while you pulled out a new clean beauty blender and the foundation. You placed about a nickel size drop into your metal bowl and wet your beauty blender before dipping it in, then lightly bouncing the sponge off of his soft skin, making sure to get full coverage.
“Actually looks like you have Freckles, they fit well with your features, I like them, especially with your dark hair and hazel eyes”.

You didn’t know why you were telling him this, but it was like you couldn’t stop yourself. It was true though, and he was beautiful.

“You know you don’t talk nearly as much as Tom does, kinda refreshing actually, although you do have a nice voice, calm and deep”.

You suddenly stop applying the makeup. Had you really said that? It was true but he didn’t need to know how you felt about the voice you’ve only heard twice or his skin.

You can see his cheeks have turned bright red, bright enough to show through your work. Great, now you were both flustered. As the heat in your cheeks remained you quickly cleared your throat and started on his hair.

“So…um, I’ll just be adding a bit of Oil to your hair, to give it the effect that it hasn’t been washed in a while and then you’re done”.
Please, please, please don’t let him have soft hair too or you may melt into a puddle right there. Sliding your fingers through his dark hair you had to bite your tongue, because just as suspected, it was indeed soft, perfect actually.

His eyes met yours in the mirror,

“Already? But, it took you at least 45 minutes on Tom”.

Fionn looked back at the ground like he previously was. He didn’t mean to make it seem like he wanted to be in there with you longer than necessary, but he did.

“Well that’s because you’re good and sit in you’re seat while I work. You don’t wiggle the whole time and ask if I’m done yet like you’re 5”.

He chuckled, it was true though, Ton did do all of those things, Fionn should know he was standing there.

Fionn ended up in the makeup trailer 45 minutes early because he was mesmerized by the gorgeous girl he had seen on set previously that day. She had the most beautiful and unique look about her from her hair to her skin.

Fionn hadn’t even realized that you had finished his hair because he was so caught up in daydreaming. He was staring the whole time, but you were too busy to notice.

“Alright, you’re done for now but I will be with you, Harry, and Tom throughout the day for touch ups”.

Fionn smirked at you, fiddling with the shirt tail of his uniform.

“You mean I have to share you…can’t just have you all to myself?”

“No unfortunately not. Trust me, you’re the best out of the bunch, would much rather just have you”.

“Ay love, that’s not very nice”.

Harry entered the trailer with only half his uniform on and a goofy but charming smirk.

“Harry what happened to your two shirts and your jacket?”

“Ummm well, the first shirt you see I accidentally got it caught on something when I fell and it tore, and the second, I’m not sure really. Honestly I was just tired of wearing a shirt, took it off somewhere, but I don’t remember where”.

Rolling you’re eyes, you feel like you’re babysitting with the way Harry loses things, and Tim can’t sit still.

“Ok…ok, I’ll go find you some new shirts, but when I get back your butt had better be in that chair and ready for me to cover your tattoos and do your hair”.

“Yes ma’am”.

Harry saluted you as he sat down swiftly. Walking off to the back to retrieve him more clothes, you began to massage your temples, mumbling to yourself,

“God this is going to be a long month”.

But you couldn’t help to think that maybe Fionn would make it just a little more bearable.

“Ay mate I see you came back here to make a move after this morning. Let me guess, love at first sight”.

Fionn was just about done tying his shoes as Harry asked the question. Harry and Fionn were close, they’re always together on set, so of course Harry knows of the gorgeous girl from this morning.

“Shut up Harry she could hear you”.

Harry sat up a bit more in his chair, surprised that Fionn hadn’t made a move yet.

“C’mon mate, you have to do something, can’t just sit around all bloody month just staring. At least make conversation with her, compliment her or something”.

You arrived back in the room with two new shirts for Harry.

“Here, and try to be less clumsy and forgetful please, were running out of your size”.

Harry playfully rolled his eyes at you and kicked Fionn, signaling him to make a move.

“Uh so Y/N, how long have you been doing this?”

You were a bit stunned at the random question, but he asked it so sweetly and with his lovely voice that you didn’t question it.

Harry on the other hand, looked up at Fionn with disgust at his terrible attempt at flirting, laying his head in his hand.

“ This is actually my first movie, but I’ve been doing makeup since I was 13”.

“Me too! I…I mean this is my first movie too, not that I have been doing make up since I was 13… cause I haven't… done makeup, ever actually”.

You could see how flustered he was getting. God he was cute when he was flustered.

This whole conversation pained Harry even more than before, but he could tell you liked Fionn too. You were smiling and being too polite. You were flirting.

“Yea I knew what you meant”.

The two of you laughed while you began pulling out what you needed for Harry.

“Well I guess I better head to set, it was nice meeting you Y/N”.


After Fionn was gone Harry just kept staring at you like he knew something you didn’t.


“Oh nothing, just that you two are going to end up married with children and I get to say that I witnessed your relationship from the beginning”.

Was it that obvious that you liked him? It doesn’t matter because this is a job, and you already promised yourself you would keep this professional.

“Y/N, it’s ok, I know about your stupid professional rule, but I think love is worth breaking rules over”.

You were now working on covering his many tattoos, and also trying to avoid eye contact. Harry was right, but it didn’t help that he was your best friend and knew everything yuh were thinking.

“So what, it’s just a crush, I’ll get over it”.

“S’not just a crush love, he’s got feelings too, and im going to get the two of you together so I can add some more godchildren to my list”.


anonymous asked:

A potential "Little Pirates" series prompt: Emma or Killian gets really really hurt while fighting a villain/monster of the week. Kids react to their parent getting really, really hurt for the first time (ft lots of worried and overly attentive spouse). Thank you! I love the series!

This has been sitting in my inbox for a long time and I apologize for that. Anyway, I tried my best on this one. I hope you enjoy it after waiting for it for so long. Anyway, here’s 5,300+ words of Killian hurt, worried Emma and Harrison freaking out. Plus some Neal and Ruthie Nolan added in.

Killian Jones wakes up to the most annoying and insistent beeping he’s ever heard and the taste of cotton in his mouth. His head is cloudy, like it’s full of candy floss, and there’s a dull ache in his chest that feels like someone is pressing insistently against his side.

He blinks for a moment, eyes adjusting to the harsh lighting as he takes in his surroundings. He knows where he is. He’s in a hospital bed in Storybrooke General. It’s been quite a while since he’s been here and the last time that he was in a hospital bed, his not-yet wife had cuffed him to the rails. Killian grimaces slightly at the memory. It wasn’t one of his prouder moments.

“Oh, thank god, you’re awake.” Emma’s voice sounded like it was miles away for a moment but she’s right there, looking at him anxiously.

She takes his hand in her hands, interlacing their fingers and giving them a squeeze. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days, but she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen

“Hey, Beautiful. This is a trip down memory lane, huh?” he asks in groggy voice.

The corners of Emma’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t laugh or even smile for that matter. Her eyes are wary and she looks like she’s trying to mentally drill a hole into his head.

“Killian Jones, if you weren’t laying in a hospital bed, I would kill you for running off without me. We’re a team remember?” she whispers fiercely.

“Sorry, love. I got ahead of myself. Good thing death doesn’t tend to stick to me, right?” he tries to joke lightly.

“You scared me, Killian. You can’t joke about that. You can’t. Your heart stopped for a whole minute. I almost lost you again. I can’t, I can’t right now, possibly not ever,” Emma replies, voice wavering.

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