Cate is incredibly intuitive, highly intelligent, physically free and playful, nothing that like all the actors in the Sidney troupe, Blanchett is classically trained. She has good theatrical sense, and she keeps her feet on the ground. And, of course, she’s just gorgeous. - Hugo Weaving
Because I literally can’t think of anything better or worse than marrying your best friend. Here’s a post-6x17 drabble for my addled heart and mind. I’ve come up with so many analogies for my frazzled organs today I can’t even keep track, but here’s a new one: My heart has been tossed around in one of those bingo wheels for the last 24 hrs. and it’s starting to bruise. Please pick a number. This is dedicated to a lot of people, but honestly, my Julian (@shoedonym), because her words are the best words; and she let me freak out at her for way too long last night.
+ The worst thing about being in love with your best friend is that you will always feel compelled to tell them everything. Even when it’s not really for them to know; even when you’re actually kind of annoyed with them, and you want to tell them about how annoying they are being (and, obviously, you would tell your best friend about that irritating asshole you decided to fall in love with). Of course, the worst thing about being in love with your best friend is also, well, it’s the best, isn’t it? Because they will, without fail, want to hear about it.
So much of it bubbling beneath the surface it takes a moment for the bitterness to start flowing. It begins in his toes, undulating in waves across every crevice before splintering onto the road mapping his legs, cutting up and up until the cold freezes into a glacier, plonking down in his gut.
He needs it to happen a lot faster if he’s going to withstand the impact of your palm striking his cheek.
And there’s no doubt it’ll hurt. You’re frozen in that vast space between a second and a heartbeat, and Mitsunari doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so alive. Blazing. Torn between hell’s fury and the devil’s wrath. Arm jerked high and hand poised, ready to strike.
He’s prepared for it, despite the curdling in his pulse and the ice in his gut.
“Don’t ever say that to me again.” And you tear away from him so fast, like a whip returning to its master, he feels the echo of a slap ringing out anyway. You can’t look at him, and the ice snaps and huffs as you stagger to his bookshelf, pitched forward, fingers etched too tight into the wood for purchase.
It’s all he hears, your breaths furious, rankling in his ears.
“Shut up. Don’t say a word.”
His breath shakes out of him too, once, twice, before you turn to look at him, red and puffy lining poison-black eyes. It’s the only part still savage when your entire face withers. He has but a beat to summon the ice again before you’ve stalked back, hands fisting into his sleeve.
“Listen to me, Lord Mitsunari. You can’t— you can’t say something like that without realising what it does to the people around you. It’s too cruel. We love you… Lord Hideyoshi loves you. I— I love you.” You gasp against the choke, swallowing, and every word has to be dragged out. “If I don’t see you barreling down the hallway with a book in your hand, my day doesn’t feel right.
“You are important and valuable and a part of this family. We would crumble without you. You don’t know how significant you are to all of us.” Your breath hitches, voice too shaky to go on. He wants to howl because he’s hurt you. “I need you to know that if you suddenly disappeared from this earth it would— it would—” Tears gather again though they don’t fall because girls like you don’t cry; strong girls, fierce girls, “—it would break my heart.”
In a broken rush of air you drop the world into his lap.
He doesn’t know what to do because he has ice in his veins.
So much of it bubbling beneath the surface it takes a moment for his heart to cry out a rhythm to the corners of his flesh. It starts in his feet, shooting out and pulsating so furiously it doesn’t see how his toes curl, cutting off the path and sending the ice hurtling head long into its first barrier and smashing little fractures all over. It back tracks in revulsion because the sensation is so foreign, crashing through the chambers of his veins up into his legs. The ascent is a rocky one, and along the way shards crack and hurl about, whittling the cold down before it reaches his gut.
Mitsunari can’t breathe.
His gut swallows the torrent and a glacier starts to form, a feeling so familiar to his bones it takes a moment longer before the cry reaches it and everything starts to spit and hiss and decompress, and his gut, wound so tight already, spits the ice back out because it no longer wants to be the sanctuary of so much fear. The ice weaves back into his veins and spindles out and out and, bypassing the heart altogether, funnels into his arms and down through his fingers, where it thinks it can make a mockery of how coiled his fists shake.
But Mitsunari can’t breathe.
And the ice shrieks against a blaze so thunderous it jerks back through the sensory paths and twists around his neck. Freezing and freezing.
He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe.
His mind steps in, his breath, short and stiff, steps in, his gut steps in, his toes and feet and arms and fingers step in, you step in, straight into his chest and they all clip and chip away at the stranglehold around his neck. The ice screams and chokes, spittles furiously, and it won’t let go because he is ice, he is nothing without the ice, he needs this ice.
It’s too much. He can’t breathe. It’s all too much.
Suddenly everything bursts.
He can breathe.
Because he feels it, so soft and sweet, against his chest and it makes him want to crumple to the ground and cry because your lips flutter through the fabric to his heart, hushing and cooing the storm.
It starts in his toes then.
Seeping out in lazy flicks, burning and lighting the path and sizzling the blood in his veins. It caresses every nook and cranny, each dip in his muscles, until the aching pool of warmth settles into his gut, and he feels the holding and whispering tendrils of heat fanning out and out. It’s fire. Hot and bright, gentle and misunderstood. And it’s you as well, breathing a fever through his heart, melting the winter and roasting the shards, making it blaze forever and ever until his whole body thaws into you.
A/N: Based off of an imagine by @my-fandom-imagine
As Ron flipped open the tapestry of the Fat Lady and Harry followed with Hermione and they climbed in. They were feeling stuffed after the “welcome back from the holidays” feast, but Hermione wouldn’t let them go to bed quite yet- there were important matters to deal with.
She lead them into the corner around a small wooden table with plush armchairs and she burst. “Harry! What do you mean you think that she might be your cousin?! Do you think she knows? Has Sirius met her? Who are her parents? Are you even correct about this?” All of this came out in a rush, making it hard to keep up.
Ron hit his head back on the back of the soft headrest and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hissed, “I am tired and so close to leaving because I honestly don’t have the patience to care.”
“RON!” Hermione cuffed him in the back of the head.
Harry began, “Well, (Y/N) Black is on the Black family tree, and is completely identical to (Y/N) Zabini. So I am guessing they are the same person. (Y/N) Black is Regulus’ daughter, but he is dead, killed by Voldemort. Regulus was a Death Eater you know.”
Hermione’s face lit up in realization, “She lives alone from what I heard- after her mom died. It makes sense because she didn’t know her father. Her mother probably didn’t tell her about her father because she didn’t want her knowing about her father doing that, because she didn’t want (Y/N) turning too. Her mother was a Zabini, I am fairly certain.”
Harry and Ron exchanged looks, Ron’s eyebrows disappearing into his red hair. Hermione clapped her hands together once, got up, and left after like it was no big deal. Ron eyes darted back and forth in between his two friends.
“Bloody h*ll, Harry. I guess you have a cousin now.”
Harry and Ron got up out of their chairs and headed upstairs to their fifth year room.
Two weeks later, Harry swiftly strolled down the stairs and into the Great Hall. Hermione was pouring some orange juice into a goblet and Ron waved Harry over. Ginny grinned cheerily at him as he sat down across from her. Harry looked over at the Ravenclaws, a daily habit, seeing (Y/N) with a book propped up against a flask in front of her.
Hermione said, “We have Charms with the Hufflepuffs this morning.” She had their timetables memorized since the first week so the rest of the trio never bothered to even check what classes they had anymore. Harry slathered some marmalade on his toast and ate quickly before swinging his bag over his shoulder before heading out with his friends.
As they walked out of Potions later after Charms, Harry, Ron and Hermione went through the corridors of the dungeons.
Hermione spoke up, “we have a break for a while now. I am heading back to our dormitories to drop off my things. Ron,” she turned toward him, “I know you are going to forget your things- you are coming with me!” She took him by the ear and lead him upstairs with a, “See you soon, Harry!”
So, Harry walked up several flights stairs and went through the third floor hallway.
On the window sil, there was a book lying there. He turned to it and opened it to find patterns and designs weaved with ink on the first page. He sat in the sil and began to flip through it.
He found pieces of loose parchment paper with ideas, and doodles with rough copies of notes.
As he went through it became more colourful. Graceful drawings of ravens and wolves together, which he read in a Muggle book in school, were two species that seemed to get along quite well. The patterns weaved around quotes and he found a page with ripped pieces of different parchment. They were little as two words to a few whole lines of a sentence. They all made up into a graceful poem. Harry flipped the page to find the same poem rewritten in calligraphy, he could just imagine the quill gracefully gliding across the page. So much detail and weaving was brought to the page with watercolours fading towards the top.
He fingered through the book, his fingers catching on the delicate, yet rough pages. At the last page, there was a picture of a raven with silver details, taking flight beside the name, (Y/N) (Y/M/N) Zabini. Harry was astounded at the arts in the book, he knew that the Ravenclaws were talented at art, but never knew that they could create this much beauty! He went off to find (Y/N) to give it back, she must be worried about losing her artwork.
He looked around and headed to the stairs. As he ran up them, he saw a figure a few flights up. The (Y/H/C) locks of hair bounced with each step she took, skipping every second step on the staircase.
Harry picked up his pace and quickly met up with her on the stairs.
(Y/N) quickly turned around and scowled. Tristan has all day- well the past two weeks- has been telling her when Harry Potter (apparently the “Chosen One”) has been staring at her. She was really p*ssed at how he was always looking her way. It annoyed her at how she could no longer go unnoticed and make mistakes like tripping clumsily over her own feet.
“What do you want Potter?” (Y/N) flipped her ponytail around as she turned toward him.
Harry frowned slightly at her behavior, but didn’t question it. She was known for being salty towards people that she didn’t talk to.
(Y/N) raised her eyebrow and looked at his clothes. His robes had a few wrinkles in it, and his tie was not properly tied, with twists in the loops. She then noticed the leather bound book in his hands and smiled.
Harry put out the book to hand it to her, and said, “I found this and thought that you might want it.”
(Y/N) grinned and sighed as she shook her head. “No, Harry, you can keep it.”
Harry frowned and asked, “what do you mean?”
She smiled and replied, “Well it all started last year, when I misplaced my ‘A History of Magic’ book. I was really angry and frustrated because I absolutely hate losing things. A while later, someone came up to me and handed me my book. They found it but just happened to not have one, which they needed for a project so they borrowed it until the owl could deliver the copy they ordered.
“Well while they were using mine, they found the doodles I put across the pages my quotes and scribbly doodles, because I have a bad habit to and write all over my parchment paper and books. He said he found them pretty inspirational and cute.” (Y/N) tucked a stray hair behind her ear and leaned against the railing.
“So I can keep it?” (Y/N) nodded her head.
“Yeah that is the black book I used for my thoughts and notes this year in November. I went around the school stashing them in places around the Christmas holidays.”
Harry looked down, suddenly remembering what he promised Hermione. He cleared his throat and said, “I have been meaning to tell you something…”
(Y/N) closed her eyes and thought, oh no, my friends have been teasing me about this and how he keeps on staring at me… okay… (Y/N). If he asks you out just decline. Simply tell him the truth, that you don’t see him that way.
Harry looked at (Y/N) and said, “I discovered that you are my cousin, during the holidays.”
P.O.V. - Reader
I froze. I couldn’t move. It was impossible that “The Boy Who Lived” is my cousin! His family is all “Go Gryffindor!” And my family is all “Go Slytherin!” Yeah I don’t know who my father is- but how could he know?!
Harry shakes his head and ran a hand through his hair and said, “my Godfather is your uncle. I just learned who your father is.”
All I could do is shake my head- denying it- and run up the stairs. Harry began to follow so I went up the stairs by threes, sprinting up the stairs. I soon out took the fast Seeker, and ran up to the Ravenclaw dormitory tower.
I ran up to the door and the cool clear voice asked me, “Tool of thief, toy of queen. Always used to be unseen. Sign of joy, sign of sorrow. Giving all likeness borrowed. What am I?“
I breathlessly answered, “A… uhm… a…”
I took a few deep breaths, and thought of the riddle books I read in my free time to train my mind. “A mask.”
The door swung open and I darted inside. The common room had a few small handfuls of students across it so I went by the fireplace and collapsed on the midnight blue love seat.
I bunched my knees into my chest and I began to remember the scene. I began to hyperventilate again trying to take breaths- only able to gasp and wheeze. My eyes filled with tears. I don’t know who my father is- and I don’t want to know. All I know is that my mother loved him- and he left one night a few months before I was due, and he didn’t come back. It hurt her so much that she was strong purely for me, but later let the pain consume her. She was so ill she died, leaving me alone. It was all my father’s fault.
Dumbledore asked me about it, and I told him I was fine and could take care of myself during the two long summer months. I didn’t want him to see through me. I don’t want people to know I am weak.
I was getting a few strange looks around the common room. I wiped my tears as my minimal amount of makeup washed off, that hid my lack of sleep. A couple minutes later, the head of the Ravenclaw house, Professor Flitwick, bustled in. He stopped bouncing merrily when he saw me, his smile fell and replaced with a shocked look. He turned to a concerned looking group in the corner and went over to them. They murmured a few words to him and he rushed over.
My gasping breaths burned my throat, students unsure of what to do. Professor Flitwick came in front of me, his face blurred by the tears in my eyes. He calmly asked, “(Y/N), what happened?”
I tried to reply, but only wheezing came out. He whipped out his wand and mumbled a few words before the darkness enclosed around me.
he is falling for a girl who is off limits
(god, she is so, so off limits) —
she is the dainty princess
that should never have to soil her hands
with the matters of a filthy commoner like him.
he is falling for a girl who uses her brain as a weapon
as opposed to him,
who is all too ready to stain his already
crimson hands with more blood —
is it bad that he loves her
even more so for it?
he is falling for a girl who lives in another country
and he met her in his head —
he sounds mental,
but this girl is in love with him too,
which makes him
crazy enough to believe that this
Maybe “I gave you my everything… and you don’t even care” w/ Pre-death Kyle Spencer where he & the reader have been dating for awhile & he brings her to another frat party on his birthday but he gets a little too drunk this time & the reader sees him making out with someone else & gets upset w/ him bc like when they first started dating, she was really shy but he brought her out of her shell & taught her that she could trust him & then he ruined it just then and yeah, lots of angst please? Thx
“I gave you my everything… and you don’t even care.” Y/N sobbed, tears screaming down her flushed cheeks.
Y/N had been dragged to a frat party by Kyle Spencer - her boyfriend since sophomore year of high school - and she wanted to be anywhere but there. Kyle had disappeared with a bunch of his fraternity friends to do beer pong and Y/N was left alone - this wasn’t her idea of fun and she wanted to leave, yet she’d only been there a matter of minutes. However since it had been a hot minute since Kyle had been to a party and not with Y/N, she didn’t mind so much.
She weaved through the crowds, the over-powering stench of booze, drugs and sweat invading her senses. She finally got to the kitchen where it was almost empty apart from the odd couple making out and the small huddle of people doing shots. Y/N opened the back door and stumbled out, closing it behind her. She inhaled the fresh air, walking towards the brightly lit pool. She took a seat on the ledge, cross-legged and dragged her fingers through the water, eyes up on the sky, watching as the stars twinkled.
Y/N felt a presence next to her and looked to her left, smiling friendly at the boy beside her.
“I’m sorry, just needed some fresh air.” He grinned adorably, but his smile was nothing compared to Kyle’s.
Y/N nodded, before looking back up at the sky.
“What are you doing out here?” He queried, scooting uncomfortably closer to Y/N.
She could smell the alcohol off his breath, it was almost radiating off of him.
“The same as you, needed some fresh air. I guess I’m not used to the whole… party scene.” Y/N explained, looking at the boy.
His eyes were a dark grey colour and his dark brown hair was pushed up in a quiff. His nose was slightly crooked and his lips were thin and bitten.
“Did your friends drag you here or something?” He asked, stuffing his hand into his pocket and pulling out a cigarette. He offered it to Y/N, but she shook her head.
“No, my boyfriend did, but he’s disappeared somewhere.”
The boy hummed a response, placing the cigarette between his lips before digging in his pocket once more for a lighter. He lit the cigarette and inhaled, taking the cigarette from his lips and holding it between his index and middle finger.
“Well I’m Jackson, and you are?” Jackson introduced, exhaling the white smoke.
“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Jackson.”
“Mhm, you too.” Jackson took another drag of the cigarette.
Y/N leaned back on her elbows, uncrossing her legs and stretching them. Jackson glanced over his shoulder as a wave of students came outside. He huffed, taking another long drag.
“Can’t get away from this party, can I?” Jackson chuckled, returning his attention to Y/N. “I’m not really the party type either, my friend said it’d be good to interact with people instead of staying in my dorm.”
Y/N was about to reply when she heard a familiar voice amongst the crowd who had just came out into the garden. She frowned, glancing at every person in the crowd until her eyes landed on Kyle, who was covering his eyes and talking to some girl with straight hair and a beautiful figure. Y/N wasn’t the jealous type, not in away way, but she couldn’t get rid of the feeling that the girl was someone who could ruin their relationship.
Y/N frowned, looking down at her feet.
“Is that your boyfriend?” Jackson inquired, “sorry, I saw the way you were looking at him, so I assumed.”
“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend. I somewhat regret coming, you know, because he hasn’t said two words to me since we got here and seems to be having fun without me.”
Jackson nodded, handing her the cigarette. She frowned and shook her head.
“It’ll help relax you, I promise.” Jackson smiled, a friendly smile.
Y/N cautiously brought the cigarette up to her lips and took a small drag, pulling the cigarette away from her lips she exhaled, the white smoke leaving her. It wasn’t as bad as she had anticipated. She handed it back to Jackson and closed her eyes, feeling slightly at ease.
“Better?” Jackson laughed, soaking in her relaxed appearance.
Y/N hummed, laying down completely. Jackson laid down next to her, staring up at the sky. The noise of the crowd around them seemed to fade out, just a small buzz. Y/N allowed her eyes to flutter shut completely.
She was disturbed from her peaceful state when someone jumped into the pool, water flying out and hitting her, soaking her legs. She stumbled up, as did Jackson, but his eyes weren’t on the pool anymore, but in the crowd. His eyes wide, lip clamped under his teeth.
Y/N brushed most of the water off her legs before following his eyes, wishing she hadn’t almost immediately after. There was Kyle and the girl, full on making out, his hand on her ass and her hands tangled in his blonde hair.
“Oh.” Y/N rasped, feeling her heart sink into her chest before shattering into millions of pieces. She couldn’t fight the tears forming in her eyes and Jackson was quick to notice, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest. She let out a small sob.
“What happened?” An unfamiliar voice said behind Y/N.
“Kyle happened.” Jackson growled, stroking his hand up and down Y/N’s back to attempt and soothe her sobs.
“Kyle? As in Kyle Spencer?”
Just hearing his name made her cry even more. People were starting to huddle around the crying girl, eager to find out what had happened.
Kyle detached from Zoe, smiling lazily at her. His daze was cut short when he noticed the crowd had moved else where, the pair were too caught up in the kiss to notice. Kyle glanced around, finding the crowd instantly.
“We should probably join the crowd.” Kyle drawled, but Zoe shook her head, insisting she had to look for someone.
Kyle was about to offer to help when he saw Y/N being dragged out of the crowd by one of Kyle’s fellow fraternity member. Y/N was clinging to him for dear life and her eyes were red and blood shot. The buzz of the alcohol inside Kyle died down as soon as he saw her. He sobered up instantly. He inwardly cursed at himself for being so stupid before darting after her.
He finally caught up with her when she was outside the property, head pressed against her car window.
“I think I’m going to be sick, Jackson…” She murmured, eyes squeezed shut. Another wave of sobs crashed over her and her back shook.
Kyle’s heart squeezed as he staggered towards her.
“Y/N, baby, I’m sorry…” Kyle rasped, getting in arms reach of her until Jackson shoved him back.
“Jackson, can you give us a moment?” Y/N asked, finally looking up.
Jackson complied reluctantly before going back into the party. Kyle raced towards her, grabbing her in a hug and holding her close, but just being close to him made Y/N want the ground to swallow her whole. She didn’t want him touching her, but at the same time she needed to feel him so she knew that this wasn’t just a terrible dream.
“I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to hurt you. It was a drunken mistake.” Kyle rambled.
Y/N was quick to cut him off, “I gave you my everything… and you don’t even care.” Y/N sobbed, tears screaming down her flushed cheeks. “You made me the person I am today, i trusted you not to hurt me, to love me and be there for me. But then you shoved your tongue down her throat, a drunken mistake…” Y/N laughed, shaking her head at her foolishness. “You wouldn’t have kissed her unless you really wanted to. Have you ever kissed anyone at these parties and never told me? Did you do more with her in the past?”
Kyle shook his head, his own tears cascading down his cheeks. Y/N pulled away, pressing her back against the cold metal of her car.
“Never, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I ruined this, but give me another chance.” Kyle pleaded, prepared to get on his hands on knees to grovel for her forgiveness.
“No, Kyle, I can’t. You’ve hurt me, the way you promised you wouldn’t when we first started dating. Kyle, I think you should stay at the party, but I’m going home. We can talk about this another time.” Y/N whispered, throat sore and eyes red. “All I ever did was love you with all my heart, Kyle.”
“As did I. I love you, I always will, Y/N. I’m sorry.”
Y/N just nodded and got into her car, wiping her eyes before driving away.
Commissioned by @unashamed-shipper! Here’s a soulmate!AU for you Audrey! With permission, I think I might actually want to continue this! As a longer one-shot or a mini-series! Free of charge, of course! (it was hard to stay within the word count and this seemed like a good cut off lol)
Natsu thinks that buying flowers would be a whole lot
simpler if he could actually see what
he’s buying. Sure, the flower looks nice, but he has no idea what color it is.
Not that knowing would matter much. He can’t see color, after all—no one can,
not until they meet their quote unquote soulmate. Natsu thinks that’s just a
load of crap that his parents made up to make him feel better about being
colorblind. He wishes they would just tell him the truth about it, instead of
lying to make him feel better. Sure, having someone be his other half—his
better half—sounds wonderful and thrilling, but it’s all just a big lie. He can
handle seeing in shades of gray for the rest of his life. What he can’t handle
is holding out hope for someone that doesn’t exist.
Huffing to himself, Natsu releases the flower he’s been
looking at—some sort of rose, he thinks—and runs a frustrated hand through his
hair. He doesn’t know why he makes this so hard for himself—why he spends so
much time weaving the isles of Nova, the little flower shop only a few blocks
down from his apartment. He always ends up buying the same flowers for his mother
anyway. Hours and hours of walking through this shop and he always buys the
same damn thing.
If he could see in color, this shop would probably be rather
cozy. There’s greenery everywhere: vines hanging from hooks on the walls, row
and rows of bright flowers, a galaxy painted on the ceiling in great swirls and
littered with stars. If only he could appreciate all of it. Instead, this shop
is dark. The shades of gray are too much and the smells hurt his nose.
Today is different though. He walked into the shop expecting
to see Sorano or Yukino sitting up at the front—maybe even Loke, on a good day—but
the first thing he saw upon entering the shop was someone new. A small, pretty thing
with a smile that lit up the room when she saw him. For a moment, he lost his
breath, unable to even think as her eyes met his and her lips curved up at the
edges beautifully. Something bright had flickered across his vision for just a
second and he stumbled, careening into a shelf of flower pots and nearly knocking
them to the ground.
By the time he looked up again she was back to watering a
small lemon tree sitting on the front counter.
Heading over to a row of large flowers, Natsu looks for the
familiar shade of gray that he always gets. It’s a decently light color,
probably something yellow or pink. His mother never seems to complain about
them, so he thinks he’s been doing a pretty good job. After four years, he’d
like to think his mother would tell him if she didn’t like the flowers.
Though, maybe that’s her trying to spare his feeling—just
like his colorblindness.
Natsu sighs and grabs the pretty flowers, cradling them
gently in his palm. Casting a quick glance towards the girl at the register,
his grip tightens on the stems unconsciously, his palms suddenly feeling clammy
with sweat. As if she can feel his gaze, the girl’s head snaps up, her eyes immediately
locking with his, her lips twitching.
There’s another flash in his vision, this time accompanied
by a shock of pain in the base of his skull. Natsu rips his gaze away from
hers, eyes squeezing shut tightly as he grits his teeth, hissing through them.
The girl gasps in time with him, but he can’t bring himself to look at her and
find out why. He’s not sure what’s happening to him. Nothing like this has ever
happened before—not even once in his twenty-two years of life.
It shouldn’t physically hurt
to look at someone.
The pain is gone just as suddenly as it was there, almost as
if it never happened.
Natsu releases a shaky breath, the sound oddly loud in the
silent shop. Swallowing thickly, Natsu steels his nerves and shakes away his
confusion. He can worry about it later. A moment later, he finds himself
standing in front of the register, a dirt speckled counter the only thing separating
him from her.
She doesn’t look at him as steps up to the counter, her gaze
focused on the flowers in his hand, and something tugs at his gut
uncomfortably, his throat tightening with some emotion he doesn’t understand.
“Peonies,” she says suddenly, glancing up at him. Her eyes
lock with Natsu’s shocked ones and suddenly his heart rate skyrockets, the
muscle trying to tear straight from his chest. He holds her gaze, the back of
his head beginning to throb with pain unexpectedly. This time he doesn’t look
away. The girl winces, but holds his gaze with hers, her eyes suddenly brighter
than they were before.
The pain travels to his temple, but he ignores it. “What?”
he murmurs back after several long seconds, his tongue feeling heavy in his
Her lips quirk up into a smile that drags the breath from
his lungs. “Peonies,” she repeats, nodding to the flowers in his hand. He doesn’t
look away and neither does she. “They mean good fortune and a happy marriage,”
she explains to him. He can barely hear her over the blood rushing through his
ears, his heart beginning to beat out of control.
The pain behind his eyes is burning him and he can feel
tears beginning to gather in the corner of his eyes. He bites his tongue
harshly, attempting to ignore the intense feeling. Her eyes are glossy as well,
but doesn’t have the faintest idea why.
“It’s my parent’s anniversary,” he blurts, sucking in a
ragged breath as the pain doubles it’s efforts, nearly driving him over the
She exhales a shaky little breath as she reaches out for the
flowers to wrap them. “Well, I’m sure they’ll love this.” Her fingers brush
against his, barely ghosting over his skin and there’s a sharp sting behind his
eyes—almost like a shock. He grits his teeth to keep from crying out, his eyes
slamming shut as the sting tears through his almost violently. She gasps, a
strangled sound leaving her throat, and Natsu forces his eyes to open—to make
sure she’s okay.
I want to break down what Percy said about Vex because there’s an important thing that I missed the first time.
“ She is mistress of the grey hunt of Whitestone. Baroness of the FIRST house of Whitestone. She is my heart and my judgment and the future I have chosen. And she is… the one that I have betrothed to. ”
No longer is she the baroness of the THIRD house but now the first house because that is Percy’s house and they’re betrothed.
Her new title is/will be: Lady Vex’ahlia (soon to be De Rolo) the Baroness of the First house of Whitestone, Grand Mistress of the Grey Hunt, Champion of the Dawn Father.
Her title is so damn long and I’m so proud of her.
*Black woman wears natural hair*
Black men: “Black girls are so bald headed. Their hair is so nappy and unmanageable. That’s why I stick to white/Latina/Asian women.”
*Black woman wears weave*
Black men: “Why do black girls wear so much weave? Why don’t they just be humble and embrace their roots. That’s why I stick to white/Latina/Asian girls. They don’t need weave.”
they’re AMAZING. seriously. some of the best written fantasy i’ve read. the story just grabs you and pull you in. i love her writing so much. she weaves her story through historical events with real people and actual scientific theories; sometimes you’re convinced something fictional is real and real events don’t seem possible.
if you like fantasy, or if you’re just looking for a new literary adventure, grab these book.
The All Souls Trilogy follows the story of Diana Bishop, a historian and reluctant witch, as she solves the mystery of Ashmole 782, falls in love with a mysterious vampire named Matthew Clairmont, and learns how powerful it can be to accept who you are.
ok so i pretty much love everything you write, but I especially love the little details!? like having the original number of eggs be something the mers keep private? genius! I love how much thought you put into your worlds and how casually you are able to integrate them! gah it makes me so happy to read your stuff <3
Omg Anon thank you so much!! Weaving in little details that I’ve come up with but haven’t explicitly stated before is one of my favorite things to do, tbh. It lets me use things that I randomly come up with, but haven’t found an opportunity to mention yet. And I’m tickled pink that you’ve caught that I do that.
There’s a girl sitting up in your bed. Her hair is too long from the winters she stayed inside, her tongue the taste of corner store cigarettes, and the smell of her smooth honey shampoo will linger after she’s gone; stick to your comforter and you’ll fall asleep believing she’s beside you.
There’s a girl sitting up in your bed. She tells you she loves you so much it weaves her nerves like a ball of yarn, leaves her in stomachaches too strong to sleep through. Out your window, she watches the night crawl out from under the horizon and says that leaving you might be her biggest mistake, but her body’s become sore from carrying her heart’s weight. She says you have left her more bruised that street market peaches, and she can’t believe she’s thrown her time away like rocks across the water.
There is a girl sitting up in your bed. You have been two months too scared to touch her, but can’t help but think about the way she slips under your covers like a question you haven’t been brave enough to ask. You’ve slept by each other’s side like an accident; the way fresh water rivers and the salt of the ocean draw lines where they meet. But never have you dared to taste her, open your mouth and spill every second you’ve wondered about her, every little thing she does or doesn’t mean to you. She’s held out her hands some days, not to present you with all her broken pieces, but with empty, open palms, so patient to take in all that you are.
There is a shape of her still left when you tear all the sheets off to analyze the crime scene, still trying to identify what went wrong. The evidence is hard to see with red hands, harder to calculate when she’s gone, but there’s a spotlight in your stomach, a guilt too hot to shake.
The only thing that’s farther from our grasps than the moon, is reaching for something–someone
who’s already gone.