we lived happily ever after

“I think we ought to live happily ever after,“ and she thought he meant it. Sophie knew that living happily ever after with Howl would be a good deal more hair-raising than any storybook made it sound, though she was determined to try.

"It should be hair-raising,” added Howl.


“And you’ll exploit me,” Sophie said.

“And then you’ll cut up all my suits to teach me.”

-Diana Wyne Jones, Howl’s Moving Castle


Painted on borrowed time so lots of messy details sorry argh >_<;;

One of my favourite Ghibli movies , and the book made me love it even more! <3 I was always afraid to draw fanart for it, because I kept feeling like I would mess up (and I did lol); well in the end I listened to some advice and just went for it aha. 

Speedpaint here!  


SO THE GIRLS ARE ALL DEAD.
SO THE GIRLS ARE ALL MONSTERS.
OK. FINE. IF THE GIRL WHO LIKES KISSING
GIRLS MUST DIE, THEN FINE. I’LL SHOW YOU
A DEAD GIRL: SHE WILL BE DEAD
AND MERCILESS. GO AHEAD. BURY HER.
THIS TIME SHE WILL RISE. SHE WILL CLAW
HER WAY UP. GRAVE-DIRT UNDER
HER FINGERNAILS. DRIPPING AND DARK-HAIRED
FROM THE WATER. YOU WANTED A DEAD GIRL
AND YOU’RE GOING TO GET A DEAD GIRL.
YOU WANTED A MONSTER
AND YOU’RE GOING TO GET A MONSTER. 
IF THERE MUST BE BLOOD
THEN THERE WILL BE BLOODSHED,
DO YOU HEAR ME? 
IF SHE IS A MONSTER FOR LOVING GIRLS
THEN SHE IS A MONSTER, THIS TIME.
SHE WILL HAUNT THIS HOUSE YOU BUILT.
SHE WILL SHAKE THOSE BONES.
DON’T YOU KNOW YOU LEFT HER HUNGRY?
LISTEN TO ME. IF YOU WANT A HORROR SHOW
THEN I WILL GIVE YOU A HORROR SHOW.
DON’T KILL ANYTHING
YOU AREN’T PREPARED
TO MAKE A GHOST OF.
—  s.s., “bury your gays”
8

[April 2, 1992]
I’ll never forget Selena’s smile when I said that. I could just feel all of the pressure and stress leave her body as she watched me get dressed for the courthouse. I had nothing to wear but a T-shirt and jeans; Selena was wearing a skirt and boots. 

[…] We were in love. We were husband and wife. We were happy. Nobody could come between us anymore. That’s all that mattered.

The best part of the day was walking hand in hand out of the courthouse, our shoulders touching, instead of having to pull apart when we were in public. It all felt so good, even as I wondered what Abraham would do when he heard the news. Selena and I were at peace with our decision, content to know that we had finally, officially started our lives together. We had every intention of living happily ever after. Nobody could stop us from doing that now.

- Chris Perez, To Selena, With Love

I have this feeling that it’s not over. It’s not that I think he’s gonna come running back, and we will live happily ever after. I’m not deluding myself like that, but I know somewhere deep down that we haven’t seen the last of each other. Maybe in a week or ten years down the road, I know we will find each other and smile. We were two scared, young kids in love, and I know that our flame burned one another to the point of indifference, but when we see each other again, I know we will smile at one another. We may never be the same, but I think that’s what made it so special. He was my first love, and that will never change.
—  Excerpt from a book I’ll never write
The TVD finale was perfect, especially the last scene.

When Nina left the show, or even sooner, the story was no longer about a love triangle, it was about these two brothers, Damon and Stefan. They did awful things to each other, and hated each other for years too, but at the end they found peace together. The last scene of TVD could have been Elena and Damon living happily ever after, but we got something better, we got to see the reunion of the two Salvatore brothers in the after life. Damon’s final words to Stefan were his first ones too, so in that moment everything came full circle. At the end of the day it was not about Delena, Stelena or any other romantic ship, it was Defan, and I loved it.

Harry Potter and Accepting Draco Malfoy’s Hand Then Becoming A Slytherin

Harry Potter and Teaching Draco Malfoy Parseltongue That We End Up Being Accused Of Being The Heir

Harry Potter and Getting Together With Draco Malfoy While My Godfather Is Losing His Shit

Harry Potter and Holy Shit Voldemort Is Back and Draco Malfoy’s Dad Hates Me

Harry Potter and We All Want To Kill Umbridge Then She Adores Draco Malfoy Oh and Sirius Lives

Harry Potter and Dumbledore Is A Manipulative Git Also Draco Malfoy and I Fuck

Harry Potter and Oh Shit I Die But Not Before Telling Draco Malfoy I Love Him But Then I Live Again and We Live Happily Ever Fucking After

—  If I Ended Up Writing Harry Potter
ease

length: 1.6k

genre(s): angst+fluff

triggers/warnings: mentions of blood and very minor character injury

simon shows up to the flat with a black eye and a cut lip, refusing to talk about what happened, so a worried penelope asks baz to come over (or the one where simon’s insecure, and baz is terrible at comforting his dragon boyfriend)

a/n: @cherryonsimon is the greatest beta and y’all should go tell her nice things :D

for day three of @snowbaz-feda!!



Penelope

The door to the flat swings open and Simon barrels his way inside. I gasp when I see him: his shirt is torn with flecks of red (Is that blood?) splattered around the neckline; his hair looks dirty and matted, like he’s been rolling around on the ground; and there’s a definite limp in his step. After slamming the door shut, he winces and grabs his wrist, and that’s when I notice his eye.

“Fuck a nine-toed troll, Simon! What happened to you?”

He won’t look at me and the expression on his face is one I haven’t seen in a long time. It frightens me a bit, but it’s still just as important to me that Simon knows I’m not afraid of him, so I take a step forward. He recoils and pushes past me towards his room, slamming the door once inside, making me flinch.

The sound reverberates through the living room before plunging the flat into absolute silence. It’s horrible.

After taking a moment to collect myself, I walk towards his room, hesitating a beat before knocking. “Simon?” No answer. I try again, knocking louder this time, but he still won’t answer. I try turning the knob, but it’s locked. Chewing on my lip, I consider spelling it open, but that would be breaking unspoken roommate rules, so I do the only thing I can think of right now.

I ring Baz.

* * *
Baz

I’m sitting in an evening lecture when my mobile starts to vibrate. It’s on the desk and the noise makes a few of my fellow students turn around and stare. I sneer at them (old habits), and look to see who’s calling.

It’s Bunce.

It’s not that we aren’t close enough to call each other, it’s just that we never do. The fact that she has, and especially during a time she knows I’m at school, makes my blood run cold. I’m so distracted with worry that I forget to move the desk over, and when I go to stand it pins me to the chair. Cursing loudly–and drawing even more curious eyes–I slam the damned piece of wood out of the way, and stalk out of the hall.

I manage to answer on the last ring.

“Baz?” Bunce’s voice sounds strange through the speaker, like she’s trying not to cry, “can you come over? Something’s happened with Simon.”

I drop the phone and it shatters on the pavement.

* * *
Penelope

For the second time tonight, the door to the flat swings open. Only this time it’s Baz who practically falls through, righting himself at the last minute. He looks like he ran the entire distance between school and the flat. The screen of the mobile he’s clutching is shattered, something I don’t remember seeing before. Is that my fault?

“B–” I don’t even get a chance to say his full name when he marches towards me, our difference in height making itself known as he towers over me. (In reality it’s only several inches.) (It feels like miles.)

“Where is he?”

I point to Simon’s room and Baz nods. I wish I could tell him what happened, but I don’t exactly know myself. I just know I can’t fix this alone.

Baz

The smell of blood hit me as soon as I entered the flat and it only gets stronger the closer I get to the bedroom.

Snow’s door is locked, so I cast when one door closes. It works, and the one in front of me opens wide. I can’t see anything at first; Snow’s drawn the curtains shut and even turned out the light in the en suite, drowning the room in darkness. I use my mobile to guide me towards his bed and the red lump that I assume is my boyfriend.

“Snow?” I ask, biting my lip. Perhaps I should use his first name, given the situation, but I try and reserve that for when I really need it, like when we’re being soft. Or when I want him to know I’m afraid. “Snow?” I try again and the lump doesn’t move, but it does yelp when I poke it with the tip of my wand.

“Go away,” I hear him mumble, but I know he doesn’t mean it. (The door spell wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t wanted to let me in.)

I square my shoulders. “No.” I need Snow to tell me what happened and I’ll stand here all night if I have to. This must occur to him, because he lifts his head.  

My breath catches when I see his black eye and bloody lip. I reach out to touch them, pulling my hand back at the last minute.

“What happened to you?”

He shrugs and I want to strangle him.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” I snap.

“I got in a fight on my way home.”

“No shit.”

“There were 3 or 4 guys; I don’t remember. They wanted my wallet, but I’d forgotten it at work and they weren’t very happy about that.”

I try to stop myself from picturing the scene in my head. Snow on the ground, surrounded by these men, being hurt by these men. Snow. Defenseless. I can’t process it.

Although he hasn’t held that title in a long time, Snow will always be the chosen one to me; seeing him so broken and defeated over something like this is overwhelming. He’s supposed to be strong, he’s supposed to be brave, he’s supposed to save the world. He’s supposed to be able to save himself.

This isn’t the first time I’ve seen Simon beaten and bloody, but it’s the worst time. It’s not that his injuries are severe (they really aren’t), it’s just that…

This wasn’t supposed to happen any more. We were supposed to disguise as regular Normals and live our happily ever after; nothing bad was supposed to touch us again.

Then he goes and gets himself mugged. It’s so horribly mundane, so insignificant next to every creature and task he’s taken on, yet this is the thing that breaks him. I’m furious on his behalf. I want to hurt the people who hurt him.

I swallow. “What happened next?”

“I tried–I tried to call–my sword…but–”

“It didn’t come.” I don’t even bother phrasing it as a question. I can’t believe this, “you were going to try fighting off a bunch of thugs with a sword? Are you daft?”

He looks miserable. “I was distracted by that long enough to give them a chance to jump me, and, well…” he rolls his hurt wrist and I catch it between my fingers, pulling my wand from my pocket with my other hand. He grits his teeth as I cast get well soon, listening for the crack that signifies it worked. I bring his now healed wrist to my lips and kiss it, feeling his pulse thumping under my lips.

Snow clenches his hand into a fist and I drop his arm, looking up at his face and hating what I see there. The healing spell had taken care of his eye and lip, but that lip is quivering now, and fat tears are beginning to rolls down his cheeks. He squeezes his eyes shut and starts gulping air, his arms wrapped around his knees and head bowed.

I want to reach out and touch him; make this better, make this go away, make him stop. I want to make him stop. He’s almost sobbing now and I don’t know what to do. I have to stop this.

“Shut up, Simon! Just shut up!”

His head snaps up and he looks at me as if I’ve slapped him. I almost feel like I have.

“What the fuck, Baz?” his breath catches on my name and I feel my heart sink just that much more.

I didn’t mean it. I want to apologize, but the words won’t come; they’re stuck in my throat and I clench my fists as I try to force them out. He’s still staring at me, his face etched in an angry frown, and I give up on speaking.

He watches me warily as I sit down on the bed and I flinch. The scent of blood is stronger now, and I can feel my fangs threatening to pop. I curse the fact that I haven’t fed recently and try to will them to stay put. The last thing I need to do is make the situation worse.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper and he blinks at me. “I’m sorry,” I repeat and his face crumples as he falls forward. I let him bury his face into my chest, let him clutch at my shirt, let his tears soak the fabric. I let him cry until he can’t anymore. His breathing is even and quiet now; and I’m relieved.

Simon

Baz pulls me close, pressing a kiss against my temple: once, twice, three times. I can tell he thinks I’m asleep, because he’s murmuring things he’d never let me hear otherwise. He’s calling me Simon and telling me he loves me and how scared he was and how brave and stupid I am.

He starts scratching lightly at the spot between my wings, the one he knows I love, and I’m melting into the mattress.

He somehow manages to press himself even closer, his breathing tickling my ear as he whispers, “you’re so bloody stupid, you know that? I don’t need a Chosen One; I don’t need a fairy tale; I certainly don’t need some self-sacrificing superhuman with a hero complex. I just want you, Simon Snow.” He stops to kiss my shoulder.

“I just want you.” It’s a reassurance and a promise. And I believe it.

I want you too, I think back at him, I want you too.

Ten years from now I don’t want to tell the story of how I lost the boy of my dreams because I was too afraid to try. No, that’s not my story. This is my story.

I love you. Or at least I like you a lot. I don’t know how it works because I’ve never felt anything this strong before. That might sound crazy but it’s true. You are constantly in my head, like this annoying song stuck on repeat and you try to get it out of there but you can’t. And when we’re together I am insanely happy. And I say insanely because it’s just so much happiness that it almost drives me insane thinking about it. You are goofy and handsome and smart and incredible and so beautiful. Just all of you, in every way, is beautiful.

So maybe my story won’t end with you and me being together. Maybe we won’t ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after. But now I know I’ve tried. My story may not be perfect but at least I know that I wrote it, I didn’t let it write me.
—  Story time.

Anyone: Why are you single 

Me: I just haven’t found anyone yet

Me to Me: No one will ever be as perfect at my bias ever they just haven’t noticed me yet so I’m just waiting for my own little cute korean drama scenario where the most perfect person comes into my life and they love me like Jung Joon Hyeong loves Kim Bok Joo and we live happily ever after where the sunset falls on the horizon and I stare into their eyes forever and ever

They Wanna Make Me Their Queen

( Prompt: princess diaries style “I grew up not knowing I was royal and suddenly my royal grandparent showed up out of nowhere and told me I was so now I guess I’m the heir to the throne and you’re my crush from my pre-royal days but I still have a crush on you” AU ) 

PART 2

A/N: Yeah, okay, I have had this fantasy playing out in my head. Picture it: me, a princess of some small and obscure island, and my long-lost grandmother tells me I’m a princess and I get married to Tom Holland AND WE ALL LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER. Okay, on a serious note - Princess diaries AU anyone? I watched the movie and it was great. 

Taglist: @mainspidey | @x-wing-starwriter | @tomsleftbrow | @tryn25 | @tanglefire | @midnight-memorial


You drop your backpack on the floor inside your front door. It’s the area that your mum not-so-fondly refers to as the ‘shoe graveyard’ where everyone who comes in leaves their coats, shoes, umbrellas, and in this case, a backpack and a soggy cherry-printed umbrella.

(Y/n)? That you?” Your mum calls from the kitchen.

That’s odd. Mum doesn’t usually get home from work until six o’clock. Shaking out your rain damp hair, you head down the shadowy hallway and into the sleek, modern kitchen of steel and chrome. What you see there makes you gasp.

Mum’s gotten out her best china, gold-rimmed and floral, the ones she’d gotten as a wedding gift. She’s sitting and having tea and fancy pastries with the strangest-looking woman you’ve ever seen. She has pale skin, ruby red lips and hair piled up on her head in an elaborate bun. Small and bird-like, with a stern expression on her wrinkled face, she’s sitting ramrod straight, staring and assessing your every move. She’s dressed in a black cashmere cardigan, and flowing jersey pants, her legs crossed delicately at the ankles. On her feet are black Chanel ballet slippers.

“This is her?”

“Yes,” Your mum answers, glancing up at you with a too-big smile. “This is my daughter, (Y/n).”

“Um,” You say intelligently, glancing at mum for help. You want to ask the woman, Who are you? But you think that might come across as being a little rude. “Um?”

“This is your Grandmother,” Your mother says, waving you forwards. “Your father’s mother.”

“I thought he died.”

“He did, but now his mother – your grandmother – wants to see you.”

“What, after years of total radio silence?” You snort, flinging yourself down into an empty chair. You grab a small finger sandwich, making a face when you realise you’ve grabbed a cucumber one. “What does she want from us? Money? My left kidney?”

Lips pursed, voice clipped, the old lady says, “I can assure you, I have no need for such frivolities.”

“Frivolities? Really? Who even says that anymore?”

(M/n), if you do not tell her, I shall,” Your grandmother says sharply, brandishing a butter knife and heaping a large dollop of clotted cream onto a scone. “There is much to be discussed.”

(Y/n), the thing is . . .” Your mum’s tripping over her words, and you tilt your head to the side as you always do, saying nothing but willing her to continue. “You’re a princess, (Y/n).”

And grandmother nods sombrely along to every word, as though she has to give up her left kidney.

As for you? You take the news remarkably well.

You faint dead away, right then and there.


The worst part about this whole ‘princess’ thing, you think grimly to yourself as you stomp down the hallway of Midtown High, is that you’ve been forbidden from telling anyone. Not Ned Leeds, not Michelle Gonzales, and most certainly not even your best friend, Peter Parker. You’ve just become princess of a small island called Serangoon, have a queen for a grandmother, basically have unlimited power and resources at your fingertips, and you’re not allowed to talk about it. Grandmother had explained – rather impatiently, in your opinion – that if you told your friends, the information would spread like wildfire. You could – and would – be compromised, assassinated like a character in Game of Thrones. This was for your safety, she’d assured you.

You don’t even get a makeover like Taylor Swift in her You Belong With Me music video. You’re still the same old (Y/n), with your frizzy hair, less-than-ideal clothes and the acne scars on your face.

What you do get are princess classes – Mondays to Fridays, 3pm to 7pm. History classes, etiquette lessons, and basically whatever your grandmother saw fit to throw at you. You’d seen the disdainful way she’d looked at you. Because of course princesses had to be charming and graceful, with impeccable manners.

You’d tried to tell her that you had homework, a social life, but your pleas for mercy had fallen on deaf ears.

How is it that a freaking princess can be invisible, you think grouchily, slamming your locker with a little more force than is strictly necessary. The metal trembles violently, then stills, and you glower angrily at it.

Stupid locker, stupid grandmother, stupid, stupid, stupid!

“What did that locker ever do to you?” Peter demands laughingly, sidling up to you, a soft, sweet smile on his face.

Instantly, your mind goes fuzzy, a big useless snowstorm. Your mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and you gulp. That crush on Peter hasn’t disappeared at all, has it? It’s almost amazing to consider – you’re a princess, who will likely be married off to a prince/duke/king to provide heirs to both kingdoms ( or maybe this is your Game of Thrones obsession shining through ), but you still feel awkward and small around a boy you’ve known ( and liked ) since middle school.

Of course, the only way he’d ever notice you was if you became as gorgeous and as popular as Liz Allen.

If only you could tell the press …

But no.

“Earth to (Y/n)!” Peter’s laughing now, waving a hand in front of your face, his eyes bright and happy. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Um. Um?” You shake your head to clear away the fog. Your face feels far too warm for your liking. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Movie night? My place or yours? A new episode of Star Wars came out, and you agreed that we’d watch it tonight.”

“Thanks a lot, grandmother,” You mutter, cursing your grandmother out in your mind for scheduling princess classes on a Friday. “I can’t, Peter. Not tonight. I’m sorry.”

Peter’s face falls, and you’re kicking yourself for having to flake out on him and this time honoured tradition. For a moment, you think about just caving and telling him – but the resulting earful you’ll get from your grandmother is not worth it.

“I’ll make it up to you,” You say instead. “Promise.”

You glance anxiously at your watch. 3.12 pm. You’d asked Stanley – your chauffer cum body guard – to pick you up three blocks away from school, outside Hunan Kitchen, a dingy Chinese place, and you can practically picture his stern, youthful face as he waits, the engine of the Rolls Royce idling.

“Okay.” Peter’s smiling a little now, and that’s worth something, at least. “As long as you promise.”

I just finished Howl’s Moving Castle and oh god guys I have so many feelings about this book

I could go on and on about how wise and funny and wonderful it is (and I might, at some point, but I’m sure people infinitely more eloquent than me have already shared their thoughts) but right now I need to talk about Sophie and Howl because HOW I LOVE THEM

Probably my ultimate weakness is those couples that you don’t see coming, the ones that sneak up on you. The problem with couples that are obviously endgame from the first is that (although there are some that are well written) the majority just end up being dull. When you know from the very first scene that two people are going to get together, there’s nothing to root for.  

When it comes to my OTPs, I need to be caught off guard. I need to fall in love with them slowly, even as they fall in love with each other.

And that’s where I think Howl’s Moving Castle shines. I watched the movie before I read the book, so I knew how it ends, but I really do believe that anyone who hadn’t already seen the film could make it through at least half the book without thinking, well, Howl and Sophie are definitely endgame. Their relationship up till then is a thing of beauty in and of itself, even without the factor of romance.

And, oh, god. Don’t even get me started on the snark. I adore snarky couples in any and every permutation. I read them. I watch them. I write them. When I die, bury me in wryly sarcastic OTPs. 

(Note that there is a world of difference between snarky and cruel. I do not need or want couples who are terrible to each other, but OTPs who bat conversation back and forth between them like a ping-pong ball, who keep each other on their toes - ah, they are my catnip and kryptonite. See also: Jeff/Annie, Merlin/Arthur)

Keep reading

10

Howl’s Secret Meadow ハウルの動く城 Dir. Hayao Miyazaki (2004)
I think we ought to live happily ever after,“ and she thought he meant it. Sophie knew that living happily ever after with Howl would be a good deal more hair-raising than any storybook made it sound, though she was determined to try. ”It should be hair-raising,“ added Howl.

― Diana Wynne Jones

Seven minutes ago, Tarquin had asked Nesta to dance. They were on the pleasure barge, drifting just off the coast. It was nighttime, and other than the moon and stars, the only lights were that of the many strings of bobbing faelight illuminating the rails and masts of the ship.

Three minutes ago, Tarquin had told her about a peculiar request letter he’d received last month. One minute ago, a scent that was masculine and earthy and utterly intoxicating hit Nesta so strong she nearly panicked.

Thirty seconds later, Cassian had appeared and asked Nesta to dance.

Keep reading