one of the biggest problems of society nowadays is that i am so so sleepy 

Paradise Lost, 1873, by Gustave Doré

BE WITH ME

Brain empty…. pussy thinking though.

oftentimes when you look back on media you enjoyed as a child it's like hello why did they let a 14 year old fight a dragon? but star wars holds up. luke is 19. his reaction to losing his whole family is to say "alright, let's do this. I'm gonna learn to meditate and hire a sexy drug dealer and his friend who's a furry to be my uber across the galaxy so I can blow up a fascist government" that's something only a 19 y/o would do

Illustration from ‘Book of Death’ series, Kay Nielsen, 1911

Azriel honestly just stood there throughout the entire first half of ACOSF going “I shall offer to chaperone, I shall let them fuck like bunnies, I shall cockblock at certain times so they’re desperate for each other, and then let them go on sprees for days. This is how I win the Snowball War.”

Rhys, seeing all this in his mind::

Friendly Reminder

Sam Cortland was tortured, whipped, beaten, his eyes gouged out etc but he was okay with it because he thought Celaena would be safe.

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius is currently being tortured, whipped, beaten, cut up etc but she’s okay with it because it means Rowan is safe

I HATE EVERYTHING

NO

how can ppl say cats dont have feelings like. 

when my cat got deadly sick she refused to eat a single thing and it had been days but when i started crying she ate just a little bit, and upon seeing how happy it made me, kept doing it whenever she could.

now whenever im sad or crying she finds wherever i am with a mouthful of food and eats the pieces one by one, every time looking up at me making sure i was watching her eat it all because she knew it made me happy. and it DOES make me happy

i love cats!!! 

im so glad my little Foofy has touched everyone’s hearts… she luvs you all

AWWW MY HEART

Remembering those who lost their lives during the Marjory Stoneman Douglas school shooting.

These are the victims of the MSD school shooting. Take a few minutes out of your day to read about them. They deserve to be remembered. 

Alyssa Alhadeff: 

Scott Beigel: 

Jaime Guttenberg:

Martin Duque: 

Nicholas Dworet:

Aaron Feis:

Chris Hixon:

Luke Hoyer:

Cara Loughran: 

Gina Montalto:

Joaquin Oliver:

Alex Schachter:

Carmen Schentrup:

Alaina Petty:

Meadow Pollack:

I teared up as I went through this…

May they rest in peace

Honestly, take the time to read about these individuals. Remember them. Remember the opportunities that were ripped away from them. Remember the smiles and light they eluded but the terror they endured in their last moments of life. Remember every single thing you read about them and make it a point to fight for a world where this doesn’t become the new normal. 

Jaime Guttenburg was 14 years old. Just wanted to make the proper correction.

It makes me so fucking angry that our government is so money greedy and heartless that making the world safer and saving goddamn children doesn’t mean as much as the money they get from the NRA.

Fuck our American government.

i saw their marching band at competitions last year. having such a horrible thing happen so close to home makes it feel unbelievably real. my heart goes out to everyone affected by this atrocity.

Three Blessed Sisters: Part Two

Cassian was frozen, so still he might shatter. His grip was so hard on the bread basket Nesta was surprised nothing broke.

A part of her was pleased to have surprised him. Had never before seen him freeze, not in life or in battle. But a bigger part, a growing part as the silence stretched on and on, was horrified. Cassian was going to reject her. The choices made in life and death situations didn’t always hold in the light of day. Hadn’t his months of silence proved that? Her mate didn’t want her, and she was going to have to become a damn shark hunter to live it down. Maybe once she wore out her welcome in Summer, Rhysand would take pity of her and find a permanent diplomatic post elsewhere. Nesta would rather go into exile than see her families faces when they learned of this rejection.

He just kept staring.

Cassian set down the basket. This time she let him, the sick horror rising to a fever pitch inside of her. Of course she’d ruined this. She’d called him a bastard. Had seen where words would hurt the most and used them, because his knowing gaze had touched her, scared her like nothing else in the world. Cassian had seen her, all of her, from the very start.

Slowly, gently, as though approaching a wild animal, Cassian raised his hands to cup her face.

Callouses scraped at her skin as he traced her cheekbones with his thumbs. For a split second, Nesta was a lifetime away. Cassian’s hands were still on her face, but slick with his own blood now. Smoke and battle and ruin surrounded them, but just like now, from the moment he touched her nothing else in the world had existed. Had mattered. While she had been far away, he had been staring. Nesta couldn’t imagine what Cassian saw in her eyes, didn’t want to.

“Tell me you mean it, Nesta.” His voice was rough, but Cassians gaze never left hers.

She wanted to hit him at the implication. Wanted to pound her fists on his chest and rage that she would never allow him so close falsely. That he could think that of her. But his eyes were so serious, that golden amber so very heartbroken.

Nesta plucked up a single roll and held it up between their bodies. Offering what she couldn’t say properly. But still, he didn’t take it. The moment spooled out, fragile and crystalline. When the faintest tremble raced through the hands on her face, Nesta found her fury. She couldn’t say it, but she could- slowly, like stumbling through the dark she spiraled down. Not into her power, but out along that fiery chain that lived inside her. Pulling and grasping, throwing herself against it’s confining spaces until it was open wide, until it did what she wanted.

Nesta felt more than saw Cassian jolt back. Slam into the counter hard enough to break things on the shelves. She held herself resolute, looking down upon him as steadily as she could. Down, because he’d slammed back and kept sliding, those great wings flaring out, until he was crumbled to the floor.

The feeling that cleaved through Nesta at that hurt more than the cauldrons dark, touched her deeper than the loss of her human life. Cassian was afraid.

Love, she thought. Love, she thought hard as she tried to spear it along the incomplete bond. With a gentleness she didn’t know she sank down, grasping his forearms, love, she thought, trying to pull him all the way into the fiery heart of her.

“How?” he choked out. Cassian’s face looked like heartbreak. “I failed you.” He snarled it. “I made you a promise, and failed you when it mattered. I felt you die, Nesta. I felt the water in your lungs, and the pain screaming through you, I felt when your heart stopped.”

A tear raced down his face to snag over full lips. Nesta wanted to kiss it away, to give him every piece of comfort imaginable to make him understand. “I came back,” she said, very quietly.

He twisted to grasp her hands, shaking his head. “To a life you didn’t want, in a body that wasn’t yours. I couldn’t take another choice from you. You didn’t deserve’-

“You do not get to choose what I deserve, Cassian.”

She could have sworn her sharp tone almost made him smile. “No, I don’t. I just keep failing you,” Cassian saw her mouth open and raced ahead, like he was confessing. As though this were the only chance he’d get to tell her the truth. “I was raised for that battlefield, Nesta. It’s what I am, not matter how far I go, how much I love my brothers. I’m a bastard in dirt. My worth is my wings and arm and strength, and I couldn’t save you. Couldn’t save the one, most precious gift in my life. Centuries of fighting, and you were going to go down with me.”

Even as the bitterness is his tone cut, Nestas mind was racing. Precious. Not even her sisters, no one, she thought, had ever looked at Nesta and seen value quite like that. She’d never thought anyone could, with her fearful walls so high.

Nesta was crying, but before the tears could make her rage Cassian had gathered her to his chest, with that same terrible gentleness. It made her rejoice. His chest, whole. His heart under her ear, and his body warm and alive and close. Cassian. How had she resisted touching him these long months?

He must have felt some of it, something, because when he started again Cassians voice was thick. “In the camps, they say bastards don’t have mates. That there’s never been one.” That finally, had her snapping.

“Someday,” Nesta growled, pushing back from his chest to meet his dark gaze. “You are going to tell me the name of every single one of those camp lords, and I am going to kill them.”

Cassian huffed a startled laugh, but his eyes were still so sad.

“You stupid prick,” she continued. “If you’d had any idea that Hybern were in the human lands would you have left me in that house? Left Elain or anyone else?”

“No,” Cassian said, firmly. “I would have carried you all the way to Velaris, even if you screamed at me the whole way.”

Nesta gripped his leathers too tightly, the immortal strength she usually controlled so easily hurting her. “You would have done anything to keep me safe. You didn’t fail.” She was burning, a plains wildfire ready sweep all the way to the horizon. “Why even listen to those fucking piece of shit lords? You’re better than them. Not because you could kill them easily, because you’re a better person. A better male.”

Cassian opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “No! I didn’t need you to save me, I needed you alive. If that’s so cauldron damned shameful to you, you’re not the male I know.”

Cassian kissed her.

It was every strung out moment of tension she’d felt since the very first day she’d met his gaze. His lips were soft, so soft, but urgent on hers. Nesta found herself burying her hands in his hair, pulling him closer to her. Oh, this was the fire. She couldn’t get him close enough, couldn’t breath deeply enough to catch enough of his scent. Cassian.

Nesta, he was saying. Nesta, Nesta, Nesta. He groaned it, said it, the bond and his voice both.

They kissed until her lungs were burning. Even then, Cassian only stopped to drag her more firmly on top of him, to bury his face in the crook of her neck.

They were silent for a long time. Nesta didn’t trust her racing heart to measure the time as Cassian breathed her in. She was vividly aware of his body beneath hers, those strong shoulders slumped forward as he leaned into her completely. Aware of his magnificent wings splayed out, swallowing the space entirely. Her mate.

Nesta only really came back to the matter at hand when she felt his lips on her neck, just like that day so long ago.

Cassian’s voice was both hesitant and amused, “Were you really going to accept the bond, just like that?” He hadn’t moved from the shelter of her neck to say it, so he completely missed her glare. Nesta narrowed her eyes anyway.

“You wouldn’t talk to me, you prick. And I am accepting.” She laid a hand on his jaw, nearly completely obscured by the hair she’d pulled loose. “I have accepted, you just have to eat the cauldron damned bread.”

Cassian sucked in a breath, the noise too close to a wounded animal for Nestas comfort.  Finally he pulled away to look at her, a soft protest at the loss of contact escaping her mouth.

He was smiling, just a little, like he couldn’t believe it. “Nesta,” he growled.

“Cassian,” she taunted back. Let him rise to her sharpness, Cassian knew exactly what she was feeling. She had to touch him again, she couldn’t help herself. It would have scared her, that vicious want, but she quite sure she’d never have to stop again if she had anything to do with it. Nesta framed his face.

“I love you,” she said. It wasn’t soft, or sweet. It was the knifes edge that started the spark, Cassian’s happiness a supernova inside her chest.

“Nesta,” he said, the reply there in his voice. Cassians arms had locked around her again and he was roaring, laughing with joy as he crushed her to him. “Do have any idea how much I love you?”

“Yes,” Nesta hissed, smug into his leathers. Because she did. Because as the bright joy of Cassians laugh echoed around the room the tie between them tightened and grew, from a string to a tether, infinite and golden. Forever. 

She could feel a love just as unyielding as she was, sharp as a sword and infinite as the sky. Her mated loved her.

The wonder didn’t stop when she wriggled out of his arms to retrieve a roll, the sweet lavender scent suddenly overwhelming.

Cassian took it tenderly, pausing to eye her in way that made Nesta feel as though she’d burst out of her own skin. “Before,” He gestured vaguely, grin growing on his mouth. There wouldn’t be a before if he kept looking at her with that predators gaze, because she was going to burst into flames. “I know you don’t care about mortal convention, but Illyrians marry too. Handfast, actually. I’ll get tattooed, you don’t have to take the marks as well”-

“Yes!” Nesta blurted.

Cassian looked as though he were trying not to laugh again, in happiness or disbelief. Instead, he said, “It would be an honor to be your husband, Nesta Archeron.”

“No greater honor,” Nesta drawled, raising her hands to link into his hair again, “than to be your mate, Cassian.”

Wildflower Crown

Prologue |1| 2| 3| 4|

|| Summary: Princess Elain Archeron has been accused of dabbling in Witchcraft by her husband, Graysen because of this her world has been flipped upside down. Her father has assigned her a Knight, Shadowsinger, for her own protection but there is something oddly familiar about him. Emotions and battles run high, colliding inside the Castle of Prythian. 

Edited by @court-0f-dreamers

Chapter 5 (Az’s POV)

Azriel hadn’t seen Elain for the rest of the day but that was probably because her father was throwing a ball at the last minute. He was going through the security details with the other guards in the palace. The King trusted him to debrief his men, so he guessed his reputation as the spymaster preceded him.

Azriel was wearing the royal colours of red and gold. The emblem, of the wolf and lion roaring at each other with a doe in the middle, was stitched onto the left side of his tunic. He really felt like an over glorified Prince in this getup. The pants were tight, constricting and emphasised parts he didn’t want emphasis on. His sword hung at the side of his hip and his trusty Truthteller was strapped inside his knee-high boots.

He ordered the guards to take their stations as a servant sent word that the Royals were on the move. He was in the dark just as much as the other workers were with the reason for the ball. He was notified that it was an important matter that should be handled with diplomacy, which could mean anything.

Taking up the station near Elain’s throne, he stood with his legs braced apart, hands clasped at the front as his eyes scanned over the crowds. All the finery and colour in one room was making his head spin. The jewels some were wearing had uneasiness washing over him at the chance that there could be a robbery. A sudden hush fell over the guests and his eyes leapt to the door.

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Friday Night Lights {ACOTAR}

Chapter 12

Summary: Inspired by the series Friday Night Lights. In a town that is obsessed with football, a group of teenagers are glorified for what they bring to the field. But what the people of Velaris don’t realize is that there is a lot more to life than football, and it’s not always pretty.

Revolves around Cassian, Nesta, Elain, Lucien, Azriel, Morrigan, Amren, Feyre, and Rhysand.

*Warning: This fic deals with sensitive material.

*Note: A chapter will be posted every Sunday & Wednesday.

Click here for previous chapters.

Author’s Note: Can you feel the drama love? Can you feel the angst fluff? Enjoy, friends. It only goes downhill uphill from here. 

***Warning: (Slight) NSFW

“Then- in my childhood, in the dawn Of a most stormy life- was drawn From every depth of good and ill.” – Edgar Allan Poe

Declan was fine.

Azriel had rushed home and thrown open the front door only to find his grandmother sitting in her rocking chair, looking at him like he had completely lost his mind.

The baby was sound asleep in his crib.

After being scolded for leaving the game before it had ended, Azriel’s grandma assured him that Ianthe didn’t even know where they lived. Besides, she had abandoned Declan. Why would she want to see him now? It didn’t make sense. She was only at the game to ruffle his feathers.

And his feathers were ruffled.

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Monday, July 2nd, 8:55am (ACOTAR AU - part 18)

Main Fanfic Masterlist

8:55am Masterlist

<<< Previous part | Next Part >>>

Feyre let out a big sigh that had Rhysand cock an eyebrow at her and leaned her head against his shoulder, her fingers lightly brushing against his, but not quite holding hands. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the physical distance between them.

Tamlin had informed her, that he wanted to push the wedding date forward. He wanted to tie the knot, so he could tie her down even more.

He kept asking her to make decisions about which paper to use for the invitations and the color of the flower arrangements, but Feyre couldn’t care less. She dumped most of the decisions on Ianthe, who gleefully took the chance to fashion Feyre’s wedding after her own ideas. Which in turn allowed Feyre to distract Ianthe from the fact that she spent almost every lunch break with another man.

Feyre really couldn’t bring herself to care about her own wedding.

What she cared about was keeping Tamlin out of her bedroom at night and catching a moment of reprieve in the sanctuary that was Dream Court Publishing, doing something she loved.

Feyre hadn’t told Tamlin about her freelance work for Rhysand’s company and neither did she tell him about the bank account she opened under her name that her wages from Dream Court Publishing were wired to. She couldn’t hide the fact she was painting at home, but Tamlin saw it as a sign that she was healing from her little “affliction”.

He was still slightly irritated she slept in the spare bedroom and avoided most physical contact between them, but he willingly overlooked those things as long as Feyre even slightly appeared to be the woman he wanted her to be - soft, meek, submissive. And painting was just such a pretty hobby for his future wife to have.

But this couldn’t go on. Feyre needed to stop the wedding from happening. With every passing day, she was more convinced that she couldn’t marry Tamlin.

Especially in moments like this, when her eyes met with a pair of stunning violet ones through the polished surface of the elevator doors at 8:55am. Or when a certain someone was standing a bit too close in the otherwise empty elevator, not-so-accidentally brushing his fingers against hers, sharing stolen glances and soft smiles with her.

Or when he not only kissed her goodbye now, but also good morning, hello again, see you later and whenever else he felt like it, pressing little kisses into her hair or the back of her hand.

And sometimes, like now, when the elevator pinged to a stop, to her cheek and another one close to the corner of her mouth, making her gasp, inhaling his sweet, hot breath.

@turtylegrl @the-bookish-soul@cerridwxn@feyreismeiamfeyre@urbisie@unicornbooks@fanfic-masterpost-site@witchofpages@sannexwhoops@feysandismylife@nerdperson524@thelaughingzeebra@ourbooksuniverse@casuallyonearth@haileanneposts@acourtofsinsandtragedies@becarefuloflove@readingismycopingmechanism@tswaney17@yuri-senritsu@seriouslyobssesedfangirl@bluephoenix222@the-girl-of-ticking-clocks@devil-daughter@becarefuloflove @rhysands-highlady@eternally-reading@daeniran@kybaeza@booklover242@ame233@ricekrispy @rkjar1646 @lorcanswife@constellationinthesky@mywritingbox @amren-firedrake@queeniriscygnet@allthestarswecansee@thebooklovingprincess@wolffrising@erasethestatic @iwanttowearprettydresses, @thatoneslytherinmuggleborn @leulivy @soccerstud004, @rhysand-darling@kissesforsunshine@fearlesssquirrel@catastrophicideass@bookloveaffair @bibliophileanonymous @tiggerssister  @not-illegal-if-u-win@amazinginglyawesomeperson @just-your-average-ravenpuff @filthycorrade@bookishlybrooke @cindykxie @atya-malik133@d3b0r4l1m4 @writer-reader-traveller @dreams-of-feysand @bootzie2, @tyblcktrn,

when Rowan rescues Aelin pt. 2

a/n: it would appear i got carried away and now will probably need another chapter before the fluff 

part one is here

“Aelin,” the man before her murmured in the softest, most adoring voice she’d ever heard.

What a complete and utter fool.

He took of her mask with the utmost care. She watched his face go from enraged to worried but with loving eyes before abruptly falling with wild panic. Good. The demon in her seemed to enjoy that, relish in ripping that relief away from him.

“Aelin,” he whispered, “it’s me, Rowan.”

That name- Aelin. Was that what she was called? It did nothing to her, didn’t stir up a shred of recognition. Her name was the first thing she had forgotten.

Rowan. That name, however, did something odd. Made her feel an insistent but faint tug near her ribs. He seemed familiar- she was somehow expecting a scent of pine and snow from him even though all she caught was his blood and her filth- but then again, maybe he didn’t. She didn’t know. Couldn’t bring herself to remember.

Watching this unknown, strangle male with almost a detached interest, she didn’t notice tendrils creeping around her behind that mental wall, ghosting up her body leaving a trail of slickness behind.

Didn’t notice until leashes of darkness wound itself agonizingly tight – much tighter than before-  around her hands, her legs, her eyes and down her throat until she was screaming, thrashing, flinging her broken body over and over like she had done a thousand times already. 

Not to escape- no, she had given up any fool’s hope of that a century ago. She just wanted to stop seeing them- stop seeing someone’s bled out body on horrifically bloodied sheets; a cracked spine and paralyzed legs; a body tortured beyond recognition; death after death after death; black collars, rings, darkness, pain, everywhere until it was all she knew, until the overwhelming emotion of that was the only think that allowed her to break the surface of that suffocating abyss.

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Dumbledore, died at age 115

Horcruxes made: 0

Voldemort, died at age 71

Horcruxes made: 7

Conclusion: Voldemort was the most useless, magic dependant wizard that ever existed. He could have lived till like 200 if he just ate well and exercised, but no he had to go and split up his soul and ruin perfectly good jewellery, fucking dumbass.

this sounds like it was written by hermione granger at 1 am