#Cold Hearted Woman

[soulmusicsongs]

You Are The One That I Need - Southside Movement & Jackie Ross (Cold Hearted Woman, 198?)

[emacrow]

Lilith, The Mistress of Fear is getting her small scarecrow. By emacrow/prompt creator pt 1

It was her turn to watch over the young king in his latest, most rarest vacation, reincarnation at the finest.

Unfortunately, being alive is the cost she paid gratefully because the last reincarnation vacation his majesty had took was ended shortly due to the idiotic ghost guard who fell to watch him.

This time Fright Knight was smart enough to use the reincarnation trip easy enough, but being reborn in a woman body that was shocking similar to her own original body from back then was nostalgic in a tragic way.

Same two birthmarks under her right dark emerald eye and right side of her mouth. The chaotic scar covered her left arm, and long scar going through her right eyebrow across her pale emerald eye, ending at her cheekbone.

Her body was still strong and muscular in the sense of tallness, but unfortunately she can still feel the softness that she needed to train more as she could still hold the soulshredder that seemed to had grow larger in size for her. (I think because your ghost form was much taller than you think?)

Clothes are a bit smaller as she gotten older and much taller then most ladies and men, then what she used to but getting specially tailored clothes to match her size was a godsend.

She had been alive for twenty-four year now, working as a bounty huntress that these small men whisper of The Mistress of Fear at night, while taking care of the young king in the daytime who was born to shameful parents that dare abandoned him in a wasteful bin.

Thankfully She can trace where his newest body was at the right time, not mere a couple minutes before the disposal men come with their raging machine on wheels.

Five years in Gotham, she kept a downlow considering there is a liminal in a bat suit patrolling around. Unfortunately that didn't last with a particular scarecrow.

Said scarecrow who was in sack mask looking at her with his face redder than a tomato considering she was sitting on him in her living room.

Jonathan Crane, supposed bringer of Fear as the Scarecrow.

Amateur at best.

Lilith considered Crane annoying at the beginning the first three dozen times they has met up with him trying to spray her with 'Fear Toxin and Gas' considering how he believe he was better at her with bringing Fear to other.

That declaration made her laugh hard that first meeting if Crane think he could best her, with how short and scrawny he was compared to her majestic tall and strong form, even her young King wasn't that scrawny when he was a ghostling.

This supposed 'Fear Toxin' was nothing to her, for she was The Mistress of Fear, formerly known as The Fright Knight in the infinite realm.

Then came the odd courting such a present with a doll stuffed filled with exploding Fear toxic, chocolate with toxic vial filled with the hazelnut spreading inside added a nice flavor, the dance between the two during a gold spar giving her a good nick on her shoulder was a nice touch, switching the candle in her crafted pumpkin with a ticking bomb full of Fear gas was a lovely gesture for her halloween party, and the best was a beautiful Sword sheath filled with concreated Fear toxic that melt even the hardest metal, but the soulshredder seem to love the spa treatment in it. Lilith swear the soulshredder was spoiled rotten by that sword sheath.

The little sneaky seeking short man somewhat crawled into her anicent void of a broken heart, and took over. She enjoyed their weekly meeting between them now that was until two weeks ago.

Jonathan can deny and struggle all he wanted after the last discussion and spar two weeks ago when she told him that she accepted his courting, which led to him avoiding her like a ghost, ha.

Jonathan think he could avoid her after taking her heart with him was rather dull of him considering she knew all his secrets hideouts by now with the amount of time he had kidnapped her in the previous years.

He should be honored to gain the hand in marriage of Mistress of Fear after all the beautiful lavishly courting gifts he sented her the past 2 years. Badly lying and saying they were to sabotage her was laughable. He had seduced her mind, and then she seduced him the same way all the way into marriage.

There is no escaping The Mistress of Fear, Jonathan. You dug into this haunted house of a heart, and once you're in, there is no escape.

Second part link here<-

[shirecorn]

Tumblr keeps popping up to sell me ad free dashboard. But what it doesn't understand is that me and the ads have a sort of symbiosis at this point.

The guys from the fake gameplay trailers for a predatory mobile app are my blorbos

[lar-mx]

Writing prompt #8

This time we have Danny as a woman. We also have Siren AU where Danny is a singer with an incredible voice. so enter the scene: one of Bruce's most honored business partners, organized a New Year's Eve party, the whole family was invited, along with many other partners and businessmen. The party starts without problems, the background music is perfect, neither too loud nor too low, and can be heard throughout the room. All of the Batkids manage to not fall into their chaotic tendencies and mostly stick together, until the main "act" arrives. A beautiful woman in a one-piece black dress walks onto the main stage, the musicians prepare for the performance. without introduction, the woman begins to sing:

While the melody invaded the party, the gaze of (insert member of the bat clan here) could not depart from the beautiful blue eyes of the song, everything would be perfect if it were not because suddenly a group of criminals burst into the party, destroying the magnificent atmosphere created by the melody. Although as strange as it may seem, the bad guys on duty were not here for the rich and very rich businessmen and their families (jewelry, money) but for the group of musicians and their lead singer. Everyone from the public, the musicians, the waiters and the singer seemed not to understand the criminals' demands at first, but when they saw that there was no turning back, the group decided to go with them to prevent the guests from being hurt. As the singer passed by (insert bat here) she pretended to trip and hand him a small device while I thanked him for catching it, winking discreetly, the message is clear.

[chaosfairy18]

The final nail

For everyone who is here for my newsies writing this is sadly not that hi

Also on ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He only really comes back to himself after getting home, after greeting his Dad absentmindedly and lying on the bed, taking in everything that is familiar after a night of foreign experiences.

For all his teasing and flirting he hadn't thought Fadel would crumble in a storage room next to the support group - not that he'd expected to be taken to a hotel, but Fadel breaking apart so fully was new, especially after he’d resisted him so ferociously before.

Style had had his fair share of random hook ups and one-night stands, he had been ready to tell Kant he had won and everything was great, he'd won the bet and the car. But he was wrong.  

Even just the small break in Fadel's exterior he'd gotten showed him a lot he hadn't expected.

He'd expected to be hurt and not even feel good during the encounter, the dozens of times he'd annoyed the man being thrown back in a 'be careful what you ask for or it might become true' moment, but for all his anger and annoyance Fadel had been soft, almost gentle, surprising Style so much with it in the first minute that he just let everything happen to him, grinning as he finally found how utterly he’d affected the other.

Sure, Fadel'd thrown him around a bit, too, but everything that could have hurt him he moved deliberately, knowing how to not do damage.

He knew how to hurt but he hadn't - except for the end where he'd punched Style and run. And even there he felt like that was out of fear again, running from his emotions and Style. Because no man could fuck him like that and not feel anything.

And after weeks of more or less stalking, that was what really got Style. A glimpse at the soft heart beating under glares and punches. He'd expected Fadel to be a possessive, jealous, controlling lover, and maybe he was that, too, but much more than that he'd seen a sliver of how he'd be for someone he'd truly lay himself bare for. How much he needed touch, how much he yearned for another body close to his, for someone to tear down the walls around him.

How much he'd do to fulfil every wish and want of whoever would be lucky enough to be called his.

And that intrigued Style more than the rush of adrenaline he got from the danger that Fadel posed with every glare, every punch he'd seen him dish out after that accidental host club meeting. He’d always been attractive, even as he lectured him for texting and driving, and seeing him in the host club – before and after, beating men up without even breaking a sweat – was when Style was thoroughly convinced to pull through with this, just to be able to say he had wrapped a man that attractive around his finger.

And hell, even the sauna, looking back on it there were little cracks in Fadel’s walls, and somehow Style had teared them down enough to see emotions he’d never expected in that conflicting man.

Someone dangerous, someone who protected what he loved, someone who hated being close to others but needed it more than anything.

It worked him up so much he couldn't even sleep, missing the early jogging run he'd forced himself to just to get under Fadel's skin.

And even as he told his father that absence made the heart grow fonder, he wasn't quite sure what to do.

Style wasn't done yet, the bet had said not to sleep with him, but to make him fall in love, but making a man that was possessive and harsh fall for a pretty little thing he could use for a while and making a romantic behind giant walls of ice fall was a big difference. The first was fun while it lasted, no deeper feelings, just hungry passion consuming until the fire burnt out eventually, but the second was a commitment, for both of them, as Style wouldn’t just be able to ignore the feelings he now knew to exist.

And he wasn't yet sure if he wanted to put the final nails into Fadel's coffin.

Trying to get his mind off things, he went to the shops to buy groceries, not even in the mood to haggle with the vendors he’d known for most of his life or that he’d at least fixed their cars off with his dad.

“Oi, Style!”, yelled the auntie from the butcher’s shop that had thankfully agreed to take him on as a fake intern. He put on his charming smile, knowing she enjoyed seeing it too.

“Morning, auntie.”

“That handsome guy you were after asked for you this morning!”, she told him giddily. “Seemed almost sad you weren’t here, even though he was always so annoyed when he bought things, eh?”

That did surprise Style. He’d expected Fadel to pull even farther back, lock every feeling he might have away so it would never see the light of day, throw it in the Marianna Trench somewhere or shoot it to the next galaxy. Hell, he’d thought Fadel would be happy Style hadn’t managed to pull himself to go jogging or to sell him meat.

“He’s such a nice young man, I hope things will work out for you.”, the auntie continued as Style got out of his thoughts.

Not able to hide the grin on his face, he thanked her and gave her a quick hug. “I know they will!” And with that Style ran back home to shove the groceries into his dad’s arms and then drove to Heart Burger, already hearing the final nails getting hammered in Fadel’s and his own coffin.

There was no backing out now, no matter if Fadel pretended to not want him or not.

Standing at the running track, Fadel was almost sure to hear Style’s annoying voice, probably ribbing him about how he’d finally given in yesterday and how he didn’t get to just ‘nail and bail’ him like that or whatever other nonsense Style usually had pouring out of his mouth.

But no matter how long Fadel waited and warmed himself up, no tall guy with a cropped sport’s shirt showed up to annoy him.

He’d gotten what he wanted, and now he doesn’t need your attention anymore.

Biting the inside of his lip, Fadel started running his laps, only concentrating on counting them, no thoughts allowed about anything else. He should be grateful his exercise was peaceful again, quiet, and with no one to ‘cheer him on’ while just turning all the attention on him. He’d already gotten all his pent up frustrations out hacking into the earth last night, he didn’t need to think even another second about Style if he didn’t show up anyways. The mechanic should just stay out of his thoughts forever, preferably.

But as determined as he was to not think about him, Style also wasn’t at the butcher’s stand, popping out from behind the counter to tell him about some ‘super good fresh meat’ they’d gotten that he almost certainly had no clue about, and Fadel almost wanted to just but his things and leave, but something still urged him to ask the shop owner where the mechanic was.

“He’s not showing up anymore.”, she’d said and then more about how he was good for business and a sweet talker. That he sure was, having talked and talked and talked his way into Fadel’s routines, and now that he’d succeeded in his endeavours, he had clearly went on to bother the next person he wanted to conquer.

He got everything he wanted from Fadel after all, everything about being ‘a man devoted for love’ and ‘looking for a boyfriend’ had very clearly been bullshit anyways, so he shouldn’t be surprised. But after weeks of hearing that overtly cheery voice first thing in the morning on every stop he did, it was still lonely, going back to Heart Burger.

But now he could concentrate on his actual job again: keeping Bison out of trouble and killing whoever Mother told them to.

And, at least for the next few hours, making burgers, steaks and pasta while also taking orders because Bison wasn’t showing up on time for spending some more time with Kant, of course.

The door opened and Fadel didn’t even look up, just told Bison: “You’re back. How was it? Everything went well?”

But instead of Bison rounding the counter to stand in front of him, it was his personal purgatory in a crop top. “I’m baaack.” He slapped his hands down on the counter, looking far too smug for Fadel’s liking. “Did you miss me?”

Looking for someone who wasn’t there and asking after them probably accounted for ‘missing them’ but Style wouldn’t find out about that over Fadel’s dead body. The mechanic had gotten what he wanted and he should disappear from his life as quickly as he’d wormed his way in. “We’re not open, why are you here?”, he said, looking down at his prep work again.

“I wasn’t going to come… but an auntie told me someone’s been asking for me.” And of course his tiny moment of weakness had come back to bite him in the ass already. “Missed me, huh?”

“Missed you my ass. You annoy the hell out of me and mess up my routine.” That at least was true, no matter what had happened yesterday. Style must have been the most annoying person on earth and Fadel still hadn’t understood how he even stopped himself from shooting the other just to shut him up. And with him, every part of his day took a lot longer, if only because he had some terribly cheery voice he had to ignore.

Next, Style admitted he had been at fault for the punch he’d received yesterday – which was a rare moment of insight from him as well as completely true. But of course, that couldn’t be all he had to say.

“It doesn’t matter how scary you are.” Style’s face turned into one of his annoying, almost a bit insane looking grins. “I’m hooked.”

And Fadel could do nothing but look back at him, an eyebrow raised. If only he knew just how dangerous Fadel could be, he wouldn’t be saying that. But maybe if he showed him again and again just how deathly being around him could be, even someone as stubborn as Style would learn to leave him alone before death actually found him.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Society if Janeway's holonovel was actually an enemies-to-lovers story with her and Mrs. Templeton rather than a romance with Lord Burleigh

[riseoftheselfshipper]

Hfjjsjdhr not me adding new f/os that i adore and still only being able to think about gail-

[birdmitosis]

Anyway, mental image of Cold and Paranoid out in the world getting attacked by a small group of people trying to kill them for whatever reason. Both are armed and Cold is absolutely fighting back but isn't exactly being the most careful, not particularly trying to defend himself as he kills them, and also assuming it has to do this shit itself because Paranoid is obviously more defenseless

but then Paranoid is just going directly for (messily) vital spots and kills someone who's about to shank Cold and just, covered in blood, furiously hisses "Don't just let them stab you!" at them before whirling around to catch someone else trying to grab her

and Cold is internally like oh and is a little bit in love maybe.

[monards]

can a girl ramble aboutthe way you can interpret so many parts of the propaganda and characterization of rhine by other the people/general populace of teyvat as people largely antagonizing neurodivergent traits without being chased with pitchforks and torches.

[serufu]

Me at the store: "I don't need a wood wick candle I can be a responsible adult and save money for things I care about more!"

Me at home: "It's so cold and dark outside.... if only I had a smackerel of crackling fire in my room... I don't care about anything more than candles right now..."

[lilaccatholic]

how do i do it though. how do i let go of the bitterness and the hardness when they kept me "okay" for so long? does it come when i finally leave? can it ever?

[justaz]

uh. uhhh. uhhhhhhh.

the voice by celtic woman is emrys

[xwinter-soldierx]

Ich bin für dich da

[weak-hero]

[acourtofquestions]

"I didn't break," she said quietly. His heart cracked at the words. "I didn't tell them anything."

She didn't say it for praise, to boast. But rather to tell him, her consort, of where they stood in this war. What their enemies might know.

"I knew you wouldn't," he managed to say.

"She ... she tried to convince me that this was the bad dream. When Cairn was done with me, or during it, I don't know, she'd try to worm her way into my mind." She glanced around the cave, as if she could see the world beyond it. "She spun fantasies that felt so real..." She bobbed under the surface. Perhaps she'd needed the cooling water of the lake to be able to hear her own voice again; perhaps she needed the distance between them so she could speak these words. She emerged, slicking back her hair with a hand. "They felt like this."

Half of him didn't want to know, but he asked, "What sort of illusions?"

A long pause. "It doesn't matter now."

Too soon to push—if ever.

Then she asked softly, "How long?"

It took the entirety of his three centuries of training to keep the devastation, the agony for her, from his face. "Two months, three days, and seven hours."

Her mouth tightened, either at the length of time, or the fact that he'd counted every single one of those hours apart.

She ran her fingers through her hair, its strands floating around her in the water. Still too long for two months to have passed. "They healed me after each ... session. So that I stopped knowing what had been done and what was in my mind and where the truth lay." Erase her scars, and Maeve stood a better chance at convincing her none of this was real. "But the healers couldn't remember how long my hair was, or Maeve wanted to confuse me further, so they grew it out." Her eyes darkened at the memory of why, perhaps, they had needed to regrow her hair in the first place.

"Do you want me to cut it back to the length it was when I last saw you?" His words were near-guttural.

"No." Ripples shivered around her. "I want it so I can remember."

What had been done to her, what she'd survived and what she had protected.

Even if the woman treading water before him didn't seem to have vengeance on her mind. Not so much as a hint of the burning rage that fueled her.

He didn't blame her. Knew it would take time, time and distance, to heal the internal wounds. If they could ever really heal at all.

But he'd work with her, help in whatever way he could. And if she never returned to who she had been before this, he would not love her any less.

Aelin dunked her head, and when she emerged, she said, "Maeve was about to put a Valg collar around my neck. She left to retrieve it." The scent of her lingering fear drifted toward him, and Rowan lurched a step closer to the water's edge. "It's why I—why I got away. She had me moved to the army camp for safekeeping, and I ..." Her voice stalled, yet she met his stare. Let him read the words she could not say, in that silent way they'd always been able to communicate. Escape wasn't my intention.

"No, Fireheart," he breathed, shaking his head, horror creeping over him. "There ... there was no collar."

She blinked, head angling. "That was a dream, too?"

His heart cracked as he struggled for the words. Made himself voice them. "No—it was real. Or Maeve thought it was. But the collars, the Valg presence ... It was a lie that we crafted. To draw Maeve out, hopefully away from you and Doranelle."

Only the faint lapping of water sounded. "There was no collar?"

Rowan lowered himself to his knees and shook his head. "I—Aelin, if I'd known what she'd do with the knowledge, what you'd decide to do-"

He might have lost her. Not from Maeve or the gods or the Lock, but from his own damned choices. The lie he'd spun.

Aelin drifted beneath the surface again. So deep that when the flare happened, it was little more than a flutter. The light burst from her, rippling across the lake, illumining the stones, the slick ceiling above. A silent eruption. His breathing turned ragged. But she swam toward the surface again, light streaming off her body like tendrils of clouds. It had nearly vanished when she emerged.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say. Again, that angle of the head. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He did, though. He'd added to her terror, her desperation. He'd— "If you had not planted that lie for Maeve, if she had not told me, I don't think we'd be here right now," she said.

He tried to rein in the twisting in his gut, the urge to reach for her, to beg for her forgiveness. Tried and tried.

She only asked, "What of the others?" She didn't know-couldn't know how and why and where they'd all parted ways. So Rowan told her, as succinctly and calmly as he could.

When he finished, Aelin was quiet for long minutes.

She stared out into the blackness, the rippling of her treading water the only sound. Her body had nearly lost that freshly forged glow.

Then she pivoted back toward him. "Maeve said you and the others were in the North. That you'd been spotted by her spies there. Did you plant that deception for her, too?"

He shook his head. "Lysandra has been thorough, it seems."

Aelin's throat bobbed. "I believed her." It sounded like a confession, somehow.

So Rowan found himself saying, "I told you once that even if death separated us, I would rip apart every world until I found you." He gave her a slash of a smile. "Did you really believe this would stop me?'

She pursed her mouth, and at last, those agonizing emotions began to surface in her eyes. "You were supposed to save Terrasen."

"Considering that the sun shines, I'd say Erawan hasn't won yet. So we'll save it together."

He didn't let himself think of the final cost of destroying Erawan. And Aelin seemed in no hurry to discuss it, either, as she said, "You should have gone to Terrasen. It needs you."

"I need you more." He didn't balk from the stark honesty roughening his voice. "And Terrasen will need you, too. Not Lysandra masquerading as you, but you."

A shallow nod. "Maeve raised her army. I doubt it was only to guard me while she was away."

He'd put the thought aside, to consider later. "It might just be to shore up her defenses, should Erawan win across the sea."

"Do you truly think that's what she plans to do with it?"

"No," he admitted. "I don't."

And if Maeve meant to bring that army to Terrasen, to either unite with Erawan or simply be another force battering their kingdom, to strike when they were weakest, they had to hurry. Had to get back. Immediately. His mate's eyes shone with the same understanding and dread.

Aelin's throat bobbed as she whispered, "I'm so tired, Rowan."

His heart strained again. "I know, Fireheart."

He opened his mouth to say more, to coax her onto land so he might at least hold her if words couldn't ease her burden, but that's when he saw it.

A boat, ancient and every inch of it carved, drifted out of the gloom.

"Get back to shore." The boat wasn't drifting—it was being tugged. He could just barely make out two dark forms slithering beneath the surface.

Aelin didn't hesitate, yet her strokes remained steady as she swam for him. She didn’t balk at the hand he extended, and he wrapped his cloak around her while the boat ambled past.

But Aelin turned toward them, hair dripping onto the stone at her bare feet. Half a thought from her could have had her dry, yet she made no move to do so. "We're being hunted."

"We know that," Lorcan shot back, and were it not for the fact that Aelin was currently allowing him to rest a hand upon her shoulder, Rowan would have thrown the male into the lake.

But Aelin's features didn't shift from that graveness, that unruffled calm. "The only way to the sea is through these caves." It was an outrageous claim.

"And I suppose they told you that?" Lorcan's face was hard as granite.

"Watch it," Rowan snarled. Fenrys indeed bared his teeth at the dark-haired warrior, fur bristling. But Aelin said simply, "Yes." Her chin didn't dip an inch. "The land above is crawling with soldiers and spies. Going beneath them is the only way."

Elide stepped forward. "I will go." She cut a cold glance toward Lorcan. "You can take your chances above, if you're so disbelieving." Lorcan's jaw tightened, and a small part of Rowan relished seeing the delicate Lady of Perranth fillet the centuries-hardened warrior with a few words. "Considering the potential pitfalls of the situation is wise."

"We don't have time to consider," Rowan cut in before Elide could voice the retort on her tongue. "We need to keep moving. Gavriel stalked forward to study the moored boat and what seemed to be bundles of supplies on its sturdy planks. "How will we navigate our way, though?"

"We'll be escorted," Aelin answered.

"And if they abandon us?" Lorcan challenged. Aelin leveled unfazed eyes upon him.

"Then you'll have to find a way out, I suppose." A hint-just a spark-of temper belied those calm words. There was nothing else to debate after that.

And they had little to pack. The others gave Aelin privacy to dress by the fire while they inspected the boat, and when his mate emerged again, clad in boots, pants, and various layers beneath her gray surcoat, the sight of her in clothes from Mistward was enough to make his gut clench.

No longer a naked, escaped captive. Yet none of that wickedness, that joy and unchecked wildness illuminated her face.

The rest of their party waited on the boat, seated on the benches built into its high-lipped sides. Fenrys and Elide both sat as seemingly far from Lorcan as they could get, Gavriel a golden, long-suffering buffer between them.

Rowan lingered at the shore's edge, a hand extended for Aelin while she approached. Each of her steps seemed considered—as if she still marveled at being able to move freely. As if still adjusting to her legs without the burden of chains.

"Why?" Lorcan mused aloud, more to himself. "Why go to these lengths for us?"

He got his answer—they all did—a heartbeat later. Aelin halted a few feet away from the boat and Rowan's outstretched hand. She turned back toward the cave itself. The Little Folk peeked from those birch branches, from the rocks, from behind stalagmites. Slowly, deeply, Aelin bowed to them. Rowan could have sworn all those tiny heads lowered in answer.

A pair of bony grayish hands rose above a nearby rock, something glittering held between them, and set the object on the stone.

Rowan went still. A crown of silver and pearl and diamond gleamed there, fashioned into upswept swan's wings

"The Crown of Mab," Gavriel breathed. But Fenrys looked away, toward the looming dark, his tail curling around him.

Aelin staggered a step closer to the crown. "It—it fell into the river."

Rowan didn't want to know how she'd encountered it, why she'd seen it fall into a river. Maeve had kept her sisters' two crowns under constant guard, only bringing them out to be displayed in her throne room on state occasions. In memory of her siblings, she'd intoned. Rowan had sometimes wondered if it was a reminder that she had outlasted them, had kept the throne for herself in the end.

The grayish hand slipped over the rock's edge again and nudged the crown in silent gesture. Take it.

"You want to know why?" Gavriel softly asked Lorcan as Aelin strode for the rock. Nothing but solemn reverence on her face. "Because she is not only Brannon's Heir, but Mab's, too."

A throwback to her great-great-grandmother, Maeve had taunted her. Who had inherited her strength, her immortal lifespan.

Aelin's fingers closed around the crown, lifting it gently. It sparkled like living moonlight between her hands.

My sister Mab's line ran true, Elide claimed Maeve had said on the beach. In every way, it seemed.

But Aelin made no move to don the crown while she approached him once more, her gait steadier this time. Trying not to dwell on the unbearable smoothness of her hand as it wrapped around his, Rowan helped her aboard, then climbed in himself before freeing the ropes tethering them to the shore.

Gavriel went on, awe in every word, "And that makes her their queen, too."

Aelin met Gavriel's gaze, the crown near-glowing in her hands. "Yes," was all she said as the boat sailed into the darkness.

[fruity-blogs]

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.

YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH THIS SCENE MEANS TO ME.

Right after Lucy says that Crime Sorcière & Jellal have been granted amnesty, she goes on to say:

"I thought Erza would be elated for sure after hearing this news, but sheesh, there's... no understanding her"

"But there is one thing I know for sure."

.

.

.

.

.

"She never really cared about her hair before. But she started combing it every day since news of his pardon arrived."

ARE YOU SEEING THIS?! ARE YOU FRICKING SEEING THIS?!

SHE EVEN HAS A LIL MIRROR & EVERYTHING. AND LOOK AT THAT SUBTLE YET HAPPY SMILE OF HERS. HOW LOVINGLY SHE IS COMBING HER HAIR INCASE SHE GETS TO SEE HIM AGAIN. MY BABY. SHE IS SO HAPPY. FINALLY.