#lord how will I survive summer training when i barely survived NORMAL TRAINING

[2truehearts]

i think my legs have ceased functioning .

[hlizr50]

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 6

A little pain relief for everything I've put you through

Read on AO3

When Azriel landed in the training ring he shook his head, exasperated with himself. Now that he was here, what exactly did he plan to do? He couldn’t very well find Gwyn’s room, shake her awake, and beg her to forgive him.

He took a moment to survey the ring, racks of wooden weapons, steel, shields. The Valkyries had grown from desperation to get Nesta on the right track to three females surviving the Blood Rite to a small legion of Illyrians, priestesses, and other fae. They would be outgrowing the space soon, and he pondered that as the stone glowed blue in the moonlight.

Gwyn had never spoken much about the Blood Rite, not that he could blame her. The Illyrian tradition was barbaric under normal circumstances, and much more so with Briallyn’s meddling – with the intention of killing all three of the females. Azriel couldn’t help but grin to himself.

How spectacularly had her plan backfired.

He had not admitted that Cassian was not the only one sleepless and mortified that week, but where the general was a barely-contained force of will and expression Azriel was schooled in hiding his emotion. He’d had to stay stoic – to find Briallyn and Koschei, to support his brother while his mate fought for her life. But his relationship with Gwyn had begun to develop by then, as well. Slowly. It was all he could do some days not to fly in and destroy them all. She had already suffered unspeakable horrors, and the possibility that she had been at the mercy of Illyrian males – bred with a thirst for blood and flesh – had been nearly unbearable.

When that general is finished hurting her she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.

He ran a hand through his onyx hair, remembering Nesta’s words. His shadows seemed to wither around him, drooping over his shoulders and wings. How had it come to this?

The shadowsinger sat himself down on the ground, knees drawn up. He rested his forearms on them and gazed at the ink-dark sky painted with stars. Much like his High Lord, seeing the stars had always been a comfort to Azriel – a reminder that he was free from the prison of his upbringing, that he had escaped and had replaced his father and brothers with a family that cared for him and showed him what love and brotherhood really meant.

His found family had grown so much in such a short time. He was grateful for that, for so many reasons. Rhys had emerged from Under the Mountain a broken male and Feyre had helped piece him back together. She had quickly become a glue for all of them, holding them tight and treating them with such love that Azriel was often awed by it. It wasn’t hard defending her, being dedicated to her safety as High Lady. She was far more than a monarch to him.

Then came Nesta and Elain, and what a storm that had been. Cassian and Nesta were meant to be since the beginning, but that path had been long and painful, and not just for his ears and the new… sanitation concerns for public living spaces in the house. Sometimes he was surprised that he counted Nesta as his friend. She had been intentionally hurtful so many times. How often had he seen the pain in his brother’s countenance because of something she had said or done? And yet now he understood her, maybe more than he cared to admit. She had been hurting and afraid and overflowing with self-loathing.

He had hurt Gwyn for those very reasons.

Gwyn.

He felt his shoulders and wings sag with the weight of Nesta’s questions tonight. Accusations thinly veiled as questions, and each one like a carefully crafted throwing knife plunged into his gut. He’d made her cry for at least the third time in as many weeks. Training and working to exhaustion, and not being able to sleep because of the worsening nightmares – nightmares that had cruelly transformed to remind her that he had abandoned her.

Even his shadows felt heavy.

The spymaster hung his head, shame like a blanket smothering him in summer heat. How could he ever forgive himself for causing that pain? It was a fate he had personally prevented, and now she was forced to experience it in her dreams. Because of him. Because he was a coward.

Azriel let his eyes drift closed and focused on his breathing. Sleep would not be an option tonight, and he could only pray that the priestess was sound asleep in the house, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Training didn’t seem to be in the cards either, as he sifted through the torrent of thoughts and emotions. He just needed to sit and think. And in the morning, he would speak with Gwyn as soon as he could. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

“Azriel?”

The inky tendrils flitted to life around him at the sound of that voice. Cauldron damn him, of course she would find him now. But part of him was relieved to be able to talk to her so soon – that she was even here.

“Azriel, are you alright?” His heart squeezed at the softness of Gwyn’s voice, music to his ears – a sweet melody with harmonies of concern and kindness. How could she still be so kind to him?

“I don’t deserve to be asked that. Especially not by you,” he murmured, staring down at the stone between his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.” Her soft footsteps seemed to echo in his head, a ringing alarm that she was coming closer. He didn’t want to run from her, but his heart was still racing. How could he face her inevitable rejection? He noticed her shadow fall over the space between his legs and when he looked up she was crouching in front of him, eyes shining with sincerity. “You deserve for people to care about you. And I do. I won’t just leave you out here alone when anyone could see the weight of the world pressing down on you.”

Gods, but wasn’t that exactly what he had done to her?

The shadowsinger had no air in his chest as he studied her. The expression on her face was difficult to describe – caring and teasing and scolding all rolled into glittering ocean eyes and the slightest quirk of her full lips. She rose and his gaze followed as she held her hand out to him, beckoning him to stand with her. It took more courage than he cared to admit to place his violence-scarred hands in hers, but their warmth spread through him like sunshine warming his bones as she helped him to his feet.

She didn’t let go, and that gave him the strength he needed.

“Nesta found me at the river house tonight. She had… a lot to say,” Azriel began as he saw color bloom on Gwyn’s cheeks. She looked down to their hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to –“ He squeezed her hands and she snapped her head back up to meet his gaze.

“I deserved every single bit of venom she threw at me, Gwyn. Do not apologize.” The shadowsinger looked down, then, unsure how to move forward or which of his many transgressions he should address first. So he asked, “Is it true? About the nightmares? That… that I don’t come for you?” He could feel the emotion catching in his throat, cracking his voice. His eyes burned as he looked back to the priestess. Her lips were pressed together as she tried to keep the silver lining her eyes from spilling down over her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes lowering as the silent tears fell. Each droplet was a nick in his heart, the guilt and pain salting those wounds. How could she be so strong, to endure this agony and yet hold the hands that caused it? He released one of the hands and lifted it to her face, hesitating with his fingers a breath away from her cheek. Azriel had his mouth open to ask if he could touch her when she leaned her face into his palm. He brushed at her tears with his thumb before bringing up his other hand, cupping her jaw.

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pleading silently for her to look at him. The shining pools that opened to him were so enthralling, depths shimmering with trepidation. Gods, what he would do to bring back the joy in those eyes. “I will always come for you. No matter what. And I will never be able to forgive myself that there might be any part of your mind or your heart or your soul that could believe otherwise.” He watched as she took a shuddering breath, but her eyes held his and he was emboldened.

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn. For all of this. I was a fool and a coward and I let my guilt and my fear own me. And it only hurt you.”

Gwyn’s hands covered the scars on his own as she pulled them away from her face, returning them to their place entwined between them. Azriel stayed silent and her head tilted as she studied him.

“What could you possibly be afraid of?” she released a hoarse, hiccupped laugh. The shadowsinger could only gulp down a breath and look toward the stars.

“I… I was afraid of the feelings I was developing for you. And of the pain I would feel when you would see all the things I have done and the monster that I am and run away from me. Or that you would be hurt because of this darkness inside of me.” His eyes had returned to hers and, while he saw understanding swimming there, her expression was uncompromising.

“Have I not been hurt already?” Her bluntness shocked him, and he felt the slightest twinge of panic that told him to run. Her fingers tightened like a vice around his hands and he saw her eyes darken, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare even think about running away, Azriel. Not now. I deserve better from you.” Even his shadows seemed focused on where their hands touched, intent on keeping them tied together.

She did. She deserved so much better. Better than what he’d done. Shame washed over him that he could have thought to flee from her. Again. He had already wronged her… too many times. But he had come here determined to right those wrongs. Azriel wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to give her what she deserved, if he would ever be good enough for her. But he sure as fuck was going to try.

“You’re right,” he conceded, that panic replaced by resolution and a faint, foolish glimmer of hope. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned softly and he thought his chest would burst from relief. They were still here, together, talking. They were going to figure this out.

“Why did you run, Azriel? If you care for me, like you say,” she demanded, that sea-deep stare piercing straight into his soul. “Why? Why are you afraid of me seeing who you are?”

He should have known that she would demand an explanation. Gwyn was strong and confident. She knew her worth and what she deserved, and him sharing the story behind all of his idiotic decisions was the very least of that. But he was not prepared, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to darken others’ lives with his history.

“That’s… a long story, Gwyn,” he huffed, hoping that might be the end of it. But he saw her eyes, determination and challenge and fire blazing blue in the moonlight.

“We have all night.” She released his hands and gestured to the darkness around them. She would not be deterred, would not back down until she accomplished her goal. It was one of the many things he admired so much about her. “Should we sit?”

Azriel found himself smiling as he nodded, sitting cross-legged on the stone. Even though the impending admissions rang as a death knell in his mind, it warmed his heart to know that she cared so deeply – that she wanted to know the worst of him.

He had put her through enough, and he could relive his pain and push out his fear for this night, if only for her.

“I don’t know where to start.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick he was usually good at hiding. But then Gwyn – that sweet, incredible, special female – gathered his other hand with those long, pale, graceful fingers and he felt the tension ease. He looked at her, taking in the beauty and serenity of her features. Freckles were scattered over cheeks stained pink, an encouraging smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“The beginning seems like a good place, don’t you think?”

So that’s where he began.

~~~

Azriel was not proud that he could not find the strength to look at Gwyn as he walked her through his story, but he could still hear and feel her reactions. And he dared a glance at her from time to time, trying to read everything her eyes were saying. He told her about the cell he was kept in as a child, how little touch or affection or love he had experienced, and how the shadows around him seemed to move and react and speak. She clutched his hand tighter when he told her about what had happened to them, that his brothers had set fire to them to see how he would heal. She hadn’t said a word, but he smelled the salt from tears and felt impossibly soft strokes of her thumbs over those scars.

He explained his time in Illyria and the fearsome reputation he and Cassian had to maintain, simply to make up for the circumstances of their birth. And while Cassian had been brute force and power, Azriel was deadly calm, precision, intellect, terror. He admitted to her how he had hoped to find validation in his role as spymaster under Rhysand’s father, and that he could truly revel in his duties under the right circumstances.

“Those soldiers I killed in Sangravah,” he told her. “I would have enjoyed dragging out their deaths as long as possible for what they did to you.”

Gwyn’s hands were so gentle around his as he told her how much the death and darkness grated against his soul, and how he’d had nothing to tether him to the light. He talked to her about Mor, a waste of literal centuries. And then, somehow, he told her about Elain. Not that he’d loved her, because he never had. But that he’d felt entitled to her, like he deserved what his brothers had found with the other two sisters. That he was the third brother and she was the third sister and that was all that mattered. His entitlement, his lust and desire for the bond - as opposed to love for the person - just another ugly facet of his true self.

“So I suppose that brings me to you, to these past few weeks.” Azriel made sure to meet her gaze for this. “I panicked after the necklace, because I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me to see that hurt in your eyes. And when I told you things would go back to normal I still didn’t know what to do. I thought distance would be best between us, because I knew you would be able to draw me out of myself. And that was dangerous.”

The shadowsinger’s throat burned with emotion when Gwyn smiled softly. He could see so much roaring in her gaze, but there was no sign of pity or disgust or fear. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair before resting it atop their other clasped hands. Wetness burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“When I found you in the rain that night, I could smell your tears and I saw your hands – split knuckles and bruised, swollen fingers. And,” he choked down his feelings even as the tears began their descent, “and I was torn apart with the guilt. It was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I might has well have put those marks on you with my own two vile hands.” Azriel closed his eyes and let the tears fall – not many, but enough. The silence rang through his ears, his history hanging between them. He waited for the fear, the rejection, especially when she drew her hands away from his. But his eyes snapped open when delicate calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Gwyn had risen to her knees to dry the wetness on them, her stare a storm of trust and understanding... and compassion.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Azriel,” she whispered. “I see you. You have nothing to fear. I’m still right here.” Then she smiled brightly, and he unraveled.

“Gwyn, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me – I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. But I care for you as more than a teacher, more than a friend. You are a light in my dark life and these past few weeks have been miserable without you in them.” Her smile widened slightly and he reached out a thumb to catch a stray tear that had fallen from those precious, beautiful eyes. He felt his own grin pushing his cheeks against her warm hands.

“I care for you, too, Azriel. As more than a friend.”

He held that watery stare until she released his face. She stood up, brushing off her knees before reaching her hands to him again to help him to his feet. He tilted his head curiously at the determination flashing in her eyes.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she began, looking down at her hands in his. “Before we pursue anything… romantically, I need to be sure that this isn’t something that will happen again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his lips. “We both have darkness and fear and I understand that. But if you feel it taking over, I need you to come to me, to talk to me. Because if I open my heart to you and this happens again – if you insist on shutting yourself off from me or deciding for me what I deserve or want – I will be heartbroken.” The confession left Azriel raw.

“What can I do, Gwyn? How can I reassure you?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“We are going to go back to how things were before this mess.” She had returned her hand to his and gave both a squeeze. A shadow darted down around them, as if to approve of the contact. “The way it was that led us to realize that we feel the way we do. And you are going to prove to me that we can have what we had before I found out about that stupid, lovely necklace. Do you think you can do that?” He could have fallen to his knees seeing the hope in those ocean eyes, mirroring the spark of hope inside of him. It was something he hadn’t dared to let himself fully feel with her.

“I will.” Azriel’s voice was low and rough. “I swear it.”

“And then we can decide what comes next. And I can prove to you that your hands and your darkness are just as important to me as the rest of you.”

He was grinning like a fool, he knew. He still had a chance, because Gwyneth Berdara was the definition of grace and love. And by the Mother he would not screw this up.

He felt more than saw her wrap her arms around his back, pulling herself into him. For a moment he was frozen by the intimacy of it – shocked by her initiation of it – but he quickly let his arms settle around her waist. He breathed in, pulling her tighter, and leaned his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t let me down, Shadowsinger,” she muttered into his chest. He chuckled and dared to move one hand to comb through her hair. “I want to see… what comes next.” He wanted to see, too. He wanted to know what it was like to look to the future and see more than dread and loneliness and exhaustion. He could see it with her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Berdara.”

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[bloodycassian]

** PT 2 Azriel x reader - enemies to acquaintances PT 2. ** - reader gets a backstory, they clear another enemy camp together and bond more. Azriel apologizes. 

Slight TW for violence/domestic abuse mention. Trying to keep reader as genderless as possible but sometimes I inherently switch to using woman POVs- asks still very open ;)

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

"It seems I owe you an apology." Rhys began, pacing at the end of the makeshift bed the healers had set up for you. Your stomach rolled with nerves. His tone was not genuine, and you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. The healers buzzing nearby suddenly found different things to do.

 Azriel and Cassian stood at the edge of the canopy, the drizzle of rain making their armor shine. "Azriel informed me of your injury- I'm impressed with your bravery." He smiled, his dark eyes making him look like a snake. 

You glanced to the shadowmaster, who nodded the slightest amount. "Did you receive my message from him?" You asked, and when he had a genuine wide grin - showing almost too many teeth - it gave you chills.

"I did in fact. I wish the same to you." He said with that deadly calm. Cassian tried to hide his laugh, Azriel remained stonefaced. "Let's take this to the war tent. Whenever you are...suitable." he glanced to your wing, still stained with crusted dry blood. 

You felt your cheeks heat slightly, and nodded. He strode out from the healers canopy and into the rain without a look back. The generals followed him, Azriel glancing back to you only for a second. 

+

Once you had mustered the strength to get out of the cot, you thanked your healers. They insisted on giving you healing potions before you departed. And tried to get you to promise to come back for a check in daily. Mobility tests, stretches and strength building. You gave them loose affirmations and took the potions without putting up too much of a fight, given that the wing still ached slightly. Two days of rest had done a lot for the healing process, but it would take at least a week before it was fully healed. 

The short walk to the war tent was cold as the mist of rain poured down. Many of the soldiers were inside or drunkenly asleep in the mud. Sitting around and waiting was not an ideal situation with a thousand males ready to fight all around. 

You pushed open the tent, shaking out your jacket on the pelt rug. Earning a scowl from the high lord, seated at the head of the table again. "This one tells me you were a sight to see in the skirmish." He said, gesturing to the shadow master. 

You glanced to Azriel, his face was blank but his cheeks had gone a duskier shade of brown. "But maybe I took that the wrong way, and what he meant was that you were a disaster, considering someone managed to put a hole in to your wing." He laced his fingers together in front of him. You curled your lip at him, ready to tell him to get his ass out there and do it himself then. 

Before you could, Azriel turned to the high lord, opening his mouth to protest but he was quickly silenced by Rhysand's dagger like eyes. The shadowmaster pressed his full lips together tightly. Looked to his feet, as if in shame. It made your head thrum with adrenaline filled rage. Rhysand - the most powerful high lord in history - coudlnt get off his ass to take care of some second class Attors himself? Perfect. Just your luck. Being hired out like the hundreds of your kind before you, only it was worse because you weren’t even getting any gold from it.

"We now have a bigger force than originally planned coming directly at us." He said softly, a dark wind organizing enemy pawns on the table to show where they spread out. how they had your forces stuck against a wall of mountains.

 "Because you were brave enough to somehow miss the group of Attors flying away..." He glared those snake eyes at Azriel again, then Rhys let out a bitter laugh. He was upset, understandably so. You could admit that. But it wasn't your fault he decided not to believe you in the first place. 

You glanced to Azriel. His face was grave as his high lord tore into both of you with a tone of a disappointed parent. Like your parent. The thought of your father made your jaw clench, your teeth grind together as you fought to not begin screaming at Rhysand.

"The two of you will see to it that this is taken care of." He took a breath, gesturing to the pawns on the table. "There is a ravine to the west of here-" His dark gifts had the pawns lifting in the air. A fist of fear clenched your stomach. You had forgotten just HOW powerful he was.

"If you cut off the bridges their advancement will be paralyzed. We then may be able to regroup and massacre our way through this group here-" He pointed to the north, a smaller force lay there. Without the flanking force able to be a threat behind you it would work. Your strategist mind flushed out the plan.

 "I expect you both to fix this - as you both caused this issue. I want it done before dawn comes." The pawns he held in the air turned to dust on the table, making a neat pile before the dark lines that indicated the ravine. Hitting his point home, in a non subtle way you supposed. Arrogant cock of a high lord.

"It will work, Rhys." Cassian said softly. He glanced to Azriel. His eyes were pinned to your wing. Your stomach flipped, you glared at Rhys. Before you could call out his plans' faults - or how terribly he was treating you and your considerable 200 units in his army- you saw Cassian shaking his head slightly at you. He rested a hand on Rhys' shoulder. The gesture stood out. The cocky high lord had a sensitive side, perhaps. Your lip curled at the thought.

As if sensing your disgust with him, Rhysand's lip curled "Now get out." He said, voice low and gravely. Cassian gestured for you and Azriel to follow him out. Rhysand reminded you so much of your own father it made you want to spit. A territorial, abusive cock without enough dignity to spare your family name.

You took a deep breath of cold air, hoping to clear your mind. It did little to shake the tension in your shoulders, or the stiffness in your jaw. Making a mental checklist of the weapons you needed to bring, you noticed Azriel following you. Or seeming to.

The shadow singer stalked past your tent, going to the west where the bridges were. "What are you doing?" You asked, jogging to catch up with him. He was already fording through the tall shrubs and grasses by the time you caught up. 

"Taking care of it. I can fix it myself." He growled. You tried to keep up with him, but the jostling was upsetting your injury. 

You put a hand on his shoulder, "Wait, hey." He shrugged you off, scoffing to himself. "I should have gone alone in the first place. I dont understand why he had to send you." He muttered, stalking deeper into the forest. The rain didn't reach you here, under the darkening shadows and mist.

Rage erupted inside you at his words - and you called out the only thing you could think of that might stop him. If he wanted to fight he could damn well stop and have an actual fight with you. "I guess you are just like all the other Illyrians after all." Your blood rushed in your ears, seeming to dampen the sound of everything. The dull hiss of the rain hitting the trees above was barely audible. 

He stood rigid, wings flaring over his shoulders, growing larger with the shadows writing around them. "Do you even have a clue what real Illyrians would do to you right now if you were talking to them like this? What a normal male would do?" He was close. Too close for comfort. Too close to not be fighting or fucking. 

"Considering my father was a very real Illyrian, yes" He stuttered at that. You'd never seen him do such a thing. It would have been funny if that angry set of his features didnt come back. You were ready for more fighting, more yelling but his face went slack, and his eyes met yours finally. They were no longer the cold dark color like in the tent with Rhysand. They were a hazel that matches the warm colors of pine bark in summer. Your heart clenched at the sight of it.

"You're like the Peacemakers, then." He muttered, referencing the old tales of mighty warriors with mixed breeding. Unfortunately a lot of that breeding was not willing. It usually never was, and it had ruined two generations of Illyrian and Peregyn pairings. "Axios was always my favorite." He smiled at the memory. You bit your lip, remembering the true stories of each hero. Not the bastardized verisons peddled throughout the realm.

The offspring became ostracized and cast out of most communities. On Prythian and on the continent. The ones who survived long enough to become trainable though were given the name Peacemakers for a reason. Known for hired bloodletting, no questions asked. 

"I hope your end is not met like theirs." He seemed to shudder at the thought. All the anger boiled out of you at his concern. 

You felt the shame begin to creep up around you. You had sold your services to make ends meet at times. It always left you with a sickening feeling in your gut after. As if the Mother herself was disappointed. "You can help that not happen." You said softly, voice barely audible. If you weren't so deep into the forest you doubted even his shadows could have heard you. "I need.. I need to find my father." Your voice trembled, he approached you slowly. Like he was approaching a wild animal. 

"It might seem-" He began coaxing, holding a hand out to you. Just like he had the other night. A question, a temptation. 

"I know your pain, shadowsinger." You took his hand, letting him lead you to a fallen tree. The soft moss growing on it was a welcome seat after walking for so long following him into the woods. "He would beat my mother and would pluck her feathers." You were grateful for your mother every second she put into resisting his influence for you. For keeping him at bay until you grew enough to be sent to the Peregryn camps for training. She never revealed your cross breeding, only that you had your wings and could use them well. Only because she had taught you. 

Azriel was quiet for a long moment, his shadows moving slowly like waves around your ankles together. "I'm - sorry.. .about your mother. I didn't know." He whispered, pausing and cursing to himself. "I can help you find him. We can look, but we need to get through those enemy lines first. I need you to help me do that." He grasped your hand lightly, as if asking.

 "Lets slice some attor, I guess." You sniffed, the cold making your nose run. At least, you blamed it on that.

+

The camp was mostly asleep by the time you got there. Under the cover of nightfall you were able to silently end most of the Fae that lurked in the camp. With everything going so smoothly, your heart lurched at the sight of Azriel falling backwards, a calling horn in his hand. His siphons flared, and it shattered. But left his siphons dull. He winced as he rolled out of the winging range of a fellow Illyrian with a flail in one hand and a mace in the other.

"Traitorous bastard." Azriel grappled with the Illyrian commander, but they were evenly matched. They knew all the same moves, sparring and sword wise. You launched yourself through the scattered bodies lining the clearing, dodging over puddles of blood and forgotten weapons. The commander had Azriel in a hold that had his wings flipped outward, and the male took the opportunity. He pressed his boot against Az's back and pulled them backward, bending them father than was natural. You roared, not bothering to waste the time to draw your weapon. 

You barreled into him, Azriels hands still reaching backwards to claw at his hands. He toppled over a stack of bodies, yanking you down with him. You scrambled away from him, hands clambering for any weapon. By the time you turned back around to face him, Azriel had already put him on his knees before you. Bending the males wings back just as he had done to the shadow singer.

Your borrowed blade went through his throat, pinning him to the ground as he kneeled. He looked like a statue in the position.  

You spat on the body. "Dont touch wings, asshole." You muttered. Azriel stared at you, as if in shock. You picked up a better looking sword from the ground nearby, wiping it on the cloth inside of your armor sleeve. "What?" You asked. Azriel seemed stunned silent. He seemed shocked in place. After you were sure there were no rogues readying to flee or informants spying, You took a breath, returning to him where he still stood beside the body of the commander.

You pointed back at the winged body speared to the ground behind him. Smiling, you titled the pose. "A prayer to the mother." His eyes went somehow even wider. 

Then he broke out in laughter. You couldnt help but join him, the high of battle making you both delirious. You laughed at his laugh, the stupid face he made laughing back at you. Laughed at the half spoken words that were cut off by more breathless giggles. 

Your sides ached by the time you both sat around the enemy fire, enjoying their spoils of war from a nearby town. The roasted duck smelled particularly good. Azriel heated a pot of tea over the coals, throwing in fresh pine needles from a tree nearby. 

"You know-" He handed you your cup of tea. It was warm in your palm, but his hands were still somehow hotter than the boiling water. He blew on his cup, the steam not going much farther than what his shadows allowed. They seemed to almost play in it. "I am sorry about your mother. I understand why you regard some of us with such...distaste." He put the lid back on the pot and took it off the fire. He looked so natural doing...normal things. Not just posturing for his court and killing. 

You nodded in thanks, not needing too many words with him. "She fled the week after I was formally invited to train in the Peregryn ranks. He found her, and killed her for leaving him. My court holds no rules against such things. He hasn't suffered for it." Your voice shook at the end. "Yet, that is. This.." You gestured to the battlefield, the bodies behind you. "This is just along the way. Killing him will be my destiny. My retribution for my mother." You sipped your tea, letting the burn of it sink in. You hoped it would warm your insides.

"I miss my mother as well." He said, taking a gingerly sip of his tea. He stretched his wings, you could tell by the hesitant way he folded them back in that they pained him. You made a mental note to give him one of your healing potions when you returned to camp.

You sat in silence with him until that fire burned out, and only dull coals were left.

+

"I'm glad you both seemed to have fun. Is the camp clear?" Cassian hissed, following you to the war tent. You sipped your mead, nodding. "Yes, oh strategic one. The bridges are cut too, courtesy of yours truly." You winked at him, making him stop in his tracks. Azriel patted him on the shoulder without a word, then followed you into the tent where Rhys waited. Wrathful or not, you knew he had no rights to tell you off this time. 

Azriel's hazel eyes met your own as you entered the tent together.

[uraharasandals]

How about a fluffy (or perhaps smutty) scenario where the reader comforts Akutagawa in regards to the shit Dazai put him through? I want my edge Lord to realize that he doesn't need Dazai's praise because he is amazing and beautiful on his own. Make our boy feel loved 💜

Uhhh, so this kinda got out of hand at the end, but I hope you like it! I have a terrible grasp of Akutagawa's personality AND how his fluff would manifest with a partner but somehow I appear to write fluff with him the best? Anyways enjoy! 

   Lazy July afternoons were the epitome of bliss. It was a brief window of time in which the world wandered by without a care, in which, as the sun sets and tendrils of sunlight trickled through the window, the summer heat gets into everyone's head and frankly, no one has the energy to do anything except take a nap. 

   And that was precisely what you ended up doing. Cocooned in a nest of blankets and nestled in a warm bed with the air conditioning on full blast, there was no other place you would like to be right now. Add to the fact that Akutagawa's body temperature was a default freezing, it was a nice past-time for a summer afternoon; it was as if you had no care in the world. 

    Shifting across the blankets to find a cooler spot, you were about to fall back into dreamland when you heard a wince from Akutagawa. Normally you would have ignored it and went back to sleep, but the moment there was a tight grip on your arm draped across his abdomen you knew something was wrong; Akutagawa may be hostile to touches from time to time, but he had never stopped you in the middle of something. 

   "Are you okay?" Alertness started coming to your brain, though it was still slow; there was still a hint of sleepiness coating your tone as you sat up, taking care not to brush against him, lest you trigger something else. You weren't sure what had happened, but you guessed it may have something to do with the scars blooming all over his body. He had willingly exposed himself to you once, when you dressed a flesh wound on his chest, and noticed the network of criss-cross scars, as well as what looked like small punctures on his skin (quick research made you realise that those were bullet marks, and you were shocked at that). Experience taught you that scars tend to leave ghost trails of pain even long after the wounds have closed, and judging from the extent of injuries Akutagawa suffered from, your accidental brushes might have forced a dizzying wave of pain back into his system. 

  "Fine." Despite his words, you could see the flash of pain that went across his face, and you sighed. "I'll go get some painkillers; wait here." As you prepared to - unwillingly - get out of bed, Akutagawa caught at your hand, managing to hold onto your little finger, giving a small tug; this was a clear sign he wanted you to stay, so you did, though kicking the blankets away to watch over him properly. 

   A quick glance at Akutagawa's face made you realise that it was no longer contorted in pain anymore, and he was just lying there, as if contemplating something. You raised your eyebrows at this, but said nothing, letting the silence be broken by occasional splutters of the air conditioner and the spilling of sunset into your bedroom; the sunlight fell short on his face, but illuminated his cheekbones and eyelashes, startling you with the seeming display of youth. 

  Had Akutagawa really been this young? His mannerisms and speech frequently persuaded you otherwise, but after you reasoned that there was no way you would've chosen someone notably more mature than you, you realised that he was. His time in the mafia had hardened him; his mentions of his superior, a man named 'Dazai', reflected to you a certain degree of hardship and torture he was subject to in the organization, which would likely have forced him to grow up as well.

  For that moment, you found yourself bearing hate for a man you haven't even met, much less having a grasp of his personality. 

  "What's wrong?" You were the first to break the silence, as always; the words escaped from your mouth quietly, as if you didn't want to break the sudden tranquility in the mood. The singular moment that took your eyes to meet his was enough to catch you off guard, and another insistent tug made you fall back onto the bedsheets with a small groan. Before you knew it, his eyes were inches away, the tip of his nose - cold - brushing against yours, in a distance close enough to kiss. Heat crept up your cheeks, but you forced yourself to maintain eye contact with the man in front of you. Then, he opened his mouth and a single statement tumbled out, "You're too fragile." 

  "Says you?" Eyebrows raised, you ran the pad of your thumb lightly down the hidden scar on the column of his neck. Immediately, he gave a small wince. "Since when did strong and tough mafiaso get triggered by scars, I wonder." You shouldn't tease him like this, cruel words with a sarcastic edge, especially not about his scars, but you couldn't help it; the more you thought about who inflicted those on him, and how he still suffers from them, the more you feel anger rising within you -- and somehow you had decided to take it out on him. 

   The effect told hold -- too well, you thought bitterly -- and his eyes narrowed at you, the fire kindled within them again. Just as you were bracing yourself for the onslaught of Rashomon, he suddenly deflated, and guilt crossed his face. "You were right." 

    "I - I am?"

    "Yes. If only I was as strong as Dazai-san - " 

     His words were immediately cut off. Akutagawa's lips were still freezing beneath yours, which sent a shiver down your spine, but it was worth the surprised - or what passed for surprised - look on his face as you pulled away. "What was that for, _________?" 

     "You're already strong enough, Ryunosuke." You probably shouldn't, after a narrow escape from the tiger's fangs, but you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, where another criss-cross patch of scars sat. Luckily, he only stiffened under your hold. "Remember? Otherwise I would've died." Untangling an arm, you pulled down a corner of your shirt to reveal the thin strip of white skin tissue running across your shoulder, shivering slightly from the sudden exposure.

      His face was hidden from view, but you could feel his icy fingers fluttering above the wound hesitantly. "The bullet...." One of Port Mafia's enemies had decided to take down Akutagawa - their so-called 'trump card' -- sometime ago by kidnapping you, his dearest person, holding you hostage, and intending to kill him as soon as he showed up. Little did they underestimate their power, and he had wiped them out in a matter of seconds, though one last brave attempt by the sole survivor had left you a souvenir dangerously near your neck; a true shot that missed thanks to Akutagawa. "Does it...still hurt?" 

      "A little." You admitted, and was about to pull away from him when you felt a pair of -- still freezing -- lips press onto the wound. An embarrassing gasp escaped from you as your hands tightened around his neck, which turned into a moan as he diligently worked his way up the column of your neck, ending with a sharp nip right behind your ear. "R-Ryunosuke!" 

      "And aren't you just like me, __________." You thought he was mad, but a look at his face revealed the beginnings of a smirk tugging at his mouth. "At least I wasn't the one attempting to be strong," You huffed, sitting up. "I, unlike a certain someone, know my boundaries." 

      "Do you?" 

      Akutagawa, magically, lost the staring contest. 

      "Anyways, I was serious about what I was saying earlier, Ryunosuke." You leaned back against the headboard, shifting a little to let him have some sitting room next to you. The fading sunset traced out a line of sunlight right across his shoulder, which ran across the scar on your still exposed shoulder. "You don't have to compare yourself against anyone else because you're already strong enough." Reaching over, you clasped his hand, feeling your warmth bleed into his. When he attempted to open his mouth -- no doubt the beginnings of an argument -- you immediately cut in. "Especially not against Dazai-san. I don't care how good he might be, he'll never be you, Ryunosuke." 

       "Me." There was a hint of bitterness underneath. "What about me?" 

       "You're amazing." You shifted closer to him, and began to pick your next words carefully. "You were able to survive his training. I don't think anyone else would've been able to do that so well. You also have proof to show for it, see?" Bringing his hand up, you started tracing his scars. "The fruits of your success." Turned over; the star-shaped paleness inside his wrist. "The proof of your hardship." One jagged line running up his arm and disappearing into his shirt. "The - " 

       "Was that the prelude to your testing my resolve?" Somehow, you found yourself pinned underneath him, his knees holding your legs firmly in place; his ankle dug sharply into yours, but the suddenness somehow made your brain register only the proximity of his face from yours, allowing for a tiny 'oh' escaping from your mouth. 

        "I didn't - " A small voice at the back of your mind was reminded vaguely that this scenario had played out only seconds ago, but they soon faded into nothing as his tongue worked roughly against yours, forcing its way into your mouth and effectively cutting off the stem of words you were about to say. "If that was a test of strength, I would say I passed it successfully, no?" Mind still spiralling into a whirlpool of confusion, you barely registered his words and the fact that his fingers tilted your head so that your eyes bore into his, which had turned dark. 

       "Or do you need more proof of my so-called power*?" 

         Brief note: Because the word for 'power' and 'strength' in Japanese can be used interchangeably, Aku could also have said 'strength', which may have another meaning ;) 

[kunrendeotaku]

Chapter 13

“Ughh. You’re right. I’m an awful princess.” Star slumps against a rail separating one half of the restaurant from the other, waving her empty cup in her hand. “Just like today, I can never get what I’m supposed to do right. If I do remember my lessons, it's always exactly the wrong ones.”

I lean against the rail next to her and pat her shoulder, then shrug. A bit of self reflection will be good for her, I don’t actually want my city burning to the ground after all. “Hey. Maybe you’re a bit of a screw up. But that just means you have to keep trying, and more importantly, it's what lead you here. We wouldn’t have the chance to hang out like this if you’d never had to be sent to Earth.” Much as my day hasn’t been the best, I’d trade massive highs and massive lows for the stagnant boredom of my usual life any day. Fight a demon, lose your hair, fun and despair all nicely paired together. Doesn’t change the fact I plan to mourn Rodrigo properly later tonight, but it helps get my head straight with the idea of Star altogether-rainbows and fire, amazingly wonderful but definitely going to get me horribly killed one day. I… like it a little too much.

“Aww. That's so sweet. You’re right! I just have to do my best, and listen to my Earth guide. Speaking of which… why are we carrying around empty cups??” Star tilts her head, bright blue eyes clouded with confusion. Perfect timing, she’ll be distracted by the drink machine for sure.

I walk us on over towards the machine in question, thinking that after that little detour our food will likely be ready by the time we finish off with the machine. “Behold! A soda dispenser. You just hold your cup against one of these levers, and carbonated sugary deliciousness comes out! This one here is for ice.” I quickly demonstrate by filling up my cup with ice and root beer, all the while noticing how wide Star’s eyes are.

“It… is it free? How do people not come in and just drink all of it?” I was wondering if she had any real concept of money. I guess she did have some economics lessons sink in during childhood, though I doubt she did much small money purchases as a princess.

“Ah! You see, that’s the ingenious part. We buy our -cups-! You can’t bring in your own cups or you get in trouble, so you fill up these empty ones we bought.” I flick my still lidless paper cup to show my point.

Star just responds with a roll of her eyes. “Is that all?! Anyone could cheat that! Look, look, I can do this super easy.” The crazy girl twists her head to the side and slams the side of her face into the various levers used pushed for soda, holding her mouth wide open. Immediately a small river of three different colors and kinds of soft drink pour onto her face. She doesn’t seem to care at all, other than a twitching eye from a stream of mountain dew pouring directly onto it.

Lord save me from the shenanigans of this idiot. I take a few moments to allow myself the brief stress relief of a face palm, Star giggling all the while as she glugs perhaps a third of the diet coke heading for her mouth. The rest, of course, just soaking my new exchange student’s head and upper body. Once appropriately facepalmed, I yank Star away from the soda fountain by the back of her dress and just glare at her.

She giggles nervously upon seeing my look. “I, uh, guess that's against the rules too?” I give the girl no answer for the moment, as I am too busy grabbing an absolute mountain of paper towels.

“Hold still.” I order her, before beginning to wipe her down. I swear that it feels sometimes like I’m already a parent. My mother can be a messy eater as well, and it stresses me the hell out to the point where I used to carry a handkerchief around all the time just for cleaning up any messes on her, though after one particularly grueling summer of training I disabused her of the habit enough that I no longer bother to carry one. Perhaps I should start doing so again.

I find myself thinking how odd her cheek marks are. I thought they were stickers at first, perhaps magical ones considering how they sometimes changed to reflect her emotions, but now that I’m wiping her cheeks I can clearly feel they are just her skin. She looks a bit uncomfortable at the vigorous scrubbing of her face and neck, but one look at my face convinces her that escaping me when I’m in my mothering mode is a terrible idea. I dry off what I can of her hair next, but that will likely be damp and sticky for a while.

For whatever reason, she blushes deeply when I dry off the front of her dress. Maybe the soda had started to stick and felt uncomfortable, I dunno. Ignoring her cherry red cheeks and the fact that she appears to be considering hitting me now instead of being just uncomfortable, I brush my hands off and declare “Passable. The art of cleaning is one not practiced well enough by people. If I had some wet wipes you’d be good as new, but we’ll have to be satisfied with adequate.”

Star glances towards the floor, muttering “Turnabout's fair play, I guess?” before simply shrugging and letting the tension out of her shoulders with a sigh. I’ve got no clue what she means by that, but I blame Janna. She glances back towards the soda fountain and stretches out her empty cup this time, bless her soul. She starts by grabbing some ice that quickly goes into her mouth to help chill out the blush on her cheeks. A crunching noise sounding out nearly throws me into a full on return of the rant I had on our first meeting, but I manage to just barely keep it in. Ice is bad for teeth, but not even normal humans usually care.

“C’mon Star, get something. I think we’re holding up the line.” I look behind me to see a number of impatient people who were rather unamused to be held up by our antics at the soda fountain. Thankfully Star avoids the dilemma of deciding what to choose by filling up her cup with a bit of every single type of soda. Snapping on the plastic caps for both our cups and grabbing a pair of straws goes relatively smoothly after that, after which I lead us to a booth. They’re just more comfortable than tables, you know? Even if we only have a couple people.

“This. Is. Amazing.” Star is absolutely sucking down her soda, the joys of carbonation or perhaps simply her straw made clear by the sparkling of her eyes. I’m not sure which, I still haven’t pinned down the exact technology level of her old dimension, but it seems vaguely medieval. “It’s tingly like magic potions, but instead of swamp water and magic it takes like sugar water! Best thing I’ve tried on Earth yet, hehehe.” She snags a seat on one side of the booth and slides up against the wall, then glances up at me curiously when I don’t follow her.

“If you think that's good, just wait til you try nuggets with their sweet and sour. Absolutely divine.” I kiss my fingers like what I imagine a food gourmet or chef might, then giggle a bit. “I’ll be right back, I figure our food is ready by now.” A quick run to the counter and back, and our wonderful meal of boxes of nuggets and fries is ready to be served. Naturally, I slide into the other side of the booth across from Star and get ready to dig in. Before I can touch a single bit of food, however, Star holds up a hand with a squint in her eyes.

“Waaaait.” I blink, then my new exchange student dips down under the table. I hear several crashes, bangs, and weird curses. Standard stuff for when I don’t have my eyes on her. Next thing I know her face pops up between my knees. More than a little awkward to have her that close to my crotch, but the pure oddity of her behavior helps to avoid more than a slight blush on my cheeks. “Oh, whoops! Almost got it, hehe.” She disappears back down under the table before popping up right next to me and plopping into the seat with a smug look.

“If you wanted to sit next to me, you could LITERALLY have just stood up and walked around.” Her continued refusal to take the easy way to do anything still baffles me. I notice she’s also managed to pick up another layer of dirt and grime all over herself, and at least three pieces of chewing gum in her hair. Is it actually impossible for her to stay clean for more than five minutes at a time?

“Life is an adventure Marco! You should try it sometime. Besides, if I hadn’t gone over there I wouldn’t have found...THIS!” A muscular arm disappears into her huge mass of hair before ripping out a piece of gum I hadn’t spotted before. “It's squishy and smells like sugar!” I swear my hand has never snapped out faster than in the moment I realized she was about to toss the old gum into her mouth. Whip crack quick the chewing gum is slapped out onto the floor.

“Star! Oh my god, don’t freaking eat things off of the floor! Or the bottom of the table! Or other weird places!” My voice shakes in horror. How had she survived until now? Even now she looks more upset about her stinging fingers and lost treat than the fact she had almost committed suicide by bacteria. I feel the urge to lecture rising sharply in me, and only the threat of our food going cold stops me from doing so. I cut things short with an almost growled “We’ll discuss this later. Now eat your lunch, young lady!”

[leahnar]

A Memory To Remind You....

My first memory that I can recall with my mother, it’s summer, not hot, sunset, burnt orange Camaro with a fin, we’re on New York Street.

My sister, Melissa lived off New York Street in many different houses with many different people, chaos, her life was chaos. Well get to her role In my story another day.

Mom was there for a reason I can’t remember, probably to drop off money or maybe to check and see if she was alive, again, well get to her another day.

We were pulling out of the driveway onto this busy road, New York Street. SMACK.

I remeber my forehead hitting the back on my moms seat. It hurt. I was scared. My first accident.

There my mom went, I remeber seeing her long brown hair blow by the side window I could barely see out of. Then I heard it. The screaming. It’s something I grow used to with time but at 6, it scared me.

I remeber seeing the vains in her neck popping out. Her right balled fist punching this strangers window. She was rage. She was Fear. I remember her screaming “my kids in the car you mother fucker!”

The same kid you didn’t even check on before you were out in the middle of New York Street threatening someone’s life over a dented bumper.

Thats mom, hot headed, knee jerk reactor, angry, means well, a bear of a mother or so it was. The good Lord and the Bible slowed her down.

I felt anxiety for the first time that day.

My first memory with my father is a doozy and a little boozy, but are we shocked in any way. Beer is what makes that guy go.

It was Saturday, I only remeber because those were the only days he’d see me, sometimes not even then.

It was a good day at his house. My step mom made breakfast and me and my step sister got to be outside all day. She was my best friend when I went over there. I remember wishing I had her life, that my dad would want to spend time with me like he did with her. It took me 29 years to realize he hurt his kids and my step moms too. Bitterness, well get there.

I remember my step mom had to work. She put on her apron and out the door she went. My dad grabbed a beer and then another and another.

Eminem was playing in the background. My step sister loves him. Then you hear the door, Little Jerry’s here And dads about to get tanked, while on his court ordered visitation to see me.

1 led to 2, which led to 4, which led to 7, I can still hear the cans crushing on the floorboard.

Oh we’re driving now, well dad is, with no driving’s license since before I was born.

He had to drop me off, his night was just getting started and I was in the way. He didn’t care about his kids, he didn’t care about my step moms kids, he cared about himself. Always has, Always will.

He hit the gas, hard. I was too little to see over the dash, I remeber his voice cracking as he reved the engine And hollered “yeehaw” as we flew over train tracks, airborn, Busch light cans flew from the backseat to the front seat when our tires touched the pavement again.

I didn’t want to upset him, I seen the fun he was having in his eyes, he looked happy, he never looked happy around me, but I was scared.

Anxiety, I felt it again.

The mind Is a funny thing, this organ that controls us. It controls us until the age we decide to control it.

I spent my whole life running from the memories and the feelings that came with those memories.

The same time I was running from them, I was slowing down and trying to find myself in the memories.

My first REAL fight, I was 14, she was short, chewed her gum like a horse eating hay and when she talked you we’re going to hear her I grew up in the city of Aurora, we all were like that, it’s the only way to survive it. The tension had grown, she elbowed me in my rib, in a basketball game, that you make physical contact with people for a reason for. 14 year old me couldn’t handle it. 14 year old Leahna raged, I called her every name in the book, I threw the ball right past her head, barely missing. She scowled back at me. I stood there my chest tightening, my nails cutting into my palm so hard it bleed. Black.

Its the color I seen, when I came to I was on top of her, my fist hitting her right cheek so hard her left cheek bounced off the hard wood floor in the gym. I couldn’t think, I couldnt breathe. Blood was gushing from her nose.The coach ripped my jersey pulling me off of her.

The anxiety was back.

Hello Mother, it’s come to my attention the anger you portrayed to the world I have it to, we’re just alike me and you.

I could start a story about my first beer but to save some face and not get anyone in trouble we’ll start with this one.

Im 15, I’m in Southern Illinois visiting a friend, summer break. My mom sent me off places like it was nothing, I was always at someone else house.

We got one of the boys to get us some booze ‘steal it’ we said. They did. While they were gone we raided my friends moms medicine cabinet and a coke can with a compartment for weed. At 15 we said, all in. My friends down there, man they were friends for life, we knew what home life was like, we knew what we were seeing, we knew the horrors of growing up like we did. We just wanted to be numb and for a bunch of kids that shouldn’t of know nothing about it, we sure knew a lot. The boys were back, no chasers, no cups. We were 15 we wanted red cups and for it to not burn going down are adolescent esophagus. We ran into town for a coke can from a vending machine on the side of the road, it’s southern Illinois, that’s normal.

We crushed the can into this odd shaped with a hole in the top. My friend crunching up the weed like a giant picking a flower. We were really about to do this, everything we’re feeling we just didn’t want to feel anymore.

We smoked weed all the time but we’d never drank a bottle of Hot Damn, a nug of dirt weed and a whole bunch of pills from her moms medicine cabinet.

Bottoms Up. Black.

Hello Father, it’s come to my attention that your Addiction has now become mine, I to like the feeling of not feeling anything, we are so alike me and you.

The mind is a funny thing.

Im working on myself. I’m 614 days sober. I use breathing techniques to bring my rage to a simmer. I pay a therapist 200 dollars a month to properly deal with my life.

They are just memories now.

Memories Hurt. Memories remind me why I’m paying my therapist 200 dollars a month to help me cope.

Everyone wants to talk about how memories are “life changing” and freeing.

Bullshit, they hurt. They suck to look at. To Remember is a human brain function I wish we didn’t have, like a gold fish. gold fish have no idea what day it is.

Itd be great to forget. But would it?

memories also remind us of our perseverance,our strength,our reasons.

damn you, memories.

[petriichvrs]

𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒚, 𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐘.

´   ･   .   ✶   ⧼    jessica barden, demigirl, she & her & they & them   /   mariners apartment complex by lana del rey + short nails with dirt caught beneath them and worn out jeans with muddy patches on the knees. scuffed trainers that have seen better days ( you understand how they feel ) and a handknit jumper that is somehow still too large, with stitches pulled hither and tither. windswept red hair and a stubbornly set mouth, the kind that used to twist into the most infectious smile ; but doesn’t, now that you are the girl on fire who has seen it all and yet, not enough. in the depths of those brown eyes, flames rage, good and strong, and isn’t that the savage beauty of it all? that in spite of everything, you remain - sturdy and smelling of smoke.   ⧽   ━━   hey, isn’t that GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY? i read a daily prophet article on them, once ; the TWENTY TWO year old pureblood WITCH is a GRYFFINDOR alumus, who has gone on to be a PROFESSIONAL CHASER FOR THE HOLYHEAD HARPIES. i’ve heard they can be quite RESILIENT & INTUITIVE, but i don’t know… they came off very HEADSTRONG & WAGGISH in that interview. it really is hard to know what to believe these days though, isn’t it? click HERE for ginny’s entire history ( also linked within ) & HERE for her pinterest board.

  and they call us hard women,       as if SURVIVAL could ever be delicate.

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒 !

FULL NAME:   ginevra molly weasley.

MEANING OF NAME(S):   an arthurian baby name meaning ‘fair one’. a name of irish origin and derived from ‘mary’, meaning ‘star of the sea’. a surname of unsure origin.

NICKNAMES:   ginny.

AGE:   twenty two.

BIRTHDATE:   august 11th, 1998.

BIRTHPLACE:   great britain.

ETHNICITY:   white.

EDUCATION:   homeschooled as all wizard children are, before attending hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry upon turning eleven.

JOB:   chaser for the holyhead harpies.

LANGUAGES:   english, french, german, spanish.

GENDER IDENTITY:   demigirl.

PRONOUNS:   she / her / they / them.

SEXUALITY ORIENTATION:   bisexual biromantic.

𝐖𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 !

HOGWARTS HOUSE:   gryffindor.

WAND TYPE:     eight and a quarter inches yew with phoenix tail feather.

PATRONUS:   a horse ( an ardennais stallion ).

BOGGART:   tom riddle ; not lord voldemort. people often forget that ginny faced him all alone, aged eleven, and only barely lived to tell the tale.

AMORTENTIA:   molly weasley’s homemade mince pies, harry potter’s preferred cologne and the smell of the quidditch pitch at hogwarts, after spring rain.

MISC. INFO:   trained and registered animagus, with the ability of transforming into a ginger tabby cat.

𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 !

FATHER:   arthur weasley.

MOTHER:   molly weasley neé prewett.

SIBLING(S):   william, charles, percy, fred, george & ronald weasley ( older brothers ).

RELATIVES:   the weasley & prewett families ( and all who have subsequently married into them ).

SIGNIFICANT OTHER:   none.

EX SIGNIFICANT OTHERS:   harry potter & dean thomas & michael corner.

CHILDREN:   none.

PET(S):   arnold ( purple pygmy puff with a shocking lifespan ) & archimedes ( a screech owl ).

𝐏𝐇𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 !

HEIGHT:   five foot one inch.

EYE COLOR:   brown.

HAIR COLOR:   ginger.

SCARS:   she has scars along her thighs and upon her fingertips that she doesn’t remember getting, from her second year. 'blood traitor’ on her right arm from lines she was forced to write by the carrow twins, in her sixth year. scars from the crack of a whip along her back, and scars upon her wrists and ankles from the chain bonds that filch preferred. a scar along her left cheekbone that she pairs with the gnarly one upon her knee, because both of them were sustained under the cruciatus curse. she has more scars than she can possibly remember that serve only to remind her of the war that they fought ; and she tries very hard to be proud of them, but even she finds it hard.

GLASSES / CONTACTS:   no / no.

PIERCINGS:   basic lobe piercings and a scaffold piercing in her right ear.

TATTOOS:   a tiny snitch, stick and poke tattooed on the inside of her arm - done in her third year, it glows when the weather is perfect for quidditch.

OTHER NOTABLE TRAITS:   there’s a dent on her forehead that you would only see if you were looking for it, sustained in the chamber of secrets.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 !

STAR SIGN:   leo, the lion ( passionate, earnest, enigmatic, jealous ).

PERSONALITY TYPE:   estp, the entrepreneur ( high energy, independent, reckless, bold ).

ALIGNMENT:   chaotic good.

TEMPERAMENT:   melancholic.

RELIGION:   agnostic.

PHOBIA(S):   ophidiophobia ( fear of snakes ).

VICE:   anger, recklessness, impatience.

VIRTUE:   confidence, passion, perseverance.

𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 !

ALLERGIES:   none.

SMOKING/ALCOHOL/DRUGS:   sometimes, but has mostly broken the habit / socially, and regularly / no.

DIAGNOSES:   post traumatic stress disorder, survivors guilt and chronic insomnia.

BLOOD TYPE:   a positive.

𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 !

click this link to be brought to ginny’s entire history.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 !

seventh child and only daughter of arthur and molly. first girl born into the weasley fam for GENERATIONS, so that makes her special. had too many brothers. biggest grievance was they never let her play quidditch with them, so she broke into their shed and taught herself. cried every single time they went to hogwarts without her. 

eventually got there herself. her first year notoriously SUCKED.

if ‘sucked’ is a good enough word to describe being possessed by tom riddle and opening the chamber of secrets, which ultimately led to a lot of people almost dying, including herself.

this, understandably, royally fucked ginny’s shit up. easily seen by her extra special hysterical reaction to the dementors. didn’t do much in her second yr other than be upset by them on the train and be hermione granger 2.0 ( overachiever extraordinaire ).

fully supported harry potter during his fourth year, when he became the unwitting fourth champion. would have gone to the yule ball with him if she hadn’t pledged herself to neville longbottom, who goes on to become one of her best friends.

got all up in order business in her fourth year, against her parents wishes. you can take the girl from the rebellion but you can’t take the rebellion from the girl. joined dumbledore’s army. also named it. became a royal pain in umbridge’s ass. was super talented at spells ( she’s special ) that they were being taught. had a rough christmas cos her dad almost got killed by voldemort’s ugly snake. hexed draco malfoy and still giggles about it to this day. fought off death eaters in the department of mysteries and was witness to sirius black’s death.

everyone rly wanted a piece of ginny in her fifth year ( understandable ). she got invited to slug club. was also made chaser of the gryffindor quidditch team ( after playing seeker the previous year when harry was banned ). she dated harry for a hot minute after she finally got rid of dean thomas ( srry dean ), but... after dumbledore died and death eaters attacked the school he broke up with her to ‘protect her’ which... sucked.

honestly. summer in general sucked. her bro got attacked by a werewolf. her boyfriend dumped her for her own good. there was a wedding, for some reason.

sixth year also sucked. the da was reformed ( by ginny & her friends ) but could only do so much in the face of the gross misuse of power by grown ass adults. ginny did all that she could even when they were actively torturing them all, but was made go into hiding at easter. 

followed her fam to hogwarts for the battle. almost had to sit the whole thing out, but ran off after she was forced to leave the room of requirement.

let’s recap the battle real quick : her brother? died. her friends? died. the love of her life? never even said goodbye and died. ginny? almost died! she did not have a good time. 0/10 stars on yelp, in fact. but they prevailed! they made harry proud! love when you succeed and get ptsd for your troubles.

ginny helped rebuild hogwarts over the summer, and went back in september to finish her seventh year, but... it wasn’t really home anymore. a war will do that. loss will do that. she was trying very hard to be okay - and in a lot of ways, trying a little too hard to be who she had ALWAYS been. she probably could have done with being told that no one expected her to be unchanged, but... everyone was going through their own stuff. 

she tried to honor the one’s that they lost by living, but... that was easier on paper. ginny didn’t seem to make it all the way through the five stages of grief. she was angry, and she was sad, but she couldn’t deny it and she couldn’t change it - and acceptance was impossible. her grief turned into a persistent feeling of emptiness, and that took a toll on her, as a person. 

a lot that made her happy once didn’t, anymore. she was scouted by the holyhead harpies fresh out of hogwarts, but when they asked her to sign, she didn’t immediately take them up on the offer. quidditch was about the only thing she had left at that point that brought her some measure of joy, and it felt...surreal, to be considering taking such a small pleasure and turning it into her life work. it felt not right, for some reason. doing something so ‘normal’ felt insulting, almost, to all the people who wouldn’t do anything normal again - but she couldn’t do nothing forever, and eventually, she was convinced.

she took the offer. she never looked back. things haven’t really gotten better in all the time since then, but at least they can’t get any worse.

𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 !   /  talk of scars & death & trauma.

ginny’s scars tell more stories about her life at hogwarts than she has ever uttered. from her first year, she has marks that she can’t name the cause of. scarring along her thighs and upon her fingertips that were obtained in some of her black outs, that her parents BEGGED madam pomfrey to remove, but who she quietly told to not bother. there’s a small dent on her forehead that she sustained when she collapsed in the chamber of secrets, and you wouldn’t see it, if you weren’t looking. she doesn’t point it out.

of course, she sustained some in her fourth year. she fell over during a dumbledore’s army session and she scraped up the palm of her hand, something that they all laughed about, back then. she broke her ankle badly enough that it continues to click, even now, but luckily was never a hassle in her chosen career. maybe she’d have been even worse of, if bellatrix had tortured her like planned. ginny counts her blessings.

but it’s her sixth year that ruined her. that instilled within her a LOVE of long sweaters and a fear of being seen entirely naked. ‘blood traitor’ is carved into her right arm from lines she was FORCED to write with her own blood, over and over, after being caught putting graffiti on the side of green house number five. she didn’t cry, to them. she didn’t shed a tear. along her back there are criss cross scars from the CRACK of a whip, so many of them that ginny still closes her eyes when she’s getting into the bathtub, so she doesn’t catch a glimpse in the mirror. she’s been suspended by her ankles, by her wrists, and she has the taut skin there to show for it, and under one instance of the cruciatus curse, she FELL and sustained two wounds most commonly paired together in her thoughts - a scar along her left cheekbone, and a gnarly one upon her knee.

the war scarred her too. scarred her deeper. scarred her truer. she has more now than she can possibly remember that serve as a reminder to the war that they fought, together - and she tries to be proud of them. she really does. but even she finds it difficult.

ginny still keeps a bag packed and ready to go at the drop of a hat under her bed, just in case she has to run. it’s a habit instilled in her by her parents from when they went into hiding, and it’s one that she’s finding almost impossible to break. she still sleeps with her wand underneath her pillow every night, fingers curled around the wood - terrified, always, to be caught without it.

her nightmares vary, but they’re there. sometimes she wakes in a cold sweat, blinking away the MEMORY of green light that came all too close to finishing her off. sometimes, all she can see is the rotting body of her older brother and his open, vacant eyes. sometimes it’s harry, and he’s all alone, and she’s screaming at him - just screaming and crying and begging him to turn around and stop and come back, but he never does. sometimes she’s back in the dungeons of hogwarts, hanging by her ankles, and when she’s shakily sipping coffee in the morning, she can still hear the carrow twins laughter in her ears, clear as day.

she’s suffered from sleep paralysis, too, though this predates the war and began in the weeks after the chamber of secrets. her limbs too heavy to move, the demon that stands over her is tom riddle - her longest and most withstanding nightmare. she’s ashamed of the fact that though she fears she’s forgotten the exact sound of fred’s laugh or the feel of harry’s hand in hers, she’ll never be able to forget the features of sixteen year old voldemort.

ginny can throw off the cruciatus curse, now, and perhaps can even resist imperio. she’s never wanted to TRY, but after the many times it was used upon them in her sixth year.. she believes it possible.

she trained to be an animagus, more out of… boredom, than anything else. she’s registered as an orange tabby cat, and it’s not uncommon for her to run off in this form in the direction of the lake, where she can sit for hours.

ginny is bloody awful at all of the things her mother tried to teach her. knitting, cooking, general housework. she would sit for HOURS with molly in the lead up to christmas, a pair of knitting needles held awkwardly in both hands, fingers incapable of making the loops and stitches that molly is so skilled at doing, until SHE had all the christmas jumpers done… and ginny only had a rather pathetic excuse of a scarf. similarly, she tried many a time to lend a hand in the kitchen, or memorize the recipe and replicate her mothers famous homemade fudge - almost always creating some sort of inedible goop at the end of it all. she tries, god bless her, but she just doesn’t seem to have the knack that came so EASILY to molly, and years ago after a particularly disastrous attempt at knitting the weasley family matching jumpers that ended with tears all around, ginny gave up that particular hobby.

she can garden, though. BOY can she garden. neville taught her how to take care of plants she thought were beautiful, and when she moved into her little bedsit, ginny pulled up the entire garden in her allotment - redoing it in her image. she spends hours out there, knee deep in mud, hands covered, and she comes in, sunburnt, smiling, blazing and beautiful. it’s such a simple joy to her, but it is one, nonetheless.

she always had an interest in muggles. ginny idolized her father ( and still, perhaps, does ), and some of her earliest memories were of clambering onto piles of scrap in the burrows yard, just to peek through the little dusty window on arthur’s shed and watch as he tinkered with some new muggle artifact. she was the one who told fred and george about the car, you know - though she never thought even for a MOMENT that they would end up driving it.

she learned the concept of ‘stick and poke’ tattoos from a worn out fiction book she borrowed from hermione, and learned how to replicate them with a good quill, some magical ink and a couple good spells. she gave herself her own one, in fact - the little snitch inside of the crook of her left arm, that isn’t a perfect circle, but still manages to glow BRIGHT when the conditions are perfect for quidditch. she got pretty good at them, too, giving many of her classmates their own magical tattoos as the years went by - though, like many things that brought her joy, she stopped doing them after the battle of hogwarts.

[notimetoblog]

Thank you all so much for joining the World Book Day celebration! It was a pleasure getting to hear about your favorite books! I am a fervent believer that reading is so powerful. It expands your minds, takes you to places you had never even imagined, and can teach you so much about the world and ourselves.

I have compiled the list (in alphabetical order by title) of all the books that were recommended during this celebration. Each book links to the original recommendation, states the genre of the book, and has a brief synopsis of the book :D

If you would like to recommend more PLEASE FEEL FREE TO DO SO!! We could always use more books in our lives!! Thank you all again and I hope you’re able to read some books on the list that you haven't read before!

BOOK RECS

A Court of Thorns and Roses Series by Sarah J. Maas

Recommended by @wintersxsoul here

Genre: Young Adult / Romance / Fantasy

Synopsis: Feyre's survival rests upon her ability to hunt and kill – the forest where she lives is a cold, bleak place in the long winter months. So when she spots a deer in the forest being pursued by a wolf, she cannot resist fighting it for the flesh. But to do so, she must kill the predator and killing something so precious comes at a price.

Around  the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne

Recommended by @just-add-butter here

Genre: Fiction / Adventure / Classics

Synopsis: One ill-fated evening at the Reform Club, Phileas Fogg rashly bets his companions £20,000 that he can travel around the entire globe in just eighty days - and he is determined not to lose. Breaking the well-establised routine of his daily life, the reserved Englishman immediately sets off for Dover, accompanied by his hot-blooded French manservant Passepartout. Travelling by train, steamship, sailing boat, sledge and even elephant, they must overcome storms, kidnappings, natural disasters, Sioux attacks and the dogged Inspector Fix of Scotland Yard - who believes that Fogg has robbed the Bank of England - to win the extraordinary wager. 

Burn for Burn Series by Jenny Han

Recommended by @marvelsangel here

Genre: Fantasy / Paranormal / Young Adult

Synopsis (of first book):  Postcard-perfect Jar Island is home to charming tourist shops, pristine beaches, amazing oceanfront homes—and three girls secretly plotting revenge.KAT is sick and tired of being bullied by her former best friend.LILLIA has always looked out for her little sister, so when she discovers that one of her guy friends has been secretly hooking up with her, she’s going to put a stop to it.MARY is perpetually haunted by a traumatic event from years past, and the boy who’s responsible has yet to get what’s coming to him.None of the girls can act on their revenge fantasies alone without being suspected. But together…anything is possible. With an alliance in place, there will be no more “I wish I’d said…” or “If I could go back and do things differently...” These girls will show Jar Island that revenge is a dish best enjoyed together.

Code Name Verity By Elizabeth Wein

Recommended by @notimetoblog here

Genre: Historical Fiction / Young Adult

Synopsis: Oct. 11th, 1943 - A British spy plane crashes in Nazi-occupied France. Its pilot and passenger are best friends. One of the girls has a chance at survival. The other has lost the game before it's barely begun. When "Verity" is arrested by the Gestapo, she's sure she doesn't stand a chance. As a secret agent captured in enemy territory, she's living a spy's worst nightmare. Her Nazi interrogators give her a simple choice: reveal her mission or face a grisly execution. As she intricately weaves her confession, Verity uncovers her past, how she became friends with the pilot Maddie, and why she left Maddie in the wrecked fuselage of their plane. On each new scrap of paper, Verity battles for her life, confronting her views on courage and failure and her desperate hope to make it home. But will trading her secrets be enough to save her from the enemy? 

Coming of Age in Mississippi: The Classic Autobiography of a Young Black Girl in the Rural South by Anne Moody

Recommended by anonymous here

Genre: Memoir / History / Nonfiction

Synopsis: Born to a poor couple who were tenant farmers on a plantation in Mississippi, Anne Moody lived through some of the most dangerous days of the pre-civil rights era in the South. The week before she began high school came the news of Emmet Till's lynching. Before then, she had "known the fear of hunger, hell, and the Devil. But now there was...the fear of being killed just because I was black." In that moment was born the passion for freedom and justice that would change her life.

Crazy Rich Asians Series by Kevin Kwan

Recommended by @marvelsangel here

Genre: Fiction / Romance

Synopsis (of first book): the outrageously funny debut novel about three super-rich, pedigreed Chinese families and the gossip, backbiting, and scheming that occurs when the heir to one of the most massive fortunes in Asia brings home his ABC (American-born Chinese) girlfriend to the wedding of the season.When Rachel Chu agrees to spend the summer in Singapore with her boyfriend, Nicholas Young, she envisions a humble family home, long drives to explore the island, and quality time with the man she might one day marry. What she doesn't know is that Nick's family home happens to look like a palace, that she'll ride in more private planes than cars, and that with one of Asia's most eligible bachelors on her arm, Rachel might as well have a target on her back.

Crown Duel by Sherwood Smith

Recommended by @just-add-butter here

Genre: Romance / Fantasy 

Synopsis: It begins in a cold and shabby tower room, where young Countess Meliara swears to her dying father that she and her brother will defend their people from the growing greed of the king. That promise leads them into a war for which they are ill prepared, a war that threatens the homes and lives of the very people they are trying to protect. But war is simple compared to what follows, when the bloody fighting is done and a fragile peace is at hand. Although she wants to turn her back on politics and the crown, Meliara is summoned to the royal palace. There, she soon discovers, friends and enemies look alike, and intrigue fills the dance halls and the drawing rooms. If she is to survive, Meliara must learn a whole new way of fighting--with wit and words and secret alliances. In war, at least, she knew whom she could trust. Now she can trust no one. 

Deadline by Chris Crutcher

Recommended by @rosegoldlilacs here

Genre: Fiction / Young Adult

Synopsis: Ben Wolf has big things planned for his senior year. Had big things planned. Now what he has is some very bad news and only one year left to make his mark on the world.How can a pint-sized, smart-ass seventeen-year-old do anything significant in the nowheresville of Trout, Idaho?

Dracula by Bram Stoker

Recommended by @wintersxsoul here

Genre: Classics / Fiction / Fantasy

Synopsis: Dracula is an 1897 Gothic horror novel by Irish author Bram Stoker. Famous for introducing the character of the vampire Count Dracula, the novel tells the story of Dracula's attempt to move from Transylvania to England so he may find new blood and spread undead curse, and the battle between Dracula and a small group of men and women led by Professor Abraham Van Helsing.

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Recommended by @softhairbarnes here

Genre: Fiction / Mystery / Thriller

Synopsis: On a warm summer morning in North Carthage, Missouri, it is Nick and Amy Dunne’s fifth wedding anniversary. Presents are being wrapped and reservations are being made when Nick’s clever and beautiful wife disappears from their rented McMansion on the Mississippi River. Husband-of-the-Year Nick isn’t doing himself any favors with cringe-worthy daydreams about the slope and shape of his wife’s head, but passages from Amy's diary reveal the alpha-girl perfectionist could have put anyone dangerously on edge. Under mounting pressure from the police and the media—as well as Amy’s fiercely doting parents—the town golden boy parades an endless series of lies, deceits, and inappropriate behavior. Nick is oddly evasive, and he’s definitely bitter—but is he really a killer?

Harry Potter Saga by J.K Rowling

Recommended by @agentpegcxrter here / First book recommended by anonymous here

Genre: Fantasy / Young Adult

Synopsis (of first book): Harry Potter's life is miserable. His parents are dead and he's stuck with his heartless relatives, who force him to live in a tiny closet under the stairs. But his fortune changes when he receives a letter that tells him the truth about himself: he's a wizard. A mysterious visitor rescues him from his relatives and takes him to his new home, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After a lifetime of bottling up his magical powers, Harry finally feels like a normal kid. But even within the Wizarding community, he is special. He is the boy who lived: the only person to have ever survived a killing curse inflicted by the evil Lord Voldemort, who launched a brutal takeover of the Wizarding world, only to vanish after failing to kill Harry.Though Harry's first year at Hogwarts is the best of his life, not everything is perfect. There is a dangerous secret object hidden within the castle walls, and Harry believes it's his responsibility to prevent it from falling into evil hands. But doing so will bring him into contact with forces more terrifying than he ever could have imagined.

Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi

Recommended by @notimetoblog here

Genre: Historical Fiction

Synopsis: Two half-sisters, Effia and Esi, are born into different villages in eighteenth-century Ghana. Effia is married off to an Englishman and lives in comfort in the palatial rooms of Cape Coast Castle. Unbeknownst to Effia, her sister, Esi, is imprisoned beneath her in the castle's dungeons, sold with thousands of others into the Gold Coast's booming slave trade, and shipped off to America, where her children and grandchildren will be raised in slavery. Generation after generation, Yaa Gyasi's magisterial first novel sets the fate of the individual against the obliterating movements of time

How Paris Became Paris: The Invention of the Modern City by Joan DeJean

Recommended by anonymous here

Genre: History / Nonfiction

Synopsis: At the beginning of the seventeenth century, Paris was known for isolated monuments but had not yet put its brand on urban space. Like other European cities, it was still emerging from its medieval past. But in a mere century Paris would be transformed into the modern and mythic city we know today.Though most people associate the signature characteristics of Paris with the public works of the nineteenth century, Joan DeJean demonstrates that the Parisian model for urban space was in fact invented two centuries earlier, when the first complete design for the French capital was drawn up and implemented.

Love Style Life by Garance Doré

Recommended by anonymous here

Genre: Nonfiction / Memoir / Fashion

Synopsis: Garance Doré, the voice and vision behind her eponymous blog, has captivated millions of readers worldwide with her fresh and appealing approach to style through storytelling. This gorgeously illustrated book takes readers on a unique narrative journey that blends Garance’s inimitable photography and illustrations with the candid, hard-won wisdom drawn from her life and her travels. Infused with her Left Bank sensibility, the eclecticism of her adopted city of New York, and the wild, passionate spirit of her native Corsica, Love Style Life is a backstage pass behind fashion’s frontlines, peppered with French-girl-next-door wit and advice on everything from mixing J.Crew with Chanel, to falling in love, to pursuing a life and career that is the perfect reflection of you.

No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai

Recommended by anonymous here

Genre: Fiction / Japanese Literature / Cultural

Synopsis:  This leading postwar Japanese writer's second novel, tells the poignant and fascinating story of a young man who is caught between the breakup of the traditions of a northern Japanese aristocratic family and the impact of Western ideas. In consequence, he feels himself "disqualified from being human" (a literal translation of the Japanese title).

Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

Recommended by @chocochipcookieyum here

Genre: Historical Fiction / Classics

Synopsis: A story told by the wife and four daughters of Nathan Price, a fierce, evangelical Baptist who takes his family and mission to the Belgian Congo in 1959. They carry with them everything they believe they will need from home, but soon find that all of it -- from garden seeds to Scripture -- is calamitously transformed on African soil. What follows is a suspenseful epic of one family's tragic undoing and remarkable reconstruction over the course of three decades in postcolonial Africa.

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Recommended by @gamorazenn here / by @agentpegcxrter here / by @arosewithdaisies here

Genre: Fiction / Romance / Classics

Synopsis: The romantic clash between the opinionated Elizabeth and her proud beau, Mr. Darcy, is a splendid performance of civilized sparring. And Jane Austen's radiant wit sparkles as her characters dance a delicate quadrille of flirtation and intrigue, making this book the most superb comedy of manners of Regency England.

Strange Weather in Tokyo by Hiromi Kawakami

Recommended by anonymous here

Genre: Fiction / Romance

Synopsis: Tsukiko is drinking alone in her local sake bar when by chance she meets one of her old high school teachers and, unable to remember his name, she falls back into her old habit of calling him 'Sensei'. After this first encounter, Tsukiko and Sensei continue to meet. Together, they share edamame beans, bottles of cold beer, and a trip to the mountains to eat wild mushrooms. As their friendship deepens, Tsukiko comes to realise that the solace she has found with Sensei might be something more.

Swiftly Tilting Planet by Madeline L’Engle

Recommended by @thesaltyduchess here 

Genre: Fantasy / Young Adult / Science Fiction

Synopsis: When fifteen-year-old Charles Wallace Murry shouts out an ancient rune meant to ward off the dark in desperation, a radiant creature appears. It is Gaudior, unicorn and time traveler. Charles Wallace and Gaudior must travel into the past on the winds of time to try to find a Might-Have-Been - a moment in the past when the entire course of events leading to the present can be changed, and the future of Earth - this small, swiftly tilting planet - saved.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle

Recommended by @arosewithdaisies here

Genre: Fiction / Mystery / Crime / Classics / Short Stories

Synopsis: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes is a collection of twelve short stories by Arthur Conan Doyle, featuring his fictional detective Sherlock Holmes. It was first published on 14 October 1892; the individual stories had been serialized in The Strand Magazine between July 1891 and June 1892. The stories are not in chronological order, and the only characters common to all twelve are Holmes and Dr. Watson. The stories are related in first-person narrative from Watson's point of view.

The Bean Trees by Barbara King

Recommended by @nerdgirljen in a comment here

Genre: Fiction / Contemporary

Synopsis: Clear-eyed and spirited, Taylor Greer grew up poor in rural Kentucky with the goals of avoiding pregnancy and getting away. But when she heads west with high hopes and a barely functional car, she meets the human condition head-on. By the time Taylor arrives in Tucson, Arizona, she has acquired a completely unexpected child, a three-year-old American Indian girl named Turtle, and must somehow come to terms with both motherhood and the necessity for putting down roots. Hers is a story about love and friendship, abandonment and belonging, and the discovery of surprising resources in apparently empty places.

The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S Lewis

Recommended by @agentpegcxrter here

Genre: Fantasy / Young Adult / Classics

Synopsis: Journeys to the end of the world, fantastic creatures, and epic battles between good and evil—what more could any reader ask for in one book? The book that has it all is The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, written in 1949 by Clive Staples Lewis. But Lewis did not stop there. Six more books followed, and together they became known as The Chronicles of Narnia.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Recommended by @notimetoblog here / by @arosewithdaisies here

Genre: Fiction / Classics

Synopsis: This exemplary novel of the Jazz Age has been acclaimed by generations of readers. The story is of the fabulously wealthy Jay Gatsby and his new love for the beautiful Daisy Buchanan, of lavish parties on Long Island at a time when The New York Times noted "gin was the national drink and sex the national obsession," it is an exquisitely crafted tale of America in the 1920s. The Great Gatsby is one of the great classics of twentieth-century literature.

The Goldfinch by Donna Tart

Recommended by @lunardanvers here

Genre: Fiction / Contemporary

Synopsis: It begins with a boy. Theo Decker, a thirteen-year-old New Yorker, miraculously survives an accident that kills his mother. Abandoned by his father, Theo is taken in by the family of a wealthy friend. Bewildered by his strange new home on Park Avenue, disturbed by schoolmates who don't know how to talk to him, and tormented above all by his unbearable longing for his mother, he clings to one thing that reminds him of her: a small, mysteriously captivating painting that ultimately draws Theo into the underworld of art.As an adult, Theo moves silkily between the drawing rooms of the rich and the dusty labyrinth of an antiques store where he works. He is alienated and in love-and at the center of a narrowing, ever more dangerous circle.

The Gospel of Loki by Joanne M. Harris

Recommended by @wintersxsoul here

Genre: Fiction / Mythology / Fantasy

Synopsis: The novel is a brilliant first-person narrative of the rise and fall of the Norse gods - retold from the point of view of the world's ultimate trickster, Loki. It tells the story of Loki's recruitment from the underworld of Chaos, his many exploits on behalf of his one-eyed master, Odin, through to his eventual betrayal of the gods and the fall of Asgard itself.

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

Recommended by @marvelsangel here

Genre: Fiction / Young Adult

Synopsis: Sixteen-year-old Starr Carter moves between two worlds: the poor neighborhood where she lives and the fancy suburban prep school she attends. The uneasy balance between these worlds is shattered when Starr witnesses the fatal shooting of her childhood best friend Khalil at the hands of a police officer. Khalil was unarmed.Soon afterward, his death is a national headline. Some are calling him a thug, maybe even a drug dealer and a gangbanger. Protesters are taking to the streets in Khalil’s name. Some cops and the local drug lord try to intimidate Starr and her family. What everyone wants to know is: what really went down that night? And the only person alive who can answer that is Starr

The Immortal Rules Series by Julie Kagawa

Recommended by anonymous here 

Genre: Young Adult / Fantasy / Paranormal

Synopsis: Allison Sekemoto survives in the Fringe, the outermost circle of a walled-in city. By day, she and her crew scavenge for food. By night, any one of them could be eaten. Some days, all that drives Allie is her hatred of them—the vampires who keep humans as blood cattle. Until the night Allie herself dies and becomes one of the monsters.

The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury

Recommended by @redandpurpleskies here

Genre: Science Fiction / Classic

Synopsis: The Martian Chronicles tells the story of humanity’s repeated attempts to colonize the red planet. The first men were few. Most succumbed to a disease they called the Great Loneliness when they saw their home planet dwindle to the size of a fist. They felt they had never been born. Those few that survived found no welcome on Mars. The shape-changing Martians thought they were native lunatics and duly locked them up.But more rockets arrived from Earth, and more, piercing the hallucinations projected by the Martians. People brought their old prejudices with them – and their desires and fantasies, tainted dreams. These were soon inhabited by the strange native beings, with their caged flowers and birds of flame.

The Setting Sun by Osamu Dazai

Recommended by anonymous here

Genre: Fiction / Japanese Literature / Classics

Synopsis: The story is told through the eyes of Kazuko, the unmarried daughter of a widowed aristocrat. Her search for self meaning in a society devoid of use for her forms the crux of the novel. It is a sad story, and structurally is a novel very much within the confines of the Japanese take on the novel in a way reminiscent of authors such as Nobel Prize winner Yasunori Kawabata – the social interactions are peripheral and understated, nuances must be drawn, and for readers more used to Western novelistic forms this comes across as being rather wishy-washy. Kazuko’s mother falls ill, and due to their financial circumstances they are forced to take a cottage in the countryside. Her brother, who became addicted to opium during the war is missing. When he returns, Kazuko attempts to form a liaison with the novelist Uehara. This romantic displacement only furthers to deepen her alienation from society.

The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller

Recommended by @consttantina here

Genre: Historical Fiction / Fantasy / LGBT / Romance

Synopsis: Greece in the age of heroes. Patroclus, an awkward young prince, has been exiled to the court of King Peleus and his perfect son Achilles. By all rights their paths should never cross, but Achilles takes the shamed prince as his friend, and as they grow into young men skilled in the arts of war and medicine their bond blossoms into something deeper - despite the displeasure of Achilles' mother Thetis, a cruel sea goddess. But then word comes that Helen of Sparta has been kidnapped. Torn between love and fear for his friend, Patroclus journeys with Achilles to Troy, little knowing that the years that follow will test everything they hold dear.

The Song of the Lioness Series by Tamora Pierce

Recommended by @just-add-butter here

Genre: Fantasy / Young Adult

Synopsis: The Song of the Lioness quartet is the adventurous story of one girl's journey to overcome the obstacles facing her, become a valiant knight, and save Tortall from conquest. Alanna douses her female identity to begin her training in Alanna: The First Adventure, and when she gains squire status in In the Hand of the Goddess, her growing abilities make her a few friends -- and many enemies. Books 3 and 4 complete Alanna's adventure and secure her legend, with the new knight errant taking on desert tribesmen in The Woman Who Rides like a Man and seeking out the powerful Dominion Jewel in Lioness Rampant.

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Recommended by anonymous here

Genre: Historical Fiction / Classics

Synopsis: The unforgettable novel of a childhood in a sleepy Southern town and the crisis of conscience that rocked it, To Kill A Mockingbird became both an instant bestseller and a critical success when it was first published in 1960. It went on to win the Pulitzer Prize in 1961 and was later made into an Academy Award-winning film, also a classic.Compassionate, dramatic, and deeply moving, To Kill A Mockingbird takes readers to the roots of human behavior - to innocence and experience, kindness and cruelty, love and hatred, humor and pathos. Now with over 18 million copies in print and translated into forty languages, this regional story by a young Alabama woman claims universal appeal. Harper Lee always considered her book to be a simple love story. Today it is regarded as a masterpiece of American literature.

[chasingforeverandaday]

Stop the World & Melt with You: Chapter Six

Hey look! It's done! Yay! Sorry this took for-freaking-ever to get out, but I hope it was worth the wait. Thank you to everyone who has put up with this rollercoaster, you guys rock!

I apologize for the long absence of updates, but finals season sucks, so will be so glad when that's over next Thursday (for me at least). I then have three weeks before summer classes start up, so hopefully I'll have an update of don't trust the devil inside set to go soon. I also may decide to ignore studying for Business Law again, and it might pop up later this week.

Chapter Summary: Date night going off without a hitch seems a bit too good to be true...

Also on AO3

Lenore was at the office, leaning back in her chair with her feet up on the clean part of her desk, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. It was Friday afternoon, and she did not give a shit what anyone thought of her behavior. She had a date tonight.

“So, the plan is dinner at your place at seven, right?”

“The plans haven’t changed in the past two minutes Lenore.”

“Oh hush you. I swear I’m not purposefully being neurotic, I just want tonight to go perfectly.” Sighing, Lenore’s anxiety over the evening bubbled up again, leading her to sheepishly rush through the next question. “And we’re having?”

“We’re getting takeout from Mia Z’s, as previously agreed upon.”

“Sounds perfect, I don’t think we need the entirety of the New York Fire Department crashing a date, our friends seem do that enough all on their own. And remember-”

HG cut her off, rattling off Lenore’s favorite order by memory. “‘Fettuccine alfredo with grilled chicken and all the extra garlic, with a side salad and fresh breadsticks.’ Did I miss anything? I promise I am completely capable of planning a proper date Lenore, scout’s honor.” He paused, the rest of her comment coming back to him, before continuing indignantly, “And I am not that bad of a cook!”

“Please, you know you love the garlic. Whatever you end up with is also going to have a shit ton of garlic in it, we’re having Italian, it’s kind of a given. Hate to break it to you my dear Professor, but you got kicked out of the Boy Scouts. I do believe it was for setting three tents on fire, if I’m recollecting that lovely story correctly- ”

“-it’s not like there was anything in any of them! We had barely begun to set up camp!”

“You were twelve!”

“So? I’ve always been advanced for my age!”

“Okay, discontinuing that train of thought, you are so completely and utterly that bad of a cook. Baking, I will totally agree, you bake amazingly well. There is a reason you’re always in charge of dessert. But cooking? Nope, you suck at cooking.”

“Balderdash, cooking is incredibly difficult! Baking is easy, all you have to do is follow the directions and stick everything in the oven. One has to pay far more attention when cooking and make adjustments on the fly and I become distracted much too easily and then we end up with a mushy ball of spaghetti.”

“Relax, babe. I’m just teasing. I know enough to make sure we’d survive if all the takeout joints in the city suffered an untimely end, I promise.” Smiling softly to herself, she was about to keep poking at her boyfriend’s culinary ineptitude when her phone started to vibrate again. Pulling it away from her ear, Lenore glanced down at the caller ID. “Hang on, our favorite drama king is calling on the other line, I should probably grab that.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tonight, I love you.”

“Love you too Goggles. Okay, now I gotta go. Later gator!” Mentally floating on cloud nine, she hung up, switching over to the call from Oscar. Before she could even say hi, he started rambling.

“Lenore! Why on earth were you taking so long to answer your bloody phone? Nevermind, more important gossip is at stake. Did you hear about what just happened with Charlotte and Anton? Apparently, they were dating! Even though she was totally riding solo at the party for New Years! And making eyes at Ernest, which is just ick, I mean hello, it’s Ernest, I wouldn’t date him if you paid me. Not that Lottie dearest such a bloody prize herself! Plus, didn’t she used to have a thing for- oh nevermind, not important right now! Where was I? Oh, right, anyways, now she and Anton broke up! And she’s being cross with me, well, more of an uptight bitch with me than normal, in any case. Do you think that means he wants to hook up with me again? I mean, I know it was just a few times and it was months ago, but she’s acting so pissed at me, that has to be it, right?” Finally stopping for breath, Oscar sucked in a deep gasp of air, relieving his poor overworked lungs.

Rolling her eyes, Lenore adopted an overly perky tone and chirped obnoxiously, “Hello, Oscar, how are you? Oh I’m feeling fabulous, thanks so much for asking. Charlotte and Anton were secretly dating and then they broke up? Gasp, so scandalous!” For full effect, even if he couldn’t see her, she mockingly swooned back in her chair, hand to her forehead.

“You’re hilarious Lenore, truly hysterical. Now, I need your help,” he pronounced. Quite seriously, Oscar pondered, “Do you think ‘frenemies before men in my sheets’ would be an applicable motto here?”

Snorting loudly, she responded, “Babes, not actually a saying.”

“I don’t care in the least, it’s appropriate.” Oh good Lord, he actually sounded offended.

“You’re never appropriate.”

“True, oh well. We need to get dinner tonight, I must call a strategy meeting to determine if I’m allowed to go after that scrumptious hunk of man.”

Bolting upright, she braced herself for a long argument. “I can’t tonight Oscar. I have plans already.”

“What?”

“Plans, I have them.”

“Well cancel them, we need to have a council of war.”

“I am not canceling my date with HG again!”

“But-”

“Nope. Not happening. We are going on this date if I have to stick the rest of you in a padded cell for the duration of it.”

“Mean. Charlotte would murder me in minutes and I doubt you want to put your brother and Ernest together in a confined space, especially with Annabel.”

“The rest of you can buffer. And besides, Edgar has been surprisingly sedate in his celebrations after the breakup. I’ve only caught him dancing in the kitchen like twice. This week.” Thinking about it, Lenore added, “I’d honestly be more worried about him decking Ernest if he propositions her again. I do not need to deal with the hospital paperwork if he breaks his hand. Not that she can’t deal with the idiot on her own, but Edgar is feeling euphoric and white knight-like right now.”

“This is all hypothetical you know. You can’t actually lock all of your friends away just so you can get some.”

“Exactly, it’s all hypothetical so I have plausible deniability. Plus, I’ll have a foolproof alibi as of seven. Besides, this is not about getting some!” Realizing how loud she’d gotten, Lenore lowered her voice and tersely whispered, “Okay, not just about getting some, because trust me, that needs to happen too.”

Her friend burst into laughter over the phone, which was not helping his case, at all.

“Screw you, Oscar, I want to fucking jump my boyfriend alright, so fuck you. No, this is about the fact that HG and I haven’t been able to be alone for more than like half an hour without getting interrupted! I mean, seriously, we’re cursed! We haven’t had a complete date yet. And all of you suck, because our friends are like half the problem.”

“Calm your tits, Poe, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I though? Am I really? I needed to have surgery, nobody that we know is capable of knocking, the fucking computers broke, Annabel and Eddie broke up, and we made out in your closet. None of these things equal a date! Hell, none of those things even equal third base!” Chest heaving, Lenore realized she was way too worked up to get anything else done for the day. “Damnit, okay, I need to leave before I bite anyone’s head off.” Beginning her end of the day routine, she listened as Oscar spoke in his patented dial down the wonko voice, officially coined as such by Mary Anne during an extended episode of writer’s block.

“Okay, I have basically no idea what any of that means, because you’re acting more than a bit bonkers. And please don’t tell me you’ve decapitated anyone today, because I’m assuming life in the Big House puts a damper on the hotly anticipated sexy times with the boytoy.” Oscar rolled the last words, laced with so much innuendo that Lenore tripped and banged her head against the wall. Swearing at herself, she could just hear her friend’s trilling laugh before he continued.

“Just go and enjoy your date, I’ll keep the masses from descending, barring an actual emergency, in which case, you can bet your ass I’m calling you. There is no way in hell I’m dealing with one of those without someone else who could possibly be deemed a semi-rational adult.” Which was entirely reasonable, because the frequency at which their friends ended up in the hospital or overnight lock-up was borderline terrifying to think about.

“How exactly are you planning on doing so?”

She could see his habitual generous hand-waving in her head. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it. Feel free to primp and pamper as needed, as I’m sure in my utter brilliance I can come up with some way to distract them for the whole night. As payment for such a wonderful good deed, I expect full details tomorrow at our strategy meeting, darling. Hmm, maybe we can do brunch.”

Finally realizing he was entirely serious about herding the cats, a grin broke out over Lenore’s face as she rushed to the elevator. “I’m going to hug you tomorrow, so freaking hard. Thanks Oscar, really. Thank you.”

“Oh quit gushing, you’ve stroked my ego enough. Now, I’d say let’s grab breakfast, but tomorrow’s Saturday, and I highly doubt you’ll be up anytime before eleven, so brunch seems necessary.” The wiggling eyebrows were practically audible through the phone. “And you are giving me all of the details. I’m in a dry spell here.”

By now, she was tapping her foot impatiently, waiting for the ground level button to light up. The easy banter was pleasantly distracting, but damn if she didn’t want to fast-forward a few hours. “And that guy you were hooking up with last week at the party was all a figment of my imagination?” That didn’t mean she couldn’t get Oscar back for all the earlier teasing.

Sniffing, Oscar corrected her haughtily,“A romantic dry spell bitch. I am having exactly as much sex as I want to be having, thank you very much. It’s the sappy romance part that’s lacking.”

Smirking, she cooed, “Aww, hook-up prince Oscar wants to be romanced.”

“You know I can invent all sorts of ways to crash your date, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Ding . Finally let out of the crushing mob leaving work, Lenore headed for the exit, then stopped short when she saw who was standing just inside the lobby. Switching direction, she grinned widely and cut off Oscar’s retort. “It appears my date has mysteriously arrived early to whisk me away from work, so I’m gonna go. Later Oscar. And thanks for the whole distracting everyone thing.”

Sighing, he replied melodramatically, “Fine, leave me and go be romanced and ravished by your wonderful boyfriend. Don’t forget to be safe and use protection!”

“I’m hanging up now!”

“Remember, all the details!”

“Goodbye Oscar!” Laughing, Lenore tossed her phone into her purse before running the last few steps and hurling herself into HG’s waiting arms. Nose buried in his scarf, she felt a sense of contentedness she hadn’t realized she was missing settle in. Glancing up through her eyelashes, Lenore pressed her lips to his cheek, cold from the January chill. “Hi.”

“Hello my dear Lenore.” Warmth pervading his tone, HG tilted her head upwards, kissing her gently once, twice before resting their foreheads together. “Apparently, I have been uttered useless and distracted all day. My assistant basically forced me out of the building, said that they could handle everything until Monday.” Tucking a loose curl behind her ear, he added, “I came straight here.”

“I’m glad you did, Oscar had to talk me off a cliff.” At his questioning glance, she shrugged. “Nothing bad, just want tonight to actually happen. He has agreed to amuse to children for the night, barring extreme circumstances.”

“How thoughtful of him.”

“I owe him brunch and gossip tomorrow.”

“Ah, so not entirely selfless.”

“Well, he wanted to grab dinner and figure out if he could hook up with Charlotte’s-”

Cutting her off, he rumbled, “Lenore, I could not possibly care less right now.” Still locked in his arms, Lenore found herself reeled in again, engaged in a heady, needy kiss. One of his hands grasping her braid, she felt every ounce of love and want poured into it, losing herself to the electrifying sensation and kindling desire that had been simmering for weeks, possibly months. Remembering where they were was difficult when HG seemed hellbound to erase any thought not of him, though Lenore’s remaining shreds of common sense reminded her they were bordering on the lines of inappropriate for public viewing. Determined to keep a level head, she abruptly pulled away, stopping his lips from chasing hers with a finger.

“Okay, hang on.” Undeterred by her attempted stern look, HG lightly kissed the finger still holding his lips back. Rolling her eyes, she removed it and tried not to giggle when he pouted. “Babe, not helping. We need to head back to your apartment, like now. I am not getting arrested for public indecency at work. Now let’s move. We can always call for Mia Z’s later.”

Placing a hand to his chin, he pretended to mull the idea over before holding out his elbow. “A sound plan. Shall we?”

Locking her arm with his, she smiled. “Oh, we shall.”