Artemis was drinking, yes, but hardly drunk — a tear-stained conversation in the middle of the night.
"I think I'll ask Saki to marry me."
Daggers are daggers and they run through noble men with as much ease as they do the wicked.
"Who's to say what's normal, anyway?" "I can't say what is, but I know that we aren't."
i'd stay longer if i could; i'd do anything to keep you. you are more interesting than much of what lies ahead. but even you are not more interesting than all of it; the world still has its wonders, and oh, i wish you could join me.
everything is screaming neon and you want to kiss him just so he'll shut up,
he is the old friend that one savours like a particularly good brew, seeing him only once in a while, for fear he will somehow become less of a well-read, well-bred, charming, understanding wit if used up all at once.
As the years pass, she stops wishing to fly. She comes to terms with the fact that she is chained to the Earth, destined to be buried in it. He remains aether: he will float freely, ageless, eternal.
It is three in the morning on Christmas Day. At the grand piano, drenched in chandelier light, sits a pale boy with dark hair who plays Chopin with such effortless grace she has half a mind to fall to weeping.
you never believed in the gods.
Amidst uphill battles, personal conflict, and an inkling that they might have to find themselves sooner or later, two of Ferryport Landing's most polar opposites form an unlikely friendship. And, throwing societal norms to the window, this friendship persists — through monster hunts, car breakdowns, and even the underlying dissent over the morality of the Creamsicle.
He is not worth the boondollars in his bank, but this girl, her selflessness defines her; sets her light years apart from the likes of himself and the trillions of self-pitying egotists scattered across time and space.
How smart could she be, if this is where she's wound up?
There is a certain constant in Layton's life—one that he is not exactly pleased about, but he supposes it can't be helped if he's to adhere to his principles.
A dedication to each of the Questers — from the fairy with the poppyseed pluck to the sparrow man who catches stars.
It is the hair that always falls into her blue eyes. It is the length of her lashes, the time it takes her to blink. It is the particular shade of crimson that she blushes. It is her fingers running gently over dented metal, when the pain of the pots and the pants digs into her so deeply that she looks like she might cry. It is her wingbeat: the flutter that defines her.
"I don't actually smoke. Not a lot. Just when it feels right." "And at the age of seventeen in the middle of New York feels right to you?" "More right than ever, but some bastard's always gotta ruin it." "Language, Peter." "Like you don't swear like a sailor every chance you get." Petra knows the world needs a Hegemon. But Peter doesn't want to talk business. AU.
Sabrina Grimm was eleven all over again. She wept into the shoulder of the man who had nearly been her undoing, and let him stroke her hair and call her Starfish, and she fell apart in that old hall, five years from where she should have been.
When the Quell was announced, the first one to talk to him wasn't Peeta. It was Effie, pink-haired dolled-up shell-shocked Effie, weeping so much he was sure she'd manage to cry the glitter out of her eyelashes.
Somewhere in between the beginning of his existence and a quick stop at a planet named Path, a not-quite boy who used to be called Wiggin and a not-quite girl who is currently called Jane have a conversation.