#aalm

[shayriara]

#Guftgu

वापस नहीं आएगा ये गुफ़्तगू का आलम

तू मेरे वक़्त को अपना वक़्त जरूर दे..

Waps nhi aayega ye guftgu ka aalam

Tu mere waqt ko apna waqt jrur de..

- Krishna sharma (कृष्णा शर्मा )

[onceuponabreeze]

ash acting more like a father than a mentor to lion...

[onceuponabreeze]

the problem is making none of it feel ridiculous and stupid. ashfur has to tell lionpaw separately and earlier, but lion's reaction can't be as bad. it kinda has to be there as setup to show a lot of different things (ash likes lion best by virtue of spending more time with him, foreshadowing for future conflict with his siblings, etc.) and the line is very fine.

then later on we have the big reveal which happens some non-fire related way as ashfur is literally their father and doesnt care about squilf anymore (if he was involved in whisking leaf away to give birth that would be very silly). holly and jay have your vanilla shocked and appalled etc. etc., ash and leaf are outed, but then, and here's the thing right, lion is calm. and unlike the other two he doesnt cut all ties with squilf, leaf and ash. say yes to family drama say no to proper reconciliation

[corleona]

Little clown, my heart, Spangled again and lopsided, Handstands and Pekin pirouettes, Backflips snapping open… [cisneros]

She wears Manolo Blahnik to the funeral. Tradi. Purple on gold. Her dress is black, high collar, makeup delicately applied so as to look as natural as possible. Her hair in loose curls, and she wonders if it would look like Allison’s did if it were black instead of red.

She didn’t bother asking if she could borrow the car – took it anyway. Most likely her mother had forgotten the wake and funeral were today.

Allison is really gone.

“Lydia,” Stiles says, after they finally lay her to rest, while the soil is still soft over her coffin, as Lydia is remembering how the pressure of dirt on steel can still cause cracks – she looks at him. No doubt the concealer couldn’t hide the bags under her eyes, she thinks, because Stiles flinches, drops his gaze to the cemetery grass between them.

“What,” she says, and his eyes meet hers again before settling somewhere around her ear. She’s wearing amethyst and gold. She feels like a goddess. She feels like an empty husk. More than anything, she is tired.

He opens his mouth, closes it. Makes eye contact. Opens it again. She says, “Stiles, if you ask me if I’m okay I am going to scream. And you will not be able to stop me.”

His mouth closes. Her nostrils flare, his gaze dipping to her bared shoulders (fashion faux-pas, of course) to her feet (his eyebrows raise as he finally takes notice of the too-bright shoes; thousands of dollars in accessories while his suit jacket strains across his shoulders), back up to her waist, breasts, mouth.

She has the sudden, vicious urge to gauge his eyes out.

The sentiment is definitely reflected in her gaze but he doesn’t cringe when their eyes meet again, bites his mouth like he’s nervous. She’s always loved making boys uncomfortable, but now it’s for a different reason. It shouldn't be hard to break Stiles down, she thinks to herself. Tilts her head. Looks up at him through her eyelashes like he’s her usual type of prey.

Men have never been so repulsive, and she used to think she loved Jackson. God knows Stiles was practically stalking her at some point. God knows she could use a break from the horror story her life has become.

“You know,” she says, once they’ve been stewing in silence for three, four, five minutes, “I was never a fan of magical realism. Or sci-fi. Or thrillers. I hated it. The boys always thought those stories were great, wonderful, even. I only liked The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, or All Summer in a Day. Everything else was just, oh, I don’t know,” and her lip curls, she takes a step forward, “it all felt like some idiot’s dirty fantasy. I can appreciate Leia in a bikini, sure, but I didn’t need the fucking chains, you know? I didn’t need the guys calling me fake, but I got that anyway.”

He starts to say something, something like her name or like the words stop, or enough, or maybe even an apology, but she cuts him off, takes another step, close enough that his breath warms her face. “I don’t care,” she says, “I don’t care. It was all my fault anyway, I guess. She asked me about it once, why I was going after every person with a dick after Jackson and I didn’t even have an answer. I do now, but what does it matter? I was – I am selfish. And hateful, and bitter, and a slut, I fucked every guy in the county except for you and if it weren’t for that girl of yours you would still be wondering why.”

“Lydia – ”

“Shut up,” she hisses, “just shut up. God. She’s dead. She’s dead, it doesn’t matter, she’s dead I told you this would happen, I could have stopped this but you all decided to follow me anyway, I could have figured something else, I would have saved us and instead I had to feel her die, I loved her and now she’s dead I loved her I loved – ”

She cuts herself off, voice too high, and raises a shaking hand as if to touch him. Stiles’ eyes are huge as they watch her. Her hand falls back to her side, both clenched into fists tight enough to make her knuckles whiten. His skin is paper thin from where she’s standing. “It’s all our fault. We were weak.” The words leave her quietly, like the earth sinking into itself. She sways on her feet.

Stiles takes a step back. And then another, and then another, and then he says, “Lydia,” like a prayer, like an apology, and Lydia almost lunges, but her mother raised a lady and she can’t do it anymore.

“I loved her,” she says again, voice finally cracking, and when she reaches out to Stiles he meets her halfway, and the fire on her tongue turns to ash, even if she feels she deserved to lose the battle instead.

[xchateau]

Little Mix as American Apparel models: 3/4

[xchateau]

Little Mix as American Apparel models: 2/4

[jackson-holmes]

Add a little Mexican || Micah and Jackson

Jackson was rather surprised he had made plans to go over to Bradwell with Micah, after all it was a Sunday and he should have stuff to do instead of going to Bradwell. Shaking his head, Jackson took a couple paracetamol and got change before heading out of the boy's dormitory and over to Bradwell, slowly making his way up to Micah's dorm and knocking hesitantly in case it wasn't hers.