#percy.

[litmoons-a]

“   what   are   you   doing   in   my   room   ?   ”

[luvridden]

❛     you've     gotta     be     a     masochist     or     something.     ❜           words     come     out     without     warning,     standing     tall     beside     the     other,     both     of     their     gazes     settling     on     subject     of     their     conversation     —     their     boyfriend.       ❛     i'm     just     saying     —  he     treats     you     like     shit,     really     confuses     me     why     you're     still     with     him.     ❜           he     presses     rim     of     glass     to     lips,     tilting     his     head     back     as     warm     liquor     burns     its     way     down     his     throat.     he     didnt     need     liquid     courage     to     speak     his     mind,     no,     heat     alone     just     too     addictive     to     put     down.     leans     in     then,     allowing     mouth     to     ghost     shell     of     other’s     ear,     his     next     words     slipping     out     in     a     quiet     whisper.       ❛     especially     considering     you've     been     eye     fucking     me     the     whole     night.     ❜

[nanamimizz-archived]

🎤 who are said baddies 👀

SO GLAD YOU ASKED.

lucy heartfilia

erza scarlet

juvia lockster

[celestalefevre]

In the streets of Port Leiry ( with @sntsdevereuxs )

Her eyes danced with a mix of joy and the slight haze of her high, making everything around her seem almost ethereal. She watched as the streetlights blurred into soft halos of light, and the shadows seemed to move and twist into shapes of their own. She reached out to touch the air, convinced she could feel the shimmering edges of her hallucinations.

Turning a corner, lost in her dreamy state, Céleste collided abruptly with someone. The impact was more forceful than expected, causing her to stumble back, almost losing her balance. Looking up, her vision still hazy, she reached out without thinking, her fingers brushing through the stranger's hair.

The texture surprised her, feeling far too real. She blinked in confusion, her mind struggling to comprehend. "You feel so real." she whispered softly, her touch lingering on the stranger, unsure if he was a figment of her imagination or a genuine presence in her surreal night.

[huntedvideo]

'what can i say? i'm charming and irresponsible,' finley stands at the edge of the rocks, watching the waves of the ocean start their thrashing as the night continues into its darkness. he purses his lips, realizing his words were off. he glances at the girl he had seen on the pier. 'i meant irresistible - charming and irresistible. but i guess both are true,' @spiritdreamt.

[thlachesis]

She had learned through whispers and gossip, a tactic often overlooked by many, that the few who had been sent from court but not to Dover during the King’s absence, consisted of three esteemed council men and an almost unknown, Lady Percy. Through inquiry she had mapped the House of Percy through tongue and ear, listening to the rumours that surrounded this ambitious, over-reaching family that seemed to extend their fingers to wrap finally around the King’s own ankles. 

Well, what did she expect? They were hedonists diverted from the one true faith, broken by the desire and lust of their previous King and the mother of the current. She had heard, whether it was true or not, that the parents had always been ones to sup at the feet of their masters, to breed their children into making further claims in the higher echelons of society. She had heard it as: one daughter for the King, a son for his table and another for reservation in case the first yet died. But, what did Héléne herself know of family? She was an orphan adopted by a step-father, with dead siblings for all but one who lived in the battlefields of Italy. She wasn’t one to judge on that front, but the faith and the ambition was quite enough for Héléne to draw her battle lines. 

With manipulation, she made sure to meet Lady Percy during the festivities that celebrated the Iberian royal family — an oddity, perhaps, if one was to muse on the idea of Mary Tudor as the only true claimant to the English throne. Steadying her trained precision, she approached, her blue and white visage matched with a similarly embroidered French Hood that veiled long, thick black hair. “You are not drinking, my Lady. May I tempt you with something? I have heard that if it was not for you, and your immeasurable talent, that English would be in quite a position,” Héléne charmed in English, her mother-tongue set aside. @unconqucred

[dreamse]