And Of Course Let Us Not Forget The Golden Line Of I'm Going To Introduce You To A Wonderful Invention

And of course let us not forget the golden line of  “I'm going to introduce you to a wonderful invention called Uber,”™ Kit Herondale: The bridge from the Shadowhunter world to our odd form of mundane normalcy.

God bless Cassandra Clare for finally breaking the YA “what is technology we can’t use that” trope we stan OfficeMax the skilled calligrapher

I hate Tamlin as much as the next person, I swear, but can we just take a quick sec to remember he plays the fiddle? I'm not asking you to forgive his sins...just to think about this half beast half man playing the fiddle...

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He had once mentioned that he would have liked to be a travelling minstrel if not a warrior or a High Lord—now, hearing him play, I knew he could have made a fortune from it.

I shouted over the music, “I don’t need a keeper!” I wanted to spin and spin and spin. “No, you don’t,” Tamlin said, never once stumbling over his playing. How his bow did dance upon the strings, his fingers sturdy and strong, no signs of those claws that I had come to stop fearing … “Dance, Feyre,” he whispered. So I did. 

Through it all, Tamlin and his musicians played such joyous music that I didn’t think the world could contain it all. I sashayed over to him, my faerie lord, my protector and warrior, my friend, and danced before him. He grinned at me, and I didn’t break my dancing as he rose from his seat and knelt before me in the grass, offering up a solo on his fiddle to me. 

Yes, I see the toxicity in the words woven in. I do, but do we remember? When all was good a pure? Even for just a moment? Because Tamiln played the damn fiddle?

Elain x Azriel: W.T.F.

SCROLLING THROUGH TUMBLR AND SEEING ELRIEL FANFICTIONS HAS ME SHOOK! 

Wait! People ship Azriel and Elain!? NO! WHAT!? WHY!? Lucien deserves the happiness and purity Elain will bring to his life (they're totally end game) and what is the whole mating bond for then!? I know the bond can be rejected but-- but-- but-- THEN WHAT ABOUT MOR!? 500 years of sexual tension for what!? 

 Azriel just emits big brother vibes towards Elain...just why tho... I get they cling to each other but it's a protective soul bond (IK THAT SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE WHAT THE MATING BOND IS BUT NO) just-- like calls to like and--*stunned silence* I have never hated any ship more in. my. life.

LET ME RECAP:

Yes.

Yes. That was cute. That was adorable. That is what they are.

This, however:

( @nouketou : art credit) 

beautiful art piece BUTTT HELL NO!!! WHAT THE FRICKITY FRICK FRACK!

*ONLY 3/4 OF THE WAY THROUGH ACOWAR SO DONT SPOIL JUST A THOUGHT*

Two Artists In Math Class

I am sitting in math class. We are supposed to be studying for exams. But I cannot focus. For these words scream to be let out. And so in the quiet classroom, I take out a tattered notebook. Filled to the brim with pieces of me, and I write. 

There is a girl sitting beside me in math class. We are supposed to be studying for exams. But she cannot seem to focus. Like something in her is screaming to be let out. And so in the quiet classroom, she pulls out a pencil. Worn to the stub with her fingered prints practically engraved in it, and she draws.

We are both twitchy things. Eager to release the weights on our hearts. Let our urges out of their cages. We are both artists in math class, with storms inside us, spinning hurricanes on paper, and willing worlds into existence, until the bell rings.                                                                                                                   And her drawing is done.                                                                                        And my paragraph is done.                                                                                      And her leg has finally stopped shaking. And I can breathe again. And we take a second to take it all in, before we pack up. And move on to our next class. 

We are both Artists.

And we will study later.

And So I Write

You will undoubtedly find pieces of myself littered haphazardly among these pages. You will find them strewn about in every paragraph. Every Sentance. Every phrase. In every word. 

Sometimes when I need to give, pieces of myself, and I have lost all the people I throw myself away to… I turn to these pages. To lose myself to. And yet, when I know I must, I cannot. The words will hit a roadblock somewhere. My fingers itching and yet unable to find the words. 

And so I write anyways.

I write this. I write that. I write it all. Nonsense and gibberish. I write. When I have words but do not know what they have to say. Put pen to paper and find release among lost pieces of myself. Let the backlog of thoughts disperse through words and ink. Incoherent and Intangible. 

Whether or not it makes sense doesn’t matter in the moment. All that matters is the words flowing through me, thrumming in my veins, making up all that I am. ANd so I make them real. Give them a place to exist so that they may grant me temporary peace, and so that I may exist without a buildup of unsaid words chocking me. Building up in my chest, filling my lungs, making it hard to breathe.

And so I write. 

I write the nothingness into something. Let the thoughts I can not articulate flow out through pieces they do not relate to but rather let their tortured vocabulary enlighten my release.   ‘

And so I write.

And leave a couple more pieces of myself folded in these pages, stained in ink. So when I am not whole, I can remind myself that once I had excess parts of myself to give. And I left them behind.

So now and then, I write.

You write Of a girl who has breathed life into you who sings your demons to sleep   who lights your inspiration who is your demise                                                                                                                                                                                                                          You talk of a girl Who you wish to know But is the unknowable Who is sugar and spice Who is fire and ice                                                                                                                                                                                                                            You dream of a girl Who is the sweetest sin Who is the soundest salvation  Who is everything Who is nothing                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  You outline a girl Who may be one Who may be many Who may be real Who may be anything but                                                                                                                                                                                                         I read Of this girl And sometimes I allow myself to think It may be me You write of

Tell me, do you write of me?

* @writerscreed *