The Invisible Life Of Addie Larue - Tumblr Posts

Addie and the Darkness 🌙🖤

The Night Itself | The Darkness from the Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

Darling, I was the Night Itself

Who I write for

Hi!! since some people are following me on here now, I thought it’d be a good idea to make a list of books/shows I’m willing to write for. If there’s something you’d like to request that’s not on this list feel free to! I’ll consider anything and only turn down things I feel like I don’t know well enough to do well :))

List of books/shows I write for: 

- Shadow and bone

- Six of Crows

- ACOTAR

- The Cruel Prince

- The Invisible Life of Addie Larue 

- Harry Potter

- The Selection 

- Criminal Minds

- Marvel/MCU

- You 

- Stranger Things 

- Caraval

- I’m willing to do more OC based writing like (insert choice fictional being for example fae) x reader, but I haven’t done much of that in the past  :) 

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, V.E. Schwab

“Remy Laurent is laughter bottled into skin. It spills out of him at every turn.”

“Henry is like bottled lightning, unable to sit still for long, full of nervous energy...”

“Luc steps out of the dark, the way he did that night, drawing together from smoke and shadow. A storm, bottled into skin.”

—March is such a fickle month.

It is the seam between winter and spring—though seam suggests an even hem, and March is more like a rough line of stitches sewn by an unsteady hand, swinging wildly between January gusts and June greens. You don’t know what you’ll find, until you step outside.

[The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V. E Schwab]

THE INVISIBLE LIFE OF ADDIE LARUE

And she is tired. Unspeakably tired. But there is no question she has lived.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue

the invisible life of addie larue | new york city, september 4, 2013

“the blood pumps, the valves open and close, and on the scans and screens, everything functions as it should. but something isn’t right. they’ve left his heart too open. forgotten to close back up the armor of his chest. and now he feels… too much.”

If no one heard it, did it happen?

If a person cannot leave a mark, do they exist?

(The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab)

Proof of my existence:

I am my unmade bed

My week old unfolded laundry that was Fresh once

I am the disappointment in my mothers eyes

And the scars I have left on lovers and strangers

I am my clothes I have donated

And my compilation of pintrest boards the innocent scroller will accidentally stumble across

I am the the jokes I penciled into the walls of my middle school bathroom stall

I am the dust I leave behind

Dead skin cells, reminder that they were living once

I was living once

I had once had the pleasure of laying my palm against the surface of something tangible and it felt the contact as much as I did

I am the peices of myself I have left scattered in the people I have let hold me

Long enough for parts of me to become caught under their fingernails and in their eyelashes

I am not my mistakes

But I am their consequences

I am shrapnel scars left by the promises I shattered

I am the pastries I have bought

My coin accumulating into something greater than it once was

And in that small way I make someone's dream a reality

And in that small way I am immortalized

I am the corners of novel pages I have folded

And the sentences I have left highlighted and the notes I have scrawled in its margins

I am the half finished stories I wrote in the 6th grade

I am my poetry

And the things I have discarded

I am my clouded breath dancing on the cold wind momentarily before dissipating

As it becomes one with the ether forever adrift

And in that small way I am immortalized

I am my embarrassing childhood photographs

I am the energy you spent on me and the time you wasted on us

I am the things I have created but perhaps more the absence left in the wake of the things I have destroyed

I am the stains I have left and the sins I have committed

Out of spite, out of desperation, frivolously or unwittingly.

I am the way my name burns yours tounge when your mouth tries to wrap itself around its pronunciation and the scalding memories

I am

I was

here.

For does the devil not simply give us what we ask for?

For does the devil not find us all on our knees?

If no one heard it, did it happen?

If a person cannot leave a mark, do they exist?

(The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab)

Proof of my existence:

I am my unmade bed

My week old unfolded laundry that was Fresh once

I am the disappointment in my mothers eyes

And the scars I have left on lovers and strangers

I am my clothes I have donated

And my compilation of pintrest boards the innocent scroller will accidentally stumble across

I am the the jokes I penciled into the walls of my middle school bathroom stall

I am the dust I leave behind

Dead skin cells, reminder that they were living once

I was living once

I had once had the pleasure of laying my palm against the surface of something tangible and it felt the contact as much as I did

I am the peices of myself I have left scattered in the people I have let hold me

Long enough for parts of me to become caught under their fingernails and in their eyelashes

I am not my mistakes

But I am their consequences

I am shrapnel scars left by the promises I shattered

I am the pastries I have bought

My coin accumulating into something greater than it once was

And in that small way I make someone's dream a reality

And in that small way I am immortalized

I am the corners of novel pages I have folded

And the sentences I have left highlighted and the notes I have scrawled in its margins

I am the half finished stories I wrote in the 6th grade

I am my poetry

And the things I have discarded

I am my clouded breath dancing on the cold wind momentarily before dissipating

As it becomes one with the ether forever adrift

And in that small way I am immortalized

I am my embarrassing childhood photographs

I am the energy you spent on me and the time you wasted on us

I am the things I have created but perhaps more the absence left in the wake of the things I have destroyed

I am the stains I have left and the sins I have committed

Out of spite, out of desperation, frivolously or unwittingly.

I am the way my name burns yours tounge when your mouth tries to wrap itself around its pronunciation and the scalding memories

I am

I was

here.

Maybe because it’s a book for adults but I can’t believe tumblr isn’t obsessed with Henry Strauss from Addie LaRue. he owns a bookshop. he's bisexual. he dropped out of grad school. he made a Faustian deal with the devil. his ex-boyfriend is in love with him even though he himself has fallen in love with a 300 year old French woman who also made a Faustian deal. He self medicates with random pills his little sister gives him. He was made in a lab for you people

After finishing Addie LaRue I am 100% sure that Luc and the Darkling are the same person.

Manipulative, related with darkness , hundred of years old, powerful, think that they are in love with the protagonist but they really just don't want to be alone , unable to love because they care only about themselves, don't consider their love interests as their equals and obviously they both are PIECES OF SHIT

Henry Strauss 🤝 Elizabeth Schuyler

Doing everything in their power to tell their lovers' story

Everytime I think of this scene in my head I imagine it sounding like the most gut wrenching desperate pleading scream and it kills me a little more every time

No matter how desperate or dire, never pray to the gods that answer after dark.

I've always wanted to draw this scene, and I've been trying to practice backgrounds so the forest setting was perfect. I also really like the way the 2nd panel turned out!

THIS

I’m sorry but the people who read Addie Larue and walked away saying she had no depth or no motivation or wtf ever lack basic reading comprehension skills. The book literally mentions multiple times that she is operating on pure spite. There are multiple times she wants to give in but doesn’t because there is more beauty to be seen and more ways to make Luc mad about the fact that she won’t give in. “She never does anything important.” Girl is literally fighting the ocean alone. No one can remember her, but she still wakes up and gives her heart to people who see her as a stranger. Over 300 years and she doesn’t stop trying to experience love and happiness. God, you must be so miserable and end result motivated to not see how good this character is.

Do you ever start reading a book but you don't want to continue reading it, not because it's bad, but because it's so good you know you'll never get over it after it ends??