Cuando Te Dicen “Ya Estoy Llegando” Y Todavía Le Queda Por Cruzar Narnia, El Campo De Quidditch

Inspired by this post by @blvnk-art :

(also i wrote this with 'To Build A Home' by The Cinematic Orchestra in the background, maybe you could too)

It wasn't a particularly special day, the first time she did it. It was just another afternoon, not long after they had finished unpacking the furniture in their new house. Dust motes still danced lazily through the air where they were thrown by the movement of boxes and plastic coverings, lit up by the beam of sunlight that lay across them where they sat, squeezed onto the same armchair.

"Harry."

"Yes, Ginny dear?" Harry shifted his head from where it rested against her shoulder to look at her, marvelling as he always did at the way her hair looked when it caught the light just so.

"Had you noticed all our furniture was red?" She moved, almost imperceptibly, to look right back at him. He wasn't sure how she did it, but her eyes always seemed to see through him, even when they glinted with amusement like they did now. "Or gold. Or a yellow that could almost be called gold."

"Mm? I hadn't noticed." Harry broke their gaze. He knew he couldn't keep a straight face if he carried on looking at her, with that little half-smile.

"Its almost like they're Gryffindor colours, darling." Her arms wound their way around his neck, fingers tracing tiny absent-minded patterns there as she smiled at him.

"Oh, what a.. lovely coincidence."

"Yes, a...coincidence."

They both broke into laughter. Harry took another look at Ginny as she closed her eyes and laughed, nose scrunching up as she laughed in that way that always made him want to kiss her, drawing your eye to those freckles that he thought really looked like some kind of artwork, particularly held in the sun like this. Her skin was smoothed over by the light, and looked as soft as it felt as he stroked a thumb over Ginny's cheek, holding her face in that mesmerised way he always did.

At some point she stopped laughing and noticed him staring. Ginny looked down at Harry, shifting her legs in his lap and moving one hand to lie on top of his.

"You do know that I understand that, right?" Her eyes met his with such gentleness, and the way she held him meant that of course he knew, of course he knew she understood because Ginny saw him. She smiled, Harry's hand drifted down from her face to rest securely on the small of her back.

Ginny hesisted, just for a moment, before bringing both hands up to his face. She helf him, and Harry closed his eyes as fingertips joined the sun in caressing his face with love and warmth. His hair was pushed back from his forehead, her fingers working through the knots and tangles there, letting the whole of his face feel the last kiss of the sun. He felt her hands leave his face, and nearly opened his eyes.

Then, she pressed a tender kiss to his forehead. Not just his forehead, to the lightening shaped scar that had brought them so much trouble.

For just a split second he froze in fear, a breath caught in his throat, the sensation awakening an old fear. The moment of fear was shattered when a strand of Ginny's hair brushed his neck, and he caught the scent of her perfume in the air. As he relaxed, he could almost feel his brain beginning to whir as he contemplated the meaning of what she had just done, the safety and surety of being in her presence, the weight of her on his lap and reality of her held there in his hands, permanent and loving and good. The moment passed and she sat up to look at him, in that simple way only she could, as though she had not just done something so meaningful and tender he thought his heart might explode.

"Ginny?"

"Yes Harry?"

He grinned at her. "Nothing." He reached up to pull her in to a kiss. He was safe here. Never had there been a place safer for him than her arms. He was safe.

All was well.

Stop talking shit about the protagonists

Percy is SMART

Carter is CARING

Sadie is FIERCE

Jason is KIND

Lester

Magnus is WITTY

The things we leave behind.

Back on my bullshit ayeyeyeyeyeye A little concept for Naymora’s first life as Aaravos’ daughter :) She failed to free him from the mirror and instead died at it. He couldn’t watch her fade away, but if he had, perhaps he’d have realized that she just recited a reincarnation spell. Whoops

Alright. I found this on Pinterest....

SOMEBODY EXPLAIN WHAT THIS IS TO ME!!!!!!!

#help #igiveup #whydoesthisnothappentome #harrypotter #makethispopularplz

rick riordan made a lot of bad decisions but the worst of them may well have been thinking that percy would actually forget his and annabeth’s one month anniversary.......ok boomer

Decided to make a slightly more inclusive version of this meme. Lets keep the list going though.

@narniaweek day one ➤ favorite female character

she is clothed in strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.

— prov. 31:25

Carter Kane: So, at the end of it all, what do we have? No glory.

Magnus Chase: No money.

Jason Grace: No love.

Carter Kane: None of the things that make life bearable.

Percy Jackson: We have honour.

Carter Kane: I can live with that.

Jason Grace: For honour, then.

Magnus Chase: Still, a little money would be nice.

“We write about Persephone and her life, but what of her mother, who was raped and kept was overprotective, simply because she didn’t want her daughter to end up with her fate. I like how we write about Persephone, and her beautiful looks, how she makes the flowers in the underworld bloom, yet we forget Demeter, chased by Zeus, her heart pounding, as she tripped and fell, turned into a snake, and there Zeus found her. And that wasn’t her only rape, Poseidon raped her too, and we ignore it. ‘0h, she’s the overprotective mother that tried to hide her daughter from the world.’ No, she’s that woman whose suffered and tried too keep it under, smiling brightly at her daughter when she wakes up, hugs and kisses, but seriousness when talking to her nymphs. ‘Watch her, don’t take your eyes off of her.’ She’s the smiling face with pain that smiles at her loved one when she comes home from work, she’s somebody whose suffered and is overlooked. And I rage for it.” - PoeticInjustice

When inspiration hits you at exactly 11:55 PM on Christmas Eve and you start typing on a story you have a 4 month writers block on and it actually turns out good. When if you’d tried at a normal hour your fingers would be stiff and you couldn’t have done it.

Yeah, this just happened to me