#heosphcros

game of thrones.

        his upper lip curls as his next words come out in a snarl, his hand slamming against the wall beside her face. no one else can make him so angry ; no one else can control him so. ‘ yes you do. ’ his breathing is heavy, his face only inches from hers in his usual lack of concern for personal space. ‘ you just want to ignore it because it isn’t pretty. because it isn’t something of the heavens, like your angel boy. ’ he’d wished he’d killed jace when they were children, before he’d sprung up like this weed, sent to ruin everything. a mirthless chuckle fell from his lips. ‘ tell me, clarissa, do you really think you are so seraphic? the blood of angels may run through your veins, but you are a morgenstern and you are dark. ’

@heosphcros bc this meme is so damn old but i gotta answer it

      though he found it foolish, sebastian had come to admire about his sister that she never gave up hope. it was another way in which they were similar, that they would never stop fighting, and why he knew her to be capable of such greatness, if she could only SEE. it wasn’t fear n her eyes as she faced her greatest threat, but strength ; a power so unyielding it could raze cities, with him by her side. but it was exactly that same quality that made her so steely against him. a part of her would always hang onto that hope, she would never give in, never yield to him and as great an ally she made, an even worse enemy she could be. ‘ yeah, what if there was? ’ he’s smirking again, and his fist rests on the wall beside her head. ‘ would you try to save me, little sister? ’

     PRIDE is but a bottomless heap, something that can’t be trudged out of ( only the most HUMBLING of experiences could cause such an event ! ). ever so dutifully, he spares a glance at his own begotten DAUGHTER before picking a fleck of something ( it decays, rots on the crisp fabric causing it to soil ) off of the arm of his suit. the picture of the uttermost perfection, ever as he, devil maker & godless thief !! 

          “ i don’t recall ever giving you such a guise that you could possibly speak to me like that. ”                         he spits the words, VENOM making its course throughout his body.

       it had only been a few weeks since he had ducked into her art studio when she was sleeping peacefully, fiery hair displayed messily among their black comforter. he never tried to make it a secret he came in here, filling every aspect of her life. he picked up a forgotten sketchbook and flipped through it with renewed interest, her art grabbing his attention unlike anything else could. as he analyzed the lines of each page carefully, he had come upon drawing after drawing of a beautiful girl that could only be his sister in gown after gown. and he had come upon a detailed sketch of a king with blank hair under his jeweled crown in a dark victorian suit. and another of the beautiful monarchs displayed on their thrones in dark oils.

       he imagined he looked just as that drawing did so, but he’d left it in her special place, his trips there were not to ruin her sanctuary. his fingers tapped lightly against the wood of his intricate seat as he impatiently waited on his queen. the wide doors flew open in the hands of his endarkened, dressed as royal guard, displaying the extravagantly decorated new throne room he’d created for her. it must have been a sight for her to see, the way he saw her eyes brighten beautifully, despite his distance. he stood, drawing her attention the way a king should. ‘ my queen. ’ his greeting echoed through the empty hall.

                  HE KNOWS THAT. he doesn’t want that, he knows when she thinks of him, it will be of all the PAIN he has caused her, the pain he caused each of her friends. even as his mother’s tears fall on scorched veins, he knows that there will never be a morning the two of them will not wake with renewed pain in their chests at the thought of him. that each time she hears his name, it will be like a knife to the heart, just like the blade that has killed him, sharp and cold and UNFORGIVING. ‘ don’t. ’ the word is stern on his lips.  ‘ don’t forgive me, HATE me. rejoice that i am dead. after all i have done, the last thing i would wish to bring to you was more grief. ’

     “ ah, clarissa. ”          he SMILES, frozen with idioms of time forgotten & left to rot. & he ponders about her — taking her in ever so slowly ( a CAT playing with his dinner ). frost spires in the haunting dark of his eyes, as the beatific grin fades. there would never be laughter lines on his face - proof of joyous & happy times reckoning with aging skin. he who grew too cold too quickly could never be warm again.

          “ even in death, i will be fighting for glory. ”

oh yeah same I totally prefer real books but I’m the Most Impatient TM and suffered through the eyestrain with COA-COLS when I first picked up TMI because I was that hooked ;;;

omg i get u okay that happened to me with catching fire and mockingjay lol