orla  and  helen

“The thing was, Henrietta looked like a place where magic could happen. The valley seemed to whisper secrets.”

Things come in my eyes and ears and through my pores, and my receptors begin to pulse restlessly and my neurons fire like cannons, and by the time everything gets into my brain and comes out the other side, it’s all transformed into a different species, pixels or channels, glossy or matte. I can’t change the way I’m made. I’m a performer, a singer, a werewolf, a sinner. Just because I’m singing it for a crowd doesn’t make it untrue. If we make it through this alive, I’m going to tell you the truth of why. And this time, you had better believe me.

happy birthday cas ♥ @rietvelds

trc in movie scenes ↪ adam parrish with the women of 300 fox way (opal, a raven cycle story)

I closed my eyes and swallowed. “I can’t tell the difference between not fighting,” I said, “and giving up.” ( insp. from the lovely, @briarpoet )

So when she went looking for a magical sleeping entity supposedly buried near her rental house, she didn’t quit until she found it.

And there he was. Not properly sitting on the bench, but leaning across it on one knee like he hadn’t meant to stay that long. The musician’s fingers that I’d spotted earlier weren’t visible to me from this angle, but I didn’t need to see them. All I had to see was his face. Unaware of an audience, lost in the repeated rhythm of the piano riff, lit by the evening.