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Philosphies of Romance
DAIR - DRAMIONE - ISHIHIME - ICHIRUKI
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31 May
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showslow:

Splash!

showslow:

Splash!

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31 May
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31 May
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kubotits:

The thing about both Ichigo and Rukia is that they don’t like saying their feelings aloud. A lot of their communication is made with their eyes; although their thoughts are filled with worrying about and protecting the other, a lot of it is not expressed with words.

Alone, or speaking to others, they overflow with thoughts of each other. On Ichigo’s mother’s deathday, all Rukia could think about was him, helping him, worrying over him, over protecting him, letting him fight his own battles. When she left, all he could think about was saving her, of the debt he owed her, why he needed to be stronger, how he could not let her die no matter what. While Rukia was with Hanataro, all she spoke of was Ichigo, how warm he was, how easily she could trust him. However, none of this was said to the other.

What is actually said between them is usually short and curt. To the point. Or some form of flirting teasing. Sometimes they’ll even say one thing and mean another. When she left for Soul Society, she kicked him, called him a rookie, and to not sully her brother’s robes with his filthy human hands—something Ichigo just couldn’t understand was coming out of her mouth. Until she turned around. Until she met his eyes.

Another thing that must be remembered about Ichigo in particular is that he is all about image. In order to look cool, he’ll say one thing when he really feels differently (for example his “Like hell I am” when Keigo asked if he missed Rukia—while inside he was definitely dwelling on the fact that she hadn’t come back for 17 months). Sometimes, to protect that aloof, Devil-may-care image, he doesn’t want his emotions exposed—even to Rukia. So when they are reunited on that bridge in Soul Society, he brushes her aside: that moment he’s been waiting for, he pushes it away so it’s not too overwhelming, so she doesn’t see just how much she means to him and just how hard he’s been trying. Although he’s shown everyone else his desperate side, he won’t show her. That’s why, even once he’s turned around and tells her that famous line, “I’ve come to save you,” he can’t look at her, he has to look away. He can’t let her see into his eyes, or it will all be given away.

And when Orihime left, and Ichigo followed rashly after her: here iss a slip in communication. Because he did not meet her eyes, Rukia was unable to provide the comfort and that is usually bountiful in those big blue-violet orbs of hers. She was unable to show him that he would go with him, to the very ends of the earth. Only at times like this, do they feel the need to say what they mean.

The reason I used these particular mangacaps, is because it’s so telling of the both of them: neither are good at opening up to anyone. Both Ichigo and Rukia have their walls, their barriers, their fortresses around their hearts that they guard from the world—even at times from each other. But for each other, they will open those gates. Although so much is told through their eyes, body language, and actions alone, sometimes they have to say something. Even if they don’t want to: they still do. For the other’s benefit.

She hates that she has to say it, that the fact that they aren’t “friends,” but “nakama,” is something that they should have already understood and that it is a concept difficult for Ichigo to grasp without her saying aloud. It’s frustrating. That it wasn’t enough for them to be the way they are. And of course it was, but, judging from Ichigo’s easy smile in response, sometimes it’s good to be reminded of such things. Sometimes ambiguity isn’t enough.

So, if we ever do get a “confession” between the two, it’s going to be begrudging. It’s going to be a “Isn’t it obvious?”, a “Why do I even have to say it?” In fact, I could go so far as to say that they’ve already conveyed intense emotions like “love” through the way they look at each other.

Yes, “speaking is not communication,” and “actions speak louder than words,” but for the most part, when it comes to these two, (as cliche as it may sound!) their eyes really are the doorway to their souls.

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31 May
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top nine favorite pictures » leighton meester

top nine favorite pictures » leighton meester

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30 May
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“Hey, Granger”

“Hey, Granger”

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30 May
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30 May
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— My two cents.

mynameiscassidy:

At the end of the day, “Gossip Girl” belongs to the people who write and direct it.

Read More

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29 May
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cammille:

65 Days of Static

“You knew…”

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29 May
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Draco Malfoy leaned over their cauldron and took a whiff of the potion he and Hermione Granger had been brewing together for the past two hours. A very familiar scent invaded his nostrils, and he reeled back at the shock of his revelation.

“Fuck.”

Hermione’s hand tightened around the stem of the ladle and she resisted the urge to hit her potions partner with it. “I swear to Merlin I will turn your hair pink if I hear you say that one more time,” she muttered with a vehemence that matched Draco’s scowl. 

“Fuck,” he repeated just to goad her temper. “What’s the matter, haven’t you done that with Weasley yet?”

Hermione’s face flamed, but she refused to be put down by him. “Sod off, Malfoy. Put your mouth to better use and tell Professor Slughorn that we’re done brewing the potion,”

“Oh, I sure can put my mouth to better use,” he drawled as he regarded her with a half-lidded stare. “Like irritating the life out of you with my clever remarks,” a dimple she just noticed popped on his left cheek, and her heart thrummed loudly against her chest. 

Was it her imagination, or does their Amortentia potion smell eerily like him?

778 notes
29 May
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tothedarklands:

So knock me down, tear me up,
But I would bear it all broken just to fill my cup

» pt. 01

I caught her quick correction; my eyes searching hers, trying to dive into the depths of her meticulous brain. I saw how easily I could fall into her and she would listen, she was willing to help my sorry arse. I frown and turn back towards the mirror.

I don’t need her help, I don’t deserve it.

“Granger, leave now,” I say beneath my breath, pitiful attempt at stopping her. Her presence shifts behind me, her footsteps timid and cautious; as they should be.

“I don’t trust your bloody arse,” she says, wand already in hand but eyes still curious.