When he wakes up, call Bruce. Bruce Wayne? No, Bruce Springsteen. Oh.
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“You are damaged and broken and unhinged. But so are shooting stars and comets.”
— Nikita Gill, “Shooting Stars and Comets”
(via thequotejournals)
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@angelsbled
it was nighttime at the institute. which meant andy was restless, finding it hard to sleep. she wanted to run. she missed the feel of the earth beneath her paws and the way the moonlight made everything glow. she missed not being cold. ever since her shift back, she felt cold.
the girls were in clary’s room, sat cross legged on the floor in front of one another; clary watching andy, and andy watching their hands. more specifically, the one she was currently painting.
clary’s.
andrea’s head was bent low, a frown set on her face. her tongue stuck out in concentration as she stared down at the hand she was holding tight to. the wolf’s brow creased further, her eyes squinting as she lowered her head closer, needing every brush to be perfect. she watched the paint leak from her brush and onto the other girl’s skin, staining it a soft, pale blue colour wherever she let the two touch.
when she pulled back, raising her head; a small, plain, delicate outline of a heart was left adorning the back of the redhead’s hand.
proud of herself, andy beamed at clary, holding her hand up for the other girl to see. she hadn’t made one single splodge on clary’s hand. she hadn’t even spilled any of the paint anywhere. compared to normal? that was a huge success in itself.
“what d’you think?” she asked, biting her lip, the hint of a smile still on her face.
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