(big bushy eyebrows)

Coming back from the dead to wish my fav boy a happy birthday—

I have a thought about Newt sharing an office with Percival because when he accepted the offer to work in MACUSA, the Resource Dept’s intern didn’t process Picquery’s request to make a space for Newt’s office in the building on time so now Newt has to wait three month before he gets his own space.

Which is fine with Newt honestly because he doesn’t need a room per say, because he can always work from inside his suitcase but Picquery is all about protocol and appearance.

“Really, Mr. Scamander. I won’t allow my employee to tuck his suitcase in the broom closet. We have class. We need to stick to it. You’re the Director of Magical Creatures and Beasts Protection after all.”

The only space that is wide enough to fit a new desk for Newt is in Percival’s office because Newt has politely declined the Madam President’s offer to temporarily room with her.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re too… intimidating. I don’t think I can’t work well with you always around.”

So now Newt is sharing an office with Percival who looks so put out by this. His office is his sanctuary. A sane place for him to unwind and hide from the idiotic crowd when it gets too overwhelming.

And having Newt and his suitcase have made Percival feeling too overwhelmed nowadays esp. when he comes back to the office after a long meeting with the dunderheads of the higher ups to see his cushy leather chair to be occupied by a sleeping Occamy and that the Swooping Evil is lazily hanging upside down from the ceiling lamp, flapping its wings in greeting.

The Niffler keeps stealing Percival’s silver pen and scorpion pins that Newt is sure sooner or later the blasted thief would be imprisoned.

Newt loses count on how many times Percival keeps threatening the Niffler but it occurs on daily basis; sometimes thrice in a day and it honestly makes Newt feel guilty. It’s one thing to encroach the man’s turf, it’s another to not being able to corral his creatures into the suitcase without something breaking or missing.

Still, Percival never once yell at him. He always looks at Newt with narrowed eyes and giving back his creatures by the scruff with an annoyed huff before stalking to his desk and pick up a report.

It’s a small mercy but Newt appreciates it very much because this Percival is considerate and kind. Not unlike Grindelwald.

To make it up to Percival, Newt starts to bring him coffee for breakfast; black with lotsa sugar. There’s a always sweet, sticky bun with vanilla cream in the middle for him too. If he goes out on an assignment, he would make sure to bring back Jacob’s Occamy raisin bun with more coffee.

Percival accepts the food with mild suspicion but he eats them all with gusto; looking like he actually forgets what real food taste like with each chew and swallow.

It’s not bribe per say; it’s more of “I’m sorry for invading your space like this and thank you for always being so kind to me and my creatures even when we are menaces” apology gift.

So Newt keeps bringing Percival breakfast and lunch too if he has the time because it feels good to look at the eager smile on the man’s face when Newt opens the door with coffee and buns on his hands. It feels good to hear the man make small pleased noise of satisfaction when he takes the first sip of coffee.

It just feels good to take care of Percival Graves if Newt is being honest to himself.

So he does more; asking Percival what’s wrong when the man looks like he’s sulking after a meeting. He listens to Percival’s complaining about the utter cockshit of the current MACUSA’s bureaucracy even when he doesn’t understand half of the law. There are time that he charms the door to lock when Percival gets all quiet and solemn while reading a case file; Newt always goes inside his suitcase to brew Percival a cup of herbal tea to soothe his nerves. Percival always accepts it with a small tired smile and a husky thank you.

Newt even manages to make the man to go home early instead of holing up in the room until late at night.

The creatures still roam the office but Percival seems to accept their existence now; he actually utilises the creatures to his own benefit to chase of any snobbish ministers or department heads from his office.

Newt has to step out from their shared office one time to let out a bellowing laugh when he sees Percival wearing the Occamy around his neck while talking to the New York Ghost press.

There’s also that thing when Newt quietly slips into the office to take a document only to pause halfway inside when he sees Percival rubbing the Niffler’s chin with fondness while she sleepily blinks her eyes at him.

It gets progressively easier as days go by; sharing an office with Percival doesn’t make Newt nervous anymore. In fact he looks forward of being in MACUSA just so he could meet the man and watch him do his duties. They have breakfast together, discuss the new bill on magical creatures and exchanging opinions and debating on some matters. Pickett is fond of the man too by the way he always hangs out on Percival’s shoulder now; chittering excitedly whenever Percival pays attention to him.

Then Newt invites Percival to come into his suitcase. The man hesitates at first but something like eagerness must have shown on Newt’s face because Percival agrees in the end; grumbling the whole way about how narrow and dangerous the stairs are. But when he gets into the open space, he gets quiet; taking everything in with big eyes and bushy eyebrows raising high.


That’s the word that Percival utters quietly, so reverently when he looks at the creatures roaming around freely.

Something in Newt warms up so rapidly that his face is flushed in pleased excitement.

After the visit, Percival sometimes steps inside the suitcase on his own just to pet the mooncalves who in turn adore the man so much.

Newt think he’s probably half in love with the man now but he does nothing about it; pines in silence and feels happy from just being around Percival.

When the three month is up and Resource has cleared Picquery’s request, Newt moves into his swanky new office. It’s small compared to Percival’s but it somehow looks spacious. Empty without another presence being with him in that office.

So Newt settles in his own office; there’s a small potted plant on the windowsill that Percival gave to him as a office warming gift. Newt cares for it like he cares for Percival with patient and kindness and a whole lot of water and sunshine.

Which makes Newt wonder if Percival has had his breakfast or not yet. Or if he’s in need of someone to listen to his complaining. Or if he feels lonely, like Newt feels lonely.

It’s an absurd thought. Surely Percival feels glad to rid of him and have his office back to himself.

But then one day when Newt is busy scribbling his notes on the pregnant Graphorn, there’s a knock on his door and when the door swings open, Percival steps in.

Newt notices that he’s holding two steaming cups in both hands and behind him, there are floating buns too.

“Thought you might want to have breakfast with me,” Percival says, a bit nervous from the squeaky sound of his voice.

And Newt grins so wide that he feels like his face is splitting apart because this might not mean anything but Percival is here now in his office, bringing him tea and Niffler bun with peaches in the middle just so they could have breakfast together like they used to.

It might not mean anything, but it is something. And something is better than nothing after all.

anonymous asked:

I've wonder if f!Sole is still lactating,I mean it could be put to use especially in survival mode. (Thought this was funny and I may or may not have made this mistake😅) So what if Sole stores her own breast milk as "improvised food rations" and companions end up accidentally drinking some(let's be real, these fools are probably walking around home base all willy nilly eating all of sole's food😤). How'd companions react to an embarrassed sole telling them they just drank "her milk".

Cait – “Oh what the fuck! Sole what the fuck are ya doin’ keepin’ that shite in the goddamn fridge!” She immediately runs to the cupboard for a mouthful of whiskey, pausing suspiciously just before she lifted the bottle to her lips. “This ain’t no cats piss or somethin’ right? Ya did nothin’ to it?” She sniffs, ignoring whatever Sole managed to say through her embarrassed laughter, and tentatively takes a swig to wash out the taste of Sole’s breastmilk on her tongue.

Curie – “Oh mon Dieu! I am so sorry, Sole!” She starts giggling with her, feeling her face flushing from embarrassment. “Although you should know if you do not already, that it is wise to replace your supply every twenty four hours lest it expire. It is not possible to keep it stored indefinitely, however freezing it does prolong its safe consumption period.” Curie was suddenly very grateful that she had her knowledge of science to overcome awkward situations such as these!

Danse – He blanches, horrified. “I-I didn’t know that the…the…uh…” He blushes so red that it looked like he’d spent days under the sun’s glare. “I apologise, Sole. I was under the impression it was Brahmin milk.” Danse can’t meet her gaze for more than a second and had he been in power amour, he would’ve ran straight through the wall and kept on running. Instead, he somewhat dignifiedly excused himself from the room.

Deacon – “Oh, I know what it was. Tasted good too. Make it yourself?” He waggled his eyebrows and flashed a grin to hide the fact that holy shit he did not know that was breastmilk! Despite the fact that it didn’t bother him much, he was low key worried that it made Sole uncomfortable which – judging by the way she had been chuckling to herself – was unlikely.

Gage – He huffs, scrunching up his nose a bit before cheekily replying. “Well, I suppose there are worse things out there to drink. Least I know where you’ve been.” Sole just scoffs and walks away, probably preparing to refill another bottle or so, Gage thinks. He wouldn’t admit it, but it actually tasted pretty good by his standards.

Hancock – If he still had any in his mouth, he would spat it out like it were poison. As it were, he immediately dashed madly to the sink and started spitting into it and washing his mouth out with water. “Give a guy a warning, Sole! Damn!” He neglected to see the label, which Sole helpfully pointed out to him after the fact which – to their surprise – actually had him flushing with embarrassment.

MacCready – He freezes, shocked. “Breastmilk? As in…” he points to Sole’s breasts, the blood draining from his face completely. Sole nodded, failing in her attempt to stifle her laugh. “Oh you have got to be kidding me! Are you serious?” He picks the bottle back up and inspects it, horrified to find that it did in fact have a label titled ‘Breastmilk’. “Argh fu-udge!”

Maxson – His big bushy eyebrows lift in surprise and he actually blushes. “I had no idea that was breastmilk.” He’d mutter to himself and covers his mouth with his hand. When he sees Sole laughing to herself, he can’t help but crack a smirk and decides to level the playing field. “Well, I was wondering to myself just why it tasted better than any Brahmin milk I’ve ever had.” That made Sole blush, at least.

Old Longfellow – “The one damn time I choose to drink milk over whiskey and what do I get? Goddamn breastmilk.” He shakes his head, chuckling heartily despite himself. “Like I’ve said before, nothin’ good ever comes from turnin’ down alcohol.”

Piper Wright – The reporter’s eyes widened in horror. “WHAT?!” She runs to the sink and turns the tap on, trying to brush away the residue on her tongue using the water and her fingers. “You bwetter bwe lying, Bwue.” Her speech is slurred by the water as she glares at Sole who is still laughing and shaking her head in the negative. Piper groans heavily in embarrassment and continues vigorously scrubbing her tongue until it’s sore and until she can no longer taste the…the breastmilk. Ugh.

Preston Garvey – He starts coughing and immediately runs to the fridge for a bottle of purified water to wash out the taste in his mouth. Only to accidentally use another bottle of Sole’s breastmilk, which only made her laugh harder when he realised and subsequently started heaving and trying to apologise at the same time. Was definitely not the most dignified moment for the Minuteman and certainly not something she’d ever let him live down.

Strong – “MILK OF HUMAN KINDESS? WHY LEADER NOT TELL STRONG SOONER?” He is outraged that she had kept this secret from him and demands that she make more to make Strong stronger. That was an argument everyone in Sanctuary Hills definitely did not envy Sole for.

X6-88 – “Oh,” he stands up, a little embarrassed and doesn’t quite know how to deal with this revelation. “My apologies, ma’am. Next time I will ensure verification of a beverage before consuming it.” He’s mortified to feel his cheeks burning and quickly finds a reason to excuse himself from the room.

anonymous asked:

lady red do you have any advice for being ugly? like just physically unattractive. I don’t mean beauty tips necessarily but just dealing with it everyday. I’m tired of constantly feeling like shit because of my appearance and how people treat me because of it. i don’t even smile properly anymore because i look ugly when I do and pretty people always react with this look of pity and sort of refrain? and I just. I kinda wanna die.

Well baby, the problem with external beauty is that it’s subjected to a zillion stupid, nonsensical social norms and expectations, as well as being fundamentally subjective in its core. The “rules” that dictate what is “beautiful” (boy this is gonna be an answer full of quotations…) nowadays change by the month and are just the biggest, steamiest pile of garbage out there. 

You want an example? Growing up having thick, dark eyebrows was synonym of ugliness, it was unladylike and girls who had them were considered unattractive by social standards. But lo and behold now they’re everything and everyone wants defined, full, dark eyebrows. And that’s beauty for you. Something that was once ugly can now be the epitome of attractiveness just because some beauty guru decided it is now acceptable to look this or that way. 

As a person who has never given a fuck about beauty standards nor fashion, I have watched looks go into and fall out of fashion with every season. I have always looked the way I look now, I could show you pictures of me in primary school and I already had a tiny leather jacket and wore nothing but jeans, converse shoes and t-shirts with band logos on them because that was the way my dad looked and I looked up to him. But that was not the way to look “cool” in the 2000s. Not that I gave a shit. I’ve watched this look of mine be considered ugly, and once I made it to high school for an entire year, leather was the thing to wear and all the popular girls wanted biker jackets and military boots and t-shirts with band names on them for an entire year. I was the epitome of fashion. Me. For a year. And then I wasn’t.

And so on, and so on…

I’m not going on a tangent, and I know you didn’t ask about fashion, but “beauty”, still what I am trying to say is… it doesn’t matter. They’ll never be happy no matter what you do, lovely. That’s the bad news. The good news?

Because all of these “beauty standard” rules are bullshit, and not real, no one is actually ugly. Everyone is just… themselves. I can assure you, that amongst the billions of people on this planet, thousands upon thousands would consider you the epitome of beauty. Because we do not choose what we consider attractive, what we like, deep down, no matter what the social norm is. 

Example: There’s a post going around somewhere that I saw the other day, and the whole thread is nothing but people gushing over girls with big noses. Big, broken, hooked. All that is considered “ugly by current standards”. But that isn’t. Because girls with small, button noses are not inherently more beautiful than the opposite. They aren’t. And thousands of people made a post to fawn over this. Because girls with big noses are fucking beautiful. 

Everyone is beautiful to someone. You included. You weren’t put in this world to satisfy others and struggle to meet impossible standards. Forget about what others consider beautiful, it doesn’t matter. It will change, and fluctuate, constantly. You can never win like that. Wear the clothes that you like and make you feel good. Wear the make up that you enjoy, or none at all, because it does not matter. Cut your hair however you want. There are no defects, there’s no “ugliness”…it’s made up.

Everyone likes something different.

I think you’re beautiful. However you look. I’ve been with wildly different people. Some that would by no means be considered “pretty”. Lanky boys, chubby boys, short girls, tall girls, short hair, long hair, big noses, small noses, big eyes, squinty eyes, bushy eyebrows, defined eyebrows, make up, no make up, goth, hipster, who gives a shit… Who. Cares. People are just people. We can all be attractive, you just need to figure out what works for yourself, and exploit your good things. WHICH YOU HAVE. You’re awesome in a thousand ways. You just need to find them. If you believe it, people will start perceiving it that way, trust me. 

Also guess what, pretty people with the personality of a stale banana suck ass. Been there done that. Not fun. People who can make you laugh, make you happy, people who have personalities that shine brighter than a fucking star…those are the ones you want to spend time with. Personalities are more attractive than looks.

So smile. People laughing are one of the best sights to see. Walk tall, and confident, that many people out there would consider you smoking hot.  


also let’s not forget that traits like curly/frizzy hair, big, hooked noses, bushy eyebrows and scrunchy faces that are so commonly associated with cartoon villains now started as traits of jewish representations in nazi propaganda. they’re so ingrained into our culture now but these can still be harmful presentations because it perpetuates jews = ugly evil people

Christmas Gift 1: Lost and Found

I hope you had a wonderful day today!

I have to deliver a special gift to lovely @gallifreyanlibertea​ who requested it and had to receive it today! I’m sorry I couldn’t send you anything else, but I hope you’ll like this second attempt at fluffy omegaverse ;)

Notes: I’ve never been to NY! Sorry for inaccuracies (and eventual mistakes, English is not my first language).

Lost and Found (USUK, omegaverse, fluff)

Alfred F. Jones was an alpha working as a guard at the American Museum of Natural History in New York City and he was (damn) good at his job.

He was extraordinary with the kids, precise at giving directions, careful at guarding the emergency doors and the main entrance and he also could help with random informations and improvised guided tours about the sections he liked and knew about the most.

Yes, he was an alpha, but he was an extremely friendly one, he was caring and he always wore a big smile on his face when on duty, a fact that gained him the trust of his bosses, the friendship and alliance of his co-workers and the absolute love of (most) visitors.

However, his most special talent, the thing only him could do with extreme precision, the flair for which he had become famous between the museum’s employees, was being infallible at finding and returning items lost on the museum’s ground, just using his flawless sense of smell.

That was why, when one snowy afternoon of late December (almost Christmas!) his pal and co-worker Toris found a black leather glove on the American History section’s floor, he immediately brought it to Alfred, asking him to look around for the owner.

Keep reading

This is an appreciation post for all the girls who never get appreciated. For the brown girls, the ones with big bushy eyebrows and unibrows and thick bellies and jiggly thighs and so many rolls and stretch marks. For the women with hairy chins and cheeks and back, the ones with big noses, the ones that are told they’re too tall for heals. The disabled women, the mentally I’ll women, the women who have psychotic episodes they can’t control all the time, the ones who hear voices. The women with dicks, the ones that used to, the ones that only feel feminine half the time. I love you.

some of the best moments with calum would be the late nights you’d spend being alone together whenever he wasn’t away on tour. you’d lie curled up against with your legs entwined with his and your fingers tangled in his curly hair. some nights neither of you would say anything - you’d simply just enjoy the feeling of being together, listening to nothing but the melodic beats of your synchronized hearts and each other’s harmonious breaths. other nights would be marked by philosophical and heartfelt talks about anything and everything. like the night he asked for your hand in marriage (or rather, he had implied that he wanted to ask). “my hands?” you had replied, english not being your first language and therefore sometimes causing confusion when calum used sayings you had never heard before. “yeah…” he had pondered in response, smiling ever so softly at the blushed, confused look gracing your face. “i wanna marry you. someday” he added, unsure of your reaction. but you had just blushed even more, smiling fondly as your eyes scanned over his beautiful face - the crinkles that you loved, the pink chappy lips, his big bushy eyebrows, the deep chocolate eyes, and that beautiful nose of his. calum’s cheeks had also flushed pink but as you said “i wanna marry you too” his nerves disappeared as quickly as they had arisen, only to be replaced by immense love and insane joy. his heart had swelled up with nothing less than pure, unadulterated happiness when you had interlaced your fingers with his and softly kissed the tip of his nose before saying “but when we’re married, can we get puppies instead of kids?”

27 with calum
“The Bride of the Red Leader” Chapter 1 (TW: Realistic Violence, Grim Dark) (This will hopefully be uploaded onto another site soon)

“Ooh, are you the pizza delivery guy?! :3”

“You again, I thought we kicked your butt months ago!?”



Edd’s POV

I was very, very afraid that the day when he’d return would come.

When he first opened the door, all hades broke loose; Me and Matt where brutalized and tied to a post trying to breathe and Tom was bloody trying to fight our former friend.

He wanted to be called “The Red Leader”, I wanted to call him “Tord”.

”You’re just chicken scratch!!” Tom barked before Tord wiped his insult off with a slap in the face so hard you could have sworn that his brain could have fallen out of where his eyes should be; “GIVE UP!” Tord demanded, stomping on Tom’s stomach as a soldier with big, bushy eyebrows spat on him while the other laughed; “N…never…..I will not give up……just watch me-” *STOMP*! Tord was at it again, stomping and harder as he progressed.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“STOP!” I choked up, begging Tord to stop his cruelty. ”STOP IT RIGHT NOW!” Tord turned his head over to where me and Matt where with a cold, stoic stare and slowly marched over to me, grabbed by chin and rubbed it, almost as if he was going to crush my head.

He finally replied in his cold, baritone voice: ”Why?”

“I hate seeing you like this, you where never this cruel, Tord….please come back to us and become our friend again.” I replied, tears streaming down my face and whimpering.

He laughed a haughty laugh while rubbing my chin some more and when he stopped for 6 seconds, he said in a harsher tone: “I will never return to that pathetic time in my life, wasting it on something other than my glorious reign in the process, you foolish boy.”

Little did I know, these three words would change my life forever:

“I’ll do anything.”


“Anything, any single task I will perform for you.”

He grinned a dark, cold grin and rubbed my chin in a much slower, more passionate pace.

“I would like to rule with some by my side….”

“I’ll become your second in command, heck, I’ll even be your wife!

After 7 seconds passed with the last five words to come out of my mouth floating in Tord’s head, he immediately cut the rope with his swiss army knife, grabbed me by my legs and swung me onto his left shoulder; It surprised me so much that I almost felt like I was bungee-jumping off a 5 story building before getting myself caught in an old, spindly tree with sharp branches that nearly staked me in my heart.

“Deal.” He snarled when he grinned a beastly grin while licking his lips and staring down at me with his bloodshot eyes when he marched over

“NO!” two voices called in the distance; it was a desperate, sobbing Matt and a very angry, determined Tom, whom both reacted as if they where having their hearts ripped out of their bodies.





All I could do was watch Matt screaming and crying in the snow, reaching his arm out for me as Tom tried to run so he could save me, but to no avail, for he was weakened from Tord’s brutality as the man himself carried me into his new mecha, possibly to never see my poor, broken friends ever again.

Cara Delevingne likes to think of herself as an accidental supermodel, and certainly she is unlike any other catwalk star I have ever met. She arrives for our interview at the Chiltern Firehouse - but of course - on time and with an entourage that consists of a tiny pet rabbit called Cecil, which she adopted after having to accessorise with him on a shoot. “Peeing! Peeing!” she screams, as the rabbit relieves itself next to my tape recorder. “I’m a good mother,” she says, getting on her hands and knees and clearing up the mess her ‘child’ has left on the floor.
She wants to do the interview in bed, and who am I to pass up a pseudo-sapphic encounter with a woman who has been linked with everyone from Harry Styles to the actress Michelle Rodriguez? The reason for the 21-year-old’s eagerness to jump under the covers with me is rather more prosaic, however. She has just got back from her sister Poppy’s wedding party, a five-day bash in Marrakesh, and she is exhausted. Cara has a reputation as something of a party girl - she is frequently snapped out on the town with friends such as Rihanna, Miley Cyrus and fellow model Suki Waterhouse - but even she struggled to keep up with the celebrations. “I spent all day yesterday eating crap food and watching bad TV,” she says, tucking into a meal that consists of pancakes, some eggs Benedict, and a portion of chips. “It was f***ing great,” she says dreamily. “Sorry, can I swear?”
Delevingne is thoughtful, chatty and engaging; she wears her heart on her Chanel sleeve (today she is wearing a Chanel top, some J Brand jeans and a pair of Union Jack socks; she says that “the best thing I get sent now is socks as I used to always have bags of odd ones”). We are here - ostensibly - to talk about the range of handbags she has designed for Mulberry (which start from £795), but she can’t help veering off topic, much to the chagrin of the two PRs who have been dispatched to sit in the room with us.
But it is her openness that has won her an army of fans: 1.68 million on Twitter and an astonishing 5.6 million on Instagram. She has been described as a sort of anti-model, the very opposite of the notoriously silent Kate Moss; Delevingne is the first fashion face to really embrace social media. “I think it’s quite strange [that nobody had done that before her],” she says. “I think it’s nice to break down that barrier, that models are seen and not heard.” It does not seem to have done her career any harm, going from Asos to DKNY and Burberry via three British Vogue covers and one Model of the Year award in only four years.
She is not afraid to post a picture of herself and Rodriguez hooked up to hers-and-hers drips after a weekend of partying, and when I mention her honesty she says, “Yeah, which is apparently quite bad sometimes. I mean, Kate [Moss] is incredibly open, but she chooses who she is open to. I’m just open, generally,” she says, laughing. “But I feel that’s when you really connect with someone.” When I ask her about her sexuality one of the PRs suggests politely that I have veered too far off topic, but Delevingne doesn’t think so. “On that topic, I think…” She pauses for a while, gathers her thoughts behind her big bushy eyebrows, which also have their own Twitter feed. “What do I think? I think people shouldn’t be scared of that. I’m young, I’m having fun, I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.” She shrugs. “So I don’t really care on that matter. People can say what they want, but I’m having a good time. I know what people are doing who are my age; I just think it would be a lie to pretend that I’m not having a good time.”
She stops short of a full outing but she tells me that she is more comfortable in the company of women. “The funny thing is, I always used to have more guy friends. At school, I was a tomboy and it would be me and all my guy friends. But now… I don’t know. It’s kind of changed quite a bit. I still have my old friends from school, but I think…” She lets out a big sigh. “I don’t meet men now who just want to be my friend. It doesn’t really happen that much. They’re just shallow like that. Unless it’s one of my girlfriend’s boyfriends, most guys are not like, ‘Oh, we should just be mates.’ I think it’s harder to become friends with guys,” she says, looking a little sad, “because guys just want to have sex with you.”
Cara Jocelyn Delevingne was born 21 years ago to Pandora, a socialite and former heroin addict, and Charles, a property developer whose grandfather was a viscount. Her maternal grandfather is Sir Jocelyn Stevens, the former newspaper executive and publisher of Queen magazine, while her maternal grandmother was a lady-in-waiting to Princess Margaret. Cara has two elder sisters - Poppy, also a model, and Chloe, a biomedical science graduate who has just given birth to her first child - and when she was growing up she wanted to be either a musician or an actress. She had her first taste of modelling when she was 10, when she worked on a Bruce Weber shoot for Italian Vogue, but Delevingne only remembers it now as all being a bit “odd”.
At 17, while at the boarding school Bedales, she came very close to getting the part of Alice in Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland, but then modelling happened (Sarah Doukas, the head of Storm model agency, spotted Delevingne because her own daughter was at the same school) and acting was put on the back burner. “I never really thought about modelling,” Delevingne says now, “it wasn’t something I ever wanted to do. I used to always be so angry about modelling. I was always like, ‘F***, I’m never going to able to act because I’m a model.’ ” But she now sees that her fashion career has given her fantastic opportunities. The Mulberry bags, for a start, which have been like a “literal dream come true. The first proper handbag I had was the Alexa [named after Alexa Chung] and I wore it every day until it broke. And I remember actually meeting Alexa for the first time and being, like, ‘Ohmygod she’s got a fricking handbag!’ When they asked me I couldn’t believe it, I thought they were lying.”
She has been involved closely with every stage of the design - the Cara can be worn as both backpack and handbag - because “if I put my name to something, and I am criticised for it, I want to know that I’ve at least had my full stamp on it.” Does she get asked to put her name to a lot? “Not much,” she sighs. “I’m quite surprised that nobody has asked me to do my own line of tweezers. I totally would love to do that. Or, like, mascara. Cara’s Mascara! Ahahahaha.”
Anyway, I’m not sure she is going to have time for all of that because the acting career is now taking off. Earlier this month she starred with Sylvia Syms in Timeless, a drama for Sky Arts written by Tim Frith of Calendar Girls fame. She was really very good, like a “young Audrey Hepburn” according to no less an authority than Syms herself. Next she stars alongside Kate Beckinsale and Daniel Brühl in Michael Winterbottom’s The Face of an Angel, which is very loosely based on the circus surrounding the Meredith Kercher murder trial (Delevingne plays Brühl’s love interest in the movie and not, as previously reported, the Amanda Knox character).
Then there is the big-screen adaptation of Martin Amis’s London Fields, in which she stars as Kath Talent, the wife of Jim Sturgess’s Keith Talent. She also got to work alongside Amber Heard and Billy Bob Thornton, and “I got so scared, because they are the most incredible actors. But fear and nervousness are something that can hold you back quite majorly. I just wanted to be inside their head, I just wanted to learn.” She was terrified doing her first scene with Thornton “and he saw that. But he said, ‘As an actor I can spot straight away when someone can act, and you can act.’ ” She blushes at the memory. “He told me you can’t teach a bad actor to act, but you can make a good actor worse. So he was like, ‘Don’t feel you have to learn.’ ”
She does feel guilty that all her friends are struggling at drama school while things are taking off for her, but “I always feel that life can teach you how to act. I’m always looking at life through other people’s eyes. By feeling empathy. And I do feel that I am constantly learning.” She says that modelling can interfere with acting “because it makes you so self-aware, and I have definitely had to take a minute [to get used to that].”
We talk a bit about the madness of the past four years. “When people described things to me as a whirlwind, I never really knew what it meant,” she says. “But then you get inside the tornado and you know exactly what it is. It’s madness. You get so caught up in so many things that it can be difficult to find the time to say, ‘Am I actually OK with this? Am I happy?’ ” Does she ever dream of a different story, in which she is like every other 21-year-old out there?
“Ahhhh,” she says, a look of sudden intense thoughtfulness on her face. “You know, I love putting myself in other people’s shoes, but I can never really experience it, which I find really sad. I love talking to my friends at uni and seeing what they are doing. They’re just finishing their dissertations and I kind of wish I could live their life for a second. I wish my school days could have dragged on a little longer, or that I could go back and do it later in life. I always used to get really depressed…” She falls quiet for a moment. “Well, not really depressed, but really upset if everything was getting a bit crazy, because I can never take this all away for a minute. I can’t turn around, you know? I’ve got to keep on going. If there’s a moment where I just want it all to disappear and go back… well, I can’t. And that used to terrify me.”
I really like Cara Delevingne. I can imagine taking her down the pub and having a really good time. She is very easy to talk to, very relaxed, incredibly gregarious. How old does she feel, I wonder. “Mmm,” she says. “I’d say 15 going on 32!” She lets out a very long laugh. “It’s very confusing. But I know how lucky I am.” Then Cecil the rabbit relieves himself again, and Cara runs off looking for a towel.
—  Fiftyshadesofcara : Cara Delevingne interview for Telegraph Magazine

anonymous asked:

Maryland, 5:33 (but dark like night outside) - I'm thinking about how much I want to kiss a guy who would never date me, has said that he wouldn't date me, and I'm already good friends with him so if I ask I might ruin everything between us but oh god I'm so gay for him because his eyes are such a beautiful brown and his heart a beautiful gold; I love him down to his big bushy eyebrows, I love every last strand of curly hair he can never tame. I love talking to him. He's my best friend..

i love the way you described him, you seem absolutely mesmerised by him. ahh he is so lucky to have such a passionate friend like you in his life. but honestly, you never know, he might have feels back? and does he perhaps know how you feel towards him?


I hate trends. What’s going to 
happen to us when big butts and big lips go out of style? What’s gonna happen when non black people stop using AAVE? Are things going to be the same or worst? 
Here I am waiting for big noses, big bushy eyebrows, and DARK skin to come into style. But what’s going to happen to me when it becomes the new trend? or when it goes out of style?