and why am i so pale

High Lords at a Water Park

Rhys: The one who gets in trouble for running around, he’s so excited to get from one ride to the next. “Come on, Feyre darling, hurry!” “Rhys, the wait for this one is an hour long, we’re not going to miss anythi–” “HURRY”

Feyre: Being pulled along with Rhys; she likes the rides, but her favorite things are the water slides, she goes down all the time. Wearing an adorable black bikini that she rocks; it made Rhys trip when he first saw it

Helion: Chilling in an inner tube as he goes down the lazy river, he’s sipping a pina colada and reading a book. Someone protests (”Sir, no food or drink in the pool please–”) but they forget what they’re supposed to say when they see Helion’s Thighs™

Kallias: Slathering sunscreen all over his body definitely helping Viviane get all of those hard to reach spots and trying all of the new food (turns out he has an affinity for ice cream) 

Thesan: Won’t set foot in any of the pools because, hello, the germs. Dr. Thesan knows exactly what kinds of diseases are festering in that water, and he absolutely will not touch it. Almost dies when he sees his Peregryn lover splashing around. “Come on, we’re getting you into a bathtub.” “Okay–hey, this isn’t water!” “No, it’s hand sanitizer and bleach, now close your eyes.”

Tarquin: The Hot Lifeguard™. He chills up in his hot lifeguard tower, a whistle resting idly on his lips as he scans the wave pool to make sure nobody’s messing around or drowning (he has to yell at Rhys for running all the time). When someone needs help, he executes a perfect dive into the water and saves a damsel in distress it’s me I’m the damsel

Beron: The one who complains about everything but when he gets into the very crowded wave pool, he immediately gets trapped underwater, caught beneath a bunch of inner tubes. “Tarquin, I think someone’s drowning–” “He’s fine, Varian.” “Shouldn’t you throw him a life preserver at least–” *Tarquin throws away the life preservers* “He’s fine, Varian, let him figure it out, this is the only way you learn.”

Tamlin: He wanted to get a tan, but Rhys switched out his sunscreen for suntan oil and he didn’t even notice. Now he has a massive sunburn and can’t walk for the rest of the trip because it hurts so much. Bonus: while he’s sleeping, Feyre writes ‘I am a tool’ on his back in sunscreen, so when he wakes up he’s cherry red, except for the pale skin that reads ‘I am a tool.’

“So what are you?”

The question which plagued my childhood in suburban Kansas; the ponderance of which led me towards years of agonizing identity searching; the answer to which I still hesitate to deliver.

“So what are you?”

It is an innocent question; one I know I am not alone in hearing the echoes of. But what do I say? “I’m mixed” is the short answer, but it always leads to the question of “With what” so do I say “My mom is white and my dad is brown” but brown isn’t usually specific enough so do I say “my mom is white and my dad’s Pakistani” but that doesn’t flow right because white is a race and Pakistani is a nationality so do I say “my mom’s American and my dad’s Pakistani” but that isn’t true because my dad was born in Canada and he’s lived here his whole life and American sure as hell doesn’t mean white I mean my dad IS American so do I say “My mom’s a white American and my Dad’s Pakistani American” but that just sounds like I’m trying too hard so that’s out of the question and so do I just drop it and leave it at “none of your business” but that’s rude and it’s really such a simple question so what in the hell do I freaking say?

“So what are you?”

It’s a good question, really… why don’t you tell me? I am the alienation that I feel when my mom’s family talks about how dangerous those Muslim immigrants are over dinner and I am the strange sinking feeling in my stomach which occurs when my cousins tell me that whatever I’ve just done is haraam. I am the frustration which clouds me when people around me doubt that I am what the hell I say I am. I am the product of the millisecond long stares of confusion people give me when I tell them the pale as china blonde lady I’m with is my mother and the looks of disgust I get when I, the young, doll eyed light skinned girl, go out to dinner late at night with a big burly middle aged brown man, aka my father. I am the three and a half years it took me to decide what to call the pigmentation of my skin.

I am the sadness which clouds me when one of my Aunties asserts how lucky I am to be so fair skinned. I am the anger I feel each and every time I think about the people who called my full and plump Desi lips fat as a kid and now use copious amounts of lip liner to accentuate their tiny mouths on Snapchat. I am the hours of hoping and praying during and after shootings that it wasn’t a Muslim. I am the incredible lengths I go to, the precise and complex knowledge I feel I must have of my roots in order to truly claim my heritage. I am neither and I am both and I hate it.

“So what are you?”

I can’t stand here and tell you that it is all bad. That would be I lie, for I am also the cool, smooth feeling of the bronze crucifix which sits on one side of my bedroom wall and the sentiment of the words “Allah most merciful” written in beautiful Arabic script on the other. I am my large French hazel eyes and my thick and wavy South Asian hair, my favorite of my features.

I am the pride I feel as I trace my thumb over the intricate embroidery on one of my anarkalis and the anticipation I feel for Christmas as I help line my grandmother’s fireplace with garland. I am the rhythmic clanking of my bangles as I dance to bhangra music at a cousin’s wedding and the clicking of tongues by a sizzling grill as my grandpa flips our burgers during a Sunday night barbeque. I am the flavorful and savory taste of pulao my father makes and the creamy texture of mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving. I am the Maybelline mascara I coat my eyelashes with and the kajal I used to line the edges of my eyes. I am the flavorant meeting of two cultures melting in an incredible country in which such a thing is even possible.

“So what are you?”

God, but what am I thinking? I’m Jackie. I am the impending messiness that is my bedroom. I am my inability to fall the hell asleep before eleven o’clock at night. I am my love for all things fashion and glamour. I am my obnoxiously large collection of makeup. I am my hideous shedding of tears each and every time Spock dies in the Wrath of Khan.

I am my intense love for horror movies and my struggle to move in the dark for two days after watching them. I am my passion for music and Michael J. Fox and Kanye West and my unrequited love for Zayn Malik. I am my collection of records and of 32 scarves which I never wear, my brown riding boots, my belting of Christmas carols in the middle of July, my irrational hatred of algebra, my inability to sleep without my phone being on its charger, the Toll House cookie dough I eat straight from the bag and the four Beatles posters I have hanging in my room.

I am the scent of Aussie conditioner and my clumsy, spacy nature; my obsession with the Kennedys, my adamant love for Diet Dr Pepper, losing myself in my daydreams, my extreme extroversion and procrastination of literally everything, my weakness for Reese’s peanut butter cups, my A to Z knowledge about Mick Jagger, my ever changing mind. I am my dreams and I am my fears and and I am my tenacity and I am my mistakes and my courage and my insecurities and my abilities and my hope … I am so much and yet I am so little. I am me. I am unapologetically and beautifully me.

“So what are you?”

I am Jacqueline Renee and I am what I am and no answer that I give you to this question will make what I am any different.

pale blue/pink yugyeom aesthetic
I planned on posting this earlier but I was eating a burrito and I forgot 😬

I Will Cover You

My first Dream Daddy fic. I am officially in Smallmarch (Robert Small/Damien Bloodmarch) hell. No regrets. And of course my first foray is angst and fluff. A killer combination. Robert tries his best to take care of Damien after surgery. 

Cut for length, not for content, though do be aware that this fic depicts post-top surgery.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“If I had a dollar for everytime someone answered a door and said that to my face…anyway, yes. It’s me. Where’s your dad?”

Robert wished for a second that his hands weren’t full, a loaded grocery bag in one and an unopened bottle in the other. Otherwise, he could have just pushed past Lucien and gotten into the house. Instead, he had to play this whole game of Purposeful Small Talk. Which he hated almost as much as Pointless Small Talk.

“Isn’t it Goth Night at Jim and Kim’s? Maybe you should try there.”

“The closest thing Jim and Kim’s has to ‘Goth Night’ is ‘Dark Sullen Drunk Night,’ and since I’m not there, that’s not happening. Move it.”

Lucien didn’t budge, instead raising a perfectly lined brow at the whiskey in Robert’s hand. “You do actually know that he can’t drink right now, right?”

He didn’t. “So? This is for me.”

“…”

“Look, Lucy. This can go one of two ways. You can move out of my way, or I can come back armed with a fully-loaded Betsy. Your call.”

“Did you just threaten my life so you can hang out with my dad?”

“Maybe.” Really, it was more a threat on his allergies, but…whatever it took.

Lucien smiled, and moved aside with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Impressive. You may enter.”

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Rowaelin’s daughter x Feysand’s son fic Part III

Thank you guys for loving my hc’s just as much as I do! I’ve listened to you guys say you want a fic, so instead of hc’s I’ve taken the dot points out so it flows better. We’re about 3/5 of the way through!

Check out Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV and Part V.

Seraphine

This is the most ugliest creature she has ever seen, Seraphine thought. She glances at Fen beside her, wincing at the sharp pain caused from the movement of her shoulder. Her wolf was growling at the creature in front of them. It was feakishly tall, wearing a dark, ragged, old cloak, it’s face wrinkled like a prune.
Taking note of the creatures’ eyes, like deep, deep pits of nothing, Seraphine couldn’t help but wonder who this creature is.
The air feels static until it answers out loud for her.
“The Suriel,” it says.
Seraphine tried to hide her surprise, tried to hide the fact that she had no weapons, not even a pathetic stick to defend herself—besides Fen who was already injured himself.
“Are you the one who brought me here?” she asks the Suriel boldly, because there was no other way to face a creature weaponless and injured.
The Suriel raises it’s eyebrows like it knows Seraphine’s secrets—she shivers at the thought of a creature like the one in front of her knowing her deepest secrets.
“I meant here,” she clears her dry throat and gestures at the camp. “Did you save me?”
The Suriel gives her a simple shake of it’s head.
“You and I are more alike than you think, Seraphine. Funny, what fate can do.” He gives her the most devilish smile. “Find the ancient one. She can—” The Suriel suddenly stops, and sniffs the air. “I have to go, your m—”
A dagger was now pressed against the Suriel’s throat from behind.
Seraphine recognised that dark hair, those midnight blue eyes staring right at her—through her, into her soul.

Kastiel

“Before you leave, old friend,” Kastiel whispers into the Suriel’s ear, “I’ll make you a bargain.”
Kastiel’s eyes are still on the girl, she was so thin, so pale and helpless, that he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to help her. Why is there such a feeling in his heart—the need to protect someone he has even yet to talk to?
“Make no mistake,” the Suriel replied back. “I am only a relative of the Suriel your mother knew—and maybe I’m not as friendly.”
Kastiel takes his eyes off the girl and turns toward the Suriel. He had no time for games. “I’ll give you the ruby, in exchange for healing the girl fully—no tricks.
Ignoring the girl’s sharp intake of breath, her mortal heart beating faster and louder in his fae ears, Kastiel awaits for the Suriel’s reply.
“Fen too,” the girl suddenly blurts out, gesturing to her wolf. “I want him healed,” she says, adding a quiet please that made Kastiel’s heart squeeze. Her voice sounded awful. Kastiel hadn’t even talked to his team about the possibilities of returning without the ruby, but whatever their punishment was, he wouldn’t allow it to happen—he was willing to take all the blame for this, so long as he helps the girl now.
“And what, Prince of the Night, would I do with a ruby that big? Where would I even put it?” the Suriel asks. “In my pockets?” he gestures at his tattered, old cloak, shrugging.
Kastiel didn’t care what the Suriel wanted at this point. There was nothing in this world that he owned that was more worth it than the girls’ back, patched up and healed.
The Suriel shares a knowing look with Kastiel, his eyes glinting. “I want your cloak, prince.”
“Done,” Kastiel says, already feeling the burn of the tattoo etching on his upper forearm.

Seraphine

Seraphine’s breath was knocked out of her—feeling her body heal itself from her cuts and bruises, her malnourishment from the long, long days on the road slipping away. The Suriel gives her one last look, a strange one, before it disappears from her view.
“Are you alright?” the boy—no prince says to her. Now that she can see him better in the daylight, Seraphine notices his broad shoulders, his tan complexion and the way his full mouth curves up, in a secret smile. There is no doubt in her mind that he is the most beautiful man she’s ever seen. He takes a small step towards her, but Fen is already growling before the prince could say anything further.
“Oh, hush Fen,” she orders her silly wolf. Seraphine looks at the unusual group in front of her—two girls, one with beautiful long red curls, and a pale complexion, another with dark hair and skin; and three boys— all tan with dark hair. But the one in front of her has the most beautiful blue eyes. “I know I should be scared, but isn’t it odd to feel safe with a company of strangers.”
The air suddenly feels heavy between them.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, reaching for her hand.
“Yes,” she answers, without any inkling of doubts, and reaches towards him too.

Kastiel

“My name is Kastiel, and this is my team—Grigor, Ariadne, Lilia and Zephyr,” he says into Seraphine’s ear, smelling the sweet smell of her silver hair.
Kastiel clears his throat and shifts his arms under her weight, which was too light for his liking. He didn’t want to think of the possibility of dropping her, remembering how her body fell from the sky earlier. Kastiel hadn’t mentioned the black pit to her either. He didn’t want her to feel caged in his arms, with no where to turn when he asks her about it.
“Seraphine,” she suddenly says slowly, not taking her eyes away from the sky ahead.
As they make their way home, the mist preventing Kastiel’s magic is slowly thinning. He could already feel his own magic returning.
Kastiel sends a message into his father’s mind.
“Father, we’re on our way back.”
There was slight static before his father replies.
“Hurry home, Kastiel, your uncle is getting anxious,” his father says with humour in his voice, making Kastiel feel warm from the sound. There was a pause before his father asks, “did you get the jewel?”
“Yes father, but something strange has happened—”
“Something strange,” his father interrupts, “in the magical forest that is no-man’s land?”
“Father please, be serious. There’s a girl–”
But before Kastiel could continue, an awful scream tear from his mouth. He felt pure, painful agony from his chest and arms.
He looks down at the sight of Seraphine covered in flames around him.
She too was screaming, trying to contain whatever powers she had into herself. The smell of burnt flesh invaded his nose.
Kastiel uses the water powers inherited from his mother to douse the flames in hands and on her body, but he couldn’t concentrate on holding her up and making sure they were still in the air.
He could already feel her slipping through his arms.
Kastiel’s team tried to help, before strong familiar arms wrapped around him. Kastiel closed his eyes, swallowing another scream coming out of him. He still couldn’t get used to the feel of winnowing, especially when it was for longer distances, but he thanked the God’s that his father and uncles were there.
Finally, for what felt like an eternity, Kastiel and Seraphine land with a loud thud in his house in Velaris.

OK LETS TALK ABOOT READER INSTERT FICS

ok so like u know those docs tagged like “Steve/reader” and then in the fic the author fucking names the reader and gives them a fucking body type like is it a reader insert or a fucking OC SPECIFY BITCH! Also I’m fucking sick of seeing one million “ships” example: on the fucking fic the ships will be “Steve/Reader, Natasha/Reader peter/reader tony/reader, Bruce/reader” when its a fucking fic about the romantic relationship between the reader and Thor. Like why would you fucking deceive me like that I gotta mow my fucking grass so I can get rid of the snakes! I can’t trust shit, not a summary, not the tags, not even the first chapter reader insert fics will go completely left in a fucking paragraph. I’m ALDO sic an tide of these “you cheeks turned pink from their usual pale pallor” bitch I am the same shade as muthafuckin kunta kente the only pink I have on me is my tongue and my tongue is too busy cursing out the fucking tags because they don’t clue me into what this shit ass story is about. God I HATE WHEN THE AUTHOR FUKCING DESCRIBES THE READER I HAVE SAID THIS BEFORE BITCH DO NOT DESCRIBE WHAT I LOOK LIKE YOU DO NOT KNOW ME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO FUCKING EMERGE THEMSELVES IN THIS WORLD TO ESCAPE MY REAL LIFE PROBLEMS AND COMPARTMENTALIZE YET HERE YOU ARE EMBEDDING PICTURES OF A LITTLE WHITE BABY ON THE AVENGERS PREFERENCE OF HOW I LOOKED AS A KID! I am done with reader insert all of it sucks it’s all people who haven’t taken a fucking basic class of English and think every word in a sentence that a character speaks when troubled should start with 5 fucking stutters to emphasize the problems that they are in. PLEASE DO BETTAH PEOPLE!🙏🏾🙏🏾🤦🏾‍♀️🤦🏾‍♀️tag ya shit as it should be tagged for the sack of my sanity

Also Check out my YouTube channel help a bitch out and watch all of the videos on there: https://m.youtube.com/channel/UCEISETc5odi_SFRti7ODNMA?itct=CAEQ8DsiEwi2sYiepKXVAhUJCgMKHf-WASk%3D

anonymous asked:

If you have time (omg I'm sorry but this prompt in my head forever) It's 3am and they are in a community kitchen in college and one is making brownies.

Percy had just wanted to get a glass of water.

When he enters the communal kitchen, blearily rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he realises what had woken him up in the first place. One of his roommates is standing with her back to him at the countertop, cracking eggs into a large mixing bowl. The kitchen looks devastated. Shared by six people, it never looks pristine, but right now a bomb could have gone off for the state it’s in.

“Um,” he says, still disorientated from the light and noise and explosion aftermath.

She turns and swears quietly. “Sorry, I thought I was being quiet.”

She was not, but Percy won’t begrudge her that. Partially because he’s a little bit in love with her (alright, mostly, but that’s not important right now), partially because he knows he’s woken her up at least half a dozen times since they moved into the dorms three months ago.

“S’alright. Just gettin some water.”

Annabeth smiles. “Alright.”

Percy opens the mug cupboard and after several seconds of staring at its contents and coming to terms with the fact that they don’t own any glasses not made of plastic, he grabs a mug with Walt Whitman’s face on it and fills it with water from the faucet. Instead of taking it back to his room with him, he leans back against the sink and watches Annabeth squint at her phone as she holds it three inches from her face.

“You alright there?” he asks.

She doesn’t look away from her phone. “My glasses are somewhere deep within my bag and I have neither the energy or determination to find them.”

“Okay.”

She looks at him. “Do you want to read this recipe for me or keep delivering these brilliant insights?”

He shrugs. “I feel like I could manage both.”

Annabeth hands her phone over with a roll of her eyes. Percy puts down his glass of water and shoves some of the debris aside so that he can sit on the counter top. Then he takes Annabeth’s phone and reads the title of the page.

“You need to google a recipe for brownies?”

“Alright, Martha Stewart. Just tell me what to do to make this delicious.”

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I would like to dedicate this one to the fantastic @talortut cause she’s always listening to my nonsense.

“You missed my fucking presentation. You promised you’d be there and you missed it. What the hell was so important that you couldn’t be there for me?”

—–

Standing in front of a large group of people, talking, was never an easy task for Keith. His boyfriend knew about this, and when Keith had his career on the line, Lance had offered to help. He even volunteered to be in it. But when Lance was nowhere to be found, Keith’s opportunities were flushed down the drain as the investors walked out of the door.

The drive to Lance’s apartment was quiet and seemed to take forever. Each moment his blood boiled more and more, and by the time he reached his destination, he was fuming.

Keith fumbled with the keys and jammed it into the keyhole. He swung the door open and felt no remorse when it slammed against the wall. The apartment was silent, and Keith wondered if Lance was even home. But that was definitely Lance’s jacket on the couch and he never left home without it. Keith stormed into the bedroom, and found Lance sleeping curled up in his blankets. If Keith wasn’t ready to rip his head off he’d probably find it adorable how his boyfriend was nothing more than a Lance burrito. But Keith was seeing red.

In a rage of fury Keith ripped the blankets off the sleeping boy. Unraveling the blankets caused Lance to ungraciously fall onto the floor with an “oomph” leaving him. Lance groaned as he started to sit up, hand clutching his head to try and make the pounding stop.

“Lance for the love of god wake the fuck up!” Keith all but shrieked.

Lance’s eyes went wide as his head snapped up. Keith and Lance argued sure, but Keith had never yelled at him like that.

“W-What? Keith?” Lance stuttered out.

Lance’s world was spinning and the last thing he needed right now was a yelling Keith.

“You missed my fucking presentation. You promised you’d be there and you missed it. What the hell was so important that you couldn’t be there for me?” If Keith were a cryer, he’d probably be crying right about now with how emotional he felt.

“What? No the… the presentation is tomorrow morning. I. I had enough time to sleep after my paperwork was done.” Lance was confused. Two nights after he got home from Keith’s when they had finished up all the preparations for the presentation Keith had to give, he had started his paperwork for the start of the next quarter next week. At some point he climbed into bed, ready to sleep till noon and then get the rest of the paperwork done. But when he looked at the clock, it was well past noon.

“Oh I must have overslept” Lance mumbled out. Were they supposed to do more preparations?

“The fuck do you mean you overslept?! This was important Lance!”

Lance was taken aback by the tone. His head was pounding more with Keith yelling at him.

“Keith please I do-” Lance tries but was cut off.

“Lance I just lost my promotion because of you. You were supposed to be there for me! But you just fucking ‘overslept.’ I was counting on you! And you just let me down again!”

This was too much. Lance couldn’t even comprehend what Keith was saying and the volume was so loud that his ears were ringing while his world was spinning. Tears welled in his eyes. “I don’t understand Keith. Why are you so angry?” Lance sobbed out as he rubbed his wrist to his eyes to stop the tears from sliding down his face.

But Keith kept going.

“What do you mean ‘why am I so angry?’ Have you not been listening to me at all Lance?”

“I-I can’t” Lance sobbed out. He went to stand, but his legs gave out the moment he put weight on them and fell forward. Keith on instinct caught Lance and held him up under his armpits.

“Lance?” All the anger Keith had in him dissipated and turned to concern when he could feel the heat radiating off of Lance through his jacket.
Keith slowly settled Lance to sit on the bed and when he pulled away he finally took a good look at him.

He was pale, dark circles under his eyes, and now his eyes were red from crying. Keith’s heart broke, realizing what he just did. He just yelled and berated his clearly sick and delirious boyfriend.

“Lance, oh fuck. I’m so sorry” Keith pleaded. He placed the back of his hand against Lance’s forehead to feel for his temperature, but he flinched away from the touch and let out a whimper. Lance was crying again.

“Oh Lance.” Keith said softly as he brushed his thumbs over the others wet cheeks. “I’m so sorry Lance. Baby please don’t cry. I promise I’ll take care of you.” Keith said as he brushed Lance’s bangs out of his face and continued to stroke his hair.

Once Lance has calmed down and less out of it they are definitely going to have to talk.

Voltron: Legendary Defender Characters As Shit I Said In Highschool

WARNING: I was a pretty fucked up teenager. Now I’m just a pretty fucked up person.

Shiro: Why are all my friends immature young children? I am a mature young children. I should have mature young children friends.

Lance: WHY DOES NO ONE LOVE ME WHAT IS EVEN THE POINT OF MY EXISTENCE

Hunk: I am going to make lemon cupcakes with pink frosting and yOu AreN’T GeTTiNG ANY

Pidge: You may have a  tall and beautfiul and muscular and physically fit body but I have a tall, beautiful, muscular and physically fit brain so FUCK YOU.

Keith: I don’t beloooong here, I’m just a weeeiirrddooo~ A deathly pale and emotionally distraught weeeiirrddooo~

Allura: Alright listen up. Everything is my fault and therefore the rest of you better listen to me and call me the boss or I will guilttrip you.

Coran: Okay but what if we hAd a FlASh MOb aT LuNCh

Zarkon: If you were a mind reader you would know that I fucking hate you and want to snap your neck with my teeth.

Haggar: Fuck this mortal shit when I grow up I’m gonna be God.

I’m Sorry (I Fell In Love Tonight)

( PROMPT: We’re making out on the couch when a member of your family - who doesn’t know we’re friends with benefits - walks in and what do you mean I have to be your pretend girlfriend? )

A/N: I’M BACK!! FIRST STORY SINCE MY ARRIVAL IN ROME!! I’ll be posting sneak peeks of my stories, as well as edits and graphics on my Instagram (3rdgymbros), so do follow me there!! Comments and reblogs are appreciated! I love you guys!!

WARNINGS: Sin. But slight sin this time. 

Taglist (temporary, for this series only): @mashed-fandom-imagines | @gryffindoggo | @ardenthly | @hawkiye

Taglist (permanent): @mainspidey | @x-wing-starwriter |@tomsleftbrow |@tryn25|@tanglefire | @midnight-memorial | @tiny-friggin-human |@tacklemyackles|@fangeekkk |@beamagtuto | @captainaudreystark | @hellosuperewczi | @dasia-aye


Hands, warm and strong, grip your hips. Peter’s lips, so firm yet soft, press against yours. His mouth slants against yours, seeking and ravenous, sucking on your lips and tongue. Moaning, you arch into him, your fingers tangled in his silky hair.

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anonymous asked:

How diffrent is show Davos from book Davos ?

I have been sitting on this one for a while. Pardon the wait, anon? This deserved more than a few lines.

Initially, not so much. Davos was one of the better-adapted characters right through season four, with many of his scenes capturing the spirit of the character even as the plot showed signs of broader misinterpretation in adaptation. What few problems I had were, for the most part, directly caused by the poor understanding of Stannis’ character.

And then, in season five, show!Davos started to go off the rails.

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3

Dress Up (Joker x Reader)

Requested by Anon: “Could you do a joker imagine were the reader wears like all pastel colors and flower crowns and is like super shy and innocent and joker kidnaps her cos like her dads a mob boss. Smut please.”

A/n: Sorry that I didn’t deliver on the smut, I just really couldn’t make it work. ;-;

Warnings: Mature themes.


Music softly carried through the space of your room. You were seated at your vanity, expertly applying a soft toned lipstick to your lips. You leaned forward to inspect your makeup job, your lips parted as you smiled widely at your reflection. Your music picked up as you stood from the vanity. Your eyes scanned the room until you found the item you’d been looking for, the missing accessory to complete your look.

“Perfect…” you sighed happily, placing the colored flower crown on top of your head, adjusting the accessory until you were satisfied.

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No Longer Forgotten

Fandom: Marvel (Thor’s movies)

Summary: Based on: “Imagine baking Loki his favourite Midgardian cake for his birthday, and him being deeply surprised because he told you when his birthday is just once and yet you’re the only one that remembered it and made him celebrate it after many years” by @imaginemarveluniverse

Word count: 1,573

[Masterlist]

Originally posted by lokis-quinn

A gentle humming was lighting up the kitchen bathed in the soft sunlight. You checked the oven, looking proudly at the growing cake you had made by yourself. It seemed to be all right, but you got cautious after your previous attempt at baking, which is cooling down on one of the kitchen counters, completely burnt and inedible.

You sat on one of the chairs, trying to avoid looking at the ungodly mess you have made in the process of baking. Flour was covering the floor with a thin layer that you couldn’t get rid of with the broom. You should probably wash it, but you felt weak at the mere thought of it. You were so tired that you could fall asleep standing. Actually, a quick (but normal) nap was a very tempting thought – your sore legs would rest, and your eyes, which you have rubbed with a dirty hand, almost burning them with flavouring…

No! No rest before you finish. You wouldn’t survive another round of starting everything from scratch. Of course, you would certainly give up after another defeat if the cake was meant just for you, but it wasn’t this time. You had a very special occasion and wanted to make everything perfect…

A knock on the door was as surprising as unusual. You have barely any close friends and none of them lived nearby, so there was no chance they would randomly decide to visit you before speaking to you first. And this couldn’t be the mailman, because you had a letter-box on the other side of the building. No one was visiting you like that. Maybe someone got lost or one of your neighbours wanted to ask you something?

You flattened your hair which you had no time to even brush today, but gave up on trying to cover your war with the kitchen – the only thing that could help your clothes get back to socially acceptable standards was a solid wash.

You opened the door with a light smile to greet…

…Loki.

You said none of your friends would visit you unexpectedly? Well, you have forgotten about the one, now standing right in front of you – the only one that you would be more than happy to see every other day but today – and the one that was supposed to come tomorrow. It wouldn’t be such a big deal if you weren’t preparing him a birthday cake. A kind of surprise. And a present. Which you were supposed to give him on his bloody birthday.

And now he got suspicious. He probably had the right to be, since you froze in the doorway, with your thoughts literally screaming and your heart racing.

“Is everything okay…?” Loki asked slowly, furrowing his eyebrows and peeking in over your shoulder. Your lack of words had worried him.

“Of course!” you said with a totally unnatural, high-pitched voice. And there goes your cover…

“So… May I come in?”

“Yea-… I mean… Nothing is-… Maybe tomorrow, you said tomorrow? Of course I didn’t forget about our tomorrow meeting and neither did you, right?” you rambled, feeling smaller and smaller.

Green eyes looked at you appraisingly.

“If you have a guest, you can just tell me. I just appeared to be around and thought that I may come in, but there is no need to…”

“No! No, no, no!” you almost shouted, but quickly calmed down. The longer you were postponing it, the worse it was becoming. You took a deep breath, moving to the side. “No one is here, I just… had a bad day. Kind of. You are welcome anytime.”

Loki hesitated a bit, but entered your home, looking around suspiciously. He was clearly searching for any signs of what was bothering you, but besides the ungodly mess in the kitchen, nothing has caught his attention. He knew your house well enough to catch any change given the amount of time you two hang out up with there.

“Well, now  at least I think I understand why you didn’t want me to see all this,” Loki gestured to the pile of dirty dishes completely covering the sink.

You shrugged, standing at the doorframe. You had to admit that the tall man in a visibly expensive suit in no way fitted in that room. You were actually surprised that he came inside of it, not afraid of omnipresent mess. Thank God that Loki was your friend and wouldn’t get mad over some stains on his clothes that you were almost sure would appear out of nowhere. Or at least you thought he would. It wasn’t your fault you’d spilled some things. A few times. Because you happened to be a little bit too enthusiastic.

“You still seem to be stressed,” Loki noticed, making himself sit comfortable on one of the chairs. He crossed his long legs, piercing you with his gaze that you had no way to avoid.

“I’ve just had a bad day,” you carefully selected your words, knowing that you were treading on thin ice. You could almost hear it breaking as Loki was working you out openly. “Nothing serious. Tried to keep my mind away from everything, and well, you see what happened.”

“You mean this burning… thing?”

“Yeah, I kind of forgot about it for a bit too long, got distracted. I’ll have to throw it away…”

“I meant the one burning right now.”

“Wha-…? Oh, shit-…!” you rushed to the oven, almost breaking your legs on the way.

You didn’t even bother to look for a dishcloth, hissing over the sting of pain when the temperature kissed your palms. And almost destroyed your cake, apparently. You put it on the table, between empty packages and a sugar container. It didn’t smell that bad, but the obvious black spots on the sides were ruthless. And you were so close… But, after putting some icing that would easily cover them, a very thin layer of icing, maybe of different colours, who knows…

Loki observed the race of emotions on your face. You were like an open book for him after all those years of knowing each other. He had a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue, but let it go, seeing how downcast you were.

The man cleared his throat.

“I bet it tastes better than it looks like.”

“It doesn’t look bad. Look there – this is a burnt cake. This one is… just slightly more crispy.”

“Who have you made this for?” Loki asked curiously.

“No one,” you answered a little too quickly for him not to notice.

He smirked wolfishly. You felt a rock forming in your throat. You knew that grin – it meant that Loki would never drop the subject that sparked his interest before getting to know every detail.

“So I may have a piece after it cools down?” he asked innocently.

“No, you can’t,” you said firmly.

“Why?”

“Because I have to decorate it first.”

“Oh, come on,” Loki smirked. “One piece won’t ruin your very necessary decorations.”

“Yes, it will, because this has to be perfect.”

“But you just said you made it for yourself. Since when do you care over the look and not the taste…? It’s so uncommon of you, I am starting to worry about you, you know?”

You groaned loudly, accepting your defeat. He would never stop, and you were too tired to argue with him for hours.

“I hate you,” you muttered, resting your head on the table.

“And you still didn’t answer my…”

“Because it’s for your birthday, maybe?! Okay, I know it’s not today, but you were supposed to come tomorrow. That’s why everything is a mess and I’m completely not prepared… Loki, why are you so pale? I mean, more pale than usual. Is everything okay?”

Loki was indeed frozen, with pure disbelief on his face.

“You did… what? How did you know about my birthday?” he uttered, suddenly in loss for words.

“You told me.”

“But that was ages ago!”

“And I’ve got this thing called a calendar. I just made a note, Loki. There is no need to act so surprised. Besides, you scare me and I’m not sure if you are okay or not… I tried, okay? I’ve just always been a disaster in the kitchen, that’s why I screwed it up…”

“Am I okay?” He repeated your words with raised eyebrows. “Are you actually asking me if I’m okay with my first birthday present in years? Do I look like I hate receiving goods? I’m a god, I love all of them, let’s be honest…”

You stopped him.

“Wait, so you’re saying that no one has celebrated your birthday in…?”

“Exactly. And now let’s move on to the main course, because the more I look at it, the happier I feel,” Loki licked his lips, which earned him a small laugh from you. It was another great thing about that day and it was still early.

He had almost forgotten how enjoyable birthdays could be when celebrated with someone close. He smiled to himself when you were looking for a plates.

Imagine…

Keith just sat there, staring at his helmet. Lance walks over, about to say something. Keith’s shoulders begin to shake and Lance tensed as a he saw a trail of tears carve down one pale cheek. “I’m no good at this. Pidge was right, I am just the loner… I can’t be Shiro. I can’t be anything worthwhile. My mother didn’t want me, my father left me, I dropped out of the one thing I had in my life that meant I had a future…” Keith furiously wiped his eyes as Lance’s own slowly widened in horror. “I don’t belong on this team, Lance.” Lance couldn’t believe it. How had he not noticed someone else was fighting a battle so close to his own?