and why am i so pale

  • Me: why am i so tired and weak all the time?
  • Me: *eats nothing of nutritional value*
  • Me: *has crazy irregular sleep schedule*
  • Me: *never exercises ever*
  • Me: i just don't get it
Rambling #527278

I’m a quarter Hawaiian. My father is half. My grandfather’s mother Ona came to the mainland with her husband in 1945 to start a family. My father, half Hawaiian, half German, married an Irish woman and here I am.
Tonight I saw Moana. I heard songs sung in the language of my ancestors and I saw a Disney princess I would have idolized as a little girl come to life. A friend asked me: “why are you so excited? You’re not even THAT Hawaiian.”
But that’s the thing. I’m not. I’m white, with the pale skin to match. But you see, almost every other princess (save for my homegirls Tiana, Jasmine, Elena, Mulan, and Pocohantas,) has been white. Until I saw the announcement of Moana, I never realized how important the respresention of islander people is. It wasn’t until then that I realized I’d get to see a Disney princess who shared the same ancestory as me.
Little islander girls and girls like me, whose roots they barely can connect to, will see Moana and hear songs in their language and get to know the legends of their people, and I think that’s pretty cool. Representation people, it matters.

who wants to Hurt

Mace has never seen a Jedi so completely unrestrained before. He has never seen a human being grieve so violently or so completely.

He has never seen Qui-Gon Jinn cry.

Until today.

There is something to be said about the gentleness of his hands when he touches his Padawan’s face. The face that held so many dimpled smiles and witty remarks and intelligent responses. The face that is now smooth and still and pale. Paler than usual.

Mace has never heard someone plead so fiercely for a second chance.

Not even when Tahl died.

Qui-Gon’s hand curls around the base of Obi-Wan’s skull, cradling his head so lightly and tenderly, and Mace looks away as his trembling lips touch Obi-Wan’s forehead. He can hardly bear to witness his friends grief for it is powerful and all-encompassing.

Someone had brought a chair when the Jedi Master collapsed to the floor of the Halls of Healing. Qui-Gon is sitting in it now, leaning over onto the bed with his head in his hands. The Force is thick and muddied with pain and loss. It nearly chokes them.

Mace is not surprised when Qui-Gon disappears after the pyre. He leaves the boy behind and Mace takes him as his Padawan. Anakin asks about the man who freed him and the young man who–

No one is surprised when there are whispers of a grey Jedi wielding a white lightsaber and roaming the galaxy with hollow eyes.

No one is surprised when those whispers stop less than a year later.

posted this on fb and insta yesterday so why not post it here too :~)

- Hey, guess what? I love makeup! Does the fact that I like wearing makeup make me insecure? No, it doesn’t. This is such a common misconception among people. People like makeup for different reasons - for me personally, it’s something I enjoy doing because it’s a fucking ART. But I am perfectly comfortable with my bare face and I look like the photo on the left MOST of the time. Wearing makeup doesn’t make a person fake or “high maintenance” and not wearing makeup doesn’t make a person lazy. Chill, and focus on bettering yourself and supporting others rathering than tearing them down.

Dallta Sheumais: Chapter Thirteen

Previous Installments 

I took him by the hands and sat the both of us down on the sofa.

“No, no nothing terrible happened. I- we- came back because I wanted to have a family, because Jamie,” I couldn’t help the face splitting smile that spread across my face,  “you have a son.”

“A son” he breathed out, “and ye brought him here! Why the devil would ye risk that!”

“You’re not good enough reason!” I said.

“No, I didna think I am.” He said with absolute sincerity. I wanted to hit him with something, but there was nothing nearby, and Jamie was holding tight to my hands. Jamie had gone quite pale but looked at my hope shining in his eyes, “So my son, he’s here.” He smiled shyly, “What did ye name him, Claire?”

The look on Jamie’s face brought the ever present tears back up as I said, “What you asked me to.  His name is Brian. Brian Alexander William Beauchamp Fraser.”

“Tell me about him.” He asked fervently.

“I could go and get him.” I made to rise but he grabbed my arms tighter and said, “No don’t I’m think that the wee lad wouldna want to be woken up.”

Bit too late to be a nervous expectant father I thought but I’d humor him for the moment. They have to meet soon.

“He looks exactly like you. He’s just as stubborn. His teachers all said he was very intelligent, though a bit full of himself at times.  Everyone here has already found that out.”  Jamie gave a mixture of a laugh and a sob at that.

“When his birthday, I must be coming up. He’ll be six won’t he.”  I was a bit taken aback by that.  But of course he would know.  He had known I was pregnant before I did

“Yes he will. His birthday is November 23.”

“Was it hard, the birth”

“Yes. I thought I was going to die. I almost did. You were right. Damn you” I said smiling at him

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could the word “Mama” floated from the stair case. Jamie stiffen and stared over my shoulder, whatever he saw, it must have been beautiful. I turned around and saw Brian’s head peaking around the corner. I got up and went over to him.

“Darling what are you doing out of bed.” I chided gently.

“I wasn’t tired. Mama who’s that”

“I’m yer Da” Jamie said behind me, “I’m very glad to meet you.” he sounded choked.

Brian looked him down, as critically as an almost six year old could muster. “Oh” then he clung to my skirt and said, “This is my Mama.”

Jamie laughed. “Aye I know yer mother verra well. Ye may be as fond of her as I am.”

Brian, slid down my skirt and plopped down onto the floor next to me. Looked at Jamie from across the room and said, “Hi.”

Jamie walked over and sat down in front of Brian. “Hello.”

“You’ve got red hair like me.  My teacher has red hair,   but Henry said it was fake.”

Jamie chuckled slightly then asked, “Ye go to school then.”

“Ya I can read and count,” Brian looked up at me,  wanting me to finish his list of accomplishments,  “And write your name” I finished.

“That’s verra impressive” Jamie said,  “Itsa verra long name.”

They sat like that for what could have been hours.  I was so mind numbingly happy I could tell time at all.  

Jamie was so absorbed in the creature right in front of him. Brian talking and watching Jamie with a sort of cautious optimism. It was odd to watch. I sat away from them, looking on with rapt attention. The identical heads bent near each other, talking of everything. The small twitches of the hand, the smile, the laugh all nearly identical. The smaller head started to bob now. Eyes blinking trying to stay awake, until he gave up the fight. I looked over at Jamie, “You’re going to have to carry him. I don’t want to break my neck climbing those stairs with him.”

“Are ye sure” Jamie asked.

“Yes I’m sure.  You are his father.

Jamie  leaned down lifting Brian up. Brian woke slightly and stared at Jamie for a moment and odd look on his face, then went back to sleep resting his head on his shoulder. Jamie closed his eyes then, just for a moment, he large hand gentle cupping the back of Brian’s head.

“Sweet lad” I heard him whisper. We walked up the stairs together. The small creaks and groans of the house accompanying us as we walked up the stair and down the hall to Young Jamie’s room. There was an empty bed in the corner where we placed Brian. Jamie laid him down, paused for a moment then lightly kissed Brian on the head. We reached the door when we heard Brian mumble sleepily “Night Da”.

I closed the door gently behind me. I turned to look at Jamie who was standing in the hall. Tears running down his face. I want over to him and wrapped my arms around him, running my hands up and down his back feeling the grooves of his spine and the notches of the flogging scars under his shirt. He really was awfully thin.  But that didn’t matter,  not right now.  Nothing seemed to matter beyond the fact that he had met his son.  All was well. I leaned and kissed him softly. Tasting the salt from his tears. “It’s all right” I whispered, “I’m here now.”

Authors note: Yay it’s the moment you’ve all been waiting for or at least I hope you have been waiting for.  Thanks for reading

anonymous asked:

Can we get some Keith with an s/o abused by their parents (bonus points if there's extreme angst and/or both of them are abused by their parents TBH) I am sorry I need closure and angst simultaneously.

;;thx so much for sending !! if u ever wanna talk abt anything the box is always open 2 chat, or check out the abt page for contact info, love u! - mod danny

#abuse //


“It’s nothing. I’m okay.”

Keith could tell, anyone could have. The look on their face, the way their fists clenched tightly until their knuckles were a pale white, how their [color] eyes landed on anything but him. They’re far from okay.

“Why can’t you trust me?” Keith didn’t mean for the venom to creep into his tone, but it does anyway, the inner turmoil boiling over in his chest. They’ve had these conversations too many times over, and they always ended with dismissive hands, fake nonchalance, “[Name], I want to help you - but I can’t if you never tell me what’s wrong-”

“Nothing’s wrong, dammit!” [Name] snapped, turning from him, “I can take care of myself.”

Keep reading