fire hungry

anonymous asked:

Sorry if I'm bothering you but can you share why you think avatar is bad?

hoo boy man ur asking for a lot bc that show is a complete and utter M E S S. first, heres the main phrase my tibetan ass wants u to think about: its a show using asian/indigenous ppl and their devastating histories made by ignorant weeaboo white men. I want to write about it in detail bc i’ve always wanted to say something about this but never rly got around to doing it. maybe ill send this in letter format to the writers lol. anyways im going to split this up into parts. I’ll put a readmore bc its kinda long

@bryankonietzko take a nice long look if u still use tumblr lmao

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When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said … but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman’s hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods.

  • a storm of swords, jon xii

The garden had been meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

  • a storm of swords, sansa vii                
here, have an endgame wank

Alright, for starters this blog is not really run by me (Lizzie/ @theonbaejoys) so much anymore. I think there’s 5 mods and I’ve taken a step back from reading any meta the past month or so. I’ve become more interested in other ships and have been writing fanfic for them, which if you follow me you will have noticed! (And potentially unfollowed me for haha). But though I have been tagging my Jon posts as #fuckboy in the north, Jon has always been my favourite ASOIAF character and probably always will be. And though I am not as interested in jonsa as I once was, I still believe it’s happening. 

I have a lot of faith that Jon and Sansa are ~*~endgame~*~. But I don’t need any undercover lover theories, and neither do you. In fact, ultimately I think they’re a waste of time that have just lead to more and more drama, within and outside the jonxsansa fandom. I don’t have a problem with people theorizing about ~*~undercover Jon~*~*~ and I do not think it’s rape by deception ( goodqueenalys did a better job summing that up than I ever will, I also would never try). Honestly, there’s no way to predict the show because GoT is no longer logical and gaping plot holes exist in every single plot.

In my opinion, Jon and Sansa ending up together and ruling the north and rebuilding Winterfell – whether for love or for politics, or potentially both – is simply the most logical narrative choice for Jon and Sansa’s character arcs. If you believe the Iron Throne will be melted down and the North will become independent, as I do, then someone must rule the North. If you believe the Starks endure (they always do!), then somebody must have Stark babies. 

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Fancy A Quiche? :: A Captain Swan Fanfic

Notes:  This is a self beta’d fic because I wanted it to be a surprise for the lovely @bleebug and @lifeinahole27 who came up with this little scenario.  Well, I might have got a bit carried away on the explicit content, but hey, why not :p  Also tagging @wordsmith-storyweaver because i know they were in on it too ;)

I also made the fanart because i do that too.

Overall Summary: Newly married Killian Jones and Emma Swan just spending an evening together after a long day policing Storybrooke.

Rating: E (omg, very E)

Word Count:  6280



Apparently, there were no limits to Killian’s abilities. In the time it had taken Emma to slip off her boots, the creased leather groaning under her grip as she tugged them off her feet, Killian Jones had began his one handed massage of her tired and aching soles. Emma relaxed back into the couch cushions, feeling their huge down envelope her equally tiresome shoulders. She groaned, a long drawn out syllable of pained pleasure, and a smile crept across her face.

“Good?” Killian asked softly as he watched her face contort and then relax with each roll of his thumb. Sitting on his knees on the floor in front of her, Emma felt like a worshipped Goddess.

Emma hummed another long vibrating sound in her throat and nodded. “Good,” she agreed, finally peeling open her eyes to look down at the man who was working magic on the swollen balls of her feet. Killian was casually dressed in some black sweatpants and a dark blue cotton t shirt hugged his upper body. A wisp of his chest hair sprang from the v-shaped neck of the collar, and his shoulders and biceps rippled with every forceful thrust of his massage. “You’re so good to me,” she smiled.

Killian’s blue eyes were shining back at her, his boyish smile full of innocence and sweetness she knew for a fact he did not possess. More often than not, a small gesture, such as a foot rub, turned into something a little more racier. He had a tell and Emma always knew the exact moment he intended to show her exactly how good he was to her.

After Killian has peeled both of her socks off, Emma swapped out her feet, letting Killian lace his ringed fingers between the toes of her neglected foot. The cool metal cooled the fire between her toes and his long, nimble fingers slid across her throbbing sole. “So tense, Swan,” he commented idly, pushing harder against a newly found knot by her ankle.

“Nothing that cannot be fixed by you,” Emma blinked at him, her heavy body barely registering its presence to her as it was replaced with just a tingle from his touch. Even with one hand, Killian never ceased to amaze her.

“Or wine,” Killian countered innocently. He lifted her leg and Emma let him. Killian looked up at her through his long, seductive eyelashes and pressed his lips to the inside of her ankle, the fine bone fitting perfectly into the pout of his lips. Emma stifled a giggle when his whiskers tickled her foot, her entire body shivering as goosebumps spread over her in a wave.

“We have wine?” Emma gasped a little, sure they had finished the last of it a few nights ago.

“Aye,” Killian smoothed his thumb of the skin of her foot and let Emma’s leg fall to his lap. “I procured some of Storybrooke’s finest this afternoon,” he wiggled an eyebrow at her.

“You went shopping?” Emma laughed a little. “Unaided?”

Killian shrugged his broad shoulders and sat back, trying not to feel so offended at her jest. “Henry was busy,” he let his own laugh escape his lips.

Emma’s whole body shook with her laughter and she smoothed a section of her untied hair from her face. “I’m kidding,” She assured him as she sat forward, enclosing him between her jean clad thighs and leaning towards him. Killian’s head rolled back and he smiled up at her when she laid her palm to his whiskery cheek.

“Aye, I know,” he whispered to her, his eyes flickering between her sweet, kissable lips and her darkening green eyes. He loved Emma’s eyes. They were the most vibrant shade of green when she was excited, sparkling like speckled emeralds against the paleness of her skin. When she was aroused they darkened considerable, the hint of a shadow reflecting her lust.

Emma closed the gap between them and sealed his lips with her own, pressing against them so lightly that Killian felt like he was floating. His legs had long since gone numb but he was reluctant to move away from Emma’s side. Emma’s lips skimmed over his and he felt her body relax even more, all of the constriction of stress leaving her entire being.

Killian kissed her back, gently parting his lips and inviting her tongue into his mouth with a moan. Emma read his mind, slowly pushing her tongue into his mouth and massaging his with her own. Killian cupped her face, thumb pressed to the side of her cheek and fingers tangle in her soft, blonde tendrils that threatened to fall across her face. He held them at bay, pulling on them gently in frustration when Emma pulled away for a breath.

Emma’s fingers bunched the material of his t-shirt and she could feel his stiff, curled chest hair tickling at her hand from beneath the collar of his shirt. Emma held him to her, noses pressed side by side and foreheads together, their breathing in sync on every pant. Emma’s entire body tingled, aching and crying out for more of Killian’s touch. But she was starving, having skipped lunch, and if she didn’t stop kissing him they would surely starve.

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