i need to shape the eyes better too ;;

1997 [4]

Previous parts

Characters: Dean, twin sister!reader, Sam, OC characters

Words: 1900

Music Suggestion: 80′s Films - Jon Bellion

Your name: submit What is this?

”We’re going running.” Dean declared and looked at you expectantly. It was Saturday before lunch and your twin brother looked alarmingly keen.

You rose one eyebrow and stared at him, really not feeling it, as you were sitting on the couch of the motel room (that also was your bed), watching some random show on the TV — that actually got you quite hooked on the plot.

”We are?”

”Yes, we are. Gotta stay in shape. Now, go change.”

You groaned and muttered not so nice words under your breath. Dean only smirked as he watched you get up from the couch, grab some clothes and go to change in the bathroom. Then he turned to Sam.

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hello!! i felt my shadings been super bland lately, so if i could maybe get a critique that would mean a lot 2 me!! thank u in advance (also be as harsh as u like its ok!)

Okay so I think I can see what you’re trying to do here, but there’s a lack of direction and some rules that need to be adhered to with this kind of colouring. So what I can see you’re trying to do is add colour as a secondary light source, and generally switching the hues when going to a lighter or darker colour, which is good. However, one of the things you need to do is make sure that it’s consistent. If this isn’t the case I apologise, however it might be worthwhile addressing it anyways. This is pretty long so under the cut we go my dudes.

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The One That I Want [a Sebastian Smythe imagine]

Request: Sebastian Smythe X reader where she’s a cheerio at her private school and part of glee club and when the new directions find out he has a gf (you) they take a disliking to u bc ur schools team is their main competition in cheer and glee club since Sebastian thought it’d b a good idea to unite ur schools team and his for glee

a/n: i can totally see seb with a cheerio idk guys IDK


“Girlfriend?” Santana quips, squinting her eyes at the Warbler captain. Just then you and a few other cheerios tumble from the door. You do a flip, high pony whipping back when you stand up, royal blue skirt fanning out across your upper thigh. Quinn glares, crossing her arms over her red McKinley High uniform.

Sighing, you strut over to Sebastian, tennis shoes squeaking on the polished floor. He grins at you, taking your hand. “Hey Bas. Didn’t know you guys had company over.” you pout, pecking his lips, ignoring the gags from the Glee club. “Oh, New Directions! Fancy meeting you here- actually, why are you here?” you quip, tilting your chin up.

It’s Quinn who speaks; the head cheerio that you know too well. “We can ask you the same thing.” she says softly, fluttering her eyelashes, looking innocent. “We had an issue to settle, what’s your excuse?” she questions, tilting her head; pale blond ponytail cascading down the back of her head.

Your boyfriend grabs your arm before you’re able to step forward; long fingers wrapping around your white long sleeve undershirt. “Now, now, babe, don’t make this about them.” Sebastian chuckles, fixing his striped tie. You bite your pink glossed lip, crossing your arms over your blue and gold uniform. “The Warblers and the Pitches are teaming up for Sectionals.” he explains, dress shoes tapping over to the piano. “Mine and Y/N’s voices sound absolutely phenomenal together, so I had to do a duet.” Sebastian rolls his lime green eyes.

“You guys know Alex & Sierra, right?” you ask, sitting on the edge of the piano stool, nodding teasingly at the New Directions. Most of them nod, making you grin wickedly. “Well, we’re-” you motion to the Warbler and yourself, “In the middle of practicing one of their covers.” you taunt, spinning on your ass so you’re facing the piano.

Sebastian smirks, rolling his navy blazer to his wrist before starting to play the slow melody of a Grease song. “I got chills, they’re multiplying, and I’m losing control…” he begins, perfect plump lips moving with each vowel. “'Cause the power you’re supplying….It’s electrifying!” he sings in a soft tone, smiling at you.

Crossing your legs and fixing your short skirt, you bat your eyelashes at him. “You better shape up, ‘cause I need a man.” you breathe in, chest rising, “And my heart is set on you… You better shape up; you better understand… To my heart I must be true…” you sing, waiting for him to join in. “Nothing left- Nothing left for me to do…”

“You’re the one that I want…. Oo-oo-oo, honey.” Together, the lyrics flow smoothly along to the piano. New Directions shift awkwardly as you stare into Sebastian’s eyes. “The one that I want… Oo-oo-oo, honey. The one that I want, oo-oo-oo, the one I need..” Sebastian’s voice raises as yours gets low at the last line.

Grinning, you stand up, hearing the rest of the Warblers and the Pitches do back up to the two of you. “If you’re filled with affection… You’re too shy to convey.” you purr, coming to Sebastian’s other side, “Meditate in my direction… Feel your way…” you lean your elbow on top of the table, ear touching your shoulder.

Sebastian taps the piano keys, gazing up at you; green eyes filled with love. “I better shape up, 'cause you need a man…” he belts out, straining his neck as he hunches forward. His blazer scrunches in the back slightly.

“I need a man.” you interrupt, making your voice louder than his. “Who can keep me satisfied.” you wink, tapping his chin with your index finger.

He smiles, peering down at his long fingers. “I better shape up, if I’m gonna prove-”

You lean forward, hair bouncing around, “You better prove….That my faith is justified…” you hold the note while he sings ‘are you sure?’, face inches from yours. “Yes I’m sure down deep inside!” you muse, mouth hanging open.

Slowly, Sebastian rises from the stool when the Warblers and the Pitches continue the pace. “Cause you’re the one that I want… Oo-oo-oo, I need the one that I want.” the two of you sing, smirking at Rachel’s (and others) shocked face. He takes your hand, pulling you into him, placing the other hand on your hip, over the short blue skirt. “Oo-oo-oo, I need the one that I want….Oo-oo-oo, the one I need… oh yes indeed…” you end it, eyes focused on his for a moment.

The Warbler licks his lips before turning to the McKinley Glee club. “That’s just a taste of what you’re up against.” he taunts, holding you firmly to his side.

Sam gulps, “We’re screwed.”

Draco Malfoy x Reader Imagine- You’re the One That I Want

Originally posted by honorarydeatheater

I found this gif way too funny, like laughing for a solid thirty seconds about it too funny.

song imagine inspiration: You’re the One That I Want from Grease (I just really like the musical)

warning: some unintentional Hamilton references that I din’t feel like getting rid of

Draco Malfoy was a nuisance. Scratch that. Draco Malfoy was a hot nuisance. Ever since second year, Draco had been trying to get your attention 24/7. You were reading an interesting book? Too bad because Draco wants you to go and watch him play quidditch. You had to do homework? That’s a shame because Draco wanted you to help him find out what Potter was doing. You had to eat? That’s great because Draco wanted to eat with you!

Currently, he was seated next to you in history of magic trying to distract you from the lesson. He kept poking your side or putting his hand on your leg. The first few times, you pushed him away and quietly told him off, but then you just ignored him altogether. He wouldn’t stop though.

In a way, you liked the attention. Draco was never this persistent when it came to other girls. You liked that he wasn’t afraid to be emotional around you. At the same time, he could really be an ass to people. His ego could be taken down a few pegs, and then you might possibly consider going on a date with him.

As soon as Professor Binns dismissed the class, you shot up out of your seat and raced to the Great Hall for lunch. Draco was hot on your trail. Before you could sit down and dig in, he grabbed your wrist.

“Y/N, I’ve fancied you for a while now,” he said.

“No, really,” you rolled your eyes.

There’s nothing left for me to do. I’m losing control,” he said more quietly.

You rolled your eyes again at how dramatic he was being. “Draco, what are you talking about?”

“Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?” He shouted at the top of his lungs. Even some Gryffindors at the other end of the hall turned and watched your reaction.

You smirked at him, “If you’re filled with affection, and you’re too shy to convey, you better shape up. I need a man who can keep me satisfied.”

“Y/N, you’re the one that I want. Please, will you go out with me?” It was the closest thing to begging Draco had probably ever done. How could you say no to this?

You crossed your arms and tilted your head in thought, “Sure, Draco, but like I said, you better shape up.”

Nothin' but a Hound Dog

Part 2 of All too Familiar (based off of this imagine post)

You awoke to excited barking once again. Rolling over in bed, Gabriel, the corgi stood next to your face. After you opened your eyes, he gave you another lick. “Get up! Come on, up!”

This was the usual way you’d be woken up for the past month. “Alright, alright. I’m up!” You mumbled, pulling the covers off you. “You can stop slobbering on me now.” Another lick.

After you managed to push him off your chest, you stumbled into the kitchen, Gabriel at your heels. You put a pot of coffee on, and took out your favourite mug.

“I want one too.” Gabriel pouted, laying across the couch in human form.

“You don’t need caffeine in your body, you’ll be bouncing off the walls.” You sighed.

He looked at you, big pleading eyes and lower lip stuck out. No matter what shape he took, the puppy dog eyes were your biggest weakness.

You took out another cup and poured the coffee. “You can do this yourself you know.” You told Gabe.

He took a sip from the mug and placed it on the coffee table. “Tastes better when you make it.” The familiar chuckled.

Sipping the hot beverage, you looked around your apartment. “Better get this place cleaned up for my date later.”

“Woah woah woah. A what?” Gabriel asked, sitting up on the sofa.

“A date,” You explained to your familiar. “You know that thing where two people have dinner together in a romantic setting?”

He rolled his eyes. “I know what a date is, I just don’t know why you’re going on a date with whatshisface.”

“James.” You corrected. You picked up one of Gabe’s rubber chewtoys and and idly tossed it between your hands, his eyes tracking its movement as you did so.

“You didn’t tell me about this.” Gabriel huffed.

You sighed. “I did. About seventeen times, you just said ‘great that’s cool, you gonna eat that or what?’” You recounted the time you were brewing a potion and the familiar had tried to chew on a half-finished potion. “Anyways, can you do me a favour and stay in corgi-mode tonight? Please?” You pleaded.

The cheery and energetic Gabriel had been replaced with a grumpy and over-protective one. “Does this…James...know about-”

“-Me being a witch?” You finished. “No,   and I’d like to keep it that way. For a while at least.”

“And he’s human?” Gabriel inquired.

You nodded. “Completely. I’ve done all the tests, he’s one-hundred percent human.” You replied.

A moment of awkward silence and a bit of a staring contest later, Gabriel gave in. “Fine.” He muttered, throwing his hands in the air as a sign of defeat.

You smiled and sat next to him. “Who’s a good boy?” You asked repeatedly while ruffling his golden hair. “Come on…”

“…I’m a good boy.”

-_-_-_-_-

“He’s here!” You chirped before fixing your hair one last time. You had butterflies in your stomach but something felt…off. Like you had the wrong date.

You opened the door and saw James standing there, bouquet of your favourite flowers in hand. “I’m not late am I?”  He questioned.

“No, not at all,” You assured him. “You’re actually a bit early, lasagne’s still in the oven.”

“Ooh, lasagne, my favourite!” He said.

“I want lasagne.”

“Gabriel please, you just ate.” You told him mentally. “But we can watch some TV while we wait.” You suggested out loud.

“Sounds good!” James smiled.

After putting the flowers in a vase, you led him to the den where Gabriel sat on a chair, eyeing your date suspiciously.

“You have a dog!” James noticed. He moved his hand to pet Gabriel when the corgi bared his teeth and started growling. The man quickly retracted his hand.

You frowned, this was unusual behaviour for Gabe. Hell, just last week he’d let a sticky toddler rub their hands all over his fur. “I’m sorry, Gabriel doesn’t usually act like this.” You apologised.

You and James sat down on the sofa. You’d just turned on Doctor Who when your familiar started barking like crazy. “You’re in his spot.” You sighed.

“I can move if you’d like-” James started.

You interrupted him and shot Gabe a look. “No, it’s fine. Gabriel can be a handful at times.”

“Am not!”

“Are too.”

Gabriel stood rigidly in front of your date, his ears tucked back and body low to the ground (though that wasn’t much of a challenge) and stared at James for a solid three minutes. He didn’t seem to like the sight of your partner’s arm wrapped around your shoulders.

His solution? To hop up on the couch and wedge himself between the two of you, forcing James away from his witch. Gabriel looked up innocently, nudging his head against you, waiting to be petted.

You sighed, you couldn’t take it any more. “You know what, there’s a place that does pretty good pizza around the corner, want to go out and grab a slice?” You queried.

“What about your lasagne?” James asked.

“We can have it another time, maybe when my dog is more well behaved.” You replied, aiming the last bit directly at Gabriel.

Your boyfriend picked up his jacket and put it on. “Sure then, sounds good to me!”

You headed towards the door when Gabriel started to follow. “No. You’re staying here.” You told him.

He sat down and watched as you walked out the door, arm in arm with your new date. The telepathic bond wasn’t working, you’d blocked him out completely.

If you were going to treat him like a mutt, so be it, he was going to act like one.

-_-_-_-_-

You unlocked your front door and headed up the stairs. James had escorted you back home before he left. The place was quiet, which was unusual for Gabriel.

“Gabe? I’m sorry for earlier. I was a bit too harsh and-” You looked around you and your jaw dropped. The carpet was torn to shreds, cushions had their stuffing flowing out of then, things were knocked over and broken, basically it looked like a tornado had blown through.

And Gabriel was right in the centre of it, in the act of ripping apart one of your shoes with his teeth and claws.

“Are. You. Kidding me?” You growled. “What the hell Gabriel?!”

Gabe shifted back to his human form and spat out a bit of fluff. “Y/N, I-”

“No, you can’t explain.” You ran your fingers through your hair in an attempt to calm yourself. “Maybe there’s a spell that can fix this…” You pondered, gesturing to the mess.

“I’ll help.” Gabriel suggested.

You turned to him. “No! No, I’m done with your 'helping’. Why don’t you just…just go! Before you break something else.”

He opened his mouth to talk but decided otherwise. He picked at his gold collar before throwing it to the ground, and storming out.

Unsure of what to do next, you sat amongst the chaos and planted your face in your hands. Your so-called best friend was gone and you couldn’t take it. The only thing left to do was cry.

anonymous asked:

please could you do a nonbinary mituna pyrope (swapped with terezi rather than latula! blind in one eye/still has 4 horns but theyre more pyrope shaped/has terezi's teeth/wearing jeans + a hoodie with its symbol/im gonna stop now tbh? though you can do mituna captor if this is all Too Much) who's short + slightly overweight, has really subtle stubble and doesnt bind its breasts? thank you!!

I tried to mess around with my style a bit and I like this a lot better than what I usually do lmao

-Mod Alex

helden sterben nicht

She moves about the infirmary, half-Mercy, half-Angela.

           Her Valkyrie suit is damaged—more than likely beyond superficial repairs. It hangs off her body, looking less like the angelic armor it’s intended to be and more like some kind of robotic cocoon slowly encasing her.

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[FIC] Cinnamon Lilacs

Rating: G
Characters: Takumi/F!Kamui, some Ryouma
Word Count: 1832

For an anon request:

i love your writing. i think the words are always perfectly chosen and everything flows really well. i would like to ask if you could write some takumi fluff :3 maybe him watching f!kamui because he doesn’t trust her and then he slowly starts to like her. or, honestly, doesn’t matter. just need me some more takumi. 

A/N: Minor spoilers for the game and support conversation (although I tweaked it with creative licence).

Summary: He watches her when she’s not looking; waiting for the moment when she’ll turn on them. She watches him when he’s not looking; waiting for the moment he’ll let her in.


I.

“Archery is your specialty, right? Please teach me…”

“… Fine… I guess I can do that much. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because you’re supposed to be my sister.”

Did she really think that would endear her to him? Moreover, why did he even agree?

Takumi re-strings the bow in his hands with sharp movements.

Ah, right, it was to keep an eye on that woman… and to get his siblings off his back. He had told them that he would try to get along with that woman though there would be no promises. He also isn’t going to let his wariness of her affect the morale of the army and their training sessions together would help them appear close.

But that doesn’t mean he hadn’t briefly entertained the idea of teaching her wrongly. Ultimately, his pride as an archer had stopped him from pursuing the idea any further… though he hopes he won’t have to regret this decision.

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Aizen and Urahara switch bodies


As requested by anon. :)


Aizen:

Urahara:

Aizen: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, URAHARA KISUKE?!

Urahara: W-what makes you think I did this, Aizen?

Aizen: This is not the first time you have sought to imprison me!

Aizen: First you imprisoned me in kido, then in a bondage chair beneath Squad 1, and now you have imprisoned me in a body that has NO hogyoku and PERMANENT HAT HAIR

Aizen (removing hat): Look at this sad excuse for hair, Urahara Kiskue. Look at how it is still shaped like a hat. Look at it.

Aizen: This is your most devilish punishment yet for my so-called crimes.

Urahara:

Urahara: I can’t help but be a little offended.

Aizen: MY GOD EVEN FLUFFING THE HAIR DOESN’T CAUSE IT TO LOSE ITS HAT SHAPE

Aizen: WHAT IS YOUR HAIR EVEN MADE OF

Urahara: Hey!

Urahara: This is no picnic for me either, you know.

Urahara: I mean, your hair lock isn’t even centered over the nose!

Urahara: It keeps falling across my left eye!

Urahara: Doesn’t that drive you nuts?

Aizen: Better than a fat, cleft hairlock over the nose.

Aizen: My real nose is far too perfect to hide.

Aizen: Presumably yours is crooked and covered in warts - I do not even wish to look.

Aizen: And is this…..stubble?

Aizen: You need a better razor, Urahara Kisuke.

Urahara: And you - it seems - actually need glasses.

Urahara: The whole world has gone fuzzy.

Urahara: Why don’t you get contacts or something?

Aizen: The world isn’t as fuzzy as your chin, that’s for sure!

Aizen: You stubbly, wart-nosed shopkeeper!

Urahara: Oooookay.

Urahara: Maybe we should stop deriding each other’s bodies and talk about this.

Urahara: Neither of us wants to be in the other’s body, but since we are, I think we should set some ground rules.

Aizen: I do no follow rules, Urahara Kisuke. I transcend them.

Urahara: I could, if I wanted, take a video of myself in your body right now doing the Macarena and then upload it to youtube with the title, “A Mating Dance for Shinji.”

Aizen: …

Aizen: But rules I set for myself are fine.

Urahara: Okay, first I think we should agree that we won’t try to murder the bodies we are currently in.

Aizen: You cannot murder my body. It is immortal.

Urahara: I might be able to convince the hogyoku inside me that my deepest desire is to be chopped into little pieces, though.

Aizen: Ew.

Aizen: Well, all right. I do not wish to destroy your body, since I am not sure what would happen to my consciousness then.

Aizen:  I mean, what if we both ended up sharing one body?

Aizen: That sounds like the worse torture of all.

Aizen: Speaking of torture, we should also use our combined brainpower to come up with a way out of this mess.

Aizen: By which I mean - work separately, and then I will combine our two ideas into one unified successful whole.

Aizen: As usual.

Urahara: Yes, we should absolutely try to return to our own bodies.

Urahara: Very important, that.

Urahara: But first…

Aizen: Mess with Ichigo a little?

Urahara: It seems wrong not to!

Take Me To Church, Chapter Three

Bellamy Blake made his choice two years ago, but a new friend makes him question if the church is really the place he’s meant to be.  Rated M, chapter 3/6).  Chapter One, Chapter Two.

Note: We’re past the mentions of suicide and violence now, but this is where the story starts to earn that M rating in earnest.  


Bellamy was eating with Kane on Sunday evening when his phone buzzed with a text from Clarke.  <Tomorrow, 7am?> was all it said and he didn’t even realize he was smiling until Kane commented on it.

“Good news?” Kane asked, taking a sip of water.

“What?  Oh, uh, yeah.  My friend from earlier in the week–she’s feeling better, is all.”

“She?” Kane arched an eyebrow.

“Yeah.  We’re running partners, but…well, this week was the anniversary of when she lost her ex-boyfriend.  She was in rough shape for a little bit.”

“I’m glad she’s doing better.”  Kane leaned back from the table and surveyed Bellamy.  “Is there anything we need to talk about?”

“No,” Bellamy said a little too quickly.  “She’s a friend.  We’re allowed female friends, right?”

“We are.  There’s no harm in that.  I just wanted to be sure.  Temptation can spring up on us sometimes, so being vigilant is…wise.”

“I understand,” Bellamy replied, keeping his eyes averted.  That wasn’t a conversation he felt like having.  He didn’t want to look at his friendship with Clarke too closely, afraid of what he would find.

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Off The Beaten Path

Sam imagine requested by karma-aint-a-bitch: “Hello dear! Your writing in a total inspiration to me and there are no words to describe how much I absolutely adore your style :) I would like to request a quirky little Sam x reader where they’re on a hunt, chasing a demon, and when they finally kill it, they discover that they’re lost in the middle of a forest, and they have to try to survive the night with each other. Fluff please :))) And thank you dear!” Alright, some new material, minions! Hope you like it!

Your current hunt carried the acidic lilt of unfamiliar territory shuttled on the stench of sulfur in the crisp, night air. You would have never expected a demon to take to the woods… their kind tended to lean more towards industrial settings, falling back on concrete and chop-saws as opposed to the tangle of thorn and pine bark biting at your exposed ankles. They were always so theatrical, wanting a larger stage, a closed space, possible access to broken glass and thick vault doors… never this. This was far too… too… rustic to be a demon’s staple. The beast must have been terrified if you’d driven it into the forest. That, or it knew how educated you were on the tactics of its species. Your mind was occupied on other tasks besides deciphering the logistics of a demon fleeing into the forest, tasks such as swatting at leaves and struggling not to trip over fallen trunks, their bark home to slippery emerald moss. Whatever the reason behind this dramatic exit, the beast was smart enough to use your assumptions as leverage. Hopefully, the thick of the woods would hinder it as well as your hunting party.

“Damn it, Sam,” you cursed, your whisper whipping from between your lips as your hand caught on the thorns of an unidentified plant. He’d promised an easier hunt tonight, but lo and behold, your demon had to get antsy for originality. Your eyes pinpointed shallow tears in your hand, the darkness pooling around every line etched into your palm. Inconvenient, nothing more. A rustling disturbed the shrubbery beside you, calling for your attention a moment too late for your to reach for your knife. Luckily for you, your demon was far off into the night. Your visitor would cause you no harm. Sam emerged from the bushes, his eyes falling to your hand, his fingers brushing yours out of the way as he examined your injuries, his touch as gentle and tender as if he were handling a newborn. Speak of the devil and he shall appear. You hissed as he turned your palm, his hazel eyes catching the light of the moon through the canopy above, gold glowing dimly around his pupils.

“Sorry,” he whispered, twisting his torso to reach into his backpack. He retrieved a roll of gauze, motioning for your hand with his open palm. You rolled your eyes before extending your minor injuries for bandaging, your mind trailing off into the darkness of the wood, wondering where your demon had escaped to. Sam tied the crisp cloth, smoothing his hand over his work before turning from you, his eyes scanning the impenetrable inky night. “He couldn’t have gone far, not if he hasn’t smoked out. Seems like he wants to keep his vessel…” his gaze fell on you, flashing once to your hand before his eyes locked with yours again. “Which way?” You pointed off to the north, your finger jabbing at the darkness, your gesture only partway unsure. You remembered the demon breaking branches off in that direction… didn’t you? To your surprise, another set of eyes were watching yours from the center of a youthful, familiar face. Your assumptions about direction had been spot-on. Distance, however, had been far, far off. The demon stepped into the light of the moon, his hands raised in mock surrender, teeth glistening in the pale shadows. His vessel’s kindred eyes, so unnaturally twisted by the demon’s possession, hardened to polished obsidian, the monster’s grin widening to see your surprise. Sam’s hand twitched in your peripheral vision, his subtle action much too frantic to go unnoticed as he flinched his fingertips to the handle of his borrowed demon blade. Unfortunately, your demon caught the motion as well. With a nonchalant flick of the wrist, Sam was flying backward, the trunk of a tree shuddering as his enormous body collided with the bark. You heard the breath rush from his lungs as he crumpled to the soggy earth, his eyes opening with a wounded fervor, his limbs scrambling towards the demon. It was then that you realized that you were now aligned in the cross-hairs.

Your eyes flashed to Sam’s, his face twisted with concern, his emotions only intensifying when he read your intentions in your stare, understanding burning low in his irises. He spluttered a warning, his voice low with urgency, but you were already charging the demon, your body bracing for a fate similar to Sam’s. Demons weren’t rocket science; you’d be flying in seconds, but you weren’t going to sit idly while you were slaughtered. Your knife twisted in your hand, the blade honing in on the heart, your feet pounding into the bracken and broken branches below… until, of course, your feet were touching nothing but open air, a predictable outcome. You soared backwards, the night’s brisk air biting at your ears, your fall absorbed by a cluster of bushes, escaping the supernatural throw with a few snapped twigs to the back of your jacket. You were much luckier than Sam in your method of landing. You flopped forward onto your stomach, your hands meeting the earth to break your second, less severe fall, your eyes shooting upward to find Sam laying a sizzling body to the ground, his blade buried in the demon’s chest. Your diversion had been a success, at the least. Sam yanked the blade from within the broken vessel, his eyes drifting to yours as he wiped the blade against the denim covering his thigh, the action leaving a streak of dulling crimson on his body. The night sapped most of the brilliant colour, transforming your world with muted grays and less vibrant renditions of striking hues. The picture was less… garish than you were accustomed to, for which you were thankful. Blood was always a damper on a night.

Sam strolled to your side, setting his backpack down before lowering himself to the forest floor, gesturing for you to join him. His hands found the zipper, the metallic unbinding cutting through the quiet of the woods. You found your seat by his side, fiddling with the hastily-wrapped bandage encircling your palm. Sam grimaced as he took your hand, stopping your fingers as they scratched at the edge of the gauze. He mumbled something about needing to clean the shallow scrapes on your hand as he unwound the wrappings, reaching into his bag to retrieve a bottle of water. Your skin tingled as he dribbled the clear liquid over your heated flesh, swiping at the droplets with the cleanest part of your used bandage. He re-wrapped you wounds, tied the bandage, and pressed a simple kiss to the heel of your palm, his eyes flashing to yours, a smile playing at his lips. He straightened himself, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. Your hand smoothed over his jacket, rubbing at his shoulder blade, watching his features relax as you did so.

“How’re you holding up?” You inquired, your eyes preparing to dissect any lie Sam produced about his well-being. You’d seen his body smack into the tree, rattling leaves from their stems, causing the thick trunk to quiver from the impact. His half of the hunt had been less glamourous than yours had been, even if he hadn’t taken the role of distraction. He was in rough shape, and you knew his usual routine denial was on its way. Sam shrugged, recoiling at the movement, his hand clutching at the plot of skin where shoulder meets neck, rubbing at the hardened muscle he found there. When his eyes found yours, you were shocked to find no trace of a raised guard, no flimsy lies waiting in the wings. His eyes were honest, and they were hurt. He grinned, his smile more surrender than sign of happiness.

“I’ve been better. I’m more worried about getting out of the woods. Of course, if I’d known we’d be running through the forest, I’d have brought a map and a compass…” he rambled, his eyes scanning the skies for some sign of direction.

“We’re lost,” you concluded, your tone balanced between exhausted and defeated. Sam chuckled, inching closer to your side, sighing into his new position.

“Yeah. We’re… pretty lost,” he paused, his eyes on the stars, watching as the pinpricks became more pronounced, clouds rolling through the sky revealing lights as the curtain of mist shifted. “You know, we’re probably better-off hiking back in the morning. It’s too dark to navigate, and we’re both in rough shape,” he whispered, as if his voice would disturb the uncommon peace of the night. You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you held your hand by his face, showing him his patch-up job.

“Sam, the most danger I was in all night was battling a thorn bush. You’re in rough shape. I’ve never been better. Never walked away from a hunt this pristine, either. You need your rest. We’ll walk back when the sun’s up.” You wound your fingers through his hair, brushing stray strands from around his face, watching as his eyes closed underneath your touch. He sighed, catching your hand as it fell to his neck, holding your uninjured palm against his cheek. You dropped your hand, wrapping your arms around his waist, your backs propped-up against Sam’s bag, watching the stars as Sam drifted to much-deserved sleep, the sounds of the forest easing you both to slumber, the stars standing guard above you.

Dean FREAKING Winchester

I just felt the need to post some of my favorite Dean Winchester Gifs

Basically I love Dean.

He is always so sexy

and too freaking adorable

just look at those serious eyes

And his puppy dog look

The way he walks

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That half smile

And the adorable, sexy wink

His sass

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He can go from being a complete goof

To being deadly serious.

And he knows just how pretty he is

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But he is such a badass

LOOK AT THIS DEXTERITY

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It’s fun how in the show, he gets nonchalantly arrested

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Actuallly quite often

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And Purgatory Dean is a gift from God

So is Demonic Dean

Even though that’s pretty creepy

and then

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I just

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Can’t

Stop

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Looking

Because

He’s too pretty

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and awesome too.

he gives me too many emotions

but in the best way

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He has the jaw thing he does

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I ESPECIALLY like the lip thing

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Did you notice his lips are perfectly shaped?

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Did I mention i reaaaallllly like his eyes?!

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BUT IT BUGS ME HIS EYES DO NOT STAY ONE COLOR

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Green right?

But SOMETIMES they just up and TURN BROWN!

I mean DAMN IT

However, let’s just conclude his eyes are perfect regardless.

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And then there’s Jensen, making everything even better

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love him 

In all sorts of things

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LOOK AT THIS MAN

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OK

I’m done

I need to take some deep breaths

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I only planned on making this like 5 gifs long.

Thank you to all the wonderful people who made these gifs!

2

Living in a densely white populated area made me want to get plastic surgery and contacts. I wanted to change so badly. I was always told my eyes were squinty, asked if I even needed to wear sunglasses during the summer, and even got made fun of in front of my history class bc my face was too flat. Another thing that was too flat was my chest and butt. I spent my whole middle school years focusing on shaping myself to look Caucasian. I learned better, I love that I look exotic to the people who live around me( 1%Asian in my school) and I’m proud!
P.s. Yes my chinky eyes can see the shade you throw at me when I pull out leftover dimsum to school

anonymous asked:

badboy!blaine and skank! kurt dating

“Have you ever tried something new?”

Kurt glances over at Blaine, eyes traveling across the glint of his eyebrow piercing in the light of the full moon, which they’ve taken advantage of by having a sort of nighttime picnic. Of course, there’s been more making out than eating, not that Kurt minds at all. He could make out with Blaine for days on end if it were possible.

But this, lying side by side under the stars, is something else. It’s something his freshman self would have absolutely adored, and there’s still enough of that person in Kurt to appreciate it.

“What do you mean?”

Keep reading

Ever get that feeling like you’ve regressed somehow?

Took it back to basics tonight to figure out what I’m doing wrong on the faces these days. Something has felt off lately. I think I’m making the eyes too large (how the… wtf… THEY CAN’T BE BIG ENOUGH :V) and I think I’ve been placing the cheekbone too high. Muzzle shape is still all over the place too. I need to be more consistent…

I dunno. Something must have happened in 2015 and everything got wonky because I referenced my 2014 stuff and things from some of my inspirations for tonight and it looks better to me now?

In any case, here’s two things that didn’t turn out awful I guess. THE REST GOES IN THE GARBAGIOOOOOOOOO :V :V :V

The Assassin and the Princess

The Assassin and the Princess is a short scene taking place in between Throne of Glass and Crown of Midnight by Sarah J. Maas. (All Parts 1-12)


The midwinter day was warm enough that Celaena Sardothien didn’t bother with gloves when she set out into Rifthold.

Princess Nehemia however, was thoroughly miserable. Still, she declined Celaena’s repeated offers to take a carriage to the most fashionable avenue of the capital city. Traveling by carriage would only make the day go faster, the princess said. And since they’d claimed the day solely for enjoying each other’s company, neither young woman was in much of a hurry to see it quickly end.

So they walked through Rifthold, dressed as finely as they could while still being warm—and remaining relatively unnoticed. They took their time crossing the city, though they had an unspoken agreement not to venture near the docks, warehouses, or anywhere they might run into any living proof of Adarlan’s empire—and brutal conquest of the continent.

Having spent a year as a slave herself, and not particularly inclined to discuss the topics of slavery, war, and the general hellishness of the world, Celaena was more than happy to stick to the broad, clean streets where they could pretend to be two young women on their way to spend obscene amounts of money.

Nehemia had already toured much of the city and disliked almost all of what she’d seen, but still indulged Celaena in a detour to walk past the Royal Theater, in going into her favorite bakeries and sweet-shops, and popping into a few bookstores. Unsurprisingly, by the time they reached Kavill’s, the finest clothier in Rifthold, Celaena had spent a good chunk of her monthly salary as King’s Champion.

That was another topic they’d agreed to ignore for the day.

The two young women paused outside the front of the shop, and Celaena ran an eye over the gilded woodwork wreathing the glass window. Two dresses were displayed—one a somewhat traditional blue ball gown, edged with gold and splashes of turquoise; the other a daring work of red velvet, long-sleeved and accented with midnight lace.

“Kavill’s,” Nehemia read on the ornate shop sign swinging in the breeze off the Avery River. The princess frowned at Celaena. “It’s very… fancy,” she said in Eyllwe.

Indeed, beyond the glass and the display, Celaena could see a cluster of well-dressed women offering advice to a companion showing off a potential purchase.

Celaena hid her own frown. They were supposed to have a private appointment. Not just for the safety of the princess, whose personal guards trailed behind them, but also to put Nehemia—who hated shopping and playing dress-up and anything ‘useless’—at some degree of ease.

“We’re a few minutes early, I think,” Celaena said. Nehemia was still frowning at the storefront. “We could pop into a tea shop if you want and—”

“No, no. My hands are frozen through,” Nehemia said, her gloved fingers curling into fists. “Let’s just go in and wait.”

It had been a month since Celaena had been appointed King’s Champion—a month during which she’d had to face all the hardships the position presented—but somehow the thought of walking into Kavill’s’s with an already ill-tempered Nehemia made even Celaena’s nerves fray. She already pitied Lee Kavill himself…and the other customers inside.

“Just remember,” Celaena said in Eyllwe as Nehemia walked to the green-painted door, “I’m Lillian Gordaina and I am just some—”

“Heiress in Rifthold, I know,” Nehemia finished without looking back at her, and walked inside.

Celaena followed after the princess, giving Nehemia’s two personal guards a nod as they moved into position: one by the storefront, the other going around the block to take up a spot by the back door. Once the appointment began, no one went in or out.

The lavender-and-mint smell inside Kavill’s was altogether familiar and foreign.

Familiar, for in the years Celaena had lived in Rifthold, this had been her preferred clothier. Foreign, for the year she’d spent in Endovier and the months that she’d been in the glass castle had made everything from that past life into something strange and unknown.

Lee Kavill, whom Celaena had already visited twice since becoming the King’s Champion, was standing by the gaggle of women before the dressing room curtains, his signature plain leather notebook in his arms and a glass pen in hand.

In his forties, Kavill was a decent-looking man, his clothes simple and elegant, despite some of the extravagant offerings in his shop. He was also quiet. Not shy, but calm. Balanced. He didn’t fuss, and didn’t push, and had an artist’s eye for colors and cuts and changing trends.

But those very eyes went a little wide at the sight of them, darting between the gathered women and his one o’clock appointment.

Nehemia stopped just inside the door, but Celaena went a few steps further into the red-carpeted shop. Kavill was already before them by the time Celaena smiled and held out her hands.

“We’re a little early,” she said by way of greeting, “but we’re more than happy to wait.” She inclined her head to the green-and-gold circular divan in the front of the room—a place usually reserved for ladies-in-waiting, patient husbands, and bored children.

Kavill took her hands with a smile. His fingers were just as calloused as hers, though his calluses and scars came from years with needles and pins, not blades. “Marta said my one o’clock was an important guest, but I had no idea I’d receive such an honor.” As he finished, he looked to Nehemia and bowed. “You are most welcome.”

Of course he’d recognize the princess. While it was fairly easy for Celaena to blend in, there was no hiding who Nehemia was. Not because of her creamy dark skin, but because Nehemia carried herself like a princess.

No matter where they went or how they were dressed, Nehemia always had that angle to her head and a glint in her eye, as if she’d come out of the womb knowing royal blood flowed in her veins. As if she always wore an invisible crown. Celaena still wasn’t sure if she envied or pitied the princess for it.

Nehemia gave a shallow nod of the head—as much respect as Kavill deserved, if not more, given that he’d come from peasant stock and worked his way up.

“I can offer you my office to wait, if you’d prefer,” Kavill said quietly, especially as some of the women by the dressing room curtains turned to examine the newcomers. “We shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

It was his step to the side that ultimately gave him away—gave away what he was trying to shield from them. And Celaena might have played along had Nehemia not noticed it, too.

The girl could have been from Fenharrow or Eyllwe with her tan skin, but it was the twin gold bracelets—manacles—around her wrists that marked her as a slave. Gold, chainless manacles that had been welded on—and would never come off.

“We can go somewhere else,” Celaena said softly.

Nehemia just stared at the slave-girl, her face blank. The girl was dressed well, and looked well-fed, but the manacles, so horrifyingly beautiful, gleaming in the warm light…

The women were staring at them now, but the slave-girl kept her eyes down. Didn’t even turn toward them. Celaena rotated her own wrists, a tinge of phantom pain going through the scars that marked where her own shackles—iron and scratched—had once been.

Celaena put a hand on Nehemia’s elbow. “We can—”

“No,” Nehemia said, looking away from the girl and giving Kavill and bland smile. “We shall wait. Please—return to your work,” she said to him, and took a seat on the divan. Celaena slowly sat down beside her, and Nehemia flashed her a brighter smile.

Today, they had agreed when setting out, would just be about enjoying themselves—about letting Celaena dress Nehemia up. Today, they were just two ordinary, perfectly happy girls, out to do some shopping.

Celaena gave her best smile in return.

So Kavill went back to his customers, the soft-spoken Marta came to take their cloaks and gloves and replaced them with jasmine tea, delicate cookies, and a selection of the day’s papers.

“Such service,” Nehemia said when Marta had slipped away to assist Kavill in taking down his measurements and seeing to the needs of their customers. The princess ran an eye around the gilded walls, the racks of sample gowns, the displays of jewelry, shoes, hats, and parasols. “Such wealth, too.”

Celaena, who had been watching one of the women debate whether a quarter of an inch would make her neckline too daring, glanced at the princess. “If it makes you feel better, he’s turned down positions as the royal tailor several times.”

Nehemia raised a well-groomed brow, the gold jewelry she wore glinting in the light of the lily-shaped glass sconces. “I don’t mean to be…difficult,” Nehemia said in the common tongue, any trace of her fake, thick accent gone.

The accent, Celaena had learned, was just to deceive the royal court—to get them to think she was dimwitted, and make them speak more freely when they thought she couldn’t understand. But Nehemia spoke better than the most refined of them. And she had been using the knowledge she’d gleaned to uncover any tidbits of maneuverings that might help the plight of her enslaved people.

It was why they had gone shopping in the first place: to find gowns that Queen Georgina would approve of—gowns to enable Nehemia to cozy up to the queen and her inner circle, to see if she might help Eyllwe by winning over the King of Adarlan’s wife.

“Let’s just enjoy ourselves,” Celaena said, taking a long sip of her jasmine tea, almost groaning at the sheer perfection of it, then adjusting the folds of her forest-green gown. A piece that had been made in this very shop—a fact that she was certainKavill had already noted.

The five other customers cast only a few curious glances their way before they finally left the shop in a flurry of fur cloaks, kidskin gloves, and moans about the endless winter. The slave girl never once looked up, and Celaena could have sworn that Nehemia’s hand twitched when she walked by—as if the princess had contemplated reaching for the girl, and then thought better of it.

When they were at last gone, Marta shut the curtains on the front window, lit a few more sconces, and escorted them to the silk couches before the dressing room curtains. Kavill himself bought them another ornate pot of jasmine tea, and then refilled both their cups.

After Celaena explained that Nehemia needed at least four dresses, two of them to be ball gowns, and all fit for Adarlanianroyalty, Kavill crossed his arms behind his back and paced as he inquired after the colors and fabrics that Nehemia preferred or hated, about her feelings toward low or high necklines, how much mobility she desired, and on and on until Celaena started wondering if Nehemia would snap.

But the princess just smiled at the slender man, answering him with the thick, hesitant accent she used for everyone butCelaena. And then she patiently sat through Kavill and Marta’s presentation of color, cloth, beading, and stitching. It wasn’t until Kavill and Marta went into the back—to get a sample of the blue ball gown in the window—that the princess sagged slightly.

“I think I prefer just having the royal dressmaker bring me something,” she said quietly. “This is truly what you—you enjoydoing?”

Celaena winced, but smiled. “When the mood strikes me, yes.” And now that she had the king’s gold burning a hole in her purse, she was more than happy to spend most of it. “I’ve always liked pretty things—dresses, jewelry, shoes… I suppose it’s easy to dismiss it as frivolous, but a gown like the onesKavill makes is art. It’s art, and mathematics, and economics.”

Nehemia’s brows lifted and Celaena shrugged, but turned to point to the red velvet sheath dress in the window display.

“That gown in the window—think about how Kavill had to first come up with the design, then get the measurements just right to match the image in his head, then find the right vendor to supply the perfect red velvet and black lace. Think about where that velvet and lace came from—the velvet from the port in Meah, the lace from Melisande, the thread that holds the whole thing together from a spinner in Fenharrow. Think about where the dyes for the red and the black came from, too—think about all the people and places that had a hand in that dress coming together. It’s like a map of the continent, and every part of it tells a story, and—” Celaena trailed off and snorted. “Well, map and story aside, it’s also pretty as hell.”

Nehemia chuckled quietly. “I think I’m beginning to understand. Though I think you also just like to look better than everyone else, my friend.”

Celaena laughed, “I wish I could deny it.”

Nehemia grinned. “Don’t bother. It’s why I like you.”

Celaena’s heart tightened at that, her smile growing even wider.

Kavill and Marta came back out a moment later, and Marta ushered the princess into the dressing room to try on the blue ball gown. Getting Nehemia out of her clothes and into the sample gown would take a few minutes, so Celaena browsed the selection of gowns displayed in the shop.

A lavender gown trimmed with white lace caught her eye—and she paused to run a hand over the silk. “Such a gorgeous color,” she murmured, more to herself than Kavill, but he stepped up beside her.

“It’d bring out the color of your skin,” he observed, picking up the three-quarter length sleeve. “I could make these full-length, if you wanted it.”

She caught his glance at her hands—specifically, the scarring around her wrists and forearms from the shackles in Endovier.

In the castle, she didn’t need to pretend to be a courtier anymore, and certainly wasn’t ashamed of any of her scars, but… they did attract attention. And questions. Sleeves and high backs usually covered most of the damage of Endovier and ten years of training as an assassin—if only to avoid those questions. Or pitying looks.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, and moved to the red velvet dress in the window.

She knew Kavill well enough to understand he wouldn’t ask about the scars, no matter what he might suspect. She’d always wondered if he’d known who and what she really was—wondered about her relationship with the red-haired man who’d once accompanied her in here, keen to dote on his most talented pupil.

But Arobynn wasn’t a part of her life anymore, and the first time she’d come here since being appointed King’s Champion, Kavill hadn’t asked after him. Hadn’t asked where she’d been, either. It was why she’d decided to bring Nehemia to him, fine dresses aside. Kavill didn’t gossip—or pry.

But had he attempted to prevent them from seeing the slave girl for Nehemia’s sake, or hers? She didn’t want to know.

Nehemia emerged from the dressing room, already wincing, but Celaena beamed. Even Kavill let out a gasp of approval.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Celaena said, putting a hand on her hip as she motioned for Nehemia to turn. “If you don’t buy that, I’ll never forgive you.”

“It’s…different,” Nehemia said in the common tongue, facing Celaena again. “Perhaps something subtler—”

“Nonsense,” Celaena cut in, shooing past Marta to adjust the dress herself. “You’ll wear this to the next royal ball and make all the men pant after you.” She cast a meaningful glance in the direction of Nehemia’s ample bosom. “And don’t you dare cover those up with a shawl.”

Nehemia chuckled, switching to Eyllwe. “I’d never dare disobey a direct order from you.”

Celaena grinned and replied in the common tongue. “Good. Then we’ll get one of these.” She turned to Kavill and Marta, who were standing quietly a few feet away, scribbling down measurement notes in Kavill’s ledger. “Any thoughts on what jewelry might best accent this?”

Kavill opened his mouth, but Nehemia cut in using Eyllwe, “I have jewelry from Eyllwe.”

“I don’t think it’d match.”

Nehemia straightened a bit and still said in Eyllwe, “I’d like some part of me to still remind people where I come from.”

Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat, Celaena thought of the night Nehemia had come into her rooms after learning of the massacre of five hundred Eyllwe rebels. How the princess had wept for her people, for their helplessness, for their enslaved world.

It was for that world that Nehemia fought—why Nehemia would buy these dresses and play the part of the queen’s confidante.

Perhaps Nehemia thought of the same thing, for the princess let out a long breath and said, “Maybe you are right, Elentiya.”

Celaena didn’t think Kavill or Marta would notice the name the princess had given her—but she glanced at them nonetheless. They were now just watching, faces bland but pleasant. Willing to get the jewelery and accessories at a moment’s notice. Nehemia turned to them and said in her perfectly false accent, “Show me your jewelry.”

And just like that, they went through another presentation of necklaces and earrings and bracelets, then gloves and brooches and hair ornaments. And when they had decided what looked best, Nehemia was measured and pinned some more, and then ushered into the next gown. And the next, and the next.

The clock was striking four by the time they’d decided on the gowns, jewelry, and accessories Nehemia would purchase. Marta had long since brought out steaming cups of tea to Nehemia’s guards outside. She’d come back looking a little pale-faced and shaken, but at least the teacups had been empty. Nehemia’s guards weren’t a chatty sort—and were nothing short of lethal.

Nehemia was shoveling cookies down her throat as Celaena again strolled through the shop, taking in the dresses. She’d already ordered the lilac and lace gown, and since Kavill had her most recent measurements, she hadn’t bothered to try it on, save for holding it against her torso to make sure she really did love the color and fabric.

She paused in front of the red velvet dress in the display, running a finger down the skirts. There were no petticoats with this sort of dress, no corsets—she’d never seen a dress like it, actually. Never even heard of a gown like it, with the open back coated in midnight black lace, the plunging neckline, and form-hugging bodice. It left little to the imagination—and would surely turn heads.

“You should try it on,” Nehemia said in Eyllwe from behind her, finishing her praline cookie. “You’ve been ogling it all day.”

Celaena looked over her shoulder, brows high. “It’s…a bit daring. People would be scandalized.”

The princess grinned. “Who better to wear it then?”

Celaena found herself grinning as well. “Who indeed?”

Thus, five minutes later, Celaena found herself wearing the sample gown before the three angled mirrors of the shop, slowly turning in place.

Daring and scandalous were just the start of it.

Nehemia let out an appreciative whistle from where she was sprawled on the divan. “The Captain won’t know what to do with himself.”

Celaena shot her a glare over a shoulder. “He’s not my concern.” Though she could almost imagine Chaol’s face at the sight of the gown: tight-lipped, wide-eyed, a bit confounded and more than a bit angry. She could almost hear him, too, the claims he’d make about the King’s Champion spending such exorbitant sums on little more than scraps of cloth, the reputation she had to uphold now that she was employed by the king… Oh, she should buy the dress, if only to piss Chaol off.

Nehemia approached, and Celaena stepped off the small platform. “What sort of story does this dress tell you?” the princess asked in Eyllwe.

Celaena was about to open her mouth, but she caught the direction of Nehemia’s stare: the open back. The black lace did a good job of hiding the gruesomeness of her scars, but this close, it was easy to see the mangled flesh beneath.

Their eyes met, and Celaena switched to Eyllwe as she said, “Do you think I should cover them up?”

Nehemia’s attention again went to the scars beneath the black lace. After a moment, she said, “No.” Celaena turned back to the mirror, but Nehemia spoke again, her voice a bit too calm: “How often do you think about them—about Endovier?”

Celaena met her own reflection in the mirror, the face that, like Kavill’s, was now familiar and foreign. “Every day. Every hour.”

It was a truth she hadn’t admitted to anyone—perhaps even to herself until now.

“Would you free them if you could?”

Celaena snapped her head to the princess. “What kind of a question is that? Of course I would.”

They had sworn—both sworn this morning—that they wouldn’t have this kind of talk. And Celaena knew precisely where this conversation would go: into Nehemia talking about slavery, the empire, the need for good people to stand and fight.

Kavill and Marta were doing their best to look busy at the counter in the rear of the front room. Kavill’s eyes lifted from his ledger, and when her gaze met his, she realized that he knew.He knew exactly who she was, and perhaps always had. She didn’t know why, but it made her…sad. Surprisingly, absurdly sad.

She looked back to the princess, who gave a forced smile. “I should not have mentioned it,” Nehemia said. “Today is for fun—for just being young women.”

And for some reason, seeing that forced smile just made the weight in her chest sink a little deeper.

Nehemia had gone to the front door to tell her guards that she was ready—and to find a carriage for hire. The sun had dropped, along with the temperature, and neither Celaena nor Nehemia felt particularly inclined to walk home in the frigid night.

Celaena was standing at the polished wooden counter, filling out directions on how and where to deliver Nehemia’s new clothes, and paying for her own purchases. She decided to take the red velvet gown, daring and scandalous as it was. If only because not buying it felt like some sort of defeat, some irreplaceable loss that cut her every time she thought about it.

She plucked the last piece of gold from her purse and set it on the counter, behind which Kavill stood, counting. “The red velvet gown should be ready in two weeks,” he said, taking the last piece of gold. “Do you have any special occasion in mind?”

She shrugged, glancing at Nehemia, who remained by the door, already looking miserable at the oncoming cold. Celaena herself wasn’t too keen to leave the warmth of the shop. She should have brought gloves—and a warmer cloak. “I’m sure I’ll find some use for the dress before summer.”

Kavill nodded, and closed his thick ledger. “Do let me know if it causes anyone to faint—or start a riot.”

She laughed under her breath, and turned to go, stuffing her hands into her pockets and praying her fingers didn’t fall off on the way home.

“Here,” Kavill said, and she turned to find a pair of exquisite dove-gray suede gloves in his hands. “On the house. For many years of loyal patronage.” His face bore its usual mask of polite calm and courtesy, but his brown eyes were bright. “And a gift—for a year spent without any gloves at all.”

Had she had any doubt before, there was no shred of it remaining now. He knew who and what she was, knew where she had spent a year enslaved—knew what kind of money she used to buy his dresses.

She had no words—none at all to do justice to the kindness of his gesture—so she merely nodded, took the gloves, and left.

The carriage wasn’t much warmer than the outside. Celaena and Nehemia huddled together, cursing violently and rather creatively at the endless winter.

Nehemia’s latest vulgar concoction sent Celaena into a fit of howling laughter, so loud that one of the guards riding atop the carriage thumped twice to ask if all was right. Nehemia thumped thrice to assure him all was fine, but Celaena kept laughing until her stomach hurt.

When silence fell again, she looked at her friend and wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. “I’d pay good money to see you say that to Queen Georgina.”

Nehemia chuckled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you, Elentiya, for helping me today. I—I needed the dresses. And to get out of the castle for a bit.”

Celaena sobered, and nodded. They passed through wealthiest district, a blur of alabaster houses and emerald roofs, now iced over and gleaming in the lamplight. “Thank you for pretending. For one day, at least.”

She felt Nehemia’s eyes on her, but kept staring out at the wet streets, slick from a day of melting snow now turning to ice. After a while, Celaena asked, “Do you ever wonder what it’d be like if we truly were ordinary people?”

The princess chewed on her lip. “Sometimes.”

“Do you ever wish you were? Ordinary, I mean.”

Nehemia was quiet for a long moment, her eyes distant, as if she beheld some far-off land, warm and vibrant, its grasslands undulating under a hot summer sun. “It is my most selfish wish and daydream—to be normal, to be ordinary, to be free of my burdens.”

She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath, hadn’t realized just how important Nehemia’s answer was to her until she’d heard it. Celaena sighed. “And yet you and I couldn’t even pretend for a single day to be free of those burdens.”

“I’m sorry,” Nehemia said quietly.

“What have you to be sorry for? It was a foolish demand to make of you, anyway.”

“I wish you could have a normal friend—not a princess or a captain or the son of the king. But just a normal friend, living a good, calm life.”

“I don’t have an interest in normal friends. Even if I were just an ordinary girl, I wouldn’t want to be surrounded by ordinary folk. No, I’ll take the rebel princesses and the sons of kings and the grumpy captains and the whores and the thieves any day. And I’d take you over a thousand ordinary girls.”

Nehemia’s smile trembled—just enough that Celaena had to turn to the window before she felt the sting in her own eyes.

The carriage turned down an avenue, and the glass castle arose before them, greenish and glimmering in the night sky.

“I am glad we’re not ordinary, Elentiya.” Nehemia was smiling into the darkness of the carriage. “It’d be so boring if we were.”

Celaena grinned. “Incredibly boring.”

“And, for what it’s worth, I’d pick you over a thousand ordinary and extraordinary friends. I think even if we just met on the street, even if I just saw you in passing, I’d know what you are.”

Celaena cocked her head to the side. “An assassin?”

Nehemia’s dark eyes were bright as she shook her head. “The sister of my heart.”

Celaena had to turn away. When she at last looked back, she didn’t know who reached for who, but a moment later, her hand was grasped tightly in Nehemia’s.

“I think I’d know, too,” Celaena said quietly, and leaned against her friend’s shoulder. Both smiling faintly, the assassin and the princess rode through the quieting city and into the glass castle beyond.

The Old God- Initiates

As he headed through the temple elder priests bowed out of his way, the younger looked confused but followed suit, shooting him odd looks.  Maybe Cipher had been right about jealousy.  The fact he was still wearing the fine clothes the God gave him might have something to do with it too.  He felt suddenly self-conscious, wrapping his arms around himself and wishing he could cover his bare shoulders.

His self-consciousness was shirt lived as Mabel involved him in a hug on sight.  “Bro-bro you’re okay!”  She squeezed him tight.  

“Let him breath Mabel.”  Their dad chuckled, clasping Dipper on the shoulder while Mabel backed off so their mom could hug him.  “You ARE okay, right?”

“I am fine.  A little overwhelmed with everything but fine.”

“You LOOK fine.”  Mabel gave him a smile, looking him up and down.  “Can I borrow your clothes?”

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james-frenshman  asked:

I know it may sound strange but I`m a male cosplayer and I find it very difficult to find make up tutorials for male cosplayers for male cosplays. I know a male`s face, I call it so, structure and form has all ready the shape for the characters and I only need to change some slight things but unfortunately I`m not so good at make up but I want to elaborate my skills on my make up for my cosplays. So what can I do? Except for watching an alternating the tutorials I`ve found? Cheers.

Male makeup is usually just doing the basics.

You’ll want foundation to even the skin tone and look better in photos, you’ll want to use a bit of translucent powder to avoid looking greasy. Beyond that you might add a small bit of brown or black eyeliner for changing the eye shape (too much will look feminine). With foundation, contouring can be beneficial for looking different ages or giving the illusion of a different face shape. 

So if you have been looking at those kinds of tutorials keep it up, and then practice and experiment on yourself. Tutorials are a great way to understand how different products can be used but that has it’s limits, experimentation helps you improve, see what works, see how it works and allows you get faster at applying it. 

I also suggest looking at other cosplayers and actors. See if you can determine what makeup they are wearing and try to imitate it, not all looks will work with your face but it’s a good way to learn what does and doesn’t. 

Beyond that: get your makeup done by professionals and see what products and techniques they use, take a cosmotology course, pick up make-up artistry books and magazines or attend events like the IMATS.  

Hope this helps!