i'm totally down with that


Love and hate, they’re so close it’s easy to mistake one for the other.


@mainhoonemily and @pbj-anonymous tagged me for the Favorite Pictures of Your Bias thing because apparently they want to see me suffer. Who can pick just a few favorite pictures of T.O.P?? Not me. That’s clearly impossible.

Tagging… whoever feels like suffering?

the world is upside down

For @snowbaz-feda day 4

Snow stares at me, slack-jawed.


I raise an eyebrow. ‘Something wrong?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean exactly what I said.’

‘No.’ He blinks. He looks like he’s in a trance. ‘No way. No.’


‘You - no. No fucking way. I don’t believe you.’

I sigh. ‘It’s true.’

‘But that’s - but - no.’

‘Why does this matter? The world hasn’t stopped turning, Snow.’

‘But it - yes it has. Yes it has. I’ve been so wrong, all these years.’

‘You’ve been wrong about bigger things, Snow.’

‘No, I can’t deal with this, Baz.’ He starts pacing. ‘Sorry. It’s just. It’s too much.’

‘Snow, stop pacing.’

He stops and stands in front of me. He throws up his hands.

‘I just can’t believe you didn’t mean to push me down the stairs.’


clique six dynamics (as ranked by my followers): #15 - isadora smackle & maya hart 

ever since i’ve known you, you’ve never stopped trying to put yourself back together. // you’re the hottest little gopher-chipmunk in the whole forest. 

The Night Court

RHYS: Feyre kissed me.

CASSIAN: Ohmygodohmygod

MOR: Ok, all right. We want to hear everything. Cassian, get the wine. Rhys, does this end well or do we need to get tissues?

RHYS: Oh, it ended very well.

CASSIAN: [getting the wine] Do not start without me. Do not start without me.

MOR: Ok, all right, let’s hear about the kiss. Was it like a soft brush against your lips? Or was it like a “I gotta have you now” kind of thing?

RHYS: Well, at first it was really intense, you know. And then, oh gods, and then we just sort of sunk into it.

MOR: Ok, so, were you holding her? Or were her hands like on you?

RHYS: No, actually first they started on my waist. And then, they slid up, and then, they were on my wings.


In the next room [Feyre eating while Amren swirls a goblet]

FEYRE: And, uh, and then I kissed him.

AMREN: Tongue?

FEYRE: Yeah.

AMREN: Cool.



ben-roll-io  asked:

i'll send a prompt in if you're looking! How about rosvolio and the conversation that would happen after he discovered rosaline and escalus! I need somene to speculate... 7 days is too long! :D

Thanks for the prompt! I’m not sure this is what you were looking for – I took it in a direction even I wasn’t really sure about – but I hope you like it!

With a soft rustle of skirts, Isabella pressed herself through the doorway and into the narrow, ill-lit antechamber. A lamp would have been unnecessary in any case, as she knew the contours of the room as well as her own mind, having spent countless hours in it waiting, listening, observing. A prince must be watchful, her father had told her, and so she was, her eyes and ears taking in every word, every gesture from her ideal hiding spot. 

Her fingers quickly found the small wooden panel in the wall and slid it sideways, revealing two round pinpricks of light. Pressing her face up against them, she blinked twice against the glare and then gazed into the chamber beyond, knowing with confidence that her dark eyes could not be seen from the other side, disguised as they were within the mottled landscape of a rather poorly-executed portrait of Cangrande riding triumphant into Padua.

There were only two figures in the chamber, a man and a woman, and they were not yet speaking, nor were they even looking at each other. 

It had been Isabella’s idea to have them be brought there, just as it had been her idea, skillfully woven into her brother’s mind until he eventually regarded it as his own, that the two should be wed. Such a union, she realized, would solve so many problems. There would be peace in the streets, the warring houses brought together by vows sworn to God, the only thing stronger than the hot blood of vendetta. The people’s spirits would be buoyed by stories of tender-hearted love – and by the celebratory wine flowing freely in the streets. And her brother would no longer be distracted from his duty by thoughts of a woman entirely inappropriate for him in rank and station. Such a union would force him to set aside whatever adolescent sentiments he might still have for Rosaline Capulet, to then wish her and her new husband well, and at last return to the requirements of his role as prince of Verona. 

Such a plan would accomplish a great deal, if only the two figures at the center would play their parts as instructed. 

Rosaline, of course, had been the most resistant. She had always been so, willful and proud even as a young girl, and there had been a time, as childhood friends, when Isabella had secretly admired her for it. But grown women didn’t have the luxury of pride and will, especially not those in the position that Rosaline now found herself. The young man – Benvolio was his name – was less well-known to Isabella, but as the penniless nephew and sole heir of Lord Montague, he would no doubt be brought to heel just as quickly. 

There was something strange, though, in the way he had eventually gone after Rosaline after she had fled from the Great Hall, a look in his eyes that seemed to suggest he felt something more than just the simple humiliation of being publicly spurned by his soon-to-be fiancé. He had seemed even more troubled after he returned, only a few moments before her brother and Rosaline reappeared, their expressions chastened and eyes downcast as they failed to meet anyone’s gaze. Isabella did not fully understand it – not yet, at least. But she would watch, and wait, with the certainty that their secrets would be revealed to her soon enough.

So once they had all returned, she had suggested – with all the sincerity and maidenly innocence she could muster – that the new couple be allowed a private moment, a chance to begin to get to know one another, and it had not been hard to bring everyone to agreement. And she knew just the place: a small audience chamber her father had often used to meet with visiting dignitaries and ambassadors, left almost entirely unoccupied these days, but perfectly suitable for their needs.

It would have been perfectly suitable for Isabella’s needs as well – if only for the fact that neither the future groom nor his bride were saying anything at all to each other, leaving the air in the chamber to weigh heavy and thick, curdling with silent tension. Rosaline sat stone-faced in a chair facing the door, while Benvolio had his back to her, his hands braced up against the solid stone mantel of the fireplace.

For a long moment Isabella wondered if they were ever going to speak at all, until finally the young man turned towards Rosaline, taking one hesitant step in her direction before he let a weary sigh escape from his lips.

“This arrangement was not of my choosing, nor of yours,” he said, his words slow, as if deliberately chosen. “But, before anything is done, tell me – and speak plainly, as I have no wish to play the unsuspecting fool – have you already formed an attachment with another?”

So it was true, then – he had come to suspect what Isabella already knew. Had the Montague heir seen something, some open declaration of the prince’s feelings towards Rosaline? Or even of her feelings towards the prince?

Rosaline swiveled her head to look at him, not moving an inch otherwise, her hands left passively clasped upon her lap.

“Do not attempt to know my heart, signore,” she sneered. “Such an endeavor is beyond your care or concern.” Her eyes narrowed, as if she was finding it hard to maintain her composure. “And no doubt you would struggle, for as I have heard, your knowledge of a woman’s anatomy is limited to a single place, one nowhere near the heart at all.” 

He inhaled sharply, his face a rigid mask of anger, and after a tiny, abortive movement of his hand towards his waist, Isabella realized he had reflexively reached for his sword, Rosaline’s sex the only thing that had saved her from being challenged. Instead, he charged forward into the center of the room, his eyes blazing.

“To know your heart would be a futile course indeed. I wonder if it even exists, or if an equal measure of pride and icy disdain simply reside in the place where it ought to be.” He pressed his hand into his forehead, rubbing along the ridge of his brow. “But you evade the point, madam. Do you have an attachment?

Isabella could only stand and watch agape. Was it possible the man was jealous? Why would it pain him so to think this woman loved another?

“Yes!” she thundered, at once coming to her feet, turning towards him with her determined little chin thrust high in outrage. “An attachment to my liberty! I would not be bought and sold like common chattel, I would not know the yoke of a petty tyrant who thinks himself a king because he bears the name of husband.”

He barked out a laugh, but there was no joy in it, only bitterness.

“I pity the man who would try to yoke you, more so the one who might attempt to bare his heart and speak to you of tender sentiments and thoughts of love.”

“Love?” Rosaline scoffed, throwing a hand out for emphasis as she took a step towards him. “A child’s game! Look what it brought our cousins.”

And so it went on, accusation upon accusation, recrimination upon recrimination, until Isabella could only shake her head in frustration and half-wonder if they would continue to engage in such hostilities up until the moment they reached the altar and the priest made them kneel in preparation for their vows. Dearest saints in heaven, could anything be made to flourish in such rocky soil as this?

But as she continued to watch them, she could not deny the passion with which they railed at one another, the way they seemed to be slowly circling around each other as they sparred and parried, both the hunter and the hunted. Such passion was dangerous – even from behind the wall she could sense the shimmering combustibility of it – but it would no doubt keep Rosaline occupied, until perhaps there would be no space left in her mind for any thoughts of the prince.

Perhaps, Isabella thought, her lips curling into an unbidden smile, her plan might actually succeed. House Montague and House Capulet would not burn down her city, taking her beloved brother along with them. No, she promised herself: their heirs, like fire and powder, would unite and consume only each other, until there was no danger left at all.

thelxcaldreamer  asked:

Hey, so I've got a comment for the whole "black Hermione" conversation. I'm totally down for headcanon/opinion/whatever, so no offense meant, but it occurred to me that if this was reversed people would have a different reaction. Like, if a character everyone knew to be black was reimagined as white in the interest of increasing diversity. I'm kinda playing devils advocate with this, but what do you think? Would people still think it's an okay thing to do? My guess is no, but what do you think?

see here’s the thing

something like 95% of all characters in popular movies, books, tv shows, videogames, comicbooks, etc etc etc… are white. there is no way there could be a “reimagining of a black character as white in the interest of increasing diversity”. in the current state of the world, that’s actually impossible.

also, reimagining a person of colour as white in fiction happens all the time, and most of the general public doesn’t give a single shit about it. for example, katniss everdeen (portrayed by jennifer lawrence in the movies) was specifically described as non-white. tilda swinton, a white actress, played the ancient one in doctor strange, despite that the character is decidedly non-white in the comicbooks! ghost in the shell. prince of persia. stonewall. pretty much any hollywood movie base on an anime!

furthermore, hermione granger being perceived as black isn’t a “reimagining”. JK Rowling herself has said that hermione can 100% be read as black. this isn’t people taking a white character and changing her race - hermione does not have a canon race. fuck, if anything, she’s canonically black because the cursed child is a direct sequel to the last Harry Potter book, whilst the movies are mere adaptations.

even if hermione was originally white in the books, are we (white people) really losing anything by her being “““reimagined”“” as black? we already have almost every other fictional character, why can’t black people have a few of ours?

promptis wedding~

It’s been months of planning. Months of Prompto meticulously obsessing over every single detail. Months of Noctis vetoing food choices, cake tastings, floral arrangements, color swatches… it’s enough that Noct’s head was spinning by the end.

And it’s all here, all led up to this. It was absolutely fucking worth it, because Noct’s sitting at a long table with a pristine tablecloth, and just this once, he doesn’t mind being the center of attention. It’s been a long road. It’s been such a fucking long, exhausting road, and it leaves him dizzy, trying to think back on it.

There’s music and dancing and Prompto’s already into the wine, and Noct’s not bothering to stop him. Noct’s dad and Prompto’s uncle are deep in conversation. Aranea is drinking Gladio under the table, and Ignis is well on his way. In his pocket, he has a stupid little speech tucked away. Shining bright on his finger is a silvery, intricate ring, ‘ever at your side’ and the date engraved on the inside.

“It’s beautiful, Prompto, it really is,” one of Prompto’s colleagues is saying to him, as she leans over the table to give him an awkward hug.

“Thanks,” Prompto’s grinning ear-to-ear, and it’s only partially because of the wine. “Did most of it myself. Didn’t have to, someone kept telling me to hire a planner, but…”

“I only said that because you were a nightmare to live with,” Noctis points out. He’s smiling though. It’s impossible not to smile, because he’s still high on it all. On the perfection of a quiet ceremony, the fact that they did it, and even though things aren’t different, not really, somehow it feels so much better, so fucking perfect he can barely stand it.

“Mmm, and now you’re gonna treat me to a perfect honeymoon, right?” Prompto grins bright, downing his wine, and he’s flushed a little, smiling as he leans in and cups Noct’s chin and steals a kiss, long and lingering, right there in front of everyone. Noct laughs against Prompto’s lips, but he returns the kiss, their foreheads pressing together when they part.

“The perfect honeymoon,” Noctis agrees. That much was his job, and he thinks, just maybe, this once, he’s actually planned the perfect surprise trip. They’re leaving tomorrow afternoon, but for now, they have a long evening ahead of them, dancing and drinking and eating and probably some really, really good sex.

Prompto scoots his chair a little closer. He rests his head on Noct’s shoulder, and their fingers tangle, under the table.

“To think,” Prompto says, voice a happy tease, “this all started with us just being best friends, huh Noct?”

Noctis groans, but he can’t hold back the tiny smile. “Never gonna let me live that one down, huh Prom?”

“Nope. Worked it into my reception speech, just you wait,” Prompto’s laughing into Noct’s suit jacket.

“Bet it was my dad’s idea, wasn’t it?” Noctis sighs, tries to sound irritated, but it’s evident he’s amused, happy even, by the way he’s tipping his cheek into Prompto’s hair, by the way he squeezes his husband’s hand extra hard under the table.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Noct’s father, seated next to him, says mildly, pausing mid-conversation with Prompto’s uncle to retort.

“Everyone’s against me,” Noctis sighs.

“Yep, but we love you. I love you,” Prompto grins. “Even if you took forever, Noct.”

He did take forever. He’d made it infinitely harder than it needed to be, but they’d ended up here, hadn’t they? “Love you too, Prom. Even if I made you wait.”

“It was worth it,” is all Prompto says, with a smile, before he disentangles, straightens up to go for another glass of wine.

And that, Noctis can agree to. It really has all been worth it.

//Anyways I though ya’ll might enjoy this


endless list of favorite characters + Mary Stuart

“ I will let no one, not Elizabeth, not any usurper, take my country from me. Since I was a babe, I have been a Queen. Since a child, I have been alone on foreign soil. I know how to keep my life, my crown and I will. “


@pixelhorrorjam Update #3! Also known as the “Fuck I love purple” update. Not the greatest gif quality in the world, but here you go. I’m trying to not give away all the maps I’ve made…

Anyway, progress update!

Maps - 10 / 26 (This will hold steady for a while. The first ten maps make up the bulk of the game. The remaining ones only get seen once or twice, so I’m going to tackle them as they come instead of all at once.)

Sprites - 9 / 10

Portraits - 4 / 12 

Eventing - 21%

Overall -  40 %

I had to slow down a bit to take care of some work stuff, but that’s mostly done with now, so… yeah. Thanks for sticking around.