it contrasts with her dark hair

her colors are muted and she looks tired.
‘holding up,’ she says,
and i’m just holding up too but god, this contrast;
light and dark,
soft and bold,
melancholy and anger,
beauty and the furthest thing from it.
she is unsettling, yet…
not in a bad way.
not at all.

and she is lovely.
her eyes are gentle,
blue like twilight
(and i understand for the first time why
they’re supposed to be the windows to the soul).
her hair is not spun gold
and she doesn’t shine like the sun;
she is the moon in all its glory.
the kind of light she carries cannot be explained–
it’s in her bones and the way she walks,
and the way she speaks.
like she doesn’t want to be seen or heard.

but she is beautiful.

god built the universe
with a voice like that.

—  when a girl loves a girl the stars fall to the earth.
The Girl in the Flower Dress


Bucky Barnes X Reader

A/N: Do I have an excuse for this? No. Was I really gonna stop myself? No.

Words: 895

Prompt: He really wishes he talked to the girl in the flower dress.

Warnings: my trash mouth, can you feel the angst tonight


The first time that he sees her, it’s raining. Well, it’s a downpour. Same thing really. Either way, he stands frozen in the street, stark blue eyes catching sight of the pattern of her flowing dress, the bright flowers on the cloth a heavy contrast to the dark, looming clouds above.

She seems to be in a rush (as most people would be when the heavens themselves try to drown all of the human civilization.) Her legs work frantically, rushing to carry her to her undisclosed location. She’s stepped in four puddles already, her hair is streaming down her face in a wet mess, her frantic eyes scanning her surroundings for some sort of shelter that could keep her from getting wetter than she already was, the dress clinging to her frame.

Bucky’s an idiot. At least that’s what Sam would say after seeing him stand out in the rain, freezing his dumb ass off, most definitely in danger of catching a cold.

Then again, of course, Bucky wouldn’t pay attention to Sam’s bitch ass, because despite the cold rain seeping into his bones, he swears that he’s never felt warmer.

Keep reading


It was quite the party.

With the Death Star destroyed, the Alliance permitted a brief moment of jubilation.  The whole of the rebel fleet had been invited to attend and Mon Mothma had spared no expense to celebrate their moment of liberation in the grand halls of her own home.  

Cassian relented a small, rare smile in the midst of the triumph that had somehow emerged from all the hellish tragedy they had all endured.

It seemed that there was someone out there after all.  

A princess it seemed, with two noble champions who had exploited the weakness in the space station, that too many good people died to reveal.  

Entering the stateroom with slow and steady steps, his leg still not fully healed from his blaster wound, he found her immediately. A burning star among mortals, dressed in white and sapphire, her dark hair woven upon her head, a silver band circulating her brow. Quite the contrast to the worn, practically dressed warrior he was used to. She stood alone, a reclusive beauty, arms closed around herself, a glass of wine in her hand as she simply watched the mass move around her.

A star, what a perfect way to describe her, Cassian couldn’t help but think to himself. Pretty at a distance, but a raging inferno the closer you engage. Despite knowing this all too well, he crossed the distance between them anyway. He didn’t much of choice, did he? She truly was all he has left in the galaxy. Stopping behind her as she took a sip of her drink, he took a moment to savor her presence, relieved that she hadn’t gone and left him like the rest of his family had all those years ago.

“Nice dress.” he commented, again noting appreciatively her change in attire.  It was a different, but welcomed change.

She turned her head at that, her sea-green eyes as piercing as ever.

“I almost didn’t recognize you.” he went on lowly, teasingly, a smirk threatening to curl in the corner of his mouth.

“You can hardly talk.” she replied with a coy smile, turning around fully, giving his decorated, dark-blue uniform a once over. “You look like a peacock with all those flashy medals you’re showing off.”

“I’ve completed many missions.” he defended himself with a shrug of his shoulders.

Her smile widened despite the slow shake of her head, turning back to the crowd as he came to stand beside her. Together they watched dancing and merriment in silence, both lost in mixed emotions.  It was so strange for them to stand there after all they had been through, after all they had lost.

“They should be here.” Jyn whispered softly, searching the crowd for faces gone forever, their blood spilt on the beaches of Scarif.

Cassian smiled sadly, standing a little taller. “They are.”

Bohdi… Baze… Chirrut… K… All of them, they felt more present than any of these strangers around them that celebrated the victory born from their ultimate sacrifice.

Jyn looked up at him then, eyes bright and misty, but she was too strong to cry.  “…What do we do now?”

He met her gaze silently, but the answer was clear as day. What else was left? With only ruin behind them and endless horizon ahead.

Overwhelmed by their realization, by the words they dared not speak, their eyes quickly broke apart to find more safer places to linger.  While they could retreat, neither were much good at surrendering.

Cassian was both frustrated and somehow amused by their mutual stubbornness, as he dared a glance at the crown of her head, before his eyes fell back to the people in the center of the hall, who happily waltzed about in tribulation.  

“Do you dance?” he asked at last, his voice wry and curious.

She shook her head sharply, a short laugh escaping her, as if he had asked her the most  ridiculous of questions. “Surprisingly, the occasion has never really called for it, Captain.”   

“…Well, I think it does now.” he told her, ignoring her sarcasm, and taking her hand in his own.  

She panicked and stood her ground firmly when he began to pull her along.  “I don’t know how.” she confessed.

“That makes two of us.” he smiled, though he waited for her to make the decision for herself.  While the concept of dancing didn’t appeal to him much either, it felt almost wrong not to, when so many could not celebrate with them.

Jyn let out a apprehensive breath before she placed her drink on a nearby table and followed him toward the circle the crowd had formed.  “Are you sure you can even manage this?” she asked him, his slight limp reminding her of his still healing injuries

He only scoffed as he turned to face her, though  he had kept a good distance away from the other couples.  Lifting their joined hands, Cassian placed a palm on her waist, pulling her closer, eyes never leaving hers.  Jyn instinctively in turn brought up her left hand to his shoulder, swallowing thickly.  

Really now…How hard could this be?

Slowly, without any type of order or formulated execution, they swayed together to the music, letting time slow down and the world around them quiet. It was strange how perfectly they fit together, as if designed to by forces greater than the both of them. But, it had been that way since the beginning, hadn’t it? Since their first meeting, it seemed to be that they were not to be parted. In life or in death.

And as such, Jyn felt surreal contentment in Cassian’s strong embrace and such relief to feel the rise and fall of his chest for herself. So real, so alive, so there when all others she cared for had left her behind. He was the only one that the galaxy had spared her, and she was eternally thankful for that. This unexplainable intimacy was something she had never planned on… and something that still frightened her, despite all the horrors they had already faced.

She found her gaze falling from his to their slowly moving feet, and she almost felt Cassian’s brow furrow in concern and confusion. She smiled to distract him and herself, thinking quickly and fondly of other things, wishing for an irritating presence she never thought she would to make the situation less suffocating.

“K2 would hardly approve of this.” she joked, pleased to make him smile and look upward wistfully in fond memory of the droid.

“Ah K… I miss him.” Cassian chuckled sadly. “For a long time, he was my only friend.”

Jyn forgot herself, and her apprehensions, for a blessed moment, and dared a glance back up at the captain, realizing how little she actually knew about him before she had come along… or rather…. was dragged along this somehow-not-damned cause.  Meanwhile, he knew essentially everything there really was to know about her.  It made his peculiar loyalty all the more peculiar.

He spoke so little, this tired and handsome rebel captain, who had spirited her away toward her destiny… she only knew that the Alliance was his life and purpose, and it had been since he was a child. Tilting her head, she studied him, eyes narrowing, lips pursing slightly. How could she feel so much for someone who would be, should be, a stranger? She couldn’t even imagine being without him now, could hardly remember a time before he was with her… How long had she even known him for? Days? Weeks? Months? Scarif felt like a lifetime ago. For once in her life she harbored the concept of past lives, reincarnation. How else could he have imprinted himself so deeply on to her heart.

“What is it?” he asked her, his thick, dark brows drawing together again curiously under her scrutiny.  

Something like warmth bloomed inside her as she realized she could ask him about his life and family later that evening, or the next day even if she wished, that he would be there to reluctantly tell her all his secrets, that she had the rest of her life to discover just who he was and what they would become.  “Nothing.” she smiled brightly, apparently not as strong as she had thought she was for a tear escaped the shine of her eyes. “I’m glad you’re with me.” she confessed to him.

Wordlessly he leaned forward, the pull of gravity toward her too strong this time, and brushed his lips against her brow tenderly, before she came to rest her head against his chest. Safe, warm, home.

As much as I love the “red and blue” ship trope, symbra is one of the most aesthetically appealing ships I’ve ever made art for

Like symmetra has a very chill+simplistic design over all. And many of colors are very calm and cool (the blue and off white and dark gray) that works nicely with the regal gold and the warm color of her skin. Plus it’s all curves+flowing lines and everything moves with her. It’s overall very smooth and harmonious without being symmetrical(ironically enough)

Meanwhile we’ve got sombra, who’s all dramatic and complex. Her undyed hair+her jacket and cybernetics are all dark unsaturated purple or black which is really sharply contrasted by the neon purples and blues and pinks and the glowing details on her cybernetics. She’s all geometric shapes and sharp edges and overall pretty symmetrical.

Plus the bright blue and purple go together so well i just love it so much rip

spiderdoctor-67  asked:

I love how Bellamy and Clarke are literally drawn to each other like magnets when they're in the same proximity. Have you noticed that? They literally always find a way to stand near to each other/interact when they're both at the same location. Bonus: they look soooo good standing near each other; Bellarke standing near each other are so aesthetically pleasing, from the contrast of their hair colors to the height difference.

Yes they are. Like a moth to the flame (there’s that flame metaphor again) although I don’t know which is the moth and which is the flame. I think they both are. 

And they DO look good together. And they like to play up his swarthy darkness and her golden light. Often setting her up against a dark background and him against a light so we get that contrast. I think even in the books, he was supposed to be dark and she was supposed to be light, right? Am I misremembering? It’s been a long time since I read them. Anyway, it was a definite choice in casting and they’ve been working their contrast ever since. 


Okay so this might be far fetched but someone posted the photo from the night the girls and Mona were in that house with the fire and this is a screenshot of the girl. I realized how dark the hair looked, and messed with the photo lighting. By brightening this photo 200% and lowering the contrast, I got the photo on the right, which looks a heck of a lot like Maya. Also can we discuss Maya’s website was never talked about again? And Maya went to Noels cabin for another unknown reason, there’s a lot we don’t know about her story line.

Leg Hair Liberation / One Week on Holidays with Furry Pins

I am hairy. Big time. It’s in my genes. I’m half Macedonian and my mother’s Scottish ancestry saw her growing a better goatee on her knee than her seventeen-year-old brother could grow on his face in a bet. The hair that grows on me is thick and dark and quite contrasting to my pale skin. I never had much issue with this as a child, but when my mother sat me on the veranda aged twelve and waxed my legs for the first time I learnt to believe hairy legs were something to be ashamed of.

Over the years I have come to accept and love my hairy armpits and monobrow, but feeling the freedom to let my leg hairs be seen wild and bushy is not quite something I have overcome socially, yet. I let my leg hair grow in the wintertime, cause seriously as if I could be bothered, and I have been able to produce a generous covering of thick dark and soft hair from toes to upper thigh. But then come springtime I’ve always taken myself to the salon to rid myself of my fur. One such time the trainer even noted to the student that was waxing me that she liked how you could see the difference in my freshly waxed “clean” legs compared to my hairy “dirty” legs. Which was very offensive, for obvious reasons.

This year I treated myself to a holiday in Far North Queensland to celebrate my birthday and the end of winter. By this point I had grown my leg hairs out to their full glory and thought it would be a perfect opportunity to do an experiment in radical self love and see what it would be like to get around with my hairy ass legs on display in hot pants and short skirts for five days in the tropics.

Before I went away I felt some very real anxiety. Wanting to pack a long skirt in case I felt too ashamed to have my legs out. I started rehearsing comebacks to the judgmental comments that I was sure that I was going to receive, from “Mind your own business” to “Because I do not feel shame about my body’s natural state”. So when I went to Cairns I didn’t cover my legs once and you know what? No one gave a single fuck. I did notice people staring at my legs momentarily before looking up at my face, and I did have paranoid thoughts of them talking about me when I was out of earshot. But no one treated me any differently, or made me feel uncomfortable. Although I admit this experiment seemed easier because I was in another city where I didn’t know anyone, but I realised that it was the silent judgement of strangers that I did really care about. My friends and lovers don’t give a shit and this experiment suggested that the general public didn’t either.

I do like the look and feel of my smooth hairless legs, shining bronze in the summer time. But when I end up with a five o’clock shadow after shaving and waxing is time consuming, expensive and painful I have to wonder why I actually feel like I need to do it. I believe the only reason that we’re conditioned to think hair free legs are more desirable is due to marketing and capitalism but really there is no reason why we can’t also see the beauty in furry pins. In fact I have had numerous compliments about my hairy legs, and I too think they look sexy in a way that is unique to smooth legs.

I’ve done a couple of photo shoots recently that I haven’t waxed my legs for and it has felt very liberating. Seeing myself as a beautiful womyn with dark fuzz noticeable from the knees down has opened my eyes to a different genre of feminine beauty. I do believe I will wax my legs again in the future sometime, because I have that choice if I desire it, but for now I might let these ladies see a bit more of the sunshine.

Photo by Simon Russell

Wearing Edgeley

Feel Better


Ama’s purple hair spilled over stark white pillows. The contrast startling to the bright blue eye’s staring down at her sleeping form. His fingers lightly grazing the skin on her wrist down to her upturned palms.

When her eye’s began to dart under pale eyelids he squeezed her hand gently.

“How’s my best girl?” Steve smiling as dark eye’s fluttered. His lips upon her forehead the final element to break the spell.

“Tired but better now that you’re here. You’re home.” She said breaking into one of her characteristically bright smiles.

“You rest up. I’ll be here to watch over you.” Steve’s duffle in the corner along with his shield. Sign’s Ama had grown to love, sign’s that he was home for a long while. With that she closed her eye’s once  more. A deep restful sleep cradling her until morning. The smell of his aftershave never leaving her senses.

anonymous asked:

(Yoo anon fic :D) The disguise seemingly burns away in a flash of red. The rosy hue still hangs around her blue hair. Chloe inhales sharply, a mixture of confusion and wonder. Marinette smiles. Her dark blue eyes gleam, a contrast to the blazing gold-red of the sunset. "Bit of a surprise?" Chloe falters, hands unconsciously smoothening her hair. "Ladybug...I...?" Marinette shrugs easily. "That would be me." "It's you all along." Chloe steps forward, and the world seems to fade around them.

Originally posted by nyxisis

Senses (Kylo x Reader)

Nothing. I just wrote this for a friend who has been kinda struggling with some stuffs so I hope this will help. I love you honey, everything will be ok. <3


The light was fading. She barely felt it anymore. She felt so alone, and just sad. She had no desire for doing the things she loved or even the people she loved.

And so many people love her. She had impacted so many lives. A number so great that she will never, ever, know.

But one man in particular stood out against the rest. Like the dark crimson color of blood against the colorless snow.

His hair was long, and stark black. A high contrast to his long, pale face, spotted with freckles; like constellations in the galaxy in which they lived in. His dark eyes held so much anger and sadness. But if you looked long enough, you could see the softness of them. She could make his eyes soften with just a glance in his direction. And she had no idea.

His heart pounded out of his chest the very first time he saw her, his pores dripping sweat, butterflies in his stomach. He never believed that he would never be worthy to be in the presence of a woman with her beauty.

The first time he heard her laugh, he didn’t believe that it was real. The sounds radiating from her, it was like a song. A song of happiness that his mother would sing to him when he was just a child. A song of hope, and happiness. A song of family, and love.

Love was something he desperately craved. Maybe he wouldn’t admit to himself, but he was alone. He was cold and lost. He desperately wanted to feel someone’s love. He wanted to give someone his love, anyone. He needed to feel their lips under his, feel their breath in his skin. Anything. Just a touch.

The first word she ever spoke to him; hello.

Hello? Her voice was confident, it did not shake like his body was when he was with her. One could one word be so welcoming? They both could say anything after that. Their words could form into stories, songs, or fights. They could be words of pure hatred and disgust towards each other. But no, he spoke gently to her. He gave her his name. He remembered the small smirk when she gave him hers.

His ears felt overwhelmed when she told him her name. A name. That’s all it was. How could one word be so impactiful? Because it’s in a name, where you get an impression, it’s something of theirs that the other person will use more than them. A name is a truly beautiful sound.

And what was his impression of her?

Kind. She held no trace of anger or disgust with her. Just curiosity and an open mind.
Wise. He could see it in her eyes. They alone could tell him tales of the past. He got lost in them. But he never wanted to be found again, because, It was her that found him.

He felt as if the hole, stabbed into his heart and mind, was suddenly bandaged with her small touch. She just walked past him. Their shoulders met, or well, they almost did. He towered over her. He shuddered. He desperately wanted to feel her again.

They talked more and more. They both fell in love more and more. Each second together was their time spent well.

Their first kiss. Her lips against his. He felt tears, he had in his arms a woman that could easily be mistaken for an angel. They fit so well together. His hands against her skin, her smooth, ageless skin, anchored him to the present.

The first time they made love. Never would the both of them forget the night. Little to no words were spoken as he rocked into her. She held onto him, clinging as if he were her lifeline. He clung to her as if she was insanity.
And, I suppose they were. He was her lifelike. She was his sanity.
Her cries out against him, quickened his actions, desperate to hear more. To make her feel loved was all he wanted. His mind was focused on her. Nothing else, not him. Nothing.

He would always remember their first fight. Their insecurities were like a red flashing light; out there in the open, noticeable. Hard to not look at. Both of then thought they were superior, that they knew all, that they see right, when in reality, neither were wrong or right.

He holds her close to him every night. He needed to have her feel protected. Nothing would happen to her. No monster would claw at her. No human would abuse her emotions.

But could he protect her from herself? No.

The false thoughts of worthlessness and hate flooded her mind with no intention of drying up. The thoughts stayed and she couldn’t handle it anymore.

She screamed at him. She cried at him. He took it all, he wanted to know why someone as beautiful as her would think and dwell in repulsive thoughts such as those. They were all false.

She deserves all of the happiness in the entire galaxy. She deserved everything and more.

He could not give it to her. He tried though, everyday.

He left when she finished her screaming. He left her in the room to go on a walk.

How could she think those things? How could she feel so low about herself?

Was he angry at her? He would rather be cast away from her side never to see her again if it was for her safety. He could never be mad at her.

He could be mad at himself. How selfish of him to not see what was going on with her.

He comes back to her the next morning. He pulls her her protesting frame into his large, protective one. He rocked her, as he felt her pounding fists on his body.

They say nothing to each other. He holds her, feeling her trembling form and salty tears on him.

But she was with him. And he was with her. And they loved each other.

So I headcanon that once when the rampion girls are hanging out, Iko decides to dye the others hair (with protest from Cinder and Scarlet) When she finally agrees to use stuff that wash out, they let her.

- In Winter’s hair, Iko tries to dye it a dark blue (to match her own hair) but in Winter’s dark hair it comes out a purple. She’s fine with whatever color, but Iko is severely disappointed. When Jacin comes home he just stares at her with so much love that she can’t help blushing.

- In Cress’s hair she dip-dyes it cotton candy pink. Cress adores it, but after a week she starts missing her old hair so she takes HEAPS of showers.

- In Scarlet’s hair, although Scarlet INSISTS she wants nothing, Iko dyes flecks of gold that contrast with her bright hair. Scarlet doesn’t hate it, but it comes out fairly fast as it’s not a lot of dye and she takes frequent showers (‘cause farm work is harddd) but she does kind of miss it, but she will say that to anyone.

- And finally in Cinder’s hair, after half an hour of her denying every color of the freaking rainbow, Iko decides (without waiting for Cinder’s approval) to dip-dye it black. When Kai comes home he just stops and very slowly asks if it’s a glamour. Cinder is baffled but after the week is over, she dyes it permanently.

bloodredrxse  asked:

"The world has gone to hell." ~Corvo. (If it's alright.)

“Am I to be blamed for its sorry state?” Jessamine hardly turned to look at him from her seat by the warm hearth that protected the Empress from the cold rain outside. It tapped against the windows furiously and soaked the world in it’s sorrow. The Empress stared at the fire for another moment before turning her head to look at her pacing and raving bodyguard who stood further away by her desk. His face was darkened by the contrasts, dark hair hanging around his Serkonan features. His eyes held the same amount of heat that the fire did while he stared back, awaiting her reply. 

She sighed and stood. She set her drink aside as she stood by him and loomed over the documents that glared up at her, neatly organized yet no less intimidating. Even after a decade of ruling an Empire, it seemed to only get harder and harder to do. New challenges arose as soon as she thought she was getting the hang of it, and now with Emily, the world seemed unconquerable. 

“I do what I can from here, Corvo. Surely you know that.”

# the Cursed Child headcanon - Pairing: Andromeda/Voldemort (later)

# the Cursed Child headcanon - Pairing: Andromeda/Voldemort 

OC: Teddy, Delphi (later) - Alternative Universe

Part: I don’t count anymore :)

There was a woman. A very familiar one like… No. It couldn’t be. Short, curly hair. Those high cheekbones… Looking a bit defeated and tired, though. „She’s thirsty”, thought Voldemort for an instant while analyzing the woman’s sore lips and nearly unnoticeable trembling. Her right hand was holding tightly the red velvet material on the knees. She didn’t dare to look straight into his eyes, but she was aware of being observed. Her pale skin contrasted nicely with the darkness surrounding them all. Voldemort gulped and felt an odd sensation near his stomach. The feeling of curiosity. And slowly mounting excitement. He nearly forgot how to experience such things. Surely, in these days he was very occupied. Conquering other European wizarding lands, persuading those who questioned his ideas and finding new allies demanded a little effort and energy, even if you were the most gifted wizard in the world. After losing parts of his unique identity, tattered by the foolish Potter boy and his company, he had to find new ways to guarantee himself immortality. Theoretically he was invincible, thanks to his dearest Nagini which protected fiercely the secrets of his soul, but what if fortune disappoints him again? The old, geriatric sap killed him seven times! And he dared to advice him, to preach about good?! As if this too abstract and too useless concept ever existed in the world where only the toughest, the most powerful survived and achieve glory. And they deserved it, not weaklings defiled by the common Muggle blood and their primal genes.
He stopped this chain of thoughts that always made him aggravated. Yes, it was only just a small part of his greatness. The ability to control, himself and them. Servants, followers, enemies and other unnamed and unimportant people.
The woman. It wasn’t a common woman. It was a Black woman. Features betrayed her heritage. A rare piece in the world of half-bloods. Blood traitor. Oh, he knew who she was. No member of the House of Black has said her name since the treachery she made. He could have them three. Three beautiful witches of the most noble breed. He claimed one to be his mistress and the second one to give him her son, husband and their house. But something was always missing. They were incomplete. Perhaps Bellatrix was not the most rebellious one. Yes, he had to admit she was ruthless with prodigious skills and loyalty that often brushed up against madness. Although, he wasn’t contented with the last thing. Madness was associated with the lack of control and this, in turn, strongly correlated with weakness. It was Bellatrix’s greatest flaw, though she made herself a great lieutenant. A devoted slave. And great wizards and witches should not behave slavishly. They ought to regard the stronger one. With fear in their eyes, but respect above anything. And now, what a smile of destiny. Andromeda Black in the flesh. „Am I going to be your Perseus?”, asked himself Voldemort, giving Andromeda a soft smile.

* * *

Perseus Avery watched attentively the orb with Andromeda Black inside. It seemed that the Dark Lord was especially willing to meet his special guests. Avery dressed Andromeda properly, gave her a decent jewelry just for her to look like every pureblood woman should present in public. With a bit of luck, the Dark Lord would’ve given her as a reward for the effort Avery put in organizing the anniversary. She would’ve been his little and pretty Black trophy. After all, no member of House of Black entered the Avery family for at least four generations. It was quite odd given the fact that his family was very prominent and collected one of the Europe’s biggest wealth. She wasn’t even that old. She could’ve given him an heir in whom their families’ blood would’ve merged and created something unusual. A bounty for the Dark Lord’s idea. Or they could’ve had more children, to repopulate Purebloods whose population was in a constant decrease during Dumbledore’s years of reign. „After all, women’s greatest life aim is to give as many noble descendants as she she is able to carry their husbands and other men.”, thought Avery lazily, his eyes wandering on the orbs. The more he thought about her, the more excitement it seemed to evoke in him. „Oh, I will take care of you Ms. Black.”

PS. I promised some “normal” Voldemort pictures :)


“Yet there was something in his eyes, strikingly blue—the color of the waters of the southern countries—and the way they contrasted with his raven-black hair that made her pause.”

Dorian Havilliard, King of Adarlan.

“They ­were Celaena’s eyes. Ashryver eyes. A stunning turquoise with a core of gold as bright as their hair.”

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, Rightful Queen of Terrasen (A.K.A. Celeana Sardothien, Adarlan’s Assassin).

“The gold-­speckled eyes ­were the most cherished trait in their Clan for a reason Manon had never bothered to learn—­and when her grandmother had seen that Manon’s ­were wholly of pure, dark gold, the Matron had carried her away from her daughter’s still-­cooling corpse and proclaimed Manon her undisputed heir.”

Manon Blackbeak, Heir of the Blackbeak Clan and Wingleader of The Thirteen.

A thought about Danny this season...

So Danny looks really different. Shorter, dark wavy hair (which, I know Sharon did herself but she didn’t change it back for S3 for a reason) ripped jeans, apparently a lot of leather and dark colors, which is a wild contrast from from her neon pants and baseball tees from S1.

I have a feeling that the Dean is trying to recreate her glittering girl, because she doesn’t have Carmilla anymore.

And possibly make her into Carmilla 2.0, who actually listens and does what she’s told.

And @svelazquez1220 has a theory that aside from whatever hold the Dean has on her, Danny may be going with it because she’s trying to be what Laura wants, and what Laura wants is Carmilla.