living under the sheets

“We were supposed to fly on January 30th, but then they told us that no new refugees were allowed to enter the United States. We were removed from the plane, and we stayed at the airport for 10 hours. That day was terrible. They remove you from the plane to go back home, but then you have nowhere to go. When you’re a refugee, they give you a lot of vaccinations before you can go to another country, so the children were already stressed because of that. But then we had to get off the plane, and the kids were asking, ‘Where are we going?’ You know, African children get so excited when they’re about to go to other countries. They want to go, they want to see everything. They see pictures of other children living in nice houses, while they’re living under a plastic sheet. Sometimes the wind blows the plastic sheet away, and then you’re just outside in the desert. Or, when it’s sunny, the heat of light reflecting on the plastic sheet burns your skin. Especially when you first arrive in the refugee camp, the roof is a plastic sheet, the walls are a plastic sheet, and the floor is covered with thorns. So they give you shoes made of rubber from car tires.”

Salem, MA


i felt like doing the stats for my aventurines

yes, i did make a new one, she is blue aventurine and she lives in the sea spire

stats sheet from @gemsona-hq

some info under read more 

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abithagray  asked:

Ship meme, living together--Drakecest ❤️

Because two people living together can get messy.

Who leaves their dirty underwear on the floor?
Sam. He’s not the cleanest person to live with, even if Nate isn’t much better.

Who farts under the sheets?
Let’s be real… they both do that and possibly do competitions until one of them has to get up and open the window.

Who doesn’t close the door when they go to the bathroom?
Sam! For the longest time he didn’t even have a door so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I mean he values his new found privacy but sometimes he just forgets.

Who pees in the shower?
Both of them do, Nate just denies it more.

Who forgets to put the cat dog outside the bedroom when they have sex?
They at one time had Vicky jump on the bed while they were at it, one of them got a paw in the groin and now they both never forget to put the dog outside.

Who walks around the house with no pants on?
Both of them. 

Who leaves crumbs in the bed?
Sam. He seems messy like that. 🤔

Thank you my dear :-*

Being black is a bloody belittlement

forced to live under a sheet and conform to the shit of the world.

A young girl once so innocent and little bared the pain of making a child, 

womb burst open belly grows big everyday,

unsure who shares the DNA of her unborn child 

abuse and molested thousands of times 

contemplating on whether to destroy the egg before it grows.

She keeps it, feed it and promise she won’t mistreat it. 

finally the child is born and her promises are kept..


she takes a breath,

realizing that time has passed.

Her child is now grown,

she wonders where it all went.

A child once so small and fragile,

is now strong and matured.

so many dangers in the wold she wonders if she can protect him.

she prays and cry at night asking God to protect her offspring.

she grows old and her once so vibrant body weakens.

he takes care of her as she did to him,

love  and nurture his mother like she was his kin.

He does this without hesitation because he knows….

she has reached her final destination.

written by @cheyenne12345678-blog

Ellie Goulding Songs, Albums, Remixes, EPs, etc. (Last Updated July 8, 2016)

Lights (UK Version)

Guns And Horses

Starry Eyed

This Love (Will Be Your Downfall)

Under The Sheets

The Writer

Every Time You Go

Wish I Stayed

Your Biggest Mistake

I’ll Hold My Breath

Salt Skin

On The Digital Version through Universal Music you also get 4 live tracks from Ellie’s Metropolis Studios session:

Guns and Horses

Under The Sheets

The Writer

Starry Eyed

Lights (US Version)

Lights (Single Version)

Guns And Horses

Starry Eyed

This Love (Will Be Your Downfall)

Under The Sheets

The Writer


Every Time You Go

Your Biggest Mistake

Salt Skin

Your Song

Bright Lights

Guns And Horses

Starry Eyed

This Love (Will Be Your Downfall)

Under The Sheets

The Writer

Every Time You Go

Wish I Stayed

Your Biggest Mistake

I’ll Hold My Breath

Salt Skin

Lights (Single Version)


Little Dreams



Believe Me

Your Song

The End (Acoustic) (Only on iTunes Deluxe Edition)

An Introduction to Ellie Goulding (UK Version)

Under The Sheets

Wish I Stayed (Acoustic)

Wish I Stayed (Acoustic Music Video)

Roscoe (Acoustic Music Video)

An Introduction to Ellie Goulding (Video)

An Introduction to Ellie Goulding (US Version)

Starry Eyed

Guns And Horses

The Writer (Live Acoustic)


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“when you see a lump under the sheets, and think it’s a living thing”

I want photographer!Clint, taking these stunning shots on missions, fascinated with, enthralled by beauty, finding all these perfect moments, taking shots of his friends in their most stunning forms… Natasha in shadow that leaves her every mystery or conversely in light so bright that she is nothing but exactly what she is. Thor in stunning vibrant effusive color and full of life that pushes away the dust of time. Bruce lit from within by the wonder that is scientific curiosity, relaxed in the moment. Steve, always a masterpiece of human perfection but almost never just for how he looks; always in context - sweating and laughing next to a petulant but grinning Sam, smiling softly as he listens to a child’s story, frowning in concentration while holding up a piece of rubble so that a trapped cat can be rescued. The way the arc reactor light caresses Tony’s everything and creates surreal beauty in even the mundanities of his coffee cups. Maria’s hands in the foreground, strong and so damned capable and neat and precise but never so beautiful as when dangling dirty and exhausted from her wrists over her knees after a long mission. Everyone, he catches everyone and keeps photos all over his apartment and gives them to people at random (it’s hilarious the way Steve blushes over photos of certain fellow Avengers when he thinks nobody’s looking) to keep in their offices and as gifts and Pepper’s hell bent on convincing him to put a collection in a gallery.

But never photos of Coulson, not unless it’s a group candid and never with him in the primary frame. And Coulson, being someone who has privately, quietly always felt let down about his appearance - oh he knows exactly what he is, what he’s made of and it’s strong and honorable and capable and he’s crammed a frankly astonishing amount of living into his (surprisingly many) accumulated years, but… not beautiful. Perhaps he’d… hoped, that somewhere in there Clint would find something worth looking at. And maybe he’s disappointed, but he refuses to be ashamed. He’s made his value out of everything else he is, and it’s plenty to be proud of, even when reminded so clearly of his apparent plainness. Sure, it hurts a little, but it’s not really a new pain. He’s always known how far beyond his grasp Barton is. He knows he is a skilled lover but for some people the visual is as important as anything else, as it must be for Barton. So he’s not surprised that there are never photos of him. It’s just more proof that he’s utterly unappealing to someone with such a keen eye for beauty. Another reminder not to even tend a glimmer of a hope. 

So when a series of improbable and frankly ridiculous events ends up with them in each other’s arms, missing certain death by the breadth of a fletching, Clint swears up a storm and then just up and plants one on him. Because, he explains wryly to a stunned Phil, can’t help confessing how he’s not sure he can go on without at least taking a shot (heh, shot) at Phil even though he knows he’s out of Clint’s league with all the smarts and sophistication and sheer competence. And Phil has to kiss him again and then again because how ridiculous, and the way he feels, Phil is just… he forgets that he’s unattractive right up until Clint gets him laid out naked on the bed and is staring down at him, cataloguing his every feature and telling him he is gorgeous and it’s like a bucket of ice, just kills his momentum dead and has him wanting to cover himself. He’s perplexed by the way Clint is looking at him like he’s something beautiful, so confused and even angry at the deception that he blurts out an apology for the way he looks but tells him that he’d appreciate it if Clint didn’t lie to spare his feelings. And then Clint’s confused too and clothing is being put on aw, clothes, no and everything is Not Going to Plan at all because he insists he’s not lying and Coulson scoffs and (to his utter humiliation) asks why there aren’t ever photos of him, then?

And Clint basically drags him back home and shows him the photos. He has hundreds, thousands of them collected up over the years. Every angle, every feature Phil has is captured in stunning detail. The wrinkles around his eyes in crisp black and white from a hidden smile. The light of intent focus at his core, holding up his tired frame in the middle of an interminable surveillance op, shadowed by the night and lit by glowing screens. His hands, so many pictures of his hands in every position and lighting and action. Him, standing unassuming and unremarkable and underestimated in the midst of a dizzy rialto, about to make a deal worth billions and several lives. Him, bare to the waist under rumpled safehouse sheets, soundly asleep after a long mission knowing he’d be safe under Barton’s watch, sketched in lines and shadows that make him look so human and so hauntingly beautiful that he just…

Anyway… I want some photographer!Clint is all.

Undisclosed Desires

Prompt from @give-me-tvd: “If I tell you yes, would you leave?”
A/n: I don’t know where this idea came from but I liked it so I went with it. It’s also really long (like 3K+ words) the angst just kept writing itself. I also have a part 2 in mind if people like it. Enjoy!

There was no denying that they were far from perfect.

All the killing, the manipulation, all those lies over the years was proof of that.

But this, this was something else.

The way his fingers crawled up her skin, dipping under fabric and sliding into places that were no longer his to explore. The way her mouth dragged and lingered on his body, pushing into places that she remembers he loved.  The way they ran and hid away, spending hours upon hours trapped in unimaginable bliss, reigniting flames that were supposed to be burned out.

The dark corners, the longing glances, the weekends away.

The excuses they gave to those at home whilst they buried themselves under the sheets. Over and over and over again.

The lives they were putting in danger.

It was all wrong.

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anonymous asked:

Hello! Can you write some sleepy kisses and tickles and fluff with KenHina? I'm sorry but I don't have a big prompt! It's okay of you don't want to! 💜💜 thank you

This turned out way more tickly than originally planned. I hope you like it! :)

It was late afternoon on a Saturday that found Hinata lying sprawled across the floor in the corner of the living room under a draping of sheets. There was a futon beneath him, cushioning him from the hardwood floor. The setting sun filtering through the sheets that hung above him, kept up only by the backs of the kitchen chairs he had used to make his little fort.

He was curled up under a solitary blanket, reading a book in the dim lighting and reveling in the sensation of soft warm puffs of air against the nape of his neck. The rough texture of paper slipped through his fingertips as he turned the page to the sound of a soft snore and the tightening of arms around his waist.

If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, Hinata would say that this was his favorite moment of every week; to laze about the apartment with nothing to do but read his to-be-read pile down a book at a time, listen to the soft clicking of buttons, and indulging the rare occasion of being the little spoon.

With a fingertip placed on his exact place in the book, Hinata turned slightly in the arms encasing him to look up at Kenma’s peacefully slack face. Usually he was the big spoon, as he was the more outgoing of the two. He remembered initiating their first kiss, asking Kenma to be his boyfriend, suggesting they get an apartment together.

He had memory of hugging Kenma from behind for the first time, even though he was shorter. Something about it must have clicked because all future cuddling involved Kenma’s back to his chest as they kept each other warm; taking comfort in one another. Later he realized that Kenma liked the feeling of being held. It grounded him somehow.

Hinata hummed as he swept Kenma’s bangs behind his ear, grinning when the older boys nose scrunched up. It was only on these days, when they hadn’t a care in the world, that Kenma after hours of playing his game would set it aside and take a nap. He would roll closer so that more than their legs were entangled and pull him close, not caring if he made Hinata lose his place.

Sometimes Hinata would join him in the land of dreams, on others his current reading material was too good to put down. It was one of the latter days. Kenma huffed a sigh and Hinata couldn’t help himself as he pecked the corner of his boyfriend’s mouth gently.

The action seemed to settle Kenma back down as he shuffled closer to burying his face into Hinata’s neck. He grinned at the action, allowing himself to be held as tightly as Kenma wished as he held the book back up in his line of sight. Running his finger along the page as he read, he quickly became immersed in the story once again.

As his eyes trailed the lines of beautifully descriptive words, he realized he had only made it a page and a half in when he felt the hands around his waist slide up. He lost his place when he felt lips grazing his neck. A hum escaped his throat at the soothing feeling of the tip of Kenma’s tongue joining his lazy open mouthed kisses.

“You woke me up,” The words were murmured so low that Hinata strained to hear them, buzzing against the sensitive skin. Hinata huffed a laugh, bunching up his shoulder in an attempt to stop the access Kenma had to it, but his face was already there and it did nothing to help. “What’s the matter?” Kenma whispered again and Hinata snorted.

The book dropped from his fingers as Kenma made purposeful movements of his mouth across the expanse of Hinata’s neck, down his shoulder, and over his chest. Hinata continued to giggle as he was shifted around, his hands that swatted at Kenma’s head quickly held out of the way. His smaller fingers were laced with Kenma’s slender ones as the older boy held his hands to the futon.

It seemed to make the gentle breathing against his skin all the more intoxicating, making his flesh more hyper aware of the dragging teeth and lithe tongue. It made it tickle more. A continuous series of snorts escaped his throat followed by a stream of furious giggles when Kenma bit down on his side and sucked.

Sparks shot out from the spot, nerves sending signals to his brain telling him to laugh. “I’m still so tired, Shou,” Kenma all but whispered and Hinata knew he was screwed.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Hinata tried to get out of the situation, even though he was kind of loving it, “I didn’t mean to.” He squealed when Kenma pressed his lips firmly to the fleshy part of his belly and blew. The muscles of his abdomen trembled as his boyfriend vindictively blew raspberry after raspberry all over his stomach.

Hinata’s giggles became breathy and gasping as he tried to stutter out more apologies. A sleepy Kenma was a ruthless Kenma when it came to tickles, but deep down Hinata loved it. He loved all the different sides to his boyfriend.

Just when Hinata thought it couldn’t get any worse Kenma positively dragged his lips to hover over his navel and his voice finally found him, “Oh my god, Kenma no fucking…” He nearly yells, but the smile on his face is wide and he’s still giggling. Kenma glanced up through his fringe with a small smirk, before releasing his hands.

Hinata flailed with them for a minute in his mirth. Kenma wasn’t even tickling him anymore and he was still giddy. After a moment to settle his nerves, he glanced back down to see Kenma still hovering and the ghost of his breath across the center of his belly made that maddening grin spread across his face.

When his boyfriend still didn’t move Hinata began giggling again, unconsciously sucking in his belly with anticipation. “Fine, fine, just once,” He accented and reached for Kenma’s hands, entwining their fingers on his own; he didn’t want to hit him or anything. His grin widened as Kenma pulled his hands to the sides, and lowered his lips to gently kiss above his navel.

Then, his entire system lit up like a circuit board as the older boy blew several quick succession raspberries over it. His laughter floated around them freely and when the sensation vanished he sighed heavily through the giggling aftershocks.

“You know, this is like a button on one of my games Shou.” Kenma looked up at him again with that smirk and Hinata laughed panicked, trying to pull his hands free. “I think I want to play some more.” His frantic protests cut off into a continuous squeal as his navel was subjected to more rapid fire raspberries that he didn’t ask for.

Yes, a sleepy Kenma was a vindictive, evil, ruthless Kenma. He should have taken the momentary freedom and fled; but after all, he did love all the sides of his boyfriend.

anonymous asked:

plumara for aLL 3 shIP mEMes

ooooooooooooooooh I love Plumara!!!!!! OTP FOR LIFE

  • Who leaves their dirty underwear on the floor? - hmmmm I think both are just too perfect and would only leave clean underwear on the floor! But I think Meg bc as a journalist she lives in creative freedom!
  • Who farts under the sheets? - Plum just too tease Meg a bit out of love
  • Who doesn’t close the door when they go to the bathroom?
  • Who pees in the shower? - NO
  • Who forgets to put the cat outside the bedroom when they have sex? - Plum would bc as we all know one of her cats is a hellcat and doesn’t deserve to be in any room!
  • Who walks around the house with no pants on? - Both would bc why wear pants??? They love each other no pants needed
  • Who leaves crumbs in the bed? - Probably Night Plum, as we saw in the episode where she tried to fry marshmallows with a piece of toilet paper…
  • Who would throw the wildest parties? - Helloooooooo NIGHT PLUUUUUM
  • Who would always fall asleep on the couch? - I think Meg would bc she works so much and she would be tired and than Plum would come and kiss her gently and than put a blanket on her…. IS THIS A FIC IDEA????
  • Who would enter them both in a talent show?Who would try to get out of doing their chores? - Fae would 100% or Gastt but as we know they are the same person soooooo and Plum would I think
  • Who would accidentally set the kitchen on fire whilst cooking?Who would always bring home a new stray pet? - PLUM WOULD TOTALLY DO THAT AGAIN THE TOILET PAPER. I SCREAMED AT THE TV!!!!! And I think both of them would take in strays and adopt them as their cute children
  • Who would make the other carry their bags on a shopping spree? - They would share the work as they share their love!!!!!
  • who takes the other’s last name - They would mash their names together and make a beautiful new last name…
  • who chooses where to go for the honeymoon - they would both decide ofc they are such a healthy relationship that EVERYTHING is a compromise
  • who talks about the other more without noticing - both of them are quite the talkers when you check out all the episodes where they sit in a café with the entire group??? Even in the episode when they returned to their old neighborhood tallyhoes! 
  • who forces the couples halloween costumes - Meg would 100%. AND THEY WOULD LOOK SO CUTE!!!!!
  • who shows up at the other’s work randomly with gifts - Plum would bc she appreciates her wife so much and loves her and is so proud and wants the entire world to know how amazing meg is
  • who’s the first one to fix things after a fight -  I think they would both cry and hug each other and tell eahc other how much the love the other person.
in the moment we’re lost and found

A/N: Here, beautifuls, is the fourth part to the tattoo au, or the adventures of vintage!Grace and punk!Hannah. It involves love and painting and kind of a dump of my own feelings into it, and I hope it is enchanting to you all. Thank you to Nicole for reading, as always, you are a fantastic support and a fantastic human.

2k words, just settling over the boundary of SFW, and much too poetic for my own good. part i, part ii, part iii, here on AO3


Hannah is an artist.

She’s known this since she first felt paint stain the soft palms of her hands, bold and bright and real; she’s known this since she first felt grief turn her veins to ice and made color run from her fingers into flowers and moons and broken feathers. She is an artist in the margins of day and night, making paintings of her soft muttered nonsense into the ear of the girl she loves.

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I’ve got another original song up on my soundcloud! It’s called “Silent” and I really like it. Give it a listen and you can download it if you like it here!

Verse One:

Well I was 17 looking down the barrel of a life that I didn’t wanna lead,
And you were there, sitting with your dark hair, telling me of all your dreams.
We weren’t quite in our minds and I said that maybe those conspiracies were right,
And we fell asleep, side by side under different sheets; you didn’t suspect a thing.
You’re silent as a songbird that’s been locked in it’s cage for far too long
And I, I, I am loud as a mouse.
That’s never tasted freedom on its lips.
I can try to speak,
You can try to listen,
But we both know, know, know, know, know, know,
That this will never work.
Verse Two:
Now I’m 18, looking down the barrel of a life I think I could lead,
And you’re still next to me side by side under different sheets, still living your fantasies and,
Freedom’s on the tip of my tongue, but it’s not filling my lungs,
And I don’t know how long I can live without it.
You can’t strip me down,
Cause I’m already raw just from your words
You can’t break my heart,
Cause that was done far too long ago.
I don’t know when.
I don’t know when.
But I don’t think that you can fix me,
But who am I to say that you can’t try?
I can try to speak,
You can try to listen,
But we both know.

Made with SoundCloud
Cherish the Peanut: Home

This is a late entry for the wonderful Cherish the Peanut Week. Day One: Firsts, although I supposed this has a dash of the Daddy’s Girl theme in the end. 
A loud and grateful shout out to @dameednaeverage and @storiesseldomtold for kicking my ass into editing this little fluff fest. Huge thanks to @kc749 for checking my late night English and @onhowtobecrazy for her lovely input. 
More or less prompted by @acrazyaunt


Robin’s been a man of the outdoors for as long as he can remember:
a squirming child stuck at lavish dining tables, with nature tugging at his heart and a thirst for adventure crawling underneath his skin.

An insubordinate adolescent who would lie awake in satin sheets but fall into the most peaceful of slumbers under a canopy of thick leaves and twinkling stars.

A reluctant nobleman with smooth hands twitching on the reigns of his steed, itching to lead it beyond the muddy paths and into the untouched lands beyond the safety of man-made routes.

He’s been a man of the outdoors for as long as he can remember. He’s lived under the stars half his life, never missed the comfort of silken sheets or sturdy walls, always at home amidst the elements. He’s lived in the outdoors for so long, he’s almost forgotten longing’s gentle tug.


He’s found a new home with Regina and their children in the grand house at 108 Mifflin, a home that provides warmth and shelter and lacks nothing that their growing family might need to thrive. 108 Mifflin is home, or maybe it’s Regina that really is, but the fact remains that the home they’ve made in the mayor’s mansion is the first that doesn’t make his skin crawl.

But no matter the happiness they’re building within these walls, they are only walls in the end, and the longing for the world beyond sneaks up on him eventually.

He tries camping with Roland, a boy of the wilderness just as much as his father, and their weekly outings provide a suitable relief from nature’s persistent calling, at least for a little while. 

It’s the arrival of the newest member to their family that puts an end to these trips. His daughter is a Mills girl through and through, tiny fists balled in righteous anger and strong little legs kicking with all the strength of her ancestors, but she’s also a sensitive little lady who catches one cold after the other, and Robin soon realizes that the forest is no place for his little girl (Not now. Not yet).

He’s a man of the outdoors, but he’s also a father whose children will always come before his own pleasure, and so he stays safe in the heated house, swaddling the youngest addition to their family and watching with utter adoration as his little girl grows and flourishes between Regina, himself, and her brothers.

 - - -

She grows to be a happy child, and if Robin ever doubted his ability to love her to the fullest, she’d have proven him wrong time and again by now.  

He adores everything about his daughter, the way she claps her hands in excitement whenever Regina returns from the office, the way she makes a mess of her food, the way he sees himself in her dimpled smile and bright blue eyes.  

She’s almost one now, babbling and placing wet kisses onto her brothers’ cheeks every night before bedtime, and he can hardly imagine a sweeter feeling than the flow of gentle warmth that floods his chest whenever he finds a moment to reflect on the beauty that’s grown from such a hideous betrayal. His sweet little girl.

He’s happy in this new routine, waking with Regina’s back to his chest and her hair in his mouth and going to bed with his cheeks still wet with children’s sloppy kisses and a promise of kisses of an entirely different kind glinting in Regina’s eyes.
He’s happy, but the longing for the forest never quite abides. He tries to pay it no mind, tries to relieve his tension with quick jogs through the woods and trips to the park in the clearing. It’s not the same, and Regina is entirely too perceptive for her own good.

“Robin,” she says, her features stern but her eyes like molten chocolate.

“She’s ten months old.” She smiles reassuringly and transfers their baby to her other hip. “We’ll be just fine.”

 He almost doesn’t go. They raise their little girl together, but he’s never left over the night, and the thought of doing so makes his stomach twitch uncomfortably. But Roland is elated at the prospect of another camping trip, dimples flashing and dark eyes twinkling with delight, and Robin finds himself defenseless at the face of his eager smile. They do need this.

He leaves with an embrace for Henry, a kiss for Regina, a very thorough snuggle for his youngest and another kiss to his lover’s lips (for good measure).

“It’s just a few nights.” Regina breathes against his lips before diving in for one last parting peck.

He finds his heart strangely heavy at the thought.


Their daughter likes to play on the soft rug near the fireplace, and if held at gunpoint, perhaps Regina might even admit that she likes it quite a lot down there as well.  She likes to lie on her side, likes to watch the tiny girl bury her face in the soft threats. She likes to roll onto her back and wait for a warm weight to settle onto her chest and babble nonsensical syllables into her ear.  She likes to have her close.

And so she finds herself kneeling on the rug after dinner on Robin’s first night away, watching awe-struck and teary-eyed as their little girl pulls herself up on the coffee table before bravely relinquishing her hold with first one, and then the other hand. She wobbles on chubby legs and tiny feet, takes one stumbling step. Another. The brief second of hesitation that follows is enough to offset her precarious balance. Short legs wobble, large eyes widen… and she falls.

She lands on her bum, no harm done, but she frowns at the floor with ire only a Mills girl would be capable of, and Regina can’t help but laugh at the anger in that little girl’s stare.

She swoops her up into a fierce embrace, cooing words of pride and showering her chubby cheeks with kisses until the girl’s squealing giggles drown out the crackling of the fireplace.


She tries again, their little Peanut, resolve hardened and forehead pulled into the most endearing little frown. Up by the coffee table, one step, two. She drops, glowers at the rug she usually so adores… and tries again.

Regina cheers for every step and watches in amusement as the little girl grows progressively angrier at the forces that continue to pull her down, yet progressively more determined to conquer them.


Robin and Roland return in the evening after three nights in the woods. Their cheeks are rosy and the scent of pine and firewood clings to their frames.

Roland rushes up the stairs, calling dibs on the first bath (he’s a child of the forest, but he’s also grown used to the luxuries at the mansion), and Robin makes his way to the living room. He has every intention to find Regina and bestow a thorough welcome onto her lips, to take their daughter from her arms and kiss the baby’s cheeks hello until she squeals with laughter-

What he sees, however, makes him stop dead in his tracks. His daughter stands by the coffee table, holding onto it with one arm, and when she sees him standing in the doorway, she smiles that beautifully dimpled smile of hers… and lets go.

One step. Two. Three. Four.

He stares open mouthed.

Five. Six. Seven.

She loses her balance a bit, starts wobbling, and it finally breaks Robin out of his trance. He kneels down on the floor, opens his arms…

Eight. Nine.

She falls, directly into her father’s hold.

Robin holds her close, presses a kiss into short, downy curls. She giggles in response and nuzzles into her father’s hold. Robin lifts his gaze over the baby’s shoulder. He meets Regina’s eyes across the room, a reflection of his own pride.

“She’s never made it past two or three steps before.” Regina announces and steps closer to father and child. The smile on her face is warmth.

“She must’ve really missed her Daddy.”

It’s home.

For @notyourytocs  Creators of Color Black History Month Event! A little bit of backstory for my favorite OC Filia Hawke~

          Her father spoke fondly of Rivain, proud of the warm winter days, grand bazaars, and cinnamon spiced tea of his upbringing.

She’d imagined the thousand color sunset parting through the mountains by the sea, sweetbreads glazed with honey, and the salty sea breeze that kissed the brown freckles across her cheeks.

           It wasn’t as though she hated living in the frosty piss-end of  Ferelden (the country had his fair share of delights…she liked Mabari) she simply yearned for Dairsmuid, the glittering capital city of unrivaled beauty, or her Fathers own port village by the sea in hopes to find a better life for her family–a life untouched by Templars or Circles or Bigotry–a life she’d never see.

           Malcolm never spoke of his time in captivity; he never told his wife nor his children how Templars, harrowings, and towers were real and everything before that life a faded dream– he had a life before the Circle, he had a history and he’d ensure his three perfect children had a sense of self-hood and identity.

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I think I’ve fallen for you. I’m still not sure when.You used to message me when I was in my room alone and I would giggle because you weren’t making any sense. I’m sorry, I can’t come see you. My first exam is tomorrow. No, you shouldn’t drop by and see me. I have to be awake six hours from now. That wouldn’t be a good idea, I wouldn’t want my roommates to know. I’m not sure when, but you became so comfortable that I couldn’t stand to be without you. After the first night I cracked it changed forever. I have two exams and a paper due tomorrow but I don’t care because I’d rather be in your arms for forty five minutes. I have rehearsal first thing in the morning but of course I’ll spend the night. I’ll even set my alarm for the middle of the night at the time you said you’d come to me.

I may have fallen for you. I still can’t decide where. Maybe it was the time I reluctantly followed you to your sunroof where you kissed me for the first time. In the front seat of your car where you’d always take me home even though I only lived two minutes down the road. Under the sheets of your bed that you pulled around me when your breezy fan you couldn’t do without became too chilly. At that late night party where you couldn’t keep your eyes, or your hands off of me. Beneath the suds of the pool where you asked me to come away with you in secret. At my front door where you promised you’d see me soon. At your front door where you kissed me goodbye at seven in the morning. At the entrance to my apartment complex where you kissed me goodbye, every time.

I could have fallen for you. I still have no idea why. Was it because you strung me along with promises of coffee shops when the only place I ever saw you was at your door? Maybe it was when I decided it was okay to drive out to your place after midnight because you said you wanted to see me. Was it when I cried until I almost threw up because you drunk texted my best friend? Maybe it was that time you told me that you’d never, ever hurt me. Or when friend after friend begged me to leave you behind. It was probably somewhere between all of those nights where I felt like I had to see you in order to be okay.

I know I’ve fallen for you. I still don’t know how. Even after you spent the night in her room the day after you came to me. After I looked you in the damn eyes and I told you that you hurt me. And you swore, you swore, you swore you’d never do it again. You never made it up to me but it was fine because you still wanted me around. After I kissed four other boys and none of them felt half as electrifying or passionate as you. After I woke up next to someone else and I almost had a panic attack. After I got used to your scent and I smelled it on my sheets and I told you I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay, I wanted to stay with you. Somewhere after you left me crying in my bed wishing she didn’t exist. After I got a 70 percent on my exam because I couldn’t sleep or eat because of you. After I forgot anything else in my life mattered except for you. After all of it. I fell for you.

—  I fell.

Owl City Polaroid- Signed

I am going to fly nowhere, I have nowhere to go,
I complained to you as I thought about coming back -

back to my parents’ house, where I sleep in a room
I haven’t cleaned in months.
back to a hotel room where I live out of a suitcase and sleep
under clean sheets every night.
I can see them turn over the mattress
in my mind.

I have nowhere to settle down,
to eat cereal with my left hand
and paint with my right -
and I am tired, I am tired, I am tired.

Tired of being a guest -
waking up with my clothes strewn across the room,
of having my mess brush shoulders with somebody else’s.
Tired of breaking things that aren’t mine,
of deferring to someone else’s mother
with my tail between my legs.

And so the search begins!
Somewhere to call my own:
endlessly asking questions.
All I want is a bed and a functional shower.
All I want is this.
All I want is a wardrobe and a place to put my paint.

All I want is this.

And then you remind me,
because I have so clearly forgotten:
‘You have me to go to.’

All I want is this.

—  travel sickness ishani jasmin