only black in the room

2

all your world’s a stage

dance with me ‘til all the stars begin to fall,
dance with me ‘til there’s nothing left of you at all, 
all the stars come down tonight.

a mix for the red room girls | listen

So do people not understand that by justifying a Moana with darker skin, practically making her black, you’re erasing the Polynesian part of her?

And by making her heavy set you’re erasing the fact that Moana actually has broad shoulders and is pretty muscular?

Basically the same thing people complain about with white washing and making a character skinny?

Hypocrisy.

- Mod Roadhog

(PS: not calling out any artists, but rather the people saying that the ones doing this on purpose aren’t any big deal.)

quick leorai doodle before bed 

How Hosts talk to their Scarabs

Blue Beetle: responds to the scarab out loud but usually in a hushed voice so he doesn’t draw attention. for some reason he can’t get the hang of speaking to Khaji-Da with his “mental voice”. periodically has outbursts whenever Khaji-Da says something really outrageous and he forgets to keep his voice down, which is usually followed by his hurried and embarrassed escape from the room.

Black Beetle: only keeps his conversations with his scarab a secret for whatever he deems to be too important for a random passerby to overhear. otherwise he responds out loud to the scarab and doesn’t bother keeping his voice down. are there people who get confused by this? yes. does he care about that? nope. he’s the Head of Security for the Reach and he does what he wants, and he doesn’t have time to explain why he’s talking to himself. deal with it.

Green Beetle: no one has ever seen or heard him talking to his scarab. most people figure it’s because he’s from Mars, and Martians use their telepathy to talk. so B’arzz responds to his scarab in the way that feels most natural to him. the only instances where it seems like B’arzz might be speaking to his scarab is when he’s been observed standing silently and looking blankly ahead. then again, some people aren’t sure if this is the case, because from what they’ve seen, Martians are just pretty strange in general.

Scarlet Scarab: everyone will know whenever Scarlet and his scarab are speaking to each other. he has absolutely no shame, and will loudly carry on a conversation (usually about harvesting organs as trophies). he sometimes raises his voice to be louder than necessary just for the sake of annoying the people around him. he’s found that this is a good way to get people to leave whenever he wants a room to himself.

15 Days of Valentines ♡ | a Jon/Sansa meme
↳ 2/15: Sharing a bed

“You’d think she’d have bought some furniture by now.”

There’s a hint of a smile dancing along Sansa’s face, hitching one sharp brow up in disbelief, “Arya?” She scoffs, pulls the thin duvet tighter around her shoulders, fingers curled beneath the softness, “Have you not met my sister? We’ll be old and grey by the time she’s decorated.”

Jon only stares off into the pitch black room from his place beside her, all gloomy and intense even in the midnight hour.

They’d been helping Arya move into her new apartment all day, and - after some much needed food from McDonald’s and booze from her kitchen cupboard - instead of travelling back home in the middle of the night with a little too much wine on the brain, the younger Stark girl had suggested they crash over.

Keep reading

Heart: Part One

Authors Note: This is a continuation of the squadre.


Abraxi knew she was asleep on Kalani when she opened her eyes to see the familar black throne room. It was strange, only remembering this place when she was asleep, remembering Bryne. But she started to enjoy her verbal sparing with him..and she like the attention.

She could see herself in the familar black glass floor. Her hair was loose around herself, a thin wired diadem with black crystals rested on her head but she also wore a thin strapped black crop top that had a single strap of fabric that lead up past her breast and wrapped around her throat, much like a tie and a pair of strange denim-like matterial pants. They were ripped at the knees but hugged her waist. She liked this outfit, even if it was unusal.

He tilted his head, amusement filled his eyes. He purred, “I rather like you in this.”

She arched a brow, “It would seem that you like me in just about anything, Bryne.”

His mouth slid into a smile, “Very true, my lady.”

She crossed her arms and smiled, “What are we doing this time? More dancing?” it was a game. He moved and she responded. She moved and he responed.

His rolled his eyes and smirked, “I was thinking chess.”

She smiled further, she was very good at the game, “What do I get if I win?”

He leaned against the throne, his hands in his pockets, “What do you want?”

She thought on it and said, “I want to see your other form.”

“I think that could be arranged. But what do I get if I win?”

She rolled her eyes, “What do you want?”

“To use your name as you use mine.”

A challenge. That was what this was, “I accept.”

A table and set of chairs of clear glass materiallized. She sat down across from him. His mouth was set in a small smile. He motioned, “Ladies first.”

She snorted moving her piece forward, “Are you ever going to tell me about yourself?”

He studied her move before moving a piece, “What is there to know? My parents were killed by fire and I was raised an orphan.”

She slid her next piece, “That sounds awful, Bryne. I can’t imagine what it must be like, losing your parents so young.”

Shadows past over his mismatched eyes, “I never knew them.” ire flashed in his eyes as he tried shrugging it off but failed as he moved his piece forward, “Tell me more about yourself.”

She narrowed her brows in thought. Imagining which piece to move. He was very skilled at chess. She said, “You seem to already know everything about me. What do you want to know?”

He slowly smiled, “What are you doing? In your waking life?”

She chose her words with care, “I’m traveling with friends.”

“Anywhere exciting?”

She moved her piece, “Check. We are to meet a friend whom I havent seen in ages.”

He moved his piece, “Check. It would seem that I have you cornered, my lady.”

She looked again. How…She blinked, “You beat me.” She felt herself starting to stirr. She was waking. She looked up at him.

He smiled sadly, “Until next time..Abraxi.”

She woke up.

———–

It had been four days since they left Terresen. Sam knew they were ahead of schedule when he saw the stone castle of Briarcliff. Even in the moonlight he saw the shock of red hair cascading in the wind. He leaned into Ciel, “It would seem Lissa knew we would arrive early.”

Ciel snorted, “The princess monitors the sky very closely. Her spies must have saw Abraxos.”

Abraxos dove down closer to the castle, landing in the courtyard. Servants came up to Abraxos, already familiar with the wyvern. Climbing down, Sam smiled at Lissa who signed, thanks for the invitation to your wedding you bastard.

He winced, signing back, sorry.

She gave him a wicked grin and hugged him.

Ceil climbed off of Abraxos, looking at Lissa he said, knowing Lissa read lips,  “hello gorgeous.”

She snorted, Do not state the obvious. Come.

She led them down through the stone walls to the throne room where Queens Ansel and Enya were waiting. A smirk on her face, Ansel said, “I save the world with your parents and we don’t get an invitation to the wedding of the decade. How typical.”

Lissa rolled her eyes and signed, Mother. Stop being so dramatic.

Enya swatted Ansel’s arm,  “Come now, Love. I’m sure the princes’ have a very good reason for not inviting us.”

Sam lost any amusment he had. There was a very good reason. He said and signed, “War.”

Lissa’s green eyes hardened, Tell me.

So he did. He told the women of the growing darkness from the three points and how they were all connected somehow. It was a darkness that the world hadnt seen in nearly twenty-five years.

Enya’s eyes flickered to the war room, she said and signed, “The Wastes are a part of our land.”

Ciel nodded, his hands motioned, “Yes. We came here to get permission to enter the wastes through it.”

Ansel smirked, “It wouldn’t be very neighborly if I said no, now would it?”

With that as a yes, Ciel said, “After a nights rest, we’ll head out at dawn.”

Lissa signed angrily, Yes, and I will join you.

Mrs Hudson Is Never Wrong. Sherlock x Watson!Reader

Summary: You, Johns sister, are moving into 221B Baker Street. When you arrive, Sherlock finds you a little puzzling and doesn’t like it one bit.
Warnings: mild swearing, fluff————————


“Sherlock!” John screamed as he came hurtling into the living room of 221B Baker Street after hearing multiple crashes and a gun shot. The doctors eyes skimmed the room, trying to assess the damage that had been done by his roommate; The table that usually held his laptop, notes and all of their case files was thrown onto its side. As for the chairs that hadn’t been so lucky: Johns chair was tossed at an awkward angle against the fireplace, it’s cushions discarded in numerous places around the room. The lovely black sofa that lined the wall had tears down one side, it’s yellowed stuffing coming out of the gaps. The only part of the living room that was unchanged was the black chair that faced onto the kitchen. In it sat the infamous Sherlock Holmes, wearing his usual blue pyjamas and robe, and a gun in his hand pointed at the opposite wall. He seemed to completely unaware of the chaos that was around him, the chaos caused.
“What the fuck are you doing, Sherlock?”

“BORED,” was his only response before he fired another two rounds into the wall.

“SHERLOCK!” John exclaimed. Already worried about the events that were to occur today, he quickly began to right the furniture and deal with the mess. “I can’t believe you. I tell you that my sister is coming today, the first day that she will be living her and what do you do? You go and blow thirty rounds into the wall!”
“When did you say your sister was coming?” Sherlock asked, ignoring the fact that John was tidying up and obviously in need of help.

“Oh for fu-” John sighed, pushing the table back into its original place. “I told you about twenty times today alone Sherlock. What do you think I was moving in a bed and furniture and boxes into the spare room on Friday? For fun?”

"You… You moved furniture in? Huh. I didn’t even notice.” John only muttered his reply, something along the lines of ‘of course you bloody didn’t’. John dealt with the devastation in front of him for about thirty minutes in silence, at which he had only just stared to deal with the mountain of paper and folders that was on the floor. Still not moving from his chair, Sherlock piped up again, “I didn’t think you liked your sister? Isn’t she an alcoholic? Why on earth would you want her to move in? You hate her.” John sighed.

"One, I don’t hate her. I just don’t agree with her choice of… Lifestyle. Two, she’s a recovering alcoholic. And Three. I have more than one sister. Which yet again I told you but as usual you were not listening.” He huffed, “My parents had three children. Harriet, Me, and Y/N. When I found out that she got a job at Scotland Yard, I said that she should move in with us until she gets on her feet here. I was being nice cos she’s my little sister and I wanna make sure she’s okay.” “I’m Mycrofts little brother and somehow I doubt that he will invite me to live with him,” Sherlock replied. “That’s because you two don’t exactly act like brothers. You act more like you two hate each other,” John scoffed, placing the last of the papers onto the table, scanning the room to see if Sherlock had caused any other devastations that John had failed to miss. Thankfully he hadn’t. “Me and Y/N were quite close actually. As kids, we were always the two doing things together. I was always there to beat up the bully’s and she was always there to convince the girls that I was a catch; me and her were the perfect team.” A smile crept across the doctors fine lips as he remembered all the times you had shared together. One memory came across the strongest.

(FLASH BACK)
"Y/n! John! Get down here now!” Your mother called, knowing that it was your fault, much like it always was. You and John had to try and suppress the laughter as you entered the kitchen where your fuming mother stood next to your eldest sister, who seemed to have misplaced half of her hair and added pink, sparkly hair dye to the other. It looked good with the goth faze she was in. “What have you done to Harry’s hair!?” “What mum,” you smiled innocently. “All the serious goths are shaving and dying their hair these days. It’s the thing.” “Yeah mum, she’ll be the coolest of all the freaks,” you and John could no longer contain your laughter. Your sisters hair and mothers scarlet face was all to much. “Both of you are grounded! Upstairs! Now,” you mum screamed. You and your brother ran back upstairs in fits of giggles only just hearing your mother taking to your sister saying, “Don’t worry Hun. If need be we can dye it black.” This was followed by a groan from your sister.

John was brought out of his memory by Mrs Hudson entering the room, bring with her a tray of her homemade biscuits and a large pot of tea. She placed it on the small coffee table and sat on the somewhat damaged sofa, not even bothering to pour herself a cup. John moved in for a biscuit before he was swatted away by his landlady.

"John Watson, don’t you dare touch those,” she squeaked. “They are for your sister when she gets here. Won’t be long, so you can wait.”

"Wait you knew too! How come everyone knew that Johns sister who isn’t the drunk one was coming apart from me?!” Sherlock exclaimed.

"Oh Sherlock,” Mrs Hudson groaned, putting her head in her hands. “You weren’t listening again were you,” she asked. “I told you the other day, after I met her. Obviously I knew Sherlock, it’s my house. Oh she is a lovely girl, truly lovely. Very kind, helpful oh and also very pretty, Sherlock.”

"Why is that important?”

"Yeah,” John said, “why is that important? He’s not going to date my sister.”

"I’m not saying he will,” she protested. “But, if any girl is going to take this mans heart it’s likely to be your sister. She is very like you, John, and obviously that seems to be what Sherlock wants.”

"We’re… I’m not ga-” John was cut off by a small voice from the door that caused all the eyes in the room to dart toward it.

"John? Is there something you need to tell me?” You giggled, hearing your brothers sudden declaration. “I always did think you’d turn out more like Harry than me. Just didn’t expect it to be in that sense.” John only rolled his eyes at you as he pulled you into a giant hug, smiling that you had finally turned up.

"Y/n! Glad you here,” he grinned. “Take it you got the keys I posted to you then?”

"No, I climbed in through the window of this three story building John. Yes I got the key.”

“Right, stupid question,” he joked. Before he could ask you anymore questions, Mrs Hudson had pulled you into another big hug, obviously as happy as John was that you had turned up.

"Oh it’s so good to see you, Y/n!”

"You too, Mrs Hudson.”

” Have you met Sherlock yet love?”

“No, she hasn’t.” Sherlock replied for you, making his way over to you. His eyes wandered up and down you, not in a perverted way just in a way as if he was trying to work you out. Every detail of you was captured in his blue hues and yet for some reason, Sherlock couldn’t read you. He tried, and tried, and tried but for some reason all he saw was a girl, wearing a dark dress that swayed above the knees and a smile knitted cardigan. Nothing else. Just a person. No deep secrets, or tells of your journey. Just you. Realising he had been standing in front of you for quite sometime, he extended his hand to you, “Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes.” You took his hand, giving it a light shake before pulling away.

"Y/n, Y/n Watson.” You replied, mimicking the monotone voice that he had addressed you in. Both of you just looked at each other, waiting for the other to say something, do something. This lasted until your bother coughed and ushered you onto the sofa. Sherlock and Mrs Hudson followed suit, Sherlock sitting back in his chair, Mrs Hudson joining you on the coach. John stood and poured you all a cup of tea, handing them round. Mrs Hudson, quite proudly, offered you one of her home made biscuits which you took gladly. After taking a bite you complimented her on her baking skills, to which she smiled greatly at, even blushing a little. For the next few hours you all chatted, about anything and everything you could. Well all of you except for Sherlock who just sat back, watching you and everything you did. Sherlock never had a problem reading people, but for some reason the more he tried to deduce you the more questions he was met with,

<i>What does she do? Is she with someone? Why is she really here? Confident? Who is she?</i>

"Do you want another tea,” Johns voice drew Sherlock from his place of questioning.

"No thank you,” you replied, gathering your belongings. “I’m rather tired,”

<i>is she? She looks well rested to me. Actually she looks rather… Pretty… to me</i>Sherlock thought.

"I’m gonna head to bed,” you hugged Mrs Hudson, thanking her for the biscuits and the room, gave a big hug to John along with a small peck on the cheek and turned to Sherlock. “Night, Sherlock.” And with that you were gone, the only remains of you was the small pitter patter of your feet climbing the stairs to your new room. Mrs Hudson left not long after, leaving Sherlock and John alone.

"Thank you,” John smiled as he cleared away to cups from the evening.
"For what?” Sherlock replied, walking toward where the doctor stood cleaning mugs.

"I didn’t do anything.”

"Exactly,” John laughed. "You didn’t do anything. You didn’t do your usual of deducing and pissing off my sister.”

"I would of if I could.”

"What?”

"N-nothing. Forget I said anything.”

"You can’t read my sister can you?” Sherlock didn’t even bother replying just stomped off into his room, slamming the door behind him. A smile grazed Johns lips as he too headed to bed, mumbling to himshelf, ‘maybe Mrs Hudson was right.’

Stressed & Can’t Sleep

You laid on your back and wandered your eyes around the almost pitch black room. The only light there was, was the moon peaking through a tiny gap in the blind. This week was one of the most stressful weeks ever for you, you had so much revising to do and exams to take. All you wanted to do was unwind and relax with Justin, but there was no time with his busy schedule going on too.

Checking your phone, you realised it was almost 2am. Taking a breath, you tried to calm yourself and get to sleep in order to ace this exam tomorrow, nothing would put you to sleep though. You had already tried about 20 different sleeping positions, you had listened to the ocean on some sleeping app, and had even tried counting to a thousand. Not even that would work.

After tossing and turning for a few hours straight, you heard Justin groaning and watched as he turned to his side and faced you, eyes still shut.

“Baby stop moving” He whined with his morning-like raspy voice

“I can’t” You sighed adjusting yourself on to your side so that you were now facing Justin. You took a few minutes to admire how adorable his sleeping face was.

“Why not? How long have you been awake?” He groaned as he opened his eyes. You could hardly make out his face because of how dark it was.

“I don’t know… Since we got here…I’m nervous I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow” You admitted quietly before rubbing your eyes

Justin puled you closer to him, letting you bury your face into his chest and rest an arm around his waist. You found it somewhat soothing to listen to the sound of his heartbeat along with his soft breathing.

“Try get some sleep okay?” Justin mumbled as he rubbed his hand up and down your arm

“I can’t it’s-“

“Shh baby” He hummed against my forehead before kissing it. “Just close your eyes and stop thinking so much”

“Ugh it’s harder than you think, but okay” You groaned, praying that his method would work. “I love you”

“I love you too baby, now shut up and try to sleep”

as a black person who does something that’s a mostly white sport (ballet), i really feel all nursey is not really chill because of his experiences as a black man in a white industry headcanons in my soul.

dude the things you don’t say when you’re the only black person in a room. looking around and realizing you’re the only black person in a room. it’s like so shocking and weird, especially if you’re coming for a house filled with poc, like i imagine nursey is.

idk where i was going with this but derek nurse is angry. he’s mad he spent so much time trying to assimilate when he was younger, he’s mad his grandma got his little sister bleaching soap for her 12th birthday, he’s mad he has “"good hair”“ and people think it’s okay to tell him that he’s ”“not like the rest of them.”“ he’s mad about the things their opponents grit out that he can never report, he’s mad about the looks him and ransom have to share across the table sometimes. he’s mad about people saying “i didn’t even know black people could play hockey!” he’s mad that he’s been in love in with poetry since he was eight but poets who look like him are taught as electives instead of core classes like they aren’t all that got him through high school. he’s just . mad . he’s angry and 90% of the time he wants to scream his fucking head off but he already fought back once. when he was at andover.

“they’re all the same, you know.” an administrator says under her breath after they pull derek off. his knuckles are throbbing and the words set like concrete.

when he was punching, he felt like he would never stop. like he would keep going and going until the entire world apologized for how fast he had to grow up just to survive. (his mothers look at him like he is so lucky to be alive. they look like the pictures of mary before jesus was crucified, to derek. he realizes this version of the story will end with him on a cross.)

at least, he thinks, when he is laying in leaves and reading poetry, his hands are his own sometimes. at least, he thinks, watching dex peel off his Samwell Republican sticker, there are moments when the anger leaves.

ripredssassierthanyou  asked:

I agree with most of what you said in your review about the room, and it actually helped me understand the episode more so thanks! But I was wondering, why would only black show up in the background of Stevens selfie? I know roses room is different than any other room, but I've always assumed some part of it was physically real. If her room can't show up on a phone, can anyone else's room show up? What does this imply about roses room, and what does this imply about the rest of the temple?

Best I can figure, it’s either a quirk of the phone interacting with the specific tech of the room, or it was just symbolic of Steven remembering that Rose wasn’t actually there.

jacksepticide  asked:

if anti had a channel tbh it would be a vlog channel and he'd probably be reading emo poetry in his room. the room is black, only candles are lit. fallout boy plays in the background

That’s a really cool concept! But the way I see Anti, he would be more of a prankster rather than an emo lonely kid in his dark room. We all know Jack is really energetic and hyper and Anti, even being his dark/opposite alter ego, is just as hyper as well. I like to think of him as a bad boy prankster type of demon (?) Who loves to pick on Jack and annoy the shit out of him (while also trying to take over his body) XD I like the idea of him listening to FOB and MCR and P!ATD though XD it shows Anti has a good taste in music ;) (although I imagine Anti likes to hear heavy metal and death metal, and that’s why jack likes that kind of music too ;p )

Originally posted by marielgum

liuhart  asked:

fingers run through a sea of darkness ebony, smoothness of feathers slowly caressed by the calloused pads of his palms. ❛ fera is your name, right? it's a beautiful mount. black chocobos are said to be of the rarest kind. how did you find her? ❜

HARVESTER OF SOULS ( ᶜᵒʳ ˡᵉᵒᶰᶤˢ ) | @liuhart

A SMILE REFLECTING HIS, hands flatter the neck of the beast in a carefull brush. A moment they share, away from the overwhelming chant of the masses ( suspended out of time ). Oh, what a long story he could share about this uncommon friendship, a link some would deem peculiar with a creature of the wilderness. Yet, he does not hide his affection for the animal, a stead that seems to follow him like a loyal shadow. —— It is quite a story, in all fairness. “

TRUST FINDING ITS WAY TO THE HEART OF FERRAL SPIRITS, the bird rests her head upon the palm of his hands, cooing softly as ember eyes catch a glimpse of the God’s silhouette - chiselled from the darkness, he stands like an alabaster statue upon its temple. —— Our paths crossed during a childhood travel. I took pity upon this orphan nature has made her. Since then, we never parted, and she proved herself to be quite worthy of the attention and energy I devoted to her dressage. She’s quite the trickster, you see… “ His laugh, faint and ephemeral, fades as ruffles of feathers draws his attention, a purrish melody announcing the kind mischief of an innocent being. And so, in the blink of an eye, it happens : to late to be stopped, her raven beak catches a fold of the King’s Shield’s coat, tugging with all her might on the fabric.

CATCHING THE LEATHER OF HER REINS, the beast abandons all hopes of winning againts its master, curious eyes looking at him as to ask why he would condemn so suddenly her deed. —— See, just as I said ! Pardon her. She still needs to learn some proper manners. “ Golden hues shining under the light of a childish amusement, his gaze falls once more upon the portrait of his devotion. —— I think she might like you. Or perphaps is it only the coat ? “

So,i watched INTERSTELLAR…

And i recommend it to everyone,i’m even going to watch it several times. It was really good and it blew my mind. i didn’t notice how several hours passed while watching and now my mind is blowing up.

Staying seven days inside his room eventually forced JD out of his room - he had locked everyone outside and ignored anyone’s claims to bring him out. But after a whole week (though technically two), he needed to at least do his laundry and clean the damn room. Right there and then he was sitting in the floor of the laundry room wearing only a black compression shirt and jeans, a lit cigarette between his fingers - and while the power inhibitor collar was terrible for his health and made him feel like shit, he needed to wash every single piece of clothing he owned. As someone walked around the corner he grimaced. “Don’t mind me.”