struck was considered

Mixing Fire and Water: A Meta on Lance and Quintessence

“The Lions choose their pilots. It is a mystical bond and cannot be forced. The quintessence of the pilot is mirrored in his lion.” (Princess Allura, S01E01)

I’ve just been thinking back on VLD’s quintessence lore, and I just realized something regarding Lance’s switch from being the Blue Paladin to Red. We all know that the lions’ quintessences mirror their paladins’, and the Blue Lion is the guardian spirit of water (ice) and the Red Lion is of fire. Separately, the lions and their paladins represent finding a balance in the elements (especially given that they both form one side (right), in comparison to the combination of the forest and earth/land on the other), one that could allow Voltron to be formed. Represented individually, the elements can stand out on their own strengths and weaknesses and yet also be complemented by the other.

But what does it mean when the lion switch might imply that you have the quintessences of fire and water mixing in one person? (more under the cut)

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Forgot one headcanon before so, separately:

Headcanon that Peter manages to drag all of his mismatched little family to go stargazing with him. It’s nothing special, and most of them don’t get it - Rocket points out that they live in space, they can see stars wherever they look, so why go planetside and lie on the ground in the middle of the night just to do it?

But it seems important to Peter, and Kraglin mentions that lil’ Quill used to stargaze a lot when he was still a child and it’s really ain’t nothing new, ye know, Rocket, and they all really can’t deny Peter anyway when he is being all hopeful and excited about his weird Terran rituals, so they follow, even though confused, with Peter and Mantis and Groot basically racing ahead of them in their excitement.

It’s only when they are already lying under the stars, faint music playing from the Zune and the stars and moons and nebulas stretching over the nightsky above them, that Peter confesses in a whisper to Gamora that his Mum used to take him stargazing a lot, telling him about how they would go space together some time in the future when his Daddy would come pick them up and…

“… She never could see it, you know,” Peter finishes his story, gaze distant and not really fixed on the stars anymore while Gamora rather watches him than what lies above. “She never… could be with the stars. But when I look up there, I like to imagine that she can be here with me and see this and enjoy it, too.”

Gamora pauses for a long moment, trying to imagine what she could say to that, and finally, she links their fingers together and squeezes slightly. “Peter? I think she’s always with you.”

Peter’s watery smile is wider and more brilliant than any sun or star above them, and perhaps she really had managed to find the right words this time.

A quiet sniffle interrupts their conversation.

“Mantis? You okay over there?”

“I’m sorry,” another sniffle and a hiccup. “I’m only… your story was so beautiful but sad, Peter, and…”   

“Now ye made Mantis cry, Pete,” Kraglin’s voice is full of teasing smile, and Rocket joins in all too happily, “Yeah, way to fucking go, Star Munch.”

“Come on, you guys, I really didn’t mean to…”

“That is rather rude, Quill.”

A groan comes from Peter, and Gamora laughs at him as he says, “Not you, too, Drax.”

“I am Groot.”

“Even Groot?! Come on!”

In a matter of moments, the quiet evening goes over into a night full of bickering and laughter and friendly squabbles, sad memories forgotten as they tease each other or make up star constellations, Kraglin whistling the arrow around to draw lines between the stars and Peter and Rocket competing to come up with the best names for them to make Mantis laugh with it again.

And Gamora smiles up at the stars, the voices of her family mixing with the music still playing and the whistling, and thinks that, yes, she could get used to this whole stargazing-event.

When Bokuto falls quiet, Keiji listens.

It’s not to say he doesn’t listen any other time, when Bokuto is chattering on and on about volleyball practice, about getting a snack from the konbini after volleyball practice, about the new ghost story Komi told in the changeroom before volleyball practice. Bokuto has next to no filter between his brain and his mouth, but it’s nice, in a way, once you get used to it. Like having the radio on in the background when you do your homework. You just notice it more when it’s gone.

Bokuto is a loud person. Even his silences are loud. 

So Keiji sits with him, quiet in his own patient way, close enough for his friend to know that he’s there for him. Close enough to touch, an anchoring presence, if he needed it. 

When Bokuto is quiet, Keiji stays.

6

If it weren’t for the fact that only one of us could become Miss Korea, do you think we could have been friends? If not for the same year, 1997… if we had competed in different years, would we still be at each other’s throat like this?

Favorite Female Driven Drama: Miss Korea

anonymous asked:

Sorry if it may seem a bit random, but I was wondering if the nature of magic in SH world was mentioned anywhere. What exactly makes a warlock more/less powerful? F.e. Magnus is the High Warlock, but is it inborn or you could train to become more powerful, like physically or mentally? After 2x01 re-watch the scene with Magnus handling magic balls suddenly struck me. I always considered it more of a concentration practice, but from some angles it actually looked more like a training, so I wonder.

I think it’s a combination of both; inherent power is inborn – Magnus’ father is a prince of hell and as a result he’s innately very powerful – but it feels like it requires work, too, to unlock that full potential.

I saw the 2x01 scene as him training and I like to think that he does it regularly, especially for combat magic if that makes sense. Warlocks are not supernaturally quick the way werewolves or vampires are, so Magnus’ reflexes when he’s fighting with his magic must be something he works on, not something with which he was born. I feel like another equally powerful warlock who chooses to focus on, say, healing but not bother with anything else might not really hold up as well in an actual fight even if they may innately share the same magical strength.

This is why I’ve never liked the idea of Magnus suddenly being useless without his magic; it feels like even without it, he can handle himself fine to a degree. Like, it’s not as if without his magic, he suddenly loses the ability to duck a blow, you know? I actually really loved the scene in 2x12 after he gets his body back because Magnus pouncing on Valentine was just perfect and very much how I’ve always envisioned him. I’d love to see more of that physicality involved in the future.

Anyway, Harry’s been clamoring for Magnus punching someone in the face for over a year now so they better give it to him and us in S3.

London’s Calling

1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6

Chapter Seven: Lonely

Word Count: 2640

☏ ☏ ☏ ☏

Riley Matthews may be considered a chump to many but she’s clever when it comes to hiding her feelings from her loved ones. In the months that have passed since Riley’s first day of school she has been living two lives. One, the version of reality she shares with her parents each evening when she returns from school, similar stories told to her friends back in New York and two, the truth. 

Riley’s first day of school; the story told to her parents.

Nerve wracking of course, new school, new people but overall she’s positive about it. The people are nice and welcoming, her teachers are helpful and the whole experience was one she rambled on and on about. The brunette spins a similar story to Lucas when he calls her that evening. 

Riley wasn’t exactly sure why she lied to them. Part of her felt embarrassed about the truth. Without seeming conceded, Riley partially thought that she’d be big news at the school, being a new student and American but things didn’t exactly go as she imagined. 

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anonymous asked:

Why do people call m/f pairings straight pairings? It always struck me as odd, considering an m/f pairing between two bisexual characters for example could be a "straight" pairing with no straight characters

That’s really true and I’ve never thought of that! Ah, heteronormativity strikes again.. It could be because a m/f relationship is what is traditionally called a ‘straight relationship in the same way any m/m relationship is often referred to as a gay relationship or a f/f one as a lesbian relationship even though the characters could be bisexual.

purplespacefairy  asked:

I don't buy into most of the "X is Y's ancestor" theories, but the idea of Asougi being Athena's ancestor struck me and I consider it too hilarious not to at least consider, especially in time travel situations where she inevitably starts a competition of some kind with her own ancestor and Asougi's sense of pride won't let him say no. Also "Ryuunosuke's descendant is Asougi's descendant's mentor" is really weird. (also super-sad caveat that Metis' katana that's used to kill her would be Karuma)

(Reminds me a lot of the fanfic I wrote where they do interact and Athena and Asougi do dumb shit and I should probably post it online one day ahhhh)

3

The Signs as Gotham Girls (pt.2 of 4)

Taurus - Catwoman (Selina Kyle)

Her parents gone early, Selina led a life as a street kid. Pick-pocketing became her primal occupation for she had to survive. Street-smart, athletic, quick and cunning she grew up around cats who provided constant fellow comradeship as outcasts on the streets. Selina knew what she was capable of and used her skills to specialize in rich men’s belongings. Her alias was now Catwoman: By day a charming expertise in posing as different personalities to get access to high-class events, charity auctions or transports of importance; by night a masked, agile but foremost stealthy and sharp-minded burglar with a preference for jewels or cat-shaped articles of value. Catwoman spares no effort to stick to the plan. She’s persistent in keeping her achievements (or her loot) and is hard to provoke. But when she witnesses animal abuse in any shape or form, her anger will be considerable. But despite being practically oriented, Catwoman knows how to enjoy herself. She appreciates life, art, good food or beauty and thus doesn’t only have to act as a woman of the world. Still, bondings will just be struck up after carefully considering the opponent. Even towards her love interest Batman, she lets in her affection for him only cautiously, hesitantly and bit by bit.

Virgo - Poison Ivy (Pamela Isley)

Dr. Pamela Isley actually never used her attractive appearance to get what she wanted. But when intrigued by her professor while studying to become a scientist of botany and toxicology, he used her as a test-subject for some rather unnatural experiments. From then on, Pamela carried away not only an aversion for men but also an immunity to all poisons, the ability to seduce people into carrying out her demands and a direct connection to all plants which she was now able to manipulate. She became Poison Ivy - nothing would stop her from doing everything she can for the sake of mother nature’s welfare. She is conscious of the end of all things and dedicates her powers and abilities for the - in her eyes - rightful greater good. Ivy sees the things the way they are and operates well-planned. She doesn’t like major changes and can be touchy over criticism. The one thing she is impressed by though is people not hiding something through play-acting, which is the reason for Ivy’s friendship with Harley Quinn. The ones showing genuine authenticity have it easier to gain her appreciation and trust. Ivy respects Harley’s purity of character and provides true reliability to her.

Capricorn - Batgirl/Oracle (Barbara Gordon)

Barbara early figured that her father, Gotham’s Police commissioner, is a trusted partner to her idol Batman whom Babs was obsessed with from an early age. Pursuing her dream to become a crimefighter herself, Barbara studied and trained hard to later become Batman’s ally alongside whom she fought as impetuous Batgirl for quite some time. Everything changed during a crucial encounter with the Joker who shot her in the stomach. Barbara - from then on wheelchair-bound - eventually recovered from the calamity and developed a strong will to survive. She became Oracle: Expertise in computer hacking and incomparable knowledge of data from all around the world let Barbara now operate as Batman’s ally from the clocktower of Gotham via headset. Babs seldom changes her mind when she’s sure about something. She’s very hard to get down and doesn’t spare efforts in order to do what has to be done. She deeply cares about the ones close to her, advises them to stay focused and rational and always recognizes the gravity of a situation without being a spoil-sport. Barbara’s essentiality since her crippling fascinates not only Robin with whom she shares a subtle bond.

haaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted  asked:

So I was wondering what is the absolute lower limit before a Chapter is considered struck from the roster for too few members to carry on the fight? And if they are struck from the rosters, is there any way they could come back from that, and get more members?

It’s debatable in the lore. I’ve read that even as many as two hundred Space Marines runs the risk of a Chapter going extinct, I’ve also read that the Scythes of the Emperor were recovered from just a single surviving brother (that lore’s now defunct). Technically with gene-seed tithes stored on Terra it’d be possible to resurrect a completely extinct Chapter, but I don’t think that’s ever been done before. 

10

I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events…

Solas, please. I brought him to the Winter Palace during my first playthrough and he said that and I just took a moment and went, “Oh um well uh hello to you too sir um why am I romancing Cullen again hooo boy is it hot in here?”

My first time through I hated Solas’s awful hat that clipped through his face, so I never took pictures. Now I have this mod so I had no fears. This was also my first time attempting to record fighting footage. I might try that more, but I’m more interested in dialogue, personally. Random, but did anyone else notice that Solas barely emotes at all during these cutscenes? It struck me as strange, considering how excited he sounds to be there.

Fun story, about half of these are at 30 fps because I have this terrible habit of killing programs instead of files within programs, so I made those gifs at their original frame rate by accident, but most of them still fit under 2 mb when I went to resize them, so I figured “fuck it.”

Solas Gifset Masterpost

•IMAGINE: Sam and Dean show up at your door, claiming to be the contractors that arrive late to look at the space you’re wanting to remodel in your newly bought house - the basement. But are they who they say they are? And why does the one in the leather jacket keep staring at you?• ~Dean x reader~

        "The Man with No Eyes" pt 1

You sigh at the floorboards beneath you, knowing that you still have a lot of work to do. The movement makes your hair fall out of your carefully-constructed messy bun. You curse inwardly. No matter how many times you try, you just can’t get your hair to look like the girls’ on Pinterest.

With another great sigh, you bend your knees and with great effort, try to lift your gargantuan industrial clock that you just found for a steal at a local garage sale. You’ve always envisioned it being the centerpiece of the room, mounted on the fireplace brick. You hastily put the clock back down before you hurt yourself, or worse - drop the clock and break it. You’d had it for less than 24 hours and what some would call a decorative monstrosity was already your favorite thing in the house.

You’d been searching for an old fixer-upper and after months and months of searching, there this beautiful old thing sat on your computer screen. The bank had just made it available for sale - and astoundingly it was under budget. Like, really under budget. You figured it was because the house must have needed a lot of TLC inside. You weren’t exactly wrong, but it wasn’t as bad as you’d expected. You brushed it off. This was your dream house, why look too far into it?

You decide to save the clock-mounting for when you had another brave, yet unfounded moment of strength. This was something that those contractors you called over a week ago could be doing - should be doing. With the money you saved on buying the place, you had some left over to hire people to do the hard stuff like mixing drywall and all that mess. These guys came highly recommended on Craigslist, but they hadn’t shown up when they said they would and had yet to return any of your irritated, yet eerily calm calls. You hated confrontation. Of course, now that you think about it, they were off of Craigslist… you kind of set the trap up for yourself on that one.

You plop down on your new couch and look around the room, assessing what was left to do. The curtains needed to be hung since the paint was finally dry. You needed to hook up the TV with all of your devices, the majority of your pictures needed to be hung and you still think you want to switch the furniture around a bit - now that you’ve gotten used to it, you don’t like that chair there. In addition to all of that, you hadn’t even started unpacking the dining room yet. Oh, and you can’t forget to hang that damn clock.

You’re startled out of your mental to-do list by a sudden knock at the door. You blanch. You weren’t expecting company! You’re in some sweatpants that make your butt look big and a probably too-tight ACDC shirt, now that you think about it. You probably needed to get another one, but it’d become your favorite and no one was supposed to be coming over today anyway! Hastily, you check your disheveled reflection in your new mirror by the door and decide that it’s not getting any better than that. You peep through the peep hole and spy two indistinct male forms. You feel nervous answering the door by yourself, but you do anyway after another insistent knock from one of them. You take a deep breath and barely squeak it open, just enough to poke your face through. The chain lock above your head is still secure.

You’re greeted by the sight of two surprisingly attractive guys that calmly smile at you. You suddenly wish you were wearing something more flattering - or that maybe you’d showered. Yeah, showers are good thing to have around hot guys.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

They take turns with their informal greetings and flash attractive half-smiles at you. Ugh, their voices were to die for too. Great. You would be looking like a disheveled college student who just rolled out of bed when potential soulmates knock on your door. This would happen to you.

Trying hard not to sound like a flustered idiot, you finally find words.

“Uh, hey,” you greet back unsurely. You look back and forth between them. God, they got hotter by the second. “Do I know you guys?” You’re pretty sure you wouldn’t have forgotten these two.

“Uh, no ma'am, you don’t,” the taller one answers, and you inwardly feel relief. “I’m Sam, and this is Dean.” He motions to the guy beside him, who’s eyes are making your palms sweat.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you respond automatically with a smile. The inner safety freak inside of you reprimands your actions. Why did you just tell two complete strangers standing at your doorway who you are? You push the fear down when you note how… not-aggressive they seem.

There’s a short silence, then Sam speaks up again. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” His eyes flash to Dean and back to you. “We’re here for, uh…”

“To, uh…” Dean tries to help him out. You narrow your eyes. You bet you know who these guys are.

“Are you the contractors that I called forever ago?” you ask, the irritation evident in your voice. The two exchange quick glances and suddenly start nodding.

“Yes, ma'am, yes we are,” Dean states, and for whatever reason you have trouble maintaining eye contact with him. You put your hand over your eyes as a visor, pretending it’s the sunlight glare that’s giving you the trouble.

“Just one second,” you laugh quickly and shut the door. You unslide the chain lock and open the door all the way, stepping out to the edge of the door frame.

You try to ignore the hot blood you feel rushing to your face. Now you’re strictly business. In your sweats. You cross your arms over your chest.

“Well, it would’ve been nice to have a call first, I’ve gotta say,” you glare lightly at them. “What took so long?”

Sam looks at Dean, expecting him to answer, but he’s silent. For a second you think Dean is staring at your boobs and you get really offended, but then he looks up to you with a heart-thumping grin.

“ACDC, huh?” He points at the insignia on your chest.

You look down at your shirt, surprised and embarrassed by the direction your thoughts had taken. “Oh, uh, yeah,” you smile lightly, taken off guard, amused. “I love 80s Rock.”

His facial expression morphs to some pleased, somewhat impressed look, and the satisfaction you feel makes the blood rush to your face even faster. You avoid his gaze and look back to Sam.

You clear your throat, a little awkwardly. “So, what are you guys doing here? I guess you assume that you still have my business after not returning my calls. Are you really that busy?”

Sam swallows uncomfortably. He looks to Dean for assistance again but Dean is silent, hands in pockets, just looking at you with the faintest, almost undetectable smirk on his face. You quickly look away from Dean again and focus on Sam. Sam doesn’t make you as nervous.

“We, uh, apologize for that,” Sam concedes, still trying not-so-subtly to catch Dean’s eye. He sighs, realizing he was on his own. “We had a bit of, uh, a meltdown with our servers back at the office and a lot of our information was just gone, on customers, everything.”

You looked down to his pocket then back up again pointedly. “I guess this server crash magically spread to your phones, too?” Your gall surprises you, you’re normally not confrontational. But the frustration of trying to do a reno alone for over a week now seeps into your tone.

Sam is ready this time. “We were so distracted with it, Y/N, we apologize. We had to, uh, be at the office while it got fixed and, I mean, you know how those things go. But we’re here now. Right, Dean?”

Dean doesn’t even look at him, he’s still watching you. He grunts in agreement. Sam looks a little irritated.

“Well, were you guys planning on doing work today, or…?”

Dean finally speaks. “Well, first we’ve got to scout it out, see what you want done. Just… take a look around.” He peers over your shoulder into the house. You look over your shoulder too, then back at him, a little confused. You sigh, uncrossing your arms and resting your hands on your hips instead.

“Fine,” you concede. “Free consultation, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean smirks. “We’ll check out whatever you want.”

You crease your brows at him and suddenly your cheeks feel very red as his words unfurl in your head. You quickly turn and step back, opening the door wide for them. They both step in, their demeanor becoming somehow more serious, or would you call it cautious?

They exchange a look you don’t understand and Sam suddenly asks you, “Ma'am, what space were you interested in remodeling?”

Their demeanors take you a little off guard. “Uh, the basement,” you answer, your brows pulling together. “Do you want me to show you?”

“Lead the way,” Dean grins at you, and you turn away quickly to show them. You can almost feel his eyes. It isn’t an unpleasant feeling but it makes you unexplicably nervous.

You three walk through the living room that was almost complete, through the nonexistent dining room, then to the kitchen where your dad’s old tool belt rested on the counter. You’d managed to remove most of the countertop and a few of the old yellow backsplash tiles but nothing more.

“Have you been doing most of the demo yourself?” Dean asks from behind you. You don’t turn around.

“Unfortunately. I didn’t hear from you guys so I just got started.”

They’re uncomfortably silent. You turn a corner into a small hallway, and there’s the door with the large knob. You noticed the big lock on it when you moved in. It struck you as strange, considering none of the other doors in the house had it. You supposed maybe the original family kept some valuables down there? You tried not to let your imagination run away with you, considering that you had to sleep in this house.

You turn the knob and slowly pull the door open. The stale stench of mildew prickles at your nose. You reach into the dark and flick on the solemn bulb hanging over the old wooden stairs. The bottom of the staircase was dark. Whoever put the light switch for the rest of the space at the bottom was an idiot. You’d only gone down with the realtor. For some reason the thought of venturing into the dark bottom on your own made you uneasy and you generally avoided this part of the house. You turn to the contractors.

“There ya go,” you smile innocently. You stuff your hands in your sweatpants pockets to dry them. The basement made your insides go cold.

“Thanks,” Sam nods, going around you and down the stairs one by one. Dean follows, brushing past you. You catch a whiff of the leather from his jacket and a bit of… what was that, cologne?… as he went past. The scent makes your stomach turn in knots. You try to ignore it.

They reached the bottom of the squeaking staircase and Dean suddenly pulls a flashlight from his jacket pocket. They search until they find the light switch. You stay upstairs and watch them. Although the lights were on, the basement was still dark. Very dark. You didn’t like it. Maybe you’d ask them to add a few windows.

They walk around your unfinished basement, almost as if they’re searching for something instead of just observing. Dean coughs as dust rises from the old bookshelf he had been fingering through. You cross your arms again, but this time because you’re cold.

“Can I help you guys find something?” you ask. Maybe they were looking for old water lines or something. Not that you could help. You never came down here. But hopefully when they get this place fixed up you’ll want to.

“Uh, Y/N, let me ask you a question,” Sam called from the opposite side of the basement. His back was to you. Dean turned to look at him. “Do you ever really come down here?”

You laugh uneasily. “No, I don’t, not really. It’s a little… uncomfortable. I’m hoping after you guys do some work it’ll be more…” You search for words “…cheery.”

Sam suddenly turns, gives Dean another look that you really don’t understand, and then they both turn to you with smiles plastered on their faces. It was disarming.

“Well, Y/N, I think we’ve seen all that we’ve needed to see down here,” Dean tells you. “I’m, uh, gonna need to see the rest of the house.” He quickly answers your questioning look. “I need to look at some, um, electrical connections, stuff like that. For wiring.”

“Sure,” you answer, and for whatever reason the thought of Dean wandering around your unfinished house makes you uncomfortable. Your work so far is less than impressive.

“I’m gonna look around, Sammy. You stay down here and, uh, make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

Sam nods at Dean and flashes you a nervous smile. Dean walks up the staircase towards you, and suddenly your heart is pounding again. Damn. This is no way to feel around someone you’re going to possibly employ. You are the definition of professional, after all. You pride yourself on it. He’s standing in front of you, and you suddenly notice that cologne-like smell isn’t cologne at all. It’s too subtle. It’s just him. It makes your spine tingle and your stomach do somersaults.

“I’m just gonna take a look around,” he tells you again, and his rough voice is low. His eyes are on you and you can’t bring yourself to look away this time. You’re suddenly aware that your breathing is sporadic and you’re begging sweet God above that he doesn’t notice. You open your mouth to answer but it’s caught it your throat. You hastily shut your mouth and settle for a swift nod, again hiding your sweaty hands in your pockets. His lips lift in that half-smirk again and you swallow hard. He’s even more perfect up close. Perfectly chiseled jaw, the faintest hint of a stubble, full lips, bright green eyes that could see right into you. You find yourself wondering why he’s a contractor and not off modeling somewhere. Damn. Your face feels really hot again, this time it spreads down your neck and behind your ears. Suddenly your sweats seem too hot and you want to change.

Dean looks pointedly past you and then to you again, his eyebrows raised, and with painful embarrassment, you realize that you’re in his way. Shit.

“S-Sorry,” you stutter, finally able to look away from his face. You step aside.

He looks at the floor, smiling to himself, then back up to you. He maintains eye contact as he squeezes past you into the kitchen. His scent graces your nose once again and you suddenly feel light-headed. Dean watches you for a moment more with those smoldering green eyes, then smirks and turns to look around the rest of your home. You watch his figure disappear up your stairs.

Holy shit. You’re suddenly thanking Craigslist with every fiber of your being. The air feels so much easier to breathe now that Dean has left the room. Your heart continues to pound but your furious blush begins to subside. You replay his face over and over again in your head. You remember the stare he was giving you at the front door.

You’d never really had a lot of guy experience, just a little here and there. Serial dating wasn’t your thing, unlike some of your friends, so you didn’t have many prior experiences to pair this up with. You did know one thing, however: a simple look from Dean alone made you feel like your heart was about to pop out of your chest and run away. Desire pools deep inside of you as you imagine him closer. Maybe ripping apart your basement, shirtless. You could bring him down water, an excuse to watch him work, even if for just a moment. You swallow loudly, leaning back against the kitchen wall for support.

You grin to yourself. You must’ve done something really great in a past life to have these two in your house right now. What could go wrong?

anonymous asked:

Tied up Killian.....

Tied Up Killian

A light-hearted drabble with a twist.

“Are you sure this is your heart’s desire, Swan?” Killian asked, raising an eyebrow at her. He knew some women really appreciated a man in a suit and tie, but he’d never imagined his Swan was one of them.

“Oh, yeah,” Emma replied. Her smile was mischievous, and Killian found himself wondering (not for the first time, either) if she wasn’t up to something. “Definitely. I’ve been dying to see you this way. In fact…” She hopped off the bed and pulled a box out of the closet. “I hope you don’t mind, I bought some ties.”

Killian was a little taken aback, surprised she was this into seeing him dressed up that she’d already bought the neckties on her own. “Very well, Swan. Let’s see them.”

There were five of them, each with a different pattern, all nestled inside a classy gift box. Emma was grinning at him, that same mischievous twinkle in her eye that was making Killian increasingly sure she was up to something.

“Ah, they’re lovely, Swan, but you do realize I don’t own a suit to wear them with.” He scratched behind his ear. “I’ll remedy that shortly, of course, but I’m afraid it might put a damper on your plans for today…”

“I never said a suit,” she stated.

“Of course,” Killian replied. She was right. She’d never said the suit part. He’d just assumed it, since he thought that was how neckties were usually worn. Obviously, there was some other way they were worn in this modern world. “What, then, do people in this realm wear these with, if not a suit?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Whatever they want to, I guess.” Emma didn’t really sound like she cared much what other people wore their neckties with, which struck Killian as odd, considering this was apparently something she’d been imagining him wearing for her.

“Then what is it you’d like me to wear it w-”

“Nothing,” Emma said.

His eyebrows shot up. “Nothing?” Now she was speaking a language he knew by heart. “Well, Swan, why didn’t you say so sooner?” He began unbuttoning his shirt as he sent a saucy eyebrow wiggle her way.

She watched, appreciatively, as he stripped for her. When his clothes were all piled neatly on the chair beside him, he gestured to the box of ties. “Do you have a favorite that you’d like me to put on?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Emma said.

“Are you certain?” Again, she sounded awfully disinterested in the details for someone who was fulfilling a fantasy. “If you have any preference at all…”

“You’ll be wearing all of them by the time we’re through.”

Now Killian was certain of two things: She was definitely up to something… and this modern realm had some very strange ideas about fashionable menswear.

“But you can pick one to start with,” she added, nodding to the box beside her.

“Right…” He scratched behind his ear again, as he leaned over the box and pointed his hook at one with tasteful navy blue pinstripes. “That one, I suppose.”

Emma took the tie out of the box and undid the knot already in it for display, then stood. “Close your eyes.”

“As you wish,” he said gamely.

He expected to feel the silky fabric against his neck, but was surprised to feel it brush against his cheek as Emma tied it over his eyes like a blindfold. “Minx,” he said softly.

“Did you really think I had some kind of weird necktie fetish?” Emma laughed.

Killian grinned. “It did seem rather… odd.” He grew serious. “But unusual or not, Swan, you must know I would do anything within my power to bring you pleasure.”

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” she said seductively, running her hands down his arms and bringing his wrists together. It only took her a moment to bind them there with another one of the neckties. “Now I know a wily pirate like yourself could wiggle your way out of that without a problem… but you’re not going to, are you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love.” And he meant it, of course. If his Swan wanted him tied… tied he would remain until she deigned to free him. “You said I’d be wearing… all five of them?”

“Mm-hmm. I’d tell you how, but that would ruin the surprise.”

“I do love a surprise,” he said with a smirk. “Though I must admit I’m rather cur-” His words were cut off by the feel of silk on his tongue. He growled softly as she pulled the necktie tight and knotted it, gagging him rather effectively.

“You talk too much,” she whispered in his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

Whatever it was his Swan intended to do to him with the remaining two neckties, he was game for it. Hell, whatever she wanted to do to him for the rest of the night, nay, the rest of his life… he was game.

And what she did with them… and to him… Why, it blew his dirty pirate mind. But you, dear reader? Well, you’ll just have to use your imagination…

This isn't a joke

Youtuber: crabstickz

Words: 1,199

You wake up at the sound of your ear blazing alarm and instantly gain a rush of regret for the day ahead. This was one of Chris’s - your boyfriend- favourite holidays. April Fools.

You peel the sheets off your back rubbing your eyes and notice your nudity from last night’s romantic dinner with Chris. You and Chris we’re always known as the couple who’d bring a smile to everyone’s face when-ever you were together. You would always make an effort to make each other laugh but today, today was just an excuse of a holiday for people to send your fake texts or prank calls, endure awkward phone calls with family relatives who claim to be millionaires, not to mention Chris’s classic; the sugar and salt swap, which you always seem to fall for. It changes every year and starts to become a burden in your relationship with him. You wrap the remains of the sheets that you carelessly tossed onto the floor last night, and make your way out of your shared bedroom and down stairs.

“Chris?” You yell down the set of stairs.

“In the kitchen” Chris yelled half-heartedly. “I’m making breakfast”

You reach the bottom of the stairs when you feel a sudden impulse of pain at the pit of your stomach followed by a stale, sour taste at the back of your mouth. The side of your mouth starts to water and you could feel a hot fluid bubble up your throat as you stumble into the kitchen and back to the bathroom.

“ Are you alright?” Chris shouted from the other side of the closed door, knocking franticly.”

You couldn’t reply as you we’re throwing up last night’s dinner. Your hair sprawled down your cheeks and over your forehead as the never ended languid fluids forced its way down your throat. You wiped your sour mouth.  A cluster of sock struck you as you considered the possible reasons as to why you we’re this sick. You thought  ‘I must have eaten something bad at the restaurant last night.’ Or ‘I haven’t eaten anything this morning’. You stop and pause to get your grip onto the sink, having the distasteful sight of your mattered hair and slob of a face. The nausia was starting to ware off as your splashed your face with cold water.

“I can’t be…” you trail off “It’s not possible”. You reach into the nearest cabinet above your head and pull out a rectangular box that was given to you as a gift from your mother; A pregnancy test.  Your hands were trembling as you quickly read the instructions and start the procedure. You waited and waited as you held the stick in your shaking fragile hands and a faint pink line appeared. You just stood there as a statue, like a monument frozen for eternity. 

“This is bad" 

“Love, speak to me” Chris shouted again, startling you.

“I’m fine” Your voice shook badly as you turned the door handle opening the bathroom door. Chris stood with his arm resting on the door frame wearing a baking apron, his right hand grasped onto a spatula. His eyes drifted to you still wrapped into a bed sheet.

“You look terrible, what happened? What’s wrong”
You pulled the pregnancy test away from your back and handed it to him. Chris steadied himself pulling his arm off the door frame.

“What’s this?” He took the slim plastic capsule into his hands. “What does this mean? What does the pink cros mean?” His voice started to rise.

“I’m pregnant Chris, with your baby.” 

You bitt the insides of your cheeks hard enough so you could taste the metal tang of your blood. An immense burst of silence occurred.  A slight whimper came out from Chris’s mouth but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at his face. Another whimper travelled from his mouth again and another until you heard a small giggle emerge. Your eyes flicker up to Chris’s, which was filled with amusement.

“You think this is funny?” Your voice came out a little harsher than you hoped.
“I’m sorry I just….you made such a great effort” He chucked again, with the pregnancy test clutched to his chest. You shot him a confused look. “I mean, the fake throwing up, the fake pregnancy test, wow you really got me this time.”

“What are you talking about Chris? What do you mean by this time?” Chris tapped the pregnancy test on your nose and handed it back to you.

“I know what day it is, stop faking, I admit… you got me this time”

A flicker of hate sprung in your chest as it tightened. You inhaled preparing to yell down Chris’s throat for being insensitive and hurtful. He obviously doesn’t believe you, all for a stupid April fool’s prank? You tone came out softer, calmer as you stared in his eyes.

“This isn’t a stupid prank; I am telling you the truth. Now can you stop being such a inconsiderate prick and understand what im trying to say-”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah whatever you say love.” Chris stopped you mid sentence, planted a kiss on your forehead and twirled back into the kitchen. “Sit down; I’m nearly done with your breakfast.”

You gasped repulsed at him and stormed your way upstairs into your shared bedroom. How could he not believe you? He knew how much you hated cruel jokes and this one was certainly something you wouldn’t enjoy making fun off. Maybe he couldn’t face the truth. You pulled out your small backpack from the shelf off your wardrobe and began to pack your belongings. You needed to tell someone and the only person who could possibly believe you was your best friend. You love Chris, you really do but he didn’t believe you and you couldn’t bear the thought, Even if that meant spending the night away from him for him to clear his mind. You pull shirts off hangers with agression not caring whether you’ve ruined the fabric with such force or not. You brushed through your drawers, half of which was Chris’s stuff anyway, and pulled enough clothes for a week. You didnt bother taking any essentuals like make up, tooth brushes or hair brushes, it’ll all be there when you get to (y/f/n)’s house. 

“Goodbye Chris” You murmur scurrying past the kitchen collecting your last essential belongings. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Chris mumbled with half a mouth full of food and dropped his fork onto the plate. “STOP Where are you going?”

Chris grabbed hold of your arm as you reached for your jacket.
“I’m going to stay with a friend for a day or two” You nudge off his grasp and take you jacket of the hook and grab your keys.

“But you can’t just… is this because of your stupid joke earlier?” Chris let out a awkward giggle with his arms sprung up at his sides. “Because I’ll let you have the satisfaction and tell you that I did believe you. Congrats, you tricked the trickster now will you please-“

“Good bye Chris” You left Chris at the apartment and slammed the door not taking another look back.

hello yes I hope you enjoyed this imagine, let me know if you would like to see a part 2 or possibly 3 depending on how I write it! Those who reblog this will receive a random photo in their ask as well as a drawing to show my appreciation.

The eyes of Huan saw a shade
wavering, darting down a glade
like a mist of evening snared by day
and hasting fearfully away.
He bayed, and sprang with sinewy limb
to chase the shy thing strange and dim.
On terror’s wings, like a butterfly
pursued by a sweeping bird on high,
she fluttered hither, darted there,
now poised, now flying through the air -
in vain. At last against a tree
she leaned and panted. Up leaped he.
No word of magic gasped with woe,
no elvish mystery she did know
or had entwined in raiment dark
availed against that hunter stark,
whose old immortal race and kind
no spells could ever turn or bind.
Huan alone that she ever met
she never in enchantment set
nor bound with spells.
— 

- Lays of Beleriand, p 263

Huan alone that she ever met

she never in enchantment set

nor bound with spells. 

Huan alone that she ever met

she never in enchantment set

nor bound with spells. 

I don’t always love Lúthien but when I do it’s because she’s a terrifying brilliant indescribably powerful enchantress who knows precisely the stakes of the game she is playing

whose spells have bound every single being her life has ever brushed against

shy and fragile and terrified and unspeakably dangerous

and in whose enchanted orbit kingdoms crumble

and fall

and crawl out of the rubble for one last glimpse of her 

I do actually always love Lúthien what am I talking about

anonymous asked:

fetish!Yuuri sneezing in front of Viktor for the first time and wanting to die

but can you even i m a g i n e sneezing in front of someone who is basically your hero?? like most of us snezfuckers can’t embrace the concept of doing it in public let alone in front of someone we admire/look up to

this takes place early on btw like just after victor started staying with the katsuki fam (so they’re not married boyfriends yet). rip yuuri you were a good egg

Keep reading

A Must-Read on Asians in the Fashion Industry and the Definition of Beauty

Liu Wen, the First Asian Spokesmodel for Estée Lauder, Writes About Changing Beauty Ideals

Beautiful. It’s one of those rare words that describes itself. In Mandarin Chinese, there are two common expressions that capture its meaning: “美丽” (Mei li) or its more informal counterpart,“漂亮” (Piao liang). Both inspire happiness but also invite controversy, for their meanings can be simultaneously vast and narrow. Since childhood, I have traversed back and forth across these meanings as I worked to find this word’s definition within my own life.

Growing up in southern China, people in my hometown seldom called me piao liang, because my smaller eyes were a far cry from the wide irises of the most beloved television actresses. Further, I was tall and awkward and tended to dress more androgynously as comfort was always my priority. Towering over classmates, I developed a habit of bending down when speaking to others, as if my back was permanently hunched.  Many called me “Mulan,” since I always blended in with the male students much more easily than the female students. Since she was such an honorable and respected character in our culture, I accepted the association quite happily—even if being outwardly “beautiful” was never in my destiny, I at least wanted to personify her confidence.

And then came 2008. In the summer of that year, I traveled to New York City for the very first time, as I hoped to continue my budding career as a model. The buildings radiated grandeur through their heights alone, and just as in China, the people milled about every block, everyone contributing their part to the greater scheme. Surprisingly, this wasn’t the same steel-and-concrete jungle I had expected. Rather than a cold, aloof place, it was actually saturated with energy and warmth.

I only knew three English phrases—“hello,” “thank you,” and “goodbye”—but everyone I encountered accepted this limitation with genuine smiles. In this still-unfamiliar city, I developed both friendships and dreams. In truth, my aspirations were never as grand as the city’s skyscrapers. Rather, they resembled the plain T-shirts I wore in my younger years—straightforward, unembellished. I hoped to make the most of the rare opportunity and work diligently, not only to support my family but also to make them proud. In some ways I adopted the fundamental ideals of Mulan herself.

Every now and then I was told, “You’re beautiful.” Hearing this always brought a slight shock at first. After years of receiving the opposite sentiment, it wasn’t so easy to accept the word beautiful. I thought people were using the most general description to accommodate my limited vocabulary, and so I moved on with job after job, nodding at the occasional compliment while never fully believing them. In truth, the word was even less familiar to me than the new place I called home.

Though it was only six years ago, the industry’s knowledge of Asian models—much less Chinese models—was quite limited. Great names like Du Juan and Ai Tominaga still resonated in people’s memories, but few others did, which struck me as ironic, considering the fashion business thrived so much in my homeland. I confess that in many respects I was lucky—I debuted on the international catwalks just as many important brands had begun to pay fervent attention to the Chinese market. Even hair and makeup styles seemed more suitable for East Asian features than they had before. Slowly but surely, the runways finally became peppered with the black hair of me and my compatriots, and back home, the fashion press lovingly dubbed us the “Chinese Model Army.” We embraced the moniker ourselves; it strengthened our bond as we traveled to all these foreign places and allowed us to penetrate the local headlines with more ease.

As I worked more and more, I took on the role of student in the most prestigious of schools—every encounter with people in the industry became an invaluable lesson to absorb. I grew into my understanding of the business at a rapid pace. Though I was still young at heart, my budding self-confidence became more prominent, often carrying me through the most hectic of schedules.

Then, in 2010, everything changed again, when Estée Lauder announced that I would be its first-ever Asian global spokesmodel. The moment was life-changing, to say the least. Overnight, the image of me as an independent, confident young woman was embraced as beautiful. And this development catalyzed a change in my own beauty ideals. The stereotypes of Asian women as submissive and dainty were fading. Instead, my fellow Asian models and I were more often depicted as adventurous, assertive, career-oriented women who always did our best despite the challenges we faced overseas. We might or might not possess physical features that fit traditional Asian views of beauty, but the fact that we represented modern ideas, combining the best of multiple cultures, became far more important.

Through avenues like social media, we were able to use our voices to share these ideas around the world. The shift has been gradual, but when I consider the fans who continue to follow our careers—the encouragement they share on our social channels, the photos they proudly take with our advertisements—they all become affirmations of these profound changes in perspective. More and more, our persistence and confidence serve as reflections of our beauty. There’s no longer just one narrow reason for admiration and respect. From my eyes, Mulan was incredibly beautiful in boundless ways, too.

My name is Liu Wen and, even after all these years, I’m still the same Liu Wen at my core. I don’t know if I can ever truly represent what “beautiful” means in my native culture, but I hope that in both China and beyond, I can help more people understand how a definition of beauty can encompass more elements than ever before.

This essay was translated into English from Chinese.

Carpe Diem

A little SuperCat/Supergirl drabble.

By: Inspector Boxer

Summary: It was all so polite. So professional. So painfully not them.

Pairing: Kara Danvers/Cat Grant

Rating: G

Author’s Note: Takes place after the promotion and before season 2.

****

They barely see each other any more.

Kara loitered next to Winn’s desk, her gaze straying again and again to Cat as she half listened to her best friend babble about Max Lord’s latest exploits, watching the older woman with her new assistant. Cat was smiling, and the girl seemed so relaxed, not even remotely terrified, so at ease with Cat that Kara kind of wanted to hit something. She’d been replaced, apparently effortlessly and with a more desirable model, and even though Kara had chosen Amy to be Cat’s assistant, she suddenly resented the hell out of the girl.

“You just… broke my phone,” Winn murmured.

Tearing her gaze away from the CEO, Kara focused on her best friend before her gaze skittered down to the mangled plastic under her hand. “Uh… sorry.”  

“You okay?”

“Fine,” Kara sighed, but she glanced back up at Cat, her chest aching as Cat chuckled and Amy smiled.

Winn followed her line of sight. “Amy seems to be working out well.”

“Yeah,” Kara said despondently. “Go Amy.”

“Are you jealous?” Winn frowned and looked up at her, almost as puzzled by her behavior as Kara was. “Do you have some kind of weird Stockholm Syndrome going on where you miss your evil captor?”

“What? No,” Kara huffed, dredging up the energy to pretend to be exasperated by such a thought. “That’s ridiculous. I mean, why would I be jealous of Cat’s assistant? I escaped that, remember?”

“You are. You’re jealous…” Winn sing-songed.

Kara smacked him in the shoulder and he nearly tipped over backwards in his chair.

“Ow!” he protested, rubbing the spot where he’d been struck.

“Consider yourself lucky,” Kara told him with a smirk. “I could have knocked you clean through the wall.”

The commotion was loud enough to draw Cat’s attention. She glanced their way, her gaze lingering on Kara for an intense moment before she reluctantly went back to the task at hand. Kara didn’t miss the brief flicker of a sad smile on the older woman’s lips, the sight causing an ache in her chest she couldn’t define.

Winn scowled. “Jeez, you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.” His scowl morphed into another frown as Kara simply walked away.

****

As usual, the rest of CatCo was clearing out quickly on a Friday night and Kara had been about to do the same when she spied Cat working away in her office, alone, a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose. No doubt she would be there for several more hours, shaping the national conversation in some form or another. Kara wondered what the topic was this time. She used to always know.

They hadn’t spoken much in the weeks since Kara’s promotion and the slow exit of Cat Grant from her everyday life had begun. Absently, Kara wondered if Cat’s bar was stocked. If her M&M jar was full. It wasn’t her job to check anymore, to cater to the CEO’s whims and mercurial moods, but Kara found she missed taking care of her. There were a lot of things she missed about Cat Grant.

Drawing back her shoulders a little, Kara made a decision, threading her way through the exiting crowd and heading to Cat’s office. She didn’t have a plan, only a strange, reckless need to end the growing distance between them. Cat was pulling away from her again, and this time, Kara wasn’t going to let it happen. Not after Myriad. Not after all they’d been through.

Amy offered Kara a quick smile as she bundled up her belongings. “Goodnight, Ms. Grant,” she called out. “Have a nice weekend.”

Cat flicked her wrist distractedly in a dismissive wave and Kara grinned, just a tiny bit, as the assistant gave her an exasperated eyeroll and left for the weekend.

Kara lingered in the doorway, waiting to be noticed, waiting to be invited back into Cat’s kingdom. She was prepared to stand there all night if need be.

After a few minutes, Cat glanced up and did a double take when she saw Kara standing there, the bullpen now largely empty behind her.

Kara swallowed, a jolt of heat spreading through her as their gazes met. “Hi.”

Cat slipped her glasses off and eyed her uncertainly. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” Kara promised quickly, not wanting to worry her. “I just…” She hesitated, weighing her options as she risked one step inside Cat’s office. “I just…”

Slowly, Cat stood and sauntered closer, pursing her lips in amusement. “You just…?” she prompted.

Hell with it, Kara decided. Carpe Diem as Cat had recently suggested. “I’ve missed you.”

Cat went still, drawing in a slow, uneven breath at the admission. “Oh,” she said quietly, but she seemed pleased if not a little surprised. “I didn’t realize you were a glutton for punishment, Kara.”

Kara snorted softly, still experiencing a thrill at hearing Cat say her name properly. No one else spoke her name like that, like they were savoring the sound of it, the feel of it on their tongue. “How are you?”

Something in Cat’s eyes softened at the question. “I’m fine.”

“Carter?”

“He’s well, thank you.”

It was all so polite. So professional. So painfully not them.

They stared at each other a moment, the silence awkward and uncomfortable.

“Amy working out okay?”

“She’s not you,” Cat admitted, startling Kara with her honesty, “but as much as it pains me to admit it, you made a good choice.” Cat regarded her, looking like she was debating what she wanted to say next.

“What?” Kara urged softly, stepping closer, hoping to coax whatever it was out of her.

Cat swallowed, her gaze shifting to the windows as she rolled her eyes slightly. “I… suppose… I might, actually… miss you, too. A little.”

A rush of giddiness made Kara smile. “She’s taking good care of you?”

“That was never your actual job, you know.” Cat looked back at her again, one eyebrow arched almost as much as her tone.

“No, but it was the best part of it.”

Cat’s gaze was intense as it held hers, trying to figure out Kara’s angle, what was motivating this unexpected visit.

“Your new role…” Cat said, carefully, “you’re enjoying it?”

Kara nodded. It was the truth, her new position was proving to be very rewarding, but there was one thing, one person, missing. “I am. Thank you again for the opportunity.”

“You earned it, Kara. I should have done it a long time ago.”

They fell into an uneasy silence again, and Kara hated it, hated this strange, unwelcome tension that had settled between them since…

Since she’d started dating James.

Kara blinked with the epiphany, her stomach going into a freefall at the thought. Surely that wasn’t the reason for their estrangement. Cat had encouraged her to date James, and before that she’d pushed her toward Adam. Why would she do that unless… unless…

Drawing in a ragged breath as subtly as possible, Kara stood a little straighter, a flicker of hope igniting in her chest.

“I don’t know if you heard,” she said slowly, testing the waters. “James and I…”

Cat’s features went politely blank. “Yes, I heard my Lighthouse Technique proved to be a success.”

Kara winced. “It did,” she admitted. “But…”

Something flickered over Cat’s features, some emotion that came and went so quickly Kara couldn’t identify it. “But?”

“I don’t think his ship was meant to stay docked in my port.” Her tone was wry.

“Oh?” Cat came closer still, her perfume intoxicating as it filled Kara’s next breath.

“We… we broke up. We’re better as friends.”

“I see. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Cat didn’t seem the least bit sorry, and with the way she was looking at her now, Kara decided she wasn’t, either. Her heart jackknifed in her chest before slamming against her ribs as tiny silver spots danced in her vision. She had to remind herself to breathe.

“Do you… want to grab a drink? Or maybe even dinner?” Kara blurted, realizing too late how the request sounded, but she didn’t try to take it back when Cat seemed to honestly consider the invitation.

“Dinner would be… acceptable.”

Kara’s throat went dry. Suddenly her invitation felt like something more than old colleagues catching up. Suddenly she wanted it to be more. “Seven?” She couldn’t believe how even her voice sounded, how casual.

“Seven it is… Kara,” Cat said her name again with a smile that was equal parts intrigue and seduction before she pivoted on her heel and returned to her desk.

Swallowing roughly, Kara turned and wandered away, dazed, wondering if she’d not only just asked Cat Grant out on a date, but if Cat had actually agreed to one.