the one and only body queen

Ok but I’ve been binge watching the Narnia movies again, after not having seen them for a long ass time, and now, being a little older and (hopefully) a little more mature than I was when I first saw them, I always feel physically sick when I see the Pevensies being children after The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe because they just aren’t anymore and I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like, to grow up as kings and queens, respected and important, and full of duty, only to go back to being 8 years old (in Lucy’s case).

They didn’t remember England, or the wardrobe, or their old lives, they were Narnians and they were pushed back, not only into a world that was bound to make them miserable, but also into bodies that couldn’t reflect what they’d been through.

Just imagine Peter, waking up in the morning, not remembering that he isn’t the Magnificent anymore, imagine him subconsciously reaching for something to trim his beard, only to remember that it isn’t there anymore, to expect old battle wounds to hurt until he realises that they can’t because he doesn’t have them.

Or Edmund, who left England a stubborn selfish little boy who only wanted his mummy back, and came back the Just, the redeemed traitor, the diplomat, the man, having to resort to being ten years old and probably not even allowed to peek at a newspaper because he’s just a child after all. He plays chess, incredibly well, he doesn’t mock his siblings anymore and all the friends he knew when he was still a boy are either irritated at his behaviour or too childish, too selfish for somebody who knows very well just what selfishness can do, who has a part of the White Witch in him, always.

Susan forgets, we all know that. She must’ve lain awake at night, remembering just what it felt like to cover pain and viciousness and gore with a smile and a blush, remembering being the Gentle, but never in war. She must’ve cried for all the lost years, for all that she learnt and that she can never forget, for all that she has accomplished, that will bring her nothing in this world that doesn’t feel like hers. So she sits down in front of a mirror, talks herself out of believing, telling herself that it wasn’t real, that it was just a dream, that this Narnia her siblings talk about is nothing but a game.
The truth is too terrifying, to devastating to face.

Lucy, little Lucy, who grew up under Mr Tumnus’ smiles and Aslan’s approving gaze, who was loved by all, who did learn how to rule, how to negotiate but who never forgot just what it means to be a queen of Narnia, this girl who matured into a woman, who had a woman’s mind and body and a queen’s grace, she who they called the Valiant, the lion’s daughter, she shrank into herself, into a child, younger than even her siblings. She remembers, clearest of them all, she is the only one who still knows Mr Tumnus’ face, still knows Aslan, but she is just a girl, a pretty little thing who will never be the queen she was, who will never be the woman she was because queenship forms a person in ways no schools can.

They must’ve been devastated when they tumbled to the floor, short and small, and there’s a war they have no control over and Lucy is small, Edmund is skinny, so skinny and Peter and Susan have lost their glow and they’ve changed, they’ve changed so much. (The first time, somebody calls them by just their names, they feel invalidated and small. And offended. They’re kings and queens, they’ve earned their titles and now they have to sit in a dim room filled with children and listen to teachers, have to allow themselves to be insignificant and nothing more than what they were when Lucy first stepped into Narnia - frightened children in the middle of a war they wish was never there in the first place)

How to feel like an ancient empress

*Wear velvet, silk, fine fabrics

*Take long baths with milk, honey, and olive oil

*Wear perfume with frankincense or rose or myrrh or neroli

*Wear gold and pearls and precious stones

*Paint your nails red or gold

*Put lavender satchels in your drawers

*Have good posture

*Give yourself a facial massage

*Speak with confidence–no one has the right to overpower your voice

*Rub a body oil into your skin when you get out of the bath

*Use a face oil with your moisturizer

*Wear a watch and be punctual

*Listen to those in need

*Clean and declutter your space

*Smile–but only when you want to

*Braid your hair

*Read novels or folklore/myth or poetry

*Be kind to children–have no sympathy for those who would hurt them

*Use cosmetics with pearl powder

*Go to bed early

*Eat well

modern soc au

inej: 

  • loves to dance !!! esp ballet but she can dance to whatever tbfh, she’s that good 
  • likes to wear caps, esp backwards. really loves bomber jackets too. 
  • has a couple, small tattoos dedicated to her saints 
  • is that one kid who loves to do parkour (both ironically and unironically) for instance is really good at it but sometimes just yells PARKOUR and steps over a rock
  • usually found eating lunch with her pals on the roof of the school 
  • is amazing at hide and seek like holy fuck ????? hid for 2 hours once and wasn’t found, came back the next day and was like “y'all losers SUCK" 
  • loves to study other people’s cultures, as well as history and is great as p.e (never has gotten a bad grade in the flexibility tests) 
  • likes to read poem books 
  • has a black cat as a pet named “saint" 
  • pronounced meme as "mehmeh” the first time she read it 
  • only has snapchat and instagram. is that kid who ALWAYS posts the sunset every day, esp from weird/high places and the comments are always “HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET UP THERE" 
  • cried the most during fox and the hound 
  • always braiding nina’s hair. Knows how to do all the super advanced onces as well
  • "I don’t know, CAN YOU?" 
  •  the best one at pushing people on the swings 
  • AMAZING AT JUST DANCE WITH JESPER 
  • "sorry I ran out of fucks to give try again later maybe?" 
  • gives the nicest presents. always knows what a person wants for christmas/their birthday 
  • the one who’s really into photography and is always taking aesthetic™ pics of Nina for her social media accounts 
  • Prefers tea over coffee

wylan:

  • bullied for not being able to read (at least up until high school), so is super shy 
  • loves drawing. the artistic™ one who takes anatomy to be able to draw people better 
  • MASTER FLUTE MUSICIAN. On the school band. Jams hard af when he plays it 
  • is in gem math and AP chem with kuwei. 
  • loves sweet. addicted to blue jolly ranchers. his tongue is always blue 
  • constantly pushing up his thick rimmed glasses (even if they ain’t on, which causes him to poke his eye)
  • looooves all the superhero shows on the CW 
  • V neck sweaters. always
  • always has his trusty satchel
  • only has tumblr. has like 10k followers because of his artwork. 
  • ”‘illuminati’ ? is that a band?“ 
  • cat person even though he’s allergic to cat fur. absolutely adores inej’s cat. settles for owning a horned lizard named "shrek" 
  • secretly a huge fan of memes 
  • really gay for tom holland and ed sheeran (calls him "ginger Jesus”) 
  • gamer with jesper. they always play overwatch together, wylans better tho. a genji and Ana main 
  • cried the most during big hero six 
  • wylan, with blank eyes: “I like my coffee how I like my men” // jesper: *spits out his drink* 

matthias: 

  • sports fan obv. On the schools hockey team bc his fav is hockey. is extremely competitive when he plays it. Is constantly checking but never gets penalties (aka slamming the other players against the walls)
  • played basketball against jesper and surprisingly lost. jesper won’t let it go 
  • dog person. owns a pet pomsky (Pomeranian-husky) with nina who’s name is “bub" 
  • “long hair don’t care”draws inspiration from Harry styles 
  • really philosophical. takes all the philosophy/ethics classes available 
  • kind of sounds like Thor (thick and deep accent) 
  • a good™
  • "you’re all horrible trash”
  • “do we really have to be doing this now? I have to finish my homework" 
  • loves baking. bakes everything for the love of his life 
  • grey sweatshirts and adidas shoes 
  • wears contacts Because he hates how glasses look on him. only wears them when he’s home 
  • oblivious to all the women in love with him
  • "CAN YOU EVEN LIFT BRO? BECAUSE I SURE AS FRICK CAN” (doesn’t curse) 
  • real 👍🏻🤘🏻👌🏻life🤰🏻👼🏻🌱student📚✂️✏️athelete🏃🏼🥇🏆🥅🏒
  • has Facebook and Twitter only
  • cried the most during bambi and dumbo 
  • little spoon™ 
  • has a couple tattoos with very deep meanings

jesper: 

  • dancer with inej. dances like those ppl who look like robots ??? the ones who look like they freeze parts of their body while the others move. AMAZING at it 
  • loves jazz but also dubstep/edm and rap/r&b. Beyoncé is MOM/QUEEN. 
  • sometimes djs parties 
  • again, huge gamer with wylan. he’s a lucio and junkrat main for overwatch. loves like every video game ever 
  • loves all the marvel movies, in love with black panther (was team cap) 
  • dresses like a hipster but also sometimes a fuck boy (tank tops and shorts with a backwards cap style) 
  • favorite subject is business and debate. great negotiator 
  • cried the most during the lion king 
  • A+ cosplayer (especially his lucio cosplay) 
  • big supporter of human rights (LGBTA+, feminist, black lives matter, poc representation). Will LITERALLY get into fights over anyone who thinks otherwise. Fist fights, always supported by Kaz and Matthias. Got suspended for 3 days for breaking a kids nose who thought LGBTA+ people should **** ** ****) 
  • that one kid who has 50 fidget spinners and can do cool tricks with them. also manages to sell all of them 
  • skateboard pro™ 
  • always sends the blinking face meme, even if it’s out of context 
  • all the social medias. 
  • one tattoo only of a gun with a ‘bang’ flag coming out of it 

nina: 

  •  PROFESSIONAL👏🏻 MAKE 👏🏻 UP 👏🏻 ARTISTS 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 HAS HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF FOLLOWERS ON HER INSTAGRAM AND THE SAME FOR HER YOUTUBE CHANNEL 
  • Speaking of YouTube, she always does cute videos. Baking/cooking tutorial videos featuring Matthias, 'i do my boyfriends makeup’, 'my boyfriend does my makeup’, 'my boyfriend buys my makeup’, does make up tutorials obviously, challenges with her best friend inej like the 'whisper challenge’. everyone loves her and says her and Matthias are their otp 
  • loves fashion design, takes that class. 
  • loves horror movies/creepy things but also Disney 
  • great at roller skating 
  • always wins the best dressed awards ad school 
  • also huge fan of ed sheeran. loves little mix more than 5h. 
  • cried the most during 'up' 
  • Can speak like 4 languages (English, french, Latin and spanish) 
  • loves traveling and learning about new cultures too 
  • dancer!inej’s biggest fan and hockey!matthias’ biggest fan 
  • always breaks snapchat streaks 
  • likes to (friendly) debate with jesper, especially over stupid things 
  • amazing with kids. babysits all the time. calls “bub” (the dog) her and matthias’ baby 
  • big spoon™ 
  • notes are so fucking pretty. buys the most expensive stationary and notebooks 
  • also huge supporter of human rights. runs the feminist club. (Jesper is the Vice President) stresses loving yourself and your body, and makes sure to design comfortable yet GORGEOUS clothes for “"plus sized people”“ 
  • wins 'dynamic duo’ award with inej 
  • always eating lollipops 
  • has a few very small tatos of cute things like roses and crowns. has one quote written in cursive on her rib

kaz: 

  • prefers black coffee as well 
  • loves crime shows, whether they’re real or fake. for instance loves both 'Dateline’ and 'Criminal Minds’ also loves 'House’
  •  favorite class is psychology, learning how a person thinks and acts and feels
  • has the dregs tattoo on his arm * edge lord 9000™ * such a drama queen and diva like damn 
  • *deep sigh* "I think I’d rather go take a nap” *gets up and leaves* 
  • also loves computer science. knows how to hack shit like a pro 
  • always rough housing with jesper. broke a table once 
  • does walk with a cane. likes to slap matthias’ ass with it 
  • “bow down you fucking peasants" 
  • only types in lower case with 0 emojis and no punctuation marks. CONSTANTLY leaves people on read 
  • only has Twitter and snapchat. His posts on snapchat never have captions, yet somehow has a 200 day streak with Jesper and a 250 day streak with inej 
  • loves watching horror movies with nina 
  •  *in a fight* "oh I’ll sHOW YOU SOME DIRTY HANDS” *swings* 
  • gets second place for best dressed award 
  • always sending memes with no context in their group chat, as well as vines 
  • indie and alternative rock fan 
  • “does it look like I care because I’m sorry if it does I didn’t mean to give you that impression" 
  • head over heels for inej Ghafa like wow 
  • likes to read a lot of mystery books and non fiction books 
  • cried the most during finding dory 
  • can solve a Rubik’s cube under a minute and won’t let you forget it 
  • The one asshole who picks either Kirby or metaknight in super smash brothers brawl
  •  hates seeing the notification bubble so he always has all chats muted and notifications turned off for apps 
  • kiss ass to all the teachers to get them A’s

Kuwei: 

  • SCIENCE NERD. ALWAYS singing the bill nye theme song. Loves ASAPScience on YouTube. Master at chemistry and biology 
  • "hey did u know bill nye is, like, my dad" 
  • nina treats him like a baby 
  • loves everything to do with Star Wars while wylan loves star trek more. Fighting ensues. 
  • has a pet Siamese cat name sparky 
  • Used to have a huge crush on jesper and everyone knew it except jesper. 
  • knows the intro to the bee movie ("according to all known laws of aviation-”)
  •  jesper in the group chat: “gonna go shower be right back” // kuwei: “without me ;)?” // wylan: “KUWEI SWEAR TO FUCK” // kaz: “watch your fucking language wylan" 
  • obsessed with Pokémon go even if it died out (chose team instinct) 
  • "fight me on this" 
  • has Twitter, snapchat and instagram 
  • Always drinking ginger ale 
  • master at bop it 
  • the one kid who always forgets to pay you back for stuff 
  • is also into the CW super hero shows, so him and wylan are constantly talking about it 
  • loves cartoons and anime 
  • speaks fluent fuckboy 
  • God awful at comebacks 
  • "let’s take a selfie guys !!!” // “kuwei no-” // *snapshot sound* 
  • talks !!! Like !! This !!!! for,,, some reason ???????? 
  • huge nerd for other things too like lord of the rings and Harry Potter and game of thrones 
  • cried the most during inside out
  •  "do you think planes are scared of heights?“ // "for fucks same kuwei it’s 4am”
In Defense of the Misunderstood Hero, Mori Ougai

I’m sure many would raise eyebrows when they read the title because, Mori? A hero?

Many people portrayed Mori as a sadistic devil, but in no canon situation has Mori ever shown any sadistic tendency (like Dazai has). In fact, I’d say he’s the reverse of that. He took care of Elise very well, despite/even though she’s his own ability. He never once has hurt people for the sake of hurting people.

In fact whenever he didn’t have any business to take care of, his true personality shone through and it was not of a cold, heartless man with no conscience. Rather it was one full of dorkiness and gentle patience. Here, he even contacted Ango (who was sweating bullet because holy shit he’s being called by the fucking boss of Port Mafia) just to ask what color of dress will fit Elise more.

(For the love of anything holy I’ve scoured Ango and Oda’s tag in tumblr yet I can’t find it. It’s the extra DVD comic featuring Buraiha trio drinking and talking shit about Mori. In exchange, have these dorky dad and son interacting;

First thing first, I will give you what I think is the most important fact about Mori. Look at his line in this scene

Now this is his true nature; his main motivation for doing everything he did. The good of the organization.

At no point has Mori’s action ever benefit only himself. At every instance he appeared in the story, he’s doing something for the Mafia and for Yokohama. The only self-centered thing he has ever done was asking Elise to wear what he wanted her to wear and that’s moot point anyway since she’s his Ability and presumably modeled after his ‘ideal’ little girl.

In this scene, he saved four members of ADA and even gave Atsushi an important lesson. Why would he do such a thing when he could literally immobilize Anne and Lucy by bloodlust alone? He could have let her take Tanizaki and Atsushi, then pressure her to let him out with his memory intact. Not to mention that his Ability, Elise, was waiting just outside, standing by ready to break him out any time.

If he does this, not only he will go free with the memory of the attack and thus the secret of Anne’s Room, he would also take care of not one but three ADA agents. Rather, he chose to save all of them plus every single person Anne has swallowed in the Dark Room.

Now here;

This is the scene where he took over as boss. The fact that the Old Boss was bedridden and hallucinating while seemingly so thin, also from the way he was narrated by Hirostu in episode 21, implicate that his condition was something he contracted at a long period of time rather than it being something sudden.

Notice the circumstance in which he did it. Mori only killed the boss after he issued the order that would bring destruction not only to the Mafia but also to the city and nation at large, killing many people whether criminal or innocent. He didn’t do it before even though he could have.

By becoming the biggest bad of the bad, he resolved himself to take care of the light from the shadows. And this is important because if he hadn’t stepped in at that time either the Old Boss would have burnt Yokohama down or another heinous criminal would have taken over and brings the nation down with them.

He is protecting Yokohama by not letting people worse than him to take control of its biggest criminal organization. Notice what Kouyou think about him;

She supported him because of this too. She knew what it felt like to under one of those leaders that cared only for money and power like the Old Boss. Kouyou will not support people if all they brought with them was suffering and death the way she was forced to feel when her dearest was taken away from her. Under Mori’s reign, our queen Kouyou pledge her loyalty not to him but the kinder way he brought.

It can also be seen in this scene.

Mori could have taken effort to keep Kouyou there, but his tone and body language are open. He knew that Kouyou can go anytime and he’s not fighting to keep her there; Kouyou decided to stay on her own free will and he is appreciative of knowing he had a single ally he can absolutely trust on who also knew of his true motivation.

In this scene

It was made clear that he respect the Old Boss, so much that the death of a hundred subordinate made him embarrassed.  He’s not upset that he lost some underlings, he’s upset that he lost them without a good reason to justify their death. A miscalculation has taken a hundred of his soldiers.

And you might think his reaction to this is rather cold, but remember that all of them were members of the mafia. All of them are criminals who would be executed if they fall into the hands of the police and they also knew what they’re getting into when they joined the Organization.

You can probably say what he did to Odasaku was horrible, sure. But it was expected for the boss of the Mafia to do so. (further reading for this topic)

But you have to admit it was a stroke of utter genius. With the gifted Business Permit and no longer fearing the government, Mori would be freer to take down opposing criminal organization that might bother the peace. Rather, he focused the Mafia to expanding its power and outwardly he did so, like this there will be very little chance for either a rebellion or an enemy organization attacking them in their HQ. This would also mean less threat to Yokohama.

Fukuzawa’s remark in this was absolutely true. Not only between the two organization but also for him and Mori specifically. Mori loved Yokohama, enough to dip into the darkest of dark to protect it. And Fukuzawa knew it too because look at his line here

In this, it can be said that he didn’t want a war to break in Yokohama that might disturb its peace. But then why say ‘balance’?

This is because Fukuzawa knew the extent of his subordinate’s strength also that they will be able to kill Mori if they go all out. This is what he feared the most. While if he died, the Agency can be well-taken care of in Kunikida’s hand, once Mori’s dead there’s no one to reign in the Port Mafia and keep it from wreaking havoc, thus destroying the balance of Yokohama city into what it was before; the Dragon Head Rush. (you might want to read the novel of dark era to really grasp the situation. But basically it was a gang war that led to many victims including the families of Odasaku’s orphans)

More than that, the people who might succeed Mori would not be as kind as him. They might do what the Old Boss did and try to burn Yokohama down.

And this, I think, is also the main reason why Mori sent Dazai away from the Mafia. It is, of course, easy to assume what Dazai remarked about Mori’s intention in chapter 30/episode 21 to be the truth; that he did it to remove a threat to his position.

But is this the whole story?

The fact that he kept Dazai’s spot empty rather than choosing someone else to fill it was a paradox if you were to look at him from the angle of a man hungry for power. He has anticipated Dazai’s return, was so sure of it in fact that he sacrificed monetary and workload gains of having another Executive. If he wanted Dazai back in the first place, then why drive him out of the Mafia and into the ADA?

For now, imagine what would have happened if Dazai took over as the Boss if he’s still the same man he was before Oda’s death. Cruel, ruthless and uncaring for people’s life as he was, he would have gone into the same track as the Old Boss and destroys Yokohama as his mental health eroded. Not even Odasaku would be able to save him from himself at this point.

This is also why he asked Dazai back to the Mafia after taking such extreme methods to drive him out. Of course there are another reason, that is he needed his right hand back to drive out the Guild as he remarked.

But the main reason why he asked back after all this time was because there are people in ADA who have taught him about having something worth loving and worth protecting.

Mori felt that Dazai has learnt enough about the light and why it is something worth protecting. With it, when Dazai inevitably take his seat as the Boss of Port Mafia, Dazai would be able to follow his legacy as the Darth Vader of Bungou Stray Dogs and The Dark Knight of Yokohama. This is Mori’s special way of grooming Dazai to become his successor.

All this was so Dazai can be his successor and not the Old Boss’.

Conclusion for those who are too lazy to read 2000+ words of Mori being awesome: no, Mori is not an evil incarnate born to manipulate everyone to his own amusement.

If anything, he’s the greatest hero of the story. The same way the ADA is protecting the city and Japan from the light, Mori is protecting it from the shadows. With the balance that has been made between him and Fukuzawa, it is imperative that he keep doing what he did, or the balance will fall and Yokohama condemned into a lake of fire.

Asagiri Kafka is truly an exceptional writer. They made Mori into this all-bad boss of the Mafia while slipping in his real face every so often. Here is the author who made every character complex and with their own motivation. What made you think they’ll make the ‘villain’ as simple as a man existing just to be a villain?

Even Fitzgerald and Fyodor got development and reasoning for doing what they did, but the difference is they’re arc-villain and not whole story-villain like Mori. Their reign will be over with their arc, but Mori’s will live as long as BSD continues, so it’s imperative that they got their development and exposition early on so the readers can sympathize with them.

Thus I concluded my exposition of the anti-hero that has been protecting Yokohama all this time not by bathing in sunlight but by submerging himself in blood yet capable of keeping his head out of it depth; Mori Ougai.

anonymous asked:

Ultimate list of Sakura's achievements ?

  • Sakura is the one with the best  Accademy knoweldge. Her intelligence and her wide knoweldge makes her a great shinobi. (part one)
  • Sakura is one of the most capable when it comes to chakra control, urpassing even an uchiha and the jinchuriki of the strongest bijuu.
  • And this is highlighted in part two with her fight with sasori. How is it that the most sexist character in Naruto was deeply affected by her and yet this shitty fandom still rfuse to see it?
  • As seen also at the start of the second part
  • Sakura  is also  well-suited for genjutsu. While never actually seen using genjutsu, she is frequently able to quickly identify when genjutsu is being used and then release herself and others from it.

Part one

Part two

  • Sakura is able to concentrate her whole chakra in one point causing her “inhuman strength”. She can break bones, rupture organs, or even kill with a single strike. Furthermore, she can send chakra throughout her entire body and improve her ability to withstand crushing blows.
  • Sakura is the only one beside a senju that was able to complete and own the the Hyakugou 白豪の印 seal. .Something that even a veteran like shizune couldn’t do after years of experience and training
  • Sakura Haruno  can also transfer this chakra to other
  • Sakura is the only one able beside Tsuande to summon  katsuyu-sama , the queen of slugs
  • Sakura haruno by summoning katsuyu sama can make her split appart and attach itself to others, Sakura could also monitor many allies at once, healing them and replenishing their chakra as needed.
  •   Sakura can make incisions in her patients with the Chakra Scalpels to try and directly treat her patients’ vital organs
  • Sakura can make fast-acting sleeping gas,and was taught by Shizune on how to concoct poisons that, when coated on weapons, could debilitate or paralyse a person with a single scratch
  • By the time of Boruto: Naruto Next Generations, she had also learned the 癒力変生の術, Yuryoku Hensei no Jutsu

Sakura haruno started as a bullied child with no selfconfidence, powers or status.

Thanks to her determination,selfless love and dedication she was able to change herself. Both as a women and shinobi, until the point when she was able to surpass the greatest kunoichi , called princess tsuande.

And no need to say her sensei was the proudest one about her beloved student.

5

Ivar x Reader

Part Two




Ivar sighed and rolled his eyes glaring over at you. “What do you want?” The men who were stood around him talking all looked at you as well and you shrugged.

“It… it does not matter.” You muttered quietly.

“Then leave, you are interrupting.” Ivar scowled, hissing at the sting of his tattoo while you nodded and decided to wait until he was alone.

Keep reading

How Y’All Dance (Avengers Preference)

Hey guys! I know I said I’d be writing more but I haven’t posted anything! I was out of the country for a little bit and then went on a family vaction, but I am back! I know this isn’t a full blown one shot, but it’s better than nothing (And I had so many ideas sooo!)

I hope this is what you had in mind and that you like it! If not please let me know and I can try again!(:

~~~

Tony Stark:

Most people would think Tony liked to dance like he’s at the club. Your back pressed close to his front as you swayed mindlessly to the beat. However, Tony’s favorite way to dance with you was ballroom style. His parents had forced him through cotillion when he was younger and the art of ballroom dancing had not been wasted on him. Tony loved the way he got to twirl you around the dance floor, making you feel like a princess. He enjoyed the way everyone would stare at you as if you were the most beautiful person in the room (because you were, especially in that stunning dress Nat picked out for you). But most of all Tony loved the way he got to look into your eyes as he made you laugh and drew you closer.

Steve Rogers:

Steve was not much of a dancer. Sure he had gone to clubs, and (never, ever tell Tony this but) even took a few lessons throughout the city, but Steve just couldn’t dance. On undercover missions he was actually forbidden from dancing in order to prevent another Johannesburg incident. But in the quiet of you guys’ apartment, whether on a lazy Sunday afternoon or the middle of a Tuesday night, Steve would hold you close as y’all swayed aimlessly. Sometimes you would have the radio playing modern music (from Ed Sheeran to Beyonce), sometimes Steve would be listening to his old records, and sometimes there would be no music at all. Steve would hold you as close as he could and slowly sway around the living room, your head on his chest listening to his steady heartbeat, while he placed soft kisses to the top of your head. 

Bucky Barnes:

Bucky loved dancing like he had back in the 40′s. At first his memory was a little hazy but after watching a few videos and trying it out a few times Bucky realized his muscles remembered exactly what to do even if his brain didn’t. Bucky loved the feeling of getting to go somewhere and feel like he fit in. To be perfectly in sync with those around him as he melted into the music with the perfect partner. He loved the chance to impress you with his moves as he spun you around before pulling you in close again, giving you little winks or short kisses on the forehead or nose, before spinning you out again. Bucky also couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the fact that for once when people were staring at him wide eyed and open mouthed they were staring in awe of his skills and in jealousy of the beautiful dame he had with him.

Bruce Banner:

Bruce was hands down the most awkward dancer you had ever seen in your entire life. Every time you guys tried dancing it ended up with your toes being stepped on (and once you even got a bloody nose when Bruce accidentally got off beat during a line dance and his hand hit you square in the face). But for some strange reason Bruce was really good at square dancing. Clint had dragged you guys to square dancing in Bryant Park one day and while Bruce had been reluctant at first he was surprisingly very good. It probably helped that he was getting constant instructions on what to do while also getting to follow what everyone around him as doing. Whatever it was, Bruce was soon taking you to as many square dances as he could find, loving the fact that he was able to take you dancing and NOT have to patch you up afterwards.

Clint Barton:

You name a dance and Clint could do it. He could two-step, waltz, foxtrot, every dance Clint had been trained to do it perfectly, able to blend into any crowd so he could go undercover. But even though he was an expert at every dance and was able to blend into any room of dancers, Clint stood out when he swept you into a tantalizing tango. He would lock his eyes with yours and lead you around the room, other couples jumping out of the way as Clint would twirl you out and bring you back in before sweeping you back so far your hair tickled the ground. If Clint was honest he had never really cared for the tango before he met you, but the old saying “it takes two to tango” had become his favorite line since finding the perfect person he wanted to tango with.

Pietro Maximoff:

Pietro loved club dancing. He loved the fast beats and the vibrations of the floor as he held you close and moved to the rhythm of the music. Pietro also enjoyed getting to hold you close and show you off. His hands would grip your hips as he pressed you close to himself as everyone around you guys shot jealous looks your way. On top of the fast music Pietro loved that he got to hold you body close, allowing him to steal kisses whenever he wanted, not having to wait to press his lips to your forehead, nose, neck, etc. While most people would say that this type of dancing was too impersonal (what with the sweaty strangers around and the music so loud you can’t hear yourself think), but that was one of Pietro’s favorite things, that he didn’t have to think about the lyrics to the music or running into the people around him, he could just get lost in you - your body and eyes and the way you made him feel like he was the luckiest man alive. 

Thor Odinson:

Thor loved the traditional ballroom dancing of Asgard. The elegant dresses that his mother would get made for you, made him beam with pride as all of Asgard stared at you with wonder. He loved getting to teach you the elegant dances of his people- happy to be teaching you something for once instead of the other way around. The rich music was just soft enough to let him hear you counting under your breath as you tried to concentrate, only for it to be broken when Thor told you how happy he was that you were here with him. Thor loved getting to show you his world- knowing that one day you would make a wonderful queen. 

Loki Laufeyson:

Loki was a very graceful dancer. His slender body was made for grace so when you first met him you would assume he enjoyed the more traditional types of dancing like his brother. However, Loki really loved line dancing. The Cha Cha Slide, the Cupid Shuffle, etc. For someone who usually hated “stupid Midgardian” things Loki always got a kick out of the synchronized dances. You remember the night he made you stay up so you teach him all of them (the furniture in you guys’ apartment being pushed against the walls to give you more room). Loki’s eyes would light up as he scurried to the dance floor to clap his hands and wiggle his shoulders around. After finally asking him one day why he loved it so much Loki admitted that he enjoyed blending in for once and just being in sync with those around him.

Sam Wilson:

Sam liked simple dancing. The slow swaying and shuffles seen at weddings and during slow songs at Tony’s parties. The slow movements allowed him to relax into you, not having to worry about stepping on your toes or running into other couples. And the fact that there was no real rhyme or reason to the motions meant he could focus all of his energy on talking with you. Whether y’all were joking about the people around you (leading to Sam’s favorite feeling of you laughing as you tucked your face into his chest), or you were staring into each other’s eyes as you talked about your own wedding some day. Sam just loved that he got to be with you, physically as well as emotionally and mentally as you shared those moments he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

Scott Lang:

Scott loved to do random dance parties with you- managing to make the most embarrassing dance moves ten times worse. It didn’t matter whether you were at a party with music or shopping in the middle of a crowded target, Scott would take your hand and start “dancing” like a maniac. He would do things like the sprinkler, the lawn mower, the shopping cart, anything you see awkward nerdy people doing in the corner by themselves at parties Scott had perfected as an art. You should be embarrassed but instead you would just jump right in making everyone around you either burst out laughing or look away out of second hand embarrassment. Cassie would pretend to hate it when you guys were in public but as soon as you got home she would join right in. 

T’Challa:

T’Challa enjoyed doing the native Wakandan warrior’s dance. It was a complicated dance that looked more like a planned fight with the swift movements that brought your bodies so close, but never quite completely together- it was stunning. It had taken him months to teach you the entire thing but the finished product was worth it. It was a dance that only the Black Panther knew and T’Challa had been taught by his parents when he was growing up so you were very honored to have been taught the dance. While it wasn’t really something you could just show off at a club or one of Tony’s parties, it was something you guys did when hosting parties in Wakanda for fellow government officials. And even though countless people had asked you how to dance the beautiful ritual you knew it was a secret you would share with T’Challa until you had your own children to pass it down to.

~~~

I hope you guys liked them! I tried to make them a little longer to make up for my constant absence!

Also requests are CLOSED… BUT I have gotten a few requests for the soulmate stores so f you guys had any ideas revolving around those (for Clint, Pietro, Loki, Tony, Bruce, Scott, or T’Challa) please send them my way! I would love to hear you guys’ ideas!! Ok love y’all!(:

Summary: Sansa is sent as an emissary instead of Jon to meet with the Dragon Queen [Season 7 Spoilers - some of the dialogue is word for word from the script]

Dedicated to the lovely @qinaliel for the prompt!! 


“Then send an emissary!”

Jon paused, turned towards her and sighed. In the few short months since they’d been reunited, Sansa had come to learn his sigh’s and this one said that she had won. He was finally beginning to listen to her.

“Sansa,” he said slowly, coming to stand before her. They had been arguing in his solar for most of the afternoon. “Who will I send? You?”

Without hesitation, she nodded. “Yes.” She didn’t want to leave Winterfell, not after everything they’d done to get it back, but for Jon? For their home? She would face down Cersei if she had to. What was a Dragon Queen to that woman?

Immediately, Jon shook his head, stepping closer, until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. “No. No. I will not send you. She is a queen, only a king can get through to her.”

“You are more needed here than I am,” Sansa said. She reached for his wrist, circling her fingers delicately around it. “Jon, let me do this for you. I know women like her. And I am not merely anybody you’re sending. I am the Lady of Winterfell. She will listen to me.”

He twisted his hand from her grasp only to retrieve it back in his own. “I can’t protect you in the south.”

“No one can protect me anywhere,” she reminded him. “I will have Brienne with me. And Podrick. I will not be alone.”

Jon furrowed his brows. They both knew there was sense in her words, but she could see the struggle, the conflict warring in his mind. He was so noble, always so honourable, and it made her heart ache for him, fear and love mingling like the warmth of her breath fogging in the cold winter air.

He turned away from her, dropping down in his chair. Jon rubbed his face. “How can I plan a war when all I’ll be doing is worrying about you?”

Sansa let out a soft breath, a half-hearted laugh, as she came to kneel before him. “If it is any comfort to you, at least I will be far away from Littlefinger.”

His head snapped up at that and a small rueful smile broke over his face. “You heard then?”

“There is not much that happens in Winterfell that I don’t hear, Jon Snow,” Sansa grinned. “Although if you must wring Littlefinger’s neck, try not to do it in full view of the guards. You know they like to talk.”

He laughed. “I appreciate your counsel, my lady.”

Sansa made to stand up, but this time, Jon wrapped his hand around her wrist, the hard callouses grazing over her soft skin. It made her heartbeat spike unbiddenly. “You will be careful, won’t you? You will go, say our peace and come home?”

“I don’t want to be away from Winterfell more than I need to,” Sansa answered him, keeping his gaze, so he knew the words she didn’t wish to say out loud, that it was him she didn’t want to part with most.

Jon nodded once and let go. “Get some sleep, Sansa.”

That night, she tossed and turned, dreams of Winterfell lit on fire, blazing orange and red against the blinding white of winter. She dreamed of dragons screeching overhead as her people screamed for mercy, for reprieve from this slaughter, and then, just as she could feel the flames licking her own skin, she heard the keening howl of a wolf, as big as a mountain.

Jon, she whispered, reaching for him. Jon

Sansa woke with a start, sweat matting her hair to her forehead. She was warm, so much warmer than she had been in the night, but when she turned, she found the reason for the heat. Ghost lifted his head, blinked at her, something like concern shining in his eyes. She carded her fingers through his fur and pressed a soft kiss to his head. “You came to save me, didn’t you, boy?” His tongue lolled out from his mouth and Sansa laughed. “My hero.”

It was the day she would leave Winterfell. Sansa never thought that she would have to again after winning it back from Ramsay, but soon when the winds burned like fire and the sun refused to shine, her people, her Jon, would have to pick up their swords and fight, and Sansa needed to ensure they survived the Long Night. If this Dragon Queen could be reasoned with, then she would go and speak to her. Never mind that a Targaryen could never be trusted; never mind that this woman had stolen into their lands with a foreign army and three dragons. Sansa could understand the necessity of her alliance – although the feeling of trepidation did not ease, not when she broke fast sitting beside Jon as he watched her carefully and not when she sat with her maids to pack her belongings.

“I thought I would find you here.”

She didn’t turn, only wrapped her arms tighter around her body. He came up behind her. She could hear the crunching of his boots on the soft powdered ground.

“You don’t have to go.”

Sansa made a noise and he sighed in response.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he amended instead, his voice low, barely audible above the whistling wind. “Some days I think…” Jon paused and gave a soft chuckle. “I think, what if we had just run? Gone south and never looked back.”

“This is our home,” she murmured to him.

“Aye, and I will fight with my last breath for it,” he said firmly. “But maybe it keeps me sane to imagine what our lives would be like if we had run.”

Sansa turned then, eyes sweeping over his face. “And?”

“We would have a house,” Jon answered immediately. “Maybe by the sea.” He averted his gaze, staring up at the heart tree. “We’d be safe.”

She reached for his hand. “I’ll come home.”

“Promise me,” he said softly, squeezing her back.

“I promise, Jon.”

But promises were meant to be broken and Sansa would soon realise that the Dragon Queen would not be so easy to persuade.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, The Unburnt, The Breaker of Chains,” the woman spoke.

Sansa refrained from grimacing. She had met another once who liked to shout his titles at anyone who would listen and he had been a monster. She desperately hoped this Daenerys was different.

“This is Sansa Stark of House Stark, eldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, blood of the First Men, Lady of Winterfell and Sister to the King in the North, Jon Snow,” Brienne immediately replied, standing tall and proud, Podrick a step behind her.

“Forgive me. I never did receive a formal education, but I could have sworn the last King in the North was Torren Stark who bent the knee to my ancestor Aegon Targaryen in exchange for his life and the lives of the northmen. Torren Stark swore fealty to House Targaryen in perpetuity. But do I have my facts wrong?” Daenerys asked, poison hidden in her polite words, but Sansa had lived with lions. A dragon did not scare her.

“No, your grace,” Sansa answered, keeping her tone equally as polite. “You are well-versed in your history, but mayhaps you have forgotten that House Targaryen was overthrown during Robert’s Rebellion when your brother kidnapped my aunt and your father had my uncle and grandfather burned alive.” She paused to let this sink in. “House Stark has not been loyal to a Targaryen in many years.”

Daenerys’ lips twitched as her brows furrowed infinitesimally. “My father was an evil man. On behalf of House Targaryen I ask your forgiveness for the crimes he committed against your family. And I ask you not to judge a daughter by the sins of her father. Our two houses were allies for centuries. Those were the best centuries the kingdom’s ever known. Centuries of peace and prosperity with the Targaryens sitting on the Iron Throne and a Stark serving as Warden of the North. I am the last Targaryen, Sansa Stark. Honour the pledge your ancestor made to mine. Bend the knee and I will name your king Warden of the North. Together we will save this country from those who would destroy it.”

She couldn’t help think that peace was the farthest thing this woman wanted. A Targaryen’s house words were not ‘fire and blood’ for nothing, but she could hear Jon’s voice in her mind, reminding her of how important it was to ally with the Dragon Queen.

“I cannot judge you for your father’s crimes any more than you can hold me to my ancestor’s vows,” Sansa told her. “The North will not bend the knee, your grace.”

“Then why are you here?” Daenerys demanded, the politeness fading from her tone.

“Because we need each other,” she said easily. “To survive, House Stark and House Targaryen must form an alliance.”

The Dragon Queen turned, smirking at Tyrion. When Daenerys finally returned her gaze back onto Sansa, she caught her former husband’s apologetic glance. So it would seem even the Hand of the Queen was aware of her arrogance, but it was hardly surprising to Sansa. Those with power tended to believe they deserved it. The only king or queen Sansa had ever met who wished for less power was the one she had left behind, the one of whom she missed so achingly she would turn around right this moment and swim back to him if the survival of her people didn’t rest in her hands. With an inward sigh, Sansa steeled herself as the Dragon Queen spoke once more.

“Did you see three dragons flying overhead when you arrived?”

“I did.”

“And did you see the Dothraki, all of whom have sworn to kill for me?”

“Yes, your grace.” She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“But still, I need your help?” Daenerys asked, looking amused and patronising, but Sansa had learned to weather all manners of insult, those personal and evasive, and those from arrogant rulers.

“Yes,” Sansa answered simply. “My…” she paused for a fraction of a second, “king has seen unspeakable horrors beyond the Wall and there is an army marching towards us at this very moment. If we do not band together, there will not be a kingdom for anyone to rule.”

“And what is this army you speak of?”

She sighed. It was impossible to imagine the kind of army that Jon spoke so fearfully of and yet she knew his words to be true. It didn’t, however, make convincing Daenerys Stormborn any easier. “The Army of the Dead.” Sansa straightened her shoulders. “I know how it may sound, but my king is no liar. If he says they are coming then it is true.”

“I have no reason to believe in a man who wishes to oppose me –”

“Jon does not wish to oppose you,” Sansa interjected. “He does not wish to sit on the Iron Throne, not now, not ever. Your grace, you are not grasping the severity of the situation. Cersei is a formidable foe, but the Dead will kill us all if we don’t work together.”

Daenerys let out a scoff. “You will have me place my trust in a man I have never met?”

“Do you trust your Hand?” Sansa asked, looking to Tyrion. “Because he will tell you that neither Jon nor I have any reason to lie to you. Nothing good comes from a Stark leaving the North, but I am here because it is necessary.”

Tyrion sighed. “Your grace, I trust Lady Sansa and I trust Jon Snow. They are honourable people.”

There’s a long pause that fills the room, so tangible Sansa could feel it crowding her, pushing up against the cloak she still wore. Daenerys stood up and began to descend down the stairs, eyes unwaveringly locked onto Sansa’s, but she refused to be intimidated by a woman not much older than her.

“I was born at Dragonstone. Not that I can remember it. We fled before Robert’s assassins could find us. Robert was your father’s best friend, no? I wonder if your father knew his best friend sent assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib. Not that it matters now of course. I spent my life in foreign lands. So many men have tried to kill me. I don’t remember all of their names. I have been sold like a brood mare. I have been chained and betrayed, raped and defiled,” she said, the emotions making her voice rise. It was the first time since they had arrived that Sansa saw something more than just pure arrogance. She saw defiance and strength, but if Daenerys thought she was the only woman to have ever been violated, she was mistaken. Cersei was defiant and she was strong, but she was as bad as the men who underestimated her, if not worse. Sansa won’t be swayed so easily by sad stories; she’s had her fair share.

“Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile?” The Dragon Queen paused, only a few feet away from Sansa now. “Faith. Not in any gods. Not in myths and legends. In myself. In Daenerys Targaryen. The world hadn’t seen a dragon in centuries until my children were born. The Dothraki hadn’t crossed the sea. Any sea. They did for me. I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms. And I will.”

Brienne shifted behind her, but Sansa was not here to trade trauma for trauma. Her pain was her own and no one else’s, not even Jon knew the full extent of what she had gone through. She didn’t need to sink so low for this alliance, but she did need to get through to Daenerys somehow.

“The world is not a kind place for any woman,” Sansa said slowly, evenly, while observing the queen for a reaction. “For many men, we are no more than a womb for their seed to grow and that is if we’re lucky. But this war cares not if you are a man or a woman, Daenerys Stormborn. It will devour us all if we don’t act.”

“My lady,” Tyrion spoke up, his eyes were soft, kind and pleading. “I understand your brother may believe that he saw something beyond the Wall –”

“He did,” she reaffirmed.

“Yes, but you cannot expect us to halt hostilities and join him in fighting in the North,” he continued. “If Jon bends the knee, swears fealty to Daenerys, then we can defeat Cersei and take up arms together in your war.” Tyrion moved forward. “Sansa, you know what my sister is capable of. You know you will never be safe while she’s on the throne.”

“With respect, my lord,” Sansa said through gritted teeth. “I do not need reminding of what Cersei is capable of. As you said, I know far too well, but I also know when there is a far greater threat and that is the one in the North. You may believe me or you may not, but the Long Night is coming. Winter is here.”

“Then bend the knee,” Daenerys demanded once more. “Do it now and we can cease with this squabbling.”

“The North has suffered too long under southron rulers. We will not bend the knee,” she said confidently. “Jon will not bend the knee. The people have put their trust in his hands and he will lead them for as long as he can.”

“That’s fair. It’s also fair to point out that I’m the rightful queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By declaring himself King of the northern most kingdom, House Stark is in open rebellion,” she concluded, eyes narrowed.

That night, she dreamed of fire, bright and orange, flickering up the walls of Winterfell as screams pierced through the air. She could feel the heat on her skin and she wanted it to stop. She tried to remove her cloak but the heat persisted. Sansa opened her mouth to scream, to beg for mercy, for anything that could stop the pain running through her, but her voice would not work.

The thundering flap of wings had Sansa peering up into the ashen sky. There amidst the clouds, she saw two of the most fearsome creatures circling her home. Fire rained from their mouths, turning stone walls to pebbles and people to nothing more than dust. When Sansa could feel the skin peeling away from her bones, she felt it, looming great and big over her, its shadow turning day into night. Sansa moved, whirling around to face it, and immediately, she was struck, jaw gaping open, as she stared into the grey eyes of a pure white dragon. It looked back, sentient like it knew her, and flapped its large wings. The gust of air cooled the fire away and soothed the pain running through her body.

Sansa dropped to the ground and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Just kill me,” she whispered. “Kill me.” It bent its neck towards her like it was bowing, eyes cast down. Confused, Sansa shouted at it, angry and hysterical, “what do you want from me!”

Before it could respond, Sansa woke with a start, her chest pounding loudly in her ears, and the overwhelming feeling that washed through her was that she missed Jon. It was not the first time since arriving at Dragonstone that she thought this, but now knowing that Daenerys was holding them prisoner on this godsforsaken island, she missed him all the more. The thought of never seeing him again made her ache down to her very bones. She had to find a way back to him; she refused to let that moment at the gate be their last moment together.

“I should be going,” Jon said, touching a hand to her cheek. “It is not too late to change your mind.”

Sansa leaned into his touch, uncaring that Brienne, Podrick and Ser Davos were only a few feet away. “We cannot have this argument again, Jon. You’re king. The people need you here.”

“You would do just as well leading them,” he countered, thumb stroking the curve of her cheekbone. “I may be king, but you’re their lady. They love you. They trust you just as well as they trust me.”

“It’s better this way,” Sansa said with a small smile. “Smarter.”

Jon sighed. “I will not convince you otherwise, will I?”

“Have you ever?”

“No,” he said, chuckling softly. He kept his gaze on her, lingering, and drawing out the silence before he finally spoke again. “Be safe.” Without another word, Jon leaned forward to kiss her gently on the forehead, so familiar yet so different, as when he parted, he dropped his forehead to hers, allowing their breaths to swirl in between them. “I’ll miss you, Sansa.”

Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. She ran her hands up his chest to grip onto his furs. “I’ll miss you too.”

Sansa wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand as she stared out unseeingly towards the horizon. The wind blew gently, tossing her hair away from her face and neck, leaving a cool breeze to ease the heat of the south. The sound of footsteps announced his arrival.

“I came out here to brood over my failure to predict the Greyjoy attack, but I can hardly do that in the presence of my lady wife,” Tyrion said, that teasing lilt to his voice.

“I have been a prisoner many times, Lord Tyrion,” Sansa said coolly. “I have been kept against my will at the hands of your family, forced to swear my loyalty to the people who murdered my father, brother and mother. I have been kept and sold by Littlefinger to the Boltons where I was imprisoned in my own home.” Her chest rose up and down rapidly. “But I will not be a prisoner to your queen. Jon is my king and I will make it home to him.”

“Lady Sansa, you are not a prisoner. You are free to roam the beaches and –”

“Do not trifle with me, my lord,” Sansa turned to look at him. “Or have you forgotten how long I spent under your sister’s tutelage?” She pursed her lips tightly. “Your queen does not believe me. It is fair. I hardly believed Jon when he first told me and every rational thought in my mind is saying to look to Cersei. She is our biggest threat, but you don’t know Jon the way I do. Not as he is now.” She returned her gaze to the sea, imagining the man in question and what he must be doing in this moment. “He is a great king, a greater man than you and I ever thought possible in these hellish times, and if he says the Dead are coming, I suggest you heed his warning and act accordingly.”

“My lady, it is not a question of belief,” Tyrion said. “Daenerys could have sailed for Westeros long ago but she didn’t. Instead she stayed where she was and saved many people from horrible fates, some of whom are on this island with us right now. While you’re our guest here you might consider asking them what they think of the Mad King’s daughter. She protects people from monsters, just as you do. That’s why she came here. And she’s not about to head north to fight an enemy she’s never seen on a word of a man she doesn’t know after a single meeting. That’s not a reasonable thing to ask.”

Sansa smiled, though it was derived of humour. “You will forgive me if my faith in rulers who believe themselves entitled to a throne is lacking, Lord Tyrion. But I appreciate your advice and will consider your counsel with great thought. May I suggest you listen to mine as well?”

Feeling all at once exhausted and weary of this conversation, Sansa moved past her former husband and went in search of a quill and parchment. If she could not see Jon, she could write him. He’d need to know that Sansa wouldn’t be coming home for awhile yet, and that as long as she was alive, she’d find a way, not just to return to him but to convince the Dragon Queen to help one way or another. He had tasked her with an important mission and Sansa would not fail him.

Thranduil’s Talented Tongue - Thranduil x Reader

This Thranduil x Reader fanfic is based on the above imagine by @elven-nicknacks.

And believe me, the king takes his obligations very seriously. So better be prepared for some steamy action with Thranduil’s talented tongue.

I decided to take this one-shot towards a teasing side and include some very light bondage. But admit it, dominant and in control Thrandy is just absolutely irresistible. So I hope you enjoy your time with the King of Smirkwood ;). And I am definitely not sorry for the smut, the queen deserves a loving treatment from her king.

You can also find this one-shot on AO3.

Length: 3.986 words

Disclaimer:
I do not own Thranduil (unfortunately), nor any of the other characters from Tolkien’s Middle-earth. I do not make any money with this, this is purely for entertainment.

Thranduil’s Talented Tongue

With an exasperated sigh you slammed the door shut behind you, the wood creaking dangerously on its hinges. You were fuming and in a bad temper. „Ah! Those endless meetings!“ you grumbled to yourself, cursing under your breath as you fought to unfasten your cloak. „They drag on forever. Can they not spare the king for one evening?“

You stomped towards the bed and kicked off your slippers seeing with satisfaction as they bounced off the bedpost. „Why do I need to do without him and go to bed alone? They are all just boring officials with boring reports about boring things.“ 

You flung your cloak into the furthermost corner of the room and threw yourself onto the soft bed, enjoying the springy feeling as you bounced up and down softly with the momentum of your body’s motions. A naughty smile dawned on your face as you were reminded of all the other times the bed had bounced and shaken vigorously those countless times when Thranduil had made love to you there. He was such a passionate lover, tireless and ever striving to please you, his queen. You loved his playfulness and the fact that you could instil in him such desire that he would eventually cast away his self-restraint and do all those unspeakable things to you, his kisses burning on your skin, their imprint remaining on your body as a delicious memory. Just thinking about what he did to you sent flashes of heat through your body and you could feel your core begging to be caressed by his hands as they wandered all over your body just to find the spot that longed to be touched the most.

Keep reading

I have named you queen.
There are taller than you, taller.
There are purer than you, purer.
There are lovelier than you, lovelier.
But you are the queen.
When you go through the streets
No one recognizes you.
No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks
At the carpet of red gold
That you tread as you pass,
The nonexistent carpet.
And when you appear
All the rivers sound
In my body, bells
Shake the sky,
And a hymn fills the world.
Only you and I,
Only you and I, my love,
Listen to it.
—  Pablo Neruda, Love Poems

Usually, I lie. At a party, someone asks the question. It’s someone who hasn’t smelled the rancid decay of week-dead flesh or heard the rattle of fluid flooding lungs. I shake the ice in my glass, smile, and lie. When they say, “I bet you always get that question,” I roll my eyes and agree.

There are plenty of in-between stories to delve into; icky, miraculous ones and reams of the hilarious and stupid. I did, after all, become a paramedic knowing it would stack my inner shelves with a library of human tragicomedy. I am a writer, and we are nothing if not tourists gawking at our own and other people’s misery. No?

The dead don’t bother me. Even the near-dead, I’ve made my peace with. When we meet, there’s a very simple arrangement: Either they’re provably past their expiration date and I go about my business, RIP, or they’re not and I stay. A convenient set of criteria delineates the provable part: if they have begun to decay; if rigor mortis has set in; if the sedentary blood has begun to pool at their lowest point, discoloring the skin like a slowly gathering bruise. The vaguest criterion is called obvious death, and we use it in those bizarre special occasions that people are often sniffing for when they ask questions at parties: decapitations, dismemberments, incinera- tions, brains splattered across the sidewalk. Obvious death.

One of my first obvious deaths was a portly Mexican man who had been bicycling along the highway that links Brooklyn to Queens. He’d been hit by three cars and a dump truck, which was the only one that stopped. The man wasn’t torn apart or flattened, but his body had twisted into a pretzel; arms wrapped around legs. Somewhere in there was a shoulder. Obvious death. His bike lay a few feet away, gnarled like its owner. Packs and packs of Mexican cigarettes scattered across the highway. It was three a.m. and a light rain sprinkled the dead man, the bicycle, the cigarette packs, and me, made us all glow in the sparkle of police flares. I was brand new; cars kept rushing past, slowing down, rushing past.

Obvious death. Which means there’s nothing we can do, which means I keep moving with my day, with my life, with whatever I’ve been pondering until this once-alive-now-inanimate object fell into my path.If I can’t check off any of the boxes—if I can’t prove the person’s dead—I get to work and the resuscitation flowchart erupts into a tree of brand-new and complex options. Start CPR, intubate, find a vein, put an IV in it. If there’s no vein and you’ve tried twice, drill an even bigger needle into the flat part of the bone just below the knee. Twist till you feel a pop, attach the IV line. If the heart is jiggling, shock it; if it’s flatlined, fill it with drugs. If the family lingers, escort them out; if they look too hopeful, ease them toward despair. If time slips past and the dead stay dead, call it. Signs of life? Scoop ’em up and go.

You see? Simple.

Except then one day you find one that has a quiet smile on her face, her arms laying softly at her sides, her body relaxed. She is ancient, a crinkled flower, and was dying for weeks, years. The fam- ily cries foul: She had wanted to go in peace. A doctor, a social worker, a nurse—at some point all opted not to bother having that difficult conversation, perhaps because the family is Dominican and the Spanish translator wasn’t easily reachable and anyway, someone else would have it, surely, but no one did. And now she’s laid herself down, made all her quiet preparations and slipped gently away. Without that single piece of paper though, none of the lamentations matter, the peaceful smile doesn’t matter. You set to work, the tree of options fans out, your blade sweeps her tongue aside and you battle in an endotracheal tube; needles find their mark. Bumps emerge on the flat line, a slow march of tiny hills that resolve into tighter scribbles. Her pulse bounds against your fingers; she is alive.

But not awake, perhaps never to be again. You have brought not life but living death, and fuck what I’ve seen, because that, my friends at the party, my random interlocutor who doesn’t know the reek of decay, that is surely one of the craziest things I have ever done.

But that’s not what I say. I lie.

Which is odd because I did, after all, become a medic to fill the library stacks, yes? An endless collection of human frailty vignettes: disasters and the expanding ripple of trauma. No, that’s not quite true. There was something else, I’m sure of it.

And anyway, here at this party, surrounded by eager listeners with drinks in hand, mouths slightly open, ready to laugh or gasp, I, the storyteller, pause. In that pause, read my discomfort.

On the job, we literally laugh in the face of death. In our crass humor and easy flow between tragedy and lunch break, outsiders see callousness: We have built walls, ceased to feel. As one who laughs, I assure you that this is not the case. When you greet death on the daily, it shows you new sides of itself, it brings you into the fold. Gradually, or maybe quickly, depending on who you are, you make friends with it. It’s a wary kind of friendship at first, with the kind of stilted conversation you might have with a man who picked you up hitch- hiking and turns out to have a pet boa constrictor around his neck. Death smiles because death always wins, so you can relax. When you know you won’t win, it lets you focus on doing everything you can to try to win anyway, and really, that’s all there is: The Effort.

The Effort cleanses. It wards off the gathering demons of doubt. When people wonder how we go home and sleep easy after bearing witness to so much pain, so much death, the answer is that we’re not bearing witness. We’re working. Not in the paycheck sense, but in the sense of The Effort. When it’s real, not one of the endless parade of chronic runny noses and vague hip discomforts, but a true, soon- to-be-dead emergency? Everything falls away. There is the patient, the family, the door. Out the door is the ambulance and then farther down the road, the hospital. That’s it. That’s all there is.

Awkward text messages from exes, career uncertainties, generalized aches and pains: They all disintegrate beneath the hugeness that is someone else’s life in your hands. The guy’s heart is failing; fluid backs up in those feebly pumping chambers, erupts into his lungs, climbs higher and higher, and now all you hear is the raspy clatter every time he breathes. Is his blood pressure too high or too low? You wrap the cuff on him as your partner finds an IV. The monitor goes on. A thousand possibilities open up before you: He might start getting better, he might code right there, the ambulance might stall, the medicine might not work, the elevator could never come. You cast off the ones you can’t do anything about, see about another IV because the one your partner got already blew. You’re sweating when you step back and realize nothing you’ve done has helped, and then everything becomes even simpler, because all you can do is take him to the hospital as fast as you can move without totaling the rig.

He doesn’t make it. You sweated and struggled and calculated and he doesn’t make it, and dammit if that ain’t the way shit goes, but also, you’re hungry. And you’re alive, and you’ve wracked your body and mind for the past hour trying to make this guy live. Death won, but death always wins, the ultimate spoiler alert. You can only be that humbled so many times and then you know: Death always wins. It’s a warm Thursday evening and grayish orange streaks the horizon. There’s a pizza place around the corner; their slices are just the right amount of doughy. You check inside yourself to see if anything’s shattered and it’s not, it’s not. You are alive. You have not shattered.

You have not shattered because of The Effort. The Effort cleanses because you have become a part of the story, you are not passive, the very opposite of passive, in fact. Having been humbled, you feel amazing. Every moment is precise and the sky ripples with delight as you head off to the pizza place, having hurled headlong into the game and given every inch of yourself, if only for a moment, to a losing struggle.

It’s not adrenaline, although they’ll say that it is, again and again. It is the grim, heartbroken joy of having taken part. It is the difference between shaking your head at the nightly news and taking to the streets. It’s when you finally tell her how you really feel, the moment you craft all your useless repetitive thoughts into a prayer.

At the party, as they look on expectantly, I draft one of the lesser moments of horror as a stand-in. The evisceration, that will do. That single strand of intestine just sitting on the man’s belly like a lost worm. He was dying too, but he lived. It was a good story, a terrible night.

I was new and I didn’t know if I’d done anything right. He lived, but only by a hair. I magnified each tiny decision to see if I’d erred and came up empty. There was no way to know. Eventually I stopped taking jobs home with me. I released the ghosts of what I’d done or hadn’t done, let The Effort do what it does and cleanse me in the very moment of crisis. And then one night I met a tiny three-year old girl in overalls, all smiles and high-fives and curly hair. We were there because a neighbor had called it in as a burn, but the burns were old. Called out on his abuse, the father had fled the scene. The emergency, which had been going on for years, had ended and only just begun.

The story unraveled as we drove to the hospital; I heard it from the front seat. The mother knew all along, explained it in jittery, sobbing replies as the police filled out their forms. It wasn’t just the burns; the abuse was sexual too. There’d been other hospital visits, which means that people who should’ve seen it didn’t, or didn’t bother setting the gears in motion to stop it. I parked, gave the kid another high five, watched her walk into the ER holding a cop’s hand.

Then we had our own forms to fill out. Bureaucracy’s response to unspeakable tragedy is more paperwork. Squeeze the horror into easy-to-fathom boxes, cull the rising tide of rage inside and check and recheck the data, complete the forms, sign, date, stamp, insert into a metal box and then begin the difficult task of forgetting.

The job followed me down Gun Hill Road; it laughed when I pretended I was okay. I stopped on a corner and felt it rise in me like it was my own heart failing this time, backing fluids into my lungs, breaking my breath. I texted a friend, walked another block. A sob came out of somewhere, just one. It was summer. The breeze felt nice and nice felt shitty.

My phone buzzed. Do you want to talk about it?

I did. I wanted to talk about it and more than that I wanted to never have seen it and even more than that I wanted to have done something about it and most of all, I wanted it never to have hap- pened, never to happen again. The body remembers. We carry each trauma and ecstasy with us and they mark our stride and posture, contort our rhythm until we release them into the summer night over Gun Hill Road. I knew it wasn’t time to release just yet; you can’t force these things. I tapped the word no into my phone and got on the train.

I don’t tell that one either. Stories with trigger warnings don’t go over well at parties. But when the question is asked, the little girl’s smile and her small, bruised arms appear in my mind.

The worst tragedies don’t usually get 911 calls, because they are patient, unravel over centuries. While we obsess over the hyperviolent mayhem, they seep into our subconscious, poison our sense of self, upend communities, and gnaw away at family trees with intergenerational trauma.I didn’t pick up my pen just to bear witness. None of us did. And I didn’t become a medic to get a front-row seat to other people’s tragedies. I did it because I knew the world was bleeding and so was I, and somewhere inside I knew the only way to stop my own bleeding was to learn how to stop someone else’s. Another call crackles over the radio, we pick up the mic and push the button and drive off. Death always wins, but there is power in our tiniest moments, humanity in shedding petty concerns to make room for compassion. We witness, take part, heal. The work of healing in turn heals us and we begin again, laughing mournfully, and put pen to paper.

Daniel José Older

4

The pervasive hatred of black women that is misogynynoir comes out especially when black women are celebrating or showing pride in their representation of their black womanhood.

It’s even more reprehensible when this misogyny noir is packaged as Mainstream White Feminism. This isn’t the first time Beyonce was attacked for openly discussing her pregnancy, as fake feminists stretch feminist theory to some bizarre interpretation that Beyonce’s pregnancies are oppressing other women.

This is also not the first time jacked feminist theory was used to attack Serena Williams’s body. Female opponents have criticized Serena’s success and claim that it’s unfair because they don’t want their body to look like Serena’s therefore they will never be as strong and successful as her. These comments about Serena’s body resemble ideas about black women and black femininity that are centuries old. That black women can never be seen as “feminine” or beautiful. And any attempt to celebrate ones own black female beauty will be attacked and mocked.

Black motherhood has been under attack since the Victorian era. Black women are only allowed to be seen as the Welfare Queen mother who “eats her young”. Beyonce stands as direct challenge to that, asserting that black mothers are something to value and writers are doing all types of mental gymnastics to diminish her representations of motherhood.

Let’s not forget that Beyonce’s first pregnancy ended in a miscarriage so one has to have some deep, troubling level contempt for black women to find a problem with her celebrating not one but 2 successful and (so far) healthy pregnancies.

Both critiques represent not just misogynoir but the assertion that black women are still not allowed to be in charge of their bodies and are not allowed any ownership to their own definitions of femininity or womanhood.

get the fuck ready for some DP HEADCANONS ABOUT MY GURL STAR

first up her last name is Benson because @melancholicmarionette
made it so in a fic and I’m adopting it because it sounds gud thank

Star Benson has an insane memory, like she remembers everything, and it’s all important stuff like who’s fucking who and which stores have the best deals and all the important current political figures and their policies

and also she can recite the entire Bee Movie script by heart for some reason

she only uses this power for evil

Star Benson knows everyone, literally everyone, that kid who moved into town last week? Star knows his favourite colour, that girl who sits in a corner and doesn’t talk to anyone? Star knows exactly which hair salon she goes to every month for that shitty dye job

names, phone numbers, addresses, Star knows them all, her phone is so full of contacts and emails and she has an account on almost all forms of social media and follows everyone from school on all of them, if anyone needs to contact someone Star can hook you up, she’s owed favours by half the student body

she is a gossip queen, she has all of the dirt, she can recognise someone by voice, by mannerisms even. she knows who the Red Huntress is, she knows who Danny PHANTOM is

nobody knows how she knows all this shit

Star Benson’s mother is a hippy fortune teller, she reads tarot cards and crystal balls and palms, very few people know this. Dash, Kwan and Paulina are the only ones she allows over her house, and they know better than to tell anyone, Star has dirt on ALL OF THEM

Star might be lowkey psychic nobody can be sure

she’s defs highkey gay tho Star is so gay and everybody knows… except her mum her mum doesn’t know because if her mum knows she’ll be so excited that she’ll tell EVERYONE and then her dad will find out

Star does not want her dad to find out her dad is a dICK

but everyone is defs lowkey scared of Star tbh Paulina acts like she’s top dog but only because Star let’s her because Star is crushing on her SO HARD, in reality Star runs the whole fucking social structure of the school. but she won’t fuck over her friends she’s not a MONSTER… as long as they don’t fuck over her first

Danny knows Star’s mother, their parents are friends, they used to hang out as kids, they didn’t have much in common but they were chill, Star and Danny are still pretty chill, mostly when nobody else is around to see it, they still chat at family barbecues

Danny doesn’t know Star knows his secret, Star doesn’t tell him, she doesn’t tell anyone

well she tells Wes because Wes already knows and nobody believes him and he keeps begging her to back him up

she thinks it’s funny

she doesn’t like Wes, he stole her chocolate bar in elementary school and Star n e v e r f o r g e t s

Star knows better than to fuck with a superhero, she could have him wrapped around her little finger but she’s smart enough to recognise that his secret is important, HE’S important I mean he regularly SAVES THE ENTIRE TOWN AND SOMETIMES THE WORLD she ain’t gonna fuck around with stakes that high she knows better than that

she doesn’t say shit about the Red Huntress because Valerie is a fucking rage nuke who can hold a grudge tighter than a god damn hydraulic press, playing with Val is playing with fire and Star ain’t about getting her ass kicked by fucking with the wrong bad bitch

Star is really focused on things she’s into the only classes she makes sure to nail perfectly are the ones she’s interested in and the ones that are relevant to her intended future political career so she’s really good at anything involving history, geography, politics, economics she’s into learning about the world and where it’s been and where it’s going

Star is going to be president of the United States one day, she’ll make fucking sure of it

Little Details About Star Wars I Love

-how holograms are blue and glitchy and flicker, showing that even though their technology is advanced everything is so dilapidated

-Asajj Ventress’s perpetually chapped-looking lips

-When everyone cheers because they weren’t killed by the trash compacter but C-3PO thinks they are dying

-tiny Boba Fett going “Get him, Dad! Get Him!” because he supports his violent bounty hunter father like any good son should

-Padme Amidala continuously out dressing everyone

-Rey’s desert flowers, pilot doll, Rebel helmet, and home made from a rusty AT-AT

-Shmi Skywalker nicknaming Anakin “Ani”

-#livinglegend Sabine Wren pausing her mission in an abandoned, creepy Republic base to spray paint her starbird tag on the walls even though no one will probably ever see it

-Clones giving their brothers names because the Republic only gave them numbers

-On that note, Poe naming Finn because the First Order only gave him a number

-Ahsoka Tano’s reverse lightsaber grip

-Princess Leia’s early and mature wisdom

-Vader throwing his lightsaber at Luke so he will SHUT. UP.

-Ezra Bridger’s stormtrooper helmet collection

-Maul and Savage’s intricate full body Dathomir tattoos

-Clones painting their armor

-Sabe posing as Queen Amidala and smiling a little too giddily as she tells the undercover Padme to clean R2-D2

-Skywalker ponchos

-The roar of a TIE fighter

-19 year old Princess Leia smiling as she sasses two of the most dangerous men in the galaxy

-Darth Vader’s clear hatred for the Death Star, and the corresponding anxious body language of his grandson towards the Starkiller Base

-Obi-Wan doing shots in the middle of a chase scene

-The dangerous smile that spreads across Luke’s face as he tells Jabba the Hutt “This will be the last mistake you’ll ever make.”

-Recent developments that hint that when the dying Anakin Skywalker looked into his son’s big blue eyes as he said “I won’t leave you. I’ve got to save you” he is remembering a young Togrutan girl with big blue eyes firmly stating to Vader “I won’t leave you. Not this time” and how he betrayed her

In that dress

Guess who’s still stuck at home? That’s right it’s ME! Again feel free to make requests or send me promts and ideas, I’ll start psoting my edits and more icons soon. Anyway, the lovely @ferosa requested a fic inspired by this particular dress:

What a glorious piece, Michelle Clapton! It’s very sexy but Dany pulls it off like no other, but in this fic, Jon will pull it off I guess…






Dragonstone was not Essos. Especially not with winter being here. Daenerys missed the days of light dresses and thin silks and cottons, and grew more tired of the stern dressing of Westeros. Today, she was supposed to have super with her guests from the North before she bids them farewell to the crazy mission they’re planning to do. She stared at her clothes, not being sure what to wear. The Queen picked up a coat lined with fur and embroidered with scales. That won’t do for diner…

Another heavy-duty coat and a warm dress with fur lining wasn’t what she imagined. In her practicality, she forgot to actually buy dresses she’d wear for opportunities like this. The clothing she wore here was heavy and made out of strong materials, almost armor like… She closed the trunk and turned around to her old clothes she wore back in Meeren. There was a dress out of blue leather and silk, then her fine white dresses, the one with the collar, and then she found a piece she almost forgot about. It had blue cap sleeves, the same fabric crossed in an x shape and went around her waist. The rest of the dress was made out of a light gray fabric and it only covered her breast and legs, leaving her stomach exposed. She almost squealed when she saw it.

Dany put it on hastily and admired herself in the mirror. Her hair was still down, only moved from her face by two simple braids. She turned around and looked at the back. Would it wrong to wear it for dinner? Perhaps with some blue earrings or a necklace?

She was interrupted from her own thoughts by Jon Snow. The man strolled into her private chambers and looked for her. And then he spotted her. Jon’s mind went blank after witnessing what she was wearing, and never seeing a woman in something like this, he figured these must be her undergarments. He immediately turned around.

-Lord Snow? Is everything alright?-

He was panicking now.

-Your Grace, we wanted to tell you that mining is over and we have gathered the dragonglass we need.-

-Why did you turn around?-

-Because you aren’t wearing any clothes…-

She laughed.

-But I am? My lord, turn around, this is a dress, I am not naked.-

He turned around and glanced over her body. That dress was hiding nothing. He decided to look away.

-Won’t you be cold in that?-

-If you haven’t noticed, the palace has several fireplaces.-

-Seven hells…-

He couldn’t bear to look at her, it felt almost inappropriate. Wherever his gaze went, she’d follow, making him stare at her. Jon realized there is no use for looking away, she had no shame.

-Forgive me, but how does one consider this a dress?-

-The people in Meeren wear this all the time. This is tame by their standards? Have you ever seen a naked woman?-

-Yes, I mean, what are you asking me?-

-I am asking you if you are comfortable with naked women. Or do you prefer naked men?-

-No! Oh gods, are you sure that you are not cold?-

-I am the blood of the dragon. Dragons don’t get cold.-

She looked divine. Her skin was beautiful, and it looked so soft, her hair tumbling down her shoulders, making her look like a dream. Daenerys approached him. He could now see she had a tiny little freckle underneath her left breast. Oh. Now he’s staring at her chest. He reminded himself to kick Davos for the good heart joke, because his words were now coming back to haunt him in this sensitive moment. Her good heart, was, to put it simply, to close for comfort now.

-It does suit you very well.-

-Excellent! That means you can escort me to diner!-

She looped their arms together, his upper arm briefly brushed her breast. He was blushing now, on the verge to break out into a nervous sweat. He led her to the room and she tried to hold a conversation with him but it was useless. A glass of wine should fix that.

When they entered the room together, Missandei acknowledged their presence, Tyrion raised an eyebrow and Davos spat out his drink. Jorah Mormont looked like he’s on the verge of tears. Greyworm was the only one to greet them.

-The King in the North was kind enough to escort me to diner.-

-I see…- Said Davos, snickering at Jon.

They all had a pleasant evening. Well, except for Jon and Jorah. The Bear managed to avoid glancing at the Queen, but Jon had the fortune to sit next to her. He used every fiber in his body not to look over. And it had no effect. Whatever magic and charm he had, he was dizzy from a mixture of her magic and wine, and it was all enhanced by her beauty and elegance. Jon, being Jon, tried to stay noble and not let his thoughts wander elsewhere. Too bad he was only human.

-And then, he fell down the stairs and the Madame started screaming! - Said Tyrion, finishing his story up. The table erupted with laughter.

-Who is next?-

Davos was the next one to open his mouth.

-Back in the day when I was a young lad in Flea Bottom…-

-Aegon the Conqueror was still king at the time. True story… - Said Tyrion raising his glass.

The table was now shaking from laughter, Dany put a hand on Jon’s shoulder and he leaned against her.

Missandei told them about the butterflies she used to catch in Naath with her brother. It was getting late now. Dany got up to stir the fire in the dragon-mouth shaped fireplace, turning her back to Jon. She was shaped like a pear. Her bare back was teasing him mercilessly, igniting a fire in him that had only one way to be extinguished. The small company parted again, leaving ice and fire alone in a room. Dany tapped her foot and got up to bid Jon Snow good night. And he did something she’d never expected him to do. He grabbed her hand and pushed her against the wall. She wasn’t angry or aggravated, more surprised and happy than the wolf finally came out. He breathed against her neck, causing her to shiver.

-What are you doing, my lord?-

-You must be mad… First, you put on a garment that’s barely a dress… Second, you tease me mercilessly the entire night, as if you are playing a little game… Third, I tried, I really tried…-

-What did you try?-

And he crashed against her mouth, almost biting her lip. He sucked on it and they were both panting, fighting for air.

-If you’d release me, my lord, I would take you somewhere to take care of the problem that I feel against my thigh…-

He was almost embarrassed. But, now was not the time to play a blushing maid because neither of them was. She guided him to her chamber, and he pushed her on the bed, climbing on top of her. HE started kissing her neck, leaving bite-marks, he started kissing the skin that was exposed by her dress, and carefully undid the laces of the soft garment. And she wore nothing underneath it. At all.

The following morning he was seated at the breakfast table, Jorah Mormont and Tyrion Lannister sitting across of him. The Imp was going through some reports and the knight was stirring his porridge. Jon was not able to keep his eyes open. He yawned and covered his mouth. Davos sat down next to him.

-Did you sleep well last night, my King?-

-No, not really…-

-I figured since you were missing from your rooms.-

Mormont put his spoon down and Tyrion folded a letter and grinned.

-Oh, this suddenly took a turn for the interesting! Did you get lost last night? After all, this is a large fortress.-

Jon was on the verge of screaming now.

-I believe His Grace was misled last night by something and he got lost. Happens to all of us. Doesn’t it, Sir Jorah?-

-Yes, I suppose it does.-

-I think His Grace’s last night was quite an adventure. - nodded Davos.

-Yes, I heard it last night!-

Jon calculated remembering that Tyrion’s abode is located next to Dany’s. Oh, he was a dead man again. Why did she have to be loud at sunrise? He left the room maybe an hour later and he could bet his sword that the Lannister saw him.

-And where’s the Queen? - asked Jorah, looking completely worried and oblivious, - she never misses any meetings or meals.-

-I believe she’s resting, Sir Jorah. Even queens need rest sometimes, don’t you agree, King Jon?-

He put his head on between his hands.

-I am too tired to reply to those remarks.-

-Why would you be tired? You had a good meal and a long night to rest.-

-I think I’m going back to bed.-

-Don’t get lost again, my friend! The gods know you need your sleep!-

So this is a new female design from the game Overwatch, findable on the new map Junkertown: the queen of the city.

I’m so disappointed.

I get it she’s beautiful and waifu material and badass and all and all but… where is the character design originality/diversity here ?

Same face features than Sombra (and artistic stylization isn’t an excuse), boobswindow (She’s still a woman after all), classic body shape (at the right places uh ?)and very basic junker design it seems.

Is that the only possible design for a tyrannic warrior queen of a post-apo city, fighting against robots ?

Strong new female character yes, but new female charadesign nope…

Honestly, I’ll be happy to see here as a playable character, of course, but honestly Blizzard, if all your next female heroes have to be draw this way we don’t need another ones. (Yes had to put that ref okay.)


blood fruits ❖ yixing

anon suggestion

(gif not mine, credits to the owner)

3210 words | vampire!au, yixing!blind, king of china what can i say, fluff, angst, mature themes: killing, blood and smut (in the next parts) | velvet

✎ One cold night Prince Zhang Yixing becomes the King of Eyes of the Underworld. Called the King of Eyes because of his sensual and black gaze, he seems like one of the best Kings the Underworld has ever had. Until one day his First Soldier Wu Yifan gets killed and he decides to take care of Yifan’s little sister, a Mid-Being who is starting her transition into a vampire. 
As a vampire she starts to develope a power and with this power she seems to see something in King Yixing’s eyes, or better - over them. 


Keep reading

Being married to T’Challa would include...

Originally posted by softtroublemaker

Writer: Jess

  • Being the only one who can comfort him when something goes wrong or when he’s tired as fuck
  • Having baths together where he just hugs you from behind, enjoying the feeling of your naked and wet body against his own - because it’s relaxing
  • Never calling him by his name
  • Of course, being queen of Wakanda
  • Which means you have enemies too
  • Being loved by his mom, his closest friends and by the nation of Wakanda
  • Him personally teaching you how to fight like a warrior
  • Learning how to speak his dialect
  • Making public appearances both with and withouth T’Challa
  • Pretty much because now you’re a queen, so sometimes you have to represent Wakanda in some kind of politic meeting while T’Challa is away doing something important
  • You learning how to act and behave like a queen
  • Having some fucking awesome outfits because hello???? You’re royalty now????
  • Your wedding ring being made out of Vibranium, with a beautiful but simple diamond on it
  • The Dora Milaje protecting you too
  • Getting pregnant not being a concern for you anymore, because you know T’Challa wants a baby
  • You two actually trying to have a baby
  • Having sex on everywhere you can imagine
  • Even after a long time, T’Challa keeps worshipping your body
  • Having this little apartment far away from Wakanda, where T’Challa takes you so you two can have some time alone, as a normal couple
  • Cooking for him whenever you can because he loves your food
  • Him giving you massages every time you’re on your period
  • Knowing how to deal with each other’s shit - like when one of you are mad or whatever
  • Not being scared of him, so basically facing him when he’s angry at something because you know you’re the only one he will listen to
  • Supporting him in every decision he makes
  • You being the only one who knows his deepest feelings
  • You and his mom being the two most important persons of his life
  • At least until the moment you tell him you’re pregnant

anonymous asked:

Do you do Rowaelin? If so, 15 and 18

Anon I will gladly give you Rowaelin HCs!

Touching (can be NSFW or innocent): (Both. Both is good.)

  • It’s a rare sight to see Rowan and Aelin not touching each other in some way. They are quite physical when it comes to showing affectionate displays.

  • Aelin claims that Rowan’s crown is crooked or that his hair is ruffled in a mess from flying so that she has the excuse to run her fingers through his white hair.

  • Note: Aelin has a weakness for petting animals so sometimes the Cadre will shift in their animal forms when she is angry and more often then not she will melt at the sight and proceed to have a petting session.

  • Another Note: Fenrys and Connall will shift into wolf forms for Aelin to pet them just to piss off Rowan as Aelin’s attention is fixed on the twins instead of Rowan who jealousy seethes on the throne.

  • The Queen of Terrasen also is a fan running her hand up and down Rowan’s thighs during meetings

  • Honestly it’s a game they play in which Rowan attempts to maintain his composure as his mate inches further up and up his leg until she at last holds the hardened weight of him in her hands

  • One time Aelin managed to unsnap one of his pant buttons, before Aelin’s Court, specifically Aedion and Lorcan, immediately requested that they continue the meeting another time since they knew it was only a matter of seconds before the Queen and King were about to use the table for reasons other than the use for political meetings.

  • Rowan will trace imaginary patterns on Aelin’s skin.

  • He usually runs his fingers in swirling motions to get an idea for any new tattoos he could give his wife.

  • His innocent touching though turns into heated brushes of skin as he runs in calloused hands up Aelin’s body and underneath one of those tempting nightgowns she always has.

  • Eventually his hands are toying with her breasts and he is sinking deep into her folds in a rough play for dominance.

What “turns them on” Headcanon:

  • Aelin is all about trying to get Rowan to grow his hair back out. When he does she can finally play with it and pull on it during sex.
  • “Do you think if I pull you hair hard enough would some of your feathers be plucked in your other form?”

    “And do you think if I make you scream loud enough for me in pleasure would you bring down the Staghorns mountain range my Fireheart?”

  • She also can’t deny that watching Rowan wrestle with the rest of the Cadre gets her turned on. (A fact that most of the Terrasen Court can agree on.)

  • Seeing Rowan mud-splattered with sweat running down his chest is feast for Aelin’s eyes.

  • Rowan was never one to enjoy fancy material items, but he now is one of the most visited customers at a woman’s intimate store where he buys Aelin all sorts of lacy, sheer and silk garments.

  • He can no longer bring Aelin to the store, because one time they did and they ended up clearing out the backrooms due to their loud session of “trying out the garments”

  • Rowan immediately gets turned on when Aelin nips at his ear or neck. Feeling her teeth grazing against his skin unleashes the primal urge to claim her right there on the spot.