“From here on, I..! From here on..! Y'hear me?! I’m gonna… beat you all! I’m going to become the number one!! Enjoy your win. It’ll never happen again! Dammit!!!” ↳ ♡Happy Birthday to my angry hot hero ♡| Bakugou Katsuki | 04.20 ♡ ٩(╬ʘ益ʘ╬)۶
patience: a soft self-care/study playlist for when you need a little healing. featuring instrumentals and music by: Bon Iver, Sleeping At Last, The Head and the Heart, Sara Bareilles, The Paper Kites, Novo Amor, Ingrid Michaelson, and more…
Top 10Naruto Characters ☆as voted by our followers ↳ #10Uchiha Sasuke “My name is Sasuke Uchiha. I hate a lot of things, and I don’t particularly like anything. What I have is not a dream, because I will make it a reality. I’m going to restore my clan, and kill a certain man.”
Prompt: A combination of this “I want Tyrion and Sansa meeting again and Tyrion appreciating and actually listening to what Sansa has to say. And can you please put in jealous Jon there too? 😊” from @daredevil-karen-and-matt and “All I want is Ghost by Sansa’s side when J/D show up at WF and him growling at D.” from @ladyeliamm & “Definitely Ghost on Sansa’s side at all times especially when Jon returns.” from @qinaliel
“My Lady Sansa, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Tyrion says, striding forward to take her hand. Ghost lets out a low growl under his breath but remains unperturbed by the man. After many moons spent with the white wolf, she understands him nearly as well as she once understood her darling Lady. It is a warning, a territorial threat against harming his pack. Sansa is pleased to be apart of that pack, to even have a pack again.
“My lord,” she smiles. “It is my pleasure. I’m sorry we are not meeting under happier circumstances.” The clanking of metal upon metal as the winterly winds whip around them emphasises her point. Winter is here and the Army of the Dead is marching past the Wall. Times are as dire as they have ever been, yet Sansa finds peace settling in her soul rather than fear. If she is to die in this war, at least she will die with her pack.
“Very right, my lady,” Lord Tyrion says with a nod. He falls quiet as he takes in the busy courtyard, the men and women who rush back and forth with carts of grain, or the ones fitting boiled leather into the armour as she had requested. It is a sight to behold. The once quiet of Winterfell now lost to the chaos of impending war. Worry creases the lines on her people’s faces, turning children of ten and two into warriors, stripping them of a childhood they will never get back.
Sansa inhales deeply, trying to push away the ache of their loss. “The night is fast approaching. Soon, darkness will reach us. More than half of these people will be dead by the next moon.” She lets the breath escape, a swirling mist around her face, shadowed by the heavy clouds above. She returns her gaze back to Lord Tyrion. “And even if we win, what will we be left with?”
“Life,” he answers her with a sad smile. “Life, Lady Sansa. That is why we’re fighting at all, is it not? Is that not why we are all here?” He gestures to the preparations occurring around them. “Is that not why you have stood by your king and ruled in his stead?”
The question makes her laugh in spite of herself. She catches herself a second too late and Lord Tyrion casts a speculative gaze towards her. Sansa gives her head a little shake before walking towards the Great Keep, listening to the crunching of boots behind her as he follows. “My king,” she says, keeping her tone impassive. “Is that what I should still call him? Or should I be looking to your queen for commands now?”
Tyrion catches up to her. She isn’t walking fast after all. There is no place for her to be now that her king is home. “Lady Sansa, surely you know that it doesn’t matter who sits on the throne right now. We are fighting for life not a crown.”
“And surely, my lord, you know that the North is unlike anywhere else,” Sansa says, stopping just outside of the great oak doors to turn and look at him. “We are loyal to our own. Proud, stubbornly so, and war or not, the North will never yield to your queen. Our paths may have crossed in times of peace, but I fear when the war is done, if we still have breaths in our lungs, we may not be able to speak so candidly with one another again.”
There is a long pause as the man considers her words before his hand reaches out to clasp around her wrist. Sansa tenses, dread filling her veins. She reminds herself to relax at his touch. It is only Tyrion; he was good to her once.
“It would be a terrible fate if that is the case, my lady,” Tyrion sighs, though she sees the understanding in his eyes. Abruptly, his expression shifts and there’s a twinkle in his eyes as he smiles. “You have grown into quite a woman, my lady. I always knew you would survive us all.”
Sansa flushes and chuckles softly. “Mayhaps. I do think –”
She tenses again, but this time for an entirely different reason. Sansa turns, her heart seizing at the sight of Jon standing with the Dragon Queen, her hair as white as the snow swirling around them. She pulls her hand back from Tyrion’s grip and steels herself for the conversation to come.
“Jon,” she murmurs softly, polite but distant. Sansa is of the North, the blood of the First Men running through her, and it is that stubbornness that keeps her still loyal to Jon. She suspects she always will be. He is not just of her kin; he is her friend, her anchor in this world. But it still hurts like an arrow to the back to hear he has bent the knee to this foreign queen.
“I, uh…” Jon seems at a loss for words as he looks to Tyrion then to Sansa. It’s an inscrutable expression, but as quickly as it comes, it’s gone. He moves his gaze back to the woman by his side. “Oh. Sansa, this is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Your grace, this is Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell. My… my sister.”
Daenerys smiles and her teeth glint against her pale skin and pale hair. Everything about her is so pale. She looks like a ghost, Sansa thinks, a dead thing walking in the world of the living. The Dragon Queen steps forward, her words abruptly dying in her throat, as Ghost lets out a deep, gutteral growl, teeth bared.
“A direwolf, your grace,” Sansa says, placing a hand on top of Ghost’s furry head, trying to placate the great beast. “I must apologise. I don’t know what has gotten into him.” She catches Jon’s eye and he looks confused.
“Ghost, no,” he says sternly, but the direwolf blinks up at him, a whimper now replacing the growl. He, however, remains by Sansa’s side, still standing protectively in between Daenerys Stormborn and her. Jon’s confusion grows and he turns back to the foreign queen. “He is protective of his pack. I left him to take care of Sansa while I was away. I believe he is taking that quite seriously.”
“It’s not an issue, Jon,” she says quietly, smiling up at him. “I understand. Dragons and direwolves are not beasts easily tamed.”
Sansa bristles at the use of his name and Ghost seems to sense her change in mood as he begins to growl again, louder this time, more menacing as if Daenerys’ words had cut her like a physical lash across her skin instead of the wound deepening inside of her chest. She cards her fingers through Ghost’s fur and grips gently.
“I will take him inside,” Sansa announces. Jon looks ready to protest, his eyes widening and worry brimming in them like unshed tears, but she is good at putting on a mask. “I have matters to attend to so I must beg your leave, your grace. It was a pleasure to meet you.” She looks back to Jon. “Ghost, come.” The giant white wolf immediately falls back by her side and the two disappear back into the Great Keep. She hears the soft murmurs of conversation between the three of them, but she doesn’t need to hear what they have to say.
Ghost may not be hers. Ghost may always be a part of Jon and loyal to him above anyone else, but as she lies in bed that night, arms wrapped tightly around the great wolf, she draws comfort in his presence. If Ghost is still watching over her then Jon still loves her. He is still loyal to her and that is all she needs to know. For now, that has to be enough.
@mainhoonemily and @pbj-anonymous tagged me for the Favorite Pictures of Your Bias thing because apparently they want to see me suffer. Who can pick just a few favorite pictures of T.O.P?? Not me. That’s clearly impossible.
I want to know how this conversation went during filming. Was it “Hey Mike, we want you to do a totally sick barrel roll through the tent screen.” or was it his own idea like “Hey, how about instead of just running out of the tent like everyone else, I do a barrel roll out the side of it. It’ll be RAD.”
Anyway as a butch lesbian I don’t think it’s wrong for me to want to criticize how femininity is forced on women and girls. I’m not saying you can’t participate in or enjoy femininity for yourself, but my journey has been… Complex. With regards to femininity and my feelings toward it.
When I was younger, around 8-9, I despised dresses and the color pink and everything to do with compulsory femininity. I actively and loudly proclaimed my hatred for these things. Over time, I told myself - or rather, I internalized messages from the world around me - that this was due to my own immaturity and actually was misogynistic. I forced myself to “get over it” and “fit in” and eventuality I was wearing skirts and dresses and even the color pink quite often. I thought of this as a success on my part to grow beyond my childhood fancies and to embrace femininity and womanhood, because of course I thought (as I was told) that the two are one and the same. Only recently have I begun to really shed these facets of compulsory femininity, to return to my “tomboy” childhood self. There are still some dresses in my closet - unworn, semi-forgotten vestments of a world I’ve left behind. I still own some makeup products, some high heels, some low cut “girly” tops. Femininity tends to leave a residue on one’s life, even after you think you’re done with it. Haven’t done laundry in two weeks? All that’s left is a skirt you bought in the tenth grade. Zit on your nose? Good thing you didn’t throw out your concealer. These things aren’t necessarily vicious, but the idea behind that skirt you bought in tenth grade (maybe if I stop wearing so many loose jeans the girls in my class will want to talk to me) or the idea that your skin should be held to a higher standard than that of a boy - these are the things that harm, and hurt, and stick to your skin long after you thought it was over.
This is not to say that somehow my growth is better or more nuanced than that of anyone else, I just want to say that femininity is compulsory and I have the right to question its role in society. More than simply saying it wasn’t for me but it’s totally fine and empowering for others, I want to give young girls and women a choice in how they can comfortably express themselves in the world. It’s not somehow easier to reject femininity than to accept it. I don’t benefit from some sort of “masculine privilege” by merit of being gender nonconforming and a butch lesbian. I can understand why makeup and dresses and high heels can be a refuge of safety for many women - trans women, women of color, disabled/differently abled women, etc. in particular - without promoting the idea of compulsory femininity as being a positive aspect of heteropatriarchal society. It’s not. It makes women safer because of its compulsory nature. Because, if you don’t submit, you may find yourself in danger. Makeup and beauty products may as well have the tagline “conform or die” and even if you do your best to conform, it may still not be enough. This is what I question. This is what I, as a butch lesbian, want to destroy. And even if you enjoy and find comfort in femininity, you should support every woman’s right to freedom without femininity.