A lioness does not fear a frog, no matter how old and ugly she might be. She should have gone, she should have listened, she should have run away. Instead she took the dagger Maggy offered her, and ran the twisted iron blade across the ball of her thumb.
In the dim green tent, the blood seemed more black than red. Maggy’s toothless mouthtrembled at the sight of it. “Here,” she whispered, “give it here.” When Cersei offered her hand, she sucked away the blood with gums as soft as a newborn babe’s. The queen could still remember how queer and cold her mouth had been.
“Three questions may you ask,” the crone said, once she’d had her drink. “You will not like my answers. Ask, or begone with you.”
asoiaf/got meme » one queen/king [1/1] » cersei lannister and maggy the frog’s prophecy
“…and I don’t think he’s gonna be there.” When Dean didn’t respond, you looked up from your laptop. His eyes were blinking slowly and his head was bobbing down to his chin.
“You know that tie doesn’t match your shirt.” You said, testing. When his head dropped further on his chest, you grinned and looked sideways at Sam who grinned back and leaned back in his chair to watch what was about to happen.
“Also…I was the one that scratched baby in October.” You cringed. “Not that kid.”
“And I switched our toothbrushes when I came home the other day,” Sam admitted, “so whatever you did to mine….that’s been in your mouth.”
“And, when you were out last week, I ate your last slice of pie. Not Sam.”
Sam’s jaw dropped and his eyebrows creased. “Sorry.” You mouthed, wincing.
“And Y/N likes you Dean.” Sam blurted out. Your jaw dropped as you looked at Sam’s smug face, and you quickly glanced back at Dean who’s head had snapped up. His eyes were still mostly closed, as he looked around, confused, and he rubbed them with the back of his hands and let out a yawn.
Dean flipped the page of what was his father’s journal, looking for something, anything, about what kind of monster had the tendency to eat the livers out of people and then scalp them for their hair.
There on the following page, jumping out in dark black ink, was a phone number. He didn’t recognize it, not immediately and he bent down to study it closer. There was a name written in pencil above it, faded and worn, but still legible; your name.
“Son of a bitch.” Dean started. He pulled out his phone and quickly typed in the number, shaking his head at himself as it rang. How could he have forgotten about this? He had promised to call you when he had made it back but with everything going on at the time he had forgotten.
As a young African American female, I sometimes feel ashamed and out of place revieling my race to people on the Internet because my interests don’t “correlate” with my race. But I’m finally feeling a bit comfortable with myself, my skin, my hair, my voice and my personality. Its been an incredibly long journey and I’ve been struggling with an overwhelming amount of self hatred and depression, so im doing this as a way to show myself that im accomplishing something.
I am not ugly. I am not stupid. I am not a failure. I am not a waste. I DESERVE TO BE ALIVE AND HEALTHY.
You sighed against the door, happy to finally have a weekend alone to wind down and relax. You threw your duffle on the nearest bed and followed it over, kicking your shoes off as you walked, ready to take a nice long nap.
You turned around, startled, when the bathroom door suddenly opened. A man in a blue shirt, who had clearly just gotten out of the shower, walked out, not realizing he wasn’t alone until he saw you standing there, frozen, in the middle of the room.