vent fury

Langst p1 (bc I plan on doing more of this)

Okay but, i hc Lance as a middle child in a big family (everyone does that but bear with me) so he is used to his feelings being overlooked.

But imagine he doesn’t have physical breakdowns around anyone, that he handles emotional stuff calmly. And he surpresses his emotions until he’s alone. I bet he likes to break things. Because you know it releases tension.

And he can do the scary parent stare. And sorry If my English is shitty.

Like: (i’m very sorry, but i’m trying to make it as bad as possible)

The mission went horrible. Completely and utterly horrible. And they were all angry and tired, some even more so.


“Keith stop it! You can’t just scream at people like that!” Lance put himself between Keith and Pidge. Pidge shakily clenched her tiny fists in the back of his suit.


The team was speechless. They didn’t know how to react. Not even Shiro. They were all gaping at the scene in front of them.

Lance’s eyes watered and sparkled. For a second he seemed to crumble, ready to break down crying. But his demeanor changed instantly. His posture straightened and his eyes dulled.

“I know i’m annoying and useless. But that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to vent your fury on me, or anyone in the team for that matter. You’re obviously distressed right now.” Lance voice is monotonous. And he is starimg right at Keith. He opened his mouth to say something, but Lance glared. “You are not going to intrerrupt when i’m speaking.” He snapped his mouth shut.“ Now you’re going to take a shower and then come back and appologise to Pidge.”

Keith was about to protest. “You are going to do as I said and I do not want to hear a word from you until you make up with Pidge.” There were obvious tears in Keith’s eyes but he nodded and left.

Than Lance turned to Pidge and crouched to her level. His whole expression softened. He put a hand on her cheek

“Hey, Pidge, don’t cry. I know Keith is mean, and I know you didn’t want to put any of us in danger. None of us blames you, not even Keith, even if he doesn’t know that yet. Okay?” He reassured her.

She put a hand on top of his. “Do you really feel like that?”

“Hm? Of course I don’t blame you.”

“No, i mean… Do you really feel like you’re useless?” She clarified. Lance smiled sadly.

“Yes, Pidge, i do. But right now we are focusing on you. Understood?”


“If I promise i’ll talk to you about it tomorrow will you drop it now?” Offered Lance. Pidge didn’t seem convinced but nodded anyway. “Good, now…” He stood up still holding Pidge’s face. He smiled ar the team and fixed them with a look. “ Go wash yourselves. It was a taxing a mission and we all could use some relaxation. Plus, we stink.”

They all scrambled to do as Lance said. Pidge not before hugging the life out of Lance.

Ahhh! Sorry for the long post! And i know Keith would NEVER do that!! Sorry!

anonymous asked:

I've been seeing those sweaters designed to carry a cat in the pocket and it got me thinking. Imagine Clint gets turned into a kitten and gets taken in by this kind blue eyed dude in glasses not realising Phil is a SHIELD agent... who was tracking down hawkeye until he mysteriously disappeared two weeks ago

Author’s note: okay so… the tale of the kitten assassin kinda got away from me so there’s more, lots more, under the cut.

Coulson was on the rooftop where ‘Hawkeye’ aka Clinton Francis Barton, had last been seen two weeks previously. He’d been on his way home when he got the insane urge to visit the place again and try to work out how the marksman had succeeded and he’d failed, both so spectacularly.

After running his hand through his wet hair and wiping the raindrops from his eyes, he settled into a sniper’s stance against the low wall peering into the distance with his spotter’s scope through the steady drizzle. He could only just make out the window of the building where the archer had eliminated the mark – SHIELD’s mark dammit! – in similar conditions. Coulson had received long range target training during his time in the Rangers and was considered to be pretty good but he knew, without doubt, he couldn’t have made the shot; not even on his best day. Once again it proved the archer was everything that was rumoured about him… and more. Hence the reason Fury, and now Coulson, wanted him so badly.

Ignoring the rain trickling down his face and soaking through his suit, he stood for another few moments thinking about what could have been. He’d been so close this time with three teams just minutes away from the location on their own op to capture and interrogate the target Barton had claimed, and two quinjets hovering nearby as backup. But the ‘World’s Greatest Marksman’ had slipped away from him yet again.

Sighing, he made his way down the exterior fire escape from the rooftop to the alley below as Hawkeye’s most recent disappearing act played through his head. Surprisingly, the archer had left his bow and quiver on the rooftop along with his clothes and, what appeared to be hearing aids. He’d been known to leave the rest (except the aids which was a new fact for his file) but never the bow. Coulson paused in the alley way, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to make sense of the information.

And he probably would have stood there a lot longer were it not for a pathetic little mew that came unexpectedly from his feet. Still frowning he looked down at the source of the sound; a kitten. A small, bedraggled kitten with dirty blonde fur sticking up in all directions and a fresh scratch across its nose sat in a puddle by his feet gazing up at him with huge sorrowful eyes, their colour an unusual mix of blue/green/grey. As they stared at each other, it mewed at him again, this time a little stronger and certainly more insistent.


Against his better judgement, Coulson crouched down in front of the scruffy feline holding out his forefinger for it to scent him. The kitten nose-bumped him then shoved the corner of its mouth against his pad rubbing its cheek and face along the length of his finger. Coulson was surprised by the strength behind it and behind the loud purr it had begun to make.

“Where did you come from?” he said softly to it rubbing gently between the ears with this fingertip. The purr grew into a deep, throaty rumble as Coulson continued. The senior agent had obviously found a sweet spot.

He scanned the alley while he scratched the kitten’s head, the little animal arching into his touch. Seeing nothing that made him believe there was a mother cat or more kittens, he looked at it again. It stared back at him with a hint of defiance. Despite himself, the corner of Coulson’s mouth turned up in amusement.

“Sorry, little guy. Can’t take you with me.”

The kitten glared at him and gave him a baleful wail as if understanding his words. The SHIELD agent was renowned within the organisation for being a cool, unflappable badass but those who knew him personally were aware he had a heart larger than most and the kitten’s sorry cries and dishevelled state tugged at its strings.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he protested. “I don’t lead a life that lends itself well to kittens… or cats. Or plants even. Actually especially plants.” Apparently the kitten was unconvinced by his argument and began to yell at him in a series of non-stop meows.

Coulson rolled his eyes and sighed. Badass or not he knew when he was beaten.

“Okay. I’ll take you with me tonight but… tomorrow I drop you off at the shelter.”

He scooped the little animal into the palm of his hand and wondered what to do with it next. The kitten made the decision for him by scampering up the sleeve of his rain-soaked jacket and onto his shoulder where it nuzzled against his neck before settling itself into a comfortable position gripping on with its tiny claws.

“Smartass,” he told it softly with the beginnings of a smile. Whoever adopted this little guy was in for some serious trouble. He felt sorry for them already.


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I Don’t Want the World to See Me (Cause I Don’t Think that They’d Understand) # 8

#8  Here’s another little blurb from Bucky’s POV - It takes place during Part 36 of WEMtbB (masterlist here)

Word count - 2355 (so much for this being a drabble….)

Warnings - Angst, anger, the internal wrath of Bucky, thoughts of violence/death

Wondering where Bucky was during the last update to WEMtbB?  Here you go!!  If you need a little music, check out The Light by Disturbed.  This song could have been written for this particular segment.

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We know that revolution begins with street disturbances and outbreaks; it is the initial phase which involves force and violence. But that is merely the spectacular prologue of the real revolution. The age long misery and indignity suffered by the masses burst into disorder and tumult, the humiliation and injustice meekly borne for decades find vents in acts of fury and destruction. That is inevitable, and it is solely the master class which is responsible for this preliminary character of revolution. For it is even more true socially than individually that ‘whoever sows the wind will reap the whirlwind’; the greater the oppression and wretchedness to which the masses had been made to submit, the fiercer will rage the social storm. All history proves it, but the lords of life have never harkened to its warning voice.
—  Alexander Berkman

thefourteenthdarkone  asked:

Cobra and Laxus friendship headcanons, I love the idea of the second-gens hanging out!

Of course!

-Cobra and Laxus are horrible gossips.  They’ll sit up on the top floor of the Guild (reserved for S-Ranks), and snark and bitch about everybody.  It totally helps that Cobra can hear what people are thinking, so they can go at it for hours.

-Watching them use the gym at the same time is the funniest thing ever because they are so fucking competitive.  Like, if Cobra can do a hundred chin ups, Laxus will do that but with weights.  If Laxus can hit up an extra twenty to his usual bench press weight, Cobra will (stupidly) try to top that, even if he isn’t near Laxus’s usual.  Watching them do laps is even FUNNIER.

-When Laxus was severely poisoned on a solo-mission, origins unknown, Cobra literally traveled back to Magnolia from the opposite end of the country to develop a cure.  He and Wendy stayed up for several days developing an antivenin, and when Laxus finally woke up, the first thing Cobra did was punch him because he had been “forced to travel from buttfuck nowhere to save your bitch ass from a little poison”.

-Laxus and Cobra get a little bitter sometimes because they’re the only two to have never been raised by a dragon, and both of them had abusive father-figures, so they feel at a double disadvantage to the other Slayers.  They bond over this by pretending to host “second-gen only” nights out, but they normally just chill over at Laxus’s and talk it out.

-They have a secret love for rom-com’s.  Their favourite is Knight and Day, or The Bounty Hunter.  They also binge watch TV shows together.  They both adore Once Upon A Time and are violently supportive of Swan Queen.  They both went missing when 5a aired, and could be heard miles away screaming about the clusterfuckery of the winter finale.  They then tweeted the creators venting their fury for a straight three hours while making edits and long meta’s.  

-Like to joke about how one day Laxus will get tired of being Beta and lead out The Battle of Fairy Tail-Slayers Edition in an attempt to steal Cobra’s title of Alpha, thereby becoming the “master”.  Sometimes, they do this in public, and Fairy Tail has collective coronary’s because how does one even joke about this

Thanks for the ask!

Argella tried and failed to curb her son’s enthusiasm when they heard word that men approached the gates. He looked at her, his blue eyes bright with excitement.

“Is it father?”

She gave a quick nod and tried to tidy his messy hair but Davos had no patience for it.

“Will I see a dragon?”

Argella shook her head and Davos looked dismayed.  She did not share his disappointment. She still remembered their quarrel and for Orys to bring one of them to her home would not have soothed her temper. Davos would not understand. For him the dragons were a novelty.

He knows not what devastation they bring.

Davos fled from her unwanted fussing, intent on being in the yard to greet his lord father. Argella watched him leave feeling a tightness in her chest. He grew so quickly. It would not be long before Aegon expected him to fight. She knew he would go willingly too and it pained her. She did not wish to be without him but her family were warriors long before the Targaryen’s fought their war. Still, she missed the time when she could hold him and ease his hurts. Even her youngest was no longer a baby now.

She waited only a moment longer before following him, holding her head high. When she reached the yard Davos was waiting impatiently. Argella stood with him. Even though he rarely saw his father, Argella knew Davos admired him greatly. He spoke of his father as a great man, a man who stood by the side of the King.

You are my little king, she wanted to tell him. You would be Storm King if not for Aegon.

She knew she must hold her tongue. If anybody were to hear her it would be deemed treason. She did not trust those in the castle not to inform on her. Orys would forgive her but Aegon might not. Even if Aegon were to overlook it, Visenya bore a grudge like no other.

She waited for Orys to enter through the gates, uncertain as to how she might greet him. She expected she knew how he might greet her. He will want to forget our quarrel. He appeared distracted when he drew close. Davos moved to his side at the first invitation, gazing out the gates clearly still hoping for a glimpse of the thankfully absent dragons. Orys fidgeted and Argella saw he now wore a false hand.

“I hope you are well my lady.”

Argella stood a little straighter. “I am well enough my lord.”

Orys gave her a wary look but she refrained from speaking of anything unpleasant. It will wait until we might speak privately. Instead they discussed household matters and Argella listened and walked with them as Davos eagerly asked questions about the city under construction and about Aegon and the dragons. He looked disappointed when Argella finally gave him instructions and sent him to the kitchens.

“You are still wroth with me,” Orys observed.

“Not as much as I might be,” she replied. “I have heard word you retain your title.”

Orys looked uncomfortable. “I have been given the power to speak with the King’s voice. It is an honour.”

“The Hand of the King,” Argella frowned. “Is he making mock? Does it amuse him to still call you Hand and have the realm laugh at his wit?”

Orys flushed and she knew she pushed him. “Guard your tongue Argella.”

“I do not say it to wound you Orys,” she said defensively. “Can you not see that it is an insult?”

She knew he was angry. She could see it even if he did not say it. Whether his anger was directed at her or Aegon she did not know.

“Aegon does not mean it as an insult. You do not know him.”

I do not wish to know him.

Nobody knew Aegon Targaryen, not truly. Orys and Visenya were his only true companions. He calls Orys his friend when everybody knows them to be brothers. If he were to treat a brother in this way it was no wonder he did not have friends.

Orys has the power to speak with the King’s voice.

The power her husband had been given did not surprise Argella. She knew Aegon rarely took command. That fell to his sisters (now only Visenya) and Orys.

 “You do more to govern the realm than he does,” she said haughtily. “You are King in all but name.”

Orys tensed. “Do not let anybody hear that my lady. I am no King.”

Argella knew he referred to his bastard birth but he also meant more than that. There were words unspoken between them since that day he killed her father and took her castle. Aegon made certain to name her only the Lady of Storm’s End. Orys did not think of himself as King.

He wishes to say I am no queen.

He thought it but he was wrong. Her father raised her as a princess and Argella still retained her pride. Orys reached for her hand and Argella let him take it and press his lips to her knuckles.

“I do not wish to quarrel. I would much rather hear of you and the children.”

Argella sighed. “Davos wishes to be a warrior. He is growing to be formidable.”

Orys smiled proudly. “He will make a good squire soon.”

The thought made her stomach clench. I am going to lose him. Davos saw little enough of Orys but Davos would follow in his footsteps still. Part of her wished to forget the insult of Orys’ title, to beg him to use his new power to keep their son safe. Then she remembered their last conversation.

If Aegon asks it, nothing I say will matter.

“He is still only a boy,” she said instead.

Orys embraced her and as much as Argella detested being seen as vulnerable she accepted the affection. It had been so long. His false hand brushed clumsily against her hair.

“He will not remain a boy much longer, no matter how much you might wish it.”

Orys sounded sadder than she might have expected. He has missed so much in serving Aegon. Argella ran her hand along his back.

“It is not his youth I wish for, it is his safety. You cannot promise me that.”

He sighed. “I would if I could Argella but we do what we must.”

It was very much as she expected. The rumours carrying through the realm filled her with foreboding. War will come again. She wanted to vent her fury but Orys was not her enemy. There were threats she realised they must face together. Argella would do what she must for her children even moreso than herself.

They will have to fight.

Argella knew the day would come. As she stood in Orys’ embrace she made a promise to herself as much as to him.

I will do whatever it takes to delay that day.

Note: I wrote the majority of this before the recent reading at LonCon. I’m not certain when Orys quit being Hand so if this is wrong it is wrong.


HISTORY MEME | FASCINATING WOMEN [9/10} → Caterina Sforza, Countess of Forli  (early 1463 – 28 May 1509)

In 1462, the Duke of Milan, Galeazzo Maria Sforza, fathered an illegitimate child. The baby’s mother was the wife of a friend and follower of the duke. This baby girl would grow up to break many other rules in the course of her eventful life. As a duke’s daughter in Renaissance Italy, Caterina was offered an excellent education. In her view, however, this education was not the special privilege it would have been for other girls. From the beginning, Caterina was bored by literature, philosophy, Latin, history and the other subjects her tutors tried to teach her. She much preferred dancing, horseback riding, hunting, and other vigorous activities. Caterina learned more from observing people and events than from reading books. Italian politics were in a perpetual state of turmoil. There was no king who ruled all of Italy, as there were kings in Spain, France, and England. Instead, almost every city, large or small, had its own duke, count, or lord; and each city was trying to gain territory, economic advantages, or protection from its neighbors. From Rome, the pope also played a major role in politics, because he ruled many city-states as well as the Catholic Church. Caterina watched the complex and often violent political moves that made Milan one of Italy’s great powers along with Florence, Venice, the Kingdom of Naples, and the states owned by the pope. Young Caterina was ambitious, active, and pleasure-loving. She intended to achieve both fame and fortune–right away, if possible.

From 1477 to 1484, Caterina and Girolamo spent most of their time in Rome, where Caterina was much admired for her blond beauty. During these years, she also bore four children: Bianca, Ottaviano, Cesare, and Giovanni Livio. Caterina and her husband prospered because of their family ties. The pope gave the young couple title to the cities of Forlì and Imola, located northeast of Rome beyond the mountains that run up the spine of Italy. These cities had once belonged to other families, of course. But this fact posed little problem for the Riarios, whose wealth and security seemed assured.

In 1495, as Giacomo Feo, her second husband and herself rode through the streets of Forlì, assassins stabbed Giacomo to death. Caterina was personally devastated, but instead of collapsing in grief, she took swift action. She vented her fury on the killers and their families, executing or torturing many and imprisoning more. Then, to stave off her sorrow, she turned to work. She enriched her cities with building projects, creating beautiful gardens and public works. Pope Innocent had died and been replaced in 1492 by Rodrigo Borgia, who took the name Alexander the Sixth. The new pope’s son Cesare set out to increase his family’s power by brutally seizing control of central Italy, one small city-state at a time. Cesare was a bad fellow, even by the standards of the time. He poisoned his sister’s husband so that he could make a more profitable match for her. On another occasion, he hosted a lavish dinner for a group of his captains whom he suspected of disloyalty, then locked the doors and had them all strangled. With the pope’s power and money behind him, Cesare now took aim at Forlì and Imola.

Once before when she had been in danger, Caterina had said, “If I have to die, I want to die like a man!” Now, she seemed likely to do just that. A poet/spy that she employed warned her that Cesare had 15,000 troops and 17 cannons. Still Caterina refused to flee and give up her cities. She announced her determination to withstand Cesare Borgia’s siege. Annoyed at being defied by a woman, Cesare offered 10,000 ducats for Caterina, dead or alive. Caterina fought as she had always fought “like a tiger.” She put on armor herself and encouraged her men from the city walls. Still, the superior Borgia forces advanced, first to the city, then to its fortress. Caterina and her troops made their last stand in the fortress’s great tower. Finally, the inevitable happened, and the Borgia large army captured the tower. Luckily for Caterina, she was taken prisoner not by one of Cesare’s men but by a French captain who admired her beauty and courage. In the end, this French connection saved her life, because the French code of chivalry said that women could not be considered prisoners of war. Still, Caterina suffered greatly before the Frenchman persuaded the pope to release her. While she was a prisoner, Cesare Borgia brutally raped her and then locked her in a filthy cell in Castel Sant Angelo, the same Roman fortress she had once captured. To gain her freedom, Caterina was forced at last to give up her claims to Forlì and Imola.

Though she tried, Caterina never regained control of her cities. She did have one great pleasure, however. Her young son by Giovanni de’ Medici proved to be a child after her own heart, fascinated by horses, swordplay, and military activities. She devoted her last years to raising and training him. Caterina died in 1509, just a little too soon to see her favorite son, known as Giovanni dalle Bande Nere, become a brilliant soldier and a national hero. It would have pleased her enormously to know that Giovanni’s son, her grandson, became Cosimo the First, Grand Duke of Tuscany.

part i | part ii | part iii

sakura hears nothing but a faint buzz as she buckles down to her knees. her mind whirs through different ideas and different scenarios. and, somewhere, something frantic continues to echo: sarada is missing, sarada is missing, sarada is missing. it takes her a moment to realize she isn’t breathing, and when sakura inhales sharply, it finally occurs to her to cry. not tears, for there’s no time for weeping, but a choked whine, the sound of scared, threatened animal.

she swallows. she counts between breaths and thinks.

sarada is missing.

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Well said Amandla. 

So when Kylie Jenner plumps her lips and wears her hair in cornrows she looks “hot” and “sexy”, while black women with the same features are shamed and degraded for not fitting into a narrow Eurocentric mould of “beauty”- or for being drug addicts and gangsters. That’s fucking racist.

I know several people have already commented on this far better than I possibly can, including Amandla herself, but I needed to vent my fury at Kylie’s latest act of ignorance. And no, her age isn’t an excuse, both Amandla and myself are 16 and can see the bullshit for what it is. This is cultural appropriation. This is racist.

How is this cultural appropriation? A white girl is styling her hair in cornrows, appropriating a practice originally used by black people to keep their hair neat, and doing so for purely stylistic purposes. She’s taken a huge part of black culture out of context. A part of black culture that has often been mocked- and even celebrities like Zendaya aren’t exempt from this (remember the Oscars this year?). In fact the only time when cornrows and dreadlocks aren’t mocked are when white people sport them.

And how is cultural appropriation racist? It robs minority cultures of their racial identity and further demeans them. it perpetuates racist stereotypes. It reinforces white privilege and celebrates inequality. Despite the (fully justified) rebuttals Jenner has faced over her hairstyle, she inevitably will have people celebrating her look and praising her “edginess”. Meanwhile, if a black women were to wear her hair in the same way, she would be stereotyped negatively.

Here’s an idea for Kylie, Iggy Azalea and everyone who partook in the #whitegirlsdoitbetter mess, instead of embracing appropriating black culture under the guise of celebrating it, why don’t you embrace the black community as a whole and help in the fight against racial inequality?

This kind of casual racism infused with the simultaneous use and denial of privilege by ignorant white people perpetuates negativity and further discrimination towards ethnic minorities, causing societies to regress rather than progress.

We should be moving forward, not backward. It’s sad that in the supposedly enlightened year of 2015 we’re still dealing with shit like this. Racism should never be endorsed by anyone, let alone someone with so much influence such as Ms Jenner. 

Kylie Jenner and Iggy Azalea have influence. It’s a shame they don’t use it in a better way.

A Romantic Melody (Draco x Reader)

Description: I don’t even know anymore…

Genre: ?

Warnings: ?

( Taken from my watt[ad, cutesneeze)

My fingers pound against the piano, so much that I’m afraid I may break the keys. It sounds horrid but I do not stop. I continue to throw all my anger at the instrument, venting fury through music, begging for it to reach him although he is so far away.

The sound echos through the room of requirements  making it even lonelier than before. Tears stream off my face and onto my furious fingers.  The forced notes make me forget why I’m angry until the piece is finished and silence washes over the room once again.

The mark.

The mark that sends people into fear and panic now inked on Draco Malfoy’s arm.

Draco Malfoy, a death eater.

It made me furious and all together miserable.

I begin to play again but it feels like everything is slipping away and that even the notes threaten to drift from the page and out of eyes view.

However the notes do not drift away, instead they crumble and fall heavily onto the keys making the once sweet melody sound broken under the weight of misery and rage.

I give in and let my hands fall to my side.


The voice is soft and strangely pleasant considering I know who it belongs to.

I turn swiftly to see non other than Draco with an equally tear stained face as mine.

“I’m sorry, (y/n),"He says and a tear escapes his cloudy grey eyes and I find a pang of hopelessness in his voice.

"Why would you do it, Draco?"I mutter slightly. Standing up from the piano stool and glide towards him.

"I had no choice…”

I hadn’t thought about this. Whether his parents had forced him into it.

“He chose me and i-if i said no… my family… and you…"He hiccups and I suddenly find my self wrapping my arms around his neck and burying my face into his shoulder. His hands on my back, his head in my neck.

I feel tears on my skin and I suddenly feel a bite guilt in my heart

"I’m sorry,"I choke out as a sob rises to my throat.

"What for?"He asks, pulling back to see my face.

"I instantly blamed you, I never thought to expect it wasn’t your choice,"I sob and he hushes me.

"I don’t blame you,"He says sweetly, swiping a tear from my eye with his thumb.

He carefully walks me over to the piano and we both sit down. He puts his hands over mine and lets our hand hover over the keys. He then presses our fingers on them and the sound comes out elegantly and somewhat  fluttery compared to my earlier performance.  It reminds me more of Chopin this time, more romantic.

I know now that the sound is unique to Draco and I, and that it is the most beautiful music I’ve ever played

Beach Boy (Tao x You)

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 7,381

Note: 2/12 of my first summer one shot series.

The second member of my summer series is none other than Tao! I decided to go with the typical romance story featuring a spoiled, rich girl who’s never worked in her life. This turned out quite long, but I hope you all like it, nevertheless.


Summer had always been particularly enjoyable.

Especially when your father is the owner of a grand luxury resort near the golden shoreline, and you- being his precious only daughter- have access to the hotel penthouse and authority to order the employees to bring you those delicious mango smoothies.

The familiar sweet, salty scent of the ocean and the melodic crashing of the waves greets you as you step out of your father’s car. A light breeze murmurs through the resort, causing you to clamp down a hand over the wide-brimmed, floppy sun hat resting over your head and run your hands over your sundress before it can lift up any higher. Brilliant rays of sunlight shower over the bodies running through the mounds of fine sand, but the resort looms over you, leaving you in a pool of cool shade.

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anonymous asked:


Lyanna has cried and cried, cried until she has no tears left. She feels foolish, and overwhelmingly guilty, and angry. More than any of that she feels betrayed. Rhaegar is a long time returning to the tower, and when he does he looks melancholy but that does not stop Lyanna venting her fury at him.

“I trusted you.”

It is not the first time she has said it to him. She said it not long after he brought her to the tower, when it became clear he would not let her leave. He promised her freedom and for that she had been so grateful. It had not been freedom at all. It was a lie, and no amount of pretty stories had been enough for her to forgive him but this… this was far worse.

“Do not be troubled,” Rhaegar says gently.

Do not be troubled? Lyanna wants to scream, and tears well in her eyes once more. Rhaegar is not looking at her though, he is looking at her middle. She puts her hands on her stomach, on the tiny swell of the child within. It is all he cares about, all he ever wanted from her.

“You stupid man,” she says fiercely. “Nothing is worth all this. Nothing.”

He is not listening. Brandon would have listened. Brandon always listened, even if he often did so with a half smile and a jape on his lips. Brandon…and her father. She wants to tell him she is sorry but now she’ll never get the chance. She sobs at the memories.

“Who told you?” he asks.

He was listening after all. He is frowning now.

“What does it matter?”

You should have told me, she thinks in despair. She knows why he didn’t though. If he had told her the cost, the true cost of him keeping her here she would have tried to escape even more desperately. She would never have let him put a child in her. Her anger has not worked, her tears have not worked so she tries to change tactic.

“Let me go now Rhaegar,” she pleads. “Let me go before any more of them die.”

It is Ned she thinks of now.

“It is not safe,” Rhaegar says. “Winter is coming.”

Those are her words not his. Lyanna howls, and lunges at him but he deflects her blows easily. She drops to the floor, crying again.

“This is not good for the babe,” he says gently. “Try to get some rest Lyanna.”

He leaves her there, the door shut to keep her in and Lyanna hates him. More than that she hates herself, hates the foolish girl she was in thinking that her freedom could come without a cost.

The living lowest-hanging fruit that is the Venn diagram between “Superhero fans” and “Men’s Rights Activists” have recently lost their minds at the trailer for the upcoming CBS television show “Supergirl.” Alarmed that a female-led show might include such things as “romance,” “comedy” and – most offensive of all - “women” taking on controversial roles like “employer” and “sister” while men have been relegated to merely “all the other roles on the show,” they’ve vented their fury on the internet rather than merely choosing to not watch the thing, for some reason. 

Still, to give them an apparently much-needed ego boost, I’ve composed the following synopsis of a 13-episode half-season for Supergirl which is completely tailored to their priorities and which should alleviate every single one of their giant baby idiot concerns:

Episode 1: Pilot: Supergirl arrives on Earth, is informed that there is already a man flying around and saving people’s lives, realizes that it would merely be tokenism for her to star in her own show and immediately retires from superheroing. Rest of episode is dedicated to her male co-workers playing an epic all-night Call of Duty scenario.

Episode 2: The Parasite attacks downtown. Supergirl is rendered helpless when the power-leeching supervillain dons a shirt reading “Cool Story Babe Now Go Make Me A Sandwich.” Spends rest of episode making sandwiches.

Episode 3: Terra-Man attacks downtown. Supergirl is rendered helpless when he accuses her of being a “fake geek girl” who “doesn’t even know that Jimmy Olsen is supposed to be white.”

Episode 4: Vartox attacks downtown. Supergirl is rendered helpless by his constant fedora-tipping and use of the term “m’lady.” Because he is nice to her, ancient Kryptonian law dictates that she is required to be his girlfriend.

Episode 5: Supergirl discovers an amazing new power – she can make sandwiches with her mind. Spends rest of episode making sandwiches.

Episode 6: A band of Social Justice Warriors attack downtown. Supergirl tells them “This isn’t an S on my chest, it’s my family’s crest. It stands for ‘Not Your Shield’.” They disperse to make sandwiches.

Episode 7: The Galactic Golem attacks downtown. Supergirl can’t stop him because she’s sitting quietly in the same room as her boyfriend as he and the other male characters on the show play an epic all-night Call of Duty scenario.

Episode 8: Toyman attacks downtown. Supergirl is helpless to defeat him because the Teen Titans have been sending her dick pics and she’s too flattered to respond.

Episode 9: Feminism attacks downtown. Supergirl destroys feminism completely by declaring that it’s “a pretty extreme label,” then makes sandwiches.

Episode 10: Bizarro Supergirl attacks downtown. She and Supergirl “lez out,” which her boyfriend calls “pretty hot.” Photos are stolen from Supergirl’s phone and end up on Perez Hilton’s site, but she admits that she’s at fault in the first place for ever getting nude in front of recordable media. Is flattered by the attention.

Episode 11: Ultra-Humanite attacks downtown. Supergirl is mansplained into helplessness. She ultimately is forced to become Ultra-Humanite’s “waifu.

Episode 12: Misandry attacks downtown. Supergirl defeats it by chanting “Men are good, men are great, Feminism is a form of hate!” until it gives up, makes sandwiches.

Episode 13: All of Supergirl’s enemies attack downtown. Supergirl has a period, however, and must stay home making period sandwiches. Male characters on the show band together to defeat the bad guys using skills they picked up playing all-night Call of Duty scenarios. Episode ends with Superman showing up to spray-paint over the word “girl” in show title, replaces it with “man,” throws the horns, a guitar lick plays, everyone crushes beer cans on their heads. Supergirl shows her boobs, Superman slams an energy drink and turns baseball cap backwards on his head. An epic game of beer pong is played. Everyone vapes. End of season 1. Men win.