wrap-around-braid

War and Peace Notebook Spam Part 2: Physical Descriptions

I’m gonna dump all my notes on descriptors here if anyone wants them for reference.

Pierre Bezukhov: “Enormously large”- “abnormally” tall, enormously fat and quite broad. An awkward, clumsy body. Massive hands. Spectacles for myopic eyes. A warm,genuine and childlike smile. Joyful, friendly eyes.

Andrei Bolkonsky: Stern faced, handsome. “Slight build” (described in the context of surprising physical durability despite his slight build) and often called a “little man” by other characters despite the narration describing him as a man of medium height. Dark haired. Clean shaven. Though he does not often smile, in spare moments of warmth he has a wonderful smile.

Natasha Rostova: Pretty, black hair and eyes. Thin waist and limbs. Her liveliness brightens an unextraordinary beauty- she is not the prettiest but her vivid spirit makes her very attractive. Large, soft mouth.

Anatole Kuragin: Tall, handsome and foppish. Big, beautiful eyes. Dark brows. Blonde hair, curled and pomaded. Easygoing smile. Big and sturdy. Moves loosely and sits spread out.

Hélène Bezukhova: Frighteningly beautiful. Plump. Dark haired. Classical shoulders. Serene smile that she gives everyone. Dark shining eyes. Tall. Large, and well shaped marble-like bust.

Fyodor Dolokhov: “A not very tall man with clear blue eyes and a sober expression.” Curly haired, clean shaven. “The lines of his mouth were remarkably finally curved. In the middle upper lip came down on the lower lip in a sharp wedge am at the corner something like two smiles were constantly formed, one on each side.” “Firm, insolent, intelligent gaze.” “Trim” body. Fair haired.

Nikolai Rostov: Dark, curly hair. Handsome face with a mustache. “Dashing” looks. Not very tall. “An open expression of the face.”

Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova: Very tall. Curly gray hair. 51 years old in 1805.

Marya Bolkonskaya: Plain features, skin predisposed to blotchy blushing. Beautiful, luminous, and large, kind eyes.

Nikolai Bolkonsky I: Old, small. Dresses as the “King of Prussia,” in the fashion of the previous century. Thick, “beetling” brows and curious, intelligent eyes.

Lise Bolkonskaya: Dark hair. Pretty and small, though she becomes heavier and plainer as she grows more pregnant. A little upper lip with a hint of a mustache which rises, staying parted to reveal white teeth.

Sonya Rostova: A diminutive brunette with big, dark lashed brown eyes and a long, dark braid wrapped around her head. Lean, gracefully muscular arms. Catlike.

Natalya Rostova, the elder: A tired looking woman with an “oriental face,” who has bore twelve children. Thin gray hair.

Ippolit Kuragin: Looks strikingly like his sister, only with an ugliness which comes from his expression, clouded with stupidity. Weak, skinny body with limbs which assume awkward positions.

Vera Rostova: Cold, handsome face.

Vaska Denisov: Unusually short, dark, curly haired and disheveled man with a genial smile and dark eyes.

Boris Drubetskoy: Handsome, tall and blond. Calm and even features. Very narrow and slender.

Amélie Bourienne: Blonde, beautiful and tall.

Vassily Kuragin: Bald.

obi-kenobi-wan  asked:

So, lately I have been thinking on an AU where Obi-Wan is in an accident and somehow is de-aged back to when he was about 19-20. The kicker being that all his memories he made after that age are now gone and he basically wakes up to a war he knows nothing about, his master long dead, and this new Jedi Knight named Anakin worrying over him more like a lover than anything.

He’s struggling.

That’s not unusual.

Obi-Wan has struggled a lot through the years since he became a padawan to Master Qui-Gon though after the initial terrible start and the years after it, they’ve made peace with each other and found a balance.

There had even been pride in Qui-Gon’s eyes when he had looked at Obi-Wan and his accomplishments, the look in the older mans eyes setting a glow in his stomach.

But his master is dead.

He can tell his master is long gone because he can’t feel him at all anywhere and he and Master Qui-Gon has the strongest connection in the temple that has been seen in decades. And he can’t feel him at all.

And the galaxy is at war.

The Jedi are…generals?

His hands tremble a bit and Obi-Wan tries not to let it show, takes a deep breath to try and release his fear and anxiety into the Force as he has been taught. ‘Be in the here and now Padawan mine.’ A warm voice echos in his voice.

Slowly he lifted his head to look at the others in the tent, meeting the worried blue eyes of a blond. “So what you’re saying is that I was…deaged? Knight Skywalker.”

The man winces. “Please, call me Anakin. You…yes. I’m not sure how old you are but the Sith artifact has clearly made you into a much younger man.”

“I’m nineteen.” Obi-Wan murmured, struggling with it again. Yesterday he had gone to bed in his quarters in the Jedi temple, he had been thinking about his exam and how good his Master smelled, desperately shielding the last thought from their bond.

Obi-Wan wrapped his hand around his braid, giving it a minor tug to try and center himself as he avoided looking at the people in the tent.

“Skyguy, we got through to the Council, Master Yoda says we should return to the sight of the change and he’s sent of Master Plo and Madam Nu to see if they can help us figure out how this happened.” The young togruta is back and is looking at him with the same fascinated expression as she had earlier.

“Good, perhaps they can get answers and we can get Obi-Wan back to normal.” The blond, Anakin, is looking at him again with those eyes so full of…of…

Of what?

The man is clearly more worried about him then is normal.

Obi-Wan isn’t sure what to do about this information.

He’s confused and lost and his master is not there to help him and apparently he’s in the…future?

For him its the future at least.

Force this was all wrong and he desperately reached for some kind of equilibrium that was fading out of his grip.

“Obi-Wan?” Someone took his hand and pulled it from where he was desperately tugging on his braid, forcing Obi-Wan to look at…Anakin?

The blond gave him a small smile, gently rubbing his hand between his own. “Its going to be alright Obi-Wan, its going to be alright.” He assured as he rubbed.

“…You have a mech hand.” Obi-Wan offered quietly instead, desperately latching onto the fact as if it was somehow important.

“Yes, I lost my arm.” The other hummed, giving a small smile. “And lightsaber. You were very worried about me at the time.”

“I was?” Obi-Wan was so lost.

“Yes, you were my master. You trained me.”

Oh, that made the level of concern make some sense at least. Force knew he worried about Qui-Gon all the time.

“…My master is dead, isn’t he. I can’t feel him.” Obi-Wan whispered, watching the other closely as if to get an indication of his emotions. And Anakin Skywalker wore his emotions on his sleeves, he could tell by the way he shifted and the look in his eyes that Obi-Wan was completely right.

“Yes. I’m sorry Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan pressed his lips together, struggling to release the overwhelming grief out of his systems. “Have…I trained you?”

“Yes.” Anakin was smiling at him, still rubbing his hands.

“Was I a good master?” Obi-Wan latched onto that almost desperately, green eyes wide.

“The best. You taught me very well.”

The knight hesitated a bit before reaching out and cupping the back of Obi-Wan’s head, pulling him forward and resting the padawan’s forehead against his shoulder. “Its going to be alright Obi-Wan. We’re going to fix this.”

“What if we can’t…what if this is how I’m stuck now? I don’t…have a master…” Obi-Wan wanted to say so much more. Say how lost he was, about how confused he was. But…

Nothing else came from him as he pressed his forehead against the others shoulder.

“Well…if nothing else, then I know the worth of your skills. You’re a Jedi after all.” Anakin smiled, stroking the short copper hair.

“…You’re very gentle with me. Are we lovers?” Obi-Wan couldn’t help but question.

Ahsoka choked on her own spit in surprise as Anakin recoiled in shock, blinking at Obi-Wan who blinked back, flustering a bit. “N-No. I mean, we’re brothers in arms. Best of friends.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if that offended you…you just…kind of fall in under my type.” Obi-Wan shrugged.

‘Master Obi-Wan has a type?’ Ahsoka marveled at.

“Your…type?”

Apparently Anakin wondered about that too as he stared at him.

Flustering at the attention, Obi-Wan tugged on his braid. “Yeah…taller then me, blond, bit longish hair and blue eyed…I mean…I only had one not fall into all categories.”

Anakin blinked, mind flashing to Siri and Satine. “I see…that explains a few things.”

“I…I must have been a closed off master if you didn’t know that.” Obi-Wan tried awkwardly.

“…No, I think you were just a very hurt master.” The knight offered quietly, thinking back to those first few days in the temple. ‘Only one didn’t fall into all categories huh…I bet that one was someone you spent the most time with.’ It explained quite a few things about Obi-Wan’s behavior back then.

“…So we’re friends then.” Obi-Wan latched onto that.

“Yes. Good friends. Best of friends.” Anakin grinned a bit. “We have each others back. And this is our padawan.” He gestured to Ahsoka who waved happily.

“Our?”

“Well technically mine but eh, we share custody.” Anakin laughed.

Obi-Wan blinked then chuckled a bit in amusement. “Is that so. Well then.” He stood slowly and gave Ahsoka a bow. “Its a pleasure to meet you my padawan.” He teased a bit, eyes sparkling.

Ahsoka squeaked then bowed back, giggling happily. “Oh no, no one told me Master Obi-Wan was cute as a padawan.”

Obi-Wan promptly turned deep red.

I Took a Walk for Seven Years

It was August 9, 2009. I was thirty eight years old. My oldest daughter Avis was twelve, and the younger pair, Joanne and John, were nine year old twins. I’d been married for fifteen years. I worked at an insurance firm. And every Sunday, while my wife and Avis went to church and the twins went to my mother’s house, I took a walk.

It was a clockwork sort of arrangement. My wife knew never to push me into going with her, I was an atheist and set on staying that way.

Of course, given what’s happened, my views have changed.

Keep reading

Give Me Your Hoodie (Jared Kleinman x Reader)

Give Me Your Hoodie (Jared Kleinman x reader)

Notes: This was requested from this list of prompts—it was for the prompt I forgot about the no spaghetti strap rule, give me your hoodie before a teacher notices.”

This is my first requested fic, and idk how it turned out…the end is kinda rushed, but hopefully the rest is okay. I just love Jared and also, this seemed like a good time to project body insecurity stuff, so. Yeah. You get some chubby!reader x Jared Kleinman.

Warnings: Tiny bit of swearing, reader is lil bit uncomfortable with body.

Words: 2290

The air from the vent overhead smacks your bare shoulders, a harsh reminder of why you’ve been standing in the Murphys’ bathroom for five minutes, doing nothing but staring at yourself in the mirror.

When you laid out your outfit yesterday before coming over for a sleepover with Zoe, it was simple: jeans and a cami and a striped cardigan big enough it nearly swallowed you. It covered you in a way that made you feel comfortable, not to mention it would be perfectly acceptable according to your school’s dress code.

The only problem is, you apparently forgot the cardigan.

There’s a soft tap on the door. “Y/N?” Zoe’s voice comes through the door slightly irritated. “Connor’s bitching about needing in; is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” You swallow hard and take in your reflection again. The ugly pink straps of your bra stand out for all the world to see, the thread-like straps of your cami doing nothing to hide them. Your eyes drift down to your stomach, to the way the cami hugs it tight and shows everything you usually keep covered with a big t-shirt or sweater. You cross your arms, but even that doesn’t make you feel more covered up; all it does is squish your boobs up so that not only will people notice your stomach, but they’ll notice them, too.

Your face flushes with awful heat for what seems like the hundredth time this morning. You don’t hate your body; over the past couple of years, you’ve actually started to accept it the way it is. But that doesn’t mean you want the rest of the school seeing it. “I’ll be out in just a minute,” you say, your voice coming out tight.

“We’re going to be late,” Connor gripes from the other side of the door, and you silently pray to melt into the floor.

You keep your eyes on the sink as you brush your teeth, avoiding the mirror. Your hair is at a length where it’s constantly falling in your face, and you consider pulling it up but opt to leave it down because you’ll feel even more naked if it’s not touching your neck.

With a deep breath, you emerge from the Murphys’ bathroom. Connor and Zoe are waiting outside, Zoe sitting crisscross on the floor and squinting at a compact mirror she has balanced on her knee as she twists her hair into two braids. Connor is leaning against the wall, face dark and hoodie sloppily draped around his thin shoulders. He mutters something angry you don’t quite catch as he pushes into the bathroom and locks the door behind him.

Zoe peers up at you with a hair elastic in between her teeth. She holds her braid with one hand and pulls the elastic out with the other, one eyebrow lifting. “Are you wearing that?”

“Yeah, I um …” You suck in your bottom lip, heartrate spiking unnecessarily. Relax, it’s just Zoe. Zoe, your only sort-of friend since you moved. Zoe, who is exactly what pretty is supposed to look like. “I have a jacket at school. In my locker.”

“Oh. Okay.” Zoe finishes wrapping the elastic around her braid and then kicks at the bathroom door, the compact hitting the floor with a plastic-sounding crack. “Connor!” she yells. “Hurry!”

“Hurry?” he spits back. “Y/N spent fifteen fucking minutes in here, and you’re telling me—”

“Connor!” she yells again. Your face is burning red, and this time hers matches as she looks up at you. “Sorry. He’s … not a morning person.”

“No, I mean, I took a while, I get it,” you murmur, although your shoulders hunch a little, as if shrinking back will make you disappear. It’s something you haven’t wished for in a long time, but this morning, nothing sounds better than to do just that.

***

You spend most of the car ride curled against the window, listening to Connor and Zoe bicker about what music to listen to. Thankfully, when you get to school Zoe and Connor split off from you before you arrive at your locker. At least they aren’t with you to see that you don’t have a sweater stored in there. Gums, tampons, and about fifteen sets of earbuds? You have all those. But a hoodie or even a t-shirt for situations like the one you’re currently in? Of course not.

You’re quick to shove your books into your backpack and then hitch it high on your shoulders. The straps are thick enough that, if you position them just right, they mostly hide the fact that you’re in spaghetti straps. It’s far from perfect, but hopefully it will work well enough to get you through until lunch, when maybe you can convince Zoe to drive you to your house to pick up a shirt.

You slip into your first class, Spanish I. Without removing your backpack, you take a seat in your usual spot, to the right and slightly behind Jared Kleinman. Getting this seat at the beginning of the year was an accident, sort of. It was the first empty spot you saw, so you took it. You couldn’t help it that it was within a few feet of the cutest boy in your grade.

Jared is currently thumbing around on his DS, his glasses smudgy and hair a little tousled (it usually takes a couple classes for him to wake up enough to fix it). “Hey, Y/N,” he mumbles without looking up.

“Hey.” You squirm a little—your backpack presses into your back uncomfortably; you know you’re going to have to take it off, but you can’t convince yourself to do it yet. You lean to look over his shoulder. “Mario Kart?”

“Yup.” His mouth stretches in a huge yawn, and he rubs his eye with the sleeve of his hoodie.

Something like alarm bells go off in your brain.

Jared tilts his DS, making his car on the screen avoid another player. “Did you do those flashcards Mrs. B wanted us to do, ‘cause I tried but I couldn’t—”

“Jared,” you hiss. “Gimme your hoodie.”

“Wow, rude,” he says, a slight laugh sneaking into his words. “Normally I’m the one who talks over—”

“Jared, I’m serious.”

He looks up at you, his eyes squinty with sleepiness and maybe a little confusion. “What are you …” His gaze settles on your shoulders, and you swear his cheeks go pink. “Oh.”

That one word is enough to make you burn with embarrassment. “I forgot about the no spaghetti strap rule, give me your hoodie before a teacher notices.”

He quirks an eyebrow at you, the hint of a smirk appearing on his mouth. “You forgot? You’ve made it through twelve years of school but still somehow—”

“I didn’t forget the rule, I just …” You rub the side of your face, where you can feel a blush burning. “I had a sleepover with Zoe, and I forgot my sweater.”

Jared’s smirk grows. “Well, Connor Murphy has, like, an entire closet full of hoodies, so you picked a good place to forget one.”

“Connor hates me.”

“He hates everyone.” Jared sets his DS on the desk and then begins struggling out of his hoodie. The whole process takes several minutes; you’re not sure if it’s from sleepiness or just Jared not exactly being the most coordinated person in the world, but he somehow gets his arms tangled and head stuck in the process of removing the hoodie. His face is pink and his glasses sit sideways on his nose when he holds the hoodie out to you. “It’s kinda sweaty. Sorry.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” you say, draping the hoodie over your lap as you slip your backpack off. As you begin tugging the hoodie on, you’re painfully aware of Jared’s eyes on you; he has his head turned a little to the side, but his gaze keeps darting to the cami. You swallow hard as you pull the hoodie’s hem down as far as it will go and begin laying out your notebook and a pencil. You don’t look at him, but you know he’s still watching you.

Several moments slip by before he says, “You look cute in that.”

Your heart does an incredible flip, and you twist toward him. “What?”

His cheeks are once again pink, like he’s surprised you heard him. Or surprised he said it in the first place. “You, um, you just … you look cute. In that.” He motions at the hoodie, as if he needs to clarify.

You fiddle with the hem of the hoodie’s left sleeve. It smells like Axe and something warm and soft, and it’s making your thoughts swim. “Oh … thanks.”

He grabs his DS and begins fumbling with its buttons, his eyes darting away from yours. “Sure, sure.”

You bite your lip for a minute, trying to figure out what to say, but your teacher appears before you get a chance. Thankfully you spend most of the class in silence, although every time you look at Jared, a fresh blush blooms in your cheeks.

Strangely enough, the same thing happens to him whenever he looks at you.

***

The sun beats down on you in the parking lot, soaking through Jared’s hoodie and quickly coating you in sticky sweat. You wander toward the bus; Zoe is staying late for band practice, and you don’t want to ask Connor to drive you home. You’re just plugging your earbuds into your phone when you hear your name shouted across the parking lot.

“Y/N! Wait!”

You pause and look over your shoulder. Jared Kleinman jogs toward you, his bright teal Vans smacking the pavement and Pokémon backpack bouncing up and down on his shoulders. By the time he gets to you, a tiny line of sweat clings to his hairline. “Need a driver?” he asks, panting a little.

“It’s okay,” you say, shoving your hands into the front pocket of the hoodie. “I’m just going to take the bus.”

“Nope.” He motions toward the west end of the parking lot, where you assume his car is parked. “I’ll be your chauffer today.”

You laugh a little. “Really.”

“Yep.” He flicks his eyes toward the bus, which is already filling up. “The A/C broke last week, but it’s better than that. Plus, the insanely cool Jared Kleinman will be your driver, and you can’t beat that.”

You roll your eyes. “You mean the insanely dorky.”

He lets out a squeak of disbelief. “I let you borrow my hoodie today!”

“Okay, insanely dorky and cool.”

A grin spreads across his face and makes your stomach explode with butterflies. “That’s more like it.”

The two of you wander across the parking lot to a white minivan that looks like it was made before Jared was born. The leather seats burn beneath your legs, and fabric droops from the ceiling in several places. And, unfortunately, even as Jared starts up the engine and rolls down the windows, the inside of the van is boiling hot, and you toy with the hem of the hoodie.

Jared watches your fingers. “You’re going to roast if you don’t take that off.”

A nervous laugh rattles in your throat. “Yeah, I guess,” you mumble. As quickly as you can, you squirm your way out of it. Heat floods from your chest and spreads to your skin all over, but when Jared begins to guide the van down the road, the wind coming through the windows chases away some of the sweat.

You drape the hoodie over your lap and resist the urge to cross your arms, recalling how ineffective that was in the Murphys’ bathroom this morning. Besides, it’s just Jared. Jared, who has the body of a huggable teddy bear. Jared, who says dorky things and laughs at himself and everyone else constantly.

Jared, who you’ve had a massive crush on ever since your first day.

“Not to invite myself over, but do you wanna maybe study for Spanish for a little while when we get to your house?” Jared asks, breaking into your thoughts. “I still have to make those flashcard-things.”

“Yeah, sure.” You wave the sleeve of his hoodie at him. “And I’ll wash this for you so you can take it home when you leave.”

He shrugs a little, eyes on the road. “You can keep it.”

Another nervous laugh slips out of you. “Jared, it’s your hoodie.”

“And you looked cute in it.”

Inside you can practically hear your brain screaming with excitement, but you scoff. “I definitely didn’t.”

“Did too,” he parrots, sounding so much like a child that you laugh. He steals a glance at your face now, his cheeks flushed and smile a little giddy. “Although, for the record, you look pretty cute in that, too.”

You have to remind yourself again not to cross your arms. “Why, because it’s tight?”

“What? No! No.” His shoulders jerk with another shrug. “You’re just … I don’t know, you’re cute.”

You bite down on a smile; for the first time today, you don’t mind the heat spreading through your cheeks. “You’re a dork,” you mutter.

“Y/L/N, I just complimented you. Cut me some slack.”

You hold the hoodie to your chest. Even after a day of wearing it, you can still smell Jared on it. The scent alone makes your body fill with a lovely fluttery sensation.

“Fine,” you say. “But only if I really get to keep the hoodie.”

Now it’s his turn to bite down on a bashful grin. It’s the grin the made you fall for him when you first started going here, and the grin that makes you fall for him now all over again. “Deal.”

I’ve seen a lot of speculation about this photo, and about how this strange Galra at the center isn’t Kolivan, who is the only named Blade of Marmora member we know. So, who is it? I’ve heard people say it could be Keith, following his “rift” with the rest of Team Voltron, and even that it may (finally) be Keith’s mom.

I, however, propose a different theory:

Acxa

My reasoning behind this:

  1. There’s a good chance this is a character we already know, since they’re the focus of the shot. Again, it’s not Kolivan (doesn’t have his little braid wrapped around his neck), who is the only named BoM member besides Keith
  2. Acxa is going to be significant. She was the Weblum Galra, Keith recognized her, which cements a connection between these characters that will probably come up later, and she seems to be Lotor’s right hand. It’s very obvious that of all of Lotor’s generals, she’s going to have the biggest role
  3. A lot of people have already speculated that Acxa may be Keith’s mother or sister (I personally see sister but we’ll just have to wait and see). If she’s Keith’s mom, we already know she was a Blade. If she’s his sister, then that means her mom was a Blade, and it would make sense for her to have followed in her footsteps
  4. In s2 Kolivan mentions that they have operatives in Galra high command. We knew about Thace, but there must be others. And how much higher command can you get than Prince Lotor’s right hand general?
  5. There’s a theory floating around that Haggar is spying on Lotor through Kova. Whether or not she is, Acxa could redirect suspicion of her own spying onto Narti and Kova, which may be why Lotor is seemingly attacking her in the trailer

It’s just a theory and I may be completely off base here, but I I would love for there to be more good girl characters, and Acxa seems like a good opportunity, especially if she’s somehow related to Keith (twin sister, maybe?)

So, thoughts?

“ there is nobody who could ever capture me the way you have.”


Alistair would never have thought he would be spending his 23rd birthday as King, or his 22nd or his 21st for that matter.

“It would be wise if you looked for a wife this evening, Alistair.”
Arl Eamonn advised earlier that day as they walked through the palace courtyard.

“On my birthday?That’s just unfair really, if this is your idea of a gift you could have just gotten me ch-”

“Alistair this in no time for games. You are King, with no heir but enemies. I beg of you to think of this seriously.It is vital you marry soon.”

The grey warden turned king nodded slowly.

“Does love not come into this?”

“You can learn to love.”

“Like Cailan and Anora? I cannot do that. Not when-”

“You pine for someone else. Someone who has a duty to Thedas. You know her Alistair. Would she leave her duty for you?What if she didn’t feel the same anymore.It has been three years”

Alistair scowled and clenched his fist. Eamonn was right.

“I will see you tonight.”
The King snarled before turning on his heel and marching back into the palace.
✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴✴

Laughter, chatter and music filled the ballroom.
Alistair was of course unimpressed by this, his attention had to be directed towards the women who flocked to him in attempts to woo.

His mind wandered as an Orlesian woman giggled and flirted with him, he had no interest in her but could see Eamonn from the corner of his eye.

“From Highever and house Cousland-”

Alistair almost jumped- Cousland. It couldn’t be- could it. He turned his head to look at the entrance, heart hammering in his chest.

“Teryn Fergus Cousland.”

Alistair’s heart dropped. Of course it wouldn’t be her.

“Mmh, excuse me your highness! Awfully rude of me but would you care for a dance?”

The red haired orlesian girl asked, fixing her mask.

“Oh..not at all.”

So they danced, he managed not to step on her toes - thank god.

Then suddenly something caught his eye.

The flash of blue and silver, gliding across the room with more grace than an average noblewoman.

The dance finished and Alistair excused himself before moving towards the buffet.

That’s when he saw her again.

Her long neck was adorned by a silver amulet, her (H/C) hair was up in a low bun with a braid wrapped around her head and disappearing into the bun and she wore a beautiful blue gown and a sliver mask.

A glass was in her hand but she had seen him.
He gave an awkward smile but he received a big one in return.

She placed her glass down- was she going to come over?

Should he be doing this?

‘Remember what Eamonn said, she wouldn’t give up her duty.’

Alistair decided to meet her halfway.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he said when she stood in front of him “but I’m going to ask you to dance.”

The mysterious woman nodded and took his hand.
The two twirled around the ballroom in silence and with ease- his dance lessons had come in handy.

“I never thought I’d see the day that my Alistair would be able to dance without stepping on toes or stumbling.”

His heart stopped.
Those eyes, god those eyes, how had he not recognize them before now? How did he not recognise the warden amulet around her neck?
How did he not recognise his love?

“(Y/N)”
He breathed, shock evident on his face.

“Long time no see Alistair.Or should I say King Alistair? Or bastard?’

He chuckled as the dance ended and lead her out to the balcony.

(Y/N) removed her mask and blew a strand of hair from her eyes.

"I forgot how bloody uncomfortable dresses are.”
She grumbled, rolling her shoulders.

“I can imagine, look, I was forced to wear these pants. They’re so tight and this crown is a dead weight.”

She laughed and leaned against the concrete barrier.

“Here, birthday boy. A little gift from me.”

The warden lifted her skirts, causing the King to blush.However, from her skirts she presented a toy golem.

“Hey! This is great, at least someone got me something I’ve always wanted!”

For awhile the King fiddled with the golem, proud of his present. For 23 he was still quite childish at times it seemed.

He didn’t look her in the eye when he spoke again.

“Where…where have you been?I went to Weisshaupt many times but you were never there. I tried to contact you also.”

“Life as the Warden Commander is demanding, I spend the majority of my time in Orlais and recruiting members.”

“You didn’t answer my question.Why did you never contact me?I was worried, (Y/N).”

Her smiled faded from her face and she turned her face away.

“I couldn’t interfere, you’re king after all and the whole grey warden thing would distract you from your duties.And….you need to look for a wife Alistair.”

Alistair placed a hand on her shoulder.
“You know I can’t do that. Not when you still have my heart.
You know I could never forget what we had…what you mean to me.
Of course it’s been three years but there is nobody who has captured me the way you have.
But I understand, your duty is to Thedas. I just need to know, do you feel they same way you did all those years ago?”

“After these years..my feelings never changed Alistair. I love you just as much as the first day I told you.”

His heart pounded violently against his ribcage. There was no way he was letting her get away again.

“Then marry me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“But you need an heir Alistair, we’re Grey Wardens. There’s a slim chance of one grey warden having children after the ritual but two grey wardens together?”

“I don’t care. We’ll try and if we don’t produce one, the throne is Connors.You’re also a Cousland, nobility. They will accept this- us.”

She chewed her lip- thinking.

“I…I hope you’re prepared to be stuck with me for the rest of your days then, King Alistair.”

A burst of laughter came from the king and he swept her into his arms, placing his lips against hers.

“Maker,I love you.”

“Are you certain?” he asks, giving Potter one last time to change his mind.

“Scared, Malfoy?” Potter raises his eyebrows, the motion barely visible in the dim light, and it heats Draco up to see it.

The problem is, the answer is yes. This is absolutely terrifying in how perfect it is, how perfect Potter is, laid out like this, waiting for Draco to take control. He won’t admit it, won’t say how he teeters on the edge of the precipice, ready to fall at any second. Instead he simply reaches out for Potter’s wrist, wraps the soft braid around it and ties a quick knot. “You wish,” he murmurs, and Potter sighs.
—  The Destiny You Sold by tryslora

anonymous asked:

Hello, beautiful author! I love your writing. You provide a depth of character that I appreciate so much. For COBLMF, whatever happened to Gale? He was possessive over Katniss and acted like her boyfriend every time Peeta saw him (not to mention that he kissed her) and I can't believe he won't try to cockblock again. Peeta would have to wonder about this K and G "relationship" Curious how/whether this came up. A final one shot? :)

Anon, thank you! You have unfortunately (or maybe fortunately) found one of my weaknesses. I detest loose ends. My hand slipped…for a couple thousand words. Oops. Not beta’d so any mistakes are solely my fault. Rated M-ish.


Druxy - Something which looks good on the outside, but is actually rotten inside

He manages to make it the entire Thanksgiving weekend without thinking about her too much. He’d forgotten how much work all the kids could be, although technically Vick is an adult now. In the madness of the holiday, he slips up and thinks about her three times. The first is when the bird comes out of the oven and his entire family can’t stop talking about how sweet it was of Katniss to share or wishing that she had at least been in town. Ignoring her asinine suggestion that she return here, Gale reminds them that if they move to the city, they’ll be able to see her more often. Before he can worry about it too much, he changes the subject to whatever nonfiction book Rory can’t seem to peel himself away from and that does the trick.

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Stumble Through Heaven- Part 1: The Calm - A Morrigan/Selene Fic

MAJOR ACOWAR SPOILERS AHEAD 

Sooo @tbhfangirl19 asked me for Mor/a lady someone basically. So now you have a two part Mor/ladies fic with Mor and…who is effectively my OC (she’s like…canon in five lines, she’s Viviane’s sister and this all definitely happened in canon) Anyway. I got carried away so now there’s lots of lesbian emotions flying around. Have at it. @king-havilliard figured you would appreciate the tag. Thank you for reading this/humouring my yelling about it @pterodactylichexameter

Title: Stumble Through Heaven - Part 1: The Calm 

Summary: (my timings are wonky, this doesn’t technically work in canon but it’s close enough and by the time I realised it didn’t work I was already attached to the idea and it was too much effort changing it for a relatively small detail) After her fight with Feyre Mor seeks solace in the Winter Court camp and runs into an old flame, Selene, Viviane’s younger sister. They revisit their history with one another. Rating will go up in the next part but this one is SFW. 

Teaser:  “How are you?”

There’s enough pointed emphasis in the last word that Mor knows the female can still read her as easily as she remembers how she prefers her tea. She turns away, looks down the sharply sloping hill to the battlefield again, churned and ragged and raw. A good mirror for the way she feels. All she says however in answer to Selene’s question is, “Fine.”

To her surprise, that response tugs a soft huff of laughter from the female sitting by her side, legs folded beneath her, back perfectly straight, “All these years, Morrigan,” she says quietly, taking a drink of her tea before shaking her head. “All these years and you still think you can hide from me.”

Link: AO3 

Despite the thick heat of the Summer Court, the air wet with blood after a day of battle and the mourning tears that followed, the Winter Court encampment still somehow feels cold to Mor. A sharp breeze lifts, tugging at her hair, stirring it around her face, as though trying to pull her away somewhere. She ignores it.

Still in the clothes she had worn when she’d descended down into the battle, not bothering to strip out of it. The armour feels like a lead weight now, dragging her weary limbs down. Exhaustion gnaws at her and she should sleep, should go back to her own camp, her own tent, curl up and let that fatigue drag her into tomorrow but…

She had needed to get out, to get away from all of it. Cassian’s injuries had rattled her, even if the stupid prick would be alright. She had been there, feet from him as he’d been torn apart before her eyes and she’d felt sure she was watching his death, helpless. Helpless again when she had returned to the camp and found Feyre gone, had to restrain herself from shaking that sister of hers to make her tell her where she had gone so she could find her and drag her back. Helpless as she had looked into Rhys’ terrified eyes and been forced to confess that she had been tricked, that she had been lied to, again, that those closest to her would rather go behind her back than trust her.

Then the fight with Feyre in her tent after she had returned. In one piece, thank the Mother, the things that she had said to her, the things she had heard come tearing from her friend’s lips. She closes her eyes, hugging herself, her fingers gripping onto her arms until it hurts. That breeze lifts again, carrying with it the tears that burn her eyes and fall as she bows her head, shaking, attempting to master herself.

They’re at war she doesn’t have time to sit here and feel sorry for herself, she should be in camp, helping, planning, doing something. Instead she’s sitting here, like a child pathetic and frightened and helpless all over again. She holds her head in her hands, shaking, not caring who sees. None of the Winter Court soldiers are likely to bother her. They would have to come seeking her, where she’s huddled on the edge of this war camp, over-looking the battle field that Feyre had tricked her onto, where Cassian had nearly died right in front of her, where-

She looks up at the soft, lithe footsteps that sound at her side. A beautiful Winter Court fae stands there, looking down at her. Selene. Viviane’s sister. It’s been decades since they’ve been this close to one another, not since before Amarantha. Yet she hasn’t changed. She remains the same. A tall, willowy pillar of frozen steel, cold and unyielding, precise and elegant as a sculpture. Her long silver hair restrained by a thick braid wrapped around her head like a crown. She looks strikingly like her older sister, except her eyes, they’re sharper, colder, and of a steely grey, a windswept mountain to her sister’s bright ocean sapphire.

For all they look alike however, there are no squealing outbursts and desperate hugs between the two of them. Only quiet. The same kind of quiet that always fills Mor whenever she looks into those pale, fathomless eyes, the same kind of quiet she wishes she could exist in for the rest of her life. The tension seems to bleed from her as that silence sweeps through her, a bone deep calm that she only ever feels around a few people in this world.

Wordlessly, taking Mor’s lack of brusque demand for her to leave her alone as acceptance of her presence, Selene carefully lowers herself down onto the ground, then passes over a cup of tea. Mor accepts it gratefully, holding it between her hands to warm them from the chill night that’s starting to draw in around her. She sniffs at the tea before she takes a sip. The mixed scents of citrus and apple draw a small, sad smile from her. All these years…All these years but Selene still remembers her favourite blend.

They sit in silence for a long moment, sipping their tea, Mor grateful for the other female’s company, despite the faint knot of tension that starts to pulse in her stomach at her presence. So long, it’s been so long since they were together, all this time, both likely fearing the other lost after Amarantha’s conquest and yet…Yet still the quiet embraces them, holds them tight, somehow more intimate than the tight embrace Viviane had swept her into when they had seen each other again.

It’s a gift, this respite that she offers her. But eventually, Mor finds herself asking quietly, “How are you?”

Selene stiffens almost imperceptibly, takes a sip of her own tea, mint, if Mor isn’t mistaken. Even without the scent she would have known. She remembers her too. Then she says, “Well.” Her voice is the same as she remembers it, like snow melting from a mountainside, cool and heavy and smooth, with that soft rasp to it that makes her shiver.

It had been a loaded question, a question asking after how she had fared all these years they had been apart, with the distance of grief and loss between them. That she had chosen not to answer it, to confine their discussion to the present…Says all she needs it to.

She turns to face Mor, her eyes seeming to glow a dark silver as the light from the camp behind them catches, “How are you?”

There’s enough pointed emphasis in the last word that Mor knows the female can still read her as easily as she remembers how she prefers her tea. She turns away, looks down the sharply sloping hill to the battlefield again, churned and ragged and raw. A good mirror for the way she feels. All she says however in answer to Selene’s question is, “Fine.”

To her surprise, that response tugs a soft huff of laughter from the female sitting by her side, legs folded beneath her, back perfectly straight, “All these years, Morrigan,” she says quietly, taking a drink of her tea before shaking her head. “All these years and you still think you can hide from me.”

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Soft Names, Soft Touches

Chapter Nine

Originally posted by you-didnt-see-that-cuming

Previous Chapter*

Pairing: Bucky x OC | Word Count: 4.2K+

Warnings: Angst. Russian that may or may not be correct.


 Folding in the middle, Franki dove under the water and pushed against the wall with her feet as she started a new lap.

It had been nearly three weeks since the morning she’d woken up in Bucky’s bed. She’d come awake to find her pillow much too warm, rising and falling beneath her ear, a steady beat thumping away in it, and had lifted her head to discover her arm wrapped low over Bucky’s waist and her pillow his spectacular abdominals. Her leg was thrown over his thigh, her knee resting dangerously close to a vital part of his anatomy, and her foot was snugged up in the space between his calves. She was wrapped around him like a creeper vine and snapped her eyes to his face in shock. Blue eyes had been watching her with amusement and she was certain she’d blushed as red as Nat’s hair.

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Dutch Space Buns

Space buns are “a thing” and I couldn’t be happier.  It’s no secret that I love buns, but there’s something about space buns that are so much more comfortable and fun.  This space bun tutorial incorporates dutch braids in the back for extra detail.  Give it a try!

Materials:

1) Brush

2) Two Large Hair Ties

3) Two Small Hair Ties

4) Bobby Pins

Procedure:

1) Begin by brushing your hair out.

2) Create a part down the middle of your head.  Tie one side of hair out of the way.

3) Flip your head upside down and take three pieces of hair at the nape of your neck.

4) Begin a dutch braid by crossing the left piece under the middle piece.

5) Next cross the right piece under the new middle piece.

6) Add in more hair to the left piece and cross under the middle.

7) Add in more hair to the right piece before crossing under the middle.  (Watch a detailed Dutch Braid tutorial here!)

8) Continue this process.

9) Once you get to where you want to place your bun, stop adding in any more hair.  Take all the hair from this side and tie into a high pigtail.

10) Braid the whole pigtail and tie off with a small hair elastic.

11) Begin wrapping the braid around the top of your pigtail.

12) Bobby pin into place.

13) Repeat steps 3-12 on the other side of your head.  Finish with hairspray.

The Sorcerer and Her Son

Paring: Kylo Ren/Reader

Tags: female reader, female pronouns, AU - magic, AU - medieval, AU - gods and goddesses, tailoring, sewing, religious imagery and symbolism, male-female friendship, friends to lovers, nicknames, POV reader, POV Kylo Ren, fluff, angst.

Summary: In the small village on the edge of the forest, the tailor’s daughter cannot stand by and watch her mother’s ailing health lead her her death. Taking it upon herself to ask of the help of the resident witch, and her son, she must follow the contract to heal her mother. But, all magic, comes at a price, and sometimes, that price is knowing a little too much about things that are unsaid…

Word Count: 5,431

Posting Date:  2017-05-06

Current Date: 2017-06-12


Originally posted by somethingalongtheselines


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[ image: two sketches of princess bubblegum. the first sketch is her standing at the ready, watching a ball come to her. she is wearing a catchers mitt and a special outfit: a long grey shirt with long sleeves and a mandarin collar over black shorts and long grey striped tube socks. her hair is put up, most of it in a braid wrapped around her head, and she is wearing her crown. on her chest are two pins: a pink and purple candy pin, and a black and white rhombus pin. the second sketch is her in the same outfit from the waist up, holding the catchers mitt with a ball in it next to her head and winking. her shoulders are brought up into a playful shrug, and her right arm is held behind her. ]

sporty!

in the aistars Star 4 fanbook, there were tutorials for the Venus Ark students’ hairstyles (minus Rei). I was excited to finally learn The Secret of Kirara’s Buns, but they just wrapped a ribbon around a braid and pinned it into a bun… disappointing. but for Aria they did those twist ponytails, which actually look pretty close!

Paying the price

Chapter 20

Originally posted by lonelyx3

@pathybo @jojuarez26 @tigpooh67 @jaiboomer11 @beautifulramblingbrains @iammarylastar @feminamortem @deepfrz @lets-play-truth-or-dare @bookwarm85 @carefultheyspit


I was sitting in the uncomfortable office chair in front of the sturdy desk, anxiously twiddling my fingers while my father’s gaze burned a hole through me. He was leaning back in his much larger chair, arms crossed over his chest. He ran the fingers of his left hand over his mouth while narrowing his eyes at me. He was lost deep in thought while Dante and Amar stood to the side watching this obvious display of power.

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4

I want somebody to write about Ahsoka. About how she walked out of the Temple with her head held high, and a tiny bag containing the sum of her life outside the Jedi Order, because Jedi are not encouraged to keep mementos. She has two changes of clothes, a cloak to hide her blades and enough money to live for a week. 

Ahsoka hugs her master, and kisses his cheek too because she can do that now. And maybe she had a crush on him for about half a minute when she was twelve and didn’t know him and maybe she didn’t. Because she’s been his padawan for three years and she knows his worth she bows to him and calls him Master Skywalker. And because she’s been his padawan for three years and she knows his worth her last words to Anakin Skywalker in every universe are, watch out for yourself skyguy.

He’ll call her Snips like his heart is breaking and it is, because this is yet another lesson on attachment that he has failed to learn and he wraps her padawan’s braid around his flesh wrist as a reminder (and in the coming months it’ll become a burden weighing him down, giving him yet another reason to hate the Jedi) but he hasn’t learned the lesson he was meant too and this isn’t his story anyway.

I want somebody to write about the shuttle that takes her away from the Temple and how she cries like she’s breaking because she has been betrayed

I want the three days Ahsoka spends in the lower city hunting down her lightsabers because she will not give them up. 

I want Ahsoka going to Senator Chuchi because she like Padme and Lux never gave up on her. And Padme is too close to the Jedi for comfort, and Lux is too close to her for comfort.  Chuchi aiding her because Ahsoka is her friend and because she is one of ten people in the Galaxy who has stood against Grievous and lived and in these dangerous times you never know what friends you’ll need. Ahsoka leaving Coruscant on smuggled onto a supply ship, hopping a ride on a destroyer, taking off in her personal cruiser, something fast and light.

Ahsoka removing the focusing crystals from her lightsabers and fixing the crystals beside the teeth of the akul she slew with her first lightsaber to her headdress as nothing more then pretty trinkets because one day she will take up her lightsabers again but today she cannot be a Jedi and a lightsaber is a Jedi’s weapon. Because she visited Ilum twice and bled for her crystals each time and she cannot, will not erase her past. 

Ahsoka traveling to Kiros, to Shili, to Onderon, to planets she has been before, to planets she has never seen, to planets she has only seen as a soldier glancing at her surroundings after three days of hard fighting in mud and gore.  

Ahsoka on Onderon because she has friends across the galaxy but Lux, Lux who is her friend before many is on Onderon while the Senate is out of session. She rides beasts on Onderon, explores the jungle and city and does the things she never could as a Jedi. Saw and Lux teach her to cheat at cards and drink in bars and if they get caught up in a few bar fights they never struck first. She does the things the Temple denied her. They’ll get drunk and talk about their losses, about Steela, and Mina, and Barriss and this endless war and if she kisses Lux it is because she can now without concern that she is betraying something she holds dear.  

Ahsoka will enjoy peace until it itches under her skin betraying her. She has been a warrior since she was four and a soldier since she was thirteen. She turns seventeen on Onderon and has a proper party with friends for the experience and leave three days later with Saw in tow, because Saw is another child soldier looking for another war. Mandalore has an ongoing civil war that the Jedi are ignoring, and the rightful heir is a friend who cannot accept republic aid without betraying everything his aunt held dear.

Ahsoka Tano with a blaster on one hip and a mandalorian blade on the other training soldiers to fight a war for peace on a planet that doesn’t want it against a former clone of the republic. Three months later she’ll call that irony. 

Three months later they’re winning the war when the Force cries out for all those who can hear it. Ahsoka knows the news before it ever reaches Mandalore. The Jedi are traitors they say. The Jedi are dead they say. Beacons at the temple call for the return of the Jedi, and Ahsoka wonders how many of her friends were caught in the trap before the survivors started to catch on.

She’ll use the force that night to dissemble her lightsabers and refit the crystals to her blades. When she puts them back together she activates them with a touch of her mind and the crackle hum of the blade is comforting. She’ll drop the force and let her blades fall, catching them eager hands and sweep through a reverse shien drill, as familiar as breathing.

(Ahsoka will leave Mandalore and the people she trained will die when the Deathwatch accepts aid from the newly formed Galactic Empire. Korkie’s execution will be broadcast planetwide. She mourns him but can do no more.)

Ahsoka leaving Mandalore behind and trying to raise Anakin, Obi-Wan, Yoda. When those fail she reaches out to Padme, to Lux, to Chuchi. Chuchi and Lux answers and directs her to Bail Organa and the seeds of the Rebellion. She’s one of millions that attends Padme Amidala’s funeral.

Ahsoka Tano lives openly under her own name. She makes it four months before a squadron of clones cuts her down. Captain Rex leads them.

Ahsoka Tano lives as a fugitive, gathering support, freeing slaves, distinctive green and yellow blades reminding the galaxy that the Jedi are not as destroyed as the Empire would like them to be. Her cell is the best the Rebellion has to offer, and Saw serves as her second for the six years it takes for the Empire to hunt them down. She tells her people to cut and run, but they stand by her in the final days. Her people take out a full battalion with half a dozen bombs and themselves in the process. Ahsoka  is hunted through the sewers like a rat by troops lead by Darth Vader. She separates him from his men and takes a run at him in an appropriately climatic and secluded location. Maybe she hesitated when she felt her old master through the force. Maybe he did. There were only two witnesses to that fight and only one survivor. This is the last time anyone hears from Tano.

(And a Togruta by the name of Barriss books passage off that shithole of a world.)

Ahsoka Tano lives as a fugitive, smuggling, infiltration and sabotage operations, carrying blasters never mind Master Kenobi’s disdain for them. Her lightsabers are never beyond her grasp but she uses them only to kill now, and then only when she is certain there will be no witnesses. She’s the finest operative the Rebellion has and her greatest talent is her ability to wreck a slaving operation in less then twenty-four hours.

Maybe she lives long enough to meet Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa and tell them without remorse the sort of man their father used to be, having long since figured out what became of Anakin Skywalker. Maybe she doesn’t. Either way Ahsoka Tano still has stories that need to be told.