No title available
styofa doing anything
taylor price
Love Begins
titsay
izzy's playlists!
we're not kids anymore.
No title available
hello vonnie
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
$LAYYYTER
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
roma★
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Xuebing Du
Game of Thrones Daily
@theartofmadeline
⁂
#extradirty
seen from Hungary
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@chininja
is being into coffee an older sibling thing bc everyone i know who loves coffee is the oldest child
like every oldest child ik loves coffee, the middle child hates it/prefers tea, and the youngest will drink it but only if its super sweet n has a ton of milk
rb w/ if ur oldest, middle, or youngest child and how u feel about coffee
Brienne/Margaery, biology lab partners (who have great chemistry *rimshot*)
Brienne was never as surprised than when the most popular girl in school sidled up next to her station, and promptly sat on the stool beside hers.
"Hi!" warm hazel eyes meeting blue.
"H-hi...?" confused blue staring back.
Brienne doesn't say much after that, preferring to let her face and general puzzlement do the talking. For her part, and which seems to bemuse the taller girl more is that Margaery Tyrell seems content to not say anything to explain her voluntary presence in Brienne's space. (She tries to be cool about this, Brienne. Well, as much cool as she can muster anyway before her curiosity wins out.)
"Can I help you?" she croaks out like a boy hitting puberty. And look, can you blame her? Lady Margaery (as the rest of the school have taken to calling her - half of the population in reverence, the other half in mockery) looks as though she just stepped out of a freaking photoshoot. If Brienne weren't so caught off guard, she'd take the time to be offended in behalf of her very new, still unfamiliar tread, into bisexuality. It just simply isn't fair that a person as beautiful as Margaery can simply plop herself into Brienne's life without so much as a warning. How dare she come at a time when the blonde is only starting to figure things out?
There is a blur of a hand waving in front her that pulls her out of her faux indignation. Her fauxdignation.
"I'm sorry, I'm still processing," she trails off in a whisper. "Could you repeat that for me?" Brienne tries for a smile, but is quite certain she's only just twitched her lip.
"I said," Margaery starts once more, patient and somehow finding humor in the, truly, very odd situation. "Would you mind helping me out with the dissection exercise? I would do it myself but I'm rather squeamish around dead or semi-dead animals." Brienne tries to see any falsehood in the other girl's demeanor, having been at the receiving end of mean girls' cattiness before, but finds none.
Before she can truly comprehend what was asked of her, Brienne nods her head and is nearly blinded by the intensity of Margaery's beaming smile but nearly bugs her eyes out when the younger girl grasps her hand in gratitude.
"I'm so happy! You won't regret it, Brienne." Margaery is jovial and energetic and has too much popularity than Brienne knows what to do with, she is a lot. But she finds herself drawn to the other's hazel eyes as if they were the new cleats she's been eyeing for a month.
"Maybe if things go well in this session, we'd end up being partners for the rest of the year?" Margaery's so hopeful and Brienne is still so damn baffled she doesn't know what to say.
"May I ask," she starts and at the other girl's prompting, continues with her question. "Why are you suddenly talking to me?" Brienne isn't usually as straightforward as this, but she feels this necessary to know about this girl who claims to want to work with her.
"Sansa is my only girl friend," Margaery begins. "And I find that I want real friends rather than sycophants," she continues. "Besides," she says and Brienne tilts her head in response. "I know what you've done for my brother and his boyfriend so that makes you a good cookie in my book."
She punctuates her responses with a small chuckle, as though she herself is unbelieving of what just happened.
Beauty and depth? Brienne thinks it incredelous, but ultimately -
My bisexual ass is so fucking screwed.
Robb/Dacey, she should have known better than to love him
Positioned with his head on her breast, his eyelashes fluttering against her chest like a butterfly's kiss, Dacey sees none of the king and only the boy. Only Robb.
They separated a moon back, each headed to a different part of the realm - him to campaign with his lady mother and her into battle. It was foolish of Dacey to think that when they returned, it would be into each other's arms. A young girl's fancy when she hasn't been one in ages.
She wishes she'd had been unaffected, but gods. It stung to see her king, her Robb, with the arms of a slip of girl around him. A girl from the Westerlands nonetheless.
But Dacey knew her duty, and she knew her place.
No matter that she feels only slightly disappointed in herself, that she has once again allowed a man to fall into her bed only to seek another woman's cunt when their cock grows lonely. She is a Mormont of Bear Island, not some delicate flower from the North. She knows intimacies can take place without ever having to worry about the certainty of marriage; knows her worth no longer lies in her maidenhood than a man's does in his pretty words.
Yet, Dacey thought she knew what she entered in when Robb Stark visited her tent all those moons ago.
Just as naive as they come, she thinks to herself - fingers raking through auburn curls, tangling one in her index and tugging lightly. You have turned me into a fanciful girl, Robb Stark, she whispers softly against the crown of his head. And I only hate you a little for it.
Dacey can't find it in herself to hate this boy king's audacity to fall back into bed with her when his wife sleeps in his own tent. Not when she knows this is likely the last time they will ever have together.
Her king stirs, lashes fluttering awake to reveal clear blue eyes - vulnerable and adoring of her. Dacey smiles, her sadness only seeping through a little but enough to dim the light in Robb's face.
"You can't be here anymore, Your Grace," a polite rejection of his presence as though neither of them are fully nude, warm skin touching warm skin.
Robb raises his head to look at her and opens his mouth, Dacey thinks to protest. But he lets his head fall back on the pillow, the fight leaving his body and Dacey knows he understands the wisdom behind her words.
He gets up slowly, and dresses up slower than that, and all Dacey can do is watch. (She pinches her leg to keep herself from doing something dumb like take back her words, and for the moment it is enough to ground her to the reality of their situation.)
When he fastens his cloak and moves towards the flap of her tent, Dacey sees his fist clench around his furs.
"I never meant to hurt you," he says so quietly Dacey almost missed it.
"I know."
"I do love you and if we were not at war -"
"Please, Your Grace," she interrupts him. "There is no use dreaming of another world or another time." She shrugs her shoulder to punctuate her words. It isn't that she wishes for him to see that this affects her little, but Dacey has lived long enough to know that the world does not owe a person anything, and wishing for things to go the way one wants to is simply a waste of time.
"Dacey," he trails off.
"I know, Robb," an upturn of her lips.
"I love you too."
It was the most honest, the bravest she has ever been - including being in battlefield - and this is the only way she wishes her king to remember her: daring.
I know this is a rare pair, but I really like how this turned out. Also, as you can see, I am not above begging for your validation 😂
Seth Rogen roasting D&D for attending Comic Con 2019
Robb/Dacey, she should have known better than to love him
Positioned with his head on her breast, his eyelashes fluttering against her chest like a butterfly's kiss, Dacey sees none of the king and only the boy. Only Robb.
They separated a moon back, each headed to a different part of the realm - him to campaign with his lady mother and her into battle. It was foolish of Dacey to think that when they returned, it would be into each other's arms. A young girl's fancy when she hasn't been one in ages.
She wishes she'd had been unaffected, but gods. It stung to see her king, her Robb, with the arms of a slip of girl around him. A girl from the Westerlands nonetheless.
But Dacey knew her duty, and she knew her place.
No matter that she feels only slightly disappointed in herself, that she has once again allowed a man to fall into her bed only to seek another woman's cunt when their cock grows lonely. She is a Mormont of Bear Island, not some delicate flower from the North. She knows intimacies can take place without ever having to worry about the certainty of marriage; knows her worth no longer lies in her maidenhood than a man's does in his pretty words.
Yet, Dacey thought she knew what she entered in when Robb Stark visited her tent all those moons ago.
Just as naive as they come, she thinks to herself - fingers raking through auburn curls, tangling one in her index and tugging lightly. You have turned me into a fanciful girl, Robb Stark, she whispers softly against the crown of his head. And I only hate you a little for it.
Dacey can't find it in herself to hate this boy king's audacity to fall back into bed with her when his wife sleeps in his own tent. Not when she knows this is likely the last time they will ever have together.
Her king stirs, lashes fluttering awake to reveal clear blue eyes - vulnerable and adoring of her. Dacey smiles, her sadness only seeping through a little but enough to dim the light in Robb's face.
"You can't be here anymore, Your Grace," a polite rejection of his presence as though neither of them are fully nude, warm skin touching warm skin.
Robb raises his head to look at her and opens his mouth, Dacey thinks to protest. But he lets his head fall back on the pillow, the fight leaving his body and Dacey knows he understands the wisdom behind her words.
He gets up slowly, and dresses up slower than that, and all Dacey can do is watch. (She pinches her leg to keep herself from doing something dumb like take back her words, and for the moment it is enough to ground her to the reality of their situation.)
When he fastens his cloak and moves towards the flap of her tent, Dacey sees his fist clench around his furs.
"I never meant to hurt you," he says so quietly Dacey almost missed it.
"I know."
"I do love you and if we were not at war -"
"Please, Your Grace," she interrupts him. "There is no use dreaming of another world or another time." She shrugs her shoulder to punctuate her words. It isn't that she wishes for him to see that this affects her little, but Dacey has lived long enough to know that the world does not owe a person anything, and wishing for things to go the way one wants to is simply a waste of time.
"Dacey," he trails off.
"I know, Robb," an upturn of her lips.
"I love you too."
It was the most honest, the bravest she has ever been - including being in battlefield - and this is the only way she wishes her king to remember her: daring.
SANSA STARK, STARK SISTERS, and SOPHIE TURNER & MAISIE WILLIAMS icons
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Arthur/Lyanna, keeping secrets
Arthur stumbles upon the scrolls by accident.
Lyanna, she hid them beneath the mattress and he doesn't think he would've found them if not for one that was sticking out from her side of the bed. He thought that perhaps they were just scraps of parchment she just hadn't thrown out, but when he sees her familiar script, his curiosity won out. (He should feel ashamed, having been a member of the Kingsguard, he knows how to turn away from things that do not concern him. But this is his Lyanna - whatever that means - and he felt his hand reach for the letter before his mind can fully register what his limb was doing.)
They were all unsent letters to her brother.
Arthur skims through the letter but has read enough that he can feel how palpable her guilt was. Is.
He staggers to a nearby stool as the implications of what he has stumbled upon weighs on him.
"Oh Lyanna," battle-roughened hands cover his face, the parchment still clutched tightly in the other.
"Oh Lyanna what?" her voice is raspy from fatigue - Jon has been up all evening, fussing over the heat of the Free Cities.
Arthur's indigo eyes meet her storm grey ones, the light in her eyes fading when she sees what he's holding.
"W-why do you have that?" She stutters out, all of a sudden unsure and unlike the headstrong maid he has come to lo-
"I found them sticking from beneath the mattress," Arthur confesses, knows he is in the wrong but also genuinely saddened that she would not confide in him about this. "You need not keep this a secret from me, Lyanna. I would not stop you from sending a raven to your brother." He moves slowly to her, as though any sudden movement would cause her to flee.
And to be true, Arthur is uncertain she wouldn't.
Lyanna fiddles with the skirt of her dress, a sign Arthur has taken to mean is brought on by nerves. Her dark hair shrouds her face for a moment, and it isn't until the old knight is a foot away from her that she looks him in the eye, her own watery from emotions that have been kept away.
"I didn't mean to keep them from you," she whispers to his chest, her gaze faltering slightly to settle on the stubble on his chin. "I just didn't think I had the courage to reach out to Ned. Not after," her voice breaks a little, so she pauses and closes her eyes, drawing upon strength Arthur know she has in abundance. "Not after what I put our family through." She sounds resolute, Arthur thinks. But when he looks at her, he is only reminded that she is a young girl manipulated by a man who always stood to have more power over her.
For all the affection that Arthur once held for his dear friend, he can’t help but curse at Rhaegar for what he did to Lyanna.
"There is enough guilt and shame to last a lifetime, my lady," his voice as warm as the hand he places on her cheek. "But dwelling on it will only keep us from moving forward and if I were to surmise from your letter," his thumb rubs circles on the apple of her cheek and Arthyr feels her hands clutching the fabric of his tunic.
"A chance to reconcile with your family."
Arthur Dayne has only ever seen this woman cry twice - the first when she realized that her actions with Rhaegar brought the death of her brother and father, the second when Jon was placed in her arms.
He is only fortunate enough to be trusted with a third time now when this girl, who has the North in ever fiber of her being, recognizes what is being offered to her.
Redemption.
Jon/Margaery, he's not a King, but she finds she's no longer interested in being Queen.
He doesn't have Renly's ease around people, Tommen's innocence, and thankfully none of Joffrey's cruel insanity. But he is kind, brave, and stubbornly honorable.
Margaery watches him with the Northfolk and Free Folk alike, and observes that he treats them all fairly. Jon Snow doesn't have a head for politics of course, and any other time she would have insinuated herself into the picture and manipulate the situation wherein House Tyrell would come out stronger, but Sansa is by his side and Margaery no longer thirsts for power anyway.
It is only by a small miracle that she and her family have escaped King's Landing unscathed. Highgarden lies in ruins and so they turn to Winterfell for sanctuary. And while this new Lady Stark looks at her now with distrust in her eyes (and to be sure Margaery doesn't blame Sansa one bit, not after framing her in Joffrey's death), her position insecure, and her influence non-existent, Margaery finds herself inexplicably drawn to this Jon Snow.
He isn't a king, but he is a leader - one that is truly respected in this part of the realm. And while Margaery no longer wishes to be queen, she find that she would be quite satisfied with being a lady - lowly birth be damned.
After all, base born or not, Margaery can appreciate a fine specimen when it is paraded before her eyes; back muscles rippling as he lifts his word above his head, teaching the boys how to fight.
Besides, she is still the Rose of Highgarden, and despite no longer having a holdfast to boast of, she knows she is still more than just comely. She can make a game out of it, she supposes, to make Jon Snow fall into her bed. And as she moves from her perch by the window, a plan starts to form in her head.
Perhaps things might even be bearable in this cold North then.
Arthur/Lyanna, keeping secrets
Arthur stumbles upon the scrolls by accident.
Lyanna, she hid them beneath the mattress and he doesn't think he would've found them if not for one that was sticking out from her side of the bed. He thought that perhaps they were just scraps of parchment she just hadn't thrown out, but when he sees her familiar script, his curiosity won out. (He should feel ashamed, having been a member of the Kingsguard, he knows how to turn away from things that do not concern him. But this is his Lyanna - whatever that means - and he felt his hand reach for the letter before his mind can fully register what his limb was doing.)
They were all unsent letters to her brother.
Arthur skims through the letter but has read enough that he can feel how palpable her guilt was. Is.
He staggers to a nearby stool as the implications of what he has stumbled upon weighs on him.
"Oh Lyanna," battle-roughened hands cover his face, the parchment still clutched tightly in the other.
"Oh Lyanna what?" her voice is raspy from fatigue - Jon has been up all evening, fussing over the heat of the Free Cities.
Arthur's indigo eyes meet her storm grey ones, the light in her eyes fading when she sees what he's holding.
"W-why do you have that?" She stutters out, all of a sudden unsure and unlike the headstrong maid he has come to lo-
"I found them sticking from beneath the mattress," Arthur confesses, knows he is in the wrong but also genuinely saddened that she would not confide in him about this. "You need not keep this a secret from me, Lyanna. I would not stop you from sending a raven to your brother." He moves slowly to her, as though any sudden movement would cause her to flee.
And to be true, Arthur is uncertain she wouldn't.
Lyanna fiddles with the skirt of her dress, a sign Arthur has taken to mean is brought on by nerves. Her dark hair shrouds her face for a moment, and it isn't until the old knight is a foot away from her that she looks him in the eye, her own watery from emotions that have been kept away.
"I didn't mean to keep them from you," she whispers to his chest, her gaze faltering slightly to settle on the stubble on his chin. "I just didn't think I had the courage to reach out to Ned. Not after," her voice breaks a little, so she pauses and closes her eyes, drawing upon strength Arthur know she has in abundance. "Not after what I put our family through." She sounds resolute, Arthur thinks. But when he looks at her, he is only reminded that she is a young girl manipulated by a man who always stood to have more power over her.
For all the affection that Arthur once held for his dear friend, he can’t help but curse at Rhaegar for what he did to Lyanna.
"There is enough guilt and shame to last a lifetime, my lady," his voice as warm as the hand he places on her cheek. "But dwelling on it will only keep us from moving forward and if I were to surmise from your letter," his thumb rubs circles on the apple of her cheek and Arthyr feels her hands clutching the fabric of his tunic.
"A chance to reconcile with your family."
Arthur Dayne has only ever seen this woman cry twice - the first when she realized that her actions with Rhaegar brought the death of her brother and father, the second when Jon was placed in her arms.
He is only fortunate enough to be trusted with a third time now when this girl, who has the North in ever fiber of her being, recognizes what is being offered to her.
Redemption.
Help a girl out
So I'm in a bit of a writing funk and I would really appreciate being sent prompts for drabbles and stuff.
I'd like to try my hand at rare pairs, so those prompts would be much appreciated.
Thanks so much :)
I am pleased to bring you the project I spent all afternoon working on instead of doing my laundry: a Florence + the Machine lyric fanfic title generator!
PAPA STEVE!
So accurate 😂
#stranger things ladies not taking any shit
why is it literally so sexy to watch steve try and use his one brain cell to problem solve and then succeed.... like he just executes pure dumbassery only to connect the dots and put two and two together and it seriously is so sexy
This is Scoops Troop! Do you copy?
