#this isn't shippy

[madaboutasoiaf]

cersei and oberyn! aka my secret otp

Cersei offers Prince Oberyn a smile that he does not return.He does, however, seem receptive to a mutually beneficial agreement.

“I came here to see that justice is served, Your Grace.” hesays.

Cersei nods eagerly, seeing a chance.

“Justice is why I am here,” she proclaims. “Tyrion killed myson.”

Oberyn raises an eyebrow, and silence lingers. It irks her.She has had enough of Father’s long silences.

“I am yet to be convinced,” he finally says.

The queen feels her fury rising. Is he blind? Everybody can see Tyrion’s guilt. Cersei may havehelped pave the way with coin, but none were reluctant to damn the imp. Thetruth is plain to see.

“Perhaps I canconvince you,” she suggests.

Oberyn takes a step closer, and his dark eyes are curious. Perhaps this need not be difficult after all.Her father is already determined that she wed the Red Viper, despite Cersei’sprotests. Prince Oberyn need not know that she is not entirely willing, and ifher suggestion sways his judgement at the trial, it will be a price Cersei willgladly pay to rid herself of the valonqar.

I need only suggestit.

She reaches out and trails her fingers down his arm.

“And what of my justice, Your Grace?” The Red Viper asks.

Cersei looks up at him, frustrated. An expression flashes across his face for an instant, and Cersei thinks he is displeased but then hefinally smiles, an insolent smile.

“Elia and I were once inseparable, much like you and yourtwin.”

The idea almost makes her laugh until she sees that the RedViper is serious. Men do not like to belaughed at, even when they are being fools. She composes herself with aneffort.

“I’m more concerned with my other brother just now,” shereminds him. She touches him again, just enough to be certain he understands. “Iam in mourning for my son, but when Tyrion is dead and my mourning is done I’llneed a consort.”

She can see that Prince Oberyn is quick to take her meaning.He also doesn’t reject her touch.

“I’ll think on what you have said, Your Grace,” he replies.

Of course you will.

Cersei can taste the triumph already. Maggy the Frog knew nothing.

[hemsworths-chris]

Flashbacks, warm nights, almost left behind (this can be three or one I don't mind I just really love ur creativity with these!!)

i’ll do it in one, for time’s sake! also i’ll rephrase it a bit?

title: flashbacks and warm nights (almost left behind)pairing: harry potter & hermione granger (muggle au)summary: when they were kids, their friends always teased them about the fact they stuck together - “harry loves hermy! harry loves hermy!” he never understood why everyone thought they were in love. they were just friends.  

eight years later, harry feels like he could use a bit of friendship.

no more pls

[dozingpeach]

(x) in which allura is the base and lance is a flyer

[i-guess-i-write-shit-now]

The Voice in My Head (Tells Me You Hate Me)

Anxiety deals with some sensory overload and self-hate issues, and Morality and the others help him with it.

Read it on AO3

[wolves-on-caffeine]

Okay but in the vamp AU, imagine Logan cutting contact from his family and stuff but his sire (the one who turned him) fucked off and he didn’t know what to do and he was hungry and had locked himself in an attic, right? So he calls Roman because he doesn’t want to call his family but needed to call someone and hey Roman could probably knock him out if he went crazy while feeding. 

So he calls Roman and Roman shows up and unlocks the attic and Logan drinks from him etc etc

So anyway that’s my justification for why Roman is still in regular contact with Logan (and maybe he ended up dropping off the map with Logan so the smart idiot wouldn’t so something like test every vampire myth on himself to see what actually works) so that the below scene makes sense:

Logan ends up meeting some other vampires and hangs out with them. It’s all cool and he learns a lot. But he’s never had Roman meet them. So all his vamp friends are like “Logan. You HAVE to let us meet your friend. You have to. We’re curious.” So Logan begrudgingly lets Roman (who had also been bugging him) show up to one of their meetings/”hang out sessions”.

And Roman, being the extra shit he is, walks in wearing fake fangs and this:

@roanoaks

[reylowkey]

Kylo Ren, Rey, and Home as Parallels and Contrasts

I really love the idea of characters as parallels and opposites, so here’s something I want to talk about: Kylo Ren & Rey and their homes. I’m going to be quoting from Alan Dean Foster’s TFA novelization for this post.

Individuality

First of all, there’s a pointed comparison to how ‘individual’ their homes feel like.

Rey’s home on Jakku is described as this:

It wasn’t much, but where such examples of defiant individuality had been placed, they softened the drabness of their surroundings.

She’s made a space for herself, with dried desert flowers, cabinets, shelves, and scratch marks on the walls. Her possessions are ‘homemade’ and ‘makeshift.’

Kylo Ren’s ‘home’ on the First Order’s ship is defined by its lack of individuality: It was a very private place. There was no need to mark it as such. It’s dark, sterile, and metallic in nature.

There would not have been much to see even in the presence of brighter illumination. A pair of consoles dominated by red lights flanked the doorway. A single projection console sat in the center, attended by a lone chair. Otherwise the room was sparsely furnished.

The Past

Secondly, both of them are surrounded by relics of the past. Rey lives in an AT-AT walker, which is “an ancient, rotting, rusting example of now useless military might.” She lives in a decaying relic of the Empire, just like she soon will be pit against the First Order and their military might.

Rey also has a handmade doll made to look like an Alliance pilot doll and an old Rebellion helmet. Even though she’s stuck on Jakku, this is something she’s clearly looked up to ever since she was younger - she’s a mechanic and pilot herself, and there’s a part of her that seems to yearn for a life that’s more than what she has now.

She tried to think of something else—something that had changed, something that seemed different—if only to keep her mind from atrophying. But there was nothing. Nothing new. Certainly nothing to daydream about. On Jakku, things never changed.

As for Kylo Ren, he has a helmet and relic of his own - Darth Vader’s helmet. And what he wants is to be like his grandfather, because like Rey said, he’s always been afraid that he would never be strong as Darth Vader, and this is what he wants.

(Lastly)

In their homes, they’re both alone.

She was alone.

Alone in the room, Kylo Ren—saturnine of aspect, lithe of build, tortured of mien, and troubled of eye—gazed at the silent recipient of his confession. [...] There was no response from the one to whom he had been talking: neither argument nor agreement. Only silence from the shape that had been the object of Ren’s fervor: a ghostly, deformed mask that had once belonged to another.

There’s Rey, waiting for her family to come back to her, waiting for something to change in her life, and there’s Ren talking to the mask of his grandfather that doesn’t talk back to him.

But while both of them have loneliness and fear, at the end of the day, they’re opposites. They’re enemies. They’re Light and Dark (another thing: Rey goes outside her AT-AT to watch the sun set, while Ren is kneeling at an alcove, at a darker part of his quarters). They have their differing relics and legacies, with Rey inheriting from the Jedi and Ren from the Sith. Rey is the hero, Ren is the villain, and their conflict is dramatically inevitable; it’s an epic rivalry.

IMO, that inevitability of them clashing - with their differing natures and narratives at play - is genuinely fascinating.

[embxdiiment-archive]

scottxsh:

"Oh please, as if I’d leave you down there  all pathetic and such.” He chuckled, reaching   down to grab her hand and forcefully pulling her up.

With the help of her champion, Missy got up on her feet. She leaned on the Doctor for support, her immaterial form aching from the playfight.

                    "Of course you wouldn't dear.                      You'd never be mean to me,                      you love me too much."

[mostly10]

over time, cas gets more used to the peeing and the eating and all those other paltry bodily functions his now fully human body (not a vessel at all anymore, he realises) requires of him. he finds a rhythm; the mundane activities growing more natural. he finds himself at the end of a day realising that he hasn’t paid much attention to his bowel movements or bladder function - he had simply done what other humans did. when need pressed, he went to the bathroom. when he was finished he washed his hands and went back to what he was doing. quite nice, he mused to himself. stabile.

but then he begins feeling something else he has never experienced before. something nobody had ever thought to try to explain to him - and he was sure that if they had tried he would never have been able to comprehend it as fully as he does now. boredom. the concept, as an abstract, is absurd to cas. there are so many things to explore, so many people to meet and talk to and a great ocean of things to learn about. but he just doesn’t /feel like/ doing any of those things.

mr barnett, who’s always loitering by the chocolate shelf, is a diabetic, married with three children who are all living out of state. he likes baseball, america’s funniest home videos, and is more than a little bit racist. he never fought in any war - never got drafted due to severe astigmatism in one eye - never travelled anywhere beyond ten miles out of town (to buy a part for his car), and didn’t like reading..

cas knew all this, and a whole lot more, about mr barnett. he was bored with mr barnett. and mrs barnett. they weren’t bad people, but they weren’t… if you twisted his arm, cas might have been able to admit that he just didn’t like them very much. boredom. cas was bored of mr barnett and - though he liked many of his regular customers well enough - most of the people he saw every day simply didn’t interest him very much anymore.

then there was randy. her name was “really” miranda, but he had called her that once and she’d punched him so hard in the arm he’d had a bruise for days. randy is what sam might jokingly refer to as “locally sourced”. she was born here, grew up here, went to school here and he supposed she never wanted to leave because now she worked here and lived here in her own one bedroom bungalow.

she is also what dean would most certainly refer to as “smoking hot”. olive skin, chestnut hair she keeps trimmed at shoulder length, supple hips, a lovely soft waist and despite her obvious physical strength- delicate wrists. cas likes her very much.

when he is bored, he calls randy. the first time he did - at 4:18am on a saturday morning - she hadn’t really been inclined to help him out. after a short but very memorable (and loud) lesson on when it is acceptable to call a friend, he called her whenever that unease he now knew as boredom came creeping up on him.

she told him jokes, and he’d laugh and feel better. even though she told him that they were the worst jokes ever. he told her about dean and sam and kevin and benny. she listened and didn’t pry when he’d stutter into silence because he couldn’t think of a way to lie away the truth about a hunt. he had tried telling her about anna and balthazar and gabriel. he talked about them once, but didn’t get very far before a lump formed in his throat and restricted his breathing. he’d cried, then, and randy hadn’t asked about them since.

sometimes he’d call and she wouldn’t answer. half an hour later there would be a knock at the door and randy would be there with fried chicken, or two tubs of ice cream, or a bottle of jack. and they’d sit on the couch and talk. or not. cas doesn’t have - or want - a tv, so if they didn’t feel like talking they would just sit there and it was just… nice.