“Femininity in general is seen as frivolous. People often say feminine people are doing “the most”, meaning that to don a dress, heels, lipstick, and big hair is artifice, fake, and a distraction. But I knew even as a teenager that my femininity was more than just adornments; they were extensions of me, enabling me to express myself and my identity. My body, my clothes, and my makeup are on purpose, just as I am on purpose.”
Janet Mock, Redefining Realness (via albinwonderland)
(Source: alisonroseishere, via tidepooling)
Originally, i did all these for valentine’s day but school got really busy, so I couldn’t finish it one time… Oh well. Oh and these are all my ships in Ass Creed, and thanks for the Edward and Caroline request, sasseffect!!!!!!! That one is for you U3U~~
btw Which one is your favourite pair??
when someone barge in u room as u singin n dancin
Careful, honey, it’s loaded,” he said, reentering the bedroom.
Her back rested against the headboard. “This for your wife?”
“No. Too chancy. I’m hiring a professional.”
“How about me?”
He smirked. “Cute. But who’d be dumb enough to hire a lady hit man?”
She wet her lips, sighting along the barrel.
"Bedtime Story", Jeffrey Whitmore (via thenatureofsin)
(Source: talesofnorth, via justicekind)
On the last day, when Aslan drew her and Peter aside, she did not cry. Her throat closed up and her heart clanged so loudly in her ears that she missed half of what he said.
Too old to return to Narnia?
You shoved me back into this wretched unformed child’s body, lion-god, and made me a thousand years a widow, and now I am too old?
If Susan had been standing next to the White Witch, before the Stone Table, looking down at Aslan bound and muzzled, she would have asked to wield the knife.
Peter was keeping his chin up and saying all the right things. Susan sank her teeth into her lower lip and thought that she would have given everything she had not to come back to Narnia this time.
Aslan looked at her as he spoke. He knew what she was thinking, of course. He always did.
Susan didn’t care. If he was going to go around refusing to be a tame lion, he could hardly fault her for refusing to be a tame woman.
Lucy was coming up, with Edmund beside her. She gritted her teeth, and swallowed her rage. It would not do Lucy a great deal of good to see her god gut her sister with one of his gigantic paws. And she’d be damned if she cried in front of him. She had cried for him once already, cried and worked her fingers bloody prying a muzzle from his dead jaws, and this was how that vigil was repaid.
She would be glad to never see Narnia again. The languid erasing of her memories could not come quickly enough. There was nothing left for her here.
Elegant and Fine, Ursula Vernon (via themaraudersaredead)
(Source: fuckyeahursulavernon, via the-writers-ramblings)
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“I suppose we both knew it would come to this. When we first met at Ostagar, I would have never thought so. But Ostagar seems like it happened in another lifetime, to someone else. ‘A man is made by the quality of his enemies.’ Maric told me that once. I wonder if it’s more a compliment to you or me.”
—Teryn Loghain Mac Tir