and his bow
We're the Ones Who Live: Richonne One Shots Chapter 9: Lessons
Rick learns an important skill...

Originally posted by xneganslucillex

“Three sections?”

Michonne nodded at her husband, her lips quirked at the sight of him, back bowed over his daughter’s head with studious concentration.

“Right,” she encouraged, doing her best to keep her hands in her lap.

Rick struggled for a moment to hold the hair and reach for the brush, but managed after a few fumbles.

“So, you pull the hair over the middle part…” Rick recited, his brow furrowed. Judith squirmed in the hard kitchen chair, looking desperately over at Michonne.

“Mama,” she plaintively called for Michonne, teetering dangerously on the edge of a meltdown. Michonne smiled at her reassuringly.

“Daddy’s going to fix your hair really pretty for church,” she assured the toddler. She glanced back up at Rick, still struggling. “Make sure to smooth the hair first,” she cautioned.

Rick sighed, but reached for the brush again. With a few strokes, he managed to calm Judith’s wayward curls then began again.

“How do you do this so fast?” he asked, his eyes still on his daughter’s hair.

“I’ve had lots of practice,” Michonne giggled, her own hair brushing her back and shoulders as she laughed.

“Ok,” Rick released a breath, tying the end of the plait off with a pink hair tie. “How does it look?” he asked, his expression hopeful.

Michonne inspected the little girl’s hair, taking in the even sections. It was a bit lopsided perhaps, but otherwise it was passable.

“It looks great,” she said, too much enthusiasm in her voice, both for the benefit of her daughter and her husband. Rick grinned brightly, glancing down at his handiwork. “You might be ready for French braids now,” Michonne told him, coming up behind him.

Rick looked horrified at the prospect. “There’s more than one way to braid?”

Michonne laughed, reaching for Judith as she squirmed down from her chair. She swept the little girl up to her waist, balancing her in place against her growing belly.

“You better hope this one is a boy,” she told Rick. “I don’t think you’re ready to learn about curl patterns and hair textures.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he told her confidently, setting the brush down on the table and turning to his girls. He kissed them both on the foreheads, lingering to grasp Michonne’s hair between his fingers. “You can show me how to fix these later,” he told her, grinning.

“Ambitious,” she complimented, impressed.

Judith wiggled out of her grasp and she let the little girl go, listening to her little feet beat a path out of the kitchen and away from her kissing parents.

i look at him and i see fire. i’ve been burnt too many times – i would count them on my hands, but my fingertips are blistered. he is destined to cause destruction and i am destined, like all heroes (or like all fighters), to shut my eyes to his danger and not stand down.

he’s staring at his hands like he can’t believe they’re whole. his head is bowed and i can see stars hidden deep in his hair. i used to run my hands through those galaxies, but lately i can’t even reach for them without sparks jumping at me: a warning. stay away.

he mumbles something at his callouses (which match my blisters); i kneel by him (and his fire roars ever louder, a desperate plea that is easy to ignore now that i am deaf). what?

i said we are nothing but young gods seeking revenge. hasn’t it occurred to you that everything i hold turns to ashes? that you think you’re angelic, but i still have scars on my back from the words you hurled at me? you think you’re perfect. i think i’m perfect. but we’re not. we’re just vengeful.

i have never heard so many honest words come from his mouth at once – if we are gods then he is zeus, loving from one side of his mouth and lying out the other. before i can stop myself my hand is in his – the heat sinks into my skin and settles there like i’m home. if home means familiar, then i am. vengeful for what?

vengeful for the ways we’ve used each other. i can’t remember a single time i’ve said “i love you” and not meant “this is a cry for help”. the last time we held each other you couldn’t stop screaming and now there’s scar tissue all over your body in the shape of my fingers. we’re vengeful for the ways we’ve hurt each other.

for the umpteenth time since i met him (i have stopped keeping count), i lie through my teeth for what i think is his benefit. you’re not hurting me now. and if we’re not love, then what is?

he opens his mouth to answer but i jump into the fire – i can’t resist the kiss of his furnace. it sears my mouth to the point of silent screams, but it’s good. he’s good.

for now.

- 10:13 mythology // abby, day 247 // prompt for anon

Aku Headcanon #6

For the most part, he does exercise proper manners without being prompted; saying “please” and “thank you,” bowing his head as a gesture of respect, asking politely to examine objects that don’t belong to him, etc. He is only rude when given reason to be, or when he’s impatient to be rid of someone (which, to be fair, is pretty often).

It is considered a high honor for him to bow his head for anyone. He usually only does this towards other deities/gods/supernatural beings who could potentially be a threat, other world leaders that he deems competent, elderly people, and others whom he generally finds worth knowing.

[See S05E05 for quotes. Here are some of the roleplays in which he inclines his head at people he respected: ]

confessions of a confessor.

[ music inspiration ]

The days were long, the nights even longer as the Confessor made her routine trips to the abandoned chapel time and time again. She prayed to the empty chair before her, feeling the weight only increase as her visits did. Tears were late to stain her cheeks, finding it within her to keep denial in her heart and her mind upon her task. A hand reached out for her own, an old priest who often wandered the halls and kept the flowers true. 

Slowly, she brought her own up to grasp his, her glove stretching in the movement. “My child, you have a darkness around you. What plagues your heart?” He whispered, bowing his head as his hand released hers to rest upon her shoulder. 

“My dear friend, the world is a cruel place. Darkness lurks in our souls without ever truly knowing that it could exist. What am I to do when all I can think about is that darkness that taunts me? The darkness that screams out for vengeance and justice?” 

The priest smiled upon her and shook his head slowly, “To pray will not end your suffering. You must find it within you to accept that the Light will guide you through this dark path, to where you are meant to be. Do not let the temptations destroy your faith.” He released her and bowed his head before stepping lightly to his task, bare feet echoing his departure. 

She closed her eyes and lowered her skull, allowing blonde curls to dance down her shoulders. “The Light was never your path, but perhaps someone in the shadows has the strength I seem to lack, my Queen.” She whispered, rising to her feet to take her leave.

As she returned to the clinic, one of the nurses passed the letter towards her before rushing off to her chores. A brow creased in confusion as she slipped the letter opener along the edge. 

A plain folded letter would have a bit of weight to it but would be rather ordinary in its appearance and have no other distinguishing marks upon it “There was a vision I saw. A long blonde haired woman weeping over Celestine’s body. The blood reacts to you. Does it smell like roses? Cedar? Do you know what you are? I’ll be blunt. The Queen is dead. You may be able to help find out why. I don’t expect you to trust me but I wish you no harm.” There is a simple gold earring marked with trying blood in rough runes. “Use this to contact me, wearing it. The enchantment is only meant to last for a days’ time. We have even less time go to forward.”

There was no telling who it could have been from, the earring was not something she had seen before. Though, the priest’s words were heavy upon her mind, she couldn’t stop her heart from wishing to take action. Slowly, she slipped into her back office and dipped the post of the earring into a cleaning solution before placing it in her ear where she normally adored delicate diamonds. “Divine, close your eyes.” She muttered.

[ mentions: @wolf-queen ]

buying-the-space-farm  asked:

"Accidentally capture the wrong base"? .....tell us more? Please?

this was before we got agent agent back as our handler, and part of the reason why he finally turned up for work again. 

so the thing about clint is that hes 1. not a good listener and 2. hes deaf. mostly. these are separate issues because being mostly deaf doesnt stop him from understanding what people are saying most of the time, it just means that you have to be sure he knows youre trying to communicate with him before you say something. (and also that you should make sure your mask doesnt cover your mouth so he can lipread, but whatever.)

we had this agent—incredibly boring guy in the worst sort of way–who’d requested clint, nat, and i for an op. nat and i were supposed to hit two of the leaders of a crime syndicate while clint got the third. easy peasy, kill some guys, free some hostages, small country liberated, total cakewalk. but the agent running the op and the briefing took FOREVER. he was talking us through like none of us had ever overthrown a country before, explaining every minute detail. nat and i could just kinda zone out and let things wash over us, picking up the pertinent details, but clint cant really do that. his hearing aids help but they weren’t perfect, so he also had to be kinda lipreading just to keep up. which takes a lot of focus for incredibly boring info. naturally he zoned out too.

which was how he missed the fact that his guy was not actually staying in his incredibly fortified base-slash-villa. his hostages were, but he wasn’t. 

luckily, they covered this in the briefing packet we were each provided with, which was a mere 362 pages. 

so obviously none of us actually read it.

we poked through, got blueprints, guard schedules, alarm systems and so on, but didnt bother with most of the rest of it. 

they dropped us in the air over each of our respective targets, clint last. i had the cliffside resort, nat had the downtown headquarters, and clint had the base-villa. nat and i handled ours like pros, of course, corpses everywhere, and clint did too–mowed right through the security, got the hostages, and then called in that his syndicate leader wasnt there, what the hell, who gave me this bad intel.

which was when he was informed that the big bad wasnt IN the villa, he was on the ISLAND ACROSS from the villa, and that hed been supposed to covertly infiltrate the beach house there and quietly capture him. ideally without ever setting foot in the villa; he was just supposed to steal a boat from the villa docks and not get spotted by security. 

unfortunately, clint had blown up all the watercraft at the villa’s docks to keep syndicate members from escaping. which meant he still had to get to the island and capture this guy, but now there were no motorboats left. and if this syndicate jerkoff got away, fury was gonna have his hide.

and thats how clint wound up launching a one-man amphibious assault on an international crime syndicate from a paddleboat.

and also why clint reads his briefings now. 

it has been a very good but very tiring birthday, and i am (allegedly) a very old old man. so im gonna take my huge pile of loot to bed and cuddle all my new guns and knives. 

WHEN (not if, get fucked if people cancel this film series) we get more films

I can’t wait for the other Rangers to get their weapons

I liked the little homage to Trini’s daggers when she threw whatever it was she grabbed at Rita, she’d be awesome with a pair of badass yellow power daggers, literally the only one immediately competent with her weapons and she overuses them, she needs to like…calm down maybe not everything is “I bet I can hit that with a dagger”

Zack had his pick axe action when they were digging out the coins, so imagine when he gets his power axe like this dude is going to LOVE HIS DAMN AXE LOOK AT MY AXE GUYS. BOOM. BOULDER IS NOW TWO BOULDERS. He’s like Thor but with an axe. He names it.

Billy smacking people around with his power lance, swinging it around like awww yea, knives on each end apologising like crazy when he accidentally cracks Kim around the head with it, and really doesn’t when he wins several spars purely from tripping the others over with it

Kim getting annoyed because the others keep whistling the Mockingjay tune when she draws her power bow back, she keeps getting asked what her elf eyes see and can we all just stop calling her Hawkeye and or Merida pls thanks, let her just take this damn shot

@whoacanada posted this, and I’ve seen it a few times now, and finally caught a bit of time so this happened. also tagging @especially-shitty @audiaphilios @pale-silver-comb and @rhysiana who I’ve either seen reblog this, or think will enjoy it. Maybe a birthday present for @iboatedhere too.


There’s a figure skating exhibition in Montréal which Bob is guest announcing at, so the whole Zimmermann fam goes to watch.

Jack is still in his in between phase of adolescence, not quite grown into his limbs, face still rounded with the last bits of stubborn childhood fat. His whole body still a little too large, and his confidence bowed under the extra weight and his blooming anxiety about his future, his sexuality, and life as the child of two incredibly successful, beautiful people.

But underneath that, is a clever, witty, ridiculous flirty man waiting for an opportunity to present itself.

Enter one Eric R. Bittle. Just over five and a half feet of lean muscle and able to move it all with a speed and grace that leaves Jack breathless. Watching Eric skate, watching him bring the story of his music to life in sweeping arcs and gravity defying jumps and spins, is a revelation. Jack loses himself in the sparkling whirlwind of movement and glowing blond hair that is Eric Bittle.

When his routine ends, in a glorious final spin that leaves Eric with outstretched arms and his head thrown back, a triumphant smile on his face, Jack is mesmerized by the line of Eric’s neck and the way he can see the heavy breaths Eric is taking. Jack can feel his heart beating in time with the rise and fall of Eric’s chest. When Eric looks up, he looks radiant, and he looks right at Jack. The full impact of his smile hits Jack right in the gut.

He must make a sound, because Alicia looks at him with a knowing gleam in her eyes and asks “Ça'va, cher?” Jack can only nod, eyes glued to Eric’s figure as he makes his way off the ice. He misses Alicia’s grin, but takes comfort in the arm she wraps around his shoulder, difficult with the way he’s almost taller than her now, even at 16, but still nice.

He’s not entirely sure how, but he ends up in the hallway outside the locker room with his parents. Bob is talking with the skaters as they come out, Jack mostly a silent presence, making awkward attempts at conversation when addressed and getting slightly irritated at the way everyone looks at him like he’s adorable despite them mostly being not much older than him. (He’d checked Eric’s age at least, and was incredibly pleased that he was the same age.)

Then, Eric is just. There. In front of him. Smiling that same sunshiny smile that is even more spectacular up close. From this close, Jack can see the warm honey and bourbon flecks in Eric’s big brown eyes, and how they radiate kindness. He feels like he’s taking up too much space, feels all the clumsiness in his limbs that only seems to disappear when he’s playing hockey.

When Eric speaks, his accent catches Jack off guard, but in a good way. It makes him feel warm and soft, and he hopes he isn’t blushing.

“Hello Mr and Mrs Zimmermann, it is such an honor to meet you! I’ve followed both of your careers, and y'all are such an inspiration!” Eric’s exuberance makes Jack smile, he feels it stretch across his face and can’t even be embarrassed about it because when Eric looks at him Jack sees it reflected back at him.

“Oh. Hello! You’re Jack, right? The next Zimmermann to watch out for?” He says it with sincerity, and a hint of a chirp, and Jack doesn’t feel any of the pressure he usually does when people talk about his legacy.

He takes just a second too long to reply, and his dad nudges his arm a little to get his attention. He catches a smirk on Bob’s face in his peripheral vision, and a quick wordless exchange between his parents, and has a sudden flash of his dad telling him about how he wooed his mom by speaking to her in French at any given opportunity.

So when Jack responds, a second or two past what’s strictly socially acceptable but not so long it’s awkward, he can only say “Bonjour, Eric,” as he presents his hand, almost sighing when Eric slips his own surprisingly soft hand into Jack’s, shaking it with a firm grip and a smile still on his face. “Vous étiez incroyable.”

He’s vaguely aware that he should be mortified, but Eric’s cheeks turn a delightful pink and it makes something in Jack want to rise to the challenge of keeping the color there.

“Oh my,” Eric laughs, “You can call me Bitty, Jack. Though I must admit my French is terrible, merci beaucoup.” His accent is quite awful, really, but when Jack notices their hands are still together, that they’re just holding hands now, he can only grin wider.

“De rien, Bitty.” Bitty looks down slightly, notices their hands and his eyes widen. He looks up at Jack from under his impressively thick lashes with a look of wonder on his face.

Bitty mutters what sounds like “Oh, lord,” and Jack chuckles under his breath.

Jack couldn’t agree more. So he squeezes Bitty’s hand and says just quietly enough that Bitty has to lean in a little “D’accord.”

Skeletal Dysfunction

Context: I’m DMing for pretty new players. The party consists of a dragonborn paladin, a half elf ranger, a drow Druid, and a tiefling rogue. The paladin has a bad reputation for missing his attacks, despite his high modifiers. The party is underground, fighting a mob of skeletons

DM: Okay, [Ranger], the skeleton to the north of you looses an arrow at you… *rolls a nat 1* and drops his bow as he misfires and strikes himself

Ranger: [Paladin] your curse is spreading!

This continues on, with most of the skeletons missing their attacks until it’s the original skeleton’s turn again.

DM: The skeleton looses another arrow at you, [Ranger]… *rolls another nat 1*

DM, clearly frustrated that none of the attacks are hitting: As this dumbass skeleton pulls back the bowstring to loose an arrow at you, it’s bow hand falls off, and the bow and arrow fall harmlessly to the floor…

Ranger ooc: I don’t even have to do anything, this skeleton is gonna die all on its own!

  • random person: *compares Donald Trump to Voldemort*
  • me: YESSSSS.
  • my thoughts: Except he's not a Slytherin -- he's impulsive, rash, hot-tempered, and puts a lot of value on his public image and how people see he shows no resourcefulness, self-preservation, or loyalty to his inner-circle, since he had multiple divorces and only seems focused on himself. So basically he's an evil Gryffindor! ...Wait. What about Hillary? SHE shows resourcefulness, cleverness, and loyalty to her inner she is methodical in her decision-making, can be incredibly flexible, and will kiss up to people to get her way. And of course she was vilified by people who mistook her cleverness for deviousness--OH MY GOD, HILLARY IS A GOOD SLYTHERIN HOLY COW.