faceless watch

anonymous asked:

what do u think of the new Rodrick for the new Diary of a Wimpy Kid movie

dude i havent consciously thought about diary of a wimpy kid in like a year

im looking him up rn

why did you send me this ask i thought he would be outrageously hot

he kinda looks like this guy i dated in middle school

i get why theyre having a whole new cast but this is such a downgrade what the fuck

ok for everyones convenience:

old rodrick, from like??? 2011??? or something

i think he wears eyeliner in one scene 7/10 would smash

new rodrick. why/10

Personal Involvement

Seth Clearwater imagine requested by anon! “Seth Clearwater one shot where the reader is madly in love with him? They’re imprints and she just loves him so much, and when he gets hurt she freaks out?” Disclaimer, it hurt me to write this. Hope you like it!

The day began as any other would have, save two important details. One, you were in La Push for reasons that would not normally confine you to the reservation, creating an atmospheric cell to cage you into the town, your skin crawling with uncomfortable chills so foreign to this environment. Second, you were without your usual companion, given his preoccupation somewhere too many miles north to fathom, running around on four legs as he pursued one of the chalky beasts from the depths of your darkest nightmares. La Push without its wolves was a strange and empty place indeed. The wind whistled through the trees, as if to illustrate through sound the vacancy you felt like a cavern in your chest, your very bones aching with the absence of your lover. All you could do was wait for his return; there wasn’t a word or promise you could make that would have kept him away from this hunt. This was the leech he’d caught a whiff of while running to your home, the vampire that had stopped at your front door before becoming distracted, they think, by the scent of blood in a house down the street. Seth wasn’t giving up on a chance to rip the monster limb from limb. He put himself in danger and held himself responsible for your close-call with venom-coated fangs.

“He must have smelled me, Y/n, there’s no other reason why he’d stop at your house. I asked Carlisle, he said you didn’t smell particularly appetizing, you’ve got too much of my scent on you to haul anyone to your house. He’s never come our way before, he’s never smelled one of us until now. He must have been curious. He could have killed you because of me,” he concluded, his cheekbones blazing in the afternoon sun, his pack mates calling to him from the edge of the woods, all of them removing their shoes in preparation to phase. A hunting party of seven: Sam, Jared, Jacob, Paul, Embry, Quil, and your Seth. This vamp was serious business, no matter how nonchalantly Seth handled the ordeal. Sam wouldn’t have called for so many participants if he didn’t think it was necessary. “C’mon, we do this all the time. I was born for this, babe. Trust me, I’ll be fine. Just gotta go rip someone’s head off. Stretch the legs, you know? It’s been a while,” at this, he laughed, his brows raised at the memory of his last hunt. He’d been with Edward Cullen at the time. He’d gotten hurt. “It’s going to be fine. Emily will be with you the whole time, and we’ve got Colin and Brady on watch. You’ll be alright.” You rolled your eyes, your fingers clinging to the hem of his shirt, attempting to anchor him to your side to prohibit him from leaving. He smirked at your feeble attempt, his hands covering yours, fingers intertwining. You didn’t miss that this action removed your hold on his clothing.

“Yeah, Seth, I’ll be fine, but you’re going tooth to tooth with something that could kill you. I’m not okay with that. Look, there’s seven of you going. You can afford to sit one out, right? It’s just the one vampire. Stay,” you pleaded, your voice dripping with emotion. He shook his head slowly, his eyes on the sky above, watching the clouds roil overhead. He sighed, his gaze falling to your face, his answer clear in his honest eyes. Damn it.

“I can’t. This is too personal. He was on your doorstep, Y/n. I’m involved when you are. Besides, I kind of want to see the look on his face when he catches my scent.” He paused, his brow furrowing in contemplation. “Is that sadistic?” You shook your head, exhaling until your lungs were deflated entirely. Seth was going, whether you liked it or not. You couldn’t help but fear for his safety, despite the cushion his pack provided. You’d heard of worse destruction from greater hunting parties. You didn’t want to see him broken on his brothers’ shoulders. His index finger tilted your face to meet his, his eyes soft, his lips upturned in a gentle smile. God, he looked so innocent like that. It wasn’t helping his case. “Hey, look at me. I’m going to be fine. I’ll be back before you know it… might even make it for dinner.” He grinned, his thumb brushing over your jawline, his lips lowering to yours. He cradled your face as his lips moved against yours, separating only when Jacob called from beyond the trees, requesting he hurry up. Seth grinned, winking as he walked backwards towards the woods, his hand holding yours until the distance was too great to maintain contact. “Time me, if you want. I’ll be back so soon you won’t even have time to miss me.” Likely, you thought, your mind’s voice leaking sarcasm like a busted shower head, I’m already worried sick. Seth’s hand raised in parting, calling a quick “I love you!” before disappearing beyond the treeline, kicking his shoes off as he went. Fine. If he wanted you to time him, you would.

That was three hours ago.

You were wondering the roads until Emily had finished her cooking. You never could stand to stay in her house when Seth was away, despite her warming company. There was nothing she could do to ease your nerves, no sweet songs she could hum, no offers to taste-test her creations, no amount of friendly conversation that could’ve quelled the rampaging pangs of dread pooling in your stomach like acid before a bout of the stomach flu. The sky’s light was beginning to fade, the clouds overhead promising rain within the hour, laden as they were with water. How appropriate. Rain to further dampen your mood. You had no choice but to return to Emily’s place if you had intentions of staying dry. If your turned back now, you could probably make it back before the worst of the rain came pouring down. You pivoted, setting back towards the nook in the woods that held Emily’s little ranch, your eyes on the pavement as you walked, your mind on Seth. There was no way of knowing if he was alright, if he was on his way back or if the situation had grown complicated. You couldn’t call him, and he couldn’t pick up the phone without opposable thumbs. You were left to linger in the silent middle-land of the waiting widow, unsure if her lover would return from battle or not.

Part of your mind kept assuring the rest that everything was going to be okay, that Seth was an experienced fighter with six of his pack mates by his side to help him dismember the vampire. He’d done it before a hundred times, and he’d continue to hunt after he returned home. He’d been born and bred to fight vampires, why shouldn’t he be okay? Because he was taking this hunt personally. He could be over-confident, he could get cocky, he could risk a maneuver if it meant being the one to remove the bloodsucker’s head. You had no grasp of how level-headed he was going to be, even with Sam and Jacob keeping him in line. He was the youngest in the pack, and his head was clouded with obscene thoughts of protecting you from a threat that never truly revealed itself to you. He just had to keep him from returning. Your feet stumbled against the rocky path down Emily’s forgotten street, passing trees too large to share the sky and countless paw prints marking the soil on the pavement’s edge. They didn’t look fresh enough to be the returning hunting party… they must have been Sam’s. A raindrop splattered against the earth, flooding the imprint momentarily before being absorbed by the thirsting soil. You lifted your face to the skies and you were instantly struck by a splattering of rain. The clouds had opened above you sooner than you had expected, weeping a heavy rain onto the ground below, muddying the road leading to Emily’s house. You broke into a run, ducking your head in a instinctual, fruitless attempt to avoid getting wet, your feet sinking into the mossy bank shielding Emily’s home from view, jumping down onto the muddy lawn, dark water splashing onto your calves. You raced to her front door, shaking your shirt as you stepped inside. She was waiting with a towel, which she draped over your shoulders, pecking a maternal kiss to the rain-slick crown of your head.

No sooner had you settled at the table that the frantic voices were heard beyond the walls of Emily’s kitchen, shouting over the rolling thunder. A dish dropped into the sudsy water of the sink as Emily sprinted to the door, her hand fluttering to her mouth to conceal the gaping shock that now adorned her lips. Your heart dropped into the acid your stomach had been storing, boiling your organ until your pulse had to actively fight to be heard over the panic in your mind. You leapt from the table, but Emily’s hand held you back, pressing against your abdomen firmly, her eyes wide on yours.

“Y/n, I need you to stay back, give them room. Stay away from the door,” she commanded you, her voice soft and stern like that of a mother, though the lilt carried in her words betrayed her terror. You struggled against her hand, rushing to the door in time to watch three faceless boys carry another on their shoulders, with Sam in the lead. You mind was alight with a single word of denial, repeated over and over again, bloating to flood your brain entirely until you could think of nothing else. No. Sam ran to hold the door, shouting for Emily to dial Doctor Cullen’s number from the kitchen before moving to secure both of your shoulders in his hands. His body blocked the scene beyond the door from view, but his figure could not silence the shrieks of pain that erupted from the boy’s mouth. Sam’s voice was loud in your ears as he walked you away from the door, Emily’s voice a quiet but strained cry in the background as she spluttered details you could not decipher into her phone.

“Y/n, look at me,” Sam advised, his brow furrowed, his gaze demanding. You cringed with the next peal of agony, closer now. Your eyes flitted to the door, but Sam’s hand held your chin in place, locking your gaze on his. “Look at me. I need you to listen to me carefully now, alright? Seth got hurt. Carlisle’s on his way. I need you to- Y/n!” You struggled free of his grasp, worming your way towards the door, Seth’s name on your lips. The boys hauled him into the kitchen, his arm and legs dangling unnaturally over their shoulders, his face twisted in unthinkable pain. You screamed wordlessly, fighting against Sam’s hold, his hands pinning yours behind your back. Jacob, Jared, and Paul set Seth onto Emily’s kitchen table, his body too long for the expanse of wood, the hand of his one good limb clutching to his right shoulder. Quil let the door slam behind him before rushing to take Jacob’s place by Seth’s side, the former werewolf approaching you, his hands on your shoulders.

“He’s going to be okay, Y/n, trust us. He got grabbed at a wrong angle. It happened to me, and I’m fine. He’s going to be-” Jacob’s words were cut-off by another ear-splitting cry coming from the table. You squirmed against Sam’s hold, barely noticing the look Jacob shot his former leader as his grip loosened enough to free you from his grasp. You rushed to the table, your hands fluttering over Seth’s body, unable to find a plot of skin that did not look ready to burst with the edges of broken bones. He choked, spluttering your name. You wound around the table until you reached his head, his eyes rolling in their sockets before somehow, miraculously, focusing on your face. He whispered your name, his voice weakened and hoarse from screaming, his face drenched in raindrops and shining with sweat. He lifted his hand, reaching outwards to you, your own hand holding tight to his palm. His fingers curled around your hand weakly, his eyes closing and opening slowly, as if even the simple action of blinking was labourious.

“Y/n,” he spluttered, his voice like gravel, almost impossible to hear over the thunder outside. Emily gave a warning of the minutes until Carlisle’s arrival, but you could focus on nothing but Seth’s face, his eyes swimming with tears. Despite his obvious pain, he managed to crack the ghost of a grin across his lips. “I got him. Told you… I would.” With those words, his eyes closed, his eyes rolling from behind his lids. Your breathing was ragged as the wolves cleared the kitchen for the doctor’s supplies, shouting order to call the other pack members, filling them in as they arrived: first Embry, then Colin, and finally Brady. Moments after Brady had stepped through the door, the atmosphere in the kitchen shifted. A frigid hand ushered yours from Seth’s, moving his working limb to cross his bare chest. You stared up into the golden eyes of Carlisle Cullen, who assured you that he would tend to Seth. With one telling glance at Jacob, you were escorted from the house, too far away to hear the sound of breaking bones, but close enough to listen to Seth’s screaming.

When you returned, Seth was asleep on Emily’s bed, his body bandaged and cast in plaster, his hand hanging limply over the edge of the bed, waiting for yours. When he finally woke from his morphine-induced slumber, you gave him no time to adjust. You fired your questions at him as soon as you saw the sparkle in his irises: how could he have been so reckless? How badly was he hurt? Why did he go? He smiled, rubbing his thumb over the backside of your palm, his words slurred by the amount of painkillers in his system, but clear enough for you to understand.

“Had to make sure you were safe. He came after you. I’m involved when you are.” You pressed your lips to his hand, watching his smile grow through the salted haze of your tears. “And I love you. There’s that too.”

bands of mourning (brandon sanderson) was A+ and better than the second in the series but I am pissed about a thing

“we can’t kill [a major villain]! that’s wrong, they have to stand trial, murdering them would be against my lawman code of ethics! *proceeds to rampage, kill, and cripple approximately a thousand underlings*”

look i am a huge fan of not killing people but you can’t expect me to agree with this kind of blatant hypocrisy, sanderson. i hate watching faceless NPCs get ded as cannon fodder and i’d appreciate if we could stop that already.

on the plus side, marasi and steris read like Actual Real Live People in this book and i am a fan of that.

Game of Thrones houses: astrology..

House Martell: Aries

Independent, fiery, fierce and aggressive. Much like Aries the Martells will not hesitate to fight for what they believe in or stand up against injustices.

House Baratheon: Taurus

Stubborn, indulgent, head-strong, sure of themselves, honest, brave and straight-forward House Baratheon makes the perfect match for Taurus.

Faceless Men: Gemini 

Faceless Men are hard to pinpoint motive-wise or pin down, they’re constantly changing and much like the air sign Gemini are multi-faceted and independent.

House Greyjoy: Cancer

This self-contained, sensitive, tenacious and grudge-holding house captures the collective spirit of the sign Cancer.

House Lannister: Leo

Are charismatic, cunning, and fiercely protective of their family much like the sign Leo.

The Nights Watch: Virgo

They sacrifice sex, marriage, glory and inheritance to serve the realm- they’re dutiful and are supposed to have pure intentions much like Virgo.

House Tyrell: Libra

This attractive, graceful, constantly fluctuating, intelligent and idealistically romantic house perfectly correlates to the sign Libra.

House Targaryen: Scorpio

Determined, loyal, either very loved or very hated- much like Scorpio whose key phrase is “I desire..” the Targaryens have strong desires and passions and are vengeful to those who have wronged them.

The Dothraki Warriors: Sagittarius

The adventurous, wild, sometimes brutal, free-spirited and temperamental Dothraki collectively capture the spirit of Sagittarius. 

House stark: Capricorn

The Starks are tactful, duty-bound, hard working, honorable, trustworthy, cautious and loyal to those they love much like Capricorn.

The Free Folk: Aquarius

The Free Folk don’t want to bow to anyone, they pride themselves on being independent and doing what they wish and are quite rebellious- much like Aquarius.

House Tully: Pisces

They prosper in times of peace, strengthen their allies with the unwavering nature of their love and are not naturally war-like.

Satan and Me Gothic
  • Michael tells her she is the prophecy child. She nods her head and smiles, but does not look at him. Natalie extends her hand in reconciliation. He cannot bring himself to take it.
  • They say Heaven is empty, but thousands of bodies line the golden streets. They are warm to the touch, but the closer he gets to them, the hotter they feel. Raphael’s hands burn and he pulls away. Their eyes stare ahead vacantly. Heaven is empty.
  • Michael smiles so perfectly his skin cracks. No one points it out. The smile never falls. There’s something moving under his skin.
  • Alex pulls Natalie close and kisses the top of her head. Something black rages within her. He stays calm and pretends he loves her.
  • Anthea prays with open hands and tears stream down her cheeks. She knows no one is listening. She can’t stop her lips from forming the words of prayer. Her mouth burns.
  • The sky opens up and blue flame clashes against red. The battle rages on, and the whole time the world is tear soaked with rain. One day the rain stops, and all of Heaven pauses. The fighting begins again, bloodier.
  • Something is wrong. He wanders beside the open flames and feels guilt when he lets the fire lick his fingers. He feels empty. He can’t figure out why. The fire does not burn him and this enrages him, his hands curl into fists and he wants to taste blood in his mouth. Lucifer never thought Hell could be so cold.
  • His body shakes and he cannot speak. Gabriel stands, condemned and afraid as he watches a faceless angel sharpen a knife. They tell him they cannot risk information falling into the wrong hands. Blood pools in his lungs and Gabriel chokes on thousands of words caught in his soul that he can never say. The messenger falls silent. The messenger wishes he didn’t ache to Fall.

anonymous asked:

I watched his livestream, he always looks so good 😍 I've been looking for this song everywhere and I can't find it! I thought it could be his song, but that doesn't sound like him...

i thought it sounded like him at first but i figured out that it’s head held high by nate good


Judging by submissions to this blog, she was the most popular of the Mayoral candidates. Marcus and Hiram barely have 10 submissions apiece, while here we have the Top 10 Headcanons about the Faceless Old Woman who Secretly Lives In Your Home.

95) The Faceless Old Woman is an older, alternate dimensional version of Dana, explaining her odd abilities as well as her almost confusion about how people can’t see her.

97) The man in the tan jacket is the faceless old woman’s son. They share a condition which makes it difficult for people to acknowledge them and remember what they look like, which is why the faceless old woman assumes she doesn’t have a face.

111) The Faceless Old Woman really hates the movies Matilda and A Simple Wish. But she especially hates the “adorable” little girl with her “precious” bow that stars in them. Ugh, who would want to be associated with THAT? For some reason though the people in the houses she haunts watch those movies a lot. It’s really quite annoying. But especially that little girl. She’s especially annoying.

111) Mayor Dana is the double. The Faceless Old Woman was watching and saw the original Dana’s defeat. This is why she believes she is the rightful mayor – she knows the original Dana has perished.

124) A French soldier and a Japanese singer who met during WWII got married during the war, and soon the wife was pregnant. But due to the nuclear bombings and radiation effects, their child was able to turn translucent and walk through walls and stuff. Scared and in search of answers, the couple went to America and ended up in Night Vale. No one knows what happened to the couple, but the little girl quickly aged into The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home.

129) The Faceless Old Woman used to wear nothing but faded, torn, ghostly Victorian dresses. Since she decided to run for Mayor, she’s been wearing incredibly modern and classy business suits with pencil skirts. Nobody sees her clothes either way; she just likes to feel professional.

143) Slenderman is the Faceless Old Woman’s grandson.

150) The faceless old woman speaks only in telepathy, since she has no mouth. That’s why she sounds like a young woman: she can pick any voice she wants the audience to hear.

154) The Faceless Old Woman and the Man in the Tan Jacket go out for coffee once a week.

187) The Faceless Old Woman who Secretly Lives in Your Home actually has a face. She keeps it in that drawer you never open.

The Radiant & Hatter Pt. 2

Days past, the radiant remain a wandering outsider in the country of hearts as a wandering songstress in isolated areas, despite having wounds she received from several encounters with Black Joker. She felt alone and scarred due to Blood’s actions whom he is about kill her, also breaking her trust but her singing gives her comfort to remain happy in the inside.

One day, Vivaldi, the Queen of hearts hears the Radiant’s singing throughout the country of hearts that brought her interest, requested the radiant to sing at the ball tonight. Without question, she accepted Vivaldi’s request, despite the injuries she received from Joker, located on her arms and her left eye but the bruise on her neck was from Blood.

As night arrives and the ball started, Alice arrived to the ball room, donning in an elegant oriental dress with her dragon crystal pendent worn around her neck. Her bandaged wounds are concealed under matching colored ribbons while the bandages on her left eye is replaced with a blue rose eyepatch adorned with a thin silver chain and her hair that is short starts to grow back, touching to her shoulders and tied into a low ponytail with a ribbon to complete her appearance to be formal at the ball, all except her expression. Her expression is shown with no emotion, not even a smile. Knowing it’s not her time to sing yet as she heads upstairs to a balcony, wanting to be alone and watch the faceless dance while she hums a song she is going to sing for this night.


The more texts I type out to you and never send, the less I remember about your voice. The less I remember about your voice, the more I realize there are entire things I have yet to say to you. Like how ferris wheels make my whole stomach laugh and my knees ache for ground. Like how Las Vegas is the city my father fell in love the second time, except this time with the queen on the back of a playing card and not the one waiting for him at home. Like how I am dozens of lifetimes away from forgetting but always seconds away from forgiving. Like how I miss you. Like how I don’t. Like I how I lie sometimes.

You are a bowl of cherries in the lap of a schoolboy. You are the reddest juice leaking from between his teeth afterwards. You are the moments he stares at himself in the mirror and mistakes it all for blood. You are the second his mother sees him run by in the hallway and mistake her baby boy for a murderer or the murdered. We are all making guesses we know are wrong. We are all always throwing our lives into cages of hurting, even when they are not built for us. You are the way we never stop. You are the way I never seem to stop.

Tonight, I am tripping on flat surfaces and learning to become faceless. I am watching the corners for shadows other than my own. I am crossing my fingers for a day when erasing your name from the margin of my notebook means I will never be able to scribble it back in again. I am waiting for the day when I can walk past a row of cages and not feel as though these arms need bending into them. Tonight, I pull out my phone and it waters my eyes with its glow in this dark and through the blur I type, “Fuck you. Come back. Fuck you.”

—  Texts Better Left Unsent | Ramna Safeer