four goats

the signs according to ME, based on what I've absorbed from tumblr even though I don't pay attention to 75% of the zodiac and might not be able to even name them all from memory
  • taurus: the impression I get is they're similar to aries in that they’re angry and stubborn? but the difference is that while aries will clock you in the jaw, taurus will hold a grudge for the rest of your born days. your born days, not theirs, because they’re going to outlive you out of spite
  • gemini: is what I think comes next? anyway apparently geminis are very social and bubbly and they're people persons (people people?), but also they’re supposed to be all two-faced and gossipy, because twins. which is very mean to say about twins.
  • cancer: no offense to anyone who is a cancer, but my Least Favorite Human that I've ever met is a cancer, so my perception is tainted. cancers cry a lot. all the time. about everything.
  • leo: you know, I honestly don't know what is associated with leo, besides... lion. so therefore, leos are brave. you might belong in august, where dwell the brave of heart. their daring, nerve, and chivalry set leos apart. congrats you're gryffindor now
  • virgo: or is it libra comes first? I think it's virgo. um, anyway, virgo is my moon sign. I respect virgo. the general sense I get is that they're very... anal and particular and organized? their lists are color-coded and have subheadings?
  • libra: or possibly virgo, depending on whether or not I switched the order. BUT YEAH SO, LIBRA, SCALES. ALL ABOUT THAT FAIRNESS AND JUSTICE. common room is next to the kitchen.
  • scorpio: uuuuuuuGHHHHHHHHHHHH I'M SO FED UPPPPPPP I am a scorpio but I don't WANNA BE a scorpio I'm so TIRED of everything being nothing but femme fatale tropes and byronic hero nonsense I'M NOT MYSTERIOUS!!! are people even mysterious in real life? also please stop talking about how sexually charged and passionate I am. please don't do this. you're making this uncomfortable for everyone and I wanna exchange my sign for something else
  • sagittarius: the sense I get is that sagittarius is best personified by a weird kid at summer camp who hardcore believes in aliens and whose knees are full of band-aids
  • capricorn: does capricorn come next? I don't honestly even know. I don't know anything about capricorns. they're represented by a goat though, so that automatically makes them better than every other sign. A MERMAID GOAT, NO LESS. listen, idk what capricorns are like, but I'm trading my star sign. I WANNA BE A MERMAID GOAT. I WANNA BE A MERMAID GOAT MORE THAN ANYTHING.
  • aquarius: the only thing I know about aquarius is that song in Hair
  • pisces: fish. has lots of emotions, but is pretty chill and creative? bunks with sagittarius at summer camp, but personally prefers cryptids to aliens

I’m a busy man. Got two caution signs to remind me to slow down sometimes. Got a vibrating megaphone. Clocks. Radiation. Four goats. Got half a tank of simple columnar epithelial tissue. 60% through my day. Half a tank of gas. And it’s only 10:50.

optomisticgirl  asked:

Captain Charming - "HIDE THE GOATS!"

“You brought me here?!” David cried as the familiar barn came into view through the dark of night. 

Killian just winked at the man, continuing further towards their destination.

David was not prepared for what he saw when they slipped inside the barn doors. A crowd of ex pirates and Storybrooke residents crowded around a makeshift table made from an old crate and two stools. On top of the table were a pack of cards… but either side of the barn had a pen filled with goats. 

“What is this?”

“Poker, Dave.”

“So what’s with all the goats?” he asked confused.

“I’m married to the sheriff and have just brought along the other sheriff. The fella’s don’t trust using actual tender for these games, therefore we use goats. simple, safe and legal gambling for all.” he explained before joining the crowd.

“She’ll still kill you if she finds out.” he called out.

If she find out.” he smirked cockily.

David stood flabbergasted for a few moments. He was even more shocked to see that amongst the crowd was a rather rambunctious Marco, cheering on with the rest. 

“All right gents! You know how it goes! First rule of goat club, never talk about goat club! Shall we begin?”

David was having a whale of a time. Rum was passed around generously, the banter and boisterous cheers were a plenty, and he and Killian had just won a winning hand, taking four goats from Leonard the fisherman’s pen.

“That’s how it’s done, mates! Bring those hairy beauts over here.” Killian chuckled as the animals were tenderly ushered to the opposing warm pen. 

The cards were being shuffled when a panicked Smee broke through the crowd and almost toppled over the table.

“Bloody hell, Smee! Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry Captain but it’s bad news. Your wife is heading right this way as we speak!”

A thick silence fell over the barn as everyone absorbed the news.

“Hide the goats!” he cried

Utter chaos broke out within the barn as the men scurried to dispose of the rum and cover the goat pens with tarp.

Your Dwarf

Originally posted by mattswackygifshop

A/n: I couldn’t find a gif that made sense. Anyway this is the last installment of my Nori three-shot. Although I’m quite disappointed in myself that there’s not much Nori in here. 

Part 1 - Part 2 MASTER LIST

To say the battle was gruesome was the understatement of the century. It was literal hell. There were many fallen on all sides. So much elves. So much of your kin.

You pull your sword out of yet another orc and you notice four goats running up to Ravenhill. You grab onto a lose goat and follow the dwarves up the hill. You had a bad feeling about their destination. When you get there the four dwarves are looking around for, what you guess is, Azog.

They pull their weapons on you as you come up behind them, but they relax as they realize its you.

“What are you doing here, elf?” Thorin asks.

“I think you are forgetting that I am the one who let you go in the first place,” you retort, looking around as well. “Forgive me, your highness,” he says but you know he is not apologetic.    

“Where has Azog gone?” you ask, an uncomfortable feeling settling in your stomach. “We don’t know. We were just about to look. Fili take your brother and scout out the towers. Stay low and out of sight,” Thorin orders

“I will follow you both. Three is better than two,” you say and the durin brothers nod and Thorin just stares at you. You ignore him and lead the Durins ahead.

When you get to the towers, Fili makes you stop. “We should split up. We will cover better ground that way,” he says moving towards the stairs and that bad feeling suddenly returns to your stomach.

“No,” you say. Fili gives you an odd look. “Look, Princess-“

“No, prince. We will stay together,” you say firmly and your glare doesn’t waiver. He sighs and nods in agreement. The three of you scan the bottom level and you hear footsteps coming from the stairs and you were pretty sure they were not Thorin’s. You pull your weapons and the Durin’s follow. The three of you fight off as much orcs as you can before you are outnumbered.

“We must retreat,” you say, pulling your sword out of the orc. The brothers nod and the three of you leaving the towers. As soon as you are on the ice, you hear a shout. You three turn to fine Azog standing on the highest part of the tower and you realize that if Fili had left, he would’ve died a horrible death.

“It was a trap,” you hear Fili breathe. “Nice of you to notice. Let us make our way back to the others,” You say.

“Fili! Kili! Thank goodness you’re alright! Bolg has an army of gundabad orcs headed this way,” Bilbo says breathlessly as you find the two other dwarves.

How the hobbit managed to get up here you had no idea.

“Yes. We’ve noticed that. If it wasn’t for Princess, I probably would not have been standing here,” Fili says. “It’s Y/n. Just fyi,” you tell him, annoyed that he didn’t remember your name after you saved his brother’s life at Bard’s house. He sends you a smirk.

“I know, but I like princes better, princess,” he says and you roll your eyes at him as you see Legolas and Tauriel also making their way towards you.

“Muindor!” you exclaim, happy to see your brother alive and well. “Muinthel. I was worried you had perished,” he says and you shake your head. “I am fine. However we must take care of the orcs,” you say and he nods.

Together, the eight of you try to dispatch as much orcs as possible. Although after almost watching the hobbit almost get beheaded, you and Thorin had sent Bilbo back down the hill to ask for reinforcements.

Throughout the battle, you and Thorin had some how got separated from the group and were now facing the pale orc.

“Elf scum. You were the reason for my failure,” Azong spits out and you twirl your sword. You were not going to attack. This was Thorin’s fight and his alone.

Thorin moves first and every goes by in a blur. One moment Azog was floating underwater and the next Thorin was being stabbed through the foot. You hear footsteps behind you and you turn around to block an attack from Bolg. It was father and son versus elf and dwarf and after watching your brother get beaten, you were not too sure you could handle this.

You break the tension between the two of you and move to stab his chest. He catches it instead and pulls, hard, making you fly further onto the ice. He moves to you, but is stopped by Legolas and Tauriel. Bless your brother.

The three of you quickly dispatch him and you cry out as a sword pierces your flesh. Azog had left Thorin and now had his arm through your abdomen. He gives you a smirk before he’s suddenly beheaded by the king. You pull away from Azog and tumble onto your brother.

Thorin looks to be okay and so do the rest of the dwarves. You spy the eagles flying through the sky and Beorn and Rhadagast getting off of the eagles.

“Thorin,” you call out and the dwarf king limps his way over to you as Legolas lays you on the ground. “C-can you tell the thief that I will miss him?” you ask him, blood pouring out of your mouth.

“No, Lady Y/n. You will tell Nori yourself. You have been through too much to just leave us now,” Thorin says.

He didn’t know much about you, but he still held you in high regards after you let them go. Plus, Nori would not shut up about you and your future life together.

You smile sadly at him.

“I doubt that I will make it, King Thorin. Legolas. Please, tell father that I’m sorry for being such a disappointment,” you say again, slowly starting lose consciousness.

“Muinthel, just hold on,” Legolas pleads, but it goes deaf to your ears. You close your eyes seeing a very bright light and the image of your mother.

Pain. That is all you could feel. Very excruciating pain. What did you do to deserve this? You were just having a lovely conversation with your mother and suddenly your body was aching all over. You let out a rather loud groan and suddenly, you feel your head being lifted up and a cup being pressed to your mouth. You swallow slowly and open your eyes.

There in front of you is the starfished dwarf. Although, his braids did come out so it’s not really in the shape of a starfish anymore. You close your eyes as he lets your head fall back.

“That’s it. I must be dead because Nori would never be by my side,” you mutter. “You are everything but, princess,” you hear another voice say and you open your eyes to find Fili sitting on a chair. You look around again and Thorin is lying on the bed next to yours with several bandages wrapped around his body including his foot. You sit up quickly making you bump heads with Nori.

You both let out a groan and another hand pushes you back. “You should not be sitting up so soon, y/n,” Oin says and you lie back. “I’m still questioning why I’m still alive,” you say, trying to relax.

“Did you want to die you irresponsible elf?” Nori exclaims and you look at him in surprise. You didn’t take him as a serious dwarf.

“You go charging after four dwarves you don’t even know only to get yourself almost killed for said stupid dwarves,” Nori says earning a growl from Thorin and Fili.

“Oh shut it. You’re not king yet, Thorin,” Nori retorts glaring at the other dwarf. “And when I do become King, I’ll make sure you’re punished for that,” thorin mutters. “Oh boo hoo. What were you thinking, y/n? You almost died because of these two thicker headed Durins!” Nori exclaims.

“Arlight, Oin. Get me out of here before I murder the dwarf before he gets a chance to court her properly,” Thorin says, sitting up and wincing. Thorin leaves with the help of Fili and Oin.

“I think you’re being a bit too harsh,” you tell him, ignoring Oin’s prognosis and sitting up. “Of course I’m not! Thorin knew you were my one and yet he still let you almost get killed!” Nori shouts and you wince at the noise. “One?” you ask not understanding the traditions of dwarves.

“A one is someone who a dwarf is meant to be with for the rest of their lives.  That is what you are to me. The love of my life. Although a dwarf has a one, that doesn’t mean that their one has to love them back,” he says, looking at your blanket unsure if you could love him back.

You reach out to grab his hand and he looks at you.

“I thought I was quite clear on the fact that I was in love with, Master Thief. Why else would I let you go and then follow you against my father’s order?” you ask smiling.

“I just never thought that an elf could love a dwarf. Especially a thief,” he replies and you laugh. “Of course I could love a thief. Especially if it was you,” you tell him and with that you pull him into a kiss. 

When you both have to come back for air, you lean on each other’s foreheads, smiling happily. 

You pull back and reach for the chain on your neck and tug on it. 

“I do believe, Master Thief, that you have a braid to make,” you say, handing him his bead and his eyes widen.

“I did not expect you to have it still,” he tells you, taking his bead into his hand. 

“Did you expect me to throw it away?” you ask laughing. “Yes?” he asks back and you kiss his cheek.

“You, master thief, still have a ways to go,” you tell him and he smiles, tugging at your hair and putting a braid in your hair.

Your father was not going to be too happy, but you couldn’t care less. As long as you had your thief in your arms, you couldn’t be happier.

Look, I made a mix yesterday. in love with love & lousy poetry.

  1. The Mountain Goats - Distant Stations
  2. Waxahatchee - You’re Damaged
  3. The Weakerthans - Aside
  4. RVIVR - 20 Below
  5. Gateway District - When I Fall
  6. Pinhead Gunpowder - Achin’ to Be (Replacements cover)
  7. Dillinger Four - Noble Stabbings!!
  8. Lifter Puller - Back in Blackbeard
  9. Sleater-Kinney - No Cities To Love
  10. Divers - Tracks
  11. Swearin’ - Just
  12. Hop Along - Laments
  13. Franz Nicolay - Marfa Lights
  14. Neutral Milk Hotel - Where You’ll Find Me Now
  15. Magnolia Electric Co - Leave the City
  16. Nob Dylan and His Nobsoletes - Subterranean Homesick Blues (Bob Dylan cover)
  17. World/Inferno Friendship Society - Dr. Dracula Who Makes You Get High!
  18. Dag Nasty - Values Here
  19. Meat Wave - The Truth
  20. The Promise Ring - Is This Thing On?
  21. Rites of Spring - For Want Of
  22. Jawbreaker - Want

I also earned a badge on 8tracks:

Hell yeah.

Enis- the Guardians

In the beginning, the world was filled with chaos. Amidst a sea of improbability, a small rock was formed. On this insignificant speck in space, life was formed. Some rose higher than the rest, and armed with power they cast out the chaos to another dimension. They took the space above the skies as their home, perfect and pure. They lived as gods, immortal and all-powerful.

On the earth beneath them, magic, nature and life ran rampant. Amidst the hordes of monsters and improbable, primordial creatures sentient races formed like small lights in the darkness. Out of mercy or curiosity, the gods decided to help these races survive the madness of the world. To achieve this, they formed the Guardians. These massive creatures were born to destroy monsters and threats and protect. They were sent to all corners of the world: Srakh in the desert, Buruh in the Dark Isle, Caan in the north, and Sordus in the forests. Olshog stayed at the mountain of the gods to defend the entrance into the heavens.

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X-Files Fic: Sasquatch Domesticus

Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Post-MASMTWM
Summary: @crossedbeams sent me an absolutely brilliant prompt, asking me to write a fic where Scully acquires a ridiculously large, out-of-control dog, and convinces Mulder to let it stay.  What Rose didn’t know is that I have my own ridiculously large, out-of-control dog, which made writing this fic too much fun for me to keep it as short as I’d originally planned.  So this is for Rose, and, of course, for Drogo, my own special moose.

Mulder’s cell phone rings just as he’s turning onto the long gravel driveway up to the house.  He answers without glancing at the screen, already knowing who it’ll be.

“Mulder, it’s me.”  He grins.

“Hey, Scully, miss me already?”  He can almost hear her rolling her eyes over the phone.

“We’ve got a problem at the animal shelter,” she says, not bothering to respond to his teasing.  "They’ve got almost all the dogs processed and settled in… but there’s one left, and they don’t have room for him.“  

This doesn’t surprise Mulder.  Earlier this afternoon, he and Scully closed the file on one Mr. David Puckett, a man who believed that the spiritual energies emanating from his property were attracting animals from all over the neighborhood.  An investigation failed to turn up evidence of any such phenomenon… but what it did turn up were seventeen cats, four goats, a large, brown cow, a Shetland pony, and thirty-six dogs.  All packed into a half-acre fenced lot in a quiet suburban D.C. neighborhood.  

The stench had been unspeakable.

In spite of Mr. Puckett’s stubborn insistence that all of the animals had found their way to his property of their own volition, it quickly came to light that the pony, the cow, and several of the dogs had been reported stolen from local farms.  Mr. Puckett had been arrested, and the unclaimed animals had been carted off to local shelters, where they would be checked for microchips and matched against missing animal reports from local veterinarians.  But with so many animals, and most shelters already near their capacity, it’s not a surprise that there’s one poor mutt left out in the cold.

"Poor guy,” says Mulder sympathetically.  "Do they know if he has a chip yet?“

"No, no chip,” says Scully.  "And it’s after five on a Friday evening, so most of the vets’ offices are closed.  They won’t be able to call around to see if anyone’s missing him until Monday morning.“

"They can’t double up a couple of dogs in their cages for a few days?” asks Mulder.

“No, they really, really don’t have space for him, Mulder,” says Scully.  Mulder pulls to a stop in front of the house and climbs out of his car.  In the front window, he can see Daggoo, balanced on the back of the couch, looking out at him, wagging his tail furiously.  The little Jack Russell mix is Scully’s, in theory, a poorly-thought-out acquisition following a case last month.  When Scully made the spur-of-the-moment decision to steal the little dog, she had neglected to first check the pet policy at her building.

So now, Mulder has a dog.

He doesn’t mind, not really.  Daggoo is good company, and an equally good excuse for Scully to spend more and more time out at the house.  He’s sweet, friendly, and gets along well with other dogs, so Mulder doesn’t hesitate to make his suggestion.

“Why don’t you bring him out here, Scully?” he says.  "Just for the weekend.  The shelter can try and find out who he belongs to on Monday.“  He hears Scully’s sigh of relief through the phone.

"That’s exactly what I was hoping you would say,” she says.  "Which is why I’m already on my way out there.“  He laughs.

"What were you going to do if I said no?” he asks.

“I knew you wouldn’t,” she says.  "I’ll be there in a half hour, okay?“


Mulder is sitting on the porch, Daggoo at his side, when Scully’s ridiculously oversized SUV turns off the main road and begins to wind up the drive towards the house.  Daggoo leaps to his feet, barking and dancing in excited circles, taking off down the porch steps as Scully parks the car and climbs out.  She turns and opens the back door… and Daggoo comes to a halt so quickly, Mulder swears he can almost hear screeching brakes.

Scully leans into the backseat.  "Come on, boy,” she coaxes, holding out a hand.  "Come on, it’s just Daggoo, he won’t hurt you.“  Mulder catches up to Daggoo and pulls him back.  He peers into the car, expecting to see a little dog cowering in the corner… and his mouth drops open.  He can’t even see Scully’s backseat.

"Scully,” he says, “that is not a dog.”

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corevis  asked:

Hello! What's up with Big Walder?

Big Walder Frey is my favorite background character in ASOIAF, the world’s youngest supervillain hiding in plain sight. What first made me love him is that he’s got the Bond villain/Mitch McConnell habit of not even remotely bothering to hide his master plan. He just openly, earnestly explains it to anyone who will listen, over and over again: I am going to rule the Twins, because I am, and everyone in the line of succession ahead of me, well…

“We’re cousins, not brothers,” added Big Walder, the little one. “I’m Walder son of Jammos. My father was Lord Walder’s son by his fourth wife. He’s Walder son of Merrett. His grandmother was Lord Walder’s third wife, the Crakehall. He’s ahead of me in the line of succession even though I’m older.”

“Only by fifty-two days,” Little Walder objected. “And neither of us will ever hold the Twins, stupid.”

“I will,” Big Walder declared.

“Ryman is old too,” said Little Walder. “Past forty, I bet. And he has a bad belly. Do you think he’ll be lord?”

“I’ll be lord. I don’t care if he is.”

“Did you find your cousins, my lord?”

“No. I never thought we would. They’re dead. Lord Wyman had them killed. That’s what I would have done if I was him.” 

But he gets away with talking like that, and knows he will, because he is canonically tiny and almost always paired with Little Walder, a swaggering outsized bully and pretty much the Ur-Frey. In context, it’s easy to forgive Maester Luwin (or indeed, the adult Freys) for not realizing that Big Walder is infinitely more dangerous than his cousin. 

He gets away with murdering Little Walder for the same reason: because no one thinks to think that the smallest, youngest person in the room did it, even though he’s spattered with blood despite the corpse’s blood being frozen. Only Theon notices, because Theon is the only character who ever seems to sense what’s going on inside Big Walder’s head, and so gives us the closest we ever get to GRRM’s feelings on the kid:

“Just see to Blood. I rode the bastard hard.”

“Yes, my lord. I will.” Reek hurried to the horse, leaving the severed head for the dogs.

“You smell like pigshit today, Reek,” said Ramsay.

“On him, that’s an improvement,” said Damon Dance-for-Me, smiling as he coiled his whip. 

Little Walder swung down from the saddle. “You can see to my horse too, Reek. And to my little cousin’s.”

“I can see to my own horse,” said Big Walder. Little Walder had become Lord Ramsay’s best boy and grew more like him every day, but the smaller Frey was made of different stuff and seldom took part in his cousin’s games and cruelties.

Reek paid the squires no mind. He led Blood off toward the stables, hopping aside when the stallion tried to kick him. The hunters strode into the hall, all but Ben Bones, who was cursing at the dogs to stop them fighting over the severed head.

Big Walder followed him into the stables, leading his own mount. Reek stole a look at him as he removed Blood’s bit. “Who was he?” he said softly, so the other stablehands would not hear.

“No one.” Big Walder pulled the saddle off his grey. “An old man we met on the road, is all. He was driving an old nanny goat and four kids.”

“His lordship slew him for his goats?”

“His lordship slew him for calling him Lord Snow.”

This is one of my favorite quick little scenes in the story, due to the subtle but strong character work going on. “Made of different stuff” is a surprisingly categorical distinction between the two Walders, and it specifically comes in the context of Big Walder being visibly disgusted with Little Walder’s treatment of Theon. And then in the stables, it’s revealed–again, subtly–that he’s aghast at how Ramsay conducts himself in general. 

Think about it: what’s happened to Big Walder Frey since last we saw him, three books ago? He and his cousin saw Winterfell burn around them, everyone slaughtered or enslaved, with only them spared. Since then, they’ve been Ramsay’s squires. So now they’ve seen, up close and personal, what monstrousness (at a level they didn’t encounter even at the Twins) is really like, and while Little Walder is eager to take part, Big Walder…surprisingly is not, at all. As such, he embodies one of my favorite tropes: “I may be evil, but even I have standards.” One wonders if Big Walder killed Little Walder not only to move up in the succession, but out of horror at what his cousin was becoming. 

Indeed, Big Walder is one of the very few people to treat Reek-ified Theon like a human being, both in that stable scene and when the Walders come to remove Theon from his cell. Big Walder’s lines are bolded:

“What’s he saying?”

“I don’t think he likes the light.”

“Would you, if you looked like that? And the stench of him. I’m like to choke.”

“He’s been eating rats. Look.”

“He has. That’s funny.” 

“Talk to me. Do you remember who you are? Talk to me. Tell me your name.”

“Reek. Your name is Reek. Remember?”

Pretty distinct, no? Little Walder is Little Ramsay, finding Theon’s pain amusing, while Big Walder empathizes. Big Walder asks Theon his name, kicking off the identity journey that is the heart of Theon’s ADWD arc; Little Walder is the one who tells him it’s Reek. Am I overstating the case? Consider that throughout ADWD, Theon is constantly paranoid that any given interaction is a trap Ramsay has set for him. He can’t trust anyone…but in that Barrowton stable (the one scene in which we see Big Walder without Little Walder present), Theon trusts Big Walder. He’s looking around for stablehands, worried they might tell on him, but Theon is not worried about Big Walder, because even in his state, Theon knows that BW is “made of different stuff.” 

As such, I would argue that symbolically, Little Walder represents Theon’s Ramsay-induced certainty that he deserves what’s being done to him, while Big Walder represents Theon struggling away from that trap toward something better. And so it fits perfectly that Big Walder kills Little Walder in the chapter entitled (at last!) “Theon,” right before Theon makes the leap with Jeyne and leaves Reek behind forever.

That’s Big Walder Frey: a supervillain with a semi-conscience. I expect big things for and from him. GRRM’s not ending ASOIAF with “all was well,” so someone’s gotta be around to give the next generation of Starks hell. 

Starchild: The Chosen Nobody

Summary: The reader had been having recurring dreams about a far-fetched scenario but as it turns out, the dreams might actually mean something.

Pairings: None (But contains platonic Thor x Reader)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: readers feeling of inadequacy

A/N: I know I started on Project SHIELD but there’s another story that’s begging to be told (literally, I could not sleep). I also can’t decide if I want to make the reader an OC or just reader insert so it’s reader insert for now.

Heads up: @missallpony1234 @thecynicalnerd @heismyhunter @waywardimpalawriter @misspadfoot02 @flowercrownsandmetallicarms @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x @rachelle-on-the-run @i-had-a-life-once @lilasiannerd @transdadlovesyou @aenna-4 @buckyb-avengers @amrita31199 @shamvictoria11 @livforthegames @crazyfangirlk @thelostpieceofpizza @anotherotter

Originally posted by imaginingbucky

The dreams were back except every night they became more and more vivid. There was a gigantic beast and gigantic was an understatement. It was like the size of King Kong and Godzilla put together. It had the skin that had a dark purple glow. It had four arms and goat legs. It was as if it came out of some untold Greek myth. It was terrifying. It had three eyes and two mouths and no nose. It stood proud and tall as the screams of people surrounded it and it just laughed. The laugh was as terrifying as the scenery around it. The sound was indescribable and yet it was clear that it was laughter. The monster turned to you directly and spoke in a voice that sounded like seven demonic voices of at least five different languages put together.

“Come to save the world, Starchild? How could you? Treasonous,” it declared. At the snap of its fingers, you felt a cramping pain. You immediately looked around and noticed something odd. It was something or rather someone you had never seen before. The figure walked towards you slowly. You couldn’t make out their face, but you felt their presence calm you. You heard another snap and your felt the cramps intensify. You screamed. 

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Taehyung Scenario: Changing Colors.

Request:  I want a V scenario where him and OC are out doing stuff during fall and it’s gets late and OC gets cold and then he like maybe gives her his cost or something?? I don’t know. And maybe they could just be best friends at the beginning but they have a crush on each other and they could get together by the end of it. Just do something like that. Thank you so much.

Genre: Fluff / Romance

Taehyung liked to drive, his parents had recently given him a car and he was excited as hell, but it was no fun going around driving alone, so of course he called you to keep him company.

“Be ready at three, don’t ask questions” he had said that and now, at 2:50 you were fully dressed looking outside the window waiting for your best friend to pick you up to go god knows where.

Taehyung smiled widely when he saw you and you tried not to smile back but failed at it, that smile was contagious and you just couldn’t help it.

-Here I’m-

-Hello Y/N! - He greeted speeding up when you were settled in the front seat.

-Now I can know where we are going? -

He chuckled. –No! You’ll know when we get there-

You arched an eyebrow. –What is the mystery about? Just tell me Tae-

-No, I told you to not ask questions-

You pouted and crossed your arms. –Well if this is going to be like this then you’re paying for everything whatever we go-

Taehyung laughed and looked at you from the corner of his eyes, he was having fun already. –If I pay for everything then this should be a date-

-A date? I didn’t know you liked me like that- you teased trying to laugh your nervousness off.

But he didn’t laugh with you, for a moment you thought you had screwed up the whole thing with your comment and you almost face palmed in front of him, but Taehyung ended up laughing a little, not saying anything else.

Keep reading

QOHOR lies near a great forest, the Forest of Qohor. Their city guard is made up entirely of Unsullied, of which every one carries a spear with a braid of human hair. Their craftsmen are renowned throughout the Free Cities. Their blacksmiths have the ability to meld paint in with the metals. Some blacksmiths claim to know how to reforge Valyrian steel. The wood from the Forest of Qohor is sought after. Qohoriks worship the Black Goat. 

Over four hundred years before the War of the Usurper, a khalasar led by Khal Temmo came out of the Dothraki Sea intent on attacking Qohor. Qohor hired the mercenary companies Bright Banners and the Second Sons and purchased three thousand Unsullied. When the Unsullied arrived, the Qohorik forces had been shattered. The Dothraki had returned to their camp to wait for the next day to finish the city off. The next morning they found the Unsullied standing before them. Eighteen times they charged and attacked the Unsullied ranks, each time failing to break through.

At the end of the battle, twelve thousand Dothraki were dead including Khal Temmo. The six hundred remaining Unsullied watched as the surviving Dothraki cut their braids and threw them at the feet of the Unsullied.

Big Walder the Builder

Endgame speculation is, of course, ambrosia. But it tends to revolve around who will die (and how spectacularly) in the final pushback against the Others, and not what the world will look like once they’ve gone. Bran seems to me the character most intimately connected with the world to come; he’s already come somewhat unstuck in time, his consciousness is gradually transcending his body, the physical world at large, and possibly mortality itself, and he seems the best poised to grasp the totalizing meaning and weight of the collective story of ASOIAF. He’s the time capsule, the memory-vessel, the true narrator.

But that’s at the cosmic level; there are surprisingly few hints as to what Westeros and Essos would actually look like on the ground in the wake of a successful second war for the dawn. This is especially true because most child characters, the generation that will inherit what’s left, are either a) utterly doomed to die before they get there (Tommen, Myrcella, Sweetrobin, Shireen…) or b) suffering in a manner that imprisons them in the present; speculating on the future is time wasted when you’re so busy surviving just to have a future. As such, we don’t necessarily get a good sense of what kind of adults they’ll turn out to be, beyond generally traumatized. 

…there is this one exception, however, and it would probably piss Bran off something awful.

Big Walder Frey is my favorite minor character. This is true in large part because while ruthless ambition is generally corrosive in adults, I find it oddly charming in little kids. Big Walder knows exactly what he wants to do with his life–rule the Twins–at the age of nine, and is committed to that long game with a murderous zen that is adorable and utterly terrifying in equal measure. The great joke of House Frey is that it’s this hateful backbiting snake’s den full to bursting with the worst adults in Westeros, but at the very bottom there’s this little kid that all that venom has just drained into, and he’s entirely composed of it, and he’s going to regurgitate it on anyone between him and his prize…and no one around him seems to notice, even though he is so confident and so ready and so sure that he simply announces what he is going to do to his family, over and over.

“We’re cousins, not brothers,” added Big Walder, the little one. “I’m Walder son of Jammos. My father was Lord Walder’s son by his fourth wife. He’s Walder son of Merrett. His grandmother was Lord Walder’s third wife, the Crakehall. He’s ahead of me in the line of succession even though I’m older.”

“Only by fifty-two days,” Little Walder objected. “And neither of us will ever hold the Twins, stupid.”

“I will,” Big Walder declared. [Translation: I’m going to kill you.]

“Ryman is old too,” said Little Walder. “Past forty, I bet. And he has a bad belly. Do you think he’ll be lord?”

“I’ll be lord. I don’t care if he is.” [Translation: I’m going to kill him…if he doesn’t get himself killed first.]

“Did you find your cousins, my lord?”

“No. I never thought we would. They’re dead. Lord Wyman had
them killed. That’s what I would have done if I was him.” [Translation…not required on that one.]

There isn’t even a little foreshadowing moment like “Maester Luwin looked at Big Walder for a long moment, his eyebrows raised” or “Reek wondered if Hosteen and Aenys knew what they had in their young cousin” or anything like that. The only explanation, of course, is that he’s nine. So no one makes the connection when his cousin turns up dead. 

Snow slid from Ser Hosteen’s cloaks as he stalked toward the high table, his steps ringing against the floor. A dozen Frey knights and men-at-arms entered behind him. One was a boy Theon knew—Big Walder, the little one, fox-faced and skinny as a stick. His chest and arms and cloak were spattered with blood.

The scent of it set the horses to screaming. Dogs slid out from under the tables, sniffing. Men rose from the benches. The body in Ser Hosteen’s arms sparkled in the torchlight, armored in pink frost. The cold outside had frozen his blood.

That’s the other reason to love Big Walder: the classic I May Be Evil But That’s Just Fucked Up moment. Big Walder is willing to kill or let die dozens of his fellow Freys, but the gratuitous pleasure Ramsay takes in inflicting pain is simply beyond his moral event horizon:

Little Walder swung down from the saddle. “You can see to my horse too, Reek. And to my little cousin’s.”

“I can see to my own horse,” said Big Walder. Little Walder had become Lord Ramsay’s best boy and grew more like him every day, but the smaller Frey was made of different stuff and seldom took part in his cousin’s games and cruelties.

Reek paid the squires no mind. He led Blood off toward the stables, hopping aside when the stallion tried to kick him. The hunters strode into the hall, all but Ben Bones, who was cursing at the dogs to stop them fighting over the severed head.

Big Walder followed him into the stables, leading his own mount. Reek stole a look at him as he removed Blood’s bit. “Who was he?” he said softly, so the other stablehands would not hear.

“No one.” Big Walder pulled the saddle off his grey. “An old man we met on the road, is all. He was driving an old nanny goat and four kids.”

“His lordship slew him for his goats?”

“His lordship slew him for calling him Lord Snow.”

(Note that Big Walder talks to Theon as though Theon is, in fact, a human being.)

Of course, Big Walder primarily killed Little Walder because the latter stood ahead of the former in the succession, and because Big Walder realized how easy it would be to frame the Manderlys. (He immediately and intuitively grasps that Wyman had his relatives killed, and uses that information to cover his own murdering. How can you not love my brilliant baby boy) But Big Walder may also have acted out of growing horror at Little Walder becoming “more like [Ramsay] every day.” What was it Lord Wyman said, beholding the corpse and musing internally on recipes?

“So young,” said Wyman Manderly. “Though mayhaps this was a blessing. Had he lived, he would have grown up to be a Frey.”

Perhaps Big Walder feared Little Walder would actually grow up a Bolton.

This sort of thing is necessary, of course, to establish Ramsay’s place at the top (or bottom, I suppose) of ASOIAF’s taxonomy of villains; like Joffrey, he freaks even the other killers out. But GRRM is also emphasizing this contrast between the Walders as a preview of the world to come. Little Walder exemplifies the Westeros that makes me, at some deep horrible level, glad the Others are on their way. The corrupt, arrogant, sadistic Little Walders of the story…well, as usual, Stannis puts it best: 

Stannis glowered up at Theon where he hung. “You are not the only turncloak here, it would seem. Would that all the lords in the Seven Kingdoms had but a single neck… " 

And certainly, most of the Freys will suffer for the Red Wedding, those that haven’t already. But as the noose tightens, the incentives will change for the Freys determined to survive above all else: they will sell out their family.

“A little spittle on Lord Walder’s tomb is not like to disturb the grave worms,” Qyburn agreed, “but it would also be useful if someone were to be punished for the Red Wedding. A few Frey heads would do much to mollify the north.”

“Lord Walder will never sacrifice his own,” said Pycelle.

“No,” mused Cersei, “but his heirs may be less squeamish. Lord Walder will soon do us the courtesy of dying, we can hope. What better way for the new Lord of the Crossing to rid himself of inconvenient half brothers, disagreeable cousins, and scheming sisters than by naming them the culprits?”

It was like to be every son for himself when the old man died, and every daughter as well. The new Lord of the Crossing would doubtless keep on some of his uncles, nephews, and cousins at the Twins, the ones he happened to like or trust, or more likely the ones he thought would prove useful to him. The rest of us he’ll shove out to fend for ourselves.

But Big Walder’s still a little young to wield power at that level; I have another candidate in mind.

…[A]nd after Ryman came his own sons, Edwyn and Black Walder, who were even worse. “Fortunately,” Lame Lothar once said, “they hate each other even more than they hate us.”

Merrett wasn’t certain that was fortunate at all, and for that matter Lothar himself might be more dangerous than either of them. Lord Walder had ordered the slaughter of the Starks at Roslin’s wedding, but it had been Lame Lothar who had plotted it out with Roose Bolton, all the way down to which songs would be played. Lothar was a very amusing fellow to get drunk with, but Merrett would never be so foolish as to turn his back on him.

Lame Lothar Frey, charming and courteous and utterly devious, has no sons of his own, but he does have a nephew; if Lothar were to follow his father as Lord of the Crossing, his heir would be the little boy everyone instinctively calls Big. Remember Osha’s insight into Little Walder?

“The big one they call little, it comes to me he’s well named. Big outside, little inside…”

The reverse is true of Big Walder. My baby contains multitudes.

Even Bran, much as he resents both young Freys for being able to run and play with Rickon, grudgingly recognizes that Big Walder is the worthier of the two.

“These threats are unseemly, and I’ll hear no more of them. Is this how you behave at the Twins, Walder Frey?”

“If I want to.” Atop his courser, Little Walder gave Luwin a sullen glare, as if to say, You are only a maester, who are you to reproach a Frey of the Crossing?

“Well, it is not how Lady Stark’s wards ought behave at Winterfell. What’s at the root of this?” The maester looked at each boy in turn. “One of you will tell me, I swear, or-”

“We were having a jape with Hodor,” confessed Big Walder. “I am sorry if we offended Prince Bran. We only meant to be amusing.” He at least had the grace to look abashed.

Little Walder only looked peevish. “And me,” he said. “I was only being amusing too.”

“Was it Lord Tywin he defeated?” asked Bran.

“No,” said the maester. “Ser Stafford Lannister commanded the enemy host. He was slain in the battle.”

Bran had never even heard of Ser Stafford Lannister. He found himself agreeing with Big Walder when he said, “Lord Tywin is the only one who matters.”

Ser Rodrik reminded him to send something to his foster brothers, so he sent Little Walder some boiled beets and Big Walder the buttered turnips.

(Ok, that last one is a little subjective, but I’d much rather have buttered turnips than boiled beets…no, fuck it, that’s objectively correct. Beets are tolerable as paper-thin splashes of color in a salad. Otherwise, they are hideous alien roots and are never to be trusted.)

The endgame in my head is, in some sense, all about how Big Walder ends up with the Twins, and Skahaz Shavepate ends up with Slaver’s Bay (in retrospect, foreshadowed from his very first appearance), and the Tyrells end up with most if not all of the south. It’s not about the world taking a massive leap forward to utopia or even democracy; it’s about the “long and slow boring of hard boards.” It’s about things getting incrementally better. I will so very take the Tyrells over the Lannisters, the Shavepates over the Sons of the Harpy, and Big Walder over Little Walder. Choosing the lesser evil isn’t a sad half-measure, not in a world where the greater evils are the likes of Ramsay, Gregor, Craster, Rorge…or the Others, above them all. Sometimes, it’s enough to kill the ravaging monsters at the door, and hope the little nine-year-old monster at your side is “the right kind of terrible,” the kind who will rebuild the world…if for no other reason than so he’ll have something to rule.