i am a warrior of clean

Tomorrow at 2pm the police will move in on Oceti camp to forcibly remove water protectors from the treaty land that has been home to thousands over the past few months and rightfully belongs to the people of the Standing Rock Nation.

I know the courage and the resolve of the water protectors. I honor the community and the prayers. I sense the anticipation and the support. Faith, determination and bravery are burning in hearts like the fires that keep people warm this last night around camp.

Whatever happens, we continue to move forward. We continue to stand to defend the sacred. We continue to support one another as a community.

We each have our purpose and while it is heart wrenching for me to not be there, I must trust in my guides to lead me to be where I am supposed to be to serve in the best way.

This movement has inspired all of us to step up and speak out. For everyone on the ground, you are warriors, thank you. For everyone dressed in uniforms; you can make a different choice.

Thank you to everyone who helped clean up Oceti. Thank you to everyone who has braved the winter. Thank you to everyone who has continued to support. Thank you Standing Rock.

Mni Wiconi
Lolly Bee


I have tons of ocs that I’ve never shown you guys xD all with unique stories.

I am hoping this year I can spend more time drawing them and developing their characters.

There is a large variety of humans and heroes and villains and demons and gods and goddesses and animals and anthros and aliens and fantasy creatures.

Most are male and have adventure/warrior type stories because I enjoy that the most, but I am working on expanding genres and creating more female leads. 

Many don’t have actual names yet so I just call them by their title or profession.

All of these drawings are from 3 years ago.


Razor Tongues Think Alike

Niles sat outside the empty prison, having no prisoners to mess with. All day he’d give remarks to passersby. Some comments were kept to himself. Some were decidedly not, like when a certain monk walked past, carrying a pickaxe and a bucket of emeralds.

“Well if it isn’t Azama. Must be nice to get babysat by Hinoka.”

Azama’s eyebrows perked up. “Ah, a challenge! You must be Niles. I’m afraid I’m a little too busy at the moment to feel uncomfortable, thereby making you feel better about your miserable childhood. Perhaps another time.”

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TJ Perkins x Reader: Flowers for The Lady

Requested: Yes! By @imaginingwwesuperstars

Warnings: Nope! 

A/N: Two things 1) The picture has nothing to do with the story I just wanted it to be the picture 2) It’s from TJ’s perspective!

    I watched from backstage as she pinned, she laid there completely limp from being planted to the mat by Charlotte. Fear crept into my stomach when she didn’t get up immediately and as the show cut to commercial I ran, faster than I had in a very long time, to the ring. The medical staff was examining her and they helped her up leading her backstage, not letting me help, not letting me touch her. She slowly regained consciousness and walked back on her own mostly, but this only eased my concern slightly as I followed behind the medics. 

    The medical staff finally let me into her room after they had done a full check up and I opened the door seeing her with her face hidden in her hands sobbing. I slowly walked in, shut the door behind me, and squatted in front of her, moving her loose hair from her face and took her hands in mine.

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i. There’s no greater recommendation than
the smile on a friend’s face. I need to know
nothing else of your life. Joy, I have learned,
is every star in the galaxy, condensed
in the eyes of those we love.

ii. Life has made me a warrior,
from a very tender age. It has scraped
the skin of my knees, the palm of my hands.
It crawled into my mind to whisper and lie,
and I have fought it every day since.

iii. You can cry. Salt to clean the wound,
to keep away the evil eye, to let it hurt.
Sometimes, you have to walk until you faint,
Burn your hand and prick your finger,
You have to feel pain, so you can understand it.

iv. I am sad today, but this will not last.
Tomorrow, or in a year, I will trust someone else
that I shouldn’t, I will smile alongside a stranger
and I’ll allow them to ruin me. Then,
I will stand on bruised legs and try again.
—  Little truths (LM)
The Wrestle, Ch. IV

This is torturous electricity
between both of us
and this is dangerous.

There was no mistaking the coming end of summer in the forest. It played the final notes of its song in the very way the days seemed to understand that they were numbered. The sunlight was golden, the days were languid, syrup-like moments that almost tricked everyone into believing their sweetness would last. The tan on the trees began to fade, the shade they provided grew cooler, the sounds changed, were not the droning haze of midday laziness, but instead a gentle rustling as the world prepared for a bitter freeze.

Lexa sat a bit taller atop her horse despite the phenomenal aching in her ribs and pain behind her swollen eye. Still, despite it all, she gazed at the familiar territory and contemplated too many thoughts at once in her pounding head. The thud of the horses’ hooves on the well-trodden ground echoed between the branches, but the heat of the day seemed to soften the noises, not allowing them room to escape. She never realized how tall the trees were, how lush the green, how violent the brown, how alive each colour was, a character of their own right in the landscape before, so much different than the flat open plains of the south. The summer sunlight filtered through the clouds and the colours were different than they would be on any other day. This moment was unique and impossible, and Lexa finally enjoyed her home.

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anonymous asked:

Can you write another part to My Prince please? I absolutely love your writing and the story

Yes, I can!  Here is Part 12, comin’ ‘atcha!

(Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9  Part 10  Part 11  Part 13  Part 14  Part 15  Part 16  Part 17  Epilogue)

You awaken the next morning to an unfamiliar churning within your stomach.

Closing your eyes as you sit up in bed, you sigh as you put your head in your hands.

29 years old.

Slowly scooting your feet to the floor, you stand up and bring yourself to your mirror, pulling at the bags under your eyes as you assess your current physical state.


Sighing as you turn away from the mirror, you hear a light knock at the door before it slowly opens.

“Miss Y/N?” your handmaiden says.

“Yes?” you call out.

“There is an invitation for you,” she says, holding out a small white envelope.

Slowly shuffling over, you flip the light on as you take it from her hands.

“Thank you,” you say as she bows and shuts the door behind you.

Slowly turning the letter in your fingers, you open its seal and pull the single sheet of paper from its confines.

You are cordially invited to attend Miss Angel’s 29th birthday dinner. Food, drinks, and dancing to be had.  Come dressed to attend one of the most prestigious events of the Asgardian calendar.

Sighing as you hold your head in your hand, you groan as the letter flutters to the floor.

Knock knock knock.



Smiling lightly as you open the door, your friend stands there with a cake in hand, smiling broadly as she begins to sing awfully off-key.

“Happy Birthday to you! Happy Birthday to you!”

Holding up your hand as the laughter rumbles through your body, you bend over as she laughs with you, scooting by you and sitting down on your bed, pulling two forks from the pouch on her side as she pats the bed next to you.

Sitting down beside her, you take a fork and begin to eat, the cake and icing melting in your mouth with every chew you make.

Rolling your eyes in the back of your head, Sif smiles with a mouthful as she swallows it down.

“It is time you stopped grieving,” she says.

“I know…” you drift off.

“Eventually you will have to step out in to the sun,” she urges.

Happy Birthday to me,” you retort sarcastically before taking another bite.

Setting the cake down, she wipes her hands off on her legs before turning her body to you.

“You have had your time for self pity and recuperation. Now, it is time to take your rightful place in this universe.”

“I never asked for this, Sif,” you say weakly, tossing your fork onto the bed, “I never asked to be a guardian. I never asked for the universe to bow at my feet.  I never asked for all of this power,” you whimper.

“All I asked was to be loved,” you whisper.

“And you are,” she reassures you, putting her hand on your arm as you slump back down on to the bed, “But whether you like it or not, your time is upon us. This universe has been without guidance for a great deal longer than it should have been, and you are the remedy it needs.”

“I wanted Loki to be my healer…” you choke out through tears, closing your eyes as you try to conjure his face in your mind.

“I know,” Sif lulls, rubbing your back as you sigh heavily, “And maybe he will come around. Whether you believe me or not, I am here by your side. Forever.”

“You better be,” you eye her playfully, wiping your face with yours hands, “You’re my Warrior.”

“At least we are on the same page in that regard,” she smiles, getting up and crossing the room.

“Now, clean yourself up and start getting ready. The festivities will begin around 5 this evening.”

“Sif…it’s 11 am,” you say incredulously.

“And that is why this self-pity party is over,” she says as she eyes you wearily.

“Why?” you ask hesitantly.

“Because it is 2 in the afternoon, Angel,” she says.



Hearing Sif call you that was still so…ominous.

Traditionally, when a guardian takes his rightful place, he leaves behind his birth name and takes his father’s name as guardian.

But calling you by your father’s name was absurd.

But, you also didn’t care for your mother’s name either.

So, you decided to take on her nickname…the name everyone called her ever since she was a little girl…the name by which she was always introduced.


Taking a ragged breath as you look over at your wardrobe, you notice the incredible dominance of green as your eyes start to water…your gaze flittering down towards the broken shackle that still lays helplessly on your vanity.

And just before you had decided to give up on the party, a light rapping comes at your door.

“Come in,” you sigh as you stand to your feet, your half-length slip tumbling to your knees as you stand.

Watching as the door doesn’t open, you furrow your brow as you walk towards the door, slowly opening it as you stick your head out in to the hallway.

“Hello?” you call out.

Confusion covering your face, you go to close the door as a glimmer of light catches your eye.

Looking around at the front of the other door, you gawk at the sight of the gorgeous dress.

Walking out and standing in front of it, not caring who sees you in your undergarments, you finger the lacy fabric cast softly over the white silk as the dress, adorned with sequins and decoration, is made to fit your form exactly, the corseted bodice giving way not to a ball gown, but to a flowing sea of miniature pearls and lace.

Your mouth agape as you remove it from its hanger, you rub the material between your fingers, your eyes watering at the beauty of it’s presence.

Walking back inside your room as you kick your door shut, you slowly walk back to your vanity, calling for your handmaiden as she unlaces the corset, allowing you to step in while she affixes the dress to your body.

“Do you know who sent for this?” you ask, your eyes wide as you twirl in the mirror.

Not saying a word, she holds out a letter to you, giving you a light smile before she leaves.

Watching as your hands tremble, you carefully open yet another letter as you side it out of it’s envelope.


May this dress give you the confidence and strength you need for the road ahead.

All my love,


Clutching the note to your chest, you send up not a silent “thank you,” but a silent apology, for as you read the letter, you heart sinks at the revelation that Loki is, once again, still absent.


Smoothing out your dress one last time, you hear your door crack open as your handmaiden sticks her head in.

“Your escort to the party is here,” your handmaiden says.

Turning around, an air of confusion migrating across your face, you watch as Odin slowly appears at your door.

“My wife told me the dress was beautiful,” he says as he takes a deep breath, shaking his head, “…but the word does not do it justice on you.”

Crossing the room as you smile at him, you watch as he takes your hands in his, squeezing lightly as he sighs.

“Forgive me, Angel,” he says, his face contorted with pain, “I did not know about Michael…or about your feelings toward this entire situation that has careened out of control. Had I known, his trip would have taken a very different course, and yesterday would have had a very different purpose.”

Squeezing his hands back, you look at him as you shake your head. “I should be the one apologizing to you, berating you that way in front of everyone.  You have been a wonderful father to Loki.  No parent is perfect,” you whisper, shaking your head.

As the two of you stand there, hand in hand as you take a deep breath, you roll your shoulders back as you sigh.

“Either way, It’s in the past, Allfather,” you say.

“Odin,” he corrects, “If you can call my wife by her name, then you shall do the same for me.”

“I shall try,” you respond playfully.

“Have you thought any more on the proposal I sent your way yesterday?” he asks as his face gets stern.

“Well…since I do not look kindly on polygamy…” you trail off, leaning in and cocking your eyebrow playfully as Odin chuckles.

“A Guardian needs a proper home,” he says as he looks in to your eyes, “Somewhere that they feel comfortable, and accepted,” he says as he wraps your arm around his, turning the two of you towards the door.

“It would be an honor for you to call Asgard home, you know,” he says with an air of pride in his voice.

Feeling the tears prickle the back of your eyes, you walk with him in to the hallway as you stop abruptly, turning to him as sad smile crossing your face.

“But Loki…” you drift off.

“…is the one who suggested it to that morning,” Odin interjects, bringing his hand to your cheek as he wipes away a stray tear.

“What?” you ask breathlessly.

“Just because my son is a stubborn frost giant, does not mean that his heart hasn’t been thawed,” Odin smiles.

“I know he has been distant,” he says as he searches your eyes, continuing slowly down the hallway, “But that does not mean that he does not care. He knows, deep down, that what happened was just one unfortunate incident after the next, born out of a desperate need to be your best for him,” he says.

“I miss him,” you admit.

“I know, my child,” he says as the two of you stop just shy of the Grand Hall.

Feeling your body begin to shake, you take a few shallow breaths before you feel Odin pat the top your hand in reassurance.

“You are not alone,” he says lowly, his voice ricocheting through your body as you nod and take a deep breath, rolling your shoulders back once more.

And as Odin nods to the door attendant, he swings the door for you both, putting a horn to his mouth as he roars your introduction to the party.

“I now pronounce to you, arriving at 5:06 in the early evening, Miss Guardian Angel and her escort, Odin, King of Asgard!”

A spirit cleansing

Last night, myself and a close friend of mine simultaneously discovered I was covered in thick, gooey astral grime. I know what it’s from; similar to the Power Thoughts spell I recently posted, I have been “breaking chains”. Those chains, while they hold us down, also hold a lot in. And once they are broken, a lot of shit comes to the surface.

I developed a cold yesterday. Lots of people are getting colds. I imagine mine could have been due to my astral immune system being clogged up and occupied with this grime, no room to fight the astral viruses that come along with physical viruses. I’m not saying that my chain-breaking caused me to get a cold, but rather the side-effects could have weakened my immune system, which extends well beyond the physical body.

This morning I spontaneously threw up my medication, again. No nausea, but a considerate warning. This has happened before, when I made a dedication to get back on my meds and get stable. Something makes me throw them up. Just like breaking a mint leaf to smell the oils, humans are broken to release their inner power and make it easier to ‘get inside’. I am not insinuating that all broken humans are being manipulated by spirits. Just some of us.

My mother saw me throw up. She asked me if the “demons” are stopping me from taking my medication to get better. I said yes, I believe they are. As a Christian woman, she prayed for me. I prayed with her. I felt no effects from this prayer, but suddenly my mother spontaneously decided to do a blessing on me. She touched my face in the shape of a cross and evoked the Holy Trinity. Immediately I felt the grime recede from my face. My entire head felt lighter, as if I was wearing a weighted body suit that I had never felt on me before.

I quickly decided to no longer postpone my ritual bath. I gathered bay leaf, rosemary, cloves, lavender, and a lot of salt. I picked up each plant and asked the spirits to return to their dead children, filling it again with their power. Bay leaf for the most powerful purification I can access; lavender for cleansing and protection in equal measure; rosemary for a little cleansing and most protection, cloves for total protection but no cleansing, and salt to nullify the garbage that would be rinsed in to the bath water.

I laid in the tub with all my plant friends, asking each spirit to help. I immediately felt the grime separate from my body, but it had to be washed off. I vigorously scrubbed my body with the bath water and scraped off the biggest chunks of sludge. I intuited the next step was to drain the water and take a normal shower, which I did. However, the cleansing process was not complete, I could feel it wasn’t finished. The next step was to get dressed and put on my normal lotions and oils. But alas, the process was still not complete! My intuition told me to put on completely new clothes (my old clothes were not dirty) and to go meditate on the new cleansing and protections I had built for myself.

I see myself now clean, in white astral robes, with a blue aura of protection around me. In a circle are warrior spirits, standing facing outwards to guard me. I am cleansed, I am protected, I am safe.

I know more grime will come. I am not sure how exactly to sweep it away as it comes; if you have any ideas on ongoing purification, do let me know :)


Weekend project.

Because sometimes unfucking means donating half of your clothes, getting rid of that fucking stupid wall color, and moving some things into more useful locations. Also not keeping the record player on the floor because that is something a child would do. 

Everything has a home now.

And just in case anyone was wondering, NO I didn’t just shove shit into the closet. And here is a picture of my closet for proof. Work clothes to the right, normal-times clothes to the left. Boom.

And yes, I keep my stuffed animals in a cubby next to my bed because no, I’m not a real adult nor do I ever want to be.

Now if I can just get the rest of our house to look this nice……………….

anonymous asked:

What makes a warrior in your eyes?

Their are many types of Warriors… Warfighters…

and Armed Pacifists…

to name a few. A warrior can be anything, ANYONE can be a Warrior, the main requirement is the willingness to sacrifice yourself (time, energy, money, service, life, blood, soul) towards the cause of others specifically your family, community, country. Fight those who are corrupt, uplift and mentor those in need, make your world a better place through the people in it and the communities in which you live. I fought in Iraq, I am a Warrior, but their are fights going on everyday in every town and city in America. We are in need of Soldiers to be warriors, but we need as many and more soldiers within the nation as well, fighting to clean up the streats and make it a better place.

Judging Books By Covers

TITLE: Judging Books By Covers

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter Seventeen

AUTHOR: wolfpawn


Imagine Loki is cast out into a castle in his Jotun form, under a spell that will return him to his Aesir one if he learns to accept himself for who he is, not what he looks like, and can find another who will do the same. Angry and repulsed by his own appearance, Loki fears he will live out his days as the monster he so greatly loathes. 


“What is wrong with him?” Lagertha got to her feet readying to run back through the palace to Loki’s rooms. “What do you mean what have I done to him? What has happened him?” She went to walk passed Thor, but he sidestepped, blocking her path. “What have you done to him?” She demanding pushing him with all her might, but the large king did not even budge.

“Lady Lagertha, I am going to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me, regardless of the response, please, as your king.” Lagertha nodded slowly, suspicious of what he would ask. “When I first happened upon you and the intruder, you declared to him that you love my brother. Is it the truth, or were you simply trying to anger him?” 

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anonymous asked:

I relapsed today. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry

It is okay. I know right now it hurts and I know right now you are probably so upset with yourself that you want to just lay in bed for three years. But I’m going to tell you a secret: get up anyways. Relapses happen to the best of us, but you can not let it get you down.
Get up, even if it is only to make a cup of tea. Bandage your wounds and take care of them. Clean them well and rap them. Kiss them better because every single inch of you is beautiful. Yes even them. Know you are going to get through this. Know that you are going to be okay. I am living proof that it gets better. Sometimes it still hurts and sometimes I want nothing more than to hurt yourself, but you can’t let those thoughts win. You are a warrior and I am so proud of you. You can always talk to me, I will always listen