indeed so

The Many Forms of Magic (Part 1)

Beings that cannot exist inhabit a place that cannot be.

Cursed by gods and feared by mortals, these entities fall outside the boundaries of life, death, and undeath.

They are untouchable by even the most powerful deities, though they can be summoned and used by the weakest mortal.

The practitioner of pact magic contacts these alien forces by means of special symbols and rituals.

Once a summoning is complete, he strikes a bargain with the summoned being to gain great supernatural power.

In addition, DMs might find many uses for the strange monsters associated with pact magic, the descriptions of the organizations that either employ it or battle those who do, and the sites for adventures involving this form of magic.

Keep reading

Maybe im just an anomaly. But i dont plan to ever give up on midbus. Even if his plots run out

I will keep drawing him for as long as i live

I talked about it with bowzmun actually. Sharing my thoughts on how many people say theyll leave their creations when time is up, when they are bored, when theyve run out of things to do. And hoe many people have indeed done so

but i guess i just dont share that view point. I hold on to a lot of my characters. I mean i have been working the same fursona for nearly a decade. Old characters are constantly being reimagined

No i think my version of midbus will be alive for a long time. I love working with him. And i think there is never a shortage of ideas if you love what you do. And even if life gets busy, there is always time you can set aside for art. Im busy, and i tell myself i have no time. But then when i have free moments i just laze about in stress induced apathy, only to find later that if i just kept drawing and writing id be happier with my self. Go figure

I hope people hold on to their creations. Even if its just privately. Its your hard work after all

Height Disparity (Final Rose AU?)

Neo was used to being short. She’d been short for as long as she could remember. However, there was something distinctly annoying about being shorter than her children. Well, biologically, Alison and Li weren’t her children, but, hey, given the complicated family situation that existed between her, Yang, Blake, and Winter, it was simply easier to just say that they were.

Besides, she’d helped raise the little twerps. They were hers as much as anyone else’s… even if they weren’t little anymore.

“Haha!” Li cried. “We’re taller than you now, Quiet Mom!”

Alison sighed. “You really should stop doing that. Quiet Mom is going to murder us.”

“No, she won’t.” Li struck a pose. “Because… Quiet Mom loves us!”

Neo did indeed love them, so she couldn’t murder them. However, she could give Li a stout whack with her umbrella. With that thought in mind, she advanced, umbrella at the ready.

“Uh… wait.” Li began to back away. “Why do you have your umbrella?”

Someone ambled past. The girl in question was biologically Neo’s daughter, as well as Alison and Li’s half sister. 

Start running, the girl signed. Not that you’ll get far.

X     X     X

“Save me!” Li cried, scrambling toward Blake. “Cat Mom!”

Blake made a face. To cope with their complicated family situation, Alison and Li had devised names for the four adults in the house. Yang was Fiery Mom. Winter was Scary Mom. Blake was Cat Mom. Neo was Quiet Mom.

Not far behind Li was Neo. The other woman was brandishing her umbrella. Blake raised one eyebrow, and Neo simply shook her head.

“Nope,” Blake said at last. “You’re on your own.”

“Gah!” Li continued running. “I’ll try Scary Mom!”


All the hard work and dedication is for living fully his last year as a high school student 


fucking heCK i read this message too late but i whipped up something really quick because I LOVE MY HOME BOI KURAPIKA!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE KURTA everyone loves u can u stop being sad n come home to ur fam

of course i didnt blow up that building for no reason. im a goddam professional. i blew it up because i thought it would be funny

anonymous asked:

Okay, so here I am, an innocent lurker, having just found this blog, when I see: "what if the skywalkers were cthulu-type monsters." excuse me??? please elaborate you just wrote that and nothing else im dying ex p la i n y o ur s el f

  • The Force is everything that ever was and ever will be, every storm and every silence, the hunting krayk dragon and cowering bantha calf: it is huge, all-consuming, completely inhuman. How, then, could its children be anything short of monstrous? (Wonders, yes. But monsters all the same.)
  • Anakin Skywalker is boy-shaped, but Obi Wan cannot bear to look at him. 
  • A clarification: he can look at him with his human eyes; but he must clamp down the extra eyes his Force-sensitivity gives him, because when he doesn’t – well. The first time he met the boy he hadn’t closed those eyes; he’d open them, wide and curious and seen –
    • teeth and claws and roiling shadows, a slipslide of features and starfire, the white blur of warpspeed and it hurts –
  • Anakin Skywalker is the son of the Force, half human and half something extraordinary. There’s a reason the Jedi don’t like him, why Yoda mistrusts him; they all have to close their extra eyes around him; and even when they’re white-knuckled with effort, clamping down so the Force can’t so much as whisper to them (and that hurts Jedi, of course it does, it runs counter to all their training about opening up and trusting in the Force) and even then they still feel the velvet quiver of unseen limbs over their skin. 
  • And more. And worse. When he is angry – which is often – his shadow warps into something awful, and even the least Force-sensitive being quails at the profound wrongness of the sight. His features warp and melt, teeth spiralling out from his pupils, his mouth cracks open wide, his tongue growing scales and feathers and catching fire and he smiles, oh how he smiles and –
    • nothing like him should exist and
    • and you blink, lose the moment, he’s just a young man glowering at you, and his shadow is the same, but the memory of that horror is seared into the back of your brain.
  • It is no surprise that Padme dies in childbed. 
  • The first child’s cry makes Obi Wan’s bones rattle. It – you could not call it anything but an it – is a twisting, squirming mess of light and dark. There’s a wing, a thorned branch: you cannot focus on it. You cannot pin a shape to it. Obi Wan wants to run away, run and never look back. But the Med Droid is offering it to him; and it is a child, of a sort; and Obi Wan takes it, and it coalesces into a soft pink baby girl. He places it – her – against Padme’s white breast. Padme cradles it. “She’s beautiful.”
  • The second is just the same: pushed out like any human baby, but a roling mess of lightening and thick syrupy cloud, one moment tentacled and the next furred, pure power condensed. Obi Wan takes it in his arms and it solidifies into another fat baby, small and squalling. 
  • He’s not like the other babies, Luke Skywalker. He’s a funny one. When he smiles, you have the sudden absurd impulse that he’s got too many teeth for his face. His hair is corn-gold, but when you see it out of the corner of your eye you swear that it isn’t hair at all, but fire and teeth. Looking at him too long is like staring into the sun. 
  • The other children are scared of him, Behu says to Owen, once. And Owen says: children always know. And Behu says: he isn’t a bad kid. Owen says: he’s a wonder. And that’s the problem. 
  • Jabba’s goons go to the Lars farm to collect water once. Only once. They return to Jabba’s palace gibbering nonsense, with their eyes burned out. Both mumble something about there’s something wrong with the boy and then jump into the ragnar pit. 
  • Don’t do that again, says Owen, but he hugs his nephew all the same, pulls him close, kisses his temple. He feels something hot-cold run over his spine, like something far larger than the child is trying to embrace him back. That night, Behu runs her fingers over the new white scartissue on her husband’s back, and says, he’s a good kid. Owen says, I know.
  • If I was there I could have saved them, Luke says to Ben Kenobi, years later, and in that moment he has a thousand thousand eyes and all of them are burning, and he has no limbs but a dozen wings bearing him aloft, and each feather is molten gold and each feather drips blood. Ben thinks of Anakin, screws his Force-sensitivity closed. Luke is a monster. A wonder. But first and foremost he is a boy, and he is grieving. 
    • Ben Kenobi holds him while he weeps. 
  • When Leia comes, she turns into a celestial horror with more teeth than Han cares to count. “Huh,” he says, after their first time. She’s so little in his arms, but so vast. He feels something gentle his back. He says, “Next time, I’ll wear a blindfold, princess. Don’t want to blind me, do you? Then I won’t be able to see when you’re doing stupid shit.” She titters, presses her face into the curve of his neck. 
    • Love comes to everyone, including monsters. 
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“Choke me, pull my hair.” - Terroriser

Vanoss: “I don’t know if that works.”

Terroriser: “Oh, it does. Trust me. What?”

Moo: “Marcel, smack me! Oh wait, never mind.”

Vanoss: “That sounds so dirty.”

Terroriser: “Marcel, quick, spank me.”

“It’s going and out.” - Moo

“They’re comparing sizes.” - Terroriser

Moo: “What does it do?”

Marcel: “I don’t know! It just wiggles!”

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that “which teammate would make the best president?” video reminded me of this picture

let’s not forget about President Holiday, her VP Rodriguez and the rest of her cabinet. The USA goverment the world really needs and deserve