Daughters of Persephone!
My women only Space Marine Chapter. Not my best illustration work, but its really starting to take too much time for a quick fan work / colour concept, and I should work on more original works really (though I’ll probably end up doing other fan stuffs :P)

Threw together another quick sketch, playing with the general out of armour look.


Sam teasing Cait in the q&a video

anonymous asked:

Matsu's s/o somehow convinces him to let them curl his hair and they comment on how cute he looks. how does he react?

Osomatsu: Laughs a bit, “I guess ill let you do this when ever you like than.” He doesn’t mind as long as he doesn’t have to work.

Karamatsu: “R-really? You think it looks” If they answer yes he’s curling his hair a lot more.

Choromatsu: “It feels improper for some reason, and not a part of me.” It just isn’t what he’s used to, but if it grows on him he’ll take time.

Ichimatsu: “Ah….would you mind curling it for me if you want to see it than?” He enjoys the compliments, but really its too much work.

Jyushimatsu: “But won’t it go back to straight after a long day?” he laughs a bit, because it seems somewhat pointless.

Todomatsu: “Cute you say?” Now he’s constantly curling his hair. His s/o just came up with the newest look.

Dame of Camelot: Part 1

I’ve got a second part coming up soon :)

Hey!! I just wanted to say I LOVE your blog!! I look at it every day to see if anything new is there. I kinda hope you don’t mind me asking for a reader x Arthur from Merlin, were the reader is tired of being judged because she’s a woman, so she challenges him and wins, and she ends up as a knight of Camelot and they get together. I really hope its not too much to ask. Send a message to let me know if you’d ur taking this please!! Ciao!!

 (Hope you like it!)

Author: Queen of Geeks

I balanced the box of sewing supplies in one hand and a basket against my hip with my other hand. All of them had or tears in them that needed stitching. They’ve all been washed, but I was the one with the most nimble of hands.

“Ah yes, and here’s the maid with the clothes.” One of the knights snickered. I rolled my eyes.

“About time.” Another laughed. “They look too pretty to do actual work.”

“Yes, because we’re the ones who do actually work.”  I shrugged my shoulders. There were snorts and I carried on making my way to the servant’s quarters. Most other maids dealt with the rude comments, but I chose to speak back.

Taking a seat in a chair, I put the basket on the floor and opened up my sewing box. Pulling one of the many shirts out, there was a large tear in the sleeve. Sighing, I began threading a needle and started sewing. Many shirts and trousers later, I was close to finishing. There were still a few clothes left, but my hands were aching. Standing up, I separated the finished clothes from the others. Most of them belonged to Arthur which was slightly concerning, but it gave me a job. I didn’t mind taking them up for Arthur. Sometimes it was nice. But sometimes he made me want to stab him with his own sword.

Those would be the days that I understood why Merlin tended to hate him. Unlike my brother, I couldn’t turn Arthur into something with magic. Merlin was lucky in that sense.

Resting my basket against hip, I knocked on the door of Arthur’s bedroom. Eventually it was opened by Merlin. I smiled at him.

“I have some clothes to drop off.” I explained when he gave me a curious look.

“I was just leaving.” Merlin opened the door and let me in. I let the door close behind me, I placed the basket on the table and looked around to see Arthur was gazing out the window.

“Your highness?” I asked. Arthur turned around and smiled at me. “Yes?” He asked looked at me. I gave him a small smile. “I have your clothes.” I told him folding my hands in front of me.

“About time.” He scoffed. I raised my eyebrows at me.


“The clothes. Why does it always take so long for them to be brought up? What else you people do?”

“Cook. Clean.” I muttered under my breath. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave. Have a nice night.” I gave a quick curtsy before leaving.

Pacing back and forth in front of Merlin, I began ranting as he sat with Giaus. “All these men are sexist pigs! All they think they can do is make fun of women! If it weren’t for women, they’d have no food! Or clothes for that matter.” I was close to screaming. Taking a deep breath, I moved my hair out of my face.

“You just need to prove that they can’t do this.” Merlin told me. Giaus looked at us.

“Don’t give your sister-” Giaus began but I interrupted.

“I got it!” I whirled around to face both men. “Merlin, Arthur is having try-outs for new guards and knights.”

“Yes, but (Y/N), that requires you knowing how to fight.” Giaus pointed out. I put my hands on my hips.

“Are you on my side or not?” I asked. “I do know how to fight. I have learned.” I told him. Giaus smiled at me.

“We have faith in you, my dear.”


I rolled my shoulders back and listened to the clinking of the armor. Merlin and I were able to convince everyone we needed to polish armor. We then decided that we’d return it after the tournament. Thankfully we took one that fitted me. I tilted my head and looked at Merlin through the helmet.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Merlin asked me.

“Yes. I am completely sure.” I told him as I picked up my sword.

“Good luck.” Merlin smiled as I made my way into the field. Everyone was looking at me and I took a deep breath. Looking back at Merlin, he smiled at me and I nodded.


In front of me stood the last man trying out. It was him against me. I had to win. Mainly because I had no magic that I could use to win. I raised my sword and looked at my opponent. The signal to go went off and I dodged a swing right away. I parried and swung back. Hitting the ground, I rolled away missed another stab. Getting too my feet, I swung my sword and the force of him blocking it caused my arm to shake. He kicked and I dodged his foot. Stumbling, I fell back and rolled away. Kicking at the back of his knee, I caused him to fall.

Jumping to my feet, I swung my sword and the sword skittered out of his hand. I pressed my sword to his chest. My breath was heavy and I would feel myself sweating under the armor.

“And it appears we have a winner.” Prince Arthur walked over to us and took my wrist. Raising it in the air, everyone cheered. I took my arm from him and sheaved my sword to help my opponent.

“Good fight.” he told me. I nodded.

“Let’s see who our winner is, shall we?” Arthur asked. I looked at Merlin who was grinning.

“Fine.” I muttered to myself. Pulling it off, there was a gasp and everyone went silent. I turned to Arthur. “That’s right. It’s me. A woman.” I told him. “I won fair and square.”

“Then so be it. A Dame of Camelot. (Y/N)!” There were more cheers.

Everyone one in TL&HL is just pissing me off. Like I don’t even understand how we got here. 

Chang Young is beginning to seem more manipulative than pitiful and he’s constantly trying to drag in So Rim when Han Gyeol has warned him man to man. 

Yoo Na? Girl, I bet you gave Han Gyeol enough rides home when he was your man so please STOP OFFERING TO DROP HIM HOME, HE HAS A NEW LOVER BYE. Also, stop trying to make So Rim feel small, we can see through all that jealousy.

Mr. Choi? I can’t even begin to explain how this manipulative man is the root of all the misunderstanding in this drama. 

Mrs. Yoo, you push Mr. Choi and when he finally acts you tell him its too much? really? alright. 

Han Gyeol, it seems you only know how to raise your voice at your dad but not when there’s a serious situation like Mr. Choi stabbing Chan Young in the back; suddenly you were mute? but ok. 

Si Hyun, Yoon & In Ho, i love you guys but if you guys had made Chan Young feel at home from the jump, perhaps, just perhaps, we wouldn’t be here now but i love you guys still. 

Jin Woo, i’m not sure what you’re doing trying to hit on So Rim but incase you haven’t heard she’s taken but i’m not :)

Obviously this is just me in my feelings. 

concept: Mickey crossing the border and then looking at his rear-view mirror and seeing that Ian is there, looking at him, standing still, and neither of them is able to tear their eyes off of one another until Ian disappears from the mirror and the car disappears from Ian’s eyesight. And then everything turns blurry for both of them because of the tears. 

Okay, but imagine that Zant had never been called ‘pretty’ before meeting Ghirahim.  Not because there weren’t any other Twili who thought he was pretty, but because he was kinda awkward and shy and didn’t really like talking to anyone, so no one ever really got the chance to tell him that. And so he grew up assuming that he wasn’t really anything special, and believing that he wasn’t attractive in any way. (rest under cut it got kinda long)

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DAY 2652

Jalsa, Mumbai              July  16/17,  2015              Fri/Sat 1:50 am

Birthday - EF - Walaa Zakariya Mohammed Ahmed Ali … all our wishes for a happy day and with love and blessings .. how fortunate for your birthday to fall on Eid .. !!

Jamat - ul - Vida   !!


On this auspicious occasion of celebration and prayer and love and peace and forgiveness and blessings .. may the One Above, may Allah, give and bestow his very best for us all ..

What is it that provokes emotion and tears welling up on the playing of the National Anthem of the country .. what is it that unfurls within us when the flag of our respective nations, flutters against the wind, on the enthusiastic shoulders and hands of cheering crowds at events, at the moment of its presence atop national monuments and structures … what is it that spurs within us a desire to be strong and uplifted in the presence of even the worst adversary .. what ??

No matter where you hear it, in whatever condition in whatever situation, there is something about this song this anthem this composition, that brings the hair on end and leaves you with the power of national pride and place ..

For the opening of the ProKabaddi they ask me to render it live before the start of the first game in Mumbai .. they shall have it sung live for all the games throughout the tournament, by leading figures, choirs, orchestra’s and composers .. such a wonderful feel it leaves us all with .. to be a part of this privilege .. to be a part of national identity, national binding and national honour. Each individual in each and every part of the world and country goes through this extraordinary moment, singing in unison, each word each strain of the notes and words bringing incredible meaning and joy ..

The tune be the same the words unchanged, except perhaps in the United Kingdom, where the God saves the Queen now, but will come a time when it shall be altered to the King … the holding of the banner in military protocol, in respect and in its dignity .. it is beyond measure ..

There are anthems that have no words !! I saw it during the World Cup Football .. I was wondering why none of the players were singing the words as the Anthem played, only to be told later that that particular country did not have any 

words, just a tune, of respect and attention … fascinating !!

So the Kabaddi season starts, and the Jaipur Pink Panthers, Abhishek’s team, that won the championship last year plays the first match against UMumba ,, the very team they played first last year ..

The LOGO has changed for Jaipur, it is more attitudinal and relaxed and somewhat cool .. !! My limited vocabulary coerces me to usage of ‘cool’ .. a word I do not contribute to much .. 

The speed of conversation and the usage of abbreviated expressions in the vocabulary by this generation, shall be finding its way into the formal contributors of literature and alphabets .. in time all that looks to us to be insignificant or intemperate, shall become a part of knowledge books dictionaries, and the like that shall be our world wide reference points when sufficient time has lapsed .. the power of the human spirit .. the power of our existence and presence …

In life, time comes when we lament the absence of goods that spell ‘materialism’. We wonder why the other has and we not. We wonder if we shall ever get to that spot. We either reconcile our state and position, or determine within to achieve what we do not possess, to possess it .. and when we do possess what we needed to possess, we discover that what we had laboured so diligently to possess, is really a mere speck in what could possibly be achieved .. and so we begin that process and chase and ambition and persevere .. and we get there as well .. when we realise that its really too much to bear .. where shall we store it, what shall happen to it when we are gone .. will we leave it behind or leave it for others .. for family for relatives and friends .. for posterity .. what and where ? … we have no answers .. at least I do not ..

The end when it comes, shall leave us hopefully with the clothing that covers our naturalness … that is all .. that is all that shall travel to the cremation to the grave or wherever they shall put you .. and you shall be none the wiser of the belongings that you yearned and worked for the entire life …

Today a new shelf in the construct of my room, where I load books upon unread books, littered about on it, gives me the joy and the moment relief of having found space to be utilised in bringing order to the table desk and the room where I work .. tomorrow it shall fall short again, and newer space shall have to be created … 

Life is a shelf .. a shelf of unread books .. some partially reflected upon .. but mostly put up in ordered discipline, to define neat and tidy practice .. books that mount these shelves shall with time find their neighbourhood occupied by another of their clime .. they shall live shoulder to shoulder, in dust and grime and moth eaten pages and without care .. and then one fine day when far too much time has elapsed without attention, they shall fall apart and be a burden to that shelf that rack that storage … and be removed to the garbage as waste .. or given in instruction to those that survive age .. perhaps to be preserved or lost .. who knows .. for life would have removed you from the shelf permanently, without care or advise or instruction .. 

They could be offered to the alter of the funeral pyre, or the depths of the grave. Many do. Dress up the individual or that document of pages called ‘book’, with all that the departed cherished - reading glasses, general upkeep materials, belongings that were dear .. all ..

Books could find their way into the graves of the departed too .. of course ..

The glasses to read are there. The books are there. And there is only time. Time in endless presence, to spend and waste and READ …

At times there are strange stories of over possessiveness .. 

My Father used to tell me the tale of a very distant old relative of the bygone era, who valued beyond measure her monetary savings. There were no banks then, and obviously in her social standing no vaults either .. she carried the treasure around with her .. in a large tin box .. one rupee coins .. of silver !!

Never left it alone , never permitted anyone to be even remotely close to it .. just sat over it or slept on it, or clung to it when in bed, so no one would have access to it .. just she and her valued savings in one rupee silver coins  ..

And then … one day she fell desperately ill .. she lost health by the day and soon realised the end was now upon her ..

One late night she passed away .. without letting anyone know of her passing .. her last instructions were to the kitchen asking for a bowl of curds .. dahi .. !

When members of the family entered her room, the next morning, after long, they found her lying there in bed .. CHOKED ON HER OWN SAVINGS OF HER SILVER ONE RUPEE COINS … THE ENDS OF HER MOUTH BEARING TRACES OF LAST NIGHTS ORDERED CURDS ..


The curds were for that .. she died choked on her own saved coins which she was wanting no one to possess .. !!! 


Possessiveness can possess … but not for long !!

Since I have left eating sweets and all things bright and kheer - jalebi oriented ..I finish my dinner with a bowl of curd and sugar, as my daily sweet meat after meal .. and my Bank takes care of my rupee’s !!!

Good night 

Amitabh Bachchan 

Today’s Amusement

Is sponsored by dust2dust34 and her inability to handle Stephen Amell/Oliver Queen’s face. I say amusement because I’m the kind of girl who very strongly adheres to the philosophy of Laugh or Cry in times of distress. If I didn’t chuckle and smile a little smile at dust2dust34‘s truly justified agita (sometimes expressed as anger) over That Man and his Goddamn Face, I would be in a puddle of my own anguished tears. Why is his face, you guys? Why?

[whispers] Why?


Sure can do! The pleasure is all mine hohohoho.

But seriously, they’re supposed to end up together at some point but I also love having them like that… What should I do? Torture Marco a bit more or make them official at the next opportunity?

Retribution | open para

He could taste the dirt of the alley he crawled through, the filth of it mixing with the hot, metallic taste of his own blood. Laughter, mad and maniacal rebounded off the walls of brick eclipsing the sound of rolling thunder and hiss of the rain that poured around him. Like a dying animal propelled by some inherent instinct, Batman drug himself across the slick concrete of the nameless alley, his fingers yearning for cracks that enabled him to pull himself a few inches more. His muscles ached and contracted as he used all that was left within his body in a futile attempt at escape. Just another few useless inches. Another round of laughter exploded through the night stabbing at his consciousness like daggers. He could hear footsteps behind him, splashing spritely, like a dancer. He recognizes the childlike rhythm. The Joker skips towards him, winding his way closer and closer. Batman rolls against the soaking ground. The Joker howls with laughter. Batman heaves himself onto his elbows. The Joker stands before him, long pale face looking ever menacing as rain curtained down around him. His blood-red lips twisted into a life-long smile fueled by the same madness and genius that sent his eyes ablaze with mischief. Batman’s fingers groped his exhausted utility belt. His fingers fumbled through empty compartments, desperately searching for any means to defend himself. His right hand found where his batarangs were housed, but there were none. There was nothing left. No hope. Purple glove met purple glove as the Joker brought his hands together to clap. His glee was undeterred as Batman slumped back, his deranged smile growing wilder. Before the back of his cowl could grace the concrete the Joker caught him by the cape and held him up as he crouched over his broken enemy. His spindly fingers found the border where Batman’s flesh met Kevlar. Batman felt cold cloth-covered fingers on his face. At first they are gentle, almost a parting caress, and then they are unrelenting pressure, pushing hard against his bloodied cheek and deep beneath his cowl.  His hands hovered there for a moment before drifting his eager fingers down the defeated man’s neck. The Joker’s eyes shown like a hungry wolf, his eternal smile cracked open as a whooping yell ripped from his throat as he tore the mask from the Batman’s face.

The rain that fell around him froze midair, turning powdery white. The air around him grew warm and Bruce Wayne stared out the paned glass window onto the grounds that held his family name. A cold wave of anguish washed over his body. His cold gaze ended as he shut his eyes tightly, re-acclimating himself. His daydreaming was too vivid for him not to be shaken. It’d been eight years since the madman who’d come to be known as the Joker was sentenced to Arkham. Eight years since he himself had made a public appearance. His eyes re-opened slowly, this time his icy blue eyes stared at the floor, afraid that looking out the window would send him back into that uncomfortable gaze of his darkest fears. Bruce’s features sagged as he swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat. This degree of sleepless night would’ve driven a lesser man mad by now but lack of sleep was sure to be affecting even his finely tuned physique at this point. “Master Bruce?” Alfred’s familiar curt voice rang out near the entrance to the study. Bruce turned slowly, considering his freshly mended left leg. “Perhaps we should cancel…” Alfred stopped when his eyes found Bruce’s and saw the ragged torture of the man of whom they belonged. Bruce shook his head gently from side to side. He inhaled deeply, focusing his gaze on his fine Italian leather shoes. He studied them absently noting every detail. The British Butler took another concerned step closer before Bruce looked up and stopped him with a lift of his hand. “I’m fine, Alfred.” His voice was controlled and hid all the emotion his eyes had exposed. Alfred grimaced but nodded in acknowledgement. “The guests are arriving, sir.” Bruce matched Alfred’s gaze and a smile cracked across his lips. “We shouldn’t keep them waiting.” Alfred smiled in return and turned on his heel and went out the way he had come. As soon as Alfred’s back was to him, Bruce’s smile faded nearly as quickly as it had come on. He picked up his finely fitted Gucci jacket from where it had been strewn over the back of a well-upholstered chair. Throwing it over his shoulders, Bruce straightened himself, adjusting the expensive slim back tie that fell down his neck and across the white button up that covered his chiseled abdomen.  His fingers found the flute of a tall champagne glass that had been pre-filled and set on the large oak desk in the middle of the room. Façade assumed, Mr. Wayne walked into the hall and continued past rows and rows of doors that concealed rooms within Wayne Manor. The soft cacophony of many voices filled the hall as he neared the marble entryway where the rich and powerful mingled at the threshold of his home. The noise and voices grew steadily louder as he reached the marble hall. Pillars of polished marble adorned the grandeur of the entryway. The focal point of the room a large grand staircase that split in two different directions as it reached the second floor. No one seemed to notice the host as he slipped into the crowd, holding the glass of champagne to his lips but never actually taking a drink.