many a fine lady

me: people dont like me bc im annoying and boring and a bad friend and theyre just pitying me when i bother them

some of my friends: i like you and enjoy talking to you and like being your friend :)


Sibylline Song

(Alright, here it is. The unedited, unfinished mer!Stiles fic. Warnings include: assholes, angst, violence, people being specist, and references to canon deaths.)


Their journey begins with the usual amount of pomp and ceremony expected for a trade ship.

It’s the Triskelion’s forty second voyage from the colder, northern channels of Bæyan to the warm waters of Coca-Machu, and the crew means to make it a good one. Nothing too dangerous—they’re going to actually try trading this time—and everything will go smoothly. Even the weather has been fair to them since they left Port Duke with the morning tide. Many of the crew had waved goodbye to the few friends they’d made over the years, and perhaps a few enemies too. Others were more than glad to leave the port as quickly as they did.

“Are you still moping?”

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HxH Sexuality HeadCannons

Kurapika: Asexual. Kurapika meets many fine looking ladies and gents throughout the series but never so much as gives a second look. If he has any interest he does a good job of hiding it.

Leorio: Heterosexual. I apologize to all the LeorioxKurapika lovers, but Leorio is very obvious and open about his attraction to the ladies. Checkout Exam Arc, third phase.

Gon: Pansexual. This one is a tough call. Gon is certainly attracted to ladies based upon all the dates he’s been on and the fact that he enjoys them. However, with Gon’s fun loving personality, I wonder if gender has any significance to him at all; he’d be more of the person to love for personality.

Killua: Homosexual. Killua never shows any interest in girls. When he meets Bisky and thinks they’re the same age, he just thinks she’s annoying, and the same goes for Palm. However, Gon can always make Killua blush. 

Hisoka: Pansexual. Do I even need to explain this one? Considering all his creepy lip lickings Hisoka would probably have sex with a chimera ant.

Five Levels of conversation, viewed by Harry Dresden

“I read an article once that said that when women have a conversation, they’re communicating on five levels. They follow the conversation that they’re actually having, the conversation that is specifically being avoided, the tone being applied to the overt conversation, the buried conversation that is being covered only in subtext, and finally the other person’s body language.

That is, on many levels, astounding to me. I mean, that’s like having a freaking superpower. When I, and most other people with a Y chromosome, have a conversation, we’re having a conversation. Singular. We’re paying attention to what is being said, considering that, and replying to it. All these other conversations that have apparently been going on for the last several thousand years? I didn’t even know that they existed until I read that stupid article, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one.

I felt somewhat skeptical about the article’s grounding. There were probably a lot of women that didn’t communicate on multiple wavelength at once. There were probably men who could handle that many just fine. I just wasn’t one of them.

So, ladies, if you ever have some conversation with your boyfriend or husband or brother or male friend, and you are telling him something perfectly obvious, and he comes away from it utterly clueless? I know it’s tempting to thing to yourself, ‘The man can’t possibly be that stupid!’

But yes. Yes, he can.

Our innate strengths just aren’t the same. We are the mighty hunters, who are good at focusing on one thing at a time. For crying out loud, we have to turn down the radio in the car if we suspect we’re lost and need to figure out how to get where we’re going. That’s how impaired we are. I’m telling you, we have only the one conversation. Maybe some kind of relationship veteran like Michael Carpenter can do two, but that’s pushing the envelope. Five simultaneous conversations? Five?

Shah. That just isn’t going to happen. At least, not for me.”

– Harry Dresden, in Cold Days by Jim Bucther, Dresden Files book 14.

Grumbles about cosplay being left out as part of “fan art”

Realizes that gif makers get almost no recognition

Realizes people sing fan songs with no recognition

Realizes people build the damn car from the ground up with no recognition

Carefully hangs plaid shirt back up in closet to fight another day

@hanabiira (starter).

She had the yellow hair of someone so dear to him…it was always a conflict between adoration and feeling indignant, when Kenryu should come across someone that looked so like the princess. No one should glow so much as her. But she was born in the image of so many fine ladies before her…

“Pardon me, but could you point me in the direction of the Kyuubantai?” He had long ago declined to take a position there, in favor of serving his clan. But he needed them now, as his own and Enryu’s protection would not be enough for the upcoming event. He’d forgotten his way around…the last time he’d been so knee-deep in the winding roads of the inner seireitei he has been on such a dire mission for the Rurichiyo-sama’s well-being.

helenawayne  asked:

Top five places to eat in LA

Ah yes, now we get into my true passion: street food and frozen delectables.

1. Kogi BBQ: The OG that launched the food truck movement across North America if not the world. Roy Choi is my personal Jesus. Where he goes, I follow. (Moving Target)

2. El Flamin’ on 5th & Vermont: A king among the roving intrepid feeders of men, this particular location is in a dodgy bit of K-Town and is cash only, but the al pastor melts in your mouth since a man is tending an open flame and shaving meat directly into a taco shell with a slice of grilled pineapple for the hell of it. (Koreatown)

3. The Danger Dog Lady: Look, there’s many a fine folk competing for your business as you walk down the street at midnight after a movie or a concert, but keep walking until you see the older lady beckon you with greasy tongs. This is who you want. This is who will take care of you. If you get food poisoning, it’s not my fault. (Everywhere)

4. Salt N Straw: I was there the day this behemoth opened. Small-batch ice creams with local farm-to-cone ingredients. Where else am I going to get my blood ice cream fix? (Larchmont)

5. Honeymee: This Korean transplant does one thing and does it well. True dairy milk ice cream (not too sweet, but not tart) is topped with raw, organic honeycomb. That’s it’s. That’s why you’re here. (Koreatown)

transparent reisi from that one k:mk poster!!
scanned by the lovely tsukareteru-tako~✧
this is for a and an anon who asked for a transparent munakata a long time ago i’m sorry i didn’t get to it then here you go!!
smoke’s there too (you can’t really see it on white but) this should look fine on a darker background~


Townes Van Zandt Many A Fine Lady


Pastel Gradient and Bamboo Stamping

 I first did a gradient using China Glaze In A Lily Bit and Orly Harmonious Mess. Then I stamped some bamboo leaves and lotus flowers with two MoYou London plates from the Suki Collection and China Glaze Public Relations which is a great stamping polish.

I just love how soft and romantic these pastel polishes look together and how Public Relations just adds depht to this many. Hope you fine ladies love these as much as I did. Have a great week!

if one person seriously if just ONE person told me or informed me when i was younger that being gay is just fine like i would have kissed so many ladies by now ugh i’m bitter about it 

Untitled For Now (@tannimandrune)

*Ting* *Ting*

All it took were two taps on her champagne glass to silence an entire foyer of the social elite. Politicians, CEOs, world class doctors, and those of the more secretive businesses, all turned their gazes towards the top of the grand staircase.

Alison looked down on them all with feigned enthusiasm and a winning smile. Her bright orange hair, tied in a long braid, flowed down over her shoulder and over her sparking flower decked cream gown.

Compared to her, the guests below were boring. Bland colors matched their bland and fake personalities. They were always so boring that whenever they all gathered in one place, their mediocrity would congeal and begin to make Alison choke up.

But she’d take it; Alison would forge her way through this dreadful night to keep up appearances.

Coming from a family that had its hands in the workings of the government, or governments to be precise, and the most productive world-wide corporations, both above and below the metaphorical ground, a public image needed to be maintained.

Said image called for the entire mansion, from top to bottom, to be showered in the most extravagant of decorations, for tables upon tables of expensive food that the guests would peck at (Ty and Bradley would eat the rest anyway), and subtle perfumes saturating the air for added atmosphere.

It was a good thing Alison enjoyed organizing the parties otherwise she’d commit mass murder over the amount of time and stress it took to prepare and dealing with her guests during the actual party.

During this particular facade of a wonderful evening, the theme featured hellenistic culture and lore. Gods, just say it’s Ancient Greek bullshit. 

The golden champagne tower was decorated with golden laurel leaves as was the fountain outside. Statues of the old asshole gods lined the gardens, dressed in real period accurate clothes, and the furniture was purposely remodeled to match. The only thing that remained unchanged were the roses. The Mansion of Roses always had to have them, for aesthetics and security. 

“So why the Greek theme?” One of the party goers had asked. In reply, Alison winked slyly at the half drunk man who had celebrated his ten year anniversary with Alison’s brother instead of his wife. Then she ascended the stairs and tapped on her glass.

“And here we are, back to where we started,” Alison muttered as she approached the pedestal positioned at the top of the stairs. A red velvet tarp was draped over the object of interest and with much gusto, and a bit of magic, Alison sweeped the tarp off to reveal an ancient, cracked marble water jug. The paint had long since chipped off, revealing a pristine white marble skin.

The crowd ooed and ahhed, clapping even though most had absolutely no idea what it was. Alison could have just placed the toilet brush on the pedestal and they would have done the same, either to play along with the crowd or out of fear.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, love inspires idiocy,” Alison smirked and her guests laughed, playing along with her act. “It is an unknown force that can bring out the worst, the best, the most insane ideas out of us. Orpheus went all the way into the underworld for his love. Psyche had to deal with a psycho in-law to get her diapered baby man. I think many of the fine ladies here know how she felt about that.” Alison joked and high pitched laughter echoed across the foyer.

“But then, there’s Demetrius. No last name. He made a water jug for his lady love, Or mister love. The Greeks were good with that,” Alison said as she ran a finger down the smooth curve of the marble, reliving old memories. “A cute gesture at first glance but despite Demetrius’ name, he was said to have been a descendant of the God of Wine. If one were to fill the jug with water, the sweet ambrosia of the gods would flow out. But only for his love.”

“For ages, this token of love had faded from time, seemingly lost forever. But, as you all know quite well, the world’s riches flow and flow but they must always flow through us. My family thanks you all for attending and donating to the charity party,” Alison curtsied, avoiding actually naming the charity foundation. She had already forgotten their names. “As a reward, enjoy yourselves and take a gander at the long lost work of love, uncovered and returned at last.”

Thunderous applause resounded off the walls of the mansion and bright camera flashes blinded Alison as the reporters and photographers fought for her best angle.

With her speech done, Alison descended the stairs and a line formed, leading up to the ancient jug. She should have stayed to make small talk with the guests about the piece but she was starving for good company and that was brooding by the fountain.

Pushing past the throng on interested and very rich guests, dispensing pleasantries and empty compliments along the way, Alison was handed a new champagne flute by a faceless butler and headed for the fountain outside.

“Almost couldn’t make it here. Everyone’s so tall.” Alison commented, sitting herself beside Zain on the edge of the fountain. The water gurgled merrily in contrast to Zain’s glowering. 

“Then make yourself look taller. You look like a kid. Didn’t you tell them you were supposed to be twenty-two?” Zain leered at Alison, finishing his eighth flute of champagne and setting the empty glass on the pyramid he had began to build.

“Is something wrong? You usually like parties or…you jealous of another cutie?” Alison smirked, even though she had no idea who that was. She hadn’t had a fling for…a week and a half maybe? That cutie was at the bottom of the pacific now and there weren’t any other people so what was Zain talking about?

“I’m done actually. Did a little thinking,” Zain said, loosening his red tie and tugging it off of his neck. “You know how dangerous thinking can be even if you don’t do that much.” Zain sneered, bunching up the cloth in his hands.

“Hm, that so? What have you been thinking?” Alison frowned, mood souring. “Certainly nothing to do with you being a prick lately, right?”

“Fifty-nine.” Zain stated, clutching one of the empty glasses so hard that the neck snapped in half. It reminded him of number twenty-eight and he tossed the broken pieces into the water just as he did with twenty-eight.

“…You’ve been counting?” Alison furrowed her brow after taking a moment to understand what he had meant.

“All day and night lately,” Zain said, gritting his teeth. “And I’ve decided, I don’t care.” Zain said, relaxing his shoulders and flashing the same winning and fake smile.

“Pfft, liar,” Alison rolled her eyes and reached her hands around Zain’s neck. “You know how many times you’ve said that?…I don’t know but you never last. Not even three seconds.” Alison said as her lips neared Zain’s.

His eyes began to close and he started to lean in for a kiss, only to snap back and almost shove Alison into the fountain.

“Not this time,” He said, standing as he lit a cigarette. “This time, let’s see how long you last…kiddo.” Zain chuckled, before raising his hand in greeting to a group of swooning young ladies and men. 

Alison didn’t bother to chase after him. If she just sat there and did nothing, he’d come crawling back like always. No matter what Alison was, Zain would always come back. She could be a manticore-wendingo hybrid and he’d still beg for her/him/it.

Alison sat confidently on the fountain with only a pile of empty glasses for company. She was confident and for the first hour, she applauded his resolve. The second hour, Alison spent talking ‘business’ with a disguised drug lord, his girlfriend, and other people who weren’t worth her time. By the third hour, a clear empty space was made around her to avoid the menacing aura she was giving off.

“Boring,” Alison growled after sucking down the last of a tray of alcohol. “Boring. So so boring!” She huffed, collecting her skirts in her hands and walking back into the main foyer. She brushed off the farewells of the departing guests and made her way up the stairs and back to the displayed artifact.

There was no security that was obvious around the jug save for one of the maids standing by to take pictures for anyone who wanted to see themselves next to a glorified pitcher. 

“Miss Dellacroix?” The maid stepped forward and curtsied. 

“Are we still using that name?” Alison tched, snagging the jug off the pedestal, shooting one last tired smile at another departing guest.

“Mr. Dellacroix, your brother, has left with some companions. He will return in the morning or afternoon.” The maid informed Alison and she curled her fingers into fists, drawing blood from her palms.

“Fine, I hope he has fun dipping himself into twenty-five year old disease ridden ass.” Alison laughed harshly before walking up the left flight of stairs.“

"Put this back in the vault,” Alison told one of the wandering butlers before callously tossing him the jug. The jug hit the butler’s chest and slammed him against the wall. “The mansion better be spotless by tomorrow.” She hissed threateningly before slipping into the master bedroom.

Slamming the door behind her, Alison melted back into a puddle and her dress collapsed in on itself and on top of her.

Alison’s gelatinous form slithered out from under the dress and moved towards the bed. It was a plush king size with silver sheets and puffy pillows. Roses decorated it as they did the closet, the bookshelves, the work desk and even the draperies. 

If Zain decided to come back early, the roses, her makeshift eyes, would know.

Alison crawled under the sheets and again, for hours, she waited.

She was alone in the mansion, not including the hired help and illegal security. The rest of her family, save for Zain, had spread themselves across the globe to deal with their own business. Alison was stuck here being the face and event organizer. That was quickly getting old and seeing a full spread of her image in newspapers and magazines didn’t even make her grin anymore. All these business deals, charity fundraisers, trust meetings, and the like had already gotten bland in the seventeenth century. 

If some of her other siblings were around, at least one would listen to her rant before Zain got back. Which would be soon. He must have practiced; Zain never stayed away from her for this long.

2AM rolled around and the left side of the bed was still empty. Alison had already ran transformed into every type of flower she had ever eaten and Zain was still off somewhere.

“I’ll get you. I’ll kill you. Rip you to shreds and dump you in acid,” Alison hissed at the absent man, boiling holes into the bed sheets. Realizing she had ruined the bed again, Alison whispered a spell and the cloth repaired itself. “Fine. I won’t care either. I’ll find something to do." 

Alison wriggled, trying to think something up but came to nothing but dead ends and Zain. The fallback. The one who would be there always. An unbreakable promise…till now.

She refused to feel sad. Alison hadn’t felt sad for years. Bored sometimes, but never sad let alone lonely. But every part of her ached but as she thought and though about Zain and his voice, his hands, and his smile, the pained aches turned into furious flames searing her being.

"Maybe I’ll put a curse on Zain…No, he knows my curses. What’s worse than a curse? Eugh, Demetrius wasn’t this troublesome. Not till he died,” Alison muttered, rustling the bed. “Gods, it’s always just the same thing over and over with me. I’m becoming bland.This must be a nightmare. How am I going to turn it into Zain’s nightmare?”

In response, the roses whispered and shifted. Alison, deciding that they were right, drifted off into a magic assisted sleep. She’ll figure out something by the morning.

A Light In The Dark

TITLE: A Light In The Dark


AUTHOR: freudensteins-monster


GENRE: Smut, Angst…

FIC SUMMARY: Loki and Sigyn finally have a moment alone but are rudely interrupted.


AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: A follow up to It Started Out With A Kiss, which in itself is a prequel to Agony & Ecstasy. Perhaps I should start calling this my Logyn saga? :/

As their relationship progressed it had become increasingly difficult for the young lovers to keep their hands off one another, and even more difficult to find a moment alone free from interruption. After three days spent away from his beloved, due to lessons and familial obligations, the younger prince was going out of his mind with desire. Sigyn too, it seemed. She would often find reasons to cross Loki’s part throughout the day, even excusing herself from her own lessons to do so, but they barely had a moment to share a kiss before they had to part ways, lest they be discovered.

On the morning of the fourth day Loki sat glumly in the dining hall, toying with his breakfast, too distracted to eat. His schedule was relatively free that day but Sigyn would be training with Eir and would probably retire to her own rooms after a day of potions and flesh wounds. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, sitting several spaces down from him on the opposite side of the table. He could have sworn he saw the faintest smirk as she rose from the table and exited the dining hall. Loki longed to chase after her but restrained himself as best he could, waiting a full agonising minute before following.

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