Celestial antelopes are viewed as a status symbol. Farmers, in particular, keep them. Though their home and lands may seem humble, the presence of the antelopes tell any who pass otherwise. The creatures are not used for anything like food or fur. They are raised simply to show wealth. In fact, they bear enough significance that they are often used as part of dowries.

in my head, all of my past relationships are nothing but good memories that eventually lead to a break-up, whereas I remember every single argument and fight that my girlfriend and I have had. that’s not to say that our relationship is bad, in fact even though she’s a province away, I feel like we’re stronger than ever.

all of my previous relationships are fictional. happy memories cobbled together by my brain, completely ignoring the warning signs, the bad times, and the issues. what I have now is real. it means something to me. all of those arguments are reminders to be the best person that I can be. for her and for myself. I’ve done some shitty things but she stuck with me despite them and I am so so so thankful because she is honestly my soulmate and I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else in the world.

dicking around with formatting, aww yeahhhh (oh noooo)

By Christ, I am getting at least this sorted by the time I can start adding to the fic again. This is literally just here so I can fiddle with it on the blog using tenses and terrible mobile HTML, and hopefully finally decide on how I’m going to structure the entire thing, so by all means pretend this post doesn’t exist.

Yeah actually please pretend this post doesn’t exist ffffffff

Keep reading

Hot Dad is finally dressed! He’s part of my father-daughter mercenary duo who give each other shit for everything. He’s a ruggedly handsome middle-aged man with a sharp sense of humor. Though he often plays the part of lazy, irresponsible (and occasionally drunk) father who doesn’t have a serious bone in his body, he’s actually very clever and loves his daughter a lot. He also hits on just about everything that breathes, whether it be with his sword or his charm. Despite being a “lecherous old man,” as his daughter claims, he experiences a surprising degree of success.


First round of trying to breed a double sanguine/marigold imp pair utterly failed, so I have mistake kiddos to sell. Each color combo is relatively rare, mostly due to the color wheel expansion having not been out for long. They’re all on the AH.

blood/garnet/gold - 50kt  SOLD
garnet/crimson/gold - 35kt
blood/garnet/gold - 25kt  SOLD
blood/blood/metals - 35kt
blood/blood/marigold - 35kt  SOLD

If they don’t sell, I’ll be exalting them as soon as they grow up.

anonymous asked:

So,,, I saw those tags about your OC Voltaire,,, how exactly did Voltaire get those magical scars? ✩ c:

Bless you anon, I love you more than you know 💖

Okay, to properly explain this, you’re actually going to need some background knowledge:

“In the time before the Arcanist’s awakening, concentrated energies rained across the shattered landscape, seeping into the charred remains of life and industry.

Arcane particles sank deep into the crust, enriching the roots of trees and plants that had been sapped of their life during the blast. Currents of energy coursed up trunks and into the cells of branches. Reactions sparked beneath the surface sending waves of magic through stalks of grass, clusters of bushes, and monumental redwoods. Ethereal flowers erupted from cracks and crevices, and each green cluster grew larger and more robustly than the last. Nature had capitalized on the fallout, taking control of the energies to repair itself.

The rampant regrowth began to take on the guise of a colossal figure. Tree branches and leaves strained and twisted together into four thick, bark-covered stumps. A leafy canopy connected the four towers, until the burgeoning garden had materialized into a distinguishable silhouette. There was no mistaking what had been created: a wyrm of boundless potential, birthed from the leaves and the grass and the moss. The Gladekeeper had grown out of the ashes.

Not everything can be healed. The apocalypse had done more than spur the rejuvenation of flora: the fauna still rotted, left to fester upon the soil, and spoil in the dreadful warmth. Death leveraged the excess energy in another way. Where nature could not mend, decay took its place. Putrid film soaked and crept across the ground, enveloping everything in its path. Whole structures creaked and fell under the weight of the empowered rot that now infected them.

This contagion continued its wave of domination, scouring every corpse and every bit of food. Weaker plants and bodies of water fell sick with filth, and the cycle intensified with each new fallen organism. A runaway viral infection coursed through the veins of the world.

This scourge wrapped around the fallen, ripping away flesh and tearing marrow into a blighted tornado of destruction. Within time, the contamination had taken on a ghastly shape. It haunted the land in the form of a spectral drake, gnarled with veins, pustules and sharpened bone. This harbinger -the Plaguebringer- tested the worth of every sign of regrowth as she scoured over the surface of the realm, leaving behind a frightening scarred wasteland.

It did not take long for the wyrms to encounter one another; each was torn away from their polarized campaigns after sensing the nearness of their nemesis. While the land healed and fell ill all around them, the deities of nature and plague embroiled themselves in vicious, unending combat. Thick roots and brambles wrapped themselves around the Plaguebringer’s legs and arms, chaining her to the earth, only to wither and melt away at her defiling touch. Contagion reached and groped at the Gladekeeper’s every move, but she countered with razor-sharp torrents of bladed leaves and piercing branches. The land took on the hues of red and green as the two sparred and tumbled eternally. Hilltops and cliffs were torn asunder, replaced with lush tropical gardens or seething, stinking, bone piles. Chaos seemed the only constant.”

Tl;dr: During the third age of Sornieth when most other deities were still fused into the pillar, two sisters – the goddesses of Nature and Plague, warred and nearly consumed the earth in their energies. Their elemental energies are complete opposites of each other, but speaking in terms of ‘type match-ups,’ Plague holds a super effective advantage over nature.

Now to explain how Voltaire got his scars…

Voltaire is a nature dragon. Although he was found within shadow territory as a hatchling, his birthplace was still somewhere within the Viridian Labyrinth.

Elliar, Voltaire’s best friend and mate, happens to be a plague dragon. Although both of them know of the history shared between their respective elemental deities, neither dwell too much on it for the simple fact that they love each other and frankly don’t care if their elements are supposed to be mortal enemies.

Now, understand that Elliar absolutely despises the plague element and everything that has to do with plague – that, unfortunately, includes himself. He also knows that because he is a plague dragon, he is actually a massive threat to Voltaire. If he did not care for Voltaire, Elliar could easily injure or kill Voltaire using his elemental abilities. Of course, Elliar would never purposely hurt Voltaire and is honestly terrified of doing so accidentally…

…Sadly, unlike some of his other fears, this one isn’t irrational. Because of his harsh upbringing and mental health issues, Elliar isn’t all that good at controlling his emotions. Sure, he controls himself most of the time, but when he looses control… he REALLY looses control.

It was an unfortunate accident… One slip in his composure was all it took to leave scars that could never heal. 

Of course Voltaire forgave him. How could he not? He loves Elliar. But that doesn’t change the fact that those scars still linger… or the pang of guilt and utter self loathing that Elliar experiences every time he catches a glimpse of the damage he’s done to the one he is supposed to love and protect with all of his heart.

Me, working on the next Pirate AU chapter and realizing it has to be split in half: wellllll guess Book III has 15 chapters now and not 14

*glances at wordcount* welp, I never said I had any chill about this, so

Also when my roommate said the word “pryrex” today I at first thought she said “pirates” so that just shows you where my brain’s at.

(Related I got to have a nice chat today with @feuillyova about writing historical AUs and that is always an A+ thing to discuss).