stabbing things

anonymous asked:

M!A: Shystablook is now Shystablook again / Shystab can go home now. (fingers crossed this is magic word-y enough)

*A magic humming fills the room*

“Are you fucking serious!? That was all it took!?”

“Well, uh.. this sucked less than any other kidnapping I’ve experienced. See you? I guess.”

“……. I-I’m b-back?…. P-please t-tell me I’m h-home….”

*It seems like Shysta’s a little worse for wear.. I wonder where they’ve been.

EVENT END

I wasn’t all-in on the Akira/Yusuke subtext because yeah, the game (or at least the localization) definitely lets you play Akira as bi, but Yusuke is in his own little world 90% of the time he isn’t stabbing things. 

Then I got the reaction to the big reveal, and Yusuke musing about how hot smug Akira must have been when his plan came together.  Like this is really aesthetically and personally satisfying to him.

And now I am like

Exactly how much of that summer did you guys spend making out as a friendly “art experiment”???

Beware the Ides of March

this isn’t the fic i intended to write today (or ever really) but it’s the fic that happened so

read on ao3

Bellamy doesn’t believe in any higher power, not really. He also doesn’t believe in fate, or coincidence, or any of those other things that people like to blame random happenings on.

But he will admit that if he did actually believe in any of those things, he would be fully convinced that they were laughing at his misfortune at this very minute which. Honestly, he would be too if not for the stab wound in his side. Stab wounds apparently make the whole laughing thing kind of difficult. Who’d’ve known.

“Would you just hold still?” Clarke huffs as she tries to clean the wound.

“No.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And your bedside manner sucks, princess.”

She pinches the soft skin on the inside of his bicep and he yelps, glaring at her balefully.

It’s not like he wants to be here, sitting on the uncomfortable examination table in the ER, shirt off, and paper crinkling noisily beneath him each time he so much as breathes. No one ever wants to be in the ER, leaking blood all over the place because they were fucking stabbed in a mugging gone wrong, not even if the opportunity lends itself to a bout of truly morbid humour.

Just this morning he was telling his sophomores about the Ides of March and now here he is, living his own version of it. Again, he would be laughing except- stab wound.

Clarke is bent over his side, wisps of blonde hair escaping her braid and looking platinum in the harsh fluorescent hospital lighting. Her eyebrows are furrowed as she goes over the cut with antiseptic, and he hisses once more.

“That hurts,” he grunts, and then flinches again when she goes back in with another piece of gauze. Most of the bleeding has stopped, but there’s still a lazy trickle that she has to keep wiping up intermittently.

“Stab wounds tend to do that,” she deadpans.

Keep reading

ok but has anyone noticed that when john and mary are dancing mary looks sherlock dead in the eyes as she holds john tight to her and sherlock is just there, watching, feeling awkward. this is probably the moment he realises beyond everything else that he quite simply does not belong here, in this room, where everyone has someone to dance with and he, as ever, has no one. 

alone is what he has. alone protects him.

except now he knows what it’s like to have someone, so what once protected him is now slowly killing him.

"I wonder what I said..."

Okay, so, my rogue recently bought an ice short sword. Whilst in a battle, though, she stabbed a fire-being thing, which negated both the power of the monster and my sword. So, Minster shatters. Yay! Sword shatters. Not yay.

Me: “Well that was a waste of gold.”
“DM: “The hilt is still getting really, really cold in your hand.”
Me: “Huh, I should probably put it down.”
DM: “It’s starting to burn your hand with cold, so maybe.”

So she puts down the hilt, and the little gem in it starts to crack and shatter and out pops a tiny ice elemental, which we ended up giving water and stuff to grow it to a bigger size while trying to talk to it.

The necromancer tries to use an ice spell to make friends.

Me: “Are you trying to steal the elemental?!”
Necro: “Yeah, kinda.”
Me: “I paid for that sword, if that elemental is going to make friends with anyone, it’ll be me!”
Necro: “Awww, but-”
ME: “You have your zombies, now go away!”

Everyone else gives up on communication with it, but I paid for that fuckin’ sword, I’m not giving up yet.

DM: “The elemental continues to look at you, making gust sounds and whistling.”
Me: “Uh, I’ll start whistling back! Let’s hope I don’t accidentally offend it.”
DM: “Roll bluff.”
Me: “21”
DM: “It makes a high pitched whistle at you and begins moving forward.”
Me: “Lets see how this one backfires. I whistle some more. I probably insulted its mother by accident or something.”
DM: It gets to you and touches the base of your pants, melts and the water begins traveling up your body.“
Me: "UM, Ice elemental I am flattered but taken! Oh fuck did I seduce the elemental? My girlfriend is gonna be so pissed.”

DM:“It goes up your body to your chain shirt, and freezes again, giving you another point of armor and a resistance to cold.”

Me: “Oh. That’s cool! Now I can make ice puns.”
Everyone Else: “Oh shit, no, not more puns.”

And I’m guessing I’ll never find out what was said in that conversation with the ice elemental.

9

married bbies 。゚◟ (*; ▽  ;)◞。゚ 。

anonymous asked:

Just stay with me: marichat?

Marinette huddled under her blanket, her hands clutched around a mug of steaming tea to help fight off the cold. 

She didn’t want to go inside. 

She had thought she had seen the worst of it. She had faced down so many akumas. She had fought against her best friend with barely a flinch of hesitation, knowing that she could do what needed to be done and that everything would be alright. She thought there was nothing she couldn’t handle. 

She had never thought she might have to fight her own mother. 

Marinette huddled further into the corner of her terrace. 

They had been victorious of course. Cleansing the akuma and restoring the city to rights. But while the superficial damage may have been repaired, the emotional damage was taking a toll that Marinette had never realized was possible until it struck at the heart of her own family. 

The attack last night had been all over the news. They always were. The first time the footage aired that morning Marinette had watched in horror as her usually indomitable mother had burst into tear, shutting herself in the bedroom and leaving a silent Tom and Marinette to finish the morning preparation. The normally bustling bakery had been a ghost town, and even though Marinette was off from school her father had told her there was little she could help with and to go enjoy her day off since there wasn’t much to be done.

Alya had insisted that this was normal and would die down in a day or two, sending Marinette several links to articles and interviews she had done on the subject. It didn’t do much to lift Marinette’s spirits, but she couldn’t help but feel an awed sense of pride at the incredible dedication her friend had towards her site.  

Sabine had of course eventually recovered after a few hours. Coming down and joining Tom in the empty shop, but in spite of her attempts to act as though everything was fine, the general atmosphere was sullen. Tom had ultimately retreated to the kitchen to take his frustrations out on a new bread recipe he had wanted to try, and Marinette had retreated to her balcony. 

She felt like a failure. 

She kept seeing the image of her mother- twisted and transformed into one of Hawkmoths minions, glaring at her lunging forward to rob her of her Miraculous. 

It had been by far one of her worst fights. Her mind had been unable to focus, instead racing with questions and wondering if she could have stopped this. 

Thank God for Chat. He had immediately registered her distress and more than picked up the slack, taking the lead for a change. He had forsaken his habitual good humored flirting and managed the battle with a quiet, efficient intensity that she would not have expected from her usually exuberant partner.

It had been over in a matter of minutes, one of their shorter battles if she was being honest. But it had somehow felt like an eternity, and she had barely been able to get through the traditional fist bump before fleeing the scene so that no one would see her burst into tears. 

Now here she was, huddled helplessly against the wind, her face stained with tears that had been falling on and off for the last few hours, ashamed to go inside. 

She heard the sound of footfalls on the roof and looked up expecting to see her father. Instead she was met with the concerned green eyes of her partner. 

“Chat… what are you doing here?” she asked fighting the urge to attempt to straighten up her appearance. 

“I like to check up on the victims after the attacks,” he said collapsing his baton and stowing it behind his back. 

“I wasn’t the victim.” 

“I know. I already spoke to your mother down in the bakery.”

“Oh,” Marinette said, surprised, “How…” she trailed off. 

“She’ll be ok,” Chat said coming to sit down beside her. “She was blaming herself for something she had no control over.” He gave Marinette an assessing glance. “Seems to be a trait with the Cheng women I see.” 

She laughed softly then scooted closer and dropped her head against his shoulder. Too tired and too heartsick to care that she was untransformed and therefore shouldn’t be showing this level of familiarity.

Chat’s eyes widened slightly in surprise but he made no effort to stop her, only adjusting slightly so they fit together in a more comfortable angle. 

“I didn’t know you did this,” she said quietly. 

“Did what?”

“Visited with the victims. It’s very kind of you.” 

“No one should have to go through something like this alone,” he said, “pain is worse if you don’t talk to anyone about it. It can change you, leave you broken. Even hurt the people around you.” 

“You sound like you have some experience on the subject.” 

“I might.” 

She nodded slightly and took a small sip of her tea. “Do you talk to all of the victims?” she asked curiously. 

“No, not all of them. Some of them don’t need it, I’ll go to check in on them and they will already be on the road to recovery. Your friend Alya for example. She had her own ways of coping.” 

“You should have talked to her anyways. You know she would have adored getting a personal visit from Chat Noir.”

“You know in retrospect you are right,” he said with a small smile. “Next time I’m on patrol I’ll make a point of letting her catch me for an interview. Unless you want to make my life easier and just help with a set up?” 

“She’s coming over for a sleepover tomorrow night,” Marinette said feeling warmer for the first time all day.

“I’ll be sure to coincidentally land on your balcony during my rounds. Say around 9:00?” 

Marinette smiled. 

“So, who was the most difficult person for you to talk to?” she asked. 

Chat thought for a moment, his brow furrowing in concentration. 

“Probably the little girl, the one who stole all your dolls, remember?” 

“You talked to Manon?” 

“Yeah, that one was rough. Not gonna lie I went home that night and put together a Hawkmoth dart board. Might have gotten a little carried away. Even stabbed the thing with a fencing sword if you can believe it.” 

Marinette laughed, pressing closer against her partner and he wrapped an arm around her. 

“That’s actually kind of fantastic,” she said, “Do you still have it?” 

“Nah, my father made me take it down. I think it freaked him out that I was violently lashing out what most of Paris thinks of as some unknown mystical super being.” 

“What do you think of him as?” 

“Exactly what he is- some guy in a suit who thinks its ok to terrorize innocent people for his own selfish gain. He might have powers but he’s just an ordinary man.” 

“Like you are?” she said, looking up at him and for the first time desperately wishing she could know the boy behind the mask. 

“Exactly.” 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Marinette sipping on her tea without really tasting it and Chat rubbing his hand idly up and down her arm over the blanket. 

“Why did you come to talk to me?” Marinette asked at last. 

“Because you looked like you needed a friend,” he replied. 

“I do,” she admitted, hating the pricking of tears she could feel returning to her eyes, “I really do.” 

“Is there anything I can do for you princess?” he asked tenderly, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her in close. 

“Just stay with me.” 


Look I did angst!!!! Part of my 4 word prompt drabbles. Not taking on new ones atm just finishing the ones I have. 

Aaand here’s what I’ve been working on! Sorry it’s a day late, I’m a bit slow at drawing. It’s not really that good. That background is waaaay too plain. Well, it was fun either way. Hope you enjoy looking at it as much as I enjoyed making it! c:

wait wait wait

Pillars of Eternity had both their kickstarters boosted on Crit Role, and they let Matt use the Pillars music, and Matt, Taliesin, Sam and Liam all did voices for PoE - ok ok guys just hear me out but you should totally make Vox Machina bonus bosses in Deadfire.