taken in a place with no name

juantriforce042  asked:

2, 9, 4, 20, 26!! :)

How long have you been drawing?
Since I was a small, little monster. My grandfather placed a pen in my hand when I was little and I never let go of it since.

How much time do you spend drawing on an average day?
Eeeeh, depends on how busy I am w/schoolwork on certain days, but I try to draw/sketch maybe 3 hours a day? ^^; Weekends are taken up by nothing but doodling and sketching awful stuff XD

Do you have a DeviantArt, personal website, or art blog?
DeviantArt (Starlight10058) and Furaffinity (EternalGawd) (lol, I was never original with names…or was too lazy to come up with something. So I hit the name generators a lot XD)

What is the easiest thing for you to draw?
I’ve noticed it’s usually female characters (especially Disney gals) that I find the easiest to draw!

For digital artists: what program(s) do you use?
ArtRage Lite, and recently, Paint Tool SAI!


It’s been a while since I posted about Black Roses, so I wanted to give an update!  To start, yes, the comic will still be happening. There have been several reasons for delays.  First of those reasons is simply work and major life changes getting in the way.  The second is the story itself has been going through some very rough iterations.  It was in a place where I wasn’t even sure I enjoyed it, so rather than try to tell a story I wasn’t proud of, I’ve taken a few steps back and Black Roses is going through some intensive reconstruction.  The idea itself is still mostly the same.  It’s still set in the twenties and still focuses on a mob family.  The characters from the cast pictures I’ve posted in the past are still all present and accounted for, it’s just some of them now have larger roles, one had a name change, and others are still a little up in the air.  That said, the images in this post will be chapter covers and the characters on them are set and will not be changing in any significant way.  These were  a lot of fun to do and I hope you enjoy them, and keep an eye out for more updates on Black Roses!

*Edit:  Oops, accidentally posted the wrong cover for Fio.  Fixed it.

Handwriting 2/2

I said I would write a Steve POV for this and then kind of forgot? Well, I finally remembered, so here it is!

I just reblogged part one, but you can find it here.

4200 words, watch for the cut!

When he was growing up, writing on the skin was a difficult prospect. He’d been taught that it was rude to write anywhere that might show up in an embarrassing place for his soulmate. Arms, hands, even lower legs and the tops of the feet were out, but writing anywhere that was covered by clothing was lewd and shameful. What if his soulmate had taken her shirt off one night and found his name written on her chest or thighs? The very idea had been enough to make his teenage-self flush in shameful arousal and had led to more than one embarrassing situation.

The compromise had been the bottom of the feet. His mom wrote his name for him the first, spelled out in flowing letters from his heel to the bottom of his toes on his left foot. It had tickled and she’d only been able to write a letter at a time so he could stop and giggle. She’d ended up sitting on him so he couldn’t accidentally wiggle out of her grip half-way through, and when she’d finished he had to sit with his foot on the window sill to let the ink dry.

“Now your solemate will know your name,” his mom had teased, tickling his opposite foot until he was shrieking with laughter. He didn’t get the pun until many years later when he’d learned to spell.

He’d checked his opposite foot every few minutes those first couple of days, waiting for another name to appear. Everyone knew that soul ink didn’t start manifesting until after soulmates had touched skin-to-skin, so playing tag at school took on a new context that Steve had found a little cruel. Mostly it was the boys chasing after the girls, while the girls tried to escape. Steve had never been very good at running anyways, so he’d ended up helping the girls hide while he’d misdirected the boys’ efforts around the playground.

Still, he continued to check his right foot every night, and when the ink started to fade, he’d trace over the letters again and again.

By the time he made it to high school, writing his name on his foot had become a habit as much as combing his hair or tying his shoes. By then, his classmates had started flouting the rules – names would appear in small writing on palms or wrists, and Steve had once seen Mary Lewis edge up her skirt so she could write on the inside of her thigh, right there in class. Anyone who was caught with visible ink got lines or cleaning duty, but that didn’t stop them. Bucky ended up in detention for a whole month when he’d taken a paint brush to write “HELLO SWEET THING” all the way up his left forearm in thick, tall letters.  

A few of his classmates paired off and used their soul ink to pass notes back and forth in class, and Steve would feel the bottom of his foot tingling whenever he caught one of them at it.

After his mom died, he’d covered his entire chest in ink – doodles, words, meaningless slashes of thick lines over his ribs and across his heart. No one wrote back, but Bucky had walked into the room and caught him at it one day. It was a private thing, and almost as bad as someone catching him touching himself like that, but Steve had just forced himself to straighten up and let his shirt hang open so Bucky could see the ruin he’d made of his skin. Bucky hadn’t said a thing, just set his fingertips on the messy scrawl of ‘Where are you?’ and then pulled Steve’s shirt closed and did up the buttons.


The USO tour had been a different kind of thing. He’d been in the dressing room with the girls every night, and once they’d gotten used to him, they hadn’t been shy about taking their clothes off with him hiding behind a dressing screen trying to get into or out of his tights.

Some of the girls had a lot of ink. Lisa’s torso was painted from just under the line of her ribs to the crease of her hipbones, and Annabel had a permanent tattoo on the sole of her left foot. The other girls had called her brave and giggled with her when she’d shown them all, and Steve should have looked away because ink was private, but he’d been so stunned by the very idea of a permanent tattoo (on a dame no less) that he’d just stared at her with his mouth hanging open.

“You’re such a boy, Steve Rogers,” she’d said, nudging his hip with her tattooed foot. “I just got tired of writing it over and over, so I figured this was better.”

“Who would even do that for you?” he’d babbled to the laughter of the girls around him.

“I did it, silly,” Annabel had said, and then had given him a sly look and asked, “You want one?”

Steve had turned about seven shades of red and got himself out of the dressing room as fast as he could without hurting anyone.

It hadn’t taken long for the girls to find out that he was an artist. By the end of the tour he’d been writing and drawing on them by request, all the while aware that his mother would have had a heart attack if she’d caught him putting ink on a lady who wasn’t his soulmate. She’d have gone apoplectic if she’d walked into that one hotel room in Minnesota with Steve sprawled on a squeaky bed in nothing but his shorts with six girls drawing on his skin.


The Army was another brand of different. They didn’t have ink just lying around, but that wasn’t about stop the guys from writing lewd messages on themselves. After better than a year with the choir girls, Steve had lost all of his shyness about ink, and their early attempts to shock him with their writing had only escalated when he hadn’t responded with the shock they’d expected.

The Howling Commandos used charcoal mostly, or campfire ash. If one of the guys fell asleep on watch, whoever found him would scrawl all over his face and then kick his ass awake. Steve mostly turned a blind eye to it, even that time that they’d found a stash of Nazi liquor and gotten rip-roaring drunk. Dum Dum had come up with the bright idea to strip naked and write Suck It on his cock with the fountain pen they’d found in the base commander’s desk. Dum Dum had been sore and itchy for days afterward and Steve hadn’t felt a bit of pity for him.

He hadn’t found it quite as funny when Bucky had wrestled him to the ground and wrote I won’t give away my sniper’s nest in the goddamned field like a fucking idiot all over his chest.

“Don’t blaspheme on my skin, Buck,” Steve had tried to protest, but his soulmate could be a person of faith, but he’d just gotten another goddamn fucking idiot for his efforts, and really, he’d deserved it.


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Ice skates and Burlesque -Part one- @runesque

Viktor didn’t know why he agreed to do this. Oh wait. He didn’t. Chris and Mila had thrown him into a car, drove, and refused to give him any information. As far as Viktor was concerned, Mila and Chris had taken him hostage.

Chris was a regular here, at the club Yu-topia. How did Viktor know this? Because Chris would have his daily rants about this place. The bartender, Minako literally asked if Chris wanted the usual. Once the dancer on stage stepped off, a man replaced her. His back was to the audience, but even from here, Viktor could tell that this kid was muscular. The man tilted his head to the left to face them slightly. From the way the crowd was cheering, the man was named Eros.

What a clever name. The god of pleasure and love.  Especially for a burlesque dancer at a club. Eros slipped off a glove with a small smirk.  Meanwhile, Chris was already quite drunk and stuck a glass of frothing beer into Viktor’s hand.

“Take it … it’ll make your night better.” Chris slurred. Mila was somewhere, talking up men and drinking. Normally, Viktor was fine with drinking, but this? Right now he was in a club with horny men and women, and honestly, he wanted to get home safe. Viktor declined Chris’s offer and just grabbed a coke. He sipped it, watching Eros. Mila had now came towards Viktor, berating him for not going out and having fun.

“Viiktooor! Wwhy aren’t yooou ouut and daancinng wiiith thaaat Eeeeroos guuy?” Mila giggled, dragging her words. Viktor sat, and observed Eros. As more and more of his clothes disappeared, Viktor could very clearly see that Eros was very muscular, but lean. Eros was also quite handsome, but Viktor wasn’t here to find someone to spend the night with. Strangely, Mila and Chris hung right next to him for the entire performance, occasionally exchanging a few words with each other. Chris kept sticking alcohol into Viktor’s hands, and Viktor kept refusing to drink. Mila was hanging to him, completely dead drunk and muttering gibberish in his ear. Viktor pushed her off and was murmuring bloody murder. Mila and Chris would get a taste of his-as Yuri called them,- knife shoes.

Viktor wondered what he’d done to deserve this. Tomorrow was an exhibition, and apparently to ‘ease’ his nerves, Chris and Mila thought it appropriate to go to a club and get drunk like hell. Or they had something else planned, and Viktor had a plan to not stick around for that. But it’s kind of hard to move when you have two adults hanging on to you, refusing to budge. While a little alcohol is known to ease nerves, drinking and skating were quite dangerous. Chris and Mila didn’t realize the flaw in the plan. They kept trying to get Viktor very drunk.

But they didn’t realize that becoming dead drunk would give you one nasty hangover. Hungover and skating were not a good combination. As Viktor was buried in his thoughts, Eros noticed the one person that wasn’t watching him.

Very well. Was this a challenge, now? Eros smirked and made sure that his composure wasn’t slipping. It’s not easy to dance when drunk. Once he was done with his performance, he swiveled on his heel and pointed to that person that looked everywhere but him.

 His friends were clapping his back, and that one. What was his name? Chris. He frequently actually came up here and performed alongside Eros. Chris handed a shot to Mystery Guy, who downed it in a gulp. But Mystery Guy finally noticed Eros pointing to him. He downed another shot, and pointed himself as in, ‘Me?’.  Eros rolled his eyes and had a ‘come forth’ expression on his face. He beckoned with a finger, tilting his head towards the curtain. Once Eros had his back towards the audience, did he start to question what he just did. Mystery Guy had clambered up to the stage, and was walking towards Eros. Once Mystery Guy was close enough, Eros began to walk towards his boudoir. As he looked back, somehow Mystery Guy had gotten a bouquet of roses.

Once in safe distance from the crowds, Eros turned and leaned against the wall.

“So, Mystery Guy. What’s your name?” he asked, tilting his head. Mystery Guy was already getting flustered, Eros could just feel it.

“I’ll tell you mine when you tell me yours.” replied Mystery Guy curtly. Eros hid a small smirk and walked to the boudoir.

“My name is Eros. I told you my name. Now you tell me yours.” Eros specified. Mystery Guy wasn’t getting a name. Apparently frustrated, Mystery Guy gave in.

“My name is Viktor Nikiforov. Happy?” he huffed. Eros entered his boudoir, and called out.


As Eros slipped on a robe, Viktor came in. He observed the room, noting everything. Meanwhile, Eros seated himself on his stool near the vanity.

“By the way,” Viktor started. He’d noticed the lipsticks, Eros guessed. “You seem very fond of your lipstick collection.”

Eros gave him a look. “I’ve tried many types … but my favorite is ‘Russian Red’.” Viktor was very flustered. Eros continued.

“Smooth, sexy, with unbelievable endurance.” Oh yes. Viktor was definitely not at normal skin color levels.

“ … My lips are positively addicted.” Eros breathed, in a sultry tone. Somehow, Viktor was at the exact shade of ‘Russian Red’.

“Yes, a lovely shade just like that …” Eros mused.

“Umm … m-my fr-friends w-would be waiting for m-me . . ” Viktor stammered. Eros pouted.

“Why? I can call a taxi, don’t worry.”

“Well, my friends are dead drunk. I don’t want them crashing into any cars.” Viktor admitted sheepishly.

Eros groaned, and let Viktor go. Once he was out of earshot, Yuuri pulled out his phone and called Phichit.

He gave him a brief recollection of the night’s events. Phichit’s commentary worried Yuuri.


“Yuuri, sweetie?” Phichit cut off.

“Yes?” Yuuri asked timidly.

“Shut up.”

  • Me: Hello detective I'd like to file a missing persons report
  • Maggie Sawyer: Okay, what's their name?
  • Me: Kara Danvers
  • Maggie Sawyer: Last seen?
  • Me: mmmmm I'm gonna have to say Season One
  • Maggie Sawyer: I see. I have another possibly related case open right now for a one James Olsen.
  • Me: Do you have any leads?
  • Maggie Sawyer: Both disappearances seem to have taken place right around the time some dude operating under the alias of 'Mike' came around. We hope to have him in custody soon.
  • Me: Thanks detective!

Pffft, aha ahahahaha!

For those who do not know why I am hysterically laughing (and trust me, I had to pause because I was laughing too hard), this is taken from the anime Little Witch Academia. These are the headdresses/hats of the Nine Olde Witches who founded the school the series takes place in. You might recognize a couple. I can name two of them off the top of my head, hats 3 and 6.

Hat 3 belongs to the Scarlet Witch from Marvel comics.

Hat 6 belongs to Witch Bandora from Kyoryu Sentai Jyuranger, more commonly known in the west as Rita Repulsa from Power Rangers seasons 1-5 and Mystic Force. This was the one that got me cackling like a hyena.

Sorry it isn’t the best screen cap, it was a scrolling shot with a lot of parallax to it.

[Right, so. P sure I’m officially obsessed lmao. Anyways here’s the third and probably final part of the tale of The One With Many Names, also known as My Blatant Self Insert. Hope it doesn’t break canon too much, please enjoy, and sorry for spamming! (also i still have No Idea What I Am Doing ahahahaha.)]


Eventually, as everyone knew ce would be, The One With Many Names was Taken.

Spectator, the junior who watched people and noticed patterns, sharp-eyed behind the shadows of their hoodie, collected their bet. They placed a pittance of their winnings on Many-Names coming back.

It was mostly out of pity.


Your memories are doing The Thing again, and you cannot for the life of you remember the sequence of events that led to place you in the Elsewhere. But you know you are without iron, and your backpack is missing, and you should be terrified. Except They took you Elsewhere early in the morning, when you were stumbling your way to your eight am class, and you are far too tired to really care.

(You still have your dog tag necklace. Putting it on is too deeply ingrained into your morning ritual for you to forget it. This is a small comfort.)

You stare up and around at the Elsewhere despite knowing that you shouldn’t. Your eyes settle on something with too-sharp teeth like needles, shades of blue like ice and ocean, vaguely humanoid in shape but with proportions defying normal physics. You close your eyes and take a shuddering breath. Your eyes hurt. It’s too fuckin’ early for this. You consider the questions you could ask, from the informative (‘why have you taken me’) to the Actually Helpful.

You go for the latter.

“If I tell you a story,” you say slowly, carefully, “will that work as payment for my freedom?”

The fae hisses, and you flinch, wishing that you had your notebook with you, or at least another hour of sleep on your side. “You presume?”

“I, I, I have heard your–the, the stories humans tell of you,” you say, stumbling over your words, “the stories the students tell of you. They say you will free us if we bargain.”

“And you come,” the fae says contemptuously, “and bargain a mere bedtime tale? Stories have power, child, but I have heard so many before. You would have to pay something more than a paltry rendition of a well-worn path to return to your realm.”

“If you don’t want my stories,” you say in return, “then why?”

You blink, and the shades-of-blue creature is upon you, cupping your chin with icicle fingers. “You shift,” it says, “You are not fixed. You have a touch of us in you. Thus, you are ours.”

You squeak, and cower, and cover your eyes. You take deep breaths until the frostbite of the creature’s fingers fades. Then–your fear carrying you beyond terror and out the other side, knowing you are dead or worse than anyways, you speak.

“If you have not taken me for my stories,” you say, and pause, and swallow hard, “th-then y-you, you don’t–” You stop. Collect yourself. Attempt to speak with confidence. “You do not know of my skill. I would not tell you a mere bedtime story. It may follow a similar path as others, true, but…”

The fae tilts what passes for its head at an unnatural angle. You breathe in deep and make your bargain. “A story. A tale. If it pleases you–if it pleases an audience, mayhaps–I am to be released. Sent back to my realm. If not…” You swallow hard, knowing your next words would seal your fate. You are not willing to speak them. You hope the fae will speak for you.

It does not, of course. You close your eyes and damn yourself. “If not, I accept the fae–the touch of You I have inside me.” ‘Do with me what you will’ is not said, but you both know They will if you lose.

“Deal,” the fae says delightedly, “Begin telling.”

“If it pleases an audience,” you repeat. Perhaps a variety of opinions would be what damns you, but relying on the tastes of a single fae…if the story you have in mind displeases it, then you are lost. Better to have a security net of varying opinions.

The fae narrows eyes dark as ocean abyss and hisses. You flinch. “An audience,” you repeat anyways, “I said, if it pleases an audience.”

“You said mayhaps.”

“My stories are my talent,” you say, “if this is the last one I tell, I want it to be remembered.”

Amazingly, this works. You get your audience.

You stand in front of the fraction of a Court, wishing you could write or type the words rather than say them. You are afraid.

But you know your talents. You know your stories, you know your characters, and it is not the first time you have told this tale. If all else fails, you have the phrase ‘but there is always more to the story,’ a gimmick you can pull out to expand and continue if the fae do not like it quite as much.

If you are honest with yourself, you will probably pull out that “gimmick” anyways. You love your stories and characters too much to not expand on them. You close your eyes.

You gather your thoughts. You take a deep breath.

“This,” you begin, “is the story of Phoenix Song.”


It is nearly a year before Many-Names stumbles back into the normal world. Ce comes back somewhat confused and half-glowing, as though some internal light has given cer an aura of confidence. For all that, the glow is entirely human and largely metaphorical. Cer changling leaves as ce moves back into cer dorm, all smiles and laughter. The kind of smiles and laughter that covers deep, deep relief.

People ask how. Ce replies with a grin. “They love a good story, didn’t you know?”

Spectator attempts to get a fuller explanation, because for all their perceptiveness this has still totally blindsided them. Many-Names explains about the world ce’d spent five years in the making.

“I picked the one that I thought would appeal the most to Them,” ce explains. “Well, that and I actually had it figured out to the end.” Ce says maybe ce’ll show you cer old notes. “If they still exist, anyways,” ce adds thoughtfully, “I think I might have given the story to the F–Fair Folk. It’s a worthy trade.”

Many-Names leaves out drawings with cer ice cream and milk now. Sketches, colored with pencils, sharpie-lined, printed digital art in full color and shading. All labeled with names. They are always gone in the morning. Spectator thinks, to their great disbelief, that Many-Names has managed to create a fandom.

This is bad for cer. This is very very bad.

“They aren’t going to let you leave, you know,” they tell cer, “Not if you keep giving them content.”

Many-Names pauses in the middle of a sketch. “Well,” ce says eventually, “there’s always the internet.”

“You’re not getting it,” Spectator decides, and tells cer, “You can’t leave, Many-Names. Can’t go home. Can’t see your mom. Can’t go out and get another job. You’ll have to stay. Become a teacher, or whatever. You have to stop talking to Them.”

Many-Names considers this. “I can’t just cut off,” ce tells them, “That would be rude. I mean, they’ll forget soon enough. Or I’ll get tired of drawing stuff. But as long as we’re both interested, well, they get art, and I get these things.”

“These things,” Spectator repeats. Many-Names flicks a hand at cer windowsill. There is a bright red feather that almost glows, an image of a hammer, a glass crafted phoenix that seems to burn internally, a music box, and a crude, human-like figure.

“It’s like fanart,” ce says in a delighted tone, and Spectator gives up. They’re graduating this year, they don’t have time to pull a delusional freshman out of cer dealings with the Gentry. Ce seems happy, anyways.


And life in Elsewhere University carries on.


So I use to work as a vet assistant in a clinic for about 3 months. The whole place was a shit show, but this story is about a specific customer/client. So it’s a regular day, we just got done our hour lunch and our appointments are about to get started for the rest of the afternoon/evening. The first person on the schedule is a “run in back” blood draw. As the name sounds, the animal is taken from the waiting room, “run in the back” to perform the treatment, and then returned to the owner in the waiting room. These appointments are scheduled that way and customers are throughly notified the way it will work before they agree to the appt. So I go out to the waiting room and see the woman and her dog. I call the dog’s name, walk up to the woman and say, “ Hello, I can take *insert dog’s name” in the back for her blood draw and she will be back shortly. The woman gets huffy and says, I want to come back while she gets weighed. Well fine, if she wants to come in the exam room while she gets weighed, I don’t care, but then she has to wait there while we perform the treatment in the back. So we go in, weigh her and then I repeat, “ I will now take *insert dogs name” back for her blood work. The woman gets mad and says “why? Why can’t I come back with her, I want to be there!” Now I understand, it’s her pet, so she wants to be involved, but as our policy, no owners are to be in the treatment area. This keeps us and the animals safe and efficient. So I explain this to her and she gets even more mad and just keeps asking me over and over “why!”. Now I hate confrontation so I am getting upset and emotional. I tell her that she should have been informed about this policy when making the appointment but she swears she did not. I doubt that. Finally she just gives up and lets me take her dog. The bloodwork literally takes 2 minutes and I go to the waiting room to return the dog. I tell her, if she would like to wait, the results will be ready in 15 mins. I go in the back. Then I was told by the receptionists that she stormed out without paying. Our receptionist calls her, and she cusses her out (thinking it’s me) and calls her a fat piece of shit.

We tell our clinic manager this whole story, to which she is baffled because the woman has been coming in with her dog for “run in back” appointments for months and has never made a fuss. The clinic manager calls this woman, and the woman swears up and down that none of that happened, and then my clinic manager gives her a fucking discount. Wow, I hated that stupid place.


As I said in the prev post, we share A LOT of headcanons.. some of them are ridiculous(?) but possible in our heads hahah. So this one….

Ok, we were discussing what could have happened right after the end of the Greed pair arc arc but before Licht and Lawless are taken to Mahiru’s place… since they both were injured, we figured they took them to the hospital first.

We went a little crazy here(?) and said they might have spent a couple of days at the hospital, cause they had to make sure they were both fine.
So basically, they’re very restless at just beig in their room, so one day Hyde bets on Licht that he can take a baby from the nursery (out of boredom)… and he does xd Licht scolds him but Hyde convinces him to play with the baby for a while by telling him they should name the baby “Michael” [Ah, another headcanon of us that they use the name “Michael” for a lot of stuff. You know, their pet from the game, plushies, animals on the street, etc. xD]. So yeah, they start playing with him… huh and Hyde starts acting as if they were the baby’s parents ww.

Then Crantz comes into the room and finds them playing with a baby :’) So he makes them return the baby and apologize to the nurses.

For the next couple of days, they pay visits to the mother’s room to see their baby Michael~ The mother is ofc confussed at two random boys visiting his child and naming him Michael. So Crantz later has to explain to the parents that their children just became fond of the baby.

YES, I KNOW IT’S RIDICULOUS x'DD We just enjoy putting them through unreal absurd cute situations www I’m gomen

Milo Murphy Fanart wall

Just sending out another mention for the fanart wall at work! Every one who gets something placed up there does get credited. I have a list of all your names on my computer in case Dan or Swampy or anyone else is curious.

Also, once more, if you do NOT want your art up there, drop me a message! If you think it’s up there and you don’t want it to be, let me know and I will take it down :) I can’t put up everyone’s art, but I can make sure you’re comfortable having it up there or taken down. 

Oh and my blog CartoonNachos is where I reblog all of your work :D If it’s not up on the wall, it will be there!

Thanks again for all your wonderful art guys! 8D 

i got to the part in the king’s men where neil gets taken away and all he can say to andrew before he leaves is ‘thank you. you were amazing’ and i’m

i’ve been crying for hours i went to bed woke up and continued to cry i think crying is my middle name now i hate this mtoehrufkcin book

Places Between Folds | Draco Malfoy [Part 2]

Hello guys, I’m extremely sorry it took me this long to post part 2 but school has been hell this past week. Anyway, the waiting is over! I hope you enjoy it. 

Character: Draco Malfoy

count: 1232.

Warning: None

Previous parts: Part 1

*Gifs not mine, credit to whoever made it*

Originally posted by imagine-everything41

I felt how the light coming from the window was hitting on my face as I heard a voice saying my name. I couldn’t understand what it was saying until the covers were abruptly taken away from me, letting a cold breeze run through my exposed body, waking me up immediately. I lazily stood up and I could hear Hermione’s voice talking to me.

“Thank god you’re up. At what time did you go to sleep last night? I went to sleep pretty late and you weren’t in bed at the time I turned the lights off.” I looked at her without saying anything, as she moved around the room gathering her things to have them ready before going to have breakfast.

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a darker shade of magic places + the night spire

“Then the captain barked her name—“Bard!”—and pointed at a group struggling with the crates, and she went to lend a hand. Just like that—only not just like that, of course, for there were many taut nights and fights won, first against and then beside the other men, and blood spilled and ships taken—Lila Bard became a member of the Night Spire’s crew.”

aftg X trc headcanons: 

  • Aglionby Academy have historically been at the top of the exy leagues. 
  • Until a rule was introduced where the team must be mixed gender (girls loved exy, no girls were getting to play exy.)
  • So the predominantly male college was struggling. 
  • They fell back a lot. 
  • The scrappy foxes had taken their place in the top league last year. 
  • So they had a revamp. New guy in charge. Some mysterious “Mr Gray”. There’s rumors he’s a reformed hit man. No one questions it. No one dares. 
  • They don’t have an official name but their Defensive Dealer keeps petitioning for them to be called “The Glendower Gang”. 
  • No one know who Glendower is, but there is a dangerous possibility the name will stick because their Dealer is Richard Campbell Gansey the Third and people like to listen to him. 
  • Their captain is Gansey’s big sister. Probably the only reason they aren’t called the Glendower Gang. 
  • She plays offensive dealer. The siblings don’t fight on court, but they do exchange pointed grimaces and restrained glares throughout the game. 
  • You know which siblings fight on court? 
  • Declan and Ronan Lynch. 
  • Their father was mysteriously murdered and they were told to join the team because sport was good for the mind. 
  • “Hey, Andrew? Aglionby’s new goal keeper looks as angry as you do.” 
  • “110% Josten. Fuck off.” 
  • “I’m not kidding this guys looks like he has issues. Tattoos and everything.” 
  • “Tattoos are for people who lack the natural assets to intimidate.”
  • “Actually it’s kind of pretty? Lots of leaves and shit?” 
  • An angry goalkeeper with pretty tattoos? Andrew Minyard is officially wary and jealous. Shame the goalies don’t get to fight. 
  • They have a striker tinier than Josten. A furious blue ball of angry female, wielding a racket almost as tall as her. 
  • There’s a joke that the Aglionby/Foxes game will have the shortest average height of any exy game ever. 
  • Kevin knows about Glendower. He’s a history nerd. Of course he knows. 
  • He tries to explain but no one listens.  
  • Kevin wonders if there is any chance he can date Gansey because he is obsessed with both history and exy and that is as close as Kevin can come to dating himself. 
  • Nicky is delighted because Aglionby’s line up is very attractive. Especially Henry Cheng. 
  • Neil is worried because Parrish, the other Striker, looks disciplined as fuck. He has the same hungry look Neil sees in the mirror in the morning. They wont simply pass each other on the court. 
  • Aaron is in despair because this new team looks as diverse and gay as his current one. 
  • Wymack is secretly worried Mr Gray is more intimidating than him. He gets another tattoo. 
  • Anyway their first game against each other is a HUGE deal. Like, there have been bets going among the other schools for weeks leading up to it. 
  • The money is on Aglionby, only because they were once prestigious and Helen Gansey is terrifying. 
  • But
  • They underestimated how jealous Andrew Minyard can be
  • He didn’t let in a single goal 
  • He really doesn’t like how tall and grumpy Ronan Lynch looks 
  • Ronan actually let in a few goals
  • Because Adam is distractingly attractive in shorts. 

Natalie: Finding Family 

Sometimes it takes a while to feel like you are home — especially if the first few tries didn’t work.

A very tiny cow named Natalie had a rough start finding her way. First of all, she was taken away from her mother and transported, along with other young cattle, to a farm in Massachusetts.  

Harris Ranch feedlot in California. The feedlot that Natalie and her friends escaped from was not this large, but it was a stopover, as this one is (and as all feedlots are) — a place to fatten up cattle so they are ready for sale.

She and two other calves were being transported to be raised in a feedlot. (These are farms, or even just buildings, where cattle are fattened up to be sold for slaughter.) On this feedlot, the tiny little family made a break for it and took off during a snowstorm just over a year ago.

Natalie on the run in a photo by Jenn Ferreira. Very sad and very lonely.

This family was going to be split up no matter what, because they were on a feedlot — but they were the only family Natalie currently had. So the three runaways, for a short time, were free and together.

Sadly, this ended when the other calves were hit by vehicles and perished. Natalie was definitely alone, very frightened, and in need of rescue. 

Keep reading

people have talked about the concept of home and coming back for rebelcaptain before but I want to do a roundup so:

  • jyn’s one of those people who has never known a home be cause she’s never been in one spot for long. she was born in captivity, then spent some years on courscant as an imperial child, then spent the rest of her childhood on lah’mu, spent time doing god knows what with saw and his rebels, then being on her own for so many years, lanet hopping… she never had a place to call home. the concept is lost on her
  • not to mention all the people who’ve abandonded her. lyra, who left to go save galen, then died. galen, taken by the imperials. (They both tried to convince jyn before leaving - everything i do i do for you - that they weren’t abandoning her, but she’s not wrong to think of it that way). saw, literally abandoning her at 16 because the last name -erso- is a liability. sixteen. being on her own for so many years, being unable to trust anyone, because most criminals are traitors, not friends. who can she trust after being abandoned so many times? she cant even trust people with her own name. 
  • it’s pretty important that cassian is basically (one of? idk if someone else uses it before him) the first person call jyn by her real name since probably she was left by saw.
  • trust goes both ways
  • cassian comes back #1: cassian is a practical dude. he won’t ever risk the mission to save one person - the rebellion is greater than any one person. it’s why he shoots tivik. he’s a liability. jyn reeling in shock as jedha crumbles around her - she’s a liability. but he gets her out of there. he goes back for her. (now, I know that she’s literally the only person who has seen the message. cassian couldve gotten the datachip though. but this is the first time, and it’s a big step) also cassian’s panic as he wonders what saw did to jyn before he realizes she’s in shock T_T
  • do i even need to expand on the fact cassian didn’t shoot galen??? like??? cassian andor, of all people, disobeying a direct order?? the one who kills mercilessly for the rebellion, not doing his job??? man
  • cassian comes back #2: now this is where jyn is really, truly, expendable. galen is dead, the mission is technically complete (though not how it was planned), and time is running short. he doesn’t really need to go back for jyn, esp now that they know what the message was (the rebels would take cassian’s word for it). she’s in shock again. but no, he comes back for her
  • the argument skjfsdslkjfss I could go on about that for days. I don’t think Cassian usually yells at people, and at the end he realizes “I don’t have to” but in between? that’s genuine concern. he -wants- jyn to realize her mistake. he’d rather convince her than let her be. that’s important.
  • [some giant gap here where jyn gets it together]
  • welcome home. WELCOME HOME. WELCOME HOME!!! okay I’m done. 
  • no i’m not. jyn’s not used to people sticking around. they usually abandon her. she thought cassian would turn her in. no, he brings her support. jyn’s scarif mission would have failed if it wasn’t for cassian gathering the other rebels.
  • home is a person, not a place.
  • after that it’s basically smooth sailing (kind of ironic) 
  • cassian comes back #3:  comes back FROM THE DEAD more like (tho tbh i didnt actually think he was dead but apparently we were supposed to so uh). guardian angel. the third time he comes to save her, and it’s funny because this time by saving her he also saves the mission.