well half of her

The Signs

Fiery and fiercely passionate, she wears a steel armor and her horns always aim ready for battle. Forever taking charge and continuously looking for dynamic and competition. Driven by avidity and born a fearless leader, she bares a pure and almost childlike soul; untainted & unafraid.

Uncompromisingly stubborn with a strong willed character, great perseverance and determination. She has a hot and fiery temper, and will unleash it when pushed to her limits. Even so, she loves anything that excites her senses. Controlled by inner serenity and a powerful sense of stability, she is & always will be a force to be reckoned with.

Recognized by her contradictory nature, her mind is always alternating between logic and absurdity. She’s a combination of high intelligence, wit, and eloquence. Forever battling mystical forces of left and right; she’ll mirror your best and worst parts and show you things you never knew you needed to see.

She is the tide, the gentle glow of the moon, the waves crashing on the shore. She feels everything deeply, even though she doesn’t like to show it. Her shell may be hard and at times unbreakable but it is forever guarding her tender soul. Surely it is harder to break something soft rather than rigid. You touch her and she is far more real than anything you have ever felt before. Cosmic particles of moon dust line her veins. For she is like the moon, you’ll see her with a new face every day.

You can usually pick her out from a crowd – she’s the one with the loudest laugh, the brightest smile, and the most confident strut of them all. Her hair is a mane made of gold, and her skin glows like a sunset. She is an alpha, a lioness, a leader and a warrior. She may appear soft like a daydream, but she has a never ending inferno burning inside her.

She personifies innocence, purity and justice. Her earthly nature makes her exceedingly clever and analytical. All that is beautiful to her erupts in subtle, though magnificent spectacle. She’s a maiden & belongs to the pristine; always striving to bring order out of chaos.

Her charming personality is praiseworthy, her voice melodious, her heart just. To truly understand her, you must understand the riddle of the scales; forever balancing thoughts and emotions. She is a flower with hidden thorns & without her, life simply wouldn’t be as fair.

It’s all in her penetrating stare. Dark and calculating, her eyes are foreboding yet hypnotic. Powerful, passionate and intuitive. She wears strength and darkness equally well; half goddess, half hell. Nevertheless, she is divine, and in her eyes is where your soul is revealed.

She’s a restless wanderer; always hunting for new ideas and experiences. Her arrow symbolizes her desire for direction and a higher purpose. She’s the maven of adventure, the learned healer whose higher intelligence forms a bridge between heaven and earth.

Her determination is admirable, her self-containment powerful. She’s concrete, ambitious and in charge. Always leading loyally and achieving relentlessly. No mountain is high enough for her to climb, and her love is as stable as the earth.

She’s a mad scientist in her lab, inventing and creating night and day. Her rapid influx of thoughts and subsequent surprising actions make her unpredictable and rebellious. Anarchy is her specialty. Forever fighting valiantly for the soul of the world, she pours forth her wisdom and equilibrates your mind. She is dazzling and terrifying; those words are not as removed from one another as you may think. Always seeing a thin line between genius and insanity. She lives in the future and who she is comes in waves.

Ethereal, and deeply mysterious.
Her mind swims at a depth most would drown in. She’s always floating in opposite directions, this represents her soul’s duality. She is the ultimate enchantress & her heart is an ocean of emotion; always dreaming of realms that only she may enter.

!CREDITS! to the incredibly gorgeous Aquarius model:  Setareh Hosseini

A photo shoot like this is absolutely on my bucket list now!

Does anyone think about Rhys‘s little sister?

-Like just think about her.  She was Half-Illyrian as well.  I bet she was just as powerful as Rhys was, and because of this the Illyrian males would be really off put by off, because  she was a female.

-She would have loved her big brother and would always try to follow him or copy him. Wherever Rhys went, she went too. 

-I just cant help but think about how she would have been sooo good for the camps. She would have been the change that the male dominant society needed. 

-She would fight for the females and she would be saved from the wing clipping like her mother was.

-I feel like her and Mor would be really good friends as she got older.  The two of them together?……. capable of sooo much! 

-Rhys and the boys would be out numbered

-She would probably also be part of the “Mor is who I call in when Cassian and Azriel are both dead and the armies have failed.” squad. like shes THAT powerful

-And can you imagine.. protective brother Rhys?!! My heart!


-Of course Rhys would never hold his sister back from a fight, but throughout the whole thing he would be worried and afraid she might not walk off the battle field

-Rhys was the one to take her flying first. She came into his room right before he was about to set off and she wanted to join. He couldn’t say no and she wouldn’t take it for an answer so he taught her how and spent the night flying around his balcony.

-Her sitting around the dinner table with the inner circle as Rhy’s looks on, happy that his family is around him.

-Rhys feels the pang of sadness every day when he thinks of her as an adult. Sitting among them. Part of his inner circle. He often wonders if his mate and her would get along, be good friends. Like Feyre is with Mor. What type of person she would be now.  What her life was like while he was away and UTM and how him being gone for 50 years would hurt her just as much as her begin taken from him too soon. 

-Rhy’s just loved his little sister and really misses his family.  He gets really sad of the anniversary of their deaths becasue he thinks of his mother and sister lives now, and cant help but think about all the memories that he wanted to share with them.

-Sometime when he’s in a room and has something funny to say he turns, expecting to see his sister there, ready to laugh, but of course she’s not, she’s gone.

-When these days happen, he gets really quite and stays in bed all day.  Feyre stays with him and and buries his face in her neck, her chest, holding onto her.

-Can you imagine how his heart must have felt like it was being ripped from his chest when he found his mother and sister dead in that mountain? His sister’s beloved wings gone? Her small body crumpled and stiff. 

I know some of these are unrealistic because of age difference and things (because his sister was much younger when he was already out of war camps) but please be understanding, these are just some purging’s of my heart and headcanons.

Feel free to add if you want! :)

To all the straight girls complaining about not being able to find a boyfriend

Imagine being a gay girl. It’s 10x harder finding a girlfriend for us because we don’t know who’s gay. Half of us are in the closet and the other half, well unless she has “I’m gay” written across her forehead then it’s hard to tell. Sure, we could use the stereotypes to pick them out, but it’s not always accurate and that can be awkward. And on top of that, there’s you, straight girls who look good all the damn time, but nope you’re not into girls. Yeah it must suck not being able to find a boyfriend, but it sucks more for us




what if medusa was a real woman. i mean: what if the woman with snakes in her hair was once a tiny girl with beautiful braids in her black hair.

what if the stories came from her smooth hands. when she was six she could make pottery that looked like flowers blooming in your palms. could carefully create replicas of any plant she saw.

and medusa was smart. ran from home, tucked up her hair so it looked short, made herself into a little boy. besides, they liked pretty boys. medusa at school with top grades, sending her unknowable stares at the other men. because the whole time she’s learning the planes of their faces, the way they look while they’re thinking, the slight twist of their hand that meant they were lying. 

medusa going home to sketch every little figure. comes to school in the morning with her hands caked in pottery clay. medusa learns. scrubs dirt on her face to mimic their planes. tilts her head the right way when she’s thinking. doesn’t twist her hand when she’s lying.

in her back yard, a little garden grows. statues of ceramic boys only three feet tall. at first, she can’t quite get the faces right. men are not the same as plants. there is something weird about the proportions she uses. medusa frowns.

she starts making animals instead for a bit, annoyed and disheartened. she’d always just been naturally good at it, and the fact she couldn’t just make something felt as if she’d lost her gift.

she makes cats and dogs and her neighbor’s birds and keeps going.

the snake wasn’t her favorite. he just wouldn’t leave her alone, so she gave up and let him sleep on her in the cold nights. besides, he was a small garden snake, couldn’t even bite her hard, just wanted a place of warmth. she let him rest on the angles of her shoulders, right near her neck, even if he sometimes forgot and held her too hard. that was okay. when she was little, she forgot too, sometimes, and shattered the slim walls of her pottery. the snake had a lot of growing up to do.

she loved no one. not because she was cold-hearted. just because it wasn’t something she wanted. she was busy with her artwork.

she chose an apprenticeship under a master craftsman. his sculptures made her breath stop. she was careful in the workshop, kept her things simple, kept her mouth shut. he called her stupid often. she would duck her head. sometimes she would make mistakes on purpose. all the while he only made sculptures of men. said there was no beauty in women. often made savage remarks about those they saw in the market.

and all the while, she watched him. she watched him and she went home and sketched. this is how his hands were when he made a vine. this is how they were when shaping a nose.

and her back yard garden would grow. little boys became her master, over and over and over, until she could get his jaw right. ceramic became sculpture.

he was who took her to athena’s temple. who shouted at her about how beautiful the statues were against her own. every week he’d come back and shame her. asked how the women there were smarter than the man she was supposed to be. medusa ducked her head and grit her teeth.

in her back yard, she made them. she made every god and goddess she’d seen in the city. her favorite was athena. she ached over her features. had spent so long in the world of men, was blinded by the beauty of women.

it was a black night. and medusa thought her master had left the temple before her. she loosened all the bindings that kept her from breathing. took her hair out. worshiped in peace. placed on athena’s alter a small and beautiful thing. the goddess, head tilted, thinking.

when he found medusa, what made him angry was not her small frame. it was the statute. a delicate thing. much better than the ones he had ever made.

he took it and snapped it in half. threw it deep in the temple’s well to rot. pulled her by her hair. demanded to know where it had come from.

medusa, angry, tired of hiding, tired of late nights and being a boy and pretending: medusa, athena-mad, spat on him. “I did it,” her voice is strong and full of hatred, “A woman made something better than a man could.”

He meant to kill her. To bash her head into the temple steps, claim it was an accident - or better yet, the spite of a god made flesh.

when he grabs her hair, the goddess bites back. athena, patron of creators, patron of the arts, patron of girls and those who are smart - she turns medusa’s hair into snakes. 

it is a quick little thing, darts out and draws blood, almost falls from her hair as a result. she catches the creature and runs, runs until she feels numb.

and what if - while her master is making up a story about poseidon and athena’s rage, explaining medusa’s back yard full of frozen men as being evidence of her evilness - what if medusa finds friends in blind women. and they teach her how to feel what she is seeing. how to use her hands with her eyes closed to make maps of whatever she holds. she starts with plants again. her snake is big now, and has babies. she moves on to their little wiggling forms, amused when they make tiny rings around her fingers. she does not live in a cave. she dresses as a man again, goes to market, sells her roses and vines and beautiful (simple) things. buys herself and the women a nice house out beyond all the noise of it. fills their garden with frozen men.

when the men come to kill her - because now her name is known, it is whispered, sticks in the throat - they don’t find her. they find a tall man who tells them: look in the mountains. when they don’t come back, it’s no fault of medusa’s. frankly, she thinks they should have brought more supplies than their swords into the deep woods. she’s not cruel. when they leave, she makes a statue of them, as her version of a memorial.

but one man is not like the others. he finds her with her hair down, humming, dancing around a marble stone. her snakes are warming in the sun.

medusa? he asks her. it’s a name she hasn’t heard in a long while.

she is tired of being hunted. she just wants to make art. she waits for the sword point. but he hesitates. looks at her full in her face.

strikes a bargain. if she makes him a head for his shield, he will tell the others that she is good and dead. and he will sell her art to better patrons when he could - although he suggests at least hiding the signature she has with maybe a little less snake-like scrawl - he would make her name known.

but medusa knows men. knows they will chomp down on a horror story faster than that of the artist. she is already permanent. she says: no, here’s what happens.

after many months, he has his shield. she wouldn’t let him leave with the first nine hundred versions, always found something wrong with them. he grows fond of her in this time, agrees to her terms. even he can’t really look at the shield head-on. she has captured a scream, a rage, too much. it is so utterly human and at once not that it makes his skin crawl.

where medusa’s blood drops, serpents sprawl. or at least, that’s the code she uses. when he finds little girls who can make art, he sends them to her. 

medusa does not expect to be known for the school that she starts. she is a women artist in a time of men, and her name is already dead to them. but i know medusa. i know her. she is known for her work.

after all, who can speak about medusa without mentioning how she froze the world?

Whipped...friends?? Or...

Whipped…friends?? (Part One)


Harry doesn’t bother going back to the living room to join the boys. In fact, he’s stood frozen in place for the past ten minutes, staring at the door Y/N’s walked out through with the excuse of being late for a date she had never once mentioned before. Harry didn’t even think she was dating, let alone actually seeing someone already.

It’s all come as a bit of a shock to him if he’s being honest. He likes to think they had something special going on, but maybe it was just all in his head. Or maybe he should’ve said something to her, proper admitted his feelings and all. But what if she didn’t like him back? Harry’s always been a sort of risk taker when it came to getting what he wanted. But he always thought risking their friendship was too much. If she liked him…that would be amazing. But…what if she didn’t.  

If he told her how he’s stayed awake more times than he can count thinking of her. How he’s watched her sleep next to him and wanted to kiss away the frown she gets when she’s having a bad dream. He wants to jokingly tell her how the boys tease him for being so whipped, and have her laugh because they both know it’s true. He wants to tell her that he loves that he gets along with Gemma and his mum. That they adore her because she’s everything they want for him. He wants to tell her she’s everything he wants for him. He just wants to explain to her, or at least try to because it’s very hard to find the words for it, how she makes him feel…whole. How he misses her when she’s not with him, and only falls harder when she is. 

So no, Harry doesn’t bother going back to the living room. Walks up the stairs of his home instead, body slumped and heart wrenching. He thinks he’s lucky that he’s made it down the hallway and to his bedroom with out breaking down. Managed to somehow drag his feet and supported his heavy body…heavy heart, through his bedroom doors and to the bed. He stares at it for a short minute, thinking about how he’s going to have to sleep on his own tonight. How he’s going to be denied of Y/N’s warmth tonight. He’s not going to have anyone to wrap his arms around, to breathe their scent, to smile into their hair when he wakes up in the middle of the night reminded that he’s not alone. And he sits on the edge of his too big a bed, feet firm on the cold floor, the heels of his hands digging at his eyes because surely this is all a dream..a nightmare. Thinking about it, he doesn’t remember ever being this…this…gutted? Jealous? Empty? Broken? All of the above, and more!

Walking down the streets of anywhere hasn’t been much of a hassle for him since the band’s break. He’s able to walk through roads and into shops with no problem. The paps have been nice enough to keep a distance when taking photos, and he’s grateful for that. So in all honesty, now he’s only ever just a tad tense when Y/N’s with him. But it’s not a bad thing, no, he loves having someone to go around town with, rather just feels the need to protect her a bit more on their outings. 

So he keeps an arm around her shoulder, body tucked close to his, guiding her as they walk down the busy street, pulling her closer when he thinks someone passing by might bump into her. And she doesn’t complain. Tonight’s temperature’s dropped rather low, and the heat emitting from Harry’s body keeps her warmer than she thinks her own coat does. Y/N thinks it’s nice. Loves when Harry’s close to her. Loves the fact that his scent will linger on her clothes for days until she finally brings herself to put them in the washer.

They come to a stop by a hot dog cart, tummies grumbling because they hadn’t eaten anything since brunch, and even then Y/N hadn’t felt well enough to eat more than half of what was on her plate. So as per usual when that happened, Harry had to finish her meal, too, not that he had complained.

Now he’s standing in front of her, hands rubbing at her arms to heat her up as he offers to buy her a hotdog because “ye’ need t’ eat somethin’, kitten. Can’t have ye’ gettin’ sick, now.”

So she nods her head yes and tells him she’ll be waiting for him inside of the bakery they’re stood in front because “s'too cold outside. And I caught a whiff of the goodies! Gonna head in and get us a table.” Harry can’t help but smile down at her, and before he’s able to say anything, she leans up to whisper in his ear, “I know…you used to be a baker.” The sound of her giggle tickles at his ear, his smile only stretching more, and now he understands what the boys meant. He gives a light chuckle, kissing the top of her head before whispering a low, “I’ll jus’ be a minute.”

Y/N never needed to tell Harry how she liked her food, it’s fair to say they know each other well enough not to get the other’s orders wrong. And as simple as that thought might be, it makes them both happier than the other will ever know to know that type of stuff. 

Harry never thought he’d feel such happiness looking at someone either. When his mum used to give him talks about girls and how important it is to treat them like princesses, Harry would wave the comments away. He was old enough to know that yes, his mother did raise him to be a proper gentleman. But he never thought, or at least not at the time because he was so young, that he’d have someone making him feel the way Y/N does. Only ever wished.

But now he’s looking at a beautiful woman standing in a bakery. Her eyes fixed on the displays because he sure knows she’s got a sweet tooth.

“Tell me wha’ ye’ wan’ and I’ll get it for ye’.”

Harry’s whispered words have Y/N turning around swiftly, smiling up at him because Harry’s never short on getting her anything and everything. Not that she ever asked for much. 

He thinks he’s got more money than he knows what to do with, so he’s always more than willing to get Y/N anything she pleased. But that’s the thing about her, she doesn’t ask for much. Give her cuddles and your time and she’s more than happy. That’s how Harry knows she’s meant for him. She’s simple, and Harry loves simple. Harry loves her. 

Harry can’t quite recall at around what time he’s been falling asleep at nights. After that first night, he only knows he’s been falling asleep to memories of Y/N.  

During the days he stares at the TV mindlessly, jumping at the sound of his phone in hopes it would be Y/N. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed to see it was Louis, or Niall, or Liam. On occasion his mum who by some reason or another knew what was going on. Don’t get him wrong, he loves talking to his mum, he just rather wishes it were Y/N.

“Harry, sweetheart-” and he could hear the hurt in her voice. That tone a mother gets when they know nothing they say or do can help a suffering child. “-don’ give up, baby. You fight for her, you hear me.” And Harry will pinch at his lower lip in an attempt to keep his voice steady before assuring his mother that “I won’t mum. I love her." 

The boys come around as often as they did before. And after asking why Y/N wasn’t around anymore, Harry told them "she’s apparently datin’ some bloke. I’ve not heard from her. Won’t return m'calls.”

He’s tried to reach out to her plenty of times. He’s called, texted, stopped by her place, all to no avail. 

And Louis doesn’t remember seeing Harry this down over a girl. “Tha’s shit, mate. She spends every wakin’ moment with ye’ and somehow still meets someone? Reckon ye’ would’ve taken notice, ehh?" 

"Cheryl thinks there’s something else going on,” Liam adds, “says a woman knows when a friend has feelings for a guy. And she says Y/N never quiet looked at you as just a friend.”

Harry would much rather believe this than keep thinking about Y/N doing what she did with Harry with someone else. But he pushes the thought to the back of his mind, because if by any chance she did like him, she wouldn’t have left him.
And it’s awful knowing he doesn’t know when he’ll see her again. All he knows, is that he’s not giving up.

After sulking around for what feels like an eternity, Harry’s gathered up enough strength to pull himself out of where he was staying and into the busy city that is NYC. 

He’s arrived here only a few days ago for business, hasn’t even told Y/N seeing as she won’t answer his calls.

So he pushes thoughts of her to the back of his mind, or at least tries to. And thankfully, the fans he’s just recently met did a good job of distracting him. But only for a moment when he was interacting and taking photos with them.  

And it’s times like these that he doesn’t take for granted. He loves making his fans happy. Loves getting to thank them personally. And though he’s able to keep all thoughts focused on who he’s talking with, the second he walks away to get on with his night and readjusts the scarf she gifted him two Christmas’ ago, is the moment he feels his eyebrows knit in focus, recalling another memory.

If there’s ever any situation for Harry to be protective, it’s now! He doesn’t know how he’s ended up at the park near Y/N’s. Doesn’t remember if he walked or drove. All he knows is that he was lying about in his room when he got a call from her. And hearing her frantic voice going on about how she thought she was being followed had him running out the door before she could tell him where she was.

“Just please, Harry. Stay on the phone with me.” She was whispering and stuttering and her voice was shaky and Harry. Was. Scared. 

Like hell he was gonna just stay put.

So now here he is, phone still to his ear whispering words of comfort. “Where are ye’?” “S'okay, poppet, you’re g'na be okay.” “I promise.”

And then suddenly the worst thing that could happen. He’s got no idea what’s going on, but the rush has him forgetting he’s wearing nothing but sweats and a thin tee in below freezing weather.

He tucks his phone in his pocket.There’s no point, their phone call got cut and all he heard before it did was a man’s voice and her muffled one.

He’s running. Where to, he’s got no clue.

It’s not until he hears a cut scream that he knows exactly where she is. Now. He’s angry.

“Get the fook of a'her!" 

The guy doesn’t even get a chance to turn around and look at him before Harry’s big hands collide with the stranger’s back, gripping at his shirt and yanking him back and to the ground.

He looks at Y/N only for a second, still tucked into the corner the bloke had her in, eyes full of fright.

And honest Harry doesn’t train for these type of situations, but he must admit the boxing sessions are useful in this precise moment. All it took was a right hook to the guy’s face. That was enough to have him falling to the ground again, this time a mouth full of blood. And Harry knows. Y/N knows. He’s gonna have the outline of Harry’s rings imprinted on the side of his face for a while. 

Within seconds Harry’s attention was back on Y/N. Fingers ghosting over her face because he doesn’t know if she’s hurt. But she wraps her arms around his torso and clenches at the fabric of his shirt, face tucked into his neck. Harry exhales into her hair and wraps his arms around her shoulders, holding her against his body as he closes his eyes. 

"M'here. I’ll always be here.” He whispers. 

And Harry knows he can’t ever let this happen again. He won’t. 

But how can he protect her when she won’t let him? 

How can he, when the first time he sees her since that night is by the hand of someone else. 

And…what is she doing in New York?

anonymous asked:

"I cant trust you" marichat

“Chat put me down!” 

“Not gonna happen.” 

“Shouldn’t you be off fighting that akuma?” Marinette shouted as Chat leapt them both over another gap in the rooftops as he continued to race towards his destination. 

“Yes but not until I know you are safe,” He said, squeezing her a little tighter against his chest. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so incredibly inconvenient. 

If she had known Chat was already on the scene she would have run off to find a safe place to transform instead of attempting to keep the akuma away from Alya by throwing her shoe at it. The distraction had worked at least. But while Alya had enough self preservation to allow herself to be dragged to safety by Nino, Marinette now found herself being whisked off in the complete opposite direction of where she needed to be, and without her shoe no less. 

“Where are you going?” Marinette asked, as he leapt again, trying to get a look at the surrounding landscape. Her breath caught in her throat as she suddenly realized the familiar pattern of houses. 

With a final jump he landed on the street below. 

“Chat, no… no please-” 

“Sorry,” Chat said flatly, lightly kicking open the door in front of him with a soft jingle of bells, “I can’t trust you. This is for your own good.” 

Marinette felt her heart drop as both of her parents as well as a half dozen customers turned to stare at their arrival. 

“Marinette?” her mother asked, eyes wide. 

“Mrs Cheng,” Chat said striding forward and finally setting Marinette down in front of her parents, “Mr. Dupain. I am sorry to disturb you, but there was an akuma attack across town.” 

“Oh my goodness, Marinette are you hurt?” Tom asked hurrying around the counter. 

“I’m fine!” Marinette said watching in dismay as several of the customers pulled out their cellphones to get up close footage of one of their heroes in action. 

“You’re daughter is very brave,” Chat said proudly, “she even managed to save one of her friends from danger. But I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her on my watch,” he said with a small bow and Marinette made a mental note to smack him upside the head later as Ladybug. He was sure to give her an excuse.

“Thank you so much!” Sabine gushed catching Marinette up in a bear hug that made Marinette feel a little guilty. She looked over at Chat who was watching the scene with a soft, wistful smile. It was hard to stay mad at her partner when he was looking at her like that. After all, he was clearly just trying to keep her safe. 

“Thanks,” she said softly. 

“Anytime princess,” he replied, catching her hand and placing a delicate kiss against her fingertips. “Well I need to get back to the fight,” he said giving them all a jaunty salute and charging out the bakery door. 

“Mommy, can we go talk to Chat Noir’s girlfriend?” a small girl standing amidst the crowd asked excitedly. 

Marinette blanched as every eye in the room turned towards her. 

Never mind. She was definitely going to smack that stupid cat. 

Four Sentence Prompts: Warning- I will NOT be taking repeat prompts! Only one drabble per prompt! (See the list here: http://baneismydragon.tumblr.com/post/159474846531/reposting-so-i-can-edit )

Ca Caw

I’m a DM for a group that’s about to start a campaign of Iron Gods from pathfinder with some usuals from a group I play other things with frequently. This group typically plays some pretty two-dimensional characters that just act like they (the players) would so I encouraged them to go with some more advanced races to try and stoke the flames of roleplay and make things a little more interesting.

It ended up working a little too well, as one of them decided to play a Syrinx (think Holier-Than-Thou Owl people), which can’t take Common as an extra language. This race also has a habit of enslaving other races, and has a more or less subservient race called the Strix under them.

So of course, one of the other party members is playing a Strix. The other two members of the party decided to go Aasimar, and Vishkanya’s (Snake people, or sneeple). Those two have no way of actually communicating with the Syrinx, so anything she says has to go through the Strix first. While going over sheets to make sure everything is as it should be, I point out to the Syrinx that her race, is, in fact, incredibly condescending to “lesser” races, going as far to enslave them because they think it’s for the betterment of all (including the ones who are enslaved, how that works out, I don’t know) and the following conversation ensued:

DM (me): You’re aware that the race you picked basically amounts to Bird Hitler, right?

Syrinx: My backstory is that I left my people because I couldn’t tolerate their views of the other races and their practices with dealing with them, I don’t support what they do and I don’t ever plan to.

DM: … But you’ve got one of the races your race enslaved traveling with you.

Syrinx: Not as a slave!

Strix: Yeah, I’m just a translator.

DM: Does she pay you?

Strix: Well, no…

DM: And aren’t you carrying like, half her things, even though your strength is lower and she doesn’t have hardly anything to carry? (The syrinx is a kineticist, so she doesn’t have a whole lot of equipment needs)

Strix & Syrinx: Uh…

DM: Are you SURE he’s not your slave?

Strix: Wait, I’ve got this, I get paid in the humor of translating things incorrectly to the rest of the party.

Syrinx: Oh no.

DM: Oh how the turns have tabled.

Every Savior needs a villain

Rumple to Regina, 6x10 Wish You Were Here

Rumple has once again played Regina. He manipulated her to release him and kill Emma’s wish!realm parents. He told her that Emma became the savior because of her; to defeat her (”show her your inner darkness and the savior will be reborn!”.

He was wrong. Well, half-wrong.

As we saw, Emma woke up not when Regina was threatening her family, but when Regina was in danger.


Emma really did become the savior because of Regina, but not to defeat her, but to save her. Regina cast the curse to finally get her Happy Ending, yet she never did. Emma became to savior to get Regina her Happy Ending and thus break the Curse.


Emma came to Storybrooke to save Regina by giving her her Happy Ending: 


Just like Emma said:


Originally posted by debnamcarevs

The day she finally does give Regina her Happy Ending (herself and Henry - a family, true happiness; what she craved all those years) is the day Emma FINALLY stops being the Savior.

“Regina and Emma want the same thing. They want love, and they want family, and they want home.” -Eddy. (x)



And that’s MY headcanon.

P.R.I.M: Pranks Resulting in Matrimony

Written by: @ghtlovesthg

Title: P.R.I.M: Pranks Resulting in Matrimony

Prompt 28: Noting tension between Katniss and the baker’s youngest son, carefree and mischievous Prim can’t resist pranking her annoyingly uptight and very responsible sister. [submitted by @567inpanem]

Notes: Rated All Ages, Never-reaped!Everlark, Complete. 

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Pepe and Pear

DISCLAIMER: None of these characters belong to me. They are the property of Crying Breakfast Friends and Pepe’s Burgers.  I just wrote this for fun.  PLEASE DON’T SUE ME!

Rating: PG for romance and crying.

The club was called the Midnight Snack.  In it’s prime, all of the ripest fruits and fancy cheeses in town showed up at it’s doors to dance and be merry.  But that was years ago, and now the club was just a rundown dive for all the snacks that the fridge had forgotten.

Everything at the Midnight Snack was almost past its expiration date.  Everything, that is, except for Pepe and Pear.

Pepe was a burger.  He played the ivory keys.  Pear was… a pear.  Every night, she would sit herself atop the piano and the two would sing duets that could make an onion cry.

They sang songs of romance and unrequited love.  It was their act, but Pepe always wondered if it were… more than an act.

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rellni944  asked:

Please give Zarya Bayonetta's legs!

okay so

i have a funny story to tell you (this is fsm in case you don’t wanna read the tags yet)

so, i’ve been super busy lately what with performing a musical and all and then preparing to hit the ground running with a spring play that had rehearsals starting the week after it finished (sorry i didn’t tell you!)

and so, i decided to start up again now that i had the weekend to myself and i selected a commission to do. this one ended up looking pretty easy! (that may have been why i selected it. sorry, but i’m super worn-out)



voila. that’s how this picture came to be one of the hardest (and yet, surprisingly not super time-consuming) pieces that i’ve ever done.

i’m not gonna say i’m throwing shade, but SQUINTS

yorshkrun  asked:

I'd love any stories about Daisy Johnson from Agents of Shield!

She’d chosen Skye for the sharpness. That was a name that came with edges– the spiky k, the stark supplementary angles of the y. The s let you in on a quick slide and then the e led you out on a smug silence.

She used to shove her head out the window at the orphanage, knuckles squeezed to white on the sill while she craned to see the clouds that streaked across the blue. She didn’t know, then, that she would live in that sky for a few precious months, that she would find a family there, that when she touched down she’d give up her name for one that grew in the ground.

The first foster home they gave her to believed that not clearing your plate at supper was the sign of a spoiled, sullen child. The dairy was spoiling in Skye’s tummy, certainly, though she didn’t have the words for that as she pushed scraps of cheesy lasagna around her plate.

“I thought Chinese girls were supposed to be polite,” said Cheryl, who had asked Skye to call her “mom.” Skye huddled in the dark of the hallway, listening and watching the faint light of late night television splash itself across the beige carpet. A canned laugh track spilled after it, ricocheting down the hall.

“Well, she’s only half,” said Richard, who had not asked her to call him “dad.”

The second foster home was nice, Skye had thought. They had liked her, she had thought. She had helped Alice make scrambled eggs and not burned anything. Kyle had read her stories at bedtime and she had asked interesting questions. She was never sure why they’d sent her back.

“It just wasn’t working,” her social worker told her. “Don’t worry, sweetie, there’s always next time for a cute little thing like you.”

Mr. Lopez, who was her computer teacher at the fourth foster home, kept in touch, after. Well, he hadn’t been her computer teacher, but Skye had hidden out in the computer lab at lunch, during some P.E. classes, and that one terrible English class, and instead of going to various extracurriculars.

For more than a year after the Smiths sent her away, Mr. Lopez emailed her puzzles that Skye supposed a different girl might have called “homework.” The orphanage took twice-a-week trips to the local library, where Skye claimed a computer stall to type up her answers and send them back to him.

She looked Mr. Lopez up, years later– when she was Daisy, with earthquakes living under her skin, finally feeling like maybe she herself fit in there. She searched through the inhuman registry, wondering if that stroke of kindness had actually been unknown fellow-feeling. Had he looked at her and felt a kinship he didn’t understand? Seen the alien under her stubborn chin, even if she didn’t have the words for it then?

She didn’t find his name. But the registry was hardly perfect– something she was grateful for.

(It had been fellow-feeling.)

Mr. Lopez had seen a young child, far from anything that felt like home. He had seen her curious eyes light up as the rundown old computer whirred itself awake. She didn’t know who she was going to be and at fourteen the world had been anything but welcoming.

It was absolutely kindness. It was absolutely kinship.

Mr. Lopez tried to look her up, too, years later. He spent his afternoons, those days, teaching his granddaughters how to code. He wondered if Skye had gone to college, if she’d found a family that stuck, but he didn’t find anything.

Her old email account bounced. Searches turned up empty (scrubbed clean).

That wasn’t her name anymore.

Love You To Death 🌙

A/N: So I stumbled upon this in my word documents, which I wrote when I was thirteen years old. And I must admit that my writing style hasn’t changed much in the past four years, much to my embarrassment (oops). Please forgive me if you find any cringey stuff in this fic because let me repeat, thirteen years old and I know that most of us refuse to acknowledge our thirteen year old selves. Anyway, enjoy some kinky ghost Kai while I finish up requests x

Pairing(s): Kai/Jongin x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of sex

Genre: Very light smut/light supernatural

Requested: No

Summary: You and Ghost! Kai ‘interact’ with each other in the wee hours of the morning.

Word Count: 2563

*Side Note: This is a snippet from an old fic of mine, so if certain aspects are unclear, don’t fuss about them too much.

Originally posted by datkaidoe

As silently as I can, I shut the door behind me and quietly slip on my Converse. The icy night air whips at my face, numbing it as I make my way down the pitch-black corridor, occasionally bumping myself against the wall.


Using my phone as a flashlight, I slowly navigate my way to the end of the corridor and inch up the creaky stairs that links to the attic. I’m not even supposed to be awake at this time of night as it is forbidden in the dorm…but who’s to stop me from doing what I want?

The trapdoor to the attic is stiff and creaky from lack of use but I manage to open it eventually. Dust surrounds me as I squint into the darkness, desperately searching for what I’m looking for.

Books, old clothes, broken furniture…

I paw through the piles of junk blindly, hoping to feel the silkiness of the cloth-wrapped package that (Y/F/N) chucked away. Then I stop, goosebumps forming on my arms and the hairs at the back of my neck standing on end. The temperature of the atmosphere drops rapidly.

He’s here.

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sorry i haven’t been drawing as much, its probably because i foolishly bought another copy of animal crossing to make a faerie-themed town

cupcakefiasco  asked:

hi there. are there any fics where stiles and laura are best friends before derek and stiles get together? or stiles and laura become friends when derek and stiles get together?

This is one of my favs. I love when Laura and Stiles are partners in crime and Derek is exasperated with the both of them. - Anastasia

Originally posted by jugheadjones

The Wrong Guy by Inell

(1/1 I 3,010 I Teen)

Stiles is having a drink at his favorite bar when a gorgeous guy says they’re supposed to be meeting. Stiles thinks Derek has the wrong guy, but Derek insists he’s the right one.

You’re My Best Friend by idoobeg

(1/1 I 3,743 I Teen)

It’s Senior Prom and Derek Hale is Stiles Stilinski’s best friend

I Don’t Crash I Stop With Style by Nerdy_fangirl_57

(1/1 I 5,834 I Teen)

Stiles might have miscalculated the airtime on that jump. Maybe. But he didn’t crash, okay? Stiles Stilinski doesn’t crash. He stops with style. It’s how he got his nickname.

Then he notices a guy with the most stunning eyes Stiles has ever seen staring down at him. Shit did he die?!

Christmas Daddy (Merry Birthday Sourwolf!) by graveltotempo

(2/2 I 7,554 I Not Rated)

Derek is a Christmas Baby who hates presents and pretends to hate Christmas.
The Hale Pack and Laura Hale are ready to take on the challenge and throw him the best Christmas Birthday party in the history of Christmas Birthday parties.

Swapped by Aurum18

(11/? I 7,745 I Teen)

What if Derek Hale was Scott’s broody best friend and Stiles was the snarky Stilinski kid whose family died in a fire not too long ago?
What if Scott was never bitten and Derek was a turned wolf?

Let’s just say Season One is not the same….

Fish Don’t Have Legs by MadnessofVoid

(1/1 I 8,934 I Teen)

Finally, the net broke. Derek sighed with relief, rising to his feet and grunting at how stiff he felt. The boy continued to sit there a moment longer, staring still. Derek was about to attempt interrogating this boy again when he saw something that about made him check in to a mental hospital.

Instead of legs…there was a glistening, blinding, orange tail.

A fucking tail!


Derek is a reluctant fisherman in order to pay off his parents’ debt and he caught one hell of a, well, catch

A Day Will Have A Hundred Pockets by inatshej

(1/1 I 11,397 I Mature)

Derek was back in Beacon Hills, trying to forget his life - problems Laura had with becoming the alpha, their uncle coming back, new werewolf, murders. He met Stiles by chance, their romance a good distraction from everything. Until Stiles turns out to be something much greater.

No Other Love by Idday

(1/1 I 18,745 I Teen)

And maybe it’s irony, or the universe at work, or maybe it’s just Derek Hale’s shitty luck, but that’s when, at that exact moment (as Stiles will swear later), there’s a knock on the door.
“Laura?” Derek breathes in disbelief, and Stiles feels his own face fall into confused slackness.
Because the girl standing in the doorway? The last time Stiles had seen her—or, well, half of her—she’d been very naked, and very, very dead.
“Hey, baby bro,” she says with a grin.

OR: The one where Laura comes back from the dead, and it turns out to be bad for Stiles, because he’s suddenly spending a lot of quality time with one of the coolest people he’s ever met, and her brother. The guy that he might be just a little in love with.
He’s not okay.

You Only Live Once…or Twice by WonderWolf

(6/6 I 32,159 I Explicit)

“Anything,” Derek’s eyes are determined, boring into Stiles’.

Stiles huffs a laugh, “Careful there, big guy. Don’t want to be promising anything to every necromancer you meet. Some might ask for your soul or someth—”

“I’ll give you my soul to bring her back,” Derek says, his voice steady and strong with resolve, “if that’s what you want.”

Stiles’ mouth gapes open for a moment before his brain kicks into gear and he stutters out, “N-no, I don’t ask for that. I only ask for money.”

(Or the one in which Stiles is a necromancer who needs help stopping a rogue alpha and Derek is the solution, but at what cost?)

Broken Cookie, Shattered Glass by clawstoagunfight

(1/1 I 36,301 I Mature)

Derek was back in Beacon Hills, trying to forget his life - problems Laura had with becoming the alpha, their uncle coming back, new werewolf, murders. He met Stiles by chance, their romance a good distraction from everything. Until Stiles turns out to be something much greater.

Protector PT. 1

Characters: Derek x Reader

Summary: You are Derek’s long time girlfriend, with no knowledge of the supernatural. 

A/N: This first chapter is before any craziness ensues. It’s kind of giving Derek the life he’s always wanted.


You sighed as you looked at the clock 11:39PM flashed bright red. This had become a routine and you didn’t like it. You watched as the store bought marinara sauce began to boil. He’d been coming home late more and more; later and later, you began cooking later and later. Once the sauce was done, you took the meatballs out of the small oven that the trailer provided and mixed the pasta in. Why did it have to be this way? Nearly every night you found yourself serving separate plates and putting the second one in the microwave, tonight was no different. It was almost sad how  more often than not you sat in front of the TV with your dinner, watching a rented movie from the video store on your crappy 20" television than in front of your beautiful brooding boyfriend. Who are you kidding? Hell it was sad.

An annoying song was playing. Then again. And it began again. You peeled your eyes open and recognized the title sequence of the DVD you’d been watching, pressing play just to make it stop. Checking your phone you saw that it was 3:13AM, you had fallen asleep. You rolled on your side and lay awake, thinking about your current situation. How did you go from being a librarian in Portland, Oregon with promising references of a promotion, you might add, to a having a 3 day a week 5 hour a day bookstore job in a nowhere town in Nebraska? Your thoughts would have to wait, because at this moment in time headlights shone through your window signalling that he was home.

You listened as the engine cut off, sputtering as it did. You listened as he opened the car door and heard his boots hit the gravel as he traveled the short distance to the door of your trailer. You listened as he got inside and sighed as he sat on the couch and took off his work boots. You listened as he heated his food up in the microwave for less than 30 seconds. You held in a giggle as he ate it in less than five minutes. You listened as he cleaned all the dishes that were used for tonight’s dinner and the few cups in the small sink, a smile appeared on your lips, you taught him well. You listened as he stripped down to his underwear. You felt the blanket lift and let out a breath, you didn’t realize you were holding as he wrapped his arm around you and pulled himself to you.

“Thank you baby, it was delicious” he kissed the back of your head. He always knew when you were awake, somehow.

“How’d it go?” You stopped asking how work went, it killed him to lie to you.

“Nothing tonight.” He mumbled curtly. That’s really all you ever got out of him. “I love you” no more questions.

“I love you back” you whispered and nestled against him tighter as you fell asleep.
“Get up, baby” Derek pushed his nose in the crook of your neck and took a deep inhale, you smiled to yourself, he did this everyday, he says he wants to keep your scent when you’re away. It was strange but, for some reason it comforted you, it made you feel special.

“Nooo, work is gross” you whined and rolled to face him, you weren’t being serious… Not completely at least. He chuckled and kissed your shoulder.

“You don’t have to work, you know” he always tried to convince you to stay home.

“And do what all day? Watch every DVD in the video store? Pretty sure I’m almost there” you scrunched your nose.

“True. Plus, who are all those old men gonna flirt with?” he let out a rythmic laugh and pulled you on top of him so you were straddling him.

“You’re right, it is my civic duty after all.” You flipped your hair dramatically. You leaned down and kissed him softly, his lips moving with yours in unison.

After you both pulled away, you climbed off of Derek and grabbed your clothes for the day, jeans and a simple long sleeve shirt with three buttons at the top. You placed them on top of the toilet in the tiny restroom of your trailer and took a quick 10 minute shower, any longer and you’d get bombarded with ice cold water. After getting dressed and doing your hair and makeup you walked over to Derek who handed you a breakfast sandwich, you took it greatfully.

As you began eating, you thought back to last night. “Why’d you get home so late?” You paused. “Again.” He needed to see how annoyed you were.

“I’m sorry [Y/N], I didn’t think it would take that long” he rubbed the back of his neck and looked down.

“What? What were you doing?” You sat in the dining area, he was always so secretive. Nearly two and a half years into a relationship with this man and he still couldn’t tell you about his job. He’d made up some story about being a wild animal researcher and tracker, a story he knew that you knew was a lie. Wild animal researchers don’t look like that. But, you dropped it.

“You know I can’t tell you” he looked at you with pleading eyes. “Not yet” your eyes scanned his face and you stood, sighing as you did.

“It better be soon,” you walked up to him and placed your hands on both his arms “This is the third town we’ve lived in, in five months Der. I need to know what we’re running from or who you’re searching for. I love you, and you can’t change that, no matter what you tell me” his eyes watered but, he never let the tears fall out.

“I love you, I love you so much. I have to protect you, I will tell you soon, I promise” his arms snaked around your body and he pressed his lips to your hair, you both stayed like that for a while.

“I have to get to work” you pulled away and kissed his lips “but you promised” you reminded him and put on your boots, “I’m taking the truck” you told him as he walked back to the bedroom to go back to sleep, presumably.

You drove to work and sat behind the counter. Working at the bookstore wasn’t very exciting, usually it was just the older men and women, a few teenagers and a couple people your age came in to the store, mostly because you were the only place in town with wifi and a few computers. Nothing to it, you opened your laptop and used it to update your social media.

Having a great time traveling with the beuax.

Accompanying the post was a photo of you two, well, of your silhouettes, Derek didn’t want anyone to see his face for your protection, which was okay, you weren’t too much of a social media maven anyhow. But sometimes it was hard not being able to show off a man that fine. The day went off without a hitch and when 3pm came ‘round, you were surprised to see Derek walk in with just​ an undershirt on, his shirt draped over his shoulder, he’d walked the 3 miles it took to get there without breaking a sweat. Janie, your nineteen year old co-worker, began blushing profusely.

“Who is that and where can I get one?” She whispered in your ear and you laughed, it’s been nearly three months since you lived in this town and Derek was rarely seen.

“That one belongs to me” you tossed your bag over your shoulder and smiled.

“Ooohh, get it, girl” she gave you a wink and you shook your head walking over to Derek.

“Well, this is unexpected” you watched as he flicked his fingers along the spines of a few books.

“Good, I was trying to surprise you.” He looked down at you, amusement showing through his eyes. “I just wanted to see you” something was happening. He pressed his lips to yours and before you got a chance to deepen the kiss Janie cleared her throat.

“Janie, Derek, Derek, Janie.” You introduced them and Janie gave a small wave, he gave a nod and looked ready to go. You left the store and hopped into your truck and headed back to what you called home.

Your legs were draped across Derek’s lap and he was using your legs to hold his plate of pizza. Both of you were watching the screen,eager to know what came next. Derek hadn’t watched a ton of movies when he was younger, his family was more of the outdoorsy type, at least from what you knew. So whenever he got the chance to watch anything he was enamored with it, pausing if he had to get up, rewinding if he missed a line, it was quite cute, actually.

“How come only bad guys are shown pooping in movies?” You asked once the movie finished.

“What?” He looked at you quizzically a smile playing on the edge of his lips.

“Seriously! You never see any good guys pooping but like, the bad guy always dies on the toilet or something” you remarked, sneaking a bite of his pizza. His laugh was beautiful and hearty, a deep rumble coming from his chest, you couldn’t help but follow with one of your own. He opened his mouth to respond but then stood abruptly, opening the trailer door.

“Oh!” The redhead woman yelled, surprised. You stood behind Derek, curious. “Well, you just about scared me half to death!” Her southern accent thick as she held her hand to her chest and threw in a little chuckle. Being scared half to death didn’t stop her eyes from scoping out his body.

“How can we help you?” Derek said quickly, you giggled softly and pushed his shoulder, reminding him to be nice. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and his posture softened immediately at the touch. Anchor, that’s what he called you, that’s what you were to him. It was hard to understand at first but, he says you bring him back to where he needs to be.

“Forgive him. Straight to the point. This one” you offered a smile and patted his chest, her eyes lingered on it for a second and then went back to your faces.

“Well, some of us just noticed that y'all haven’t been to the monthly potluck the past two months, and I just wanted to personally invite ya” she smiled and Derek remained tight lipped.

“Oh wow, that sounds great, when is it?” You asked, hell if you were gonna stay here, you may as well make a few friends.

“Oh well, it started about thirty minutes ago” she pointed over to the group of people dancing, eating, hanging about. You wanted to go.

“We don’t have a dish” both of you looked at Derek when he spoke. Your furrowed your eyebrows and gave him your best ‘Derek staredown’, basically trying to mimick Derek when he gets stern. He sighed “Can we bring beer?” He gave her his best friendly smile.

“So what do you do?” You asked Derek as you were both getting a little more dressed for the potluck. Shirlene, you’d learned the redheads name, had gone to tell some of the neighbors the good news.

“I’m a nocturnal animal researcher” he tilted his head at you.

“No one’s gonna believe that lie” you smiled at him and took a few steps towards him. “We’d have much better digs, if that were true.” You kissed his chin when you reached him. “Plus, what would you need all this muscle for?” You smacked his arm.

“I’ll come up with something” he bit your bottom lip softly, you loved when he did that, it was so subtle, but so longing “How long have you known?”

“Hmmm… Probably after our six month anniversary, you came to mine with a ripped shirt and dried blood on your pants” you smiled and smoothed his shirt.

“Didn’t think you’d noticed that” he muttered

“Of course I did silly, it’s not an everyday occurrence” you rolled your eyes and put your shoes on as Derek shrugged his leather jacket over his dark blue short sleeve shirt, only he could wear such simple attire and look so put together. You wore a white plaid button down with leggings and black boots. You both left the trailer and made the short walk to the potluck.

Before you arrived Derek whispered, “Don’t eat anything and don’t drink anything that I don’t give you.” He kissed your shoulder. You arrived at the party before he could hear your protest. Always so protective, it brought a smile to your face.

“Derek! [Y/N]!” Shirlene squealed and ran over, hugging you both. Derek excused himself to get drinks as Shirlene began introducing you to the girls, he came back and gave you some type of wine cooler and was dragged away by a guy named Barry.

The women that you were introduced to were nice enough, there was this woman though, Katrina, her name was… She was odd, cryptic.

“So how did you two meet?” Katrina asked watching Derek, you glared at her, you weren’t shy when it came to him.

“He was traveling for work and he kept bothering me” you smiled “The rest is history” you looked at the man whose eyes were trained on you and tilted your bottled towards him, he did the same.

Two years ago you’d been working as a librarian in Portland, when a scruffy man with broad shoulders and a leather jacket wanted to know where your Italian folk lore section was located. He came in every day for a new cultures lore and phenomenon until finally he came to you and told you, that if you didn’t go on a date with him, he would have no choice but to read every book in the library. Who could put a man through that much misery? You smiled at the fond memory.

“Huh, and he just whisked you away?” The smile she gave you was fake, it was almost convincing though. “Romantic” she took a drink of her wine and walked away. You turned and looked at Derek and shook your head as he was about to make his way towards you. You regrouped with Shirlene and the rest of the girls.

Later on in the night you and Derek next to each other with your hand resting on top of his. Shirlene and her husband Arnie were there, with a few others, Fred, Danielle, Rachel, John and Bobby. Everyone sat in a circle on various lawn chairs and benches. You remarked on what a great night this was, it was one you’d both needed.

“So what do you do again?” Arnie asked looking pointedly at Derek, he’d had a lot to drink tonight so his words were slurred a bit.

“I’m a nocturnal animal tracker” the group looked at Derek, quiet.

“Well, what does that mean?” Rachel voiced everyone’s question.

“Well, you know, mountain lions, cayotes, wolves. If they get too close to civilization I track them and make sure they don’t get too close” he told them. Good lie, you thought. If he’d told you that, maybe you would have believed him.

“Oh my Gosh, do you kill them?” Danielle asked with a gasp and leaned forward, showing interest, and her cleavage. Derek looked at you, seeming annoyed at her flirting, you smiled at him, biting back your laughter. His look matched yours almost instantly. His gaze went steely again though, when it was time to answer the question.

“If I have to” he took a drink and looked straight ahead.

“So basically… you’re Animal Control” Arnie said drunkenly. Derek’s hand clenched under yours. Arnie was a jealous man, he wasn’t ugly, his blonde hair was in a buzz cut with a little scruff on his face, he was a little shorter than Derek and on the thinner side, save for his small beer gut. Maybe he was the type of guy that couldn’t handle a better looking person around.

“Only the dangerous ones” he looked into Arnie’s eyes with a look that you would never like to be on the other end of. Arnie wasn’t dangerous but, Derek definitely was. You gripped Derek’s hand tightly.

“You know, I heard that a big ol’ group of people just came in town and just about rented the whole motel up.” Shirlene changed the subject quickly.

The rest of the evening went by smoothly, you both headed back to your trailer, waving to the few leftover people that stayed. It was nearing Midnight and you were getting tired. Once you got inside you stripped off all your clothes, and turned to face Derek, a little tipsy.

“That was fun,you have to admit” you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Yeah, I guess it was” He smiled and placed his hands on your waist.

“I’m still mad at you for not letting me have a slice of cake” you pouted and bit your lip.

“Babygirl, if you wanted dessert, you should have said something” he picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“I want dessert” you said lightly. He pressed his lips to yours hungrily and walked you both back to the bedroom.

house-arya  asked:

59 and gendrya!

59. “Don’t say you love me.” 

“Don’t say you love me.”


“Don’t.” He’s half-turned away from her, staring as hard as he can at the fire, but he can see her out of the corner of his eye.

“Why not?” She demands. Her voice wavers slightly at the end, and it’s like a dagger in his gut.

“Because we can’t, Arya,” he grits out, “because we’re in the middle of a war, because the world is ending, because you’re-”

Arya grabs him by the shoulder, her fingers digging in too tightly through his tunic as she forces him to face her. Her jaw is trust out in defiance, but he’s shocked half into silence by the tears welling up in her eyes. “Don’t you dare say because I’m a lady and you’re a bastard,” she growls, and the tears threaten to spill over. “Don’t you dare.”

He’s never seen her cry, he realizes. Not once, in all these years.

Because I love you, he wants to say. Because I’ve been in love with you for years, and if you say it, it’s all going to come crashing down and because I don’t deserve you, and because-

“We can’t, Arya,”

“I hate you,” she hisses.

He turns back to the fire, listening to her footsteps fade away, and hates himself too.

Ca Caw

I’m a DM for a group that’s about to start a campaign of Iron Gods from pathfinder with some usuals from a group I play other things with frequently. This group typically plays some pretty two-dimensional characters that just act like they (the players) would so I encouraged them to go with some more advanced races to try and stoke the flames of roleplay and make things a little more interesting.

It ended up working a little too well, as one of them decided to play a Syrinx (think Holier-Than-Thou Owl people), which can’t take Common as an extra language. This race also has a habit of enslaving other races, and has a more or less subservient race called the Strix under them.

So of course, one of the other party members is playing a Strix. The other two members of the party decided to go Aasimar, and Vishkanya’s (Snake people, or sneeple). Those two have no way of actually communicating with the Syrinx, so anything she says has to go through the Strix first. While going over sheets to make sure everything is as it should be, I point out to the Syrinx that her race, is, in fact, incredibly condescending to “lesser” races, going as far to enslave them because they think it’s for the betterment of all (including the ones who are enslaved, how that works out, I don’t know) and the following conversation ensued:

DM (me): You’re aware that the race you picked basically amounts to Bird Hitler, right?

Syrinx: My backstory is that I left my people because I couldn’t tolerate their views of the other races and their practices with dealing with them, I don’t support what they do and I don’t ever plan to.

DM: … But you’ve got one of the races your race enslaved traveling with you.

Syrinx: Not as a slave!

Strix: Yeah, I’m just a translator.

DM: Does she pay you?

Strix: Well, no…

DM: And aren’t you carrying like, half her things, even though your strength is lower and she doesn’t have hardly anything to carry? (The syrinx is a kineticist, so she doesn’t have a whole lot of equipment needs)

Strix & Syrinx: Uh…

DM: Are you SURE he’s not your slave?

Strix: Wait, I’ve got this, I get paid in the humor of translating things incorrectly to the rest of the party.

Syrinx: Oh no.

DM: Oh how the turns have tabled.