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She sips hair-of-the-dog in a backwater saloon in a town so small it’s nameless. She passes a ranch hand, a desperate squire with no master, carrying a banner with no meaning. It’s got that stupid bowlcut all the squires seem to have. Reminds her too much of herself.

She lets the gasoline moonshine burn off some more of her stubble. The wide brim of her helmet shades her eyes. Maybe, if she’s very quiet and still in the dark, her hangover won’t find her. It only senses motion, like a dinosaur.

“Howdy ma’am.” A squeaky voice. Cloying, senseless. The pit behind her eyes starts to throb immediately, a dog called to heel. Ah well, worth a shot.

She looks up. It’s here, nearly eye level since she’s slouching in her own chair. Its backpack is huge, stuffed full of provisions. Its banner is nearly 6 feet long, coffin-sized. It’s drawing the eyes of other early-morning drinkers.

“Spit it out,” she chuffs.

“Ma’am— Sir,” it corrects quickly. “You’re a knight, ain’t you?” A drawl. Poorly educated. Speaking colloquially to its superior. She ought to behead it. But if she moves, she’ll vomit.

“So?”

“Who do you serve?” It says ‘serve’ reverently, like it’s something special. She’s definitely gonna hurl.

“Noone,” she says. A few other patrons’ ears perk up. She regrets it immediately.

She knocks back the last of her drink, and spots fill her vision. She blinks them away.

“Ain’t your momma teach you not to talk to strangers?” she reprimands. It doesn’t have the instinct to flinch yet, a pup who’s gone unnoticed by the kennel master, runt of the litter.

“You’re a knight,” it says, as though the two thoughts are connected.

“If I was a smart knight, I’d beat you senseless and sell you to the highest bidder.” It had a pretty face and soft curls, like a girl. Squires don’t get the privilege of being assigned a sex until they’re knighted. That usually doesn’t stop people, though.

She stands, and a few other patrons stand up too. She pulls her duster aside to put a hand in her pocket, and the hilt of her sword pokes out. Well-worn handle, gleaming trigger. It’s worth enough that anyone would gut her for a chance to steal it. Noone tries.

She leaves the saloon, and a ray of sunlight passes through both eyes like a lightning bolt, skewering her brain. She vomits immediately.

A clean hand offers a hankerchief, and she accepts it without thinking, blots away the bile steaming off her teeth. She looks up to see it again, eyes wide and curious. She spits.

“Are you stupid?” she croaks.

“A little,” it answers bashfully. Fair enough.

“Whose banner is that?” she points with her chin.

“Yours, Sir, I hope.” It scuffs a toe in the sand, waiting expectantly.

She hauls herself up off her knees, patting sand from her trousers. She really looks at it.

Denim that might’ve once been a royal blue, now dusted with sand and ash into a bluish-gray. A stitched emblem of The Falling Star, a many-pointed radiant thing with a long tail of white-gold fire.

The emblem of once-blessed sinners, damned things of the earth. The emblem of gravity, downward spirals, all things breathless and heaving towards their ends. A pointless emblem. A banner that declares its master’s approaching end.

“You stitch that yourself?” she says.

“Yessir,” it says. Poorly educated, but well-brought up. Always says Please and Thank Yous.

“Looks like shit.” She’s not the type to take in strays. There’s always a kitten hanging around, mewling for milk, showing off its ribcage. She’s no momma cat. Doesn’t waste breath on cooing, doesn’t waste cash on withering things. She’s got plenty of betting debts, but none associated with losing dogs. Doesn’t like to be disappointed when dying things die.

“Don’t let it trail in the sand like that,” she says. While she unties the bridle and hitches a boot in a stirrup, the squire quickly turns, chasing it like a tail, scooping it up into its arms and patting the sand off.

“So you’ll take me?” it says, and her heart twinges. It’s the first hopeful note to touch her ears in decades.

“I won’t kill you if you try to follow me,” she says, “That’s all. I ain’t letting you ride with me, and I won’t stop just cause you get blisters.”

It squeals a profusion of gratitude, backpack clattering with god knows what, and she immediately kicks herself for being soft.

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Sir Dines! This densely packed piscine paladin is here to sling some savory scaled chivalry! Wielding a razor-sharp lid and bringing the brains of a whole tin of fellow fishes to the fray, Sir Dines takes on any oily challenge heads on! Fight honorably good Sirs! #0578

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i think about this a hundred times a day

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So, I follow this “bad commercial interior design” Facebook page and-

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Horse breed of the day: Exmoor

Height: 11-12 hh

Common coat colors: Seal bay, dun and bay

Place of origin: England

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reading the wiki for the american psycho movie every single thing it’s saying about christian bale has me in tears …….. he literally wanted the role so bad he got that buff in two weeks, rejected every other offer for 9 months while the producers tried to get dicaprio to be patrick bateman bc bale knew dicaprio would chicken out, went to dinner with the director and the guy who wrote the novel IN CHARACTER apparently scaring the shit out of the novelist, took the role for $50k, and then made all his costars think he was a giant freak bc he never fucking broke character, and APARENTLY LITERALLY HAS CONTROL OVER HIS SWEAT GLANDS AND USED THIS IN THE BUSINESS CARD SCENE

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GW designers made interesting decisions imo Ah yes, skitarii - supersoldiers without fear or excess emotions, perfectly obedient murder machines. Lets give them the biggest saddest wettest eyes in existence, adorable little coats and childish backpacks. Our fiercest warriors. Killing enemies by cuteness overload lmao NOT complaining. It makes 40k better.

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More ways I paint plants! This is how I paint to make my plants look less muddy. I use bolder colors to help me out. Again, this is how I like to go about it! 😀

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Just a few more hours

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Old people love to own two identical ugly as shit dogs

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Foreman finally figured it out <3

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every day i think about the cat on twitter who looks more like a scheming eunuch than any creature has ever looked

monkey i love you beloved little freak i would die for you

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Collective Unconscious - Zen Garden (To Passage)

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i love reddit so fucking much