#she lights things on fire

[visenyaism]

visenyaism do you have a asoiaf oc?

myra flowers my peake great bastard oc i made up as a bit but who is now beloved to me. other than that nah

[madscientistenthusiast]

Personally I think that Azula should have been redeemed simply so that she can become Zuko's horrible little advisor who whispers evil little plans to him so that he can do the exact opposite

[nyaa]

[serenhob]

I could be sleeping but this is what I choose to do instead

[helios-two]

cindy + studcoms compilation

[queenunderthatmountain]

"Fintan couldn't be Sophies dad, there would be so many plotholes"

Well I don't care.

Fintan being Sophies Dad would be badass, so that's what he is.

It doesnt make sense?

Just assume Forkle lied. Perfect explanation for anything.

[myreia]

✦ R E D M A G E

Balance. The heart of red magic. She has always naturally leaned too far towards the black. Red magic offered her equilibrium at a time she desperately needed it, a backdoor to the white magic that had previously eluded her. It is with a rapier in hand, not a staff, that she feels the most clear-headed, the most grounded. The best version of herself. —level 90 compendium

[syn0vial]

NEW HELLSPAWN PLOT BUNNY JUST DROPPED:

KARLACH TEACHES ASTARION HOW TO RAGE

[couchtaro]

Do you get together with your friends once a week to imagine best friends you made up holding and getting held in desperation and terror as one of them rapidly turns to stone, the other flooding her with his literal life force, which manifests as a visceral compulsion to survive, in the hopes that it will somehow help her resist, offering “the closest thing to a prayer he has” as he begs his warlock patron to do anything at all, telling said patron “you don’t know her, but she’s everything” and pleading for her to live while watching her literal actual light gradually extinguish as the petrification overtakes her, all the while she is using what little mobility she still has to hurl lasers at the monsters attacking their friends who are defending them so he can focus his energy on saving her. Or are you normal

@justabitscrewy used every single one of her turns in a session-long combat to hold Phaela and RP her guts out and like. My word. I have to lay down. Let them hug. They’re goin thru it

ID and slightly more context below the cut

Image 1: a roughly sketched digital drawing of two D&D characters. Izen, a drider, is shown in his form of dread, a defensive state designed to frighten off attackers. In this form his face is bare skull, with four pairs of hollow eye sockets and purple mandibles on either side of his jaw. Tears run down the stark bone of his face. He is wearing the bracers that Phaela decorated for him by wrapping them in ribbon. With both hands, he holds Phaela’s face. She is a tiefling woman who looks up at him with wide eyes. Izen’s prized possession, a talisman secured by a ring of straps, is wrapped around her shoulders. Her chin is tilted up as if the stone spreading up her body is a rising tide she is trying to stay afloat in. She is petrified up to her neck with only her head and extended left arm free. Both are suffused by a starry blue glow, which is no longer present in the dull stone overtaking her. She holds starlight in her free hand that she has been trying to defend them with. Her expression is a mixture of desperation, determination, fear, and guilt.

Images 2 and 3: a roughly sketched comic. 1) Izen faces us. Phaela wraps her arms around him with her back to us, her head pressed into his chest and shoulders hunched. His hands rest on her back. 2) Izen bends down to hug Phaela properly, wrapping his arms around her and resting his head on her shoulder. His pedipalps also wrap around her for extra huggage. 3) Izen straightens and lifts Phaela up off the ground, his pedipalps forming a sort of platform that she sits on. 4) Phaela curls into Izen like a child, tail hanging limply down. One of his hands securely circles her back, the other rests on the back of her neck. He rests his head on her shoulder and one of his spider legs comes forward to hold her as well. Maximizing points of contact here. 5) Phaela wildshapes into a cat just to get super extra held. She is nestled in his arms, tucked under his chin, being gently stroked. Her face is still not visible.

End image ID.

[acourtofquestions]

Overhead, the stars shone clear and bright, and though Mala had only once appeared to him at dawn, on the foothills across this very city, though she might be little more than a strange, mighty being from another world, he offered up a prayer anyway.

Then, he had begged Mala to protect Aelin from Maeve when they entered Doranelle, to give her strength and guidance, and to let her walk out alive. Then, he had begged Mala to let him remain with Aelin, the woman he loved. The goddess had been little more than a sunbeam in the rising dawn, and yet he had felt her smile at him.

Tonight, with only the cold fire of the stars for company, he begged her once more.

A curl of wind sent his prayer drifting to those stars, to the waxing moon silvering the camp, the river, the mountains.

He had killed his way across the world; he had gone to war and back more times than he cared to remember. And despite it all, despite the rage and despair and ice he'd wrapped around his heart, he'd still found Aelin. Every horizon he'd gazed toward, unable and unwilling to rest during those centuries, every mountain and ocean he'd seen and wondered what lay beyond... It had been her. It had been Aelin, the silent call of the mating bond driving him, even when he could not feel it.

They'd walked this dark path together back to the light. He would not let the road end here.

[morsartis]

Nightwing x Civilian!Reader

Warnings: None. Its fairly gen. No actual romance I just had this thought that made me laugh.

-

The sound of your living room window being forced open was what woke you. Heart hammering in your chest as your hand went to the baseball bat you kept tucked away by your bed. Years of living in Gotham had made you hypervigilant of what sounds your apartment made and where. You knew for a fact that your living room window had been locked and that the sound of snapping wood had to have been the frame being forced open. The window lock itself was flimsy and you had brought it up multiple times with the landlord only to be shrugged off. Now you weren’t sure whether to feel petrified or triumphant that your concerns had been justified. Throwing back the blankets you stood slowly and raised the bat as you began creeping towards the open bedroom door. Out in the hall everything was still pitch black and you cursed yourself for not at least checking the time on the alarm by your bed. Your late night intruder hadn’t bothered to close the window behind them and the pale light of the moon and soft glow of the streetlights below gave you just enough light to see. A figure had collapsed on your couch, a hand dangling from where it awkwardly cushioned a head. As you cautiously shuffled closer you could make out the reflective glow of blue along the fingers. Your poor heart nearly collapsed in relief when you realized it was Nightwing, the resident vigilante of Bludhaven. 

When you had moved to Bludhaven a year ago you had assumed it would involve a lot less vigilante sightings than Gotham. Looking down at the battered and bruised figure of Nightwing sprawled across your couch you had to admit, this officially made Bludhaven weirder than Gotham. If only because in your years of living in Gotham you had never had a run in with the resident gaggle of vigilantes. Taking in his sweat soaked and disheveled curls, the half curl of his body that suggested a good amount of pain, and the way he was actually too big to fit on your admittedly small futon with how his legs dangled off the other end you sighed. 

A bird was a bird you supposed, Gotham looked after its own and while you had abandoned your home for Bludhaven the Gothamite still inside of you insisted you had a duty to look after the local vigilante. Setting the bat against the back of the couch you walked gingerly towards the window to assess the damage. Like you feared the lock had been snapped in two and the sizable crack that ran along the wooden frame was enough to tell you it was busted. You’d be living with a busted open window for the next few weeks while you scrounged around for enough money to cover repairs. Not even bothering to close it and risk damaging it further, you turned back towards your uninvited houseguest to check his own damage. In the light cast from the window you could make out a dark purpling bruise along the side of his face spanning from his temple to his jaw. Wincing in sympathy you shuffled closer and began gently prodding at his ribs. When he didn’t immediately shoot up in pain you returned your attention to his face. His mask was still firmly in place and you were grateful for it. You did not want to get dragged into the nightly struggle. Hoping that the bruising along his face was the worst of his injuries you tried to think of what to do next. You did not want to know what or who had managed to do that to the man. Instead you reached over and began unfolding the blanket you kept on the back of the couch. His suit left little to the imagination and you didn’t think it had to be very warm in the night chill now that he wasn’t actively fighting for his life and the lives of others. You could admit that despite the fact he was injured he had a nice figure. But that wasn’t something you’d be bringing up. Like most people you’d seen and heard about Nightwing enough to know how the media loved to sexualize him. It had to be exhausting and you weren’t about to add to it. Gently laying the blanket over him you wondered if he’d been exhausted or simply lost consciousness. There was no way for you to check without waking him and you dreaded the thought enough you weren’t about to even attempt it. Scrubbing an exhausted hand over your face you turned towards the bathroom where you kept your medkit. Closing the door mostly behind you before flicking on the lights you caught sight of your haggard appearance. You were exhausted from work. The dark circles under your eyes were a badge and testament to your workload. You missed Gotham’s much cheaper rent. Back in Crime Alley you hadn’t had to work as much as you did now. Sure the area had been Crime Alley but rent was cheap and so long as you kept your head down no one had bothered you much. Nudging open the cabinet underneath the sink you collected the medkit and swiftly left the bathroom. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in thought. Setting the kit down on the coffee table in what you hoped was Nightwing’s line of sight, you next turned your attention to the kitchen. As if on autopilot you shuffled in and grabbed what you needed to make a couple of sandwiches. You worked in silence as you stacked them on a paper plate and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. Like most people you had a few waters in the fridge more for looks than an actual drink. Taking them to the coffee table you set them down next to the medkit. Sweeping one last concerned gaze over the vigilante still passed out on your couch you took a deep breath. You had done everything you could and you had at least enough confidence to know he wouldn’t die on your couch if you left him be. Satisfied he wouldn’t die in his sleep you left Nightwing be as you shuffled on back to your room and the sweet siren’s call of your warm bed.

In the morning you awoke half convinced it was a dream garnered by too much Lifetime TV. Especially when you saw the bat sitting against the nightstand. It wasn’t until you sat up that you had a feeling it wasn’t a dream. Your medkit sat at the foot of the bed. A place you would never leave it. Wide awake with adrenaline you shot out of bed to check if Nightwing was alright. What greeted you was an empty living room, the blanket folded and placed where it always was, no food or water left on the coffee table. Your second clue that it hadn’t been a strange dream came when you wandered into your own bathroom. Condensation clung to your mirror and one of your towels was definitely missing. Looking around further showed that he’d clearly had a shower before he left and you wondered exactly how tired you had to have been not to hear the water running considering the only bathroom in your apartment was in your room. Shaking it off you brushed your teeth and wondered why Nightwing had felt so comfortable showering in your apartment with only a flimsy bathroom door between you. Was he just that confident in his ability to sense someone sneaking up on him? Not that you would have even attempted. There were certain boundaries even you wouldn’t push and going out of your way to learn someone’s secret identity was one of them. Not that you thought you’d even recognize him. Grabbing the keys to your mailbox and a dog treat you locked the apartment door behind you. Like every morning you were going down to the ground floor to grab yesterday’s mail. No vigilante was going to ruin your morning routine. 

No matter how bizarre. 

Your routine was something you shared with your neighbor directly above you. Though more specifically you shared the routine with his dog. Your neighbor usually went down at the same time as you did every morning to grab yesterday’s mail and take his adorable puppy for her morning walk. To say you adored that dog would be an understatement. She had the ability to happily and shamelessly distract and derail your thoughts every time you saw her. She was the sweetest, happiest, thing you had ever seen with her wiggling body and lolling tongue. Truth be told, of which you would never admit, you could pick Haley out of a line up before you could pick out her owner. It was incredibly embarrassing but there was really nothing about Dick that stood out to you other than his dog. Sure, he was an attractive man, as your other neighbors liked to gossip, but Haley had always had your full attention. You hadn’t even realized how long he’d been your neighbor until he’d gotten Haley. Your direct nextdoor neighbor had practically laughed herself to tears when you admitted it to her. Cackling about how of course you’d notice the puppy before Dick ‘sex on legs’ Grayson. Which you couldn’t even argue against. 

As always Haley was sitting by Dick’s feet and promptly burst into happy wiggles and pants at the sight of you. Dick glanced up and then he smiled in greeting before going back to his mail, Haley’s leash draped loosely over an arm. Like always you smiled back before grabbing your mail, feeling Haley start pawing at your leg for her daily treat. Tucking the mail underneath your arm you knelt down to scratch Haley behind the ears. 

“Hi there sweetheart.” You cooed cheerfully just like every morning since you’d seen her. She was soft, smelling vaguely of vanilla and oatmeal shampoo. “Did your daddy give you a bath?” 

You thought you might have heard a huff of a laugh from the man in question but Haley had already zeroed in on the treat in your hand and had sat down with impatient squirming for her treat. 

“You’ve got her trained quicker than I have.” Dick groaned when you handed her the dog biscuit. That made you laugh. 

“I’m just happy you let me spoil her. She’s such a good girl.” You smiled and gave her one last scratch before straightening up. 

“She’s the best.” Dick agreed mildly before yawning. Your gaze was sympathetic. 

“Long night?” You asked.

“Yeah. You?” 

“Something like that.” You agreed unsure if you should admit to Nightwing stretched out on your couch in the wee hours of the morning. Or the fact he had apparently been comfortable enough to use your shower and steal one of your towels. Did that mean he was coming back? Or were you going to have to buy another towel?

“I better get going. You know how Haley gets when she can’t get her usual walk.” He told you with an affectionate eye roll. You laughed. 

“I’d be cranky too if I couldn’t get in some exercise.” You teased, “Bye Haley.”

Haley yipped at you tail wagging as you wiggled your fingers at her.

“Have a safe walk.” You told Dick when you glanced back at him. He smiled. 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

You could feel his eyes watching you as you turned back towards the stairs and disappeared behind the door.

[historygay420692]

and so what if I made a death note/atla au???

[faaun]

pls i need to provide updates

[seagull-scribbles]

ʟᴇᴛ'ꜱ ɢᴏ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴏᴡɴ ᴏɴ ᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴀʏ ʜᴏᴍᴇ,

ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʟɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ʙᴏɴᴇꜱ

[snickeringdragon]

snickeringdragon headcanon edits :]

[divinekangaroo]

I always feel like I'm missing so much in your fics! Tell me something secrete about them!

Oh I nearly missed this! Sorry!

Let me tell you about FIRE:

I was gonna write a giant essay about how I use fire/Tommy lighting a fire repetitively in my fics, quoting the multiple times, meaning of each, how they interlock with his capability, capacity, libido (life drive not just sex drive), etc...but that's probably overkill XD.

Here's the short version: I do use references to fire or the act of lighting fires (not lighting fires) very deliberately. This was motivated by, and ties into, Tommy also doing the same in the show - and I pay special attention to when he can and can't light those fires, and who he might choose to ask to light a fire. For example, in series, there are times when it's John and Arthur, or even Jeremiah (as it comes to Ruby's pyre, which I'll elaborate on because it was such a powerful scene - from what I've been able to find re European Romani funereal tradition, albeit I coudln't *specifically* find period-references to Angloromani or Irish Traveller ritual, that *should* have been Tommy lighting it. Research does have an interesting split between whether it's necessary to stay to watch a funeral pyre burn til the end (as the fam did with Polly) or whether it's actually more respectful/acceptable to walk away early (turn your back on death to face instead to life)).

Then, to add another layer to this symbolic importance of Fire, when I started researching narrowboats and what daily life was like on narrowboats pre-electricity, I also then discovered how important maintaining the stove/fire in the living quarters was. The stoves were Aga or Aga-style, and they take forever to heat up. Basically, you get them going over hours, and *keep* them going, because if they go out you have ages before you can build the heat up again to something useable. And given you could reasonably freeze to death on the water, in an uninsulated boat, in the north, in the night, in winter, the fire/stove seemed very important.

I don't know how much the Shelbys would have been in the worst case northern-style winter conditions in the midlands, but irrespective, England is cold and living on water is freezing: the idea of the kids needing to permanently tend this dangerous and all-consuming, hungry thing dwelling on the boat really appealed to me for multiple reasons - especially because there's no modulation. Either they'd be freezing in those living quarters, or they'd be walking into a hotter-than-hell situation (not possible to temperature-modulate all that well), and they'd have to consciously *keep that fire burning* in a hotter than hell situation, because the heat of hell, at least, was being alive.

So yeah, a secret: if there's a reference to fire or lighting fires in my fics, there's a weight of thinking behind it even if it seems random.