Might go play SWTOR or League of Legends and rebuild the creative flow.
Teen Wolf 4x11 Sneak Peek “A Promise to the Dead”
okay im not watching anymore ii didn’t even click the video but are they doing some romantic date WERE BOYD DIED?
I don’t think anyone has forgotten that Boyd died there, but the loft is still a place where people have to be and where things need to happen. You don’t stop using a location just because someone died there (if that was the case nothing in Beacon Hills would ever happen… ever). This is still Derek’s home after all. He can let his friends use it if he wants to.
War is never something you’re never prepared for fully, never readied for the losses you’ll soon take nor the chances missed in the heat of rage and fire. Perhaps that is why she’d grown so cold, keener pleasures found on in ice and iron, the losses of war ravaging her heart and mind and now- here she collapsed to her knees. The sensation of pain and agony welling throughout her body as every muscle began to tighten and her airways became blocked. Copper- she tasted copper in her mouth. Those pale pink lips stained red and blood welled at the edges of her mouth, running along her jaw and staining the skin as it dripped. She clutched her hands to the sword inside her chest, felt the steel and blood slick as she tried to push the blade from her body and ultimately felt the edge cutting her palms and fingers.
She reeled back when the sharp boot struck her and the creature pulled back, sword taken out with the sound of a watery, fleshy pop. The rush of red staining her robes and her heart bitterly pumping even if the metal had pierced it. Somewhere in her mind she saw darkness and felt the chill in her bones, felt herself fading and the world around her slowing down. ‘Fire and blood-’ she whispered ‘my powers are fire and blood.’ her arm reaching up and quivering, fingers suddenly overcome with the spark of flame. Green and yellow, pale white… it burned and it smoldered. ‘Summon the Phoenix D’anastasis! That is the pinnacle of the Blood mage!’ the voice in her head spoke, a commander who’d long ago been hers and had taught her the very strength in her veins.
But the darkness took to and Iluceria saw a sudden blaze of flames around her, saw the red haired girl rush and the white hot fires she threw in her anger. She watched as she decimated bone and rended flesh to ash, as Synthiel stood unchallengeable and unslaked for vengeance. she felt her kneel and Iluceria grasped at the hands of the girl who looked down at her- whispered under her breath inaudible words that Luce attributed to being frustrated remarks about her foolish rush. And yet? She smiled.
Iluceria felt her bow and felt the flames overcome her just as the darkness was, the heated sensation of her blood boiling and her body smoldering. She felt the touch of flame and ash and smoke- of the youth and power and somehow, between them she remembered- ‘this is what I taught you.’ and Synthiel proved well in her ability as she began to utilize her knowledge of blood magic to force regeneration to Iluceria’s body.
"You’re doing beautifully." she commented, her own natural healing finally kicking in as she grasped for a stone in her pocket, green and glowing it cracked and she felt the darkness pushed back by the wildfire- unexpected however as it took her minutes to sit and in that last minute she found herself looking hard into Synthiel’s eyes. It was sudden when she grasped for her cheeks, when she cupped her face and pulled her close- kissing the girl’s forehead and cheek. "The best apprentice I could’ve had."
Zalin’s face twisted into confusion when the weight bore down on his shoulders, the feeling of hands sliding through his hair and along his scalp made a cold electrical pulse travel through his spine. Instinctively he reached up to grab for the hands that covered his eyes and to pull them off, his gaze studying the smooth palms and the darkly painted nails. The rest of the weight leaned against him as he sat on the bench, a woman’s slender neck curving as he glanced sidelong at Iluceria and the silhouette of her face. “Surprise.” she mouthed, speaking softly and pulling back, standing behind him when he released her. She produced, without hesitation or ceremony, a small box from the folds of her robes.
He’d twisted to look back at her, noting the pale champagne colored gown and the pink flowers woven into her dark hair, the gift taken and studying before opening the box and seeing nothing more than a tear shaped emerald. The murky green glowed eerily and it’s cut faces swirled with an inky shadow- power and magic lingered at it’s very touch. “You gave me a student who can surpass my being, I give to you a jewel that holds… something very precious to me.” she’d never say what but Zalin couldn’t have fathomed what she’d stored in it regardless, and he nodded when she smiled.
No matter the sudden, ‘Thank you.” he said, she leaned down again, curling her fingers beneath his chin and pressing her lips boldly against his cheek. The faint confusion producing a rush of blood and a scarlet tint on his face, Luce stepping back and walking off- satisfied with a sway in her step.
why is this so hard for people to understand
Months now, he recalled, it had been months since his hostess and her private crew had pulled his broken body from the rocky shoes and the menacing sea. He’d been given food and medicine, healed by whatever doctors and priests she’d employed an he recalled even the assistance of a Troll whose skin had moss growing on it and who’d spoken in a dialect he was not familiar with. This singular woman who’d sheltered and helped him, now stood wearily looking out the window at the graying skies and rolling tide. Worry scarred her young face and her ears practically drooped- even the thick black hair was braided messily and had lost a degree of shine. Yet he watched the way she leaned back and folded her knees to her gracious chest, how she sighed and looked side-long at him with those almost golden-green eyes.
She spoke in Thalassian often, trying to teach him her own language and when she did speak Common it was nearly broken and more than not incorrect- he’d tried to make it just as easy but ultimately between them there seemed to be a degree of barrier when it came to speaking- or so he thought. In her own head she knew that Common was her second most spoken language and the easiest she’d learned- to pick up on. But all these months he’d spoken in what he thought was secret, saying things she’d listened to and made note of. The game was simple, observe and listen and when he began speaking about Lordaeron and the Queen Claimant, about his position and his path he’d have to take- she nodded and smiled. Even when he slumbered he spoke sometimes, a comment here or there about a wife and about himself. Altherien still playing her game.
Her legs uncurled though and she stood herself from the window sill, walking towards him chair and very suddenly running the edges of her lacquered nails along the hair line and the scarring. Tolerating it for now his brow raised and Altherien very suddenly smiled, her lips moving and her voice soft- proper and even with a faint accent she spoke utterly perfect Common. “I intend to give you a ship and supplies, some treasures perhaps and a crew of men and women who will claim that your ships were destroyed by Kvaldir forces traveling from the north. They will say they rescued you and you single-handedly lead them to victory against the Kvaldir who assaulted them. You will have treasures to prove it and even a Kvaldir vessel in tow- if your Queen and her King are not impressed so be it but my crew will leave and return to me after your treasures have been given.” she was stern and he felt somehow awed but largely confused.
Jeremaes watching the twitch in her ears and the smile she gave. “This is my gift for when you leave. I will not be seen as an ungrateful hostess nor one who was so cruel as to not see to a Soldiers return.” She pulled away with that and walked to the window, looking out over the sea and wrapping her arms beneath her bosom. Jeremaes sauntered towards her, towering well above her and looking down quixotically. “I don’t need that, just a vessel to get home.” and before he could say more she’d placed her hands on his cheeks and chuckled. “A gift.” her voice sweeter and Jeremaes still mouthing ‘no’- halted by the way her feet arched up and she grew closer… her lips pressing against his.
Nothing more seemed to occur, rather he grasped her hips and looked down- blinking and curious. “You are more than a gracious host already.” but even acknowledged she shook her head. “General, stay until the storm breaks. Perhaps we can discuss strategies for naval combat, I specialize in it.”
Between the both of them distance had long been closed, their bodies stretched out in the bed and sheets barely covering their hips. Alarion had draped himself atop Stijn’s chest and his fingers ran through the dark hair and over the rippling muscles. His dark long hair swept to the side and the Elven male tenderly kissed the strong edges of his lovers jaw. Stijn looked down at him with a smile, the greying near-black hair messily tousled and his own lips kissing atop Alarion’s head. Arms swept to hold him and between them both smiles and laughter- the voices low and hushed and Alarion practically mewling when Stijn ran his hands along the slender throat, the soft cheek and span of his ears. “Who knew an old Gilnean like me would end up with such a pretty lover,” the man cooed in his heavily accented voice.
Alarion looking down with his long hair spilling over the edges of his face and the glowing blue eyes seemed to take on an almost more indigo tone in some light, his gaze cast over his lover and cheeks flushed and peachy as his lips quivered and he spoke up in the breaths. “Pretty? I’m not only pretty- if I wasn’t you wouldn’t have written so many books about me being smart and charming… and-” he was cut off by Stijn’s lips pressing against his own, against the slow and sonorous purr and heat that spread throughout his every fiber. The strong hands sliding over his sides and his own clutching Stijn’s neck tightly as he curled his legs around the hips and lower back- as Stiijn rolled them ad Alarion’s back pressed into the mattress.
Yet their intimacy ended at the banging hands on the door, the sound of the four children speaking up and calling for both fathers to come out. So it was they dressed and opened the door, a young High Elven girl spry and jumping in first wrapping her arms around Alarion’s legs. Stijn grasping a the younger twins, children who looked to be hybrids of Draenei and Night Elves- and a singular Orcish boy clamoring atop onto Stijn’s shoulders as he looked to his husband with laughter. “Seems the young ones are waking up too. Better get started with the kids, looks like we’re in for a long day.”
And Alarion blushed, picking the High Elven girl up and carrying her with him as both walked to the hall and kitchen.
Waves battered the shoreline, pushed the sand back and broke in thunderous symphony against the rocks. A gray sky painted with grim, darkly lined clouds cast shadows across the beach and the grassy dunes just behind it- the scent of stale salt and ozone in the air. Bursts of rumbling in the sky and the occasional glean of lightning striking far off gave way to the visions of the oncoming storm- gale winds sweeping and rattling the leaves and pushing back on the dark fabric of the woman’s dress. This lonely soul wandering long across the beaches and through the dunes with footprints swept away and the inky black curls blowing freely behind her.
A phantasm perhaps but as the figure broke the dune line she stood just at the outskirts of a camp, heavily guarded and fortified- wood and iron and steel. Rust and fire, even in the foreboding chill and shadows, stagnant as each soldier and civilian moved about purposed and ready. She could feel the heat in her bones from the forges, the prickling burning on her skin that painted color on her pale cheeks and reflected in those blazing fel-fire eyes. Nothing was spoken when she crossed the threshold and guided herself through a doorway to a quickly built storage space. Books, containers full of coin, satchels of goods- things picked up from the endless war on these ever vulnerable shores.
Yet Luce fingered a leather bound tome with metallic embellishments, the symbol of the Highbourne Court on it’s spine and she breathed heavily at the scent of old leather and stale paper- the smoldering and overwhelming musk of aged ink… the feeling of something so long wanted and now held in her grasp. She clutched it to her breast and bowed her head down to smile wickedly in the lonesome space- chewing thoughtfully on her lip before turning to see the door open again. With a flick of her wrist the green flames crept into her palm and burned away at the shadows- Valkrian standing and looking at her as she stepped forward and smiled (and like a damned predator hungry and wanting, voracious…. that was how she smiled).
He said nothing to her, only looked to the book and to her lips- noting the way she poised and swayed her hips when she wandered passed him. Valkrian noted of course the curling fingers and the way she beckoned him, walking towards her own holdings and entering shortly after her. “The Highbourne blood lines I have long sought to find are contained in this. Finally, I’ll be able to identify every commoner and every true noble whose blood existed in the courts. The most accurate blood chart to date…” and her voice when she spoke was airy, cheerful and perhaps too easily made so. She turned on heel to look at Valkrian who stood sobered and strong. Her fingers tracing the sigils on the book and tongue sliding across her lips.
"Not why I’m here." he stated, Luce sitting the book down and walking forward between him and the book she so coveted. Her hands on her hips and the black dress sagging somewhat over her shoulder, Valkrian closing the distance and cupping her chin with his hand, thumbing the edge of her jawline and lowering his head to hers. He remained silently standing and curling an arm around the small of her back, Iluceria sighing before wrapping her arms around his own shoulders and spreading her fingers through his hair playfully. "Still thinking about what I said, I didn’t mean it really." her admittance was genuine and the way his hand slid over the curve of her rear gave her wider eyes all of a sudden.
His pull drawing her closer and Luce lost in the moment when their cheeks brushed against one another. Lips drawn against the apple of the cheek and breathy whispers exchanged in low purrs. “You meant every word.” he quipped back at her and she tutted at him- “No, I meant only that while you are capable of watching after yourself, it’s always better to have someone guarding your back, even if you don’t show it to the enemy.” but it was lost in the closing distance between their lips, the fevered and hungry kisses and stumbling- the collapse backward onto some comfortable mess of pillow and fabric. The wanting gasps of air and moans… the storm still coming.
Taking naked pictures of yourself does not make you a bad person. People who share them without your permission are bad people.
My feelings on the Jennifer Lawrence thing basically.