Anonymous asked: Hey rowan do you have any cute Caleb/Molly ideas floating around that you would want to talk about? I'm having a downer day and after seeing the most recent episode it's making me think that Liam isn't interested in any relationships this campaign and we won't get any more content from them. It's a dumb thing to be sad about I know, sorry for dumping on you but you're always really nice to anons

lionelgayheart-deactivated20180:

first of all that’s not a dumb thing to be sad about! do u know how often i get sad because i get hopeful about trans chars and then remember it’s not happening?? cause it’s a lot. i am with u in the sadness corner my friend

anyways i would just like you to consider the possibilities around Caleb having apparent PTSD re: fire hurting others and Molly’s inherent resistance to fire damage as a tiefling. Now I am thinking about Caleb being somehow overloaded with magic* and freaking out and withdrawing and Molly calmly taking Caleb’s wrists in his hands and putting Caleb’s palm over his face to prove to him that it doesn’t hurt and i’m E MO TIONal

*this doesn’t happen ever in D&D but like, does that stop me? no

flameket asked: artist gwiboon yes please ;;;;;

fonulyn:

Keep reading

washington-s:

A/N: This chapter is a little fluffy and also sets the stage for a big chapter 14. We meet Tony’s youngest daughter, Tess in this chapter, and we also get more Ciarrai prep. A lot will happen next chapter, a wedding included! 

As always thank you so much for reading, and enjoy! 

Avis 

“The roses have to be pink.” Tess insisted, pacing back and forth as Kerry laid on the couch, rubbing her belly and observing Tess’s version of wedding planning. “Well I don’t care if they’re out of season, they need to happen. This is a wedding not a bat mitzvah.” Tess hung up the phone with a flourish, clapping excitedly as she crossed the room to sit at the end of the couch.

“I am so glad you’re letting me help out.”

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wildflowermedicine:

These work well for those with a mild ant problem.  Some are better than others, some are no-harm and others will kill the ants. They are all safer options than spraying chemical insecticides.  ( * ) means its very effective

1. Lemon juice -spray around the openings of doors and windows…
something about the acid messes up their sense of tracking…and they
lose interest in continuing to invade. Must be repeated daily.
* 2. Cinnamon or Peppermint essential oils
-spray (or q-tip) essential oil all around the doors, windowsills, floors, etc. keeps them from coming in. Cinnamon and clove powder. Makes your house smell nice and the ants hate it sprinkled right in their path.
* 3. Chalk  (best results)
- they will not cross a line drawn in chalk. I drew a line around my window where they were coming in and it kept them at bay. - you can get it at home improvement stores. It comes in a squeeze bottle so it’s easy to draw the line.
4. Baking soda and powdered sugar - Ants carry an acidic substance with them for protection. A mix of baking soda and powdered sugar in a plastic lid set in strategic places. It will kill them due to the chemical reaction that occurs within their bodies.
* 5. Coffee grounds - Putting it in the cracks in windows causes them to flee. It doesn’t kill them, it just makes them move homes.
6. Cream of Wheat -They eat it & it expands and essentially causes them to explode. This one seems a little mean but it’s good for emergency ant issues
if you have no alternatives.
7. Vinegar -Vinegar is a sure solution, but you need to pour it where the ants have their nest, not just to where they walk around. If you find their nest just pour about 0.5-1 L of white (cheap) vinegar.
— mixture of vinegar, washing up liquid and peppermint oil is also VERY good. They never came back.
8. Equal -Mix Equal packets with apple juice. It is a neurotoxin to the ants and will kill them. I still don’t get why people put this crap in their coffee.

findingmyvirginity asked: What would each sign be totally crazy about?

astrolovecosmos:

Well that is pretty individualistic. Magic and the occult are associated with Scorpio but a that doesn’t mean every Scorpio loves magic. Taurus are known to be foodies but that is also not true across the board. Risings are suppose to indicate what a person’s basic interest might be. So here is a list of those:

Aries- sports, anything that gets your adrenaline pumping, dramas, adventures, and sexual topics/health.

Taurus- food, art, music, comfort, romance, shopping, and anything that appeals to the senses.

Gemini- might like to read, loves learning, games that stimulates the mind, academic topics, intellectual debates, and exchanging information.

Cancer- anything that has to do with family or family-oriented activities, cooking/food, art, teaching, and children.

Leo- art, acting, dramas, politics, romance, fashion, and anything to do with the presentation of things.

Virgo- self-improvement, might like to read, might like mentally stimulating games, organization (might turn into interior decorating or home improvement like projects), health, mind and body awareness, and the topic of professions.

Libra- art, culture, hands on projects, music, and romance.

Scorpio- magic, the occult, sexual health/topics, psychology, secrets, and strategies.

Sagittarius- traveling, religion, philosophy, the outdoors, and sports.

Capricorn- music, money, outer appearance/fashion, dark topics, and sports.

Aquarius- science, social problems, anything off beat, extreme sports, and unusual fandoms/fetishes.

Pisces- art, spirituality, animals, charities, and psychology.

coeurdastronaute:

CLEXA BABY AU Universe: Clarke coming home from work and finding Lexa sitting on a tiny chair having a tea party with their daughter.

The last hour was longest. That and the fact that she’d been at it since before dawn and for more hours than she had fingers on three hands. That and the seventh item she’d extracted from an orifice. But no matter the reason, Clarke could not contain the nagging not urge that begged her to get home sooner, quicker, faster. Like a canary or goose or turtle or any other animal that is drawn back to the same place by the evolutionary biology of magic, the need only got worse the longer she was away. 

 When she patched up the last patient with the burns from being the worlds worst cook, Clarke did not hesitate to rush her handoff and nearly knock over the new attending with the force of the beeper and charts changing owners. All she desired in the world was her bed. That and her wife. That and her little girl. And probably food. 

Keep reading

magnolia-wyatt:

There’s nothing like thinking you’ve got just a simple home repair and it ends up needing way more work than you thought. This will be an interesting few weeks. 

thingsprogrammersshout:

“AT LEAST TELL ME WHAT THE FUCKING ERROR IS!”
// submitted by @small-home-repair-vikings

(via thingsprogrammersshout)

Anonymous asked: Can you do some really passionate fen and hawk kissing?xD

kaerwrites:

One thing Fenris had come to appreciate over the years was the way in which Hawke held his anger – tight and private and controlled, the hot fiery rush of anger usually betrayed by no more than a particular set to his jaw, a white tension around his knuckles.

Hawke went silent when he was angry, or, if pressed to speech, his words became short, sharp, and cutting.

Hawke’s anger was measured, controlled. He would isolate himself from others at first opportunity, sparing much of the sting of his ire, preferring instead to find his outlet physically.

Labor was the best, for if he turned himself to staff work, he claimed, it would be far too simple a thing to turn his fury toward violence.

“I can’t control myself,” Hawke told him once, completely aware he possessed a temper but not, it seemed, conscious of how admirable his handling of it was. “Better for the task to be mindless – and productive.”

So he set himself physical tasks – carpentry, home repair, even gardening – pouring that furious energy into his work until he himself felt empty, hollowed out, clean.

Until he was certain he wouldn’t hurt anyone.

For Fenris, who remembered too well the bright cold cruelty that would snap Danarius’s fury to a cutting razor’s edge – who was all too aware of his own dark pulsing, gripping, tearing need to watch the satisfying arc of blood as it splattered pavement – to Fenris, Hawke’s control was almost otherworldly. It was a thing utterly unexpected and without precedence in the elf’s life. Men, in their anger, broke things, hit one another, killed. Fenris was no exception.

Hawke – Hawke merely fixed things.

That today Hawke’s anger – and subsequent enforcement of control – was on Fenris’s behalf made it even more unreal.

Fenris found him in the Amell gardens, stripped to the waist, tension tight between his shoulder blades as he took an axe to a rotten stretch of fence.

He had been at it quite a while already. The ivy that once covered the fence, hiding signs of damage, had been ripped from its perch, discarded in a dark broken pile of vine and crushed leaf – an undeserving substitute for the nobleman who, with a sneer, had looked Fenris over and deemed it prudent to ask the Champion of Kirkwall why rumors painted him as so enamored of an animal who looked more likely to bite his cock than suck it.

He had utterly missed the warning signs – the manner in which Hawke’s expression went cold, the warm honey of his eyes frosting with ice, the sharp square set of his jaw.

Fenris had heard far worse in his life, but the room dropped measurably in temperature as the fool dared continue – elves could be markedly docile under a firm hand and proper training, he said, but every dog needed a master who understood the application of proper discipline.

Oh, Hawke had hit him – but only once, the nobleman falling to the floor, his nose an explosion of crimson blood and shattered bone, and Hawke, with tight tension and glacier eyes, had left him for the guards to pick up.

For a time, Fenris merely watched him work, the sweat-glistened play of powerful broad back muscles as interesting as the breaking restraint when Hawke tossed the aside and took to the damaged fence with his bare hands, ripping the wood away with a cry of rage.

This man, this mage with the elemental fury of the Fade at his fingertips, who worked instead with his hands, and his sweat, and who would not press an advantage with an opponent too weak to meet his might – this was the man Fenris had chosen to love.

Hawke looked guilty when he turned to find he was not alone. His expression was reminiscent of a child caught in the sweets, utterly incongruous with his size and power and the earlier dangerous flare of temper. Fenris approached.

“Look,” Hawke said, that edge in his voice. “I know you’re more than capable of defending yourself.” His chest was heaving from exertion, his dark hair matted with sweat. His flank gave a shudder like a nervous animal when Fenris pressed cool fingers to his flesh. The large hands that lifted, closing gently around his biceps, were dirty, and blistered, and bloody.

Fenris could feel Hawke’s surprise when he pushed up, lips a soft press to Hawke’s parted mouth. He tasted salt.

“Fenris,” Hawke said, beginning to draw away.

A fist in his hair pulled him back, hard, demanding, Fenris an uncompromising line against Hawke’s larger body. It was yet a moment longer, lingering surprise encouraged into action by an impatient tug on his hair before Hawke’s hands tightened on his arms and he gave a tug, pulling Fenris, locking him, impossibly, closer.

There was none of his rage in the kiss, no hint of possessive intent. It was slow. His tongue slid against Fenris’s, tasting him. He sucked gently on Fenris’s bottom lip, and smiled when the elf nipped at him.

“Always so impatient,” Hawke said, his laugh soft against his lips. When his only answer was nothing more than a grunt, Hawke asked, “I doubt this is for defending your honor like you were a swooning milksop.”

“No,” Fenris agreed, succinctly. He had no intention of explaining himself. Hawke was smiling when Fenris pulled him down to himself once again, fitting his mouth hard against the mage’s, noting, privately, how Hawke’s dark mood seemed lifted, how his shoulders had softened, his hands gone gentle. With one hand holding Hawke’s hair to keep him in place, Fenris let the other trace his muscled torso, claws of his gauntlets lightly scraping skin. Hawke drew back with a shuddering breath when Fenris’s palm came to rest against the patch of thick dark curls disappearing into the waistband of his pants.

“In any case, that lord’s assessment was surprisingly accurate,” Fenris told him seriously. “Placed with him in such a situation, I most certainly would choose bite.”

Hawke laughed.

audreycritter:

Batfam headcanon:

All the Batkids have a working knowledge of basic home repair and carpentry.

The Batkids roughhouse and pick on each other like none else and the Manor regularly takes a beating. The second time a hole is knocked in a wall, Bruce won’t let Alfred call someone to repair it. Once is enough.

He goes to Lowes himself, buys a ton of power tools and supplies and a DIY Home Repair Manual, then comes home and sits with it all right next to the newest damage. He tells them they won’t be going on a single patrol until they figure out how to fix it and do so.

They learn.

And then every time after that, they have to haul out the tools and drywall panels and fix whatever they’ve done. Every. Time.

So one time they hide a small battery-powered alarm clocks, set for weeks in the future, in the walls when they repair something. Then they set reminders on their phones and wear ear plugs or plan to be away from the house.

The unexplained beeping drives Bruce crazy until he knocks a hole in the wall trying to find it. No one will confess. He repairs the wall himself.

But he doesn’t let them off the hook next time. So the cycle continues until it’s just a kind of normal and Alfred is starting to think they just need new walls.