TIL there was an explorer called Robert Scott who died in Antarctica in 1912. What a coincidence hahaha!!
(for those not familiar with my series The Marauder, the main character’s name is Scott and his father is Robert)
destiny | class vanguards
Hey guys, my Teepublic store is on sale! Be sure to get your Star Lord tee for cheapsies before the movie comes out! :D
Oh gosh, thank you!
I never thought of that for Stannis, and I love it. I will see what I can do. :)
mass effect // face models and their characters
THIS IS SO HELPFUL
HALF CINEMA CHEERED AND THE OTHER HALF WERE REALLY CONFUSED WHY WE WERE CHEERING
The man in black fled through the desert and the gunslinger followed.
A distant shape blossomed with detail as he rode. A way station. He wondered if his quarry had stopped. Regardless, he needed water. The delay could not be helped.
A light patina of dust covered the square panes of the windows. The gunslinger scouted around the building and found the blackened remains of a fire. He had been here. And not one hollow in the dust, but two. The closest thing he had ever had to confirmation that he was right.
A faint smell of dust hit his senses and he spun, the gun in his hand and ready before he had completed the movement. A boy stood but a few feet away. He had crept close before kicking up the dirt, frighteningly close had it been anyone but a boy. Brown hair, brown eyes, as brown and honest as the dirt. He holstered the pistol. I have not yet forgotten the face of my father.
“You saw the one who made camp here?” He did not ask if the boy had been seen. He would not be alive if he had.
There was a nod.
“Two nights ago.”
There was uneasy silence and then the boy cocked his head to one side, bird like, and the gunslinger was uncomfortably reminded of his dreams of late.
“A fine name.” It had been a lifetime since he had spoken with a child, since he had tried to gentle the fire that drove him. “Jaime of… Of Casterly.” That was a place so far back in his memory now that the name was a dream, and one it hurt to conjure.
“There were two of them,” Bran volunteered. “I dream…”
“The Rose?” he asked quickly.
“A bird. A bird who sings in my dreams. But sometimes she’s the lady who was by the fire.”
“She can be many things.” She’s my last chance now. For honour’s sake.
“The man in black… I didn’t like how he looked at h-“
The ground opened beneath their feet, a great crack splitting the earth. Jaime found his feet quickly and reached a hand to the boy, but Bran had slipped and was clinging to the rock, a few feet into the chasm. He didn’t cry out but looked imploringly up at the gunslinger.
He dreams of the Rose, as do I. We are ka-tet. He dropped to his stomach and reached down to grasp Bran’s hand. Before he could close his fingers about the small wrist, another hand flickered in his peripheral vision.
Slender, white fingers gripped the rock. She had burned. She had burned until there was nothing left but that hand… It was so real. She hung against the rock. She didn’t beg, for that would not have been her. Cersei had never begged. Not even while she burned. She looked at him with eyes that matched his own and he reached for her. It was an unconscious movement, though if he had been aware, he would have done it anyway. She couldn’t be real. She couldn’t be more than a memory. But he couldn’t take the chance.
The boy cried out once as he fell. The outline of his body against the black chasm as he fell would haunt Jaime’s dreams for nights to come, twisted with visions of the Rose and of Cersei, laughing in the flames.
Sometimes I feel like drawing, but I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable if it’s not your cup of tea.
ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS