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this is a small starter call for wynonna earp from syfy’s wynonna earp. please respond to this post with a 🎲 for a random starter or a ✍️ for me to slide into your ims for a plotted starter!

mumus / side blogs please also reply with your desired muse / url. thank you!

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this is a small starter call for arizona robbins from abc’s grey’s anatomy. please respond to this post with a 🎲 for a random starter or a ✍️ for me to slide into your ims for a plotted starter!

mumus / side blogs please also reply with your desired muse / url. thank you! 

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favorite outfits: wynonna earp (season 1)

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Grey’s meme [2/10] female characters ↳ Arizona Robbins 

“I used to be someone who was always happy. I woke up happy. I was someone who used to skate at work. And then this happened. And everything was hard and everything took thought and planning. It was like my life didn’t fit me anymore. I wanted to tear it all down and start over, just throw it away and find a life that fit who I am now. But I’m starting to feel like I know who I am again.”

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✨  hi friends old and new! popping back into existence after an unexpected but much needed hiatus. activity will be low as i slowly crawl out of hibernation and poke through my drafts + messages but pls feel free to slide into my dms if you’d like to write! i’ll be around-ish for the rest of the evening. thanks to all for your patience!! 

i’ve also added a few new test muses to my indie blog and will be posting a smol starter call for them in a bit so keep your eyes peeled 👀

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* (  𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐔𝐌 𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐖𝐈𝐅𝐓 /  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒

the more that you say the less i know

i’m begging for you to take my hand

wait for the signal and i’ll meet you after dark

i should’ve known from the look on your face

your heart was glass, and i dropped it

i dropped your hand while dancing left you out there standing

now no one’s celebrating

the sight that flashed before me was your face when the sun goes down

i can’t give you a reason

i never was ready, so i watch you go

did i paint your bluest skies the darkest gray?

sometimes you just don’t know the answer till someone’s on their knees and asks you

your hometown skeptics called it champagne problems

what a shame she’s fucked in the head

you won’t remember all my champagne problems

i don’t like a gold rush

i don’t like anticipating my face in a red flush

i don’t like that anyone would die to feel your touch

when did all our lessons start to look like weapons pointed at my deepest hurt?

everybody wants you

will you forgive my soul when you’re too wise to trust me and too old to care?

everybody wonders what it would be like to love you

i don’t like that falling feels like flying till the bone crush

my mind turns your life into folklore

you know it could never be

we could call it even

the road not taken looks real good now

you can run but only so far

if it’s all in my head tell me now

when did your winning smile begin to look like a smirk?

i would’ve loved you for a lifetime

i know i’m just a wrinkle in your new life

i can’t see facts through all of my fury

there’ll be happiness after me

do you ever stop and think about me?

seeing the shape of your name still spells out pain

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow 

when i got into the accident the sight that flashed before me was your face

i know i’ll pay for it

my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

forever is the sweetest con

never be so kind, you forget to be clever

long story short, it was a bad time

it wasn’t right the way it all went down

don’t treat me like some situation that needs to be handled

i can’t remember what i used to fight for

sometimes giving up is the strong thing

sometimes to run is the brave thing

do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there?

i’m right where you left me

i always felt i must look better in the rear view

i swear you could hear a hair pin drop

they expected me to find somewhere some perspective, but i sat and stared

everybody moved on

i stayed there dust collected on my pinned-up hair

if our love died young i can’t bear witness

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strcngwomxn​:

@pageswritten​

“ for some reason, I’m attracted to you. ” of course her wife was being ridiculous again but river wouldn’t have had it any other way. with a sigh, she reached around the doctor and flipped the switch. “ it helps to have it on sweetie. ”

—

the doctor beams, something bright and stupid that takes up her whole face... and then the other shoe drops. river’s words sink it. she’s teasing. RUDE! and then she’s frowning -- pouting, really -- aghast at the insinuation she doesn’t know how to drive her own tardis. 

but it’s river. her river. even her teasing feels like flirting and as quick as it appears the pout is gone replaced by another smile -- this one cheeky and a bit smug. “yeah. knew that. was making sure you did,” she lies, reaching past river to turn a dial. 

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13thx​:

@pageswritten​ asked: ‘ i need you. ’ ( for 13, from clara)

meme || accepting!

She came to a standstill, the woman behind her. The Doctor had noticed who she was from the very beginning, and had assumed she had gotten away with not revealing her identity. But apparently, that was null and void. She thought she had been doing a good job, too! Her small talk was top notch. But just as she was about to quickly exist the room, Clara Oswald - glorious Clara Oswald - had come out with that.

Hearts beating in her chest, she took a second, before shifting a glance behind her. 

“Y’knew all along?”

—

clara nods. she’s smiling softy but there’s a sadness in her eyes. a sad smile. she remembers it used to drive the doctor mad. back when the doctor was a grey-haired stick insect with bushy brows and zero people skills. but now he... she... they have changed. regenerated. and clara finds herself missing the doctor in a way she hasn’t let herself in years. it would have been so simple to walk away. to go on pretending the person in front of her hadn’t once been her whole world. but the doctor and clara have never been very good at simple, have they? and clara’s always been much too selfish for her own good. 

the ghost of her heart beats loudly in her ears. 

“i always know,” she says, echoing the words she’d said to the doctor in a museum so many years ago. “doctor...”

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Being brave doesn't mean you aren't scared. Being brave means you are scared, really scared, badly scared, and you do the right thing anyway.

— Neil Gaiman, Coraline

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It’s just not my thing.                 I do better on my own.

                independent, semi-selective emma swan from abc’s once upon a time. 

                                                               penned by dee

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‘Good Tidings We Bring! 🎁’ (for emma from a greedy bum)

here you go! happy holidays, ya greedy bum! 😉

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@madamxmayor sent a 🎁for a holiday goodie!

hi! this was supposed to be a short (ha, who was i kidding??) ‘lil something but it turned into a ficlet so you get that instead. this isn’t late idk what you’re talking about! from one greedy bum to another, enjoy!

first christmas (that i loved you) pairing: swan queen rating: g, with a strong fluff warning words: 1667

It starts innocently enough, as it always does. An invitation handed off by an exuberant Henry -- all bright eyes and chest puffed. Proud of himself for a job well done. And Emma, to her credit, does her best to mirror his excitement even as the envelope weighs heavy in her hand.

“Told you I could do it,” he says, patting himself on the back with his words.

“You sure did,” Emma nods and swallows hard, eyes tracing the curves of her name scrawled out in familiar penmanship. She’d only agreed to this because she thought for sure it would never happen. Big mistake. She never should have underestimated the lengths Regina Mills would go to ensure Henry’s happiness. “I don’t know, kid…” her words trail off. She hasn’t even opened the envelope and she’s already dreading its contents.

“It’ll be great,” Henry promises, squeezing her shoulder for good measure and hits her with a winning smile. The kind that makes Emma think she can do anything she sets her mind to. Damn. The kid’s good, she’ll give him that. Emma nods again, her face braver than she feels. And this time it earns her a hug, one she clings to pathetically.

“Yes!” He pulls out of the hug before she’s ready, grabbing his bag and a few fries from Emma’s plate, already halfway out the door. “Best. Christmas. EVER!”

Emma traces the letters again, then turns the envelope over in her hand. Time to face the music.

You have been cordially invited to the Mayor’s home for Christmas. Please arrive promptly at 4:00 pm on the 24th of December. Dress appropriately.

Emma scoffs, reads it again, then scoffs louder. Is this an invitation to celebrate the holidays, or a court summons? But she made a promise to Henry. They’d spend their first Christmas together provided Regina agreed. If this is Mayor Mills’ attempt at playing chicken she’s got another thing coming. Emma will not let Henry down.

For the next two weeks, this becomes her mantra. When she explains to a hurt Mary Margaret and David she won’t be around Christmas Eve. When Regina visits the sheriff’s station, taunting her with backhanded comments about Emma’s eating habits and lack of organization. When she’s fighting whatever dark terrible creature that threatens to destroy Storybrooke and all who reside there. Even as she packs her bags for the night, dragging her feet the whole way. She will not let Henry down.

She arrives at 4:05, the door swinging open before she even has a chance to ring the bell. “You’re late,” comes Regina’s greeting. And Emma wants to defend herself but the words catch in her throat when she spots their hideous Christmas sweaters. A matching set. Emma tugs her jacket around her black sweater self-consciously. She’s starting to panic. Looking for an exit strategy. Maybe Leroy will start a fight at Aesop’s and she’ll have to bow out to collect him. But before she’s able to manifest any disasters, Henry’s grabbing her hand and tugging her into the house.

There’s a schedule for the evening, because of course there is, one that goes back as many years as Henry’s been alive. First is baking, and as expected, Regina already has everything set up. Wax paper lined cookie sheets, festive cookie cutters and chilled batter wait on tidy counters. They have to hurry, Regina reminds, thanks to someone they’re running behind. Emma does her best not to roll her eyes so hard they get stuck.

Next comes dinner, and Emma’s mouth is watering before the table is even set. Roast beef, mashed potatoes, peas and carrots and a dollop of gravy on each plate followed by apple turnovers for dessert. Regina’s smile teasing and a wicked glint in her eyes as she serves them, leaving Emma squirming in her seat. But Henry gives her the thumbs up so it’s fine. This is fine. She will not let Henry down.

After dinner, it’s back into the kitchen for cookie decorating and this is where Henry shines. Stacking cookies on plates and filling tubes with royal icing, directing both of his mothers to make a special cookie each for Santa. Even winking at Emma, stating ‘so he knows where to find you’. And Emma smiles, then wonders if he’s actually real too. She seriously needs to get a better look at that book.

Once the cookies are drying Reigna makes popcorn while Henry picks out a movie. And within half an hour they are all settled on the couch -- each with a cookie and bowl of popcorn, watching Will Farrel pour maple syrup on Spaghetti. Regina laughs and Emma considers pinching herself to make sure she isn’t dreaming.

By the time the end credits roll it’s Henry’s bedtime and he makes his way upstairs, sulking the whole way. Regina follows with a gentle roll of her eyes and Emma watches from the bottom of the stairs as she tucks Henry into bed, both mother and son reciting The Night Before Christmas. It feels invasive. For the first time since she arrived, Emma is reminded she’s an outsider in their little family. A nod to what Christmas has been for her the last twenty-eight years. Emma standing on the sidelines of other people’s celebrations, hovering but never quite fitting in.

That old urge to run returns, tenfold. She eyes the front door. It would be so easy. Claim a work or savior emergency cropped up, who could blame her? But she can't. Something inside her chest stopping her from defaulting to old habits. Instead, she makes her way upstairs on tiptoes (so as not to intrude) and spends the next forty-five minutes hiding in the shower.

Once she’s clean, and dry, and changed into something a little more comfortable (an old pair of sweat pants and a white tank) she wraps her presents -- a video game for Henry that he’d hinted at for weeks and a blouse for Regina to replace the one Henry had stolen for her. Both of which had seemed great at purchase, but now sitting in the guest room that is hers for the night she finds herself second-guessing… well, everything. Like is she supposed to place these under the tree now, or in the morning? And should she stay in her room for the rest of the night or could she leave? What's the protocol? She’d never stayed in a foster home long enough to find out. She stares down at the parcels in her hands until the ends of her hair start to curl and dry and she finds the courage to go downstairs. She'll just place them under the damn tree and be done with it.

Back in the living room, she finds Regina surrounded by a pile of half-wrapped gifts, a bottle of wine open on the coffee table and her face smooshed against one of the fluffier pillows that adorn her couch as Its a Wonderful Life plays in the background. Even in sleep, Regina manages to look put together. It should annoy her but instead, she feels something inside her chest shift and soften and warm.

Placing the gifts under the tree, she sneaks around to pull an afghan off the back of the couch drapes it over Regina’s prone form. Then cringes when she stirs. Regina blinks groggily, but when she recognizes it’s Emma standing before her she snaps awake.

“What are you doing?” she demands.

“Covering you?”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” she sputters, wondering the same thing herself. “I guess I thought you looked cold?”

A silence follows, one so heavy Emma thinks she might break under the weight of it. Whatever, she doesn’t need this. She’s only here because she made a promise to Henry, anyway. Assuming she’s been dismissed, Emma turns to leave but is stopped by a quiet, “Thank you.”

The words nearly knock her off her feet. If she hadn’t heard it with her own ears she wouldn't believe them. Still isn’t sure she does as she turns back to her and meets Regina’s eyes -- soft with a hint of something she can’t read.

She shrugs. “It’s nothing”

“I know this is a lot,” she gestures vaguely and Emma’s not sure if she means the presents or the night. Maybe both. “I never wanted Henry to feel like he was missing out on anything.”

“I think it’s nice,” and she finds she genuinely means it, surprising them both. “Growing up, I was lucky if the foster home I was staying in had a tree. You’re making memories. It’s nice.”

Regina softens. Emma can see the cogs in her brain working, searching for the right words to say and coming up empty. She gets it. They both had tough childhoods.

“Yeah… anyway,” Emma turns to leave again but Regina stops her again.

“Well, you haven’t experienced Christmas as a mother until you’ve stayed up all night wrapping presents. You can eat the cookies,” Regina gestures to the pile Henry had so carefully plated in the hopes of getting better presents and Emma laughs. It’s an olive branch. One that comes with a side order of shortbread and warms her insides in a way she could get used to. Regina taps the spot on the couch beside her and Emma’s sliding into it before she has a chance to second guess herself.

The rest of the night goes smoothly. Presents are wrapped, some more haphazardly than others (Regina makes Emma sign those as Rudolf). Emma gets buzzed on wine and Regina’s laugh as they mock cheesy Hallmark movies. And for the first time in a long time, both women feel… lighter. And when they fall asleep just after three -- both curled up on the couch, afghan splayed across their laps and Regina’s head tucked under Emma’s chin, cheeks sore from smiling and bellies full of red wine and cookies and reindeer food -- Emma’s pretty sure Henry was right all along. It is the best Christmas ever.

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Ask Box Christmas Giving

Send ‘Good Tidings We Bring!  🎁’ to my inbox and I’ll give you a treat! This could be: a promo graphic, icons, an aesthetic graphic of your muse, a drabble, a photoset of our muses together, a moodboard based on one of our threads, or some other goodie! Happy/Merry Christmas or any other non-christmasy holiday you celebrate!  Let’s join together and celebrate!

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Send a 🖤 for a starter with an evil/villainous version of my muse!

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authorsoftheirstories​:

odette.

the others question almost caused her to choke on her drink, forcing herself to swallow it; roni looked to her in disbelief. she was joking, right? she thought for a moment. “ well.. ” she began, deciding perhaps it was a simple mix up. “ it was known as kelly and roni’s a while back when my sister was around. but this little place has been here for well.. long as I can remember. ” she couldn’t exactly remember how long ago that was, no one had ever asked her before. odd how her memories had left her. brushing the matter off with a slight shrug of her shoulders, she went on to top up both their drinks. “ so since i’m handing ya out free drinks.. which better don’t tell the regulars. ” she added with a whisper. “ how about i get your name? can’t go around calling you blondie the rest of the night now can i? ” she jested with a playful smirk. one thing roni knew for sure, the woman had a beauty about her she would have definitely remembered seeing before.

🦢

“must be it.” odette nods, and while she’s not sure it all adds up, decides that must be it. a name change. odette keeps to herself most days, busying herself with work rather than social engagements. it’s totally possible she’d walked right by never paying it much mind. stranger things have happened. still, she's sure she checked out every bar and restaurant in the area (introverting in corner booths on her quest to find the best grilled cheese in seattle) and she finds it hard to believe she’d forget a face like roni’s.  

a small smile tugs at the corners of her lips, head ducking some to hide it from the brunette. something tells her this roni can get away with a lot of things, including calling her blondie. but a question's been asked, and odette finds herself eager to answer if it will keep the other woman smiling. “Odette -- but Odie’s fine,” that’s what her friends would call her if she had any, “and your secret’s safe with me.”

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@tempusviatorem continued from here

Has she really never. Unlikely, that. I’ve thought about it twenty times since we’ve met and it’s only been as many minutes! -- 

The Doctor, the other one, the pricklier model that had come straight before cuts her off mid internal monologue. RUDE. She frowns, deflating some like a child whose been chastised by her mum. She has half a mind to protest but thinks better of it. The other Doctor has her very serious thinking face on and she concedes it can get a bit busy in the brain when there’s more than one of her on the TARDIS. 

Sorry.  

A beat, a realization and then out loud she says again, “Sorry.” Another beat. “Bad habit, that.”

Air freshener. She mulls it over. She’s not sure what she expected, but this isn’t it. AIR FRESHENER. Kind of rubbish, yeah but is it worst smell worthy? She thinks not. 

The other Doctor poses a question and she answers with a shrug. “Dunno. Suppose because I never thought to think it when I was you.”

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@tempusviatorem continued from here

Do you have to ask?

She cringes, imperceptible to most... except the doctor. The person who knows her better than anyone. Who could pick her face out of a crowd and tell you exactly what she’s thinking by the way she’s pursed her lips. Guilt settles in her belly, rock hard and heavy. She thinks about bringing up the time on mars she’d gone off to follow a beautiful martian after the Doctor had expressly warned her not to and had nearly lost a foot (and what remains of her dignity) to ease some of it but thinks better. 

Lashing out won’t fix anything, and like she said -- when has she never not trusted Clara? And she knows it’s true. Of course, she does. After everything they’ve been through -- the Doctor, this Doctor, her Doctor -- how could she not know?

“I need a favour,” she finally spits it out, her smile charming as ever if a bit sheepish. “I need you to take me somewhere, but you can’t ask why.”