#biffles

Kage 1:1

Slytherin: *leaves to get something out of car* Gryffindor: *looks at hufflepuff* we should set her cards.

(Let the record show that Gryffindor and Hufflepuff each had a decks worth of cards while Slytherin had like four)

Hufflepuff: *laughs* well I’m not gonna say anything *laughs*

Gryffindor: *laughs* Yes! *draws four random cards to replace Slytherin’s hand. Swaps cards. Puts Slytherin’s actual hand under a plate*

Hufflepuff: *laughs*

Gryffindor: *laughs* for science!

Hufflepuff: for science *laughs* I wonder if she’ll notice *laughs*

(Eventually Slytherin comes back and we resume the game of UNO, barely managing to keep straight faces. Slytherin still fucking wins.)

Slytherin: (after winning) in your faces bitches!

Gryffindor: *lifts plate in defeat* we swapped your hand....and you still won

Hufflepuff: *laughing* you didn’t notice

Slytherin: you dirty bitches *angry Slytherin noises*

Gryffindor: it was for science we swear!

(So we fucked with Slytherin’s cards and she still fucking won UNO. Not sure if experiment failed because we still lost. Or if experiment failed because Slytherin didn’t notice her cards were different. We’ll never know)

Another hq au thing from that one meme ft. @sbubbyart’s Anton

I really want to buddy watch a tv show with someone, as in we decide on a tv show we both haven’t seen and start watching it together not in the same room obviously since most people live in different countries but we can come up with the perfect time that works and once a week we watch it and discuss it or rant or whatever about it and be besties. Anyone in?

Besties! (Or at least one day they will be -___- )

Ink stood, still and silent amid the usual din of patrons at the little pandaren establishment, heedless of the bustle around her and wholly focused instead on the book, just protruding from protective cloth. It was ancient. It smelled ancient, like parchment and haunted memories that lingered on the skin.

And it was hers.

There were approximately a dozen different butterflies hitting her in the gut, an unusual sensation, emotions she didn’t really recognize keeping her rooted to the spot. Truth be told, despite the massive collection of stories, histories, legends and fables squirreled away between one safehouse or another, she didn’t own a one. Borrowed, every last tome, out on a loan whose terms she decided. They were all returned, eventually, traded for others. Never really hers.

She hadn’t meant to ask. It slipped out, just before the troll had taken her leave, information and stories exchanged in kind, gift given…to what purpose, Ink still couldn’t discern. Perhaps it was the shock of a gift freely given that shook the words from her mouth – a question she’d asked herself on and off since that one drunken, adrenaline-laced afternoon at the Nest several months ago.

“Is it…all right…if I dance again?”

Warm hand caught beneath her chin and didn’t lift, merely held, golden eyes fixed on hers and strangely gentle in their regard. “You are always welcome to dance.”

There was no way the troll knew what Ink was really asking – permission, yes. She didn’t want to be rude, to assume she was welcome. But it wasn’t just taking the troll’s stage that she wondered was permissible – it was whether or not it was all right to simply stop. Once in a while. Stop. Breathe. Forget about watching the world, and let the world watch her. Just for a little while. A little was enough to soothe rattled thoughts, cool anger she didn’t quite understand.

Maybe Za’ashi knew, after all.

Some time later…

It wasn’t the kind of performance they were used to at the Nest – wild gyrations largely traded in for climbing the pole like an acrobat, weaving her body around the thing, eyes closed, ignoring the hooting patrons whilst simultaneously staring gravity in the face and spitting in it. But in between the twists and turns they’d catch a glimpse of emerald stare, dead-eyed fury fixed on some unseen antagonist fueling the fiery cascade of spins. No question, the woman was flexible. Most of the patrons didn’t care – a dancing girl was a dancing girl, good enough for eye candy and probably little more.

And yet as she bled her aggressions blind on the stage, there were a few who stared in unsettled wonderment, chilled thought blossoming and curling up their spines like serpent uncoiled…

That woman could snap a man’s neck like a twig and not think twice about it.