#I want to draw so many things for all of the verses

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

The thing with the Mari Lwyd, though, is that it's being... I don't know, 'appropriated' is the wrong word, but certainly turned into something it isn't.

Thing is, this is a folk tradition in the Welsh language, and that's the most important aspect of it. I feel partly responsible for this, because I accidentally became a bit of an expert on the topic of the Mari Lwyd in a post that escaped Tumblr containment, and I clearly didn't stress it strongly enough there (in my defence, I wrote that post for ten likes and some attention); but this is a Welsh language tradition, conducted in Welsh, using Welsh language poetic forms that are older than the entire English language, and also a very specific sung melody (with a very specific first verse; that's Cân y Fari). It is not actually a 'rap battle'. It's not a recited poem. It is not any old rhyme scheme however you want.

It is not in English.

Given the extensive and frankly ongoing attempts by England to wipe out Welsh, and its attendant cultural traditions, the Mari is being revived across Wales as an act of linguistic-cultural defiance. She's a symbol of Welsh language culture, specifically; an icon to remind that we are a distinct people, with our own culture and traditions, and in spite of everyone and everything, we're still here. Separating her from that by removing the Welsh is, to put it mildly, wildly disrespectful.

...but it IS what I'm increasingly seeing, both online and in real world Mari Lwyd festivals. She's gained enormous pop-culture popularity in recent years, which is fantastic; but she's also been reduced from the tradition to just an aesthetic now.

So many people are talking/drawing about her as though she's a cryptid or a mythological figure, rather than the folk practice of shoving a skull on a stick and pretending to be a naughty horse for cheese and drunken larks. And I get it! It's an intriguing visual! Some of the artwork is great! But this is not what she is. She's not a Krampus equivalent for your Dark Christmas aesthetic.

I see people writing their own version of the pwnco (though never called the pwnco; almost always called some variant on 'Mari Lwyd rap battle'), and as fun as these are, they are never even written in the meter and poetic rules of Cân y Fari, much less in Welsh, and they never conclude with the promise to behave before letting the Mari into the house. The pwnco is the central part to the tradition; this is the Welsh language part, the bit that's important and matters.

Mari Lwyd festivals are increasingly just English wassail festivals with a Mari or two present. The Swansea one last weekend didn't even include a Mari trying to break into a building (insert Shrek meme); there was no pwnco at all. Even in the Chepstow ones, they didn't do actual Cân y Fari; just a couple of recited verses. Instead, the Maris are just an aesthetic, a way to make it look a bit more Welsh, without having to commit to the unfashionable inconvenience of actually including Welsh.

And I don't really know what the answers are to these. I can tell you what I'd like - I'd like art to include the Welsh somewhere, maybe incorporating the first line of Cân y Fari like this one did, to keep it connected to the actual Welsh tradition (or other Welsh, if other phrases are preferred). I'd like people who want to write their version of the pwnco to respect the actual tradition of it by using Cân y Fari's meter and rhyme scheme, finishing with the promise to behave, and actually calling it the pwnco rather than a rap battle (and preferably in Welsh, though I do understand that's not always possible lol). I'd like to see the festivals actually observe the tradition, and include a link on the booking website to an audio clip of Cân y Fari and the words to the first verse, so attendees who want to can learn it ahead of time. I don't know how feasible any of that is, of course! But that's what I'd like to see.

I don't know. This is rambly. But it's something I've been thinking about - and increasingly nettled by - for a while. There's was something so affirming and wonderful at first about seeing the Mari's climb into international recognition, but it's very much turned to dismay by now, because she's important to my endangered culture and yet that's the part that everyone apparently wants to drop for being too awkward and ruining the aesthetic. It's very frustrating.

[officialundertakersmoocher]

may i pls request a scenario with violet and afab reader where he’s drawing them nude and then smut ensues?

An Artistic Craving

yall i am so sorry for the extended break, and I hope this meets your expectations 😭

Warnings: NSFW, Nudity, +18, Slightly OOC

• • •

"Stay still, okay?"

"But, Vi, it's so embarrassing..." You attempt to cover your assets which have been shamefully exposed to his eyes in the dimly lit study room.

"Don't think of it that way... It's just a study." You tried not to ask many questions, after all, he was more versed in the arts than you were.

It was lucky that you two happened to catch this moment alone, unchaperoned. Vi, actually very uncharacteristically, was the one to insist that he needed you as a model to finish this study to complete a project he was working on for his upcoming art exam.

After all, you two had been seeing each other for a long time now and were not only comfortable enough to do such a thing, but you also just happened to owe him a favor.

This is how you ended up in such a position for your lover, spewn on a dark purple couch in a private study room near the Purple House dorms. You knew that Gregory was too shy to say so, but there are many books on campus filled with similar references free for his use. He just wanted to spend time with you in an intimate setting such as this one.

You caught him stealing glances at you every once in a while, and he could sense your growing discomfort from staying still for so long.

He left his sketchbook behind momentarily to kneel down beside you and suddenly the room felt more quiet. Your eyes locked as he gently adjusts the position of your hand, placing it under your head in a graceful fashion.

He tilts his head and he brushes a strand of hair away from your face as if to get a better view.

He tried to back away to retreat to his seat, but was caught by your hand pulling him back. He sat confused for a moment but could tell your eyes were asking him to stay.

You move yourself upwards to face him and pull him into a kiss. His lips are soft and welcoming and he eventually moves to grab your waist.

You slowly move him onto the couch with you, straddling his waist. He begins to become shy from this now suddenly risqué moment and pulls away from your lips.

"Love, I don't know if we should..." You could feel the deep heat resonating from his cheeks, so you asked him softly, "Would you like me to stop...?"

"Please no..."

You just barely hear him mutter this, but his hot breath on your neck shows you how desperate he has become.

Before you know it, there are clothes being dragged away and thrown about the room, never finding the motivation to tear your lips apart from one another. You both are stuck in an agonizing dance, waiting for the moment that you both can be as close as you desire.

The room has reached a stillness as the dim candlelight bounces off of skin, and hot breath stills in the air. You are both frozen in time, taking in the moment for the first time now, and as you do, you notice that you've never really seen your lover in such a passionate way as this.

In this position, he's kneeling his body over yours and bowing his head in a shy manor. From the silence you hear him speak softly, asking, "Is this what you want, for sure?" And you have seemingly been too caught up in your own thoughts to notice the lingering question prodding in-between your thighs. You suddenly feel a harsh flush invading your cheeks and a needy wetness in the very same place that he finds his attention.

You turn your head to avoid the embarrassment of facing him as you answer his looming question.

Your voice shakes more than you intended it to, more out of anticipation than anything else. "Yes, of course, p-please keep going, my love-"

However, he catches you off guard by lowing his head down to your thighs. His proximity meant you could feel his breath tickle your skin and it invigorated you.

He softly grazed your folds with his fingers, and slowly exploring your body until he reached the most sensitive parts of you. The moment he grazed your clit, you couldn't help but let out a soft moan, which is exactly what pushed him to continue despite feeling his own uncertainty.

He follows the sounds of your sweet moans, touching you and exploring your body in ways that neither of you have experienced before. Before long you find yourself growing more in need of his touch, pulling his hands and guiding him to kiss you. You both are grasping for each others touch and cursing into the silence of this empty room when the tension reaches an all-time high. You find yourself guiding his cock lower as a sign that you are ready (or maybe as a sign that you can't wait much longer now).

He follows your lead, pushing himself slowly across your folds, letting out a sigh as he feels the warmth of your pussy against his skin. He has one hand behind your head as a comforting act as he slowly guides himself between your thighs. He watches your expression change to a grimace of pain, almost stopping himself, but instead he caresses your face in an attempt to sooth your pain. You start to adjust yourself and whisper for him to keep going, and after a few moments the pain starts to replace itself with great pleasure.

You can't help the moans that escape your lips as you grasp onto him, likely leaving scratch marks on his upper back.

However, he doesn't mind this one bit. He can only focus on this heavenly feeling that seemed to blur his vision and tingle at his senses. The pleasure became overwhelming before you could comprehend it and it feels like heaven.

The sounds that filled the room should have alerted the others of the acts you both were sharing tonight, and maybe, just maybe, you should have been more worried, but neither of you could have the gut to care. Not tonight, not when it just feels so good and your vision had started bleeding white as your bodies worked in tandem with one another. 

It felt like hours before you had found yourselves cuddling under a stray blanket, skin-to-skin and feeling on top of the world. There was peace settled in the air and you held each other and shared this perfect moment.

"Did you enjoy it?" Violet asked timidly while he stroked stray pieces of hair out of your face.

"Oh course, Darling. I've never felt closer to you than how we were tonight." You looked at him so softly and left a soft peck on his lips.

"Well, thats good, because... I didn't really get to finish my painting. We may have to do this again tomorrow night..." He wouldn't meet your eyes, but you knew that if you could see them, they would have a glint of excitement in them that you only see when he looks at you.

"Well, I suppose we would have to then- For your studies, of course."

• Epilogue • Tea Time •

"So, It couldn't have been just me who heard some oddly bizarre noises coming from the art studio on the west end last night..." Edgar mused to the other prefects as he took a mischievous sip.

"Oh, how I wonder what that could have possibly been coming from..." The sound of a breaking pencil could be heard only if he listened so intently.

"Oh, I heard it, alright." Greenhill pipped in, sounding more than mildly annoyed as he completed his afternoon stretch. "Some people really need to be more considerate of the fact that some of us need to study at such late hours."

"Well, maybe some people should consider that not everyone wants to hear the sound of your 2 hour long training routine at 12am either..." Bluewer rolled his eyes, obviously not knowing what the others were exactly referring to.

"Well, In just thinking that maybe when the professors discover a certain pair of undergarments left in said art studio on the west end, they may have to cancel class this morning. If you know what I mean..." Edgar takes an extended sip of his tea and watched as Gregory excuses himself, dropping his sketchbook and seemingly headed towards the west end.

"Well, that answers that." Edgar mutters with a smirk.

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won't Let Go

Last House on the Right

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 1.1k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Post Apocalypse!AU, Single Mom!verse, pregnant reader, mentions of pregnancy related eating issues + vomiting, Reader's got some separation issues. Fair warning this is so half baked I haven't even decided what kind of apocalypse it is, but somehow Ive got a whole plotline regardless.Same pairing as my fic Blind Date

Next Chapter

You can’t believe your luck. 

You’re not sure what exactly it was about this house in the dead of night that had you so transfixed, but your intuition has paid off in spades. 

The area’s been abandoned, to your knowledge leaving you the sole inhabitant meandering around. 

Or maybe waddling would be a more apt description.

Fear and uncertainty of the outside hurry you along into the house. Most everyone- the survivors- has splintered off into groups. There’s no evidence of anyone still living here (admittedly it’s not like you’ve taken the time to check every room, but there are signs when a house is inhabited), but you luck out that the cabinets haven’t been picked over. 

It’s been entirely too long since your last meal, and it takes a good amount of restraint to not devour the can of ravioli too quickly. 

As much as you’re tempted, you know there’s a fine line between what will and won’t have you immediately throwing up in the sink- grazing seems to keep the worst of the upset down.

There’s no hospitals to jaunt off to if you end up dehydrated. Excessive vomiting is not ideal post end of days.

If you were in your right mind- not frightened, isolated, starving, cold- and not focusing on how the unheated chef boyardee might as well be a five star michelin meal for all you can think right now, you might have been paying more attention.

The sound of a safety clicking off behind you freezes your blood far more than the cold. That sound is deliberate. Whoever’s behind you- gun pointed at you- wants you to know they got the jump on you.

“Hands where I can see them,” the order is gruffly barked at you.

You feel stupid. Of course all of this was too convenient for you to simply be catching a break. It wasn’t exactly well lit and designed to draw you in- but you’re an animal caught in a trap regardless.

The fork clatters against the counter next to the can as you go to comply.

“Turn around. Slowly.”

You’re not much of a threat in your current condition. That much is obvious.

Time stopped having any sort of tangible meaning a while ago. You should know how many weeks you are, but the days run together fending for yourself and you just know that you’re close. There’s no hiding the swell of your belly.

The man at the doorway looks as gruff as he sounds. Your mind spins like a tire in mud to process everything in front of you in the poor moonlight. Military, that much is obvious. You’re not actually sure if that’s a good thing. Handsome from what you can see, though historically your type has been men who don’t have a weapon leveled at you.

The taciturn expression on his face falters when he spots your bump, but you’ve learned by now to not expect any sort of special treatment.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize immediately. “I-I didn’t know anyone was here. I’ll leave, I swear.” 

He looks at you another moment before a look of resignation washes over him.

“Turn back around. Keep your hands up.” Oh God. Your mind immediately goes to the worst- That this man, for whatever reason, has decided that your infraction has signed your death warrant. That he can’t quite bring himself to fire on a pregnant woman staring him in the eyes, so the last thing you’re ever going to see is some tacky wallpaper and ugly cabinets.

You yelp when one of his hands finds the pistol on your hip. Holy shit you didn’t even hear him cross the room.

“Easy, love,” he soothes as he starts to frisk you for more weapons. “Not gonna hurt you. You have anything else on you?”

“A knife in my back pocket.” It doesn’t even occur to you to lie; putting yourself in his good graces is your only option and you can’t do that by lying.

His hands slip under your jacket, the hem oversized and hanging even with your arms up, making a wrong guess at the first pocket he checks before grabbing the knife out of the second one.

“Anyone going to come sniffing around looking for you?” A fair question, but one that sticks like a knife between your ribs.

The “No,” that escapes you is softer than you meant it to be, voice warbling as you try not to cry.

Hormones would have had you on the verge of tears at any given point, and that would have been before the end of the world and before your group abandoned you. You’re well entitled to your tears, you think, but try to stuff them back down anyway.

“You’re out here alone,” he grouses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you. The like this? is implied.

Your arms are still up, and they’re getting tired. Everything tires you out these days.

Like he can read your mind, he releases you with a “you can set your arms down now, love.”

“Thank you,” you’re in full fawn mode, turning to face him. While he’s clearly decided against killing you, you’ve been scared and alone for the past few days and you really don’t want to be separated from the only person who will give you the time of day right now. 

“Is there anyone else here? Other soldiers?” Your fate is sealed and lies in the soldier’s hands regardless of his answer.

Nothing with change, no matter what he says, but you think you’re less intimidated if it’s just the two of you. 

The world’s gone to hell in a handbasket, and yet you’ll never forget watching 28 days later when the line I promised them women was dropped.

“Got separated from my team.”

He turns away from you, gesturing to follow him out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

He’s limping.

You haven’t seen him move until now. You’re more an expert on busted hardware than busted body parts, you can’t tell if it’s a fresh injury that’s still healing, or an old one that’s set in place.

“They left you.” They left me, too.

“They didn’t leave me for dead, they think I am dead. Gonna take a bit more than that to get the job done, though.” 

You have no reason not to believe him. Despite having just met him, the man is like a living manifestation of everything masculinity is supposed to be- down to the surly attitude despite him herding you further into the house. It doesn’t take much to figure out that he’s tough as nails and sure why not flirt in death’s face that her last attempt wasn’t good enough?

You sit on the couch he points to, as he settles into the leather chair across from you.

“Christ what’d I’d do for a fucking smoke right now,” he mumbles, pawing at his chest absent mindedly on reflex.

You mean to sit stiff as a board, but your body is tired and the couch is surprisingly comfortable.

The soldier, however, sits like he owns the house. “And now for the question of what to do with you.”

[random-twst-things]

The Sweet Painter of Twisted things (Pt. 1)

Hi annon! Love the concept. It's no bother at all, I do love to write after all!! Ty for the request and I apologize for taking so long 😭✨🍬 (I hope you like it!)

Characters involved: Riddle, Leona, Azul pt.1 (Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus pt.2)

Pairings: Riddle, Leona, Azul pt 1 (Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus x Female reader pt.2) (Separate)

Warnings: Mentions of eerie/gory paintings

Word count: 1,630

Notes: you know what? I'm just gonna post it now and finish the rest in a different post, I don't want y'all to be kept waiting any longer 😭✨🍬

More notes: I'll be posting Pt.2 whenever I have time! I will say though, I have no idea how to write for some of the characters in Pt.2 😀✨🍬

When you said you painted and wished to show him your art, Riddle had to admit he was a tad bit (a lot) excited to see

So, when you showed him your art he was absolutely bewildered.

You, the sweetest person he has ever had the chance in meeting, paints things that could cause nightmares.

Obviously, he isn't going to say that aloud, he has manners, but dear seven, how unexpected it was for him.

He's seen art before. He's been to museums by his mother to teach him strictly of the arts and the "rules" she put in place for them to determine how well a painting is.

It's been years since his mother taught him such things, and she only did it so often, and after time, those rules of art set by his mother have dwindled.

He's been able to go to museums before with Trey as a way to calm down when things are too much. Luckily, Trey was able to explain to Riddle how there are many forms of art and how it art doesn't necessarily have rules itself.

So it's safe to say he's a bit more well-versed in paintings now, even though he still finds it a bit difficult when there's no rules to follow (a habit hard to get rid of)

Now, his reaction all depends on what painting and image your showing him

He will ask you questions about why you would paint such uncanny things such as:

Why did you paint this? What caused you to begin painting such eerie things? What Inspiration were you given to paint this particular piece?

And many more questions about technique and practical things.

He can't say that he's a fan of these types of paintings, but he can say that he thinks you're very talented to be able to make such paintings

He'll praise how well done or real your painting(s) looks.

He's going to be a bit concerned about you, though, and he shows that by (trying to) subtly asking if you're okay

"What gave you the inspiration to draw this?" Riddle asks, the worry in his tone being quite evident even through his attempts in hiding it. "Have you witnessed such things for inspiration?" He asks again, his voice laced with even more worry than before.

"What? No!" You stand up from your seat to get closer to Riddle. "It's not like that," you laugh lightly, shaking your hands in the air. "I just happened to see a rotting piece of meat in the cafeteria kitchen one time while passing by."

Riddle breathes a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding in. Bro was stressing and worrying.

I say this in the nicest way possible to us all, but this man does not care but-!

Leona doesn't care in a sense like "I wanna show you something!" "Alright hurry it up and show me".

Maybe he's a bit smug that you're showing him something you like to do.

Anyways, when you said you wanted to show him your painting(s) he was being smug.

He didn't have any set expectations to what type of things you painted or what your style was.

Him seeing the eerie or gory painting didn't surprise him as much as Riddle either.

He doesn't have much to say, but this guy is still smug and is definitely showing it now.

Why? The guys got weird motives and definitions of respect and pride so we'll never know.

His does wonder how you acquired such Inspiration to paint like this.

He's not too curious about it to the point where he'll try to find out or becomes worried.

Again, he is smug and prideful but it's for you

He feels prideful FOR you. He's smug about you being able to paint such gory or eerie things FOR you.

(Bros so smitten with you)

You set your canvas/notebook down carefully against one of the plants nearby, careful not to get it dirty or damaged.

Leona lays there, back towards you, unbothered under the shade of a plant, but not for long as you bring your finger near his cheek and begin to poke.

Poke.

Poke.

PokePokePokePokePokePokePoke.

Leona swats your hand away, but not harshly. His tail swings left to right faster then he was asleep, another sign he's awake.

He looks at you, irked that you disturbed his so-called much needed nap. He glares at you, but his eyes lack the malice in them to even consider it threatening. You look at him innocently, hands behind your back as to show it wasn't you. (He knows better, only you would ever try to wake him up like that)

He sighs deeply. "What is it herbivore?" He asks as he shifts slightly to get into a more comfortable position to get a better view of you. You turn your body slightly to grab the canvas you set down behind you, careful not to accidentally show Leona just yet. "I wanna show you something," you beam, you're more excited then you thought you'd be showing him, for the first time, your most recent painting.

Leona's tail begins to swish even faster, thumping against the leaves of the plants nearby. His tail gives away that his curiosity has been piqued. Yet his face remains unchanged, besides the slight quirk of his eyebrow in questioning.

You turn the canvas around for Leona to see.

And there it is

The smirk

The smug

The eyes of pride *sound effects*

His smirk seems to widen even more as he looks at the painting and then back at you. "Looks nice herbivore, ya got anymore?"

You excitedly nod your head, "yeah, I do. Wanna see them?", you ask, gripping your painting, even more excited then before to show him.

Leona nods his head languidly while slowly closing his eyes, "sure, but after I finish this nap", he brings his arms down and begins to get comfortable. He softly pats his stomach, "Come, sleep".

Azul knows you paint, he knows it's been a hobby of yours for a while now.

How does he know? Doesn't matter. Does he know what exactly the contents of your paintings are? No

His curiosity has been eating away at him. He was so very curious on what his darling was capable of

So, when you first told him that you wished to show him your paintings, he was elated. His curiosity will finally be quelled.

He may or may not have a set expectations of what you paint. Something sweet, something calm or maybe something like he'd find at a museum of old paintings.

What he saw was the complete opposite to say the least.

He's not disappointed, no, he's just shocked.

He's amazed. He's taken aback. He's a lot of emotions.

.....would you be willing to, perhaps, sell these paintings? Many people out there would be willing to buy, and the profits would be even and-

Old habits die hard, I suppose 🤷🏽‍♀️

You led Azul by the hand to your room/drawing room, much slower than he would like as he wished to see your paintings as soon as possible.

"Azul, i can feel you twitching in anticipation just by holding your hand," you laughed lightly. He sighed, bringing his free hand to his temple to calm his nerves. "I'm sorry, dear, but it feels as if you're walking slower just to build up anticipation," "Maaaybeee~". Azul chuckles at your antics.

Finally, after Azuls definition of agonizing seconds. He visibly relaxed as he saw the covered canvas. "My, you really know how to keep me on my toes", ",I most certainly do". You left go of his hand and stand next to the covered canvas. "Ready?", you put your hands on the sheet. Azul held his breath and nodded.

You clench the cover and quickly pull it off. You turn to face Azul to gouge his reaction. That reaction was him frozen in place, still holding his breath (you'd begun to think how he still hasn't passed out) "Azul?" You try to call out to him.

He slowly walks up to your painting, still holding his breath. He reaches out and touches the edges of the canvas delicately, scared he we're to break it if he put too much pressure. You watch his careful movements. You watch as his eyes rake over your painting as if he could take the painting and store it into his memory box. "Azul?" You try calling out again, only this time he responds.

He let's out a shaky breath, "it looks -" he turns his head to fade you. "It looks magnificent, dear," his words were barely above a whisper. You stand there absolutely frozen and shocked. Nobody has ever quite thought this kind of painting would be 'magnificent' before.

"Really?" He turns his head back at the painting."Yes, the detail is vert intricate, and it feels so eerie. It's as if you were truly there." You stare at him bewildered, mouth slightly agape.

He puts his hand on his chin in a thinking position. The gears turn in his head. He turns to face you so quickly that you'd think he'd have snapped his neck on accident. "Have you ever considered selling these?" He asks, with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Sell them?... No, I never really thought of that." You bring your fingers to your chin, now thinking as well. "Well, I'll say many would be lining up the door to buy these wonderful paintings!""Really?"

"Yes! With such talent and my business skills, we could -" and there goes the business man into his spiral of possibilities.

[apricot-blossomss]

hihi!! may i please request an apollo x reader where he pleads for them to take them back after a minor argument, and apollo, in the heat of the moment and feeling petty, breaks up with reader

☛ apollo broke up with you over a stupid argument and begs you to take him back

☛ sfw, angsty, fluffy ending; tw: self deprecating thoughts; thank you for 100 followers!

He messed up. Badly.

His hand shook over the paper but he couldn't think of another verse. Or rather: there were so many swirling around in his mind, expressing regret, loathing himself, worshipping you and asking for forgiveness, that he couldn't find one to write down. With a frustrated groan, he buried his head in his hands.

"Lord Apollo?"

"Hm?" He said, begrudgingly looking up from his miserable laments and at the Muse Clio. She, as well as her sisters, had free access to the god's sacred gardens, though he would have preferred solitude right now. And he could not bear her pitiful looks, even though it was Clio's standard expression.

"I was sent by your high father," she said and came closer to the bench were the god had sprawled out all the heartbreak and breakup songs he had written in the last forty-eight hours.

"Sit," he said without putting away his pen. Instead, he started writing, but even though his words would have brought the highest poets to shame over the mediocrity of their verses, it still didn't feel enough for you. If he wanted to get you back, he'd have to do it properly, with the most masterful piece he had ever written.

Clio sat down on the small part of the bench that wasn't covered in music and lyric sheets, letting her eyes scan over them. Jeez. Whoever you were, you had to have done quite the number on the god. When she looked at him, he was feverishly scribbling on a fresh paper, looking like a madman. "Your father," she began carefully. "urges you to leave these gardens to tend to your godly duties."

"Tell him to shove his urges up his ass," Apollo grumbled and earned a skeptical look. "Come on. I'm sure you'll find a nice way of expressing the same sentiment."

"I have another message, from your sister," she added and he grimaced, a bitter feeling at the back of his throat. "Tell her I won't have her mockery." The muse fell silent, sad, worried eyes tracing his features.

"You can leave now," the god said in a monotone voice and without another word, Clio was gone. As so often in the last fort-eight hours, Apollo felt the tears sting in his eyes once more and leaned back to drape an arm over his face. But the darkness only brought the image of the fight back.

How could he have been so stupid, so hurtful and petty? It was an argument about a fucking a/c unit. It hadn't even been an argument initially. Just harmless banter, until he had overstepped and said something hurtful. And when you snapped back, he had felt hurt and lashed out. Stupid. He was so stupid. The whole thing started spiraling out of control until he had shouted back the fateful words.

"If you can't take a joke, maybe we're not right for each other"

The guilt ate him up from the inside. The image of your widened, teary eyes was burned into his brain, he saw it every time he closed his eyes, and every time he did, his heart squeezed so painfully that he wished someone would take mercy on him and shoot him with his own arrow. And no ink in the world would draw the pain out. Only one thing could- you.

You scrubbed aggressively at your kitchen sink, even though it really was not to blame for your current situation. "Stupid," you muttered to yourself as you forcefully scoured at a stain at the side of the sink. But it wouldn't wash away a bit. "Fucking thing," you muttered, scrubbing even harder. Finally, you gave up and took a deep breath through your nose. "Fucking shit"

Your doorbell rang and you ignored it. Like the last two days, you would self isolate and obsessively clean your house- that was how you coped with having the most stupid, petty idiot of a god as a boyfriend- now ex-boyfriend. The thought stung. And even more so, because as much as you would like to pretend it was, this wasn't all on him. The bell rung again, and you sighed, throwing your towel in the sink and opening the door with a little more vigor the necessary.

"Can I help y-" The words died on your tongue. Cool, silver eyes had you forgetting how to articulate a single word as the woman in front of you looked you up and down. She was gorgeous, in a wild way. Dark hair braided and of truly majestic posture, in a flowing dress and a bow over her shoulder. You felt your whole being shiver at the sheer might of her presence- something you only felt with Apollo, only that it felt much warmer and exciting with him. Your mouth knew before your brain registered her appearance. "Lady Artemis"

"You," she said, and the tone of her voice had you stiffen up, as if she had shouted. Her scrutinizing stare had you sweat and you dug your fingers into the palms of your hands nervously. "I've heard a lot about you."

"Th-thank you," you stammered, too panicked to think of anything else to say. Was she here to take revenge on you? Apollo would never allow that, that you were sure of. But who knew whether they cooperated?

"Your appearance doesn't live up to your reputation," she said coldly, but it didn't sound like an insult. The goddess studied your expression and sighed, a hint of exhaustion in her tone. "It must be something else about you then. Something that warrants this level of drama."

"I was hardly the one who started it," you bit back and regretted the words the second they left your mouth. Biting down on your tongue, you winced at your stupidity. "Please forgive me, that was out of line." Great. Insulting her brother in front of Artemis was surely the best move.

"He thinks the same." You looked up at her and were surprised to find her smiling a very slim smile. "You should see him, he's an absolute mess, drowning in his guilt."

"Oh," you said, without a hint of worry or remorse. Instead, you felt a sense of relief. He cared. He felt guilty. He was drowning in his misery. Artemis lifted her brow at your neutral expression and you shrugged. "It's nice to be appreciated."

"You are appreciated, alright," the goddess said under her breath as she remembered the tortured sappy breakup songs her brother had been bothering everyone with. Sickeningly enough, he was really good at those, so everyone was getting depressed. Even though Artemis tended to spend her time away from Olympus, she herself could feel the effects of this misery. And she was sure many gods would breathe a sigh of relief once the whole mess was settled.

"Look," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose as if she was having a migraine, which of course wasn't possible for gods. "Can you just take him back, mortal? He's awfully broken up and making everyone miserable."

"I'm not asking him to take me back," you said stubbornly. You may have had your part in the argument, but he was the one who ended things and your pride didn't allow for you to crawl back to him. "If he wants me back, he can tell me himself, I'm very sorry."

There was a short but noticeable silence. Then: "I understand." The goddess smiled. You were starting to live up to her expectations. "But he's just as stubborn as you and he won't get his ass down here until he has crafted 'the perfect song' to ask for your forgiveness." The thought did make your insides flutter. "How about a deal? I'll take you to my temple and make him fix this on the spot."

Not daring to refuse the proposal, you nodded and her hand got a hold of your upper arm. "Close your eyes" Instinctively, you followed her instructions. Even though you felt nothing, not even a hush of air, when you opened your eyes, you were in the most magnificent hall you had ever seen. Marble all around, with a high, open ceiling and trees invading it through the windows. A mix of ancient monument and forest.

When you turned around to ask the goddess whether this was Olympus, she was gone. You were alone, as small as an ant between the towering walls. They were so monumental it was almost claustrophobic- or rather, the opposite. Just as terrifying. The space made you feel tiny and insignificant and with those feelings came an unexpected dread:

What if he didn't want you back?

Why would he? He was a god, he could have his pick of hundreds of millions of people, people that were prettier than you, smarter than you, more exciting than you. It was like the walls were threatening to crumble, your breathing picked up and you tried to breathe through your mouth slowly, but not getting enough air only accelerated your sudden panic. What if he came in here and told you to go, that he didn't need you, didn't want you? That you couldn't even take a joke and you shouldn't be with one another? The scrutinizing look in her eyes as Artemis had looked you up and down was burned into your memory. Your appearance doesn't live up to your reputation.

He wrote you songs, you tried to remind yourself. He was being petty, that why he broke things off. Artemis says he regrets it, she said he wants you back. But you couldn't believe it- not really, no matter how often you tried to tell it to yourself. He wants you. But why would he? He loves you. Why you? There was no clock in the temple, of course, but it had been some time already . Would he even show up?

The tall stone doors were opened with such force they met the walls in a loud bang. Flinching hard, you shot around and saw him standing there, in between the doors that were creaking in protest of being handled with such force. You met his eyes and in that moment you knew you had already forgiven him. If a gods eyes could be bloodshot, his were. His usually effortlessly perfect hair was disheveled and his hands covered in ink. They hung powerlessly at his sides, as if they didn't know what else but the door to use their strength on. He looked like shit, and you felt love swell in your chest.

But you couldn't let him know. Pressing your hands to your hips, you lifted your chin. "I knew you'd come back" Liar "I just wouldn't have thought it would be this quickly," you said, sounding much more self assured than you had ever been in your life, much less now.

The god walked towards you, as if he were dream walking, raising a hand like he was about to caress your cheeks but slumped down in front of you instead, kneeling before you on the marble floor. "I am a fool."

"Yes," you said, nodding and gulping down the burning in the corners of your eyes. Because you couldn't stand the self loathing in his features, you studied a blooming cherry tree that was waving through one of the tall windows. When you felt hands on your hips, your own hands shot down but when they met his, your fingers curled around his and he let out a long breath.

"I am such a stupid, stupid moron," he emphasized and you finally managed to look down at him. The genuine regret in his eyes took your breath right out of your lungs. "Please... my love..." His hands closed around your smaller ones and he brought them to his face to put his head in his hands. You let him. "Please, forgive me. I was so stupid, please, take me back. Love?"

"Hm?"

"I'm so so sorry"

Not trusting your voice, you started caressing his cheeks and he sighed into your ministrations, kissing the palm of your hand softly. Teary eyes shone up at you and you looked back. Just when you opened your mouth to formulate an answer, he tightened his hold on you, while simultaneously reaching behind himself to grab a stack of scribbled-on paper out of nowhere and pushing it into your hands. "I tried to make the perfect one for you, but I failed. I'm sorry, my love."

As you read through the words, your heart started beating loudly in your chest. In disbelief, you read them through as the god still clung to your body. "Are these ... about me?" you whispered as your eyes skimmed over words of adoration and love, of appreciation and utter devotion, of little things you did that you had never noticed, or you had thought mundane- but he hadn't.

"Yes," he breathed. He didn't make a sound when he rose to his feet, though still hunched over in shame. His warm hands massaged your waist as they were carefully scanning your expression for your reaction. "Do you like them?" You had to like them, or he would lock himself in tarterus and throw away the key.

"I-" you stammered, voice hoarse. All your doubts, all your anxiety of being good enough... as you read through the words, they slowly erased them bit by bit. Your fingers were shaking so hard the paper trembled in your hands and you could feel the tears well up in your eyes. "Love?" He sounded worried, and you had to make yourself look up from the beautiful words to smile at him. "Yes, I like them. They're beautiful."

Thank god. "I'll make it all up to you, I swear," he said gravely, taking your face into his hands. "I will compose and sing operas to your magnificence, I will grant you every wish, I will never make you cry again, I promise"

"You just did," you laughed through your tears and pressed the stack of paper to your chest. "Can I uh- can I keep them?"

"Of course, silly. They are yours," he hummed, looking into your eyes with a look in his eyes you couldn't quite place. Maybe longing. Desperation. "Please, my love, take me back and I shall never make you suffer again."

"Alright," you said, smiling up at him and wiping away the saltine wetness on your cheeks. "And- I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, you didn't mean it like that and I was just being stupid and overthinking and- I'm sorry."

Vehemently, Apollo shook his head and shushed down your apologies. "No no no, love, this was on me, just on me. I hurt you, I made you cry and I ... I can't get that out of my head." His voice sounded strained.

"Apollo?" Now, it was his eyes threatening to overflow with tears. "Why did you come back?" He looked at you as if you had just said the most bewildering thing ever. "I mean... you could have just left me. But you didn't." A small, bitter laugh escaped you. "I lied, you know? I didn't know if you would come back, I thought you might just not care that much."

"How could you ever think that?" he asked, as if he really couldn't believe it, and you laughed. "Because I hate myself?" It was meant to be a joke, but your puffy eyes and sniffs didn't do a lot of convincing on that end, you feared. The pained look in his eyes almost made you cry again, not even for your sake, but for his, because how could someone look this tortured and not break apart.

"You are the most amazing woman- the most amazing person- I have ever had the privilege of loving," he confesses. "I love you."

The genuinity in his words took your breath away, and you didn't get a chance to get it back because his lips crashed onto yours in a heated, desperate attempt to convince you of his words. Your arms wrapped around his neck and you kissed him back feverishly as relief flooded your whole body and you started relaxing in his arms. He could feel you slumping against him and chuckled into your heated kiss, angling your head just right for him to deepen the kiss, holding you securely and dipping you down. You giggled, fully entrusting him with yourself, and he smiled through the kiss.

"You are divine," he groaned, placing kiss after kiss on your swollen lips and you laughed lightly before the way of it was swallowed by his loving ministrations. "Says the literal god."

"APOLLO!"

Flinching, you broke away from the kiss just enough to see a very pissed off Artemis standing in the doors of her temple and glaring at her brother who frowned right back. "You're interrupting, sister."

"You are in my temple! How dare you do this in my temple you little shit?" When she whipped her head around to you, you buried your fingers in Apollo's tunic, already seeing your life flashing before your eyes, but against all expectations, she gave you a genuine smile. "If you don't want to take him back, I might still have a spot for you under my followers, you could join my huntresses, dear."

"That is a very gracious offer, but I fear I have to decline it, I'm sorry," you apologized and she tutted, though she didn't seem resentful.

"Ha!" Apollo grinned and she smacked him. He let her, grinning boyishly and hositing you up into his arms. You didn't protest, you were too dazzled by his unbelievably bright smile that had your heart explode into a thousand bubbles that popped all over your stomach, tingling. "Love, how do you feel about getting out of here?"

Waving at Artemis, you couldn't help your own smile. "Bye! And thank you, my lady!" She gave you a small smile and exchanged a look with Apollo that was more firm. Smiling at her, he glanced down at you and tightened his hold. "I know."

"Go!" his sister told him, shoving his shoulder, and in the flash of a second, you were surrounded by trees and flowers and sweet smells. A garden. Unmistakably divine, because no mortal place could be of such beauty.

Apollo set you down on a golden bench and sat down himself, pulling you into his warm arms. A long sigh left your mouth as you smiled at him, at his beauty, his smile, his shiny eyes. It felt so intimate, the way he was smiling back and pressed a kiss to your temple, huffing out a warm breath against your skin that was slowly warmed up by the sun. "Where are we?" you finally asked.

"My gardens," he answered, caressing your face with trails of sweet kisses. "Do you like them?" You nodded, admiring the colors as he was worshipping your face with his lips.

"Do you want to have them?"

"What?" you laughed, turning to look at him and fully convinced that he must be making a joke. But the expression on his face was undoubtedly honest. "N-no thanks," you mumbled and rested your hand on his shoulder. Your fingers interlaced with his.

"Do you know what Artemis told me before she happened to mention you were waiting for me at her temple?" Shaking your head, you started playing with his fingers when his captured your ring finger and his lips ghosted over your ear in a way that had you shiver in spite of the warmth of his sunny gardens. "She told me if I wanted you back forever, and if I loved you as much as I said, I should just put a ring on it."

"What?" you laughed instinctively, because you had built a wall around the topic for the both of you. What you had with Apollo wasn't permanent- it couldn't be, because you weren't permanent. What was he even talking about?

"I mean it," he said, so earnestly that the laughter died on your tongue. He brought your hand up to his lips and pressed his lips to your knuckles, your ring finger. "I would drag myself through eternal suffering for a life you. If you preferred a mortal life, I'd leave Olympus for you. I would kill anyone who hurt you, anyone ever made you feel small. I'd do everything for you, and I don't want to regret anything more."

Breathlessly, you searched his features for deception. "Apollo... you had thousands of lovers before me. Why me?"

He looked thoughtful and absentmindedly drew circles on your thigh. "You're right. I have loved plenty, and I have loved deeply every time. But even though it was genuine, it was never long, and that always worked for me, in some way." You felt the caress of his adoring eyes on you as you stared at your hands, trying to process his words. "It wouldn't work with you, never. And I would never be okay with it. I want you forever- or at least for as long as possible, as long as you want to."

There was a downside to dating Apollo, and it was the fact that your stammered confession and your attempts at wooing him with loving words crippled pathetically next to his flawless love poetry, his sure words and articulation. You really didn't know how to possibly give him an answer, other than leaning up and kissing him, as gently as the summer breeze, and thinking: if you could have this forever, what more could you need?

When you broke the sweet little kiss, you couldn't suppress a giggle and he raised an eyebrow at you. "It's just..." you grimaced. "I can't believe we broke up over an a/c unit."

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

[giantmushyfriend]

Welcome back to the Ineffable lyric discussion (can I hear a wahoo)

In honor of the announcement of season 3 of our beloved Good Omens, I find it completely necessary for us to discuss one of the many songs on Aziraphale and Crowley's angelic playlist that made me scream my bloody head off. One of those songs is the one and only The Book of Love by Peter Gabriel. While I UNDERSTAND this song may have just been chosen to spell out SEASON THREE, I think it goes much deeper than that because of all of the parallels it draws to Aziraphale and Crowley. And ultimately, what I think is going to happen in terms of their relationship when they finally sort their shit out. So beware if you haven't watched season 2 of Good Omens because we're about to do a fucking DEEP DIVE into this.

First, the title of the Book of Love feels almost like a call to this looming threat to the Book of Life that was consistently used in series 2. The entire season, Crowley and Aziraphale have to work oh so carefully because with the Book of Life being confirmed, they know that either of them could get the other erased, and whether they want to admit it or not, losing the other is their biggest fear. We've seen this when Crowley believed Aziraphale to be dead in Series 1 when he couldn't feel Aziraphale's presence anymore since he got incorporated. When Aziraphale isn't there, Crowley is a mess. Likewise, we saw how both reacted during the ineffable divorce scene in series 2. Crowley is full-on begging Aziraphale to stay, and Aziraphale has finally admitted that he needs Crowley and full-on mouths for Crowley not to leave him. The Book of Life inherently, from how Neil set it up, feels threatening. The Book of Love, on the other hand, raises an entirely other reaction. Throughout the series, as corny as it sounds, love has been what grounds our protagonists. It is the love of Tadfeild and his friends that keeps Adam from kickstarting the end of the world; it's what keeps him from rejecting his father, the literal devil. It is the love of the earth, of humanity and all its strange creations, and for each other that keeps Aziraphale and Crowley attempting to prevent the end of the world when it could be so much easier to just accept the fate of it all. Love is the key theme that grounds our protagonists, that makes them tick. Love is safe; love is, at times, painful but overall kind. So when we see this title on their playlist, listed amongst heartwrenching tales of grieving a relationship, you could have had, and of loss, it brings a sense of salvation and safety. The Book of Love, unlike the Book of Life, is not a threat- it's a sanctuary for Aziraphale and Crowley.

Now, diving into the lyrics.

"The book of love is long and boring

No one can lift the damn thing

It's full of charts and facts, and figures, and instructions for dancing

But I

I love it when you read to me.

And you

You can read me anything"

The first couple of verses inherently feel like Aziraphale and Crowley's original view on this notion of love. As two supernatural entities who aren't bound by human emotion or logic, love may seem superficial and downright silly at times. The courting procedures that different societies have taken on throughout the centuries and the songs and dances that come along with it may all seem like a big waste. The book of love is a manifestation of love itself, and originally, it seems unappetizing to our protagonists. That is until they refind each other, and love goes from this thing that humans feel and jump through hoops for to this tidal wave of emotions. Love felt silly and unrealistic before, but with each other, they are willing and excited to explore it, even if it comes with things that feel inherently silly.

Also, these verses draw some cute parallels to headcanons and features of cannons. If you've been involved in the Good Omens fandom long enough, you've probably stumbled across the idea that Crowley asks Aziraphale to read to him for a multitude of different reasons. Some people say it's because his eyes aren't meant to read, one of the many punishments that came with him being cast down from grace, or maybe it's just because he finds Aziraphale's voice comforting. Additionally, the line about instructions for dancing is just so heartwarming when we look at the ball scene from this past season and Aziraphale's daydreams of a romance worthy of a Jane Austin novel.

"The book of love is long and boring

And written very long ago

It's full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes

Adn things we're all too young to know

but I

I love it when you give me things

and you

You ought to give me wedding rings"

I'm sure we've all heard this idea that you'll understand love when you get older, but even when you get older, it never seems to make sense. This idea that love is too old for any of us to truly understand, and that humbles us but in the best way possible. There is no point in trying to figure out what exactly love is because you could spend thousands of years feeling it and watching it happen all around you and still not know exactly what it is besides this all-encompassing feeling. And that is exactly the perspective of Aziraphale and Crowley. They have seen countless examples of love, true, unwavering love, and they have felt it for each other. And yet they themselves cannot begin to fathom what love, true unconditional love, is exactly. These two supernatural, ethereal/occult beings are humbled by the very concept of love like humans are- and that love is drawn from each other.

And then there is this notion of giving, which pairs so well with Crowley's primary love language, acts of service and gift giving. If the first chorus was Crowley talking about how he loves it when Aziraphale reads to him and takes care of him, then this is Aziraphale talking about how Crowley displays his love. And this final notion of asking for that final commitment, one of the key ways humans express their love for each other, is just amazing. Because in a way, Aziraphale moving to make this commitment, to fully be on their side in this way, is the resolution we have been wanting since the beginning. For Aziraphale to finally feel safe enough to let go and finally let himself settle to where he finally belongs, on his side with Crowley.

[monrageo]

Saw a lot of Spider-Steve art so I had to jump in. Most art modernised him but I want my 80s, mallrat, neon lights Spider-Man + I wrote his origin story. *POSES FOUND ON PINTEREST*

Also Steve looks great in the classic red and blue but I wanted him to have his own costume so yellow he shall be. Now onto my headcanons.

In a world where Hawkins is a megapolis a teen boy gets bitten by a radioactive spider in 83’ while visiting Hawkins Lab (Think less abandoned more Oscorp/Alchemax) and so it begins. He starts doing small good things around the city, experimenting with his powers.

But he isn’t thinking about being a superhero or anything close to that (I imagine the drawing with the sweats and goggles is his first “costume”). Then he gets with this amazing girl-Nancy Wheeler.

Life is looking up for Steve he’s got these weird powers that get him to be the basketball and swim team captain. He’s popular, he’s got this amazing girl that inspires him to be better and better.

He looses his popular crowd friends, he wants to be better. He starts thinking about the superhero thing and actually goes through with it. He isn’t shouting it from the rooftops but news is getting around that a guy in spandex is busting criminals- Spider-man/King Spider.

Steve gets cocky, thinks he’s on top of the world, untouchable. Then Will Byers goes missing-that’s a whole separate story. Nancy and John start their investigation. Steve gets jealous etc.

In the end a battle breaks out and Steve is unable to save one person-Barbara Holland. His girlfriend’s best friend. That of course destroys Nancy. She doesn’t know Steve is Spider-man, she seeks comfort in him but things are not the same.

There’s this whole thing with Jonathan, the obvious attraction, the compatibility. But also Steve’s guilt, his self hatred. He realises he was too blindsided by his cockiness. Barb’s death is on his hands. He breaks up with Nancy and solely focuses on being the best Spider-man he can be.

That of course costs him friends etc. but when you’ve been through what he has high school drama just seems pointless… and so King Steve falls from the throne.

I imagine the Nancy story line parallels the Gwen Stacy one in the original comics (without the death and clones), maybe Nancy even blames and hates Spider-man the way Gwen did… that also contributes to the Stancy break-up.

Perhaps Nancy becomes hyper focused on catching this Spider-man so he can be held accountable for Barb’s death.

Anyways now Steddie, I think Eddie would love Spider-man / King Spider he’s some guy with spider powers and bright spandex that helps people, super camp, Eddie would love him.

I think Steve starts noticing Eddie in a new light when his lunch table tirades now also include how awesome spider-man is. This unapologetic support makes the now loser Steve feel like it is all worth it-the stress, the pain, the loneliness-

Tough he of course knows Eddie isn’t talking about him, he’s talking about Spider-man, the hero. Not the former popular guy Steve Harrington.

I have many ideas regarding a Stranger things!Spider-verse and which characters could be what. Maybe Barb’s death was something Lizard-like, but upside down version. Like something from the lap infected her? I like the idea of Steve’s father being involved in the labs, perhaps as a Norman Osborn parallel, without becoming the Goblin though.

The goblin/Norman/Harry Osborn storyline could be reimagined with Tommy perhaps??? Then Venom with Eddie (so perfect) or Billy (a tragic end)??

[thewanderingmask]

my submission for the hermitcraft season 10 fan art gallery: Xisuma Eternal! (actual size on left, embiggened version on right)

there are a ton of little thoughts that went into this and i will now go off about them at length (ramble under the cut)

let's start with the image layout and composition! my first idea was to do an homage to the original doom box art because of X's skin, but ultimately I decided on referencing this Eternal cover (hence the title of the piece) because it sparked some stronger ideas in my brain.

i still wanted to keep that link to the original though, so i did my very best to emulate the original logo with X's name - replacing the original texture with binary as one of many references to X's role supporting the technical side of the server.

(for no reason other than my own amusement, the binary in the letters is translated lyrics from X's verse in the hermit gang song. i don't even know how much of that is still visible after lining the letters, but i liked putting it there)

i've only been watching hermitcraft for a few months, and there's an awful lot of history i don't know about. so i focused on doing my best celebrating builds X has worked on here in season 10! i would have loved to include his base as well, but ultimately i ran out of room.

(there are still a few nods to other seasons based on knowledge i've acquired through osmosis. evil X is the most obvious, but i was also able to sneak in a couple small carvings next to the X in the title text!)

coming back around to xisuma's work on the technical side, that's why Evil X is backed by error windows. it's also why xisuma is holding a toolbox! it was the best visual metaphor i could come up with for the digital job of maintenance and repair.

(and of course he has a lovely cup of tea as well)

the allays (holding redstone) are partially in reference to farms X has been making, partially bringing back in that angelic/demonic vibe of Doom, and mostly because their intended role of supporters and helpers feels very thematically appropriate for X.

the lines in the sky are of course meant to evoke the shapes of mace race, and the black cube is a minecraft-ified version of the Soulside Eclipse logo.

(if you're not familiar, that's xisuma's music! it's good!! give it a listen sometime! it's on youtube!)

the silverfish at the very bottom are visual reference to the demon hordes of Doom - and of course they're also much more directly referencing X's very clever prank in impulse's city.

finally, on the walls of spawn we have the carved symbols - one for every other hermit. i remember X mentioning in a stream once something about fulfillment from supporting others. (i apologise if i'm remembering less than clearly.) it just felt like if i wanted to represent X, it felt important to include them as well.

and of course it made me happy to do something for Every hermit, since all of them

(smallishbeans/joel was actually the one i got most stuck on! there wasn't really a single item or symbol i could think of to narrow him down to. ultimately i decided on a torii gate and a little letter J, but i'm honestly still thinking about it)

ah right, and the Actual last thing: this turner out to be totally unnecessary, but i absolutely did draw this in the minecraft map hex code colours. it's a tricky palette to work with, and i learned a LOT about pixel art while trying to get the sky to look nice!

this piece took about 10 days to complete, maybe the longest i've ever spent on a single illustration like this - and honestly, i'm really happy and pretty proud of how it turned out!!

[wyndowpane]

LOTR in a modern world headcanons? I think yes.

I did this on one of my old accounts that i ended up deleting for some reason, i don’t remember, but here. Back on my Lord Of The Rings BS, let’s gooooo. This’ll be the fellowship with everyone intact, no one is dead.

As always requests are open and let me know if you want more!

LOTR x GN! Reader, general headcanons for if you had to take care of them today, in 2023. Enjoy!

The ring most likely has no power in this dimension, so yay Frodo is free from torment!

Sam loves watching cooking, gardening and home renovation shows, and he gets very invested in the former two. You learn a lot you didn’t really need to know from his commentary

Once Pippin learns about pyjamas and fuzzy slippers he never goes back, you literally cannot get him out of them

Boromir and Aragorn, being human and coincidentally two of the most responsible members of the fellowship, are the easiest to take in public to the grocery store and such.

You can pass off the hobbits (if they cover their ears with their hair) as children, and Gimli is your friend with dwarfism.

Gandalf you can pass off as your grandfather, and Legolas looks pretty normal if you cover his ears.

Pippin is the type to bounce in his seat in the car and ask “Are we there yet?!” every 5 minutes

Frodo really likes to draw, especially when there’s so many cool places and movies to draw inspiration from.

Movie nights? No horrors. The hobbits are terrified by ‘em.

Movie nights are literally so difficult because they all have such different tastes

Merry really likes James Bond movies.

Pippin is obsessed with nail polish when you introduce him to it. Boromir gets his repainted every time the polish come off. His nails need serious help after a while

Pippin and Merry often start pillow fights, and drag everyone else into it

If you have space for a garden or plants in your home, Sam is on it. He finds it calming, so now you have some home grown plants :)

Taking the hobbits in public? Bad idea. You can trust Frodo and Sam, but Merry inevitably drags Pippin off to do something dumb and possibly dangerous.

Gandalf has an old man rocker. There is no discussion.

The hobbits do the classic “getting one sibling to ask for fast food because whoever’s in charge will say yes”, they get Frodo to do this because he has the best puppy dog face and he’s unsure about asking for things normally.

Pippin and Merry cannot handle too much caffeine or sugar or they go crazy

You thought Legolas’ hair was good before? He steals your hair care products and his hair is literally perfect.

(He’s also willing to do skincare with you, not that his face needs it. Again, flawless)

Game nights are so chaotic. You can’t play a lot of games since they don’t know what many things from this world are, so games like Trivia and Charades are off the table

Gimli and Legolas verse each other in video games, often enough it ends with Legolas winning and Gimli rage quitting

Aragorn is so responsible he’s literally the perfect man to do anything with, and he can hold the fort down if you need to leave

Pippin is so clingy, he trails you wherever you go and asks you random questions but it’s adorable

Boromir insists on carrying your stuff, bags of groceries, all that

Frodo often goes to the library to find new books to read, with you of course

There’s a whole debate on whether 3D or 2D animation is better, i would not get involved if i were you.

Pippin and Merry are also avid fans of quoting their favourite movies, once they see them

Legolas and Frodo are the best listeners, they will just sit there and not judge or try to give you advice they just. sit there. like the perfect men they are.

Legolas would have a meme for everything. Like any situation. You text him like “PIPPIN FELL DOWN SOME WELL WE DON’T EVEN HAVE A WELL HELP” and he just has a meme that fits the situation perfectly.

Frodo and Legolas would watch Avatar: The Last Airbender together because it’s their favourite show. Aragorn jumps in also.

Those three are also avid tea drinkers.

Boromir likes Game Of Thrones. I don’t know anything about it, he just does. Please confiscate Pippin while he does.

Pippin gasps dramatically whenever a plot twist surprises him.

Sam loves to cook, and he does a lot of cooking in the house once he arrives. You two just work together in the kitchen (if you can’t cook, he’ll teach you) and have nice sweet conversations

Legolas is great at doing people’s hair. If you ask him to, he’d probably agree, though he’d probably be a bit flustered as that is a courting ritual in his culture.

Ask Legolas to talk to you until you fall asleep. His voice is so heavenly istg-

The hobbits get sleepy when their hair is played with and it’s adorable

Won’t lie this hyperfixation came back then it circled back to TMNT and today i watched these films with my friend and now i’m back to LotR love. Most of this has been sitting in my drafts for a couple weeks.

Anyway, I think that’s about it from me, I hope you guys enjoy! :)

If you want to request, rules are pinned on my page! Let me know if you want a general part two or a set of modern headcanons for a specific character. I love LOTR in the modern world content so much.

Have a good day, and remember that you are loved!

[nadas-dirthalen]

I Saw Solas's Origin in an Achievement Icon and It Opened My Eyes on 15 Years of Lore

— PART FOUR: if you haven't read previous parts, do it now! —

[ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ] [ 5 ] [ 6 ] [ 7 ] [ 8 ] [ 9 ] [ 10 ]

Welcome, friends and travelers! I wanted to get some thoughts recorded before Veilguard's release so I could see if I am right about an absolute BOATLOAD of theories I have.

In short: I saw the achievement list when it was released. I have seen the backstory hints for Solas included in said list. AND MY MIND WAS BLOWN.

You have been warned: THIS COLLECTION OF THEORIES INCLUDES SPOILERS FOR EVERY DRAGON AGE GAME AND ALL PROMOTIONAL MATERIAL UP TO AND INCLUDING OCTOBER 18, 2024.

Come sit down with me. Make a nice cup of tea (and hide it from Solas). We've got a lot of unpacking to do.

(this photo isn't the spoiler, I just like it.)

Today's Discussion: What the Chant of Light Confirms about Solas, Mythal, and the Evanuris at large.

Ohhhh boy. Here's where we're really getting into the, 'If you haven't read the previous parts, you NEED to go do that, otherwise what I'm about to say will make a lot less sense,' portion of this series. So seriously: the previous parts are linked above. Go look at those.

Caught up? Good.

Today, we're going to look at how closely the Chant of Light follows everything I just talked about with Titans, the Fade, spirits-as-thoughts, and Solas-as-lyrium-spirit. For this exercise, I'll mostly be drawing on material that I have access to (both volumes of World of Thedas, plus my knowledge from all three games) but supplementing with what the Dragon Age wiki has compiled, as well.

Rather than go through the Chant from beginning to end (as I simply lack the space here), I'm going to break it down into topics.

Our topics are as follows:

Who—and What—Is the Maker?

The Word "Forgotten" in the Chant

The Maker's First and Second Children

The Jealous First Children: Demons Seeking to Conquer the Earth

Archdemons and Titans

Yes, I Have to Talk About Shartan

Veilguard Predictions Based on the Chant of Light

Who—and What—Is the Maker?

For anyone who hasn't gone through the whole thing and read every verse, let me begin by saying: the Chant of Light is a story writ by many hands over the history of Thedas. Some of it is (allegedly) written or recorded from Andraste herself, but many verses are taken from outside sources—even adapted from other cultures' legends.

But overall, it is a story that the Andrastian faith believes in: one with approved verses that the Chantries teach all their faithful. The Chantry has been a brutal organization throughout Thedas's history, but I still find value in using the Chant to piece together different takes on Thedas's ancient lore. Whether the events happened as described is up for debate, but they are historically significant, and I would argue that they contain kernels of truth no matter if one believes in the prophecies from Andraste or not.

To properly discuss whether the Chant follows my theories, we first have to ask ourselves: what does the Chant suggest that the Maker is? To do this, we have to look closely at its creation story, and from the eyes of the one who supposedly witnessed him: the Canticle of Threnodies, and the Canticle of Andraste.

Right in Threnodies 1, it says this:

(4) From the waters of the Fade you made the world. As the Fade had been fluid, so was the world fixed.

Immediately, we can see that lyrium plays a major role in the Chant's creation story. If that's true, then the possibility exists that the Chant aligns at all with any of my prior theories. If that is the case, then the Chant of Light might aid us in predicting what's to come in Veilguard—especially with characters like Solas, so intertwined with Titan lore and lyrium.

From here, I went looking for additional references to the Maker, namely in Andraste 1.

(8) Lo! My eyes open'd, shining before me Greater than mountains, towering mighty, Hand all outstretch'd, stars glist'ning as jewels From rings 'pon His fingers and crown 'pon His brow.

The Wellspring of All said, "None now remember. Long have they turned to idols and tales Away from My Light, in darkness unbroken The last of My children, shrouded in night."

"World-making Glory," I cried out in sorrow, "How shall your children apology make?

Of course, we cannot forget one of the Chant quotes that Inquisition made famous!

(11) Here lies the abyss, the well of all souls. From these emerald waters doth life begin anew. Come to me, child, and I shall embrace you. In my arms lies Eternity.

Through all of these examples (and more that I simply do not have time or space to cite, with Veilguard so close), I can tentatively conclude: the Chant of Light is likely hinting to us that the Maker is a Titan.

But to test this theory, I wanted to go one step further. I wanted to see if the Chant of Light would suggest that the Maker is one of the Forgotten Ones.

The Word "Forgotten" in the Chant

To accomplish this next piece to the best degree possible, I actually moved the entire known Chant of Light into a google doc. Here's what I found when I looked for applicable mentions of forgot/forgotten.

(4) From the waters of the Fade you made the world. As the Fade had been fluid, so was the world fixed. (8) And so we burned. We raised nations, we waged wars, We dreamed up false gods, great demons Who could cross the Veil into the waking world, Turned our devotion upon them, and forgot you. —Threnodies 4.

We'll get to those "great demons" in a moment, but for now I want to draw attention to: "Turned our devotion upon them, and forgot you." That's one mention of the Maker being forgotten, in the first stanza we know from the Chant.

The Maker appears to Andraste (7) Eyes sorrow-blinded, in darkness unbroken There 'pon the mountain, a voice answered my call. "Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing, An ocean of sorrow does nobody drown. You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr. Within My creation, none are alone." — Andraste 1

This comes from the first stanza of the Canticle of Andraste, and describes the first time the Maker appeared to her. She is describing what she is seeing: "There 'pon the mountain, a voice answered my call." She is evoking mountain imagery here, and even though she doesn't mention an abyss in this verse, it does come up elsewhere in the Chant (as we have seen).

That, and the Maker speaks to her: "You have forgotten, spear-maid of Alamarr. Within My creation, none are alone."

For one, we have a mention of forgotten, again. But perhaps even more crucially, we have this concept of "none are alone" within the Maker's creation. With everything I know now, I'm thinking of the concept of Isatunoll: the hive-mind feeling experienced by Dagna, Valta, and Harding.

(13) "World-making Glory," I cried out in sorrow, "How shall your children apology make? We have forgotten, in ignorance stumbling, Only a Light in this darken'd time breaks. Call to Your children, teach us Your greatness. What has been forgotten has not yet been lost." (14) Long was his silence, 'fore it was broken. "For you, song-weaver, once more I will try. To My children venture, carrying wisdom, If they but listen, I shall return." — Andraste 1

Another mention: Andraste addresses the Maker as "World-making Glory," which references the saying that Titans were the first Shapers of the world. Then, she says: "We have forgotten [...] Call to Your children [...] What has been forgotten has not yet been lost."

Again: references to the Maker as a being that was forgotten. Another reference to lyrium, in asking the Maker to call out to people. This reference is further enhanced with the Maker referring to Andraste as "song-weaver," suggesting that these songs are how she can speak to the Maker.

And to top it all off: "What has been forgotten has not yet been lost" is answered with, "If they but listen, I shall return."

Listen, for so long, made me think of commandments. Listening to the Maker's will. But now? Now I think we're supposed to think of listening to the Maker's song.

(3) I have heard the sound A song in the stillness, The echo of Your voice, Calling creation to wake from its slumber. (4) How can we know You? In the turning of the seasons, in life and death, In the empty space where our hearts Hunger for a forgotten face? — Trials 1

Just like Andraste has heard the song, the echo of the Maker's voice, calling creation to "wake from its slumber." It could not be more deliberate than that!

Another mention, also, of a "forgotten face."

To me, these mentions of forgotten affirm that the Maker is one of the Forgotten Ones, and is definitely a Titan. That tells me that, until I am proven otherwise, I can read the rest of the Chant of Light as though Maker-as-Titan is true, and can see what other developments stem from that initial truth.

Namely: What does the Chant say about spirits and people, in relation to the Titans?

The Maker's First and Second Children

To understand the (possible) creation of the spirits and the elvhen, we are back to the Canticle of Threnodies, stanza 5. The first of the Chant's Canticles, it's an introduction not just to the text, but to the world of Thedas as understood by Andrastians.

Again: it may not be a precise literal description of events, but I maintain that if the Chant of Light truly didn't matter, BioWare wouldn't have made it that long, or paid as much attention to cadence/meter as they did.

The crux of the earlier portion of this Canticle is that the Maker produced two sets of children, and the first eventually grew envious of the second (more on that later). For now, let's examine what is said of the creation of the Maker's first children.

(1) There was no word For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky. All that existed was silence.

I am going to interpret this one very liberally. It is not said that there were no heaven, earth, sea, or sky—but that there was no word for those things. That, I interpret to mean that there was no distinction between heaven and earth. Remember that, throughout codices from ancient elvhenan, "sky" often refers to the Fade, and "earth" often refers to the Titans' domain, the Abyss, or the waking world.

Either way: there was no Veil, and so there was no distinction between the Titans' domain and the Fade.

Then the Voice of the Maker rang out, The first Word, And His Word became all that might be: Dream and idea, hope and fear, Endless possibilities. And from it made his firstborn.

There are two things worth noting here:

the "Voice of the Maker" is something I interpret to mean the song of lyrium: the song of the Titan that the Maker is.

"Dream and idea, hope and fear/Endless possibilities" sounds a lot to me like the Maker is creating his first children with thoughts. Thoughts conveyed through the song of lyrium, maybe?

Originally, these "first children" famously showed no sense of ambition. They were given the Fade, but did not do anything with it. They only reflected what already existed. (Though I do want to note that this city apparently had lyrium for cobblestones.)

He called forth A city with towers of gold, streets with music for cobblestones, And banners which flew without wind. [...] But their songs Were the songs of the cobblestones. They shone with the golden light Reflected from the Maker's throne.

The Maker apparently realizes his mistake: only giving the spirits the Fade.

The realm I have given you Is formless, ever-changing.

But the solution to that mistake?

So the Maker turned from his firstborn And took from the Fade A measure of its living flesh And placed it apart from the Spirits, and spoke to it, saying: Here, I decree Opposition in all things: For earth, sky For winter, summer For darkness, Light. By My Will alone is Balance sundered And the world given new life.

The Maker took living flesh from the Fade. That's not the thoughts existing in the Fade; that's the lyrium from the Fade. To that living, now sentient lyrium, the Maker spoke, and declared opposition in all things.

Now sky and earth are separate things. The Veil is not yet created (we'll get there), but we have this concept of two opposing schools of magic, like earthbending and airbending (to forever keep with the A:tLA examples through this series).

So far, this is lining up with my previous theories. But, what, exactly, are the Maker's second children made of?

(5) And no longer was it formless, ever-changing, But held fast, immutable, With Words for heaven and for earth, sea and sky. At last did the Maker From the living world Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth, With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear, Endless possibilities.

Now, the waking world is immutable, and there is opposition in magic. And from that opposition, the people are created. Not humans, but people. Their bodies are "immutable, as the substance of the earth" (meaning lyrium, I believe), "with souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear/Endless possibilities."

The exact same phrase: the Maker's thoughts are the souls of his second children, just as they were the first children's entire being. This proves that the people of Thedas have spirits for souls, but also that all spirits come from the Maker's thoughts.

When I tell you I almost choked, realizing that.

But I still want to ask the Chant of Light: in all this story, where do we find the Evanuris?

And the Chant has answered in full.

The Jealous First Children: Demons Seeking to Conquer the Earth

When I first read the Chant of Light, I had not pieced together that heaven and earth were synonymous with Fade and Abyss. Now that I have, I see the Evanuris plain as day in Threnodies 5.

(7) Now, with their Father's eye elsewhere, the firstborn At last created something new: Envy. They looked upon the living world and the favored Sons and daughters there, covetous of all they were. Within their hearts grew An intolerable hunger. Until, at last, some of the firstborn said: "Our Father has abandoned us for these lesser things. We have power over heaven. Let us rule over earth as well And become greater gods than our Father."

In the codices of the Trespasser DLC and the Temple of Mythal, there are constant references to the Evanuris wanting to tame or dominate the Titans, the "Void," or the "land." The ancient elves ask Elgar'nan to help them "tame the land." Mythal is praised for "striking down the pillars of the earth." The Evanuris, namely Mythal and Elgar'nan, carried on an endless war with the Forgotten Ones.

The Chant goes on.

(8) The demons appeared to the children of earth in dreams And named themselves gods, demanding fealty.

Remember part 2 of this series? Remember the Mythal lullaby from the Deep Roads portion of Trespasser? (I was lovingly informed about a small mistranslation, which I shall correct here.)

Ir sa tel'nal Mythal las ma theneras Ir san'a emma Him solas evanuris Da'durgen'lin Banal malas elgara Bellanaris, bellanaris. Isatunoll Mythal grants you dreams Lyrium within Becomes Solas evanuris Little stone boy Never granted (connection to many spirits) Forever, forever

Cole says, "He didn't want a body, but she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face."

It sounds exactly like the Chant describes: Mythal feeding dreams to Solas, only to bring him into a body he did not want, and apply vallaslin (a geas?) that he did not ask for.

Therefore? The Evanuris are the Maker's first children, as far as the Chant of Light is concerned.

But I've still got questions. Namely: What came next?

Archdemons and Titans

As for the Evanuris's eventual fate—being imprisoned at the same time as the Veil was created? They've employed interesting wording.

And a mighty voice cried out, Shaking the very foundations of heaven: "Ungrateful children! I gave you power To shape heaven itself, And you have made only poison. As you crave the earth, the earth shall be Your domain! Into the darkness I cast you! In tombs of immutable rock Shall you dwell for all time."

I question who this "mighty voice" belonged to. I do not believe Solas is the maker, but I do wonder: was Solas acting in conjunction with his Titan here? During the exact moment of the creation of the Veil, he still would have had access to his non-sundered Titan. Would he still have heard the song/call, and made the Veil at the Titan's behest?

Regardless: this piece of the Chant speaks about the imprisonment of the archdemons in the Abyss, the same domain as the Titans.

It goes on to specify what happened next:

(11) Those who had been cast down, The demons who would be gods, Began to whisper to men from their tombs within the earth. And the men of Tevinter heard and raised altars To the pretender-gods once more, And in return were given, in hushed whispers, The secrets of darkest magic.

This serves to confirm a theory that I'd held for a long time: that the Evanuris whispered to the priests of old Tevinter through their archdemons. Trapped in their fade-jail, they could not act themselves, but may have used their archdemons as puppets in order to convince the Magisters to come open the door to the Golden/Black City, that they might be released.

Overall? It sounds like the Chant of Light exactly confirms every one of my theories on the Titans, the Forgotten Ones, spirits-as-thoughts, the Evanuris, and the Archdemons. I may not have been able to examine the entire Chant here (can you imagine how long this post would be if I did?) but what I have presented so far exactly aligns with my theories from the last instalment.

Now, the question you're all here for...

Yes, I Have to Talk About Shartan

I know, I know. Shartan is one of the most widely debated figures in the Chant. And I'm sorry to say, I'm no more sure than the rest of you.

But I've never quite believed that Solas himself is Shartan. He says he slept for millennia after the creation of the Veil, after all. But I cannot deny all that we know of Shartan: that he freed elven slaves, that he held fast in his convictions, and that he is rumoured to have been Andraste's lover.

It seems damning, doesn't it? Surely someone so invested in freedom must be Solas, especially an ancient elf who looks so much like Solas himself.

But what if Shartan wasn't one person?

(3) My Maker, know my heart: Take from me a life of sorrow. Lift me from a world of pain. Judge me worthy of Your endless pride. — Transfigurations 12

We can guess that the Maker is a Titan. We know Solas came from a Titan. We can guess that Solas was still able to hear his Titan when the Veil was created. We also know that there were many lyrium coffins in the Deep Roads during the Descent DLC. The Maker's first children whispered to many stone-spirits just like Solas.

We also know the Forgotten Ones are named by their qualities, just like spirits and demons.

The Maker instructs Andraste to carry wisdom to the people, that he might return. Who is to say that the Maker is not the ultimate Wisdom/Pride aspect, and we just haven't seen it confirmed yet?

And if there are many wisdoms and prides that are tied to the Maker-Titan, then there is absolutely reason to believe that any of those lyrium-spirits-turned-corporeal elvhen could strongly resemble Solas not just in appearance, but in convictions.

Two elven translations point me to this conclusion, as well:

Ar-melana dirthavaren. Revas vir-anaris: this is Fen'Harel's secret password for the spirits in Trespasser. I believe it loosely translates to, "I now promise knowledge. Freedom for we-Anaris." • This translation GREATLY interests me, because Anaris is the name of one of the Forgotten Ones. "We-Anaris" implies that there are many elvhen that come from Anaris, and these specifically may be the slaves Solas was trying to free.

Shar•tan: I believe, as with all the Evanuris, this name is actually a title. While I could not guess the meaning of the word "Shar," I do know that the word "tan" means "three." • I wonder if Shartan, therefore, is a collection of three people, potentially all from the same Titan as Solas. Anaris, maybe?

Veilguard Predictions Based on the Chant of Light

Whew! I have a lot of Veilguard predictions, but to keep this post from being tumblr-breakingly long, I'll keep this list to the ones that come strictly from the Chant of Light.

I believe we will find out more about the Chant of Light by not only being in Minrathous and knowing Neve, but by seeing the Chant's events referenced by the ancient elves and even in Solas's memories.

I believe we'll get, if not confirmation, at least a hint on whether Solas's Titan is the Maker.

I believe that, since Veilguard is all about prophecies coming true, that we will hear the "Voice of the Maker" ring out to us in Veilguard—likely through a Titan waking. • I'm going to bet that this is in or near Kal'Hirol, the thaig closest to Kirkwall, which is near where the red lyrium idol was found in DA2.

I believe we're going to find out more about the potential link between Andraste and Mythal (there are bajillions of theory posts out there about them; I didn't have time here!)

I believe we'll see an Archdemon's old prison and see how that (potentially) affected Titans and/or their hearts.

I believe we'll see someone who remembers being made out of lyrium—even if that someone is Solas.

---

As ever, if you got this far, thank you!! All your engagements on these continue to make my week.

Also: I am trying my hardest not to consume full-game-review spoilers! As these reviews go live tomorrow (10/28), you may see me not reading my notifications/replies, and appearing here only to continue posting my theories.

But if you feel like sticking around anyway, stay tuned for: The Evanuris Story So Far, As Best As I Can Guess It.

[stargazer-luna]

The Problem of Susan

So, a lot of people get super up in arms about Lewis saying that Susan stopped believing in Narnia bc she liked boys and makeup, but that is not his point.

Susan was bitter. You would be, too, if you had grown up with respect as a queen and then got pulled back into a young teen's body without any of that respect. "Oh, she's just a child, what does she know?" and so-on and so forth. Then when she gets the chance to go back to the world that she knows, it's 1000 years in the future.

One thousand years. For context, that's like living in Greenland with Eric the Red, and then getting pulled into modern times.

Then, she was once again pulled back to her world and told that she would never be able to return to the place she loves so much.

So, she starts making herself believe that Narnia was all make-believe as a coping mechanism. She tried to grow up faster than she should've so that she could get that respect back that she had in Narnia.

Have you ever been hungry for something, but don't know what, so you nibble on various foods in the kitchen, never finding out what you were craving? That's what happens when you have a hole in your heart that needs to be filled by God - or in Susan's case, Aslan. She turned to the world, 'nibbling' on grown-up things and a grown-up way of life to fill the hole in her heart left by Narnia.

Fast forward, and she's in her early twenties. Her family probably tried to bring her to Christ, as they know that Aslan's name here is Jesus. But now they're dead, and she's alone.

(This next part is heavily based on a fic I read many years ago, so if the author sees this, I just want to say that it was an amazing read)

One day, she sees Lucy's Bible. She starts flipping through it because she remembers how at peace Lucy seemed while reading it, or maybe she swept it off the table in anger, wondering why a loving God would take her family like that.

Either way, it opens to a page with a drawing of a lampost in the margins. A verse is underlined: "Your word is a lamp unto my feet, a light unto my path."

Susan starts from the beginning of the Bible and turns the pages, pausing anytime she sees a drawing. Each one stirs her heart and mind, and her days in Narnia begin returning to her. Finally, she reaches the resurrection story. The drawing? The table split in two. Susan cries as she realizes what her siblings have been trying to tell her all these years, and she believes.

Years down the line, she passes away with a smile on her face as she is reunited with her family in Aslan's country and sees her King face-to-face once again...

[charliemwrites]

“Sometimes, I feel like I’m too selfish with you.” 

A simple sentence, one filled with a sentiment that many have felt before when balancing a relationship. But they were enough to bring Nikto’s entire universe to a standstill when they escaped your mouth. You? Too selfish?? Especially when it comes to him????? You could demand that he crucify himself for you, and he would walk into the arms of the cross like he is returning home, breathing in the scent of the cedar as it mixes with the iron of the nails that he strikes through his feet and hands and the blood that weeps from the wounds. You could ask him to drown the rest of the world, and he would tear the heavens open to cause waters to rise. He could become a plague upon humanity at the slightest hint of your desires, and you worry that you are being too selfish with him? When you have barely asked a single thing of him? Your commandments, though they are laws onto him and his actions, though craved into the wall of his bunk, were not orders. You never asked for his devotion, never demanded that he follow you, worship you, and, oh doesn’t that make you all the more worthy of it? So why do you now stand in front of him, shying away from his gaze, looking like a guilty sinner as you confess your perceived selfishness of him? Had he failed you so completely that you doubted his fidelity? What else could he possibly do to prove it to you? Every act of devotion the Bible has taught him is either is impossible for him (there is no family to sacrifice, no world-ending flood to build an ark for, nothing) or would go against your happiness (he would throw himself into fire while singing you praises, but he knows that goes against your first commandment and would make you extremely upset instead of happy). He feels trapped in that moment, staring at you, feeling like he failed you as your most devoted servant, when you finally speak again. 

“You never ask anything of me. Every day, you follow behind me like my shadow, you treat me as some sort of deity, yet you ask for nothing from me. After I asked you to help me when I was injured, you asked for nothing in return. Even when I know you are aroused, you don’t even ask for time away from me to take care of it yourself, and I know I shouldn’t force you to do anything with me like that, I know that it’s probably a physical reaction more than you actually being attracted to me, but the fact that you won’t even separate from me to jack off when you need it all because I selfishly told you to always come back to me that one time, or because you feel like you owe me for being your nurse, and it makes me feel so selfish that I haven’t done anything to free you from me, when you deserve it, you deserve happiness, and release and freedom and-“ 

Nikto has been your shadow for a while now, has been on the receiving end of you talking endlessly multiple times before. It was one of the things that first made him comfortable with you: you talking at him instead of to him because you knew he didn’t want to talk. But never before had this habit made him feel quite so desperately hopeless as it currently is. You think he isn’t attracted to you? You are more beautiful than words could possibly describe! He could know every language to ever exist, and still be left desperately searching for a way to properly tell you just how stunning he finds every single piece of you. No picture or drawing, no landscape, no human, no galaxy, no poem or verse, nothing could EVER come close to being even a fraction as beautiful as you are. And if Nikto were someone else, maybe he could will himself into saying this out loud. But he isn’t. Nikto is only himself, could only ever be himself, and these thoughts in his head stay swirling around while his tongue feels like lead within his mouth. Nikto isn’t a man of words, so he does the best he can, and he grabs you gently, and kisses you.

It’s not the best kiss. You were cut off in the middle of talking, and Nikto, so panicked over the idea of you not knowing his worship is so much more than simple Hero Worship for his nurse, didn’t even remove his soft mask that he wears around base. But Nikto is desperate, and so are his lips underneath the soft cotton of the mask. They work against your own, and it’s clumsy at best. Any kisses Nikto has had before were lost to him in the trauma of his rebirth, leaving him unsure of his actions but certain in his intent. Yes, he may not know how to kiss you in this new body you claim he inhabits, but fuck if the feeling of your lips against his, even through the mask, doesn’t feel like the closest thing to heaven he will ever find. And a part of him feels like he has been knocked into the pits of hell with how hot he burns for you, finally able to feel some of the thrumming arousal that had been living within him, just for you. 

If Nikto is left with a growing wet spot in his boxers when he pulls away from your lips, he won’t tell. At least, not if you don’t ask about it. Because he could never deny his Savior anything that you ask. And when you look at him, dazed but with stars in those beautiful eyes, and asks him “please, just ask for what you want. Don’t just secretly covet it. I want to give you as much as you’ve given me”, he agrees, because there is nothing else for him to do. 

A new commandment for his wall, a new law by which he lives. And he already knows the first thing he will ask for from you, since the taste has left him starving. 

Just… no words. Incredible.

[giamee]

🥣 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ animator!welt x apprentice!reader

request ؛ ଓ @gonuclear do you think i could request welt yang with a reader that’s working as his apprentice (whether it’s a modern au or not is up to you! i don’t mind either way :) ) and he ends up starting to fall in love with them? maybe he even confesses 👀 up to you! thank you so much!! 💖

gia's notes ؛ ଓ haii thank u for requesting welt i loved writing for him!! unfortunately no confession because i am a sucker for pining 😔 it's also kinda short sorry

word count ؛ ଓ 0.8k ( + pining, fluff?? no warnings, kinda weird perspective changing cos its kinda from your pov at the start but from his later idk )

WELT'S A GOOD TEACHER. he's good at his craft, well-versed in tips and tricks and adequate enough to not only tell you about them, but ensure that you fully understand him too.

it's a pleasure to watch him work, too- a master at his craft, though he'd shake his head and chuckle in denial if you were to ever say it to his face. his face a perfect picture of concentration, velveteen voice narrating his actions as you watch on in awe as if he makes life itself sprout from the screen before him, as the sequence begins to take cohesive form.

it was that tiny screen that connected the two of you as well, two separate frames now working in tandem, many late nights spent trying to reach a deadline in time drawing the pair of you intangibly closer to each other.

so really, welt should have anticipated his feelings for you transitioning from a mild fondness to... something more profound.

it creeps up on him gradually, of course.

you're quite the talkative type, as opposing to the more reserved nature of welt. you can't help but share little tidbits about yourself, anecdotes about you and your friends, or little facts about yourself that welt surreptitiously makes a mental note of.

he can't help himself, either. he'll find that aspects of you bleed into his life away from work, too. even after he leaves the building so late, bidding you a good night that you cheerfully return, the next morning he'll be brushing his teeth, eyeing his weary reflection in the mirror, shuffling around his modest apartment until he catches something that brings his mind back to you, and he'll stop for a second to wonder just why he's thinking of you, his apprentice.

some point along the way, all the forced proximity with all of those late nights, you had ever so sneakily been promoted in his mind from an apprentice to something else altogether.

your eagerness, your determination- the passion with which you spoke and the way peals of laughter left you are not the first things that should be coming to mind when he thinks of you. the way you're like a breath of fresh air to him, how soft your hair looks, the bright shine in your eyes- no, welt mustn't think about it for too long.

and despite his reluctance to admit the true nature of his feelings- to break apart his forced ambivalence- your conniving self managed to sneak through anyway.

the realisation hits him one particular late night. it was just the two of you in his dingy office, though it was no deadline that caused the two of you to be the only ones left within the building. instead, it was a rather special occasion.

you had been making fine progress whilst being his apprentice, your own talent for animation beginning to really hone itself- to the point where he was confident in encouraging you to enter a competition.

and when the announcement of the winners rolled around (a date that he definitely had not written in his diary), he had the joy of seeing your beaming fave as you bounded into his office, telling him all about how you had won first place.

and then you had procured two containers of takeout from behind your back- saying how you wanted to say thank him for his guidance and celebrate with him, waving him off as he stammered out some flimsy excuse of not wanting to keep you here later than necessary.

nonsense, you had told him. besides, you liked spending time with him.

that sentiment had him sitting up straighter in his chair, allowing an indulgent smile before he half-heartedly schooled his expression into one of neutrality again. his heart was beating a little faster, he noticed, his silly physical response to you making him feel like a schoolboy with a crush.

but it's not until he opens the takeout box in front of him to see his favourite meal- you had asked himeko what it was to get it right- and your beaming face watching for his reaction, did it truly hit him.

he realised just how much he had fallen for you. how strong the fondness for you has taken root within him, how light his soul feels when he returns your smile with an approving nod of his own.

but for every reason he finds to love you, he can't help but continue to bite his tongue, to remain restrained and merely smile and nod along to what you say instead of offering more of himself to you.

maybe one day, he tells himself. the half-promise leaves a bitter taste on his tongue.

but it doesn't change the fact that as of right now, he's more than content just basking in your company, a mere planet orbiting the bright sun that you are, revelling in the brightness and warmth that comes with you.

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... because love can burn like a cigarette

hsr men as your high school crush

alternatively, you can find my hsr masterlist here! ୨ৎ

[akai-akai]

okay so I've ranted about my "Simon Riley is a Dork" philosophy, now I bring you...

John MacTavish is a NERD.

I see how he's often pinned as the rambunctious "airhead" of the team, and that may be true to some to degree but he's not STUPID.

Listen, this man is a demolition expert. That involves all kinds of maths, measurements, electrical work, mechanics, technical shit I'm not well-versed in, etc. Demolitions experts have to be pretty damn smart to be considered experts.

I think Johnny was 100% a robotics kid growing up. Maybe even dabbled in coding and mathematics club. I seriously think he was one of the nerdy kids in highschool/secondary school.

And though that part of him is still very much there, it's quieter now. Shrouded by professionalism and experience and maturity. But then, sometimes when he's had a few too many drinks, or if Simon plucks just the right strings, he'll go on these long tangents about the different mathematics, or about this robot he built by hand in highschool by himself in his parents' garage-turned-robotics-lab— the garage lab that he accidentally set on fire and blew up a can of old hairspray his sister had left on his desk. (He totally wasn't using it as a blowtorch to kill some poor unsuspecting bug, his sister just left the spray there and he didn't notice it. That small burn scar on his left hand is completely unrelated.)

And of course, Simon will sit quietly and patiently, watching the way Johnny's eyes light up and his face gets more and more expressive, arms and hands moving wildly, animatedly. He's so passionate, it makes Simon's eyes soften with affection.

And when Johnny's especially focused on the blueprints in front of him during a mission, clock ticking and pressure weighing down on him, he's a sight to behold. Somehow, that's when he works best. Brows pinched, lips pressed in a tight line as his brain works over the details, pieces a plan together as he mutters under his breath, pen scratching on the paper, recites numbers for the other team members to remember. And then his brows smooth out and he gets this giddy look as things click together in his mind and his head snaps up and he gets to work— John knows to let him take the lead here, and quietly notes to himself that John MacTavish would make for a great Captain down the line.

Sometimes when he can't sleep or his mind's a little too loud, he'll sit up at the little desk in his barracks with the dim lamp illuminating a worn-out blue sketchbook, pencil eraser trapped between his teeth as he scans his old notes and sketches and unresolved equations. Mundane math and physics that doesn't take a lot of mental power, but still relaxes him nonetheless.

In addition, he'd be good at sketching. Specifically blueprints and modeling. Dimensional stuff and perspective. Finds a quiet corner somewhere on base— usually that old tree out by the dirt track— and sketches away models, some of which are totally unrealistic but he doesn't care. He'll sketch a giant sci-fi atomic canon model with realistic mathematics and semi-viable science behind it if he wants to.

When he needs to memorize a new model, he'll draw each individual piece, each little working part as if he's dissecting it and mapping it out in his brain. Sometimes when Simon flips through Johnny's sketchbooks, he'll find 10+ pages filled with the same model, over and over, and it's like he can see every thought process, every reasoning, every time Johnny clicks something together in his mind.

Johnny is brilliant. He's a scientist, an expert in his field. He's a total nerd and I love him for it.

(His average shower thoughts are either complex science that would give the average person a migraine, or Simon's eyes. No in between.)

NSFW:

This time, the tables are turned. Johnny will be mid-ride on top of Simon in bed, purposely distracting himself in his mind to hold off his own release (bc it's a competition and he'll be damned if he finishes first) and then suddenly he'll remember a bomb blueprint he was deconstructing the previous day and he'll plop down, sitting up stock straight as he curses and something makes a PING! sound in his brain and suddenly he's leaning over while Simon raises a questioning brow, hands still firmly gripping Johnny's hips as he snatches his notebook and pen from his table side drawer, flops the book unceremoniously on top of Simon's chest, hunches over, and begins writing and muttering to himself.

And Simon just waits, halfway between disgruntled and amused. Just sorta resorts to grinding his hips upward— to which Johnny firmly plants his hips downward, keeping them still, and Simon just sighs and waits some more.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Simon's in love with this idiot, don't let him fool you. I love them a healthy amount.

[akutasoda]

Hii!! Could I request Obey me brothers with a mc who dresses like misa amane from death note? If not don’t worry!! Have an amazing day/night!<333

stylish fashion

synopsis - when mc has a fashion similar to misa amane

includes - lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, belphegor

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, wc - 789

a/n: hii! hope you're having an amazing day/night too!

lucifer ★↷

↪to many demon's surprise, lucifer can be quite into his fashion. while it may be more tailored toward formal wear and jewellery, he still had quite the eye for such things.

↪so he did think your style was quite bold at first. bold, but absolutely stunning. it just seemed to work so well for you and he couldn't help but compliment each of your outfits even if he had seen it before.

↪and because of his eye in jewellery, if you were the type, he would gladly take you out and help pick some to complete your look and still perfectly compliment your outfits.

mammon ★↷

↪ he's a fashion demon. he does regular photoshoots for mainly clothing companies and such so he thought he had seen majority of styles in the off hand chances of passing by other models.

↪and sure he's seen demons wear similar style clothing to you, but for some reason it suited you so much better. that and your outfits and their coordination worked so much better.

↪ isn't his style but would be more than happy to help you adf pieces into your collection by showing you all the best brands for your style.

↪and maybe if you chose to, he'd happily try and get you into a modelling gig with him. perhaps then you could help him pick a outfit in your style.

leviathan ★↷

↪he really couldn't draw his eyes away from how gorgeous he found your style. so much so that he felt a bit weird for staring at you.

↪he just couldn't help it! you're outfits were always stunning and he honestly wished he had your confidence to wear a similar style to yours.

↪he is quite well versed in various fashion/clothing shops surprisingly. so he would happily tell you were they were so you could add more pieces to your collection and maybe he would join you and help pick some for you aswell.

↪ however, he is also very good at carfting from scratch. most of his cosplays are hand made, the clothing mostly, so should you find out he would happily oblige in taking your requests.

satan ★↷

↪to absolutely no one's surprise he has limited knowledge of fashion. sure he may claim he's read books with that stuff in but that can't really be translated into the real world of fashion.

↪but he didn't have to be into fashion to think your style was absolutely amazing. you really never missed with a gorgeous, well planned outfit that always complimented your features.

↪he had to say, he loved the style. it would definitely become one he would be interested in, perhaps a more toned down version but still.

asmodeus ★↷

↪adores it an unbelievable amount. need i say more.

↪ it's no surprise asmo likes to dive into various styles and such, so when something with great fashion like you? it would be a crime not to ask.

↪while it probably wouldn't be a style he'd wear, he still thought it was absolutely brilliant. he loved all the accessories you'd sometimes where and even loved the more simpler outfits.

↪ probably knows the best places in the devildom to match your style. so would never hesitate to take you and help you expand your wardrobe.

beelzebub ★↷

↪another one that doesn't really have knowledge in fashion. it's not that he doesn't care, it's just not his main priority.

↪he rhought you looked stunning regardless of what you wore. but he did have to say, some of your outfits had a very nice look to them and he could understand why you had a strong fashion sense.

↪if you wanted to, he'd happily let you try your style of him. while it probably didn't match him like it matched you, he would still keep some accessories you tried on him.

↪ones that he could wear subtly. but he still could admire your outfits and the dedication you had to having such a fashion sense.

belphegor ★↷

↪ probably the worst when it comes to fashion. he spends most his time asleep and rarely cares about the styling of his clothes so has very limited knowledge on fashion.

↪ didn't really care how you dressed. if you were wearing something that made you comfortable and confident that's all that mattered in his opinion. although he couldn't help but admire the dedication.

↪he figured it must take you ages to coordinate and complete your outfits and pull them off each time, something he'd never really bother with.

↪ although his favourites were definitely your more 'casual' and comfortable outfits. the ones were it was mainly a top and pair of pants. those he could really get behind.

[hustlerose]

metric fan.... what are your thoughts on art of doubt ? i'm trying to get into metric and that's the one album that's clicking with me big time... it's so good

i have strongly mixed feelings about art of doubt, and broadly about this newer era the band is in

i hated pagans in vegas. that album was a major slump. i thought they were going the way of bloc party or lcd soundsystem or any number of weirdo indie rock bands from the 00's, where they'd keep on truckin but never reach their glorious highs again...

well, it didn't turn out that way. art of doubt is a triumph, a return to form, and proof they can still write a great rock album. emily's voice is in top form. i've always loved how delicate and sincere she sounds on mic, and middle age has only made those qualities stronger. listen to her gliding across that slippery groove in "anticipate," fluttering breathlessly over the chorus of "underline the black," or balancing between warmth and sarcasm on "seven rules." performances like these make a metric album worth it

i think art of doubt contains some of the best metric songs EVER. "now or never now" is genuinely a top 10 indie rock song imo. when it's on, i never want it to end. "dressed to suppress" is a really knockout track, the kind no one else seems to make anymore. and the last 3 songs are gorgeous. they're naked and unpretentious in a way that just melts my heart

and can i just say the production is killer. metric albums are usually super crisp and detailed, but this one blows em all out of the water. every drum hit BANGS. the guitars on this whole album sound phenomenal

all that said, i think the album has problems. emily pushes her voice outside her comfort zone a few times and... sometimes that works, like on those high notes in "no lights on the horizon." sometimes it DOES NOT WORK, like when she tries to scream some lines on the title track. her voice refuses to get loud and she just yelps awkwardly. the production tries to help her out by adding some distortion, but that only makes it worse. moments like this draw attention to how one-dimensional this album is outside of some key moments.

but here's my real beef with art of doubt, as well as formentera 1 and 2. these songs have a terrible case of "bad verse, great chorus" disease. "die happy," "holding out," and "dark saturday" are the worst offenders here. the choruses sound like they're totally disconnected from the verses around them. the transitions are janky and abrupt, and when the chorus ends my only thought is "damn, i have to slog thru 30 more seconds of sludge before i can get back to the song i was enjoying." so many of the deep cuts have this problem, and it makes the whole album feel choppy and stilted

overall, i like the record. i like it a lot. but on repeated listens, i end up skipping more and more songs until i'm left with the handful i truly love. not my fav metric album, but i'll admit it's grown on me since it dropped

if you like art of doubt, do yourself a huge favor and listen to synthetica. the whole album, front to back. it's one of the greatest alt rock albums ever written. when you're done, listen to fantasies. it's their most popular, and it's equally great.

somewhere in there, find some time for this playlist i just made: metric essential deep cuts. emily doesn't get enough credit as a master lyricist and songwriter. together, the haines-shaw songwriting duo are truly special, the kind of thing you're lucky to get once in a generation. i hope this playlist makes a case for that <3