#but then mended it again

[drenched-in-sunlight]

should Age of Duskborn come to pass,

promise me you’ll be my Mother once more.

[hello-sweetheart]

I need to see Steve at his breaking point, kneeling in absolute defeat. Whimpering, crying, sobbing with a sword under his chin forcing him to look up that man who is now nothing but a stranger.

But, once he was a familiar and friendly face around the castle. Often running around with the outcasts and playing music in the town square. Telling stories of great heroic adventurers to the children that flocked around him to listen. A tall but scrawny thing with a mouth that knew not when to bite its tongue.

Steven makes a pathetic image for a prince. His skin is stained with tears, grime, and blood. Blood from his knights. Brothers in arms that he’d known since he was a mere child.

He’s nothing now, has nothing.

A fallen prince awaiting death.

Edward has his dark tresses tied at the nape of his neck. His eyes are dark as night, focused and fierce in his gaze. His chest heaves and exhaustion is evident, but he stands proud.

Vengeful.

Such a far cry from the once cowardly and impish man that Steven had known him to be.

Even with the sting of betrayal, the broken bond among him and children, adolescents now, that he had come to care for… he understands why someone would follow him.

He has the stance of a leader and the final unwavering judgement of a king.

Humilated, he thinks of his people, the children (his children), and even the servants that had joined the revolt against the crown. He wishes them a better life, a kinder one than he and his parents had given them under their family rule.

Steven trusts… he trusts in his people’s judgment, despite it all, and their faith in their soon-to-be King Edward.

Accepting the fate of their decision, his cries quiet but he makes no move to wipe the mess he’s made of himself.

Steve raises his chin just a bit higher and tries to steady his breath. Leans his head against the sword that’s at the side of his neck now, a swing away from finality, and looks up at the people’s king.

“Whatever kind of king you choose to be,” his mouth is parched and heavy with the taste of ash, “be a loving one.”

His closes his eyes, and waits.

“Then, my first act as King will be that of good faith to the people. Prince Steven… I show you mercy.”

[wooldawn]

[thesleepiemooth]

Happy Valentine's Day

This was meant to be a random messy thing but posting it today feels perfect!

[franklyimissparis]

they better not cast four very conventionally attractive actors in the beatles biopics… i want john and ringo to have proper noses! i want george to have vampire teeth and a unibrow! i want paul to be beautiful but in his own twinky asymmetrically doe-eyed way!

[yournameoneverypage]

[aprilblossomgirl]

Phi Q, what are you doing? Can I kiss you?

We Are (2024) | Ep.07

[makenna-made-this]

BAWKtober Day 21 - Lake

THE BAWK NESS MONSTER?!?

[inkdragon42art]

Prince Sameth of the Old Kingdom carrying Mogget via backpack....

A lil bit of ✨ process pics✨

[blitzythefanvergentpitsterthings]

Ok but when She-Ra said

and The Owl House said

AND RWBY SAID

[hickeygender]

[drenched-in-sunlight]

probably a weird read of all the mending rune endings but I feel like Marika guided a Tarnished of no renown to become the next Elden Lord because, should the new Age still has her as a God, at least the new Lord would not prioritize their feelings for her over the world anymore (like Godfrey & Radagon did).

as Ansbach said “a Lord not for Gods, but for men”.

She’s already a really flawed God with too much love and hatred and humanity even after her ascension, a God who is willing to break rules for her loved ones (at least from my interpretation), and 2 previous Lords are…too involved with her. No matter if one interprets that as love or duty, you can’t deny those two guys act in accordance with their interest in her. Look how well that turned out.

So I feel like the reason a random Tarnished got the chance to become the next Lord is because Marika wanted them to know the Lands Between first, to love this land & the life within on their own term, with their own journey separate from her.

We don’t need to love or to know her at all.

And so she can trust us to always choose the greater good over her.

(But joke is on her I’ll suck af as a Lord I love her too much I’ll literally just be Godfrey Radagon 2.0 😭😭)

[holdonjiji]

Moth two of the moth sweater

[lonestardust]

"Welcome Home TK."

[thesleepiemooth]

Cove

Properly introducing Cove as the name of my dear Lamb (read Alts for small extra stuff uvu)

Some small doodles of him with the Red crown and Narinder

[queenlucythevaliant]

harder than you think

i. When the Narnians stole Edmund away from beneath the Witch's blade, they told him he was safe. This wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

ii. They brought him to the Stone Table. It was night. Edmund doubted very much that he would find safety there, for he still recoiled at the name of Aslan. He slept fitfully and woke the next morning before the sun was up.

iii. A sliver of gold just beyond the tent flap captured his attention, there in the dark. Unaccountably, Edmund felt the urge to rise and go towards it.

iv. And there was Aslan, who was supposed to be fearsome, supposed to be dangerous, supposed to be powerful, and he was he was he was. Dimly, Edmund felt himself hitting the ground.

v. But then Aslan said, “Come, Son of Adam. Let us walk a while, and reason together.”

vi. And as they walked together, in the cool dewy grass of early morning, the Lion told Edmund everything that he had ever done.

vii. They were standing in front of the Table when the conversation turned. Aslan spoke a riddle of a house blasted into rubble which he would piece back together overnight. He spoke of flesh being pierced, blood being shed, and of rejected stones being used for new foundations. He spoke about water welling up forever, washing you clean of everything you ever did wrong, all the blood that you ever thought of shedding, everything you ever tried to steal, and a river that carries you home when you can't walk anymore and spits you out brand new when it reaches the sea.

viii. Edmund's head swam. Silently, he yearned for the wisdom to understand what he was being told; or, failing that, at least to remember it for as long as it took him to puzzle it out.

ix. And then, the Witch. Then, the battle. The thrones. A year passed, and winter came. In its time, it melted back to glorious spring.

x. “Edmund,” said Lucy one day. “There's something we need to tell you.” She and Susan were cloaked in springtime gossamer, like fairy queens in poems he only half remembered. They sat on the window seat in his study, holding hands white-knuckled: his two beloved sisters.

xi. “It's about Aslan,” Susan said. “And the White Witch, and how he made her renounce her claim on your blood. The night before Beruna, he went back to the Stone Table.”

xii. “He let her kill him,” Lucy cut in. “Instead of you. And then, because he hadn't done anything wrong, the Emperor's Deeper Magic brought him back to life.”

xiii. “We've been arguing all year about how much to tell you,” said Susan wryly. Then, a little gentler, “We don't want to hurt you, but we feel you ought to be told what he did for you.”

xiv. And Edmund, who had never forgotten what Aslan told him on that cool, dewy morning before the sun came up, shut his eyes and whispered, “I know.”

xv. I know, he said. I know that he died. I know that he did it for me. I know he lived again because I saw him the next day, and the next, and the next. I think I know what it means - or at least, I know the shape of it.

xvi. “Oh,” said Lucy. “We should have realized that he would have told you himself.”

xvii. “Yes. But please, tell me the story all the same.”