#im tempted to keep going

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

I got the picture of link in the yiga uniform pointing at a drawing of himself in the yiga hideout

And took a picture of him pointing at the picture of him pointing at the drawing of him

Im having way too much fun with this

[prompt-prose]

I turn down the aisle and find the spot I’m looking for on the shelves. I start unloading the stack of books in my arms, lining them carefully on the shelf, exactly where they are meant to go. I walk back to my desk, collect the next stack, and start walking to that aisle.

I am not a known God, and I am content in that. In all of the depictions of the Underworld, no one has ever mentioned my Library. Here, I store an objective, accurate account of every soul’s life. Every soul. All that ever has been, or is currently (the works in progress are stored in the back room, but the Fates have ordered me to leave them alone until the story is done). No one tells of me because they do not care about my work. They care about the prophecies of the future, they care about the embellished and edited stories of the past, but an absolutely accurate unembellished biography? There are other things to amuse them.

But still, I exist, and I tend to my library. Cataloging the finished stories. Checking out the books anyone may request to borrow (no one has, in centuries). Reorganizing the books when I decide to try a new system (currently, the books are arranged in major categories reflecting where in the Underworld the soul is placed, Isles of the Blessed, Elysium, Asphodel Meadows, Tartarus). Occasionally, I will choose a book at random from the shelves and find a chair to sit in while reading it.

It is while I am reading he shows up. I am alerted immediately, as it has been centuries since another soul walked these aisles and I know the sound of footsteps is out of place. I set down the book I had selected (an account of a satyr’s life) and stood to find my guest. When I found him, he was in the Tartarus section, fingers skimming over the spines of the books there. I cleared my throat and he turned to face me.

“Oh! There you are! I’m so sorry, I went to look for you but I got distracted.” He smiles and starts towards me.

“Did you need help finding something?” I ask reflexively, confused why someone would be looking for me. Why someone would be here at all.

“Actually, I wanted to ask what you needed help with. I’m your new intern. I just need to know what my duties will be.”

He explains to me that he was a demigod, who had died on a quest given to him by Hades, his last mortal act being completing his mission. As a reward. Hades offered him a position in the Underworld. Any open position he desired. He had seen my library, asked Hades what it was, and requested a position here.

Not one to go against my king, I explain the organization system to him, and hand him a stack of newly finished books, and send him on his way to shelve them. As he walks away, I let myself feel my anger. This is MY place. Having someone else working here? It felt like a violation. But it was Hades’ doing, and though I may be the God of this library, I still answer to the King of the Underworld.

He learns quickly, works hard, and is content to sit quietly and read when the mood strikes me. As the years pass, I grow accustomed to his presence, his footsteps sound as familiar as my own.

One day, it dawns on me that I have not seen his book. I search the shelves, but to no avail. I use my internal connection to the library to try and find it, but as best I can tell, it does not exist. I wonder if it may be an error, or if maybe he took it. I ask him, if he would want to read his own book, and his eyes darken as he tells me that he lived his life, he does not need to do so again on the pages of a book.

I tell him I would like to reorganize the books, and we start, working from one side of the library to the other. I look at each and every book, but still I do not find his. An idea occurs to me, and while he is distracted by the reorganization, I find myself drifting towards the door in the back of the library. Where the Fates keep the stories still being written, where they have asked me not to tread, lest I disturb the stories. For eons I have kept this library, and heeded their words. Now, a desperate curiosity urges me to open the doors, slide into the room, and look.

As I open the door, I am met with a sprawling room, full of work tables and rows of desks. Each desk with a book open on it’s surface and a pen writing in it, accounting each life’s events as they happen. Each work table covered in materials for binding books, making them before they are placed on the desks, to be filled. I walk the room, careful not to touch any of the desks, careful not to disturb the stories, and search for his. Eventually, I find it. Discarded in a pile of scrap parchment.

I leave it there, at first. Sure that if I were to take it, the Fates would take offense. More years pass, and I find myself continually drawn to the back room, to that scrap pile, to his book sitting there.

Finally, my curiosity wins out, and I take the book.

I open it, only to find that it is not a book at all. On the pages, instead of the clean lines of story I expected, I find a scribbled outline. Notes of ideas, but no actual account of his life. “Demigod - which God?” Reads one note. “Quest for Hades!” Reads another. “Tragedy?”, “Tragedy!”, “Doomed love?”, “Hero’s death.”

Pages and pages of this. All of it considered, nothing truly written.

I take the book, and search for him through the shelves. When I find him, I shove the book at him.

“You said you lived your life. What happened? Why does your book look like this? Your loved your life! Why is nothing written?”

He walks away from me, but I follow. It takes only minutes for me to realize that he is not trying to escape, he is only leading me to chairs, so we can sit to talk. Once seated, he tells me that he did live his life, but it was just as disorganized and incomplete as the notes before me. He had parents, but each day he woke they would be different people. Each day, it would be a different home. They died, but no one could agree whether it had been a fire, or a robbery, or a tragic accident at sea. Even when he took his quest for Hades, the objective and locations changed with each person he talked to, every point of progress he tried to make.

“The Fates never could decide what they wanted my life to be, so everything changed, all the time. I had to navigate a world without ever knowing my place in it, where I came from, or where I was going.”

When he finishes, I walk away. For the first time, I leave my library. I march across the Underworld, right up to Hades’ castle, and demand an audience with him when the Furies try to halt my progress. Hades has them lead me to his throne room, where I throw the book at his feet.

“Let him go back. Give this book to the Fates, make them write him a proper story, and let him go back to live an actual life.”

Hades looks at me, and I am surprised to find a softness in his eyes.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to find his book, to demand this of me.” Hades gestures with his hand, and the book floats up to him. “It is unprecedented. All of this is. The Fates not finishing a story. You, leaving your library. A soul being allowed to properly live again, instead of just being reincarnated.”

“So you’ll do it?”

“I will. I had always planned to.” Hades stood from his throne and walked towards me. “I simply wanted to take the opportunity to give you some company and a test of your dedication to your Library. I suppose now that both are complete.” He reaches me and lays a hand on my shoulder. “The Fates are working on his story. When you return to the Library he will be gone. But I assure you, his fate is that of a hero, and I am certain he will find his way to you and the Library again.”

I walked slowly back to my Library. When I opened the doors, I found Hades was right. He was gone. I sit for a while, but for the first time the silence and solitude feel heavy. So I stand. Walk to the counter and grab a stack of finished stories. Start down the isles to place them where they belong. And find myself wondering how long it would be until I finally saw his book on the counter, his story finished.

Text: Between life and death there is the Library, where I shelve the knowledge of those who pass on. I am content as the sole soul, the only librarian, until a boy arrives claiming to be my intern.

[elizaisdunn]

MORE sherlocks

[quirkedupkicks]

save me tododeku 3rd yr AUs..... save me.... (this whole thing came from a single panel gag, bet you can guess which one)

[surreal-duck]

some business to take care of

[aroaceleovaldez]

i think the thing i'm most disappointed about with riordanverse fandom now versus like 2014 is not only has the fandom not gotten any less racist or queerphobic or ableist (in fact in some regards its gotten worse!) but now it's just boring too. like there's no fandom infrastructure anymore - the community these days is almost entirely source material-driven - and you deviate from canon even slightly people get weird about it. whatever happened to the post-HoO fanon boom. the fandom needs to get weirder again. and self-sufficient. and less offensive.

[whilomm]

note: pollmaker is thinking of the USAmerican lottery system (powerball, mega millions, state lottos, scratchoffs, etc), but poll applies to other countries lotteries systems so long as its still the same concept of "big ol state sponsered gambling shit", but not like casino style gambling. u know what i mean, Lottos.

questions for the tags: how regularly, what stuff you play, if you have limits for yourself, if you feel like its a Problem for you, and for funsies the usual 'first thing youd do if you won the lottery' shit

reblog to have absolutely zero effect on your luck either way. just like, absolutely no change in luck whether you reblog this or scroll past. this is the luck neutral post reblog in the next 30 seconds or dont who give a shit

[blighted-lights]

sorry everyone can't talk rn, thinking about these three only for all of ever

[applestruda]

I have no idea what they're dynamic would be but I say they're besties

[welcometogrouchland]

(on my hands and knees begging tumblr to not mutilate the quality of this drawing 😭) anyway, coming out as a secret marvel fan to announce that i really enjoyed the recently she-hulk run w/ Jen and her boytoy and am sad to see them go. Jack pls dont disappear into the ether i just got attached to you (ID in alt)

[edwinisms]

pro tip if you want a positive fandom experience: do not follow confession blogs. you’re just asking for a bad time if you do that just don’t

[p1x1x]

[risingsunresistance]

guys i think there's something wrong with my copy of balatro

[kairenn-n]

If you could put Lancelot into any episode he wasn't in, which one would you choose?

INSANE question to ask me, thank you very much.

The first one that came to mind was Lamia, because just. UGH!! think about Lancelot being aggressive towards Merlin, and the guilt he'd feel afterwards......... That one for angst purposes DEFINITELY.

And because I can't just choose one IM SORRY!! But hear me out: For cute adventures purposes, I think Aithusa would be adorable. Baby dragon🥺🥺And for Fix It purposes, The Disir. I just think with him being there, things would have turned out better you know!!! like not completely fixed the whole thing but Merlin is just so alone.........

[miciiq]

Got Aventurine in 60 pulls!

He’s so auxhuehuche I’m so happy I have him now

[treasure-goblin]

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