#look upon my child

[joscribbles]

it’s so important to be obsessed with your own ocs

[gingermintpepper]

“Your hair’s gotten longer.” 

It’s conscious effort that keeps him from tucking the strands behind his ear, from taking the knife at his hip and shearing it all off. He keeps his stance focused, attentive, there’s little else he can do when he’s taken so completely after his mother when it comes to his hair. His father scratches his chin, the clouds of his beard snaking about his finger like mist parting for mountain-peaks. Ares’ chin is still child-smooth. He can feel the tickle of his over-long fringe against his soft jaw. There’s no heart in his chest, but still he feels as though a pulse is lodged in his throat. 

Father sighs, put-upon, disappointed, and Ares feels a slight tremor start in his calves from holding himself so tense. “Well done, Ares. Go clean yourself up and get some rest. Phoebus will want to look you over later.” 

He should be ecstatic to be praised by his father. Over-the-moon with joy. There should be pride emanating from every pore of his body, the blood on his skin should be sweeter than ambrosia. 

Instead, he bows, manages a soft ‘thank you, Father’ around the lump in his throat and immediately flees the room. A mild ‘make sure to trim your hair’ hits the back of his head like a spear through the skull. He almost wishes the great door had slammed on his foot so he would have reason to feel this horrid in his retreat.  

Phoebus Apollo is waiting for him in his infirmary. 

He’s gilded as ever, gold from crown to heel. Perfect like the statues they carve of him in his temples. He has a smile for Ares when he sees him, a crinkle at the edges of his pretty eyes from the weight of his joy. Ares is waiting to see the crack in the marble, to see if that’s the chip that’ll reveal his fangs.

“Brother,” he greets, and his voice is warm - like the arms that embrace him, his voice is so warm, “Welcome back. I’ve heard you’ve done well.”  

There’s a tremble in Ares’ fingers he hadn’t noticed before. Strain from carrying his sword for so many days, a throb from wounds he hadn’t noticed he’d accrued. “Heard? There’s already gossip?” 

Phoebus blinks, disarming, demure, coquettish, “But of course,” and Phoebus’ voice is honey to Ares’ gravel, the juxtaposition is grating on his skin, “It’s Olympus. The gossip began long before you set your course.” Those warm hands lead him further into the room, bodily sits him on the chaise, pulls his helmet from his head. It’s all one, unbroken motion, “It’s summer alas, so I could not watch your war myself, but I hear it was quite the decisive victory.” 

A thousand thoughts run on horseback through his mind then. 

Did Father overhear some terrible slander that pre-emptively disappointed him? Was Ares’ victory merely a rumour, a bet his father hadn’t bothered to take? Was the gossip more enticing than the stark truth? That Ares wasn’t some child toddling about in the shadow of his sister, that his sword and spear weren’t merely for show - he’d think such a thing would warrant celebration. Not -

“Oh my,” Phoebus is in front of him, pleasant warmth more sticky heat with how close he’s pressed himself into Ares’ space. From this angle, Ares can see the multi-coloured flecks of his eyes, like shards of golden glass suspended in ichor. From this angle, with his hand so gently holding his hair, were Ares to blink too hard, he’d swear Phoebus looked just like his mother. “Your hair’s grown long again.” 

He pushes Phoebus off with such force that he bangs into the wall. It’s Phoebus, it won’t make even the impression of a scratch on him, but Ares wishes it would. Wishes he’d hit his shoulder or crack his neck or hit his head just hard enough for all that perfect, gilded gold to bleed. 

“I’m only here for you to heal me,” the tremble in his hand extends to his shoulder now. He flexes and unflexes his palm. Gods what he would give to just have a sword - “Don’t waste time with the pleasant-work.” 

Phoebus huffs, adjusts the fit of his himation, “...Only because we’re meant to be celebrating your victory.” He crosses the room in two great strides, his hair a swirling tempest behind him as he gathers his poultices and wraps. “The only reason I’ll not throw you from the window is because we are meant to be celebrating your victory.”  

There’s not enough acid in his tone for this to truly be a fight. Ares’ jaw clenches, he bites out a terse, “How benevolent.” 

“Aren’t I?” He’s got nectar and his sutures in hand, that focused look falling upon his face when he switches from overbearing busybody to Paeon of the Gods. “Now strip unfaltering Ares, let us see the measure of damage done to your indomitable flesh.” 

(Somewhere between the fifth set of stitches and the gentle frown that crosses Phoebus’ face when he notices the persistent tremble in his fingers, Ares pins his eyes to the far wall and asks, “What does it mean when Father says ‘well done’?” 

Any other sibling would mock before they gave a true response. Any other sibling would laugh and dismiss it, would say that praise is praise and any lingering ill feeling is just the worst of the war still fogging his mind. Phoebus does not answer immediately. He doesn’t make a single sound. The question settles like fetid water between them, unignorable, the scent right there on the tip of the tongue yet firmly unacknowledged. Ares closes his eyes and tries again to settle his squirming so he does not interfere with Phoebus’ work.  The metallic snip of scissors cutting thread breaks the silence. Phoebus bids him to sit up and slides his warm palms up his back until his fingers tangle gently in the ends of his hair. He twists the dark red strands until he’s gathered it all into a neat handful, holding it loosely as he switches his scissors for his shearing blade. “You should know it was not praise,” Phoebus says softly. The first of Ares cut hairs fall like viscera from his head. Phoebus treats each cutting with the sacredness of a blood-sacrifice. If he focused on the moment of tension right before the blade cuts though, Ares thinks he can imagine the agony of his sister’s sacred birth. “It is acknowledgement. Father thinks you’ve done well so he says ‘well done’.”

Gently, Phoebus releases him. Ruffles his head so all the extra hairs fall like red rain to the floor. Ares runs his fingers through the ends now curling against his ear. “Has he ever told you ‘well done’?” 

A laugh, warm and gilded, “No, and it would not make you feel better if he had.” 

Ares swallows down a thousand different questions. Phoebus wouldn’t answer them, he’s infuriating like that. Instead, he clenches his teeth, the phantom of Father’s dizzying tangle of grey cloud-hairs persistent in the corner of his eyes. “Cut it shorter.”

Phoebus doesn’t protest. He never seems to say a word when it really matters.)

[opens-up-4-nobody]

Once I was scrolling thru naruto fics and saw the tag "buisnessman!Kakashi" and all I could think about was Kakashi being a child businessman, owning all the konoha adults at doing business while wearing an oversized suit and tie. That idea is so fucking funny to me.

[rintoorou]

having the miya twins as your brothers would mean them betting over who’d cry on your wedding first

[ninjasmudge]

my beloved oc, lǐ díshī, he sees dead people and has visions of the future but hes also practically a compulsive liar about it. being a prophet doesnt pay the bills though, so instead hes a demolitions expert and overseer. he has a  fucked up cat, and collects small animal bones and skulls. he purble i love him

[haemosexuality]

why are so many adventure time fans just straight up stupid. about how stories work. and i dont even mean kids i mean like adult fans just with the absolutely dumbest takes

[avatarofwar]

What's the matter, stray? Nothing left to lose?

[charliespoorasshole]

OUAT gifset per episode 1x01: “Pilot”

[kellerybird]

started at the bottom (2010)

now we’re here (2024)

reblogs ok btw!!!!!!

[themintman]

Please share the Sims I would be so gracious 🙏

erm I wasn't sure if you meant post them to Tumblr or actually make the Sims public so imma do both.

They definitely aren't perfect but I tried my best!!

And, ofc, here is my account so you can find them. Sorry for the keyboard smash name this is my dad's account from like seven years ago I'm trying to change it 😭

the title is just "Jack and Nurm"

Uhh I used stuff from the packs below, idk if it'll let you download them without these but if it does just change the missing traits/clothes:

Island living

Cats & dogs

Realm of Magic

Holiday celebration

Erm so like yeah!! If anything is inaccurate or you think something would work better feel free to change it! I tried to make them accurate to how I see them, but tbf I do sometimes mix up headcannon and cannon, misinterpret stuff etc, plus it was tricky trying to decide on aspirations n such, there's no "legendary adventurer" or "cartography" themed traits to my knowledge lmao

[teeth-draws]

“What do you mean he’s scary!! Look at him!”

— taking artistic liberties to scrunkle the face of @shepherds-of-haven’s Blade Bronwyn - a man with 0.6% body fat lol

[deadpuppetboi]

How I look like explaining how it could be possible that Garrett, Mike’s little brother, COULD be The Marionette in the Fnaf movie:

[rexcaliburechoes]

does anyone else find it fucked up that moon's friends protect themselves from her with the skyfire at the end of moon rising?

[unohanadaydreams]

Notes: Draft excavation is going well, if you can't tell. Hope you enjoy being a shiny new bunch of pixels for some blorbos.

WOULD THEY PULL FOR YOU IN A GACHA GAME:

Izuru Kira:

Yes. Absolutely. He’s been waiting for you to join the pool since the moment your model leaked. He joined the fanfiction contest to win your merch (and loses). The rush of joy from hearing your voice line when he pulls you brings tears to his eyes and he absolutely ignores how concerning that is.

Akon:

He will and he’ll shamelessy whale. He’s too busy to farm currency and it’s not like he’s strapped for cash. 100% he’s working on a VR model of you as soon as you’re announced. You’re always on the team no matter how useless you are on a given mission or level because he loves a challenge.

Shuhei Hisagi:

He blames the fuck out of Izuru and Akon for getting him addicted to the game—and worse, excited about a bunch of pixels. But he is, so excited. He joins the fanfiction contest for you (and wins). And he sacrifices half a week of lunches to pull you. Your phone charm is proudly displayed. He is wrangled into even more debt to Urahara for the merch conversion.

Rangiku Matsumoto:

She saw Shuhei’s phone charm, thought it was really cute, and loves the idea of a phone game to pass the time during all the time passing she does on the clock. She gets you on her first pull and shows Shuhei. “Look, it’s just like your cute little phone charm!” Her rng luck is so insane that both Shuhei and Izuru have her pull for them (it doesn’t rub off).

Nanao Ise:

Although she very much did not appreciate Rangiku downloading a game on her phone, she did give it a chance. In secret. Facing away from any windows. She doesn’t care much for the gacha aspect, but finds the game play passable. She diligently does her dailies & events and that’s it. It’s alright stress relief. You go unpulled.

Shunsui Kyoraku:

Shunsui easily finds his way into Nanao’s phone and discovers your game sitting right next to a shogi app. He downloads it and is delighted by all the characters! He doesn’t understand how to play but skids through the tutorial. He pulls for you, fails, and doesn’t understand how to pay for currency. He does take a screenshot of you and ask Nanao ‘Let me borrow them from you!’ He barely escapes alive.

Harribel Tier:

Shunsui flaunts your game around in their monthly Peace meeting and she demands an upgraded soul phone. Much like Shunsui, she doesn’t understand the game. But she wants to pull for you. Her three adjuchas bicker endlessly over small print until they figure out how to pull and the most effective way to pull in consideration to chance percentages. She treats you like a tamagotchi (that needs no care and doesn’t die).

[seaweedstarshine]

Sometimes I think of Amy Pond, who grew up being called mad by those who wielded the word as a tool of exclusion and shame —

Amy Pond, who though forced into the hands of four psychiatrists, still clung to that which they called madness until those systems which elevate psychosocial conformity above humanity stripped it from her —

Amy Pond, whose imaginary friend reappeared for a single hour after twelve years and reignited that faith before disappearing for two more years —

Amy Pond, who spent those those two years under the same implicit threat ingrained in her through psychiatric violence, and thus began to believe the man who stopped the invasion was “just a madman with a box,” only for him to agree, and to also call her “mad, impossible Amy Pond,” reframing madness as non-negative for the first time in her life —

Amy Pond, who ignored the disembodied voice of her imaginary friend even as she ran away with him for real, who still lived each day with the traumatic internalization of deviancy dictated upon her by the psychiatric-industrial complex that shaped her from childhood —

Amy Pond, who wouldn't acknowledge the Doctor's voice, such that it took an Angel in her eye that was literally killing her to ensure she couldn't reality check herself —

Amy Pond, who stood before a room which muttered about “the psychiatrists we brought her to,” and though afraid, escaped their rigid parameters of acceptable existence.

[andromeda3116]

"One day when I was a young boy on holiday in Uberwald, I was walking along the bank of a stream when I saw a mother otter with her cubs. A very endearing sight, I'm sure you will agree, and even as I watched, the mother otter dived into the water and came up with a plump salmon, which she subdued and dragged onto a half-submerged log. As she ate it, while of course it was still alive, the body split and I remember to this day the sweet pinkness of its roes as they spilled out, much to the delight of the baby otters who scrambled over themselves to feed on the delicacy. One of nature's wonders, gentlemen: mother and children dining upon mother and children. And that's when I first learned about evil. It is built into the very nature of the universe. Every world spins in pain. If there is any kind of supreme being, I told myself, it is up to all of us to become his moral superior."

--Lord Vetinari, Unseen Academicals by Terry Pratchett