#the original was more angsty

[spikeshairgel]

Soooo, imagine: in S1 of Good Omens in THAT wall scene, what if not-nina didn't walk in?

Azira: They're murdering each other?!

Crowley: *sighs* no, they aren't. No one's killing anyone, they're all having miraculous escapes... wouldn't be any fun otherwise.

Azira: You know, Crowley, I've always said that deep down you really are quite a nice-

Crows:*wall slam* Shut it! I'm a demon, I'm not nice, I'm never nice, nice is a four letter word. I will not- *groans* I'm a demon, for hells sake, a devilish representation of hell on earth!

Azira:*looking up at him* oh, Crowley, you are, really-

Crows: I'm evil, damn it, angel! *let's go of Aziraphales coat and slams his hands into the wall on either sides of Aziraphales head*

*they are not a breaths length from each other, Aziraphale starring up at Crowley's expression of fury. This position might have been deemed uncomfortable by anyone passing by, but Aziraphale found it rather natural. The skin of their faces almost touching, the somehow normal feeling closeness, the sight of Crowley's nose scrunching in anger.

Crowly hadn't even noticed the way they were standing there, pushed up against a wall of whatever corridor they were in, Crowley didn't remember. The thought didn't cross his mind until he took a step back, releasing the Angel. He wasn't completely sure why this made him cook with madness as much as it did. He- not the least bit gentle- took his glasses off.*

Crowley: I will never be nice or friendly or Good! I can't be! I- *sighs* It's not part of my job description to care for humans.

Azira: But I know, you-

Crowley: You don't. You could know how it is. The glimpse of falling you got was a sheer figment of your perfect, righteous imagination!

Azira: Well, you said you didn't fall, you "sauntered vaguely downwards"

Crowley: no matter the name, this train has the same destination: eternal Damnation in hell. *he looks down at his hands, seeing the slightly nagged pair of black sunglasses in them. The demon sets them back on his nose as he catches the Angel's gaze again.* Whatever that was... Satan.., who knows We better get on looking for... whatever it is we're looking for. We need to find the boy and we need to find him fast!

*With that, as if nothing was ever said, Crowley turned away and walked down the hallway.

Aziraphale, still pressed tightly to the wall, for no apparent reason at all, gazed at him strutting off. What had just happened, why did it happen and Why didn't Aziraphale mind at all? All those questions required to complex answers for Aziraphale to even bother asking himself them. His subconscious somehow just boiled it down to an almost comforting sense of understanding*

[toebeanpowpaw]

I read " it's time the tale were told (of how you took a child and you made him old) " and it was really good, but it also made me cry!! So here's a little something I made to cope with all those feelies.

[lotuslate]

I did @pakhnokh’s challenge from twitter to draw this in your style! Here’s the original !

[neunhofferart]

I didn't notice it until someone pointed it out, but Darius isn't wearing his Dino tooth necklace in Chaos Theory.

Is that an aesthetic decision, or is there an in-lore reason for that?

I think this design choice was on purpose.

So... in a scrapped version of the original script.... there was this big reveal after he calmed the Pachyrhino down that he no longer liked dinosaurs the same way at ALL. It was actually the first thing I drew on the show:

But he had some crazy line like 'We both know you'd kill me in a heartbeat' or something and it was so over the top it always made everyone laugh (which wasn't the intention). It was decided this version was too melodramatic/the energy was wrong, so they redid how he was written/his acting in the first episode a few times until they found a sweet spot.

It was never meant to be explained why his necklace was missing, just implied.

[shortbreadly]

my daddy said ‘the devil looks a lot like you’

[idorukiss]

Xavier is an extremely jealous person, as you’ve seen countless times- especially when Lumiere is brought up. Wanting you to praise nobody but himself- not even your other coworkers or actors on TV. Wanting your eyes and heart to see him and him alone

Swooping to your side every time some potentially strange man approaches you, even if they were just trying to get directions. It warms your heart every single time. You always feel safe with him around, knowing your very own prince charming is there for you at all times

He will never admit why he particularly dislikes any positivity for Lumiere- sure it’s actually him under the mask, but at the same time they're nothing alike. Lumiere is up on a pedestal being the perfect hero. How can he possibly hold a candle to that? Especially when the him of today is the only version of him that you know

You love seeing the fun expressions he makes and swoon every time you see the affection in his eyes, and he loves to hear you say sweet nothings to him with the goofiest smile on your face. There's no way either of could second guess your feelings for one another, but that won’t stop the jealousy from him or the lighthearted teasing from you

He yearns for the day you can remember the him of yesteryear- from when you first got tangled up in fate and he lost you for the first time. Every time you call his name his heart sings just like back then, and he will hold on to every bit of that time he possibly can even if neither of you are the same person anymore

[saintsandsorcery]

The world is ending and nobody knows except for the few people they travel with. It’s news to everyone, except for Gale. His world has been ending for more than a year now. Painfully slow. He begins to regret it then - not writing to his mother. Each time they encounter a refugee on the road, families specifically, that guilt rises to the surface again. He sees mothers keeping their children safe from the horrors of this world and wonders if Morena had ever done the same for him - he’s sure she did, though he understood far too much for his young age. He doesn’t know what to do about this deep regret, so he begins to write letters he’s never going to send. At first it’s assurances that he’s alright, then accounts of how he spends his days, then he writes himself into a life he won’t ever have - sometimes he manages to fill whole pages, sometimes it’s just a couple of words. It doesn’t matter does it? She won’t ever see them. He keeps those letters beside the ones he writes to Tav; the one with words like “love” in them. He keeps thinking of just giving them to Tav, he’s a dead man after all what does he have to lose? Each time they smile like that he wonders what might be and finds himself holding the letters; the ones that promise a future he doesn’t have and a life he can’t share with them.

[puppppppppy]

The garment, worn by those in good standing with Hyrule royalty, has been reworked with the latest improvements, such as a new shoulder guard.

[darknoverse]

idk but the other day i had a dream about TOO and DT (almost very common dreams to me lmao) and along all the cool stuff there was these scenes with rosetasma i dont remember much but this one i specifically recall and it makes me go owaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa/pos

on another note i made sm doodles too lmao

specifically been working on Rosethorn's armor design , i think it's neat

Taglist:

@candyheartedchy @berryshipbasket @bloodhoundini

@radaverse @rexscanonwife

@lficanthaveloveiwantpower

@artcomestolife @sunflawyer

@tireddovahkiin @ree3942

[webhead3345]

Me and my sister were talking about Kass in BotW and realized that we both would sneak up on him (close enough to hear him play but far enough that he wouldn’t notice Link and stop) just to listen to his music for a while.

Made me think of what that would look like to Kass if he ever actually noticed it was happening. 😂

[jessicas-pi]

The amulet was heavy in her hand.

Sabine knew she ought to destroy it. Even if she couldn't, she ought to at least try. Hurl it off the cliff, if nothing else.

But with the Tessarect gone, maybe for good, this was their only chance. If she lost it, Ahsoka lost all hope of returning home. Anakin would be forever parted from his wife and children. The Nine Realms would plunge into chaos.

And she would never see Ezra again.

Ezra.

An old voice in her head—the rasping snarl of the Goddess of Mischief—roused itself once more at the thought of him, and for a split second, she felt sixteen again, staring down a deranged princess in the Helicarrier cell.

Is this love, little killer?

Maybe it was love. Maybe it was need. Maybe it was dependence, or fear, or attachment. She didn't know what it had been then, and she didn't know what it was now. All she knew was that there had been a lump of ice in her chest where her heart should be, and that since the moment Ahsoka barged into the Tower with the promise that there was hope, it had been throbbing like frostbitten fingers held too near a flame.

Sabine Wren wasn't used to feeling much hope.

Maybe that was why she clung to it so very fiercely. Beyond reason, beyond logic, beyond even right and wrong, Sabine clung.

She would not let go.

So, gulping once around the lump in her throat, she stepped towards Baylan Skoll, still holding the artifact tightly.

(Her ledger was already bloody red. What was one stain more?)

"Here," she said, numbly, because the parts of her that weren't burning up were dulled with cold. "Restore the Bifrost—and send me to Jotunnheim."

And she placed the Eye of Moirai in the palm of his hand.

[o-sunny-day]

Bro does NOT have his whole life ahead of him

Bro IS bamboozled

Taken aback

(Milk AMV wip)

WOULD YOU GUYS BELIEVE ME IF I SAID IM IN THE CLEAN UP STAGE???

the progress has been slow- but luckily itll speed up a LOT with Winter Break. still dont feel good giving a specific release date but like.. uhh… FINE, January 1st.

Better be done before then, if not, ill prolly just show the animatic or somethin cause clearly id have given up- IM NOT GONNA FOR THIS THOUGH IM TOO HAPPY WITH THE ANIMATIC NOT TO CONTINUE!!!!

whats that?

I said thered be no more wips?

uhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I lied.

Im impatient with myself

[sillystringsimpsons]

Just realised I never shared this omg

Meet the redesigned (and present-day) Jono! I realised I'd originally subconsciously coded him as Aboriginal in some little chunks of experimental writing I made of him and Memphis, and I wanted to make him explicitly so because a) NO SIMPSONS ABORIGINAL AUSTRALIAN CHARACTERS? NOT ONE? b) I thought him having ties to the Stolen Generation (on his mother's side) brought valuable depth to his character (and the Stolen Generation is also something I've wanted to explore a bit in my work) and c) I was already subconsciously writing him as Aboriginal and there's literally only one rough artwork of him made before all the development I gave him, so why go against my instincts for his character?

For context, this is only other appearance in a visual work, back when he was just a two-dimensional placeholder, haha.

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

The Abhorred | Adar/OC (part 1)

Summary: It is a moment Maethoriel never imagined, but the empty raiment at her feet proves that it had, indeed, come to pass. Sauron is dead. She should feel relief, but all that she knows instead is a sense of fear over a world that will see not only herself, but her companions as monsters to be eradicated at any cost. It is a fear that will pull her away from the only one who ever kept her safe. And she is hardly blind to how holding on to that fear almost certainly risks keeping her forever adrift from the one that she loves.

Warnings: angst, some hints of Stockholm syndrome, references to torture, it's gonna get pretty dark in here, folks. Warnings will be updated as the series goes on.

Tag-list: please let me know if you would like to be tagged for future updates!

A/N: Whelp...I've gone and done it. And I am freaking terrified that I will somehow mess this up! The vision in my head is something I am so, so very excited about, but imposter syndrome is a thing, and I'm not 100% confident I can pull it off. I suppose only time will tell?

Either way, though, this one is for all of my fellow Adar-girlies! He deserves all of the attention and love he can get, and I really hope that the demented little plot gremlins running amok in my mind have created something that at least some of you will enjoy!

It was not supposed to end like this.

That is the only thought the woman seems capable of as she stares down at the place where he once was. Where the one who had caused her so much pain had rested, dead. Gone. No more. Some small part of her knows that she should feel relief. That she should be pleased at his demise.

Now, though, all that she can seem to understand is the bone deep feeling of regret.

"I am your only future!"

The words ring inside her mind like the clamor of bells, a warning against any thought of breaking free. Of even attempting to seek another path that did not align with his plans. His plans, that only ever brought dissent and terror and pain. Still, she stares at the emptiness of the fabrics at her feet, shallow breaths rattling inside of her chest as her mind recalls that those fabrics once held his form. Sauron's form.

She cannot move. Cannot tear her eyes from the ground. She can barely even breathe, and the walls seem to close in from all sides. Silence surrounds her as all those that had been in the hall from the start take in what has just transpired, though they can hardly believe it to be true. It isn't until she feels the presence of another, moving to stand beside her, that she begins to return to herself, but when a hand rests upon her shoulders, everything within her is suddenly possessed by a desire to wrench herself away.

"Maethoriel—"

"What have you done?"

Muted though it may be, the inquiry lands like a blow upon the person standing beside her. Someone she once trusted, but the one who had now blown apart every last bit of the world she once knew. Her eyes search his face, desperate. Pleading for some sign that this was not, in fact, his plan all along, but she finds nothing. Nothing to indicate her wild hope is warranted. Nothing, save for the vindication of one who has, at long last, achieved a goal.

"What have you done?"

"I have done what was necessary to secure our freedom."

"Freedom," The woman scoffs, another step creating still more distance between herself and the one who stands beside her, something not all that far from pity more than apparent within his gaze, "What you have done is cast us out into the world to live in exile."

"We will survive, Maethoriel."

"As beings who are to be turned away by everyone we meet? As those who would be hunted for crimes that are unforgivable?"

"The true mind behind those crimes is dead."

"And we are the poorer for it!"

Bile rises to the back of the woman's throat as soon as the words are spoken, because even though a part of her believes them, there is another, private part of her mind that wishes with everything she has that she did not. She would be a fool to deny that acting in league with Sauron had brought them nothing but misery. That he had been a terror, holding everything he touched in thrall with an iron fist.

Still, after everything, there had been a sense of—if not belonging, then at least one of temporary respite. They had a home, even if it were not the most desirable.

Hardly able to stand those thoughts as they rise to the forefront of her mind, Maethoriel attempts to rebel against them. She tries with all her might to understand that what her companion has just done was exactly what was needed all along.

Silent, he watches her carefully. An expression that she cannot decipher appears in familiar features, and cuts through her, down to her very bones. Mere moments ago, the two of them had been standing, united, or so she had believed at the time, and now?

Now, it is as though a chasm exists between them. One it seems nothing can bridge.

It was not supposed to end like this.

"I am your only future! And my path, your only path."

The man standing before her had all but destroyed that future with a single blow.

Confusion flares within her as Maethoriel continues to stand rooted to the spot, chest heaving with the effort of continuing to breathe. With the effort of forcing herself to recall every moment of torment—every scar earned—the longer she had remained at Sauron's side. She reminds herself of each day spent hunting. Spent killing. Nights, consumed with another sort of conflict best left unspoken.

Every last one of them in the hall with her had suffered the same, and the prospect of freedom from such pain seemed far too alluring to be real. It was too alluring to be real, given the reality of facing judgment from those who had once flocked to their side.

Men, and elves, and dwarves alike would look upon them with nothing shy of hatred. She knows this as surely as anything else she has seen in her lifetime. But in spite of it, she also knows that she should feel relief that Sauron is gone. She should feel relief that the one who would see them all enslaved will never be able to harm any one of them ever again.

The regret she feels over her inability to genuinely give in to such a thing is nearly enough to bring her to her knees.

"...my path, your only path."

All of the deception—the betrayal at Sauron's hands—and even still, Maethoriel cannot seem to rid herself of the notion that this coup had been folly. That it would serve to do all of them far more harm than good. She cannot help but feel the flames of a dull sort of anger towards the one still standing beside her, and that more than anything else feels like the serrated edge of a knife slicing against her heart.

"What—what am I to do?"

Her voice cracks over the words, and the sting of unshed tears burns at her eyes, forcing Maethoriel to avert her gaze, rather than continuing to look the man beside her in the eye any longer. The idea of facing the betrayal he likely feels over her outburst is simply too much for her to bear.

Already, her heart yearns for forgiveness, though she begins to suspect that is a thing that will not come easily. Not when this apparent victory had been so hard-won. And even when she feels the warmth of fingertips not encased in a gauntlet's cold grip come to rest beneath her chin, turning her face upward once more, Maethoriel hardly dares to breathe.

"I will not force your allegiance, Maethoriel. Not as he did."

The fingers beneath her chin move, for a moment, so that the warm callouses of a familiar palm come to rest against her cheek in their stead, and Maethoriel wants to lean into that touch. She wants to savor that small bit of gentleness, and keep it close, forever.

Before she can make any move at doing so, however, the sensation is gone. Pulled from her at such speed she can hardly reconcile herself with its loss. Again, she averts her gaze, this time to avoid looking directly at the sight of her companion turning to depart. A low chant begins to echo around the hall while she struggles to choose. Stay with the empty raiment resting at her feet, or follow after one who, in spite of recent acts, she has come to love beyond reason.

Her thoughts are an amalgamation of pain, and regret, and confusion, but even then, she does not miss the words spoken to her, and clearly intended to be said in parting, spoken so lowly that even she nearly struggles to hear.

"I cannot choose your path for you. You must do that for yourself."

"I am your only future!"

A sob works its way up Maethoriel's throat whether she wishes it to or not, the sound drowned out amongst the tramp of feet as those who had waited in the rapidly emptying hall move to depart. A singular glance shows her that her companion is now entirely gone from her sight, his tall frame swallowed completely by the throng of those he called his children.

Slowly, she turns to depart as well, though her path leads in the opposite direction from the rest. She steels herself against the pain that winds its way like a vice around her heart.

Knowing that at least one of them would not be alone serves as meager reassurance when compared to the cost of her own choices. The cost of her own inability to free herself from Sauon's hold, even now. Now that he is gone.

The strange sense of grief that she feels over his passing only adds fuel to the fire that is now lending speed to her movements as she makes her way through darkened hallways. As she begins to consider the reality of an eternity spent in the shadows. And even if she knows not where she should go, or how she will spend that eternity now that it is staring her in the face, Maethoriel does know one simple thing.

Of the two of them, she is abundantly grateful that it will be her, and not Adar, that must endure it alone.

[limeartichoke]

mmm idk how i feel abt this but I'm posting it anyway cause i know someone will appreciate it ‼️‼️

[taylordoesdraw]

character/armor sheet of my rook: Constance de Riva.

Warrior/Crow/Lucanis Smoocher