#they are always so poetic and representative

[hyacinthusmemorial]

Someone pointed out that this was flat out wrong! So I researched before I posted this time ahaha. So I will just provide the sources and let them speak for themselves.

Here are the sources on Thamyris's story:

“Linus also, who was admired because of his poetry and singing, had many pupils and three of greatest renown, Heracles, Thamyras, and Orpheus. Of these three Heracles, who was learning to play the lyre, was unable to appreciate what was taught him because of his sluggishness of soul, and once when he had been punished with rods by Linus he became violently angry and killed his teacher with a blow of the lyre. Thamyras, however, who possessed unusual natural ability, perfected the art of music and claimed that in the excellence of song his voice was more beautiful than the voices of the Muses. Whereupon the goddesses, angered at him, took from him his gift of music and maimed the man, even as Homer also bears witness when he writes: There met the Muses Thamyris of Thrace And made an end of his song; and again: But him, enraged, they maimed, and from him took the gift of song divine and made him quite forget his harping.” -- Diodorus Siculus

“And Dorion, famed for Thamyris' disgrace, Superior once of all the tuneful race, Till, vain of mortals' empty praise, he strove To match the seed of cloud-compelling Jove! Too daring bard! whose unsuccessful pride The immortal Muses in their art defied. The avenging Muses of the light of day Deprived his eyes, and snatch'd his voice away; No more his heavenly voice was heard to sing, His hand no more awaked the silver string.” -- The Iliad of Homer Homer

“At Thebes he views the shields of those who died at the Battle of Leuctra, the ruins of the house of Pindar and the statues of Hesiod, Arion, Thamyris and Orpheus in the grove of the Muses on Helicon, as well as the portraits of Corinna at Tanagra and of Polybius in the cities of Arcadia.”

“The river is said to have got its name from Thamyris throwing (ballein) his lyre away here after his blinding. He was the son of Philammon and the nymph Argiope, who once dwelt on Parnassus, but settled among the Odrysae when pregnant, for Philammon refused to take her into his house. Thamyris is called an Odrysian and Thracian on these grounds. The watercourses Leucasia and Amphitos unite to form one stream.”

“Homer states that the misfortune of Thamyris took place here in Dorium, because he said that he would overcome the Muses themselves in song. But Prodicus of Phocaea, if the epic called the Minyad is indeed his, says that Thamyris paid the penalty in Hades for his boast against the Muses. My view is that Thamyris lost his eyesight through disease, as happened later to Homer. Homer, however, continued making poetry all his life without giving way to his misfortune, while Thamyris forsook his art through stress of the trouble that afflicted him.”

-- Pausanias

“Clio fell in love with Pierus, son of Magnes, in consequence of the wrath of Aphrodite, whom she had twitted with her love of Adonis; and having met him she bore him a son Hyacinth, for whom Thamyris, the son of Philammon and a nymph Argiope, conceived a passion, he being the first to become enamored of males. But afterwards Apollo loved Hyacinth and killed him involuntarily by the cast of a quoit.43 And Thamyris, who excelled in beauty and in minstrelsy, engaged in a musical contest with the Muses, the agreement being that, if he won, he should enjoy them all, but that if he should be vanquished he should be bereft of what they would. So the Muses got the better of him and bereft him both of his eyes and of his minstrelsy.”

Below is from the footnotes for this passage.

“This account of Thamyris and his contest with the Muses is repeated almost verbally by Zenobius, Cent. iv.27, and by a Scholiast on Hom. Il. 2.595. As to the bard’s rivalry with the Muses, and the blindness they inflicted on him, see Hom. Il. 2.594-600; compare Eur. Rh. 915ff.; Scriptores rerum mythicarum Latini, ed. Bode, i. (First Vatican Mythographer 197). The story of the punishment of Thamyris in hell was told in the epic poem The Minyad, attributed to Prodicus the Phocaean （Paus. 4.33.7）. In the great picture of the underworld painted by Polygnotus at Delphi, the blind musician was portrayed sitting with long flowing locks and a broken lyre at his feet （Paus. 10.30.8.” --

Apollodor & Pseudo-Apollodorus

Detail of the Muses from a painting depicting the mythical poets Thamyris and Musaeus beng instructed by the god Apollo. Calliope stands to the left with a raised veil, Sophia is seated with a box, Polyhymnia plays a lyre, and Urania gazes at the god. The names of all the figures are inscribed on the vase.

Found at the National Archeology Museum in Athens.

--

theio.com

Hi!! I'm a teen writer who's writing a book on Hyacinthus and Apollo, and I couldn't find ant sources who didn't give any information I didn't know.

You seem to know more than me, and I have a question.

Did Apollo pretend to be a mortal when he first met Hyacinthus?

And what else do you know about the myth?

It would help me out so so much and I'd he really grateful<33

apollo didn't pretend to be mortal, as i know i just thought it would be nice in my fic 😅

but i remember i once read somewhere that some mortal was intrested in hyacinthus (while hyacinthus and apollo were togeter), and the man died or something? i think he was also a poet? (well, i looked for the story. the muses took out his eyes)

i don't think there's much information about this story (i'll be glad if someone here knows more than me and can add)

but thank you for asking me, it made me really happy :)

[alexythimya]

my 2nd q i must answer for discussion board is:

Question two: In this chapter, Emily uses pizza as a metaphor for disability identity.  She says that, "While every pizza has a crust, it's the toppings that make each individual pizza what it is. And even though millions of pizzas are made with the same toppings, no two slices are exactly alike:p.31" What toppings are on your metaphorical pizza that define how you experience the world?

which is exactly the #1 kind of question i hate doing in a class

[itsswritten]

love in ink

Pairing: Azriel x fem reader, (there's a bit of Az and Elain too sorry)

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Heartbreaking angst, rejection, blood, injuries, war, possible death.

Summary: On the brink of war, it was now or never to finally confess your feelings to Azriel, but when you stumble onto a moment you wish you hadn't perhaps it's the gods way of saying your confession had been too late.

The envelope was crumpled at the corners, the paper sure to wear thin under the pads of your thumbs. You stared at your handwriting, his name spiralled in ink slightly faded now.

Words you had written just over 50 years ago, a confession, a secret— a love letter for your best friend. A string of sentences and poetic prose that still rang true. You’re not even sure you remember what you wrote exactly, never really intending for it to see the light of day, however you knew your feelings were still the same. Despite the worn out paper in your hand, the envelope changed with time— your feelings had not. Unchanging. From the moment you met him, your love for him had always remained the same. If anything, it had only deepened and expanded with time.

The atmosphere of the war camp was heavy, the enemy soldiers high on the borders. It was only a matter of time before you would need to take your place on the frontlines. Before he, and your family took their positions among the soldiers to fight to protect the home you all held dear. 

Death was lingering in the air, whispers of it rustled through the trees that sent a shiver down your spine. An impending end felt as though it was looming over you, a clock about to strike its final hour or an hourglass about to crack. For the first time in years you weren’t sure how you’d all make it out of this one. That’s why it had to be now, those words that had always been on the tip of your tongue, the secret behind your gentle touches, the confession deep within your yearning gaze, you needed to tell him—to finally speak your truth. 

You moved between Prythian soldiers and Illyrians prepping themselves with armour and weapons, weaving between people with one destination in mind. Turning to see the commanding military tent you and Rhys had left him in hours ago. You hesitated for a moment outside, smoothing your fingers over the old parchment, your heartbeat quickening with nerves before taking a breath for confidence, stepping inside.

A shadow had tried to catch your elbow, its usual cool presence going amiss with your emotions shrouding your senses. If only you had noticed, noticed how it tried to save your heart. But with the adrenaline pumping in your veins, nothing could stop this now. 

Your eyes blinked adjusting to the dimly lit tent, filled with small fae-lights and a large table with a map spread across. Small figurines representing flanks that were knocked over now, there was no strategy to win this war— only luck, prayer and hope.

It didn’t take long for your eyes to find him, to settle on the large Shadowsinger who had always captured your attention in any room he was in. Even when he lurked in the quietest of shadows, your eyes always found him. He was so beautiful, not just in form but in heart too. 

That’s what you had fallen for first. Not his angelic looks, or that secret smile of his, not those expansive large wings that made you feel protected whenever in his presence— well it was easy to love all those things too, but it was his kind heart that spun this wheel of fate. Perhaps if you weren’t so tangled in your own heart you may have noticed there was someone else here. Scented another, a female. But it wasn’t until you saw his lips locked with hers that your gut sank.

Time seemed to slow in that second, while you saw Elain embrace Azriel in a moment you’re not sure you should have been privy to. Something so private and intimate. A farewell kiss before a war— a kiss you had hoped would have been yours. 

Elain’s body was flush against his front, her arms thrown around his neck to pull herself up to his height. Azriel’s hands, though hesitant, still sat on her waist. It was a twisting torture as you seemed to take in every detail of their embrace, the flush of Azriel’s cheeks, the beat of his heart, the light sound of Elain’s moan.

Your throat tightened then, time finally catching up as a gasp involuntarily left your lips. Heartbreaking and wobbly that you hadn’t even realised you’d made such a distressing sound before you’d stumbled backwards from the tent. One foot in front of the other, forcing your legs to move you faster as your heartbeat thudded in your ears.

Your cheeks were hot, blood rushing to your ears, teeth gritted as you tried to control the sob that was threatening to bubble up. Not here, not now. You couldn’t waste tears on this, not when it was your fault you had left it so long— not when you were about to go to war and you may never make it out again. 

You think you heard your name being called, but you pushed through the crowd further. Winding through the stifling tension within the camp, slipping in and out of pockets of soldiers, a dizzying spiral to try and escape what you had just witnessed. The image of them both kept replaying in your mind, your own vision becoming distorted with tears blurring with that near perfect picture of a heroic farewell you thought would have been yours. 

With one wrong step you collided with a body, a shoulder barging into you that only meant your wobbly legs followed your wobbly mind, and you collided with the mud below. You grunted at the collision, a whispered curse leaving your lips.

You needed to get a grip. 

You brushed the back of your sleeve against your face, wiping whatever tears that had already spilled and encouraged yourself to get ahold of at least a semblance of composure. You hadn’t endured 50 years under that mountain, 50 years away from your family— away from him to now suddenly break.

“Y/n…”

You could recognise his voice anywhere. That deep tone that always seemed to dance on the wind to you, weaving a melody around your heart. There was a shuffle behind you, and with a swiftness those familiar smoky tendrils came to you. Their aid and touch, always so soft as they tried to assist you from the ground. But in a movement so unlike you, you swatted them away. Their touch almost burning you. The embarrassment, the shame, the heartbreak that was coiling in your chest was too much to bear. And although there was nothing that you desired more than the cooling comforting touch of his shadows, you couldn’t bring yourself to indulge in it. Not now. Not after what you’d just seen.

Azriel breathed your name again, raspy and almost pained as you refused his help, pushing yourself from the ground. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up at him, choosing to wipe the dirt off your leathers, your gaze remaining on the ground below. You could see him shuffle slightly, his boots stepping closer towards you in the dirt. His hand just in the corner of your peripheral lifting to reach, only for it to fall back to his side. Scarred fingers flexing and twitching against his leathers, the only indication that perhaps his own emotions were reeling right now too.

“Sweetheart…”, the name of endearment he always used with you fell from his tongue like a siren's song. You hated how much of a hold he held on you, how easy it was to give in, how desperate your heart wanted to submit. “Talk to me,” he breathed.

There was a pause for a moment, before you found the courage to look at him. Convincing yourself that this might even be the last time, and despite everything you had just seen, did you want to deprive yourself from one last look at the male who had held your heart for over half a century.

His hazel eyes locked with your teary ones, an expression upon your face that had Azriel’s brows furrowing deeper. He reached for you this time, no hesitation after he got his confirmation that you were upset. His hands coming to your arms. “Hey…hey. Talk to me sweetheart, I need you to talk to me, we can sort this…”

Did he even know what this was? What your tears were spilling over? Did he know it was he causing you pain?

You were certain he didn’t. Otherwise he would have known there was no fixing this. There was no way Azriel could fix your broken heart. But as those thoughts seemed to dwell in your mind, it was as if the Shadowsinger began to feel your defeat, a desperation in his tone, “Look at me y/n, hey…look at me. Talk to me, my lo-“

Rhys’ talons scratched on the edges of your mind, and you welcomed your High Lord in. An urgent broadcast not just to you but all his inner circle.

“Enemies have broken through the barriers on the East I need someone—“

The perfect escape.

“I’m on my way,” you replied with haste. Only to get a harsh no from Azriel in response, his grip tightening on you. 

“Don’t leave like this-“ his voice broke.

A part you almost stayed, your eyes lingering in his gaze, those three words still on the tip of your tongue. You’re not sure you could have survived outright rejection from him though, so, instead, you winnowed away from his hold.

Azriel stood there for a moment, his hands still out in front grasping with the cold air that was now between his fingers. A confusion simmering under his skin as to what had happened. All he had known was that something was wrong, from the moment Elain kissed him, to seeing you stumble out of that tent. Everything was wrong. 

And this was not a time for things to be wrong. There was a war unfolding right before him and he didn’t have the privilege of time for things to be wrong. Especially not with you.

His shadows were coiling around something in the mud. An envelope with his name on, in a handwriting that was unmistakably yours.

✴

The air despite being cool and crisp was stifling, choking, making it hard for Azriel to breathe. Although there was no fire here, no molten ash or smoke coating his lungs. Just an emptiness of a person he held dear who was nowhere to be found. An emptiness so heavy it was getting harder to breathe.

Azriel felt weighed down by the stench of blood that lingered in the air, the battle was over. They had won, barely– and now what could be heard were the grunts and cries of injured soldiers.

Azriel’s torn wings dragged behind him, as he trudged through the eastern battle line. There were more bodies littered here than on the main battlefield, a fact that hadn’t gone untouched by the Spymaster. You had gone here in an instant, leaving Azriel grappling with your scent on the wind as you’d left. Leaving him to find a worn out letter with words he wasn’t sure he was deserving of– a letter that changed everything.

A letter that made everything feel right.

The letter was folded neatly in the breast pocket of his leathers, just above his heart. 

“Where are you?” his voice was hoarse, he had been searching as soon as the battle was won. The usual quiet Shadowsinger had not relented when shouting for you in his search. But with every step he took his chest got tighter, the further down the bank he walked the probability of finding you was becoming less and less. His shadows that lingered on him for comfort began to move frantically, a direct reflection of Azriel’s fears bubbling under his skin. Their jittery movement hovering in the air around him.

Then he caught it. A faint scent he would always recognise. Barely there beneath the copper and rot. His head snapped toward the source, and before he could think, his feet carried him forward.

His shadows converged at a pile of rubble, a mound of shattered stone and splintered wood. They darted in and out, trembling as if confirming what he already feared.

“Please, no…” Azriel whispered, his voice raw. He dropped to his knees and began digging, ignoring the way the sharp edges bit into his palms. He pulled away debris with savage strength, tearing through the wreckage until—

You.

He found you. Broken and soul barely a whisper of the female he knew. Blood was matted in your hair, skin littered with gashes and bruises but your chest rose. Azriel could see small shallow breaths leave your lips, his own movements frozen before his shadows moved into action first. Moving you gently into their master’s arms, he cradled you. Sweet whispers falling from his lips that were pressed against your temple.

“Az–Azriel..” your voice hitched.

“I’m here sweetheart, you’re going to be okay. You’re so brave sweet girl,” 

“It hurts…”

“I know, I know my love…you’re so strong okay. Help is on it’s way, you’re going to be okay,”

Azriel had already sent a mental plea into the vastness but as he watched your eyelids begin to flutter he shouted into the cold air, crying to anyone who may hear for a healer, for help. Because he could not lose you, not now he knew. 

Your name left his lips in a sob as he pulled your fragile body tighter against him “Just hold on a little longer my love, please, for me…” His hand delicately came against your cheek, his own forehead resting against yours as a flurry of pleas rolled on his tongue. “Just a little longer…”

He swore he heard some semblance of a hum in response but your eyes were shut. He was stroking your blood-matted hair now, rambling and whispering. 

“I got your letter, I’m not sure if you really wanted me to have it, not sure if I’m really deserving of what you’ve written in it but oh sweetheart…your lovely words…I’m so blessed…so lucky…so undeserving…”

“But if it’s true..” he was stumbling over his words now, in between the sobs, “if you give me the chance to make this right…”

“I know now why you were so upset before…I think a part of me understood…felt your pain because in some way I was feeling it too…” his thumb was rubbing small circles on your cheekbone.

“If I could go back and change it I would. I need you to know it was a mistake…with Elain…tensions were high, feelings misdirected…

“I was thinking I could take you to the bakery you love when you’re feeling better, if you’d let me…we could make a day of it…walk along the Sidra…maybe our first proper date…

“I wish I hadn’t been so blind my love, you’ve always been the most special person to me…after you came back from under the mountain…I…well I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again…I just felt grateful to have you back, told myself I didn’t need anything more than that…

“Can you hold on for me…please…my love, just a little longer…

“Az…”, his name pulled him from his ramblings, although it wasn’t your voice that had spoken.

Azriel looked up, Rhys was kneeled in front of him. They weren’t on the battlefield anymore though. They were in a healers tent. When had they moved? Azriel couldn’t recall. 

“I need you to give her to me now.”

Azriel looked at his brother confused, then glanced down to your limp figure in his arms. 

“Azriel, now.”

a/n: sorry i know I had some requests for some festive fluff but instead I bring you this angst...sorry not sorry tee hee <3 thank you @writingcroissant for your help I mentioned this fic idea to her months ago and literally only found it the other week, if you don't like the elusive ending blame her ;) Although if I had taken @illyrianbitch advice y/n would most definitely be dead so I think the elusiveness means you can all choose your own endings. Maybe both her and Az are dead and actually Rhys is the devil I dunno

forever tags: @lilah-asteria @sleepylunarwolf @daily-dose-of-sass @alittlelostalittlefound-blog @milswrites @amberlynn98 @marscardigan @illyrianbitch @searchingforbucky

[bamsara]

I'm new to this blog, what's dream lamb and dream narinder?? They're cool but I do not understand I wish to comprehend

Dream Lamb (And Dream Narinder) is exactly as the name implies; dream versions of the counterpart that only appears within Narinder's (Or Lambert's) dreams at night.

They are a visual manifestation of the subconscious, they are not real individuals. They can reflect what Narinder/Lamb's true feelings are about something/someone, or torment them about things that they perceive to be true.

One example is that Dream Lamb often makes Narinder remember how fondly he thinks of the Lamb ("You think of them so poetically" + all prior friendship he had with them in the gateway) or pointing out how his words contradict his actions; behaving and believing them to be a traitor and insufferable but doing things of his own will (resurrecting the crab, not killing their flock because it makes them upset, allowing Leshy to live, ect ect).

Dream Lamb ALSO points out the complicated feelings with his siblings; ie reminding him of how he used to help raise his youngers, and the mixture of emotions he feels towards individuals who he claims he despises.

Dream Narinder (Who is not into written form yet and is only in comic form as of this post) who instead of tormenting the dreamer with confrontation of feelings being denied, instead sews doubt and guilt. The Lamb feels even though they stayed true to themselves, they cannot help but feel like their perceived betrayal has damaged the friendship between them and Narinder beyond repair. Despite that grief for the loss of friendship, they'll accept what little companionship they can have from their best friend left over.

Dream Narinder fuels on this, often echoing their worst fears and worries ('You've done a good job as my vessel, so I no longer have a need for you.") So he acts non-nonchalant and often mocking/teasing, or even indulgent with the acknowledgment that none of it is real. Where as Dream Lamb confronts Narinder with feelings he's wanting to push back, Dream Narinder goes the opposite route, and calmly and casually reinforces what they believe to be the reality.

Dream Lamb represents Denial of the Truth, While Dream Narinder is the Acceptance of a Lie.

However,

Because they are corrupted visuals of the subconscious, but still their subconscious nonetheless, this means that these behaviors can change or be different depending on how the dreamer thinks/feels, and how they're processing their emotions in relation to something. Especially when they're confronting it.

In other words, the closer Narinder gets to accepting his feelings and understanding the Lamb's reasoning for their 'betrayal', and the closer the Lamb gets to realizing Narinder's care for them still persists, the more accurate and truer the dreams become.

Like in this comic, where Dream Narinder is tormenting the Lamb, but after their snap back that Narinder would not say something so cruel to them, despite his outward attitude, they are practically rewarded with a praise for it.

For Dream Narinder specifically, his eye remains closed....but opens a little more the closer and closer the Lamb gets to believing how Narinder truly feels about them, whether the real cat has accepted it or not.

As for Dream Lamb, they go from being very aggressive about their confrontation to something more docile, eventually as Narinder starts to process everything.

Another thing: the Dreams are linked. Not always, but they have to be on the same...wavelength for it. An understanding, perhaps. But they do affect each other, sometimes.

The dreams can be nice too, depending. That's why they're not always nightmarish. Meaning, with enough push and pull, eventually:

Why all of this dream and nightmare stuff is happening? Yet to be revealed.

Remember guys if you avoid your feelings in real life they might hunt you down in your dreams, and possibly bluetooth you to the object of your affections dreams as well if you're nice about it

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

A couple of things that I love and adore about Sylus ♡♡

(For even more things, go here)

His eyes. They are so beautiful and expressive. They so often convey his inner thoughts and feelings without him having to say a word. Such as how they twinkle and light up when MC touches him, and at other times soften or widen with love as he looks at her.

His smile. I adore the way his face is transformed by it, how his sharp features noticeably soften, and how unguarded he looks for once. It's also adorable how you can sometimes glimpse his teeth. He kind of resembles Toothless ^^ His eyes closed smile is also really cute, it makes me think of this.

He is a lover and a yearner with every fiber of his being. He couldn't be further from the toxic mafia dom that booktok likes to pretend he is (on the contrary he represents healthy and secure masculinity at its best).

His way with words. He can drop the most gorgeous, poetic lines you've ever heard in your life just like that. Without them ever sounding cheesy or too much. They always feel like they come directly from his heart.

He can't hold a tune. He can't peel oranges in one go. His luck is abysmal. He uses Mephisto as a (veil thin) excuse to see his gf time and again. He gets sad when he can't find MC's hair tie. He bumps his head on MC's furniture b/c he's burj khalifa sized and then wants her to blow on his boo boos. He uses up all of her shampoo to smell like her. etc. What I'm trying to say is that he is a loser loverboy in a 6 foot something body. And it's incredibly endearing <3

His draconic traits – his affinity for treasure, his greed, his need to hoard, his desire to mark and be marked by MC, his striking proportions and size, his specific ways of showing and receiving affection.

He is so freeing and healing. MC can always feel whatever emotions she wants and needs to when with Sylus. He tells her outright that she never needs to hide a single thing she's feeling from him, and that he wants to provide a safe space for her to show her "vulnerable belly". She is able to be open, unguarded, and honest around him. Another thing that he encourages and cherishes is her playful and childlike side, and I adore how carefree she is able to be with him. He has created a space for her where she is free to be wholly and unabashedly herself.

His banter and sass. He's funny af. Even if some of the things he's said in his text messages and in the café have lowkey made me want to smack him on MC's behalf ijbol. Overall I love his sense of humor and how playful he is with MC.

The sounds he makes when he's kissing MC. He is so breathy, so love drunk. It's a big contrast to his usually smooth demeanor.

The fact that he is a biker and a mechanic. What can I say, it's attractive as hell.

His moral ambiguity and complexity. He is not a character that can be boiled down to either or (ie morally white or black) or simplified, and to try to do so would be to do him a disservice imo. He is incredibly well written and hugely rewarding to analyze and deep dive into.

His habit of one arm carrying MC every chance he gets.

His love for animals and nature.

His singing. I know I make fun of him for it a lot but I honestly adore it and wouldn't trade it for anything. Not only is it sweet and uniquely him but to me it's also symbolic of doing and enjoying things that you aren't necessarily good at. Because as long as it fulfills you and makes you happy it doesn't matter how proficient or talented you are or aren't. Be like Sylus and never stop doing what you love doing, regardless if others think you aren't "good enough" at it.

How sincere he is in his way of showing love. You can tell that he truly means every word he says, every gesture he makes.

[yuu-kantokusei]

Valentine's Day❤️❤️❤️

Third year version

Characters: Cater, Trey, Leona, Vil, Rook, Idia, Malleus, Lilia

TW: cute, fluff, wholesome

♦️Cater Diamond

Cater kicks off Valentine's Day with an energetic selfie spree, dragging you along for the ride. "Come on~! We need at least twenty cute pics for my Magicam story!"

But amidst all the fun, he suddenly pulls out a small heart-shaped box. Inside is a delicate charm bracelet, each charm representing something meaningful—your dorm, a tiny camera, even a little cupcake. "I saw these and thought of you! Cute, right?"

As you admire the gift, he gives you a rare, softer smile. "You make my days way more fun, y’know? Hope you stick around, my fave little Valentine~!"

♣️Trey Clover

Trey surprises you with a special Valentine’s treat—an entire cake, personalized with your name in icing. "Made this just for you," he says, placing it in front of you. "Hope you like it"

As you share the cake, he hands you a small, elegant box. Inside is a silver spoon engraved with your initials. "Figured you could use a good luck charm" he says with a chuckle.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in quiet comfort, baking together in the Heartslabyul kitchen. "Valentine’s isn’t just about romance," he says thoughtfully. "It’s about appreciation too. And I really appreciate you."

🦁Leona Kingscholar

Leona acts like he doesn't care about Valentine’s Day, but when you find a wrapped package on your desk, his scent lingers on it. Inside is a soft, high-quality scarf.

Later, when you go to thank him, you find him lounging under a tree. "Took you long enough to notice," he mutters, eyes half-lidded. "You’re always runnin’ around in the cold. Don’t want you gettin’ sick."

He lazily tugs you down to sit beside him, resting his head in your lap. "Since you’re here, might as well stay. Ain’t got nothin’ better to do than nap with my favorite herbivore." His tail flicks, betraying how much he enjoys your company.

👑Vil Schoenheit

Vil presents you with a beautifully wrapped gift the moment he sees you. Inside is a set of luxury skincare items tailored to your needs. "A beauty as radiant as you deserves proper care," he says with a pleased smile.

He then takes you to a private rooftop dinner, where everything is curated for aesthetics and elegance. As the sun sets, he studies your face. "Out of all the things I strive for, your happiness is one I truly wish to see."

Before you leave, he carefully applies a bit of lip balm to your lips. "Can’t have you walking around with chapped lips, darling," he teases, but his touch lingers a second too long.

🏹Rook Hunt

Rook approaches you with a flourish, handing you a handwritten letter sealed with wax. "Mon trésor, today is a day to celebrate the beauty of devotion! And so, I dedicate this poem to you!"

His words are grand, poetic, and filled with admiration, making your face heat up. Before you can respond, he presents a beautifully carved wooden bow. "A hunter must always cherish their most valuable companion. Let this be a symbol of our bond!"

He then whisks you away on a nature walk, pointing out the beauty in everything—from the way the wind moves to the way your eyes light up when you smile.

🎮Idia Shroud

Idia avoids you all day, only for Ortho to deliver a wrapped box on his behalf. Inside is a limited-edition plush from your favorite game. There’s also a shaky, handwritten note:

"Happy Valentine’s. Don’t make this weird."

Later, you manage to find him hiding in his room, his hair glowing pink. "Ugh, I knew you’d come looking for me," he groans. "I mean… I guess it’s cool that you liked the gift or whatever."

Despite his grumbling, he lets you stay, the two of you gaming together late into the night. At one point, he mumbles under his breath, "This… isn’t so bad."

🐉Malleus Draconia

Malleus appears before you at midnight, inviting you for a walk under the stars. He gestures to the sky, where countless glowing wisps float around you. "I wished to give you a sight as enchanting as you are," he says softly.

He then hands you a beautifully crafted pendant in the shape of a dragon. "This holds a minor enchantment," he explains. "Should you ever need me, it will guide me to you."

As you stare in awe, he gazes at you with quiet intensity. "I have lived many years, yet this is the first Valentine’s I have truly cherished. Because I spend it with you."

🦇Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia starts the day by pranking you with a questionable batch of homemade chocolates. "What? It’s the thought that counts!" he laughs as you gag.

But later, he surprises you with a beautifully played violin piece, dedicating the melody to you. "Music is the language of the heart," he says, eyes twinkling. "And my heart sings for you."

His real gift, however, is a small, enchanted music box. When opened, it plays a soft lullaby. "A tune to remind you that you are always loved," he says, patting your head fondly.

[stardustizuku]

Metaphysically speaking

Kageyama represents Furudate’s own love for the sport, and Hinata represents the people he hopes to inspire to play the sport by creating Haikyuu.

So its really poetic how it ends with Kageyama finally finding in Hinata the rival he always dreamed of. Because it means that Furudate finally touched someone’s heart enough that they’ll start to play volleyball too

Like his art has finally touched someone.

[aventurineswife]

❤ The Language of Flowers | 004

❤ | Your options shall be: Sunday, Aventurine, Dan Heng, Veritas Ratio, Boothill, Jing Yuan, Blade, or Moze. Whoever you think suits this prompt.

❤ | Flower & it's definition:  Arbutus Flower | Symbolizes love, resilience, and endurance. It can also represent the human spirit's strength, beauty, and ability to grow through suffering.

The Language of Flowers

Tags: Dan Heng x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Blade x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Fluff, Romance, Character Development, Healing, Emotional Growth, Subtle Confessions, Inner Struggles, Protective Behavior, Unspoken Bonds.

Warnings: Mild angst, Emotional intensity, Character trauma references, Slight references to past guilt, Sensitive topics (regret, self-blame), Low-key violence (in backstories).

[Part 1] | [Part 2] | [Part 3] | [Part 5] | [Part 6] | [Part 7] | [Part 8] | [Part 8.5] | [Part 9] | [Part 10] | [Part 11] | [Part 12] | [Part 13] | [Part 14] | [Part 15] | [Part 16] | [Part 17] | [Part 18] | [Part 19] | [Part 20] [Part 21]

The soothing hum of the Astral Express served as the backdrop to your shared silence with Dan Heng. He was stationed at his usual corner of the archives, a book in one hand, the other resting lightly on the desk. His expression, as always, was calm, focused—impenetrable.

You’d spent enough time aboard the Express to recognize the nuances in his demeanor, the slight tension in his jaw or the way his eyes lingered just a bit too long on the page. Today, he was quieter than usual, even for him.

Approaching cautiously, you held out the small bouquet of arbutus flowers you’d prepared earlier. Their pink blossoms seemed almost to glow in the dim light of the room.

Dan Heng looked up, his eyes narrowing slightly in curiosity. “What’s this?”

“A gift,” you replied with a gentle smile. “Arbutus flowers. They symbolize resilience, love, and endurance. I thought they suited you.”

He stared at the bouquet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he set his book aside and reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the flowers. The touch sent a faint warmth blooming in your chest.

“You think they suit me?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I do,” you said, leaning against the desk beside him. “You’ve been through so much, yet you carry yourself with such strength and grace. It’s inspiring.”

Dan Heng’s gaze flickered down to the flowers, his thumb brushing over one of the delicate petals. “I’m not sure I deserve this kind of admiration.”

“You do,” you said firmly, meeting his eyes. “And it’s not just admiration. These flowers are about love, too. That’s what I feel for you, Dan Heng. Even if you try to keep everyone at arm’s length, I’ll stay by your side.”

For a long moment, Dan Heng said nothing. Then, his lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “You have a way of breaking through walls, don’t you?”

You shrugged, trying to mask your growing blush. “It’s a talent.”

He placed the bouquet carefully beside his book, then turned to face you fully. “Thank you,” he said, his voice tinged with rare warmth. “For the flowers. And for being here.”

And in that moment, as his stoic mask softened just for you, you knew he meant every word.

The clang of metal and the hiss of steam filled the dimly lit repair bay as Boothill leaned against a workbench, inspecting the scorched edge of his mechanical arm. His sharp teeth glinted as he muttered curses under his breath, his frustration palpable.

You approached cautiously, cradling a small pot of arbutus flowers in your hands. Their pink blossoms stood in stark contrast to the cold, industrial surroundings. Boothill’s eyes flicked up as you stepped into his space.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice a low drawl.

“A little gift,” you said, holding out the pot. “Arbutus flowers. They represent resilience, endurance… and love.”

He blinked, his pupils narrowing slightly as he processed your words. “Resilience, huh? That some kinda poetic way of callin’ me stubborn?”

You rolled your eyes, setting the pot down on the workbench beside him. “Not everything is an insult, you know. I thought of you when I saw them.”

Boothill chuckled, the sound low and gravelly. “You’re too soft for a world like this, darlin’. But I ain’t complainin’. It’s nice havin’ somethin’ pretty around for a change.”

His fingers brushed over the petals, the roughness of his touch a stark contrast to their delicate beauty. “Love, though… that’s a bold word to be tossin’ around.”

You felt your cheeks heat but stood your ground. “Bold or not, it’s the truth. You’ve been through so much, Boothill, but you haven’t let it break you. That’s why I care about you.”

For a moment, Boothill was silent, his sharp-toothed grin fading into something softer, more thoughtful. “Ain’t used to hearin’ stuff like that,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “But… thanks. Means somethin’, comin’ from you.”

He reached out, pulling you gently into his side. “Guess I got somethin’ worth fightin’ for after all.”

And as the arbutus flowers sat between you, their symbolism of love and resilience felt all the more fitting.

The peaceful garden of the Cloud Knights’ barracks was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Jing Yuan, ever the picture of calm authority, sat beneath a blooming tree. You approached quietly, a small bouquet of arbutus flowers clutched in your hands.

He noticed you immediately, his eyes lighting up as a small smile graced his lips. “Ah, my favorite visitor. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You smiled shyly, holding out the bouquet. “I brought these for you. Arbutus flowers. They symbolize resilience and love.”

Jing Yuan’s expression softened further as he accepted the bouquet, his fingers brushing yours. “A lovely choice. Did you know these flowers also represent the strength of the human spirit? I suppose you see that in me.”

“I do,” you admitted, sitting beside him. “You’ve carried so much on your shoulders, Jing Yuan. Your wisdom and kindness inspire everyone around you, including me.”

He chuckled, the sound deep and warm. “You flatter me, my dear. But I must say, it’s your presence that brings me solace. These flowers pale in comparison to the beauty you bring into my life.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his words. “You always know how to make me blush, don’t you?”

“Only because it’s so delightful to see,” he teased gently, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you for these. They’ll remind me of you every time I see them.”

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself leaning into his warmth, the arbutus flowers resting in his lap as a silent testament to your growing bond.

The dim glow of a distant star illuminated the Stellaron Hunters’ ship as you approached Blade, who stood silently by the observation window. His eyes distant and thoughtful.

“Blade,” you called softly, holding out a single arbutus flower. “For you.”

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “A flower?”

“Arbutus,” you explained. “It symbolizes resilience, love, and enduring through suffering. I thought it suited you.”

Blade’s gaze lingered on the flower, his fingers brushing over the delicate petals. “A fragile thing,” he murmured, “yet it survives. Why give this to someone like me?”

“Because I see that same resilience in you,” you said, stepping closer. “You’ve been through so much, but you’re still here. And no matter how much you try to push people away, I’ll stay by your side.”

For a long moment, Blade said nothing, his grip tightening slightly on the flower. Then, almost imperceptibly, his lips curved into a faint, bittersweet smile. “You’re more stubborn than I thought.”

“And you’re softer than you let on,” you teased gently.

He chuckled, the sound low and hollow. “Perhaps. Thank you for this… reminder of beauty in a fractured world.”

As the arbutus flower rested in his hand, you couldn’t help but feel that it symbolized not just his endurance, but the fragile connection you were building, one moment at a time.

[camilledlc]

I think the fact that Careless Whisper is Vanessa and Wade's songs and Iris is Logan and Wade's is very poetic and holds a lot of meaning. Let me explain:

Careless Whisper is all about a relationship ending, the longing for this person you won't ever have again and full of regrets. It's a song about a love that will never come back ("sad good-byes", "now that you're gone", etc). I also think the song deeply explains their relationship (Vanessa/Wade) in general.

Wade is feeling very insecure about his relationship in general, knowing that he hurts Vanessa (2nd movie), that staying with her is kind of selfish but yet he doesn't want to let her go ("I feel so unsure", "there's no comfort in the truth / pain is all you find", "guilty feet"). Besides, the lyrics : "we'd hurt each other with the things we'd want to say" is very much them when Vanessa breaks up with him in DP3. Realistically, he knows that "it's better this way", because he isn't good enough for her in his mind. He hurts her and he doesn't matter enough. He knows the relationship have to end.

Yet, he is still very much desperate for her love, and can't seem to let her go, like seen in the 3rd movie. He wants her back ("Please stay", "Was what I did so wrong, so wrong / That you had to leave me alone?"), because he feels as if she's his one true love. No one has ever had him like this (shameless So High School reference). She felt like his soulmate, and losing her is losing this kind of love that you only find once in your life, it's like losing his soulmate. That's why he's "never gonna dance again / The way [he] danced with [her]". And the song adds "Never without your love", and I think it really represents his vision. He can't love again, and entirely be himself again if it isn't for/with Vanessa's love. She was the good thing in him, his one true love, and now he's wondering if he's ever gonna be able to have a love like this again ("But now, who's gonna dance with me?").

Now, Deadpool and Wolverine introduces Logan in the mix, and one of the main song in the movie is Iris. I think it represents perfectly Wade's state of mind during the movie, and his relationship with Logan. I do believe it's to be taken more from Logan's perspective, but the general theme of it is the same.

This song is a love song, yet very melancholic and tainted with sadness. It is very repetitive, and the singer already seems to know how things will play out. I think it puts us in the mindset of Wade, who had a previous relationship that seemed doomed because it would never work with who he is as a person and as a hero. He realizes that, and that a relationship with him can't last ("When everything's made to be broken", "And sooner or later, it's over"). Besides, a lots of other lyrics feels like they could refer to him feeling generally insecure about himself and who he is. He is aware that he is not necessarily a good person, he often lies to mask the truth about his feelings ("the moment of truth in your lies"). He is prompt to annoy, and attack, and doesn't mind being attacked back. He always puts himself in danger, and I think that the lyrics "you bleed just to know, you're alive" could explain why very well. And funnily enough, just before the song says : "When everything feels like the movies" and we all know that Wade knows he's in one.

So I think that we have a Wade that is deeply insecure about himself cause he knows he isn't necessarily a good person, he endangers himself and others constantly, and he can't be too surrounded by loved ones because he's gonna hurt them or put them in danger by his existence alone. He can't love and hold onto love. Yet, he wants someone to truly know who he is and to appreciate him for him ("I just want you to know who I am"). He is willing to be known by Logan during the movie, opening up to him. He always hides behind a mask, and symbolically, it's a way to keep people out. In the comics, it is even said that his scars causes him to often be left out of public spaces ; and in the first movie, he refused to go back to his girlfriend because of them, shutting her out too. Its like the lyrics : "And I don't want the world to see me / 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand", which can be read both literally because of his scars and metaphorically because of his personality, his tendencies to be 'weird' and 'annoying' as he talks and talks and breaks the fourth wall. Yet, he shows his face without a mask to Logan during the important moments, and he also shows him his true self. He wants Logan to know who he really is.

So, despite being broken down and knowing how and why his previous relationship ended, thinking that this one will have the same fate, Wade just wants to be known and seen by Logan, to be loved for who he is.

And I think Logan do, and he very much relate to the first part of the song. From his reality, he betrayed everyone he loved. He has no real home to back to, nothing to live for. This is why he is willing to give up everything to let Wade alive ("And I'd give up forever to touch you"). He wants to sacrifice himself not only because it's what hero do, but also because Wade doesn't deserve to die. Wade is the one who made him proud to wear this suit again, like shown in his flashbacks at the end ("You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be"). Then, they both go to save the world together, and they look in each other's eyes like nothing else exist ("And all I can taste is this moment / And all I can breathe is your life"). After years of being plagued by the voices of his friends, in this moment, he can't hear them anymore because all that exist is Wade and him saving the world, and his memories of Wade giving him a life again. He genuinely appreciates Wade for who he is and what is done, even staying with Wade in his universe and in his home ("And I don't wanna go home right now", "I just don't wanna miss you tonight").

In conclusion, Careless Whisper represents Wade's love for Vanessa, and how despite them having to break up, he never thought he could love someone else again. Yet, with Iris, we know that Wade is still insecure and unsure about it all, but is willing to open up for love again, to be loved by Logan.

(And last detail because i really wanted to include it but it was already very long, I like how the sentence "And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming" reflects how Wade was never really letting himself live truthfully. He never completely acknowledged his own emotions, and so he was spiralling and battling within himself but never could get out of this as long as he wasn't truthful about his feelings towards his need to matter. But in the end, eventually, he realizes that he matters, and there are no more tears to fight).

[strawberry-bubblef]

Any head canons for Yuu!Reader celebrating the Spring Equinox in TWST? (Brownie points for some Rook centred ones because I love him)

Rook Hunt celebrating spring equinox

It started as a passing thought. A vague curiosity about how the Spring Equinox was celebrated in Twisted Wonderland, if at all. You hadn’t expected anyone to take notice of it,certainly not Rook Hunt, who had an uncanny ability to overhear even the most casual musings.

"You wish to celebrate the equinox, trésor?" he had asked one day, his expression positively alight with excitement. "Ah, but of course! The moment where day and night stand as equals, where nature dances on the edge of rebirth,quelle merveille! Such an occasion cannot be ignored!"

And just like that, the decision was no longer yours to make.

The morning of the equinox, you awoke to find a handwritten note slipped beneath your door, penned in the familiar, flourishing script of Rook Hunt:

"Le temps est venu, petit trésor! Venture forth into the woods beyond Pomefiore, where the first light of spring kisses the earth! Follow the path where the violets bloom, and let your hunter’s heart guide you to our sacred celebration!"

It was far too early for this level of poetic enthusiasm, but you knew better than to question it.

With a sigh (and a hurried breakfast), you made your way to the outskirts of Pomefiore’s forest. True to his words, a delicate trail of violet flowers wove through the underbrush, leading you deeper beneath the canopy. The air was crisp with the last breath of winter, yet softened by the promise of spring,the scent of damp earth, of new blossoms just beginning to stir.

And then, through the trees, you spotted him.

Rook stood in a clearing bathed in golden morning light, arms wide as if welcoming the entire season itself. A woven garland of fresh greenery and flowers crowned his head, and a matching one lay waiting atop a cloth-draped picnic spread.

"Ah, merveilleux! You have arrived!" He gestured dramatically to the clearing, as if presenting you with a stage upon which to embrace the season. "Behold,the heart of nature in all her resplendence! Today, we revel in the turning of the wheel, the eternal balance between dark and light!"

You had so many questions,how had he set all this up? When did he have time to prepare? Did he personally weave these flower crowns?? But questioning Rook was an exercise in futility, so instead, you let yourself be drawn into his carefully crafted world.

He presented you with the garland, setting it atop your head with a look of absolute satisfaction. "Parfait! Now you bear the mark of the season,one with the forest, a herald of the equinox!"

The picnic he had arranged was immaculate. A spread of fresh fruits, warm bread drizzled with honey, and delicate floral teas that tasted like spring itself. Every item, he explained, was chosen to represent renewal,the sweetness of new beginnings, the warmth of life returning to the earth.

"You see, mon cher," he mused, sipping his tea, "spring is more than a mere change in weather. It is a promise. The world shakes off the slumber of winter and dares to begin anew. Tell me,what does your heart long for in this season of rebirth?"

You hesitated. It wasn’t an easy question, not when he was watching you with such rapt attention, as if your answer would be the most profound thing he had ever heard.

A new beginning. What did that even mean for you?

Sensing your uncertainty, Rook only smiled. "Ah, but you do not need to answer now! The hunter does not always know their prize at the start of the chase. We follow, we observe, and in time, we uncover what was hidden in the underbrush of our hearts."

And with that, he announced it was time for "la chasse au renouveau"*The Hunt for Renewal.

He disappeared into the trees with all the ease of a creature born of the forest, leaving behind only cryptic clues written on slips of parchment, tucked beneath moss-covered stones and nestled in the crooks of branches.

Each one led you to a small token,symbols of the season, he said. A delicate feather, caught between the thorns of a budding rosebush. A polished stone, smoothed by the passage of time. A sprig of lavender, fragrant and fresh.

By the time you had gathered them all, the sun was beginning its descent, stretching golden fingers through the trees. Rook reappeared as suddenly as he had vanished, smiling as he examined your findings.

"Magnifique! You have hunted well, trésor!" He arranged the items before you with the reverence of a man placing treasures upon an altar. "Each of these is a fragment of spring’s promise,a whisper of change, waiting to unfold."

And then, just as the last light of day began to fade, he produced one final gift,a small lantern, flickering with a gentle, golden glow.

"A final offering," he murmured, passing it to you with uncharacteristic softness. "A light to guide you into this new season."

You held it carefully, watching as the flame danced behind the glass.

For all of Rook’s dramatic flair, there was something undeniably earnest in his actions. He had taken your curiosity,something fleeting, something uncertain and turned it into something meaningful. A moment not just of celebration, but of reflection.

You sat there beneath the evening sky, surrounded by the hum of the forest waking to spring, the scent of blooming flowers lingering in the air. Rook sat beside you, humming softly to himself, as if utterly content in the quiet.

And as you watched the lantern’s glow flicker against the darkening sky, you realized.

Perhaps this was the perfect way to welcome spring, after all.

English is not my first language

[strawberryforks]

ignorance isn’t always bliss pt. 2 // not a tim bradford x reader…

warnings: swearing (probably), cheating, drinking, pregnancy? i dunno

a/n: so sorry this part took so long, your girl has had a LETHAL case of writer’s block. a second apology for those who expected the pairing to stay the same—i do not condone cheating and forgiveness is not a virtue i seem to possess in writing. still, hopefully you enjoy! a third and final apology 🙈🙈 (i’m on a roll guys) because this isn’t edited so there might be some mistakes

tagged: @mimisweetz @ivet4 @haleyjamesscott12 @hellishbimbo @capswife

When your dad gave Tim Bradford the day off, you better bet he paid you the same courtesy.

You were given the rest of the day off—the week, had you wanted it. You didn’t want to take time off work but… it was necessary. Sure, you could have endured; dealt with the whispered gossip: “Tim and Y/n are divorcing,” yes, yes you were, the papers were waiting on his desk, sat there by your father, but hearing it spoken aloud? It hurt, especially when no one seemed to know the full story and you weren’t as forthcoming with it as, maybe, you should’ve been.

“Did you hear that L/n assaulted Chen?”

You keep walking, eyes downcast, as you make your way over to your locker. You’re so, so, grateful that your family-name was important enough to you that when you married, you kept it.

Tim could take your heart; take it and tear it to pieces, he could take your friend, your dreams, but the one thing he could not steal from you was your name. That was yours and yours alone.

And never had you been more grateful to not be permanently tied to his - the Bradford name. Something that once, you thought represented integrity, honesty, strength. Something that now represented lies, betrayal, and infidelity.

“You don’t need to leave,” said Sergeant Grey. He knew you well and was one of the few who had heard the full story—watched it build, too. He was there for it all: when you and Tim met, when you… when he… it was all too painful to think about.

You shake your head. Let it fall, your chin tucking to your chest, moisture building in your eyes “I can’t do it, Grey.”

You didn’t take the week off when it was offered.

You quit.

“You shouldn’t have to leave because of something he did to you. Tim can find—“

“It’s not as simple as picking sides in the divorce, Grey, though it’s good to know you’re on mine. It’s a matter of you losing one cop or two. I can’t work with either of them—I won’t do it to myself. Come to the station everyday to see him and wonder why I wasn’t enough. To see her and wonder how little our friendship meant to her… I… I’m sorry but my decision is final.”

“I thought you might say that,” Grey procures an envelope and hands it to you. You tilt your head slightly in confusion, “a letter of recommendation. And I’ll make some calls too, if you still want to stay in LA. Let me know where and… don’t be a stranger. You have mine and Luna’s number. Use them.”

“Yes sir,”

You fill a cardboard box full of your belongings and take them to the car. That’s it, that’s really it, your entire career in the LAPD, all fitting in a box.

It’s as sad as it is poetic - that after all that, everything you had to show for your work and sacrifice could be upended. Moved.

Later that night, you’re sitting on a stool at a local bar. Bright strobe lights land on your back, the bartender in front of you is busy, moving back and forth, tending to dozens of patrons as timely as possible. You startle when John Nolan slides onto the seat next to you—you hadn’t expected to see him here. His eyes are soft, flooded with sympathy and he looks at the two drinks sitting in front of you–one cup full, the other half empty–like they’re a bomb, one that’s active tick, tick, tick, and causes him to straighten up.

“Y/n,” he says softly, large palm landing on your shoulder, steering you away from the counter.

You think maybe he’ll tackle you.

Then you remember you’re pregnant (#hewon’t)

“I know you’re having a bad day. Maybe, the worst day you’ve ever had, but this–”

“You don’t need to talk me down, John. I’m not a terrorist. I’m also not standing on a ledge,”

He looks from you to the drinks. “Aren’t you, though?”

Oh. Oh. You laugh, reach out and grab one. When you have a glass in each hands you hold them out to him–he takes them from you, and goes to sit them on the counter far away from your reach. No, no. You weren’t surrendering contraband. You chuckle, “No, John.” You tell him, “take a sip. That one first,”

John Nolan frowns but follows your instructions, as after all, who is he to deny the freshly-cheated-on-pregnant lady? He sips the half drunk one first and all but melts in relief when he tastes: “It’s water.”

“It’s water,” you confirm. “Now try that one. Let me live vicariously through you.”

He looks nervous but takes a sip. Then his mouth screws up. He swallows and shakes his head, “not water,” he pants, still recovering from the straight vodka he just gulped down. “So you were just, what?”

You shrug. “Hoping the placebo effect would kick in? All these drunk carefree people around me, alcohol in a glass in front of me. I was hoping I could trick myself into forgetting. Into having a good time, smiling, maybe.”

“Don’t let anyone stop you from smiling, L/n. That’d be a tragedy.”

“Oh yeah?”

Completely serious, he nods.

That’s the first night you spend with John.

Many more follow.

Night two happens a few days later when he realises you’ve officially quit. He stops by the motel room you’re staying in—Grey pointed him in the right direction—and asks why. “Well,” you say, “my dad offered that I could move back into my old room and my brothers were all very supportive of that plan but it felt like moving backwards and I’ve taken enough steps in that direction lately. Lost my husband, my best friend, my job. I couldn’t lose my independence too. I’d feel like a failure.” You correct yourself: “I’d feel like more of a failure.”

John plops down onto the end of the mattress and winces when he barely bounces. He would have sat in a chair but there was none and he would’ve stood but then his presence would feel temporary and he didn’t want you to think he was in a rush. He didn’t want you to think another one of the people in your life was eager to leave because, well, he wasn’t. “This is comfortable,” John quips and you roll your eyes, sitting next to him.

“Tell me about it. My back hurts just looking at it,” you groan.

“How much are they charging you, anyways?”

You aren’t employed right now and renting isn’t cheap–whether it’s a house or a room, he’s familiar. You sigh, “$100 a night. It’s the cheapest place that came without built-in bed bugs or a slum-lord I could find”

“And you can afford that?”

You give your best non-answer: “I’m managing.”

John’s frowning and just as you go to reassure him–to tell him it’s all okay, he blurts: “You’re pregnant.”

You laugh and look down at the bump that isn’t visible yet. “I know, John.”

“You’re pregnant,” he continues, “and I have a spare room. You shouldn’t be sleeping somewhere like this but you should be saving your money for when the baby comes. You can stay with me.”

“Why would that be any different than me moving back in with my parents? My independence is important to me.”

“And I would never take that from you. I could use a roommate. All I’d ask is that you cook sometimes. I’m an awful cook.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he confirms.

Night three, four, five, ten, twenty, and thirty go quickly. John and you grow closer, to the point you’re shooting him texts while he’s at work, about an odd craving you have. To the point that after his shift, he’s barrelling through the door, finding you curled up on the sofa watching a movie, and handing you the pint of Ben & Jerry’s and the Bread & Butter sweet pickles you requested. He still winces when you mix the two, using the pickle slice as a scoop, but he doesn’t actually care that much because he’s back in his civvy clothes, grabbing his own blanket, and settling down next to you. “What are we watching?”

“Shitty rom-com,” you garble, mouth half full of icecream and pickles.

Ten minutes later and you’re chasing him with your snack-concoction. “Try some,” you whine. “It’s so good!”

John tells you no. Absolutely not. Then, barely a minute later he’s wincing because the flavours mix but they don’t. He’s shaking his head at himself because he can’t believe he’s doing this but then he’s looking down at you and of course he can. He’s doing it for you, for that beautiful smile that he loves to be the reason for.

Sometimes you find yourself slipping into old habits. Ruffling his hair, hugging him before you waddle to your room to turn in for the night. Sometimes, John plays the part of the husband you don’t have anymore. Sometimes, you feel so guilty about it you cry. Those nights he always makes it worse. You apologize, blubbering, crying, and he holds you. “You’re no bother, Y/n/n. I love having you here with me,” I love you (that remains unsaid but it’s there. In the air, in the space between the both of you that’s empty but so full)

When you have your baby Tim isn’t there in the delivery room with you but John is. You hesitate before deciding to leave the ‘father’ space blank on your baby girl’s birth certificate. You know that she isn’t John’s but more than that, she isn’t Tim’s. You tell him this–you tell him you’ll fight for sole custody if you have to and knowing that you have the support of the department he agrees to what you’ll give him. He agrees to be what you need him to (nevermind that you don’t need him anymore; nevermind that he never wanted to be a dad in the first place, never wanted a daughter)

John steps up (you knew he would)

He had Henry and knew how all of this went. The sleepless nights he was ready for and he never complained. Your daughter loved him so much - sometimes you thought she loved him more than you but you never lingered on that thought too long - you understood. You could relate.

John was a boundaries-man. He never crossed yours and anything questionable that he did, he always made sure to ask. That was why after your little girl was in bed, sleeping soundly, John leaned in to kiss your forehead. That was normal, that was predicted. Safe. What wasn’t, was when you looked up at him, quite suddenly. It was your turn to ask him something. To find out whether how you had been feeling for the past month was fantasy or reality–returned or unrequited. “John?” you asked, heart beating quick, breaths matching.

“Yeah, Y/n?”

“Can I kiss you?”

And of course he said yes.

[red-talkin-graves]

I don't know how to put it into words properly right now but I think there's something very poetic about the narrator and LQ both being represented by a crow or raven.

A man so desperate to prevent the end, so afraid of death that he'd prefer a world without change, is seen as a symbol of that very death he feared. On the other side of the same coin, the being he crafted to kill death is also very similar to a crow or raven. Both the creator of the construct and his chosen champion of eternity appear as symbols of death, and the "death itself" they've been set to defeat looks like just a princess. A normal human, an ordinary person, a consistent and everyday part of life.

Something about bringing about a world absent of death or change being a form of killing that world in itself, becoming the reaper you tried to defeat. Kill her and you've "saved" the world from death, but will always live as a representation of it.

[calamaroo]

Hearing A Noise! Professor Atka Sergei Natquik ====================

Grrrrrrrrrr, I love him sm grrrrrrrrr

Natquik : His design has changed a hundred times through my time drawing Octonauts, and at first he was albino, then he wasn't, then he was again, and so and so on. But the more I thought of it, I didn't like his design, although I did enjoy the albinism part, so it stuck around to be strictly "Ocular Albinism," which only affects the eyes and is consistent with his species, because Arctix foxes have poor eyesight. He wears snow goggles most of the time to help his eyes out (it's what he's holding in the artwork).

I also thought about how I was going by "their skintone represents their fur/animal skin" so I finally decided I'd make him a grey-ish dark hue to match Peso and Barnacles (and the other bears). I just made everything a little more de saturated, and I finally got an outcome that I love! He is adorable and baby and itty bitty and old and a sweet heart <33

Now for a bit of LORE because he's honestly one of my favorite characters, and I have yet to talk about his lore :

He is of mixed Russian and Chuckchi (Siberian Natives, technically different from Inuit but similar) blood, Chuckchi on his mother's side, and Russian on his father's. He speaks both languages fluently, along with English, but when alone or with the bears/close friends (Octo-Dads included), he prefers his native tongues. His Native name, "Atka," means "guardian spirit," and his Russian name, "Sergei," means "protector." His parents (and me) thought it would be a poetic touch to be promised protection and the strength to protect others in both of his cultures.

In his youth (16-19) years, he lives isolated in the Siberian tundra with his parents and siblings, but he has always enjoyed exploring the farther reaches of his homeland. So, while wandering one day, he came across a group of explorers from England, and during their stay, they taught him English and sparked his interest in a life beyond the Arctic. So, at 19, he traveled back to England with the explorers and went to college to become a professor [he used to be more in touch with the explorers, but now they have all gone]. After that was when he returned to the Arctic and became the Polar Bear Scouts Leader and taught Barns and the other bears until he quit (shortly after Tracker joined, and when Barns was 16) and vanished without a trace. Barns, of course, was extremely upset, but Natquik, seeing him as a son-figure, left him a note explaining that "why I left is not your fault, but just know that I will be fine and that I will always miss you."

Why he left only he knows, even to the modern day. Barns wants to ask, but because of how modern-day Natquik has.... kinda lost it (isolation for 30 years will do that you) he doesn't for fearing of breaking Natquik more. In the present day [60 years old], Natquik is paranoid, skittish, and prone to panic attacks, but well-meaning, cheery, and ready to help. He loves his new job as an Ocotagent but worries himself sick he's doing it all wrong (again, he forgot how to socialize. It was isolation's fault).

He prefers his alone time and personal space while having no sense of it for others. He's clingy, especially with loved ones (ships and canon relationships), and calls Barnacles nearly every night just to talk. It keeps him sane.

This was all very headcanon-y and self-indulgent, but I'm having fun and doing my best to stick to canon personalities, albeit with a bit of offscreen ✨️flavor.✨️

====================

@snowy-yoshi figured I'd mention you because you like the Professor, too ^-^

Of course, I'd get my spark for art back right as friggin' school is about to start back up again 💀

[windvexer]

Using Tarot to Identify: a Person From a Small Group [1/2]

Any tarot card can be assigned a variety of indicators that help identify a single person. Most commonly the court cards are used, but old-school methods (such as assigning specific appearance traits, like gender presentation, race, and hair color) may fall flat.

Instead, you can develop and assign your own indicators according to your reading preferences, and the situation at hand.

Suppose you need to identify one person out of a small pool, such as a group of friends. What information would allow you to single out one from the rest?

If all of your friends are equestrians, it's useless to have indicators for athletic, loves animals, likes the outdoors.

What differentiates them? Maybe some of your friends compete, and others just enjoy trail riding. Indicators for competitive; victory and relaxed; nature might be helpful.

Each tarot card has the potential to carry vast amounts of meaning. For any reading, you must identify the relevant meanings to the question, and discard the rest.

This is true also for identifiers. Suppose we think the Knight/Pentacles relates to an outdoorsy nature and connection to animals. A useless card to identify a single equestrian friend. Therefore, those meanings are irrelevant and should not be included in the reading.

Instead, we can focus on other indicators which do not apply to all friends. The Knight/Pentacles can also refer to a very responsible person, someone who is steadfast and slow to act, or someone set in their ways and uninterested in new ideas.

Here we may begin to have indicators which can actually begin pointing to individuals; Kori is very responsible, but so focused on getting every detail right that she barely meets deadlines to sign up for competitions, and refuses to change her ways.

In order to help gather this information, focus on the way you frame your questions, and what spreads you use.

"Who is going to win the next competition" is a weak question, in that it lacks a support structure to hold desired answers. Craft questions in such a way that they are the perfect mold to cup the jiggly jello of the answers you desire.

You must craft your questions to support your reading style, and what makes sense to you.

Does using personality indicators make a lot more sense to you than physical traits? Frame your questions that way.

"Of our friend group, describe the personality of the person who will win the competition." There we go - a solid support structure to encapsulate the exact sort of information you desire.

Be creative. Brainstorm ahead of time and think about what traits make sense to work with, and assign them in a balanced way to the cards you want to use.

Here is where playing with the structures of tarot can be useful. Do all King cards represent authority in some manner, whether legitimate or otherwise? Maybe all Page cards relate to how the person sees and interacts with the world; Page/Swords can be an observant learner, while Page/Pentacles is someone who must learn through hands-on experience, and values experiences highly.

Then you can start to get somewhere.

The winner of the next competition will be an emotional, poetic person (Page/Cups) who must do things for themselves in order to learn (Page/Pentacles) and always helps others with understanding manual tasks (Queen/Pentacles).

This is perhaps someone you can identify, especially when you apply other techniques of tarot. (Two Pages - maybe they come off as innocent or naive, despite their developed knowledge of horses. Two Pentacles - they are probably very down-to-earth and invested in a hands-on career or trade school, they would never just sit behind a desk doing spreadsheets).

The key here is being crafty with your card meanings, and making sure they align to your reading style.

Suppose that you need to identify someone out of a huge pool, such as someone's future husband.

Here the game changes.

Read about it in part 2.

[transient-winds]

The conclusion of the Noroshi arc has finally arrived! Way to go Bofurin and allies 🥹🙌!!

Spoilers for Wind Breaker Chapters 157 and Chapter 158 ahead! (with additional doodles as an apology for not posting last time, exams was kicking my ass i fear)

Crazy how this whole arc happened in around or in less than 12 hours and I was so ready for it to end on 157 but I should’ve know Takiishi was too stubborn to be knocked out so easily.

GAHHH I have so much to say about the symbolisms in these two chapters.

So first of all, the “Umemiya’s will to change Furin is akin to forging metal” analogy from Endo (Chapter 153) comes back in 157, but now it’s being used in the context of Takiishi. The metal (Takiishi) is finally hot enough to be malleable for potential change and its evident with his new found interest in the rain. Throughout most of Takiishi’s life, he has remained static. He gets what he wants, when he wants and how he wants it. If he doesn’t like it, he gets rid of it. There had been little else that has ever made a significant impact or changes in his life, then he meets Endo and Umemiya—

—both becoming the faces of his perception on the types of people that exist in his life. Then, Umemiya takes it a step further and becomes the catalyst to a (much needed) change in perspective for Takiishi. In my opinion, Takiishi liking the rain can be symbolic of two things:

(1) the rain or more specifically water in Buddhism symbolizes purity, clarity and calmness. Think back to how hellish and messy Takiishi’s mindscape was like in Chapter 153, it had been full of all his interests (notice the fireworks in the bkgd? he said he likes fireworks in 158) and how he perceives things from the outside world. Takiishi starting to like rain means he’s introducing rain to his mindscape, and I can only assume it helps clean up that horder’s wet dream of a place. That is to say, he’s allowing himself to be cleaned from the impurities and bring serenity into his life.

and (2) it represents Takiishi reaching Nirvana (or something similar to it). Now, to most people this probably came out my ass but hear me out: nirvana literally means “to blow out (a light/fire)” or in other words “to extinguish” and as a concept in Buddhism, its a state in which one extinguishes the three posions (i.e. greed, hatred and ignorance) from their life and reaches enlightenment. AND THE TITLE OF CHAPTER 158 IS “The Great Fires of Extinction*”. *smacks my scrub-down board* DO YOU SEE THE CONNECTION RN? TELL ME IM NOT CRAZY FOR THINKING THIS. What I’m getting at is Umemiya was able to help in quelling the poisonous flames of Takiishi’s heart and guided him to self-betterment JUST LIKE THE DUTIES OF FUDO MYO-O AND EXACTLY LIKE HOW BUDDHA CONVERTED THE EIGHT LEGIONS TO BUDDHISM. (Sorry for the capslock im just *gestures wildly* excited)

*note: my delulu brain made the connection between extinction and extinguish because they both refer to the removal of something. (update: etymologically, they both orginated from the same latin word extinguere / lit. destroy or put out)

By the end of this arc, Takiishi has changed significantly and, as much as I hate to say this, but I agree with Endo on this being a beautiful fight. It had been a long time coming for both parties but it had been a necessary conversation to kickstart a new beginning for Takiishi like a rebirth of sorts (+ it allowed Endo and Sakura to gain perspective on people, their complexities and for the latter the responsibilities of being top dog). Wish it didn’t have to end in the rooftop and the town becoming a mess, but oh well, we can’t have everything.

I love love LOVE how Nii-sensei writes Umemiya. His role as a guide and protector to both his people and his enemies is so fucking beautiful and poetic, my words won’t do it justice. In my heart, I see it as him stepping up to be the big brother figure he was always meant to be—had the accident not happened, he would’ve been the best one in the world.

“There’s nothing more fascinating than people.” AGREED KING, SPEAK YOUR TRUTH. I

NOW FOR MY SILLY YAPPING!

UmeEndo conversation really shines in 158 and I’m living for it. I get you UmeEndo shippers, I get you. Endo’s so fucking weirded out by Ume’s optimism and genuineness, I genuinely love how uncomfortable he gets. I’m framing the faces he made in this chapter. Oh how the turns have tabled, you absolute goof.

I already said this once to a friend but I’ll only say it one more time, but I’m genuinely happy for Endo. He has stuck onto Takiishi like a leech without any expectation for the latter’s reciprocation and it was kind of pitiful watching him dance around Takiishi like an annoying chihuahua. Now that Takiishi has officially and verbally acknowledged him, it was heart warming…I guess. I'll let him ride this high with a follow up sketch I'll share here later.

–

Despite no sunrise panel, I think it was appropriate for this arc to end in a downpour. It’s fitting like a forest fire dying down from the rain to replenish the earth and grow anew with all the nutrients from the ash remains of the forest (shoutout to Ales for her EndoChikaUme being Fuel, Fire and Ash post, im kissing your brain rn). Overall, very happy with the conclusion of the Noroshi arc and I’m happily dancing to Happy Xmas (War is Over) by the Plastic Ono. All the love to Nii-sensei and everyone in the official English translation staff for literally the best arc so far in the manga. And thanks for reading ‘til the end of this post. ^^

[ninamodaffari]

concept artist waxing poetic about the machine herald redesign under spoiler cuts

genuinely I know a lot of people aren't a fan of the redesign b/c it is a departure from his lol form, but as a concept artist I FUCKING LOVE THIS DESIGN. I think his LoL form, as fun and awesome as it is (i do love it too!) would have looked out of place in the show. from what we've seen, the arcane, it's corruption, is almost this...celestial cosmic horror? and so his new design reflects that

i know the term 'biblically accurate angel' is overused here but that is the first thing that came to mind. not only with the halo formed of runes (and stars) but the face - *his* face being split in two, eyes closed. a schism, as he's always been. humanity vs 'progress', creation and destruction, life and death. it looks as if his new head, his 'eyes' are emerging from a shell of his former self, the eyes are located higher, almost as if he's 'seeing through his mind's eye'. his crown is formed of gilded, twisted gold, almost like demonic horns but contrasted against the halo? fallen angel vibes for sure.

(also ha ha, he cut through the door in the same shape as his new head)

but seriously. he's terrifying and beautiful. awful. pure, terrible grace and beauty and ascension and so not viktor. the complete opposite of what we've seen, and yet so terribly fitting.

also, relating back to the tarot card we saw in season 1, viktor as the magician...

'The Magician has one hand pointing to the sky and one hand pointing to the ground. '

'The wand held by The Magician is an illustration of his balanced pose. The wand is two identical poles joined together to form a perfect union.'

'Red is the color of passion and energy. It is the lifeblood that drives The Magician to create. The red robe roots The Magician in their emotion and reminds the reader to be passionate about whatever project they are trying to manifest.'

'Above The Magician’s head hovers the infinity symbol. Like a halo, the infinity symbol represents The Magician’s wisdom and holiness. '

i'm just saying. so much fucking thought went into this. I adore the design, I think it's extremely fitting and something I can only dream of coming up with.