This Is BEAUTIFUL - Blog Posts
a place you call home.
insta: @windsaor
forgot to post Mizu from couple of months ago here!! she was also in drafts for lloooonnggg
PLAYABLE HARDING????? IN *MY* DRAGON AGE??????????? LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOO
hello!! i'm pretty shy so i'm req this on anon!! could you please make hyacine themed replycons ?
Hyacine replycons !!
f2u,, creds not needed but appreciated ^^ psd creds: me
higher quality of top replycon bc tumblr hates me: 🎀
blank ver. (font: Lucy said ok):
͓ ̼͜ ͝͏🐑 ྀི͜ 𓈒ֺּׅ𓏽ཾ 𝅄 The Gentle Lamb's Work𓈒𓈒 ۪ ۪‿ ྀི
‿̩͙ 𓇼ུཾ ۪ ׂ. 🍙𓈒⠀ᣟ replycon dialogue box ۪ ۪ ۪ ˚̣̣̣ഒ
𓏸𓈒 ָ࣪ 𑁍 ཻུ۪ ◟𝇄𝇃🔪་། reblog &&. credit 02 use only𓈒𓈒
◟ ͜ ◜₊ ͡ ꒢ ׅ❀͚፞ ੈ˚ֺ ۪ strictly do not repost𓈒𓈒𓈒 ꒰𓏼◞ ˕ །†꒱
may this crybaby magician ask 04 a promo ?
@cartethiya ♡、 @hwizou、 @hauntingmizi、 @lovestis、 @discardead、 @mwilkshke、 @chuupaws、 @nemuurin、 @pupytrail、 @pueriled、 @fumechu、 @xxrosemixx、 @princesstwotime 、 @stomachbooks、 @aaaqil、 @stitched-n-sewn、 @sweetnusshoyo、 @shihyrun、 @kwunibun、 @bandagewastern、 @nomkiwi、 @fluffettis、 @jeanryt、 @phaexie、 @infectedrpd、 @vitalityharmonia、 @docele、 @favouritekiss、 @rwottenbunnie。 (dm 04 removal.. sorry 04 tagging so many ppl 😭)
I don't want to regret the way I lived
Captivated by the idea of Nico dying in the second war. He just fully fades out, his body turning into shadows before everyone's eyes, and no one knows what to do about it. Hazel is shotgunned back to the US aboard the Argo II and no one knows what to say to her when it's all over.
She sobs.
She screams.
Jason is devastated while Frank holds his girlfriend, trying to hold back his own tears to soothe her as she wails. Annabeth's skin is cold. She and Nico weren't close but she cared for him.
It's Percy's reaction, though, that shocks everyone.
Grover understands. Annabeth understands.
They understand why the ground shakes beneath their feet. They understand why the ocean froths. They understand why his eyes are a storm. They understand why the sky thunders and pours rain. They understand the hurricane he summons.
They understand when he disappears.
Percy hunts down Thanatos, grabs him by the throat, and chains him down to the bottom of the ocean. He storms through the lobby and bats Charon away. The Styx parts at his command, fighting against him more violently than the Lethe did, fighting against him more violently than it did when he sank into it willingly. But he runs across the black sand, the dessicated souls, the shark ridges of bones, and it doesn't touch him once.
Nico startles at his father's side when Percy barges in, fighting off Furies and Cerberus. His ghostly frame shudders, glitching like a freeze-frame of his last moments. Percy doesn't even hesitate when he sees him.
They try to stop him. Hades shouts orders, shouts about rules, about decisions. Nico tries to pull himself out of Percy's grasp. He tries to say he's fine.
Percy doesn't listen. He fights through hoards of ghosts, skeletons, monsters and gods. He runs across grass, across sand, across rivers. Hades never leaves his eyeline. By the time he makes it across the Styx, Riptide is covered in ichor. He can feel Hades grabbing at the back of his shirt. His clothes are torn, his body is slashed and bruised. His muscles burn. His bones protest.
But he won't stop running. It's not until he's passed the door, when the sun is staring down at him, when the sky is blue and clear, when the air is warm and fresh, when Nico is breathing loud and clear in his ears, that he stops.
That he crumbles to his knees and holds him firm and close.
Blackjack huffs loudly nearby but Percy can't hear it. Can't hear Hades shouting at him. Can't hear Nico's complaints. Just the loud soar of relief in his thoughts, his mind finally clear. His hands are pressed to Nico's wrist, his fingers seeking a pulse that beats steady under his touch.
He exhales solidly and drags Nico, alive, alive, alive, alive, onto Blackjack's back. Ignores the stern look his uncle gives him. Ignores Nico's frustrated words. Just loops his arm around his waist and disappears into the clouds. Somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, he can feel Death being unshackled but he doesn't care.
Nico is alive.
That's all that matters.
Awwwww!!!! This is so CUTEEEEEE-
A drawing make with the watercolor !!! (I try ….)
Dream and Nightmare (Dreamtale ) belong @jokublog
my part of @shlzine 💞✨💖🌟
“There will come a ruler, whose brow is laid in thorn
Smeared with oils like David’s boy, oh Lei oh Lai oh Lord”
kotlc inspired soldier poet king, I thought Sophie fit this the best haha let me know if I should make the other two
Hey dudes,
Just wanted to wish everyone a happy-
Hello Jon,
Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself.
I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. (slightly strained) I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.
Now, shall we turn the page and try again?
Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist.
Statement begins.
I hope you’ll forgive me the self-indulgence, but I have worked so very hard for this moment, a culmination of two centuries of work. It’s rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can’t tell me you’re not curious.
Why does a man seek to destroy the world?
It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality and power. Uninspired, perhaps, but – my god. The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness, to place yourself beyond pain and death and fear.
It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, John, the freedom of it all. I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction in that choice.
I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die.
I believe there are far more people in this world that would take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.
Of course, this desire did not manifest overnight. When Smirke first gathered our little band – Lukas, Scott, and the rest – to discuss and hypothesize on the nature of the things he had learned from Rayner, I felt what I believe we all felt: curiosity, and fear.
But as he compiled his taxonomy and codified his theories on the grand rituals, I began to develop a very specific concern. Smirke was so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of our patrons.
I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world.
At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment soon became a race.
Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?
I convinced Smirke to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked.
It. Took. Years, for the dread of the prisoners to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man before I made my first attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, sat in the center of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet.
It was… flawed, of course, as all Smirke’s rituals were, and none of the inmates survived as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was built consumed it.
But it left me a gift: For sat in that watchtower, I could see everything I turned my mind to.
It was a dizzying power, and one I discovered I maintained even as I found vessels to extend my life. Of course, I had to make sure the location was kept under my control while I worked on revising my plans, and so I moved the organization I had founded to assist in my research down to London, and the Institute as you know it was born.
I’ll not bore you with details of my bodies and failures through those intervening years. Suffice to say I kept busy, both planning my own next attempt, and doing my best to stymie those others who tried versions of their own.
Surely my interpretation of the Watcher’s Crown had been incomplete; there had been some element of the ritual I had overlooked.
It was not until I met Gertrude Robinson that things began to really come into focus.
You see, the role of Archivist has been part of the Beholding for as far back as my research can go. This isn’t uncommon for the Powers; most of the beliefs around them are guesswork and fallible human interpretation, but there are certain throughlines and consistencies that can be spotted, regardless of the trappings.
But Gertrude was unlike any other Archivist. She simply did not care about compiling experiences or collecting the fears of others. She was driven to stop those who served the Powers.
More than once I thought she must secretly be of the Hunt – but there was never that sick joy in her, that thrill of predator and prey. She had simply decided that this was her position in life, and went about it with a practicality that even I found disconcerting at times.
I once asked her what drove her, what had started her down that path. She told me the Desolation had killed her cat.
I don’t know if she was joking, and, to be honest, I could never bring myself to look into her mind and find out for sure.
In any case, Gertrude’s ruthless efficiency in derailing and collapsing rituals threw into stark relief a question that had been bothering me for almost a hundred and fifty years: In the whole span of humanity, why had nobody ever succeeded?
Perhaps there were a long line of Gertrude Robinsons throughout history, but I found that hard to credit. Could it be, then, that there was something in the very concept of the rituals that meant they couldn’t succeed?
She was clearly having similar thoughts in that last year, all of which culminated with the People’s Church.
When I saw that she was making no preparations whatsoever to stop it, I realized she was putting into practice a theory, and one she couldn’t afford to be wrong. She was going to wait, and see if the unopposed ritual succeeded, or if it collapsed under its own strain as mine had all those years ago.
Knowing Gertrude, I’m sure she had a backup plan if she had miscalculated – but she had not. The ritual failed. And all at once, I realized what had to be done.
You see, the thing about the Fears is that they can never be truly separated from each other. When does the fear of sudden violence transition into the fear of hunted prey? When does the mask of the Stranger become the deception of the Spiral?
Even those that seem to exist in direct opposition rely on each other for their definition as much as up relies on down.
To try and create a world with only the Buried makes as much sense as trying to conceive a world with only down.
Every ritual tied itself so closely to a single power as to render itself impossible. They could bring their patron close, but never sever it from the others, and eventually it would be violently pulled back into the place next to reality where they dwell.
The solution, then, is simple: A new ritual must be devised which will bring through all the Powers at once. All fourteen, as I had hoped I could complete it before any new powers such as Extinction were able to fully emerge. All under the Eye’s auspices, of course. We mustn’t forget our roots.
And there was only one being that could possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: The Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to Gertrude’s ill-timed retirement plans.
Because the thing about the Archivist is that – well, it’s a bit of a misnomer.-
It might, perhaps, be better named: The Archive.
Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, John. You are a record of fear, both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you.
You are a living chronicle of terror.
Perhaps, then, if I could find an Archivist and have each Power mark them, have them confront each one and each in turn instill in them a powerful and acute fear for their life, they could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom.
Do you see where I’m going, John?
It does tickle me, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck.
I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but My God, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was.
Of course, I had to bide my time, get a measure of you before I began to push, learn how you worked – So I decided I would wait until something came for you, and see how you reacted. Attacks upon the Archives were not uncommon during Gertrude’s tenure, and, while she was always prepared, I made sure you would not be.
I reasoned if you couldn’t survive a single encounter, you were unlikely to make it through all fourteen. So, when Jane Prentiss attacked, I watched eagerly, one hand on the gas release from the start.
You acquitted yourself well enough, so I decided to see how far you would get, though I waited until the worms were in you before I pulled the lever. I needed to make sure you felt that fear all the way to your bones.
The discovery that one of the Stranger’s minions had infiltrated the Institute in the aftermath was certainly a pleasant bonus. Even if that sliver of paranoia, that vague wrongness you couldn’t quite place wouldn’t count as a mark, it was only a matter of time before it confronted you in a far more direct and affecting matter.
Admittedly, given the advent of the Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered. But what’s the old saying about hindsight?
More important to me was Sasha’s encounter with the Distortion. If it had taken an interest, then I very much wanted it to cross your path.
So I found one of its current victims and convinced her to make a statement.
Poor Helen. I actually had to put her in a taxi myself, she was getting so lost in those narrow London side streets.
It worked, though.
Between the stabbing and at least two desperate flights into its doors – you’re marked very deeply by the Spiral.
Jurgen Leitner was a surprise, of course, and I was forced to improvise. I had no idea how much Gertrude would have told him, and he could very easily have derailed everything if you learned too much too fast.
I… justified it to myself saying I was going to have to send you out into the world anyway, if you were to encounter more of the Powers, but I can’t honestly pretend it wasn’t a… rather rash move.
Still. I’d requested Detective Tonner be assigned to the case when they found Gertrude’s body in the hope that having a Hunter in the mix would eventually lead to a confrontation, and setting you up as a killer certainly hastened that.
Then it was just a matter of feeding you statements to lead you to a few Avatars I thought were likely to harm you – but probably would stop short of actually killing you.
Jude served her purpose exactly as I had hoped, as did our dearly departed Mr. Crew, marking you for the Desolation and the Vast.
Honestly, I had – nothing to do with Melanie and her Slaughter adventure, but when I saw the situation, I made sure to trap her here, so when her rage bubbled over you would be right there, a ready target.
I didn’t foresee the mark coming from surgery gone wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise.
The Unknowing was a distraction, but not an unwelcome one. For this to work, you needed more than just the marks; you needed power. And that was something the Unknowing served to test, though it posed no actual danger in the grand scheme of things.
And it did serve another purpose, of course. It inadvertently pushed you to confront death, a mark I had been very worried about trying to orchestrate. If I tried too early, you’d just die. Too late, and you might be powerful enough to see the attempt coming, and maybe even understand why.
As it was, it was just right, and once again, you came through with flying colors.
By this point, your abilities were coming along in leaps and bounds, and I was concerned that meeting face-to-face might end up with you – (sigh) – Knowing something you shouldn’t.
I had initially planned to go into hiding, but when your colleagues surprised me with the police, well. It was simple enough to cut a deal.
All that remained, then, were the Dark, the Flesh, the Buried, and the Lonely.
I was a little put out when that idiot Jared Hopworth misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital, but then – Ho, you should have see my face when you voluntarily went to him.
I couldn’t see what happened in there, of course, but given how you came out, I’m very sure it counts as a mark.
I suspected the coffin might turn up again, and once it did, it was simply a matter of getting any, uh… restraining factors you might have had flying off on a wild goose chase, and waiting.
Honestly, Detective Tonner has been proving invaluable through this process. I’d been racking my brains for months about what I could use to lure you in.
And, of course, I knew the Dark Sun was just sitting there waiting. So when it came time, I just whipped up another apocalypse and sent you on your merry way.
Then all that remained was the Lonely.
Poor Peter. He really should have left well enough alone. (cruel laugh) Or just done what I’d asked in the first place.
Ah well. He knew what I was attempting, and was very unwilling to cooperate until I made him a little wager about Martin.
Of course, he had no way of knowing that, in addition to setting you up for the final mark, he was giving you all the tools you needed to escape from it.
How is Martin, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? He’s earned that.
And there, I think, we are brought just about up to date. I have enjoyed our little trip down memory lane, but past here lies only impatience.
You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here.
Don’t worry, John. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made.
Now. (cruel, cruel laugh) Repeat after me.
You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right.
Come to us in your wholeness.
Come to us in your perfection.
Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies!
Come to us.
I – OPEN – THE DOOR!
memories - an akusai one shot
Title: Memories Fandom: Kingdom Hearts Pairing: AkuSai/IsaLea (Axel x Saïx) Rating: General (Angst and Feels) Word Count: ~1,780
Summary: Lea returns to Radiant Garden, and bumps into someone he doesn’t expect to see.
A/N: @herzblutrose had a birthday and I offered to write them some Akusai! :D But, because I am me, I wrote Akusads by mistake. LOL. I hope you’ll enjoy what I wrote!
***
It was strange, seeing Radiant Garden back to what it looked like prior to everything going to shit ten plus years ago. Lea never thought he’d see the world look the same as it did when he was growing up; he thought that the Darkness had stolen everything away and that it would be irreparable. But when Riku said it looked different than he remembered, he knew he had to take a Gummi ship and head there himself. There was still time - Sora was still trying to find out what the Real Organization XIII was up to. As long as Sora was occupied, then he would be free to do what he wanted for a little bit of time.
Looking around, he’s surprised to see all the flowers are in bloom in the outer garden. It’s the first place he visits after touching down, and immediately felt astonished by seeing how it looked like when he was a teenager. How many hours had he spent in this area with his best friend - the person that he knew even back then that he was his other half. The missing part of his soul that always knew what to say and when to say it.
His feet took him to the courtyard, a memory of a blond kid with a keyblade coming to the forefront of his mind. “From where I stood, the only thing you drew was a big L on your forehead for ‘Loser’, ‘Lame’, ‘Laughable’.” It hit him so fast that he had to put his hand out and rest against the stone gate, collecting his thoughts as his heart began to ache in a way that he wasn’t at all that prepared for.
Weiterlesen
I cried listening to this.
I can’t stop imagining the Centzon Huitznahua singing this to annoy Coyolxauhqui
i am going to scream and cry oh my god oh my god oh my god this is gorgeous i would love to know about every thought every single detail that went into this pls pls pls
More fanart based on fanfics!!!!
This piece is based on TWO fics, We'll Hold Each Other Soon... by @cosmicallylyss and ...In The Blackest of Rooms by StarsRemain on AO3, and both of them absolutely destroyed me emotionally oh my god
@feanorianweek day ii; maglor the minstrel
And when this new star was seen at evening, Maedhros spoke to Maglor his brother, and he said: ‘Surely that is a Silmaril that shines now in the West?’ And Maglor answered: ‘If it be truly the Silmaril which we saw cast into the sea that rises again by the power of the Valar, then let us be glad for its glory is seen now by many, and is yet secure from all evil.’ Then the Elves looked up, and despaired no longer.
- J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, “Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath”
[ ID: A 12-picture edit for Maglor from the Tolkien legendarium. The prevalent colours are a green-ish gold and purple. Here’s what the images show:
black text on white background, reading “sole survivor”
The model Noh Seoung Hwa, an east asian man, facing front. He’s wearing a blazer and multiple rings
a detail from a baroque painting, showing a bushy sleeve with gold decor
white text on purple background reading “kanafinwe makalaure” and “maglor”
a bay by night with a reddish moon above
a yellow gem
a golden baroque-style harp
cut-open fig fruits
white text on purple background reading “greatest minstrel of the noldor”
golden glitter on the clavicle of a light-skinned person
Noh Seoung Hwa wearing a crown. His face is only visible from the eyes upwards
A crowd of people with swords shrouded in purple mist
End ID ]
LEGENDARY
reoblggin agan beacuse i don’t care
Black Whale, 12.5x12"
I tried quilting for the first time! It was super fun and I learned a lot. It's nowhere near perfect but I'm really proud of it!
Originally submitted for a mini event in @greedislandchallenge <3
Ponyboy Curtis is a writer. But he doesn’t write for fun. No, he reads for fun. He writes to express his grief. He would never write a theme like The Outsiders had he not been brought to it by grief. Were something to happen to another member of the gang, I bet there would be another story written. I bet he’s written stories about his mother and father as well. But he doesn’t write just because. Ponyboy Curtis is a writer whose pen is motivated by mourning.
Redrew scene from my favourite animated clip “Delta” by C2C but w Griffith instead ho ho
The IHNMAIMS radio drama monologue comic is finally done after - checks calendar - FOUR MONTHS? If you spot any style inconsistencies, that's why haha.
Anyways, I love a good disembodied, analogue cluster, cable mismanagement horror AM :)
Do you guys want to see something dumb I made at 1AM last night
Keep reading
