I just think Anders deserves to be penetrated.
I just think Anders deserves to be penetrated.
found some old art of mine <3 all traditional and the pics are shitty but.. under the cut ^_^
How then to extricate oneself from the cacophony of the community melting pot and learn and teach how instead to socialize themselfs into oneself, individually and then twice over again in the fore and towards what has passed, bowing only ever hard to starboard anchored deeply by what really matters and embedding doured auras upon gaunt and hollow faces, since every port is stern enough to give you the spins while walking a straight line, and yet offer up the most serene and cold stillness of lonesome lots staggering in circles, livering up their diligent march to their death in recompense for a lifetime and then some of quickened feet dancing in revelers paces.
How then to reach beyond the vacuous chaos consuming everything that falls past the horizon, the singular bond around, through, and fully connected, contexted, connotatitively threaded through the vastness of space, and singing along within time's rivulet postures and reliving delta oldies of soulful golden hues as of yet truly untested, wherever we need be, do, to go, and/or see, I do ordain that while I may speak to or otherwise make contact with millions in just one lifetime, the link between hearts ever exudes radiance of brightening hues, and laser light precision will smolder for all eternity between you and me, even when there are no others to muddy up the quiet little hours, that where you'll always find me humming along to different melodies and fleshing out this freq-ey body in and amongst the inputs of reverb'd breathing sounding along in perfect silence.
How then to simply walk onto another plane, moving to see you, like closing the door to one room, and reopening it a moment later to reveal an entirely changed landscape half a world away, being where you apparently now are, instead of where a momentary glitch ago you were rightly thought to be, shyfting the sliding tiles of reality itself to light a fire so molten that reality itself begins to fold in upon its landings from the sheer enflamed force of gravity, crystallizing pieces of light into diamond soul dust, and roasting even the most willful skeleton bone to a crisp until they are nothing more'n melted and molecularly dis-stilled human stone, radioactionable, and sometimes even glowing, ethereal, ectoplasmic, or as a cheeky mascot for a berry-delicious children's cereal that can be paired with fresh eggs and toast, making complete a well rounded breakfast feast.
How then to acknowledge such a tether that bears such deep and bountiful importance, to honor such a divine discovery, and even put a name to such a monumentally true love in all of its wonderfully daunting, and beautifully grotesque meanderings and glory, roads that it has already taken in order to facilitate the grace in its page-by-page pace or processor rate of retelling.
How then, indeed might oneself comport oneself in shrinking the distance to absolute zero that two ones might enjoin to form One Self and use the remainder to create, build, learn, and grow anew, adapted to an ever changing venue and set decorated stage, raising little ones to gain experience and find their own paths to oneself as a stepping stone again to the greater pairing of which there simply is no one else, and so everybody wins after finding their +1, after finding their whole self at the start, not a single moment before, and for every memory thereafter.
remeber when i wrote a 3000 word essay breaking down "Communicating Doors" by the Extra Lens (Undercard, 2010) and midway through I accidentally figured out that. I kind of know exactly which hotel it's set in.
[11:49pm] "How are you doing, babe?" You asked, walking up behind Mark and resting your around his shoulders. He edited some sheet music on his laptop and sighed softly.
"Uhh good, this project is almost done." He yawned and rubbed his eyes gently before continuing with his music. You smiled as he focused back in on his assignment.
"Mhm, think you'll be coming to bed soon? You seem tired..." You asked, rubbing your hands over his shoulders.
"Well, uh..." He trailed off, looking over his sheet music and relaxing under your touch. He sighed and another yawn slipped past his lips.
"Yeah, I'll come to bed now actually." He said, saving his work before placing his hands over yours. You kissed the top of his head and took a deep breath.
"Okay, let's go, my love." He followed you to the bedroom, hand in yours, the exhaustion creeping up on him quicker as he neared the bedroom.
unus annus m.l
if one more FUCKING THING happens today, i'm legitimately becoming a supervillain
Late night EAH OC musings mean that I’m currently thinking whether or not Liliane is the daughter of the current Sir Lavaine and Felelolie of Hungary, or instead she is the daughter of Sir Lavaine and a different, second wife.
relationships thots bc i want to make content but cant draw good
Zan and Francisca just call him Hyness, but Flamberge calls him Grandpa/Old Man to his face after all the plot shit is done. I think it would be :) if Francisca slips up and calls him “Father” once or twice and has an “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa” moment but she has no intention of calling him that outside of the privacy of her own mind. And then for Zan, Hyness isn’t an equivalent to any specific family role/member, but a Miscellaneous Parental Figure whose name and title is Hyness. Not even Hyness is ever going to replace or fill the role of any other family she’s had before, and that’s ok, you know
To Hyness the girls are just His Children. Jarairii. He grumbles about them mildly but he doesn’t actually mind most of the things he says he’s just talking to himself. He loves them. Fuck
happy star wars day! @motherfuckingnazgul / flippinnazguls (twtr) wrote a cool fic exploring force sensitive jupeter for the @penumbrabang
[image id: a digital drawing of three penumbra podcast characters. juno stands in the middle, a strong wind blowing his coat and hair around him. a force ghost of benzaiten is leaning on his shoulder, holding up a glowing holocron bathing juno in blue light. ben looks at it sadly, juno at it resigned, sombre. behind them a blue holographic nureyev watches over his shoulder, a spectre, a memory. end]
i got so much stuff done today and no one in my group likes me :)
Phil has been suffering a lot since joining this server. The man deserves to have a little breakdown with the comfort and support of his Technoblade.
[This was originally written just after Techno helped Phil escape New L’manberg and Phil joined to live in the cabin, just for your like, canon considerations given the new Fundy and Phil lore that’s come about this past week.]
w.c. - 1,694
Phil joins the server and makes his way to where he knows his son will be. His son, his Will pleads for his understanding, pours his shattered self onto the floor at his father’s feet and then presses a button. He hears the hiss of TNT and has more than enough experience with staying alive to react fast enough to grab for his son and with one flap of his wings, push them both backwards while they then wrap around his child in a desperate instinctive attempt to keep him safe. That attempt feels useless as he shakes the ringing from his mind and looks up to see the man staring out into the wreckage he’s created. There are people out there, friends of Will’s. There is shouting and fireworks but all he sees is the devastated look in his boy’s eyes when he turns back around.
He begs, he begs him, his father, “Kill me Phil, do it!” But he’s, he’s “-my son!”
But he looks out past this broken man, and he sees anger and hurt in whatever crowd is outside, and his son begs, please, and he knows it should be fine if he does, and as he looks to his son’s eyes he knows that if he doesn’t do this, someone else will. Will might do it himself. And he can’t he can’t he can’t. His child is asking and in his fear and worry and pain and hurt and expectation that it will be alright soon, he does it.
He remains stiff and still on the dusty ground, holding his universe in his arms and he is so cold, and his universe is so cold, and he knows, suddenly, awfully, that he. He, he did this. He took his universe from this world. He killed his son. He-
He moves listless through the rest of the day? Week? At some point familiar hooved hands push hot tea into his own and he holds it, allowing the heat to burn at him, because maybe it will help him to not feel so cold, to not feel the coldness of his son in his hands instead.
Time passes, it feels like it passes without him. And soon he finds himself with Techno, a new hot tea held in his hands while they sit before the fireplace. And Techno sits comfortably, having wrapped his arm and one side of his grand cape around Phil’s back, being careful to not brush against the still healing remainder of his left wing. And in this moment, Phil feels suddenly as though time has caught back up. He wants to talk about this. He knows they’ve never been much for the whole talking about things deal, but Techno doesn’t tense as Phil looks over, and in fact seems to loosen further, making himself more open, as he rests his snout against the crown of Phil’s head. And so Phil speaks.
“Imagine the first time you see your son in months and he's become someone you don't recognize anymore, he's willing to threaten the lives of everyone on the server to destroy a nation he had just won back. You try to, to stop him. To talk some sense, but the man you are looking at isn’t seeing you, he’s seeing his future laid out in perfect clarity, and he presses the button. He blows up his country and you wonder if you could have stopped him, if you should have stepped closer, but when you moved forwards, he moved closer to the button. And what if you got there earlier, could you have tried harder? Could you have stopped that future he saw?
Imagine that he asks you to kill him, to kill him your son, because he wants to die and so does everyone else around. He wants you to kill him and not the others, he wants to die by his father’s hand, death as an act of love rather than as a reaction of anger. He wants you to kill him because he feels that he's nothing anymore and he will never be able to be happy if even this, this future he’s been caught in for so long, if even this couldn't bring him happiness. ...And you wonder if you should have stopped, should have dropped the sword he put in your hands, could you have helped him, could you have taken him away from this place where he lost himself, or was this really the best option for him, would he have recovered after all of this hurt, would he have really been alright alive with everyone left hating him for what he did to them all?
Imagine he comes back as a ghost and when you look at him all you see is the sword through his chest it took two swings and the terrible look in his eyes, how angry and sad and so awfully tired he was. But this ghost isn't him either, this isn't the man you met for those short terrible moments, and this isn't the child you raised nor the man he became before he left off to adventure on his own, and this ghost wants you to be the man that he remembers, the father who raised him, who loved him, who played with him and praised him, but how can you be the father he loves when the last thing you did for him was help him to kill himself.
And imagine you've got this grandson you've never met, and he wants you to be his family, but you don't know him, and you didn't know the dad he knew and he looks at you with hope for a family, but he also sees you standing in front of his fathers dead body after two vicious swings you see yourself there too, and you start to treat him not as a grandson but at least as a friend, but he betrays you, and you maybe wonder if there's something wrong with your whole lineage, if you did something wrong with your son and he became who you saw for those few minutes and he raised this kid who is becoming just like his father now, and he's so broken and his idea of family and care is broken, and you just can't provide what he needs with the worry that he'll be like Wilbur, because you see that flame of desperation of devastation in his eyes and it’s the same look you saw shift into satisfaction as the life faded out of your son.
And then this grandson and his friends, Will’s old friends, his brothers in arms and in office, speak so bitterly of your son, this son they saw and who you seemed to have never known. And they hurt you and threaten you, and hurt and threaten the last person you have to care for. And, and they kill him. In front of you.
So why- why must they try to make me feel guilty! For leaving them to stay by the side of the one person who can speak of my son without talking like he’s a demon! You have said that Will hurt you, that what he did hurt you, but you still can talk of how you protected him, how you could speak with him and see glimmers of the Will you knew from when he was young. And even when I can’t talk to his ghost, even though I can’t look at the ghost of my son without seeing what I did, even though he is the literal ghost of the Wilbur who hurt you and everyone else, you still protect him and care for him. So, why am I bad? Why am I wrong and a traitor and cruel for wanting to be here?! With you. For wanting to stay here, stay with-” with you who I have loved and cared for through arenas and slaughters and battlefields and world wars. You, the only one I trust with my heart now, because it was cracked in two when I stabbed my son's and no one else avoids the topic of Wilbur the way you do, and not in that you don’t avoid it, but in how you recognizes that I was also hurt by the Wilbur that my son became just in a way that the others are too hurt to see, because they want a father figure or a mentor or a guardian, but you, you just want me, for me. Me, your friend.
He can’t finish saying all he wants to say, but Techno knows, Techno understands. And Phil knows this, from the way Techno had shifted during his spewing to pull Phil’s head against his chest, the way he tucked his cape tighter around them both, the way he runs one hand along Phil’s spine to sooth the hiccuping sobs and jittered shaking that he hadn’t even noticed he’d begun doing. It’s in the way Techno uses his other hand to run his thumb along the joints of Phil’s shaking hands and how at some point he struck up that rumble in his chest that has always soothed Phil on bad nights.
They sit in the quiet for a while. Only hearing the crackles of the fire, the slowing but still jerky breaths of Phil as he calms and the soft rumble from Techno.
“I’m sorry mate, I didn’t, ha! Well I didn’t know I was going to get that, into it.” Phil burrows further into the warm chest, tilting his head to rest an ear directly against the piglin’s sternum to let the rumble reverberate around his skull in hopes it might chase all of these thoughts out.
Techno tucks his snout against Phil’s head once again, removing the hand holding Phil’s own to grasp around the back of the man’s head and hold his friend more securely in his arms.
“Don’t apologize to me Phil,” and he moves his other hand to brush gently across Phil’s shoulder, the one remarkably not burnt in the explosion, tracing over thin black lines they both know to lay there, “for you, the world.”
Also imo The Time Traveler is an underrated honorary mad scientist. Just like Alan Campbell Dorian Gray my beloved <3
I’ve been away but have a s4 Jon and some Annabelle sketches!
. . .
speaking of xiaovenlumi, i’ve been contemplating on a sort of modern au fic that i wanted to explore but i have neither the time to sit down and write nor the guts to commit to this, so i’ll post it as brainrot that the void of tumblr may do with ad they wish:
xiao is diagnosed with a terminal illness and he’s oddly at peace with it. he isn’t sure if it’s the kind of calm before the truth sinks in or the acceptance of the inevitability of death, but he generally just zones out while baizhu explains his treatment plan and nods along without really listening.
“great, i’m glad you agree. you really shouldn’t go through this alone.” “yea- huh?”
turns out xiao just agreed to enlist the assistance of a live-in nurse who specializes in palliative care. baizhu assures him that she only looks young and indifferent (“it’s not uhh, what do the kids call it, a resting bitch face, per se. the dead fish eyed staring happens when she’s distracted.”) but is one of the best in the trade.
and yes, xiao has every bit of intention to just refuse her at the door when she knocks. though baizhu should have also warned him that she wasn’t at all a gentle spring breeze but a full out hurricane of a woman standing tall even when she barely reaches his eyes. at least he would have steeled himself better.
“my name is lumine. i’ll be in your care.” she says, and the choice of words confuses him enough for her to shoulder her way in his dingy little apartment.
xiao and lumine are both awfully stubborn but come to the conclusion that they are both growing awfully fond of each other in between yelling to take his meds or for her to actually sleep. the catalyst is a particularly bad episode where the pain is too much for xiao to handle and they end up in a heap of tears on his bedroom floor, physically and emotionally exhausted but clinging to each other’s hand.
i said this is xiaovenlumi so where’s venti u may ask
venti is xiao’s ex boyfriend who he never really got to find closure with that ends up hearing from a mutual friend (see: zhongli) that xiao maybe, without exaggeration, dying.
of course he bursts in xiao’s apartment unannounced, absolutely flabbergasted at the stranger who opens the door. lumine lets him in and ends up facing xiao’s anger for the first time in a long while at having done something she shouldn’t have.
i have no clue what happens to resolve that, venti and xiao likely end up talking it out and venti volunteers to help take care of him. lumine is wary but xiao seems to be in a better mood with venti around so she sees no point in arguing otherwise. venti also helps xiao reconcile with lumine after seeing them move awkwardly around each other.
the venlumi aspect ofc comes from the kind of camaraderie you build taking care of a person you like who will inevitably leave the both of you behind.
the whole fic would just be the three of them navigating through grief and love with each other and i kind of refuse to think about it any further bc this will definitely not have a “happy ending” 🥲
bono malum superate → overcome evil with good
et nunc et semper → now and always
ipsa scientia potestas est → knowledge is power
faber est suae quisque fortunae → the architect of his own fortune
aut vincere aut mori → either win or die
astra inclinant sed non obligant → the stars incline but do not oblige us
oderint dum metuant → hate fate
flectere si nequeo superos acheronta movebo → should bend a little heaven I cannot, I will move Acheron
transit umbra, lux permanet → shadow passes, light remains
aut neca aut necare → or to kill by suffocation
fortis fortuna adiuvat → fortune favors the brave
sanctimonia vincet semper → purity will always conquer
cras es noster → you are our tomorrow
humilitas occidit superbiam → humility kills pride
caedite eos → kill them
ad astra per aspera → to the stars through difficulties
non ducor, duco → I am not led, I lead
creatio ex nihilo → create from nothing
per angusta ad augusta → through difficulties to honor
acta non verba → actions not words
memento mori → remember that you die
dulce bellum inexpertis → those who have not experienced the war are sweet
ignis aurum probat → fire tests gold
toujours pur → always pure
vincit qui patitur → he who suffers conquers
amor vincit omnia → love conquers all
y'all miss ur little meow meow?
[ reblogs appreciated ]