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(i sacrificed bae too, sorry)

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I was making a gif, messing with the warmth & contrast of the video and all, but just look at this shot. I’m obsessed with the way that Aaravos looks like a sort of faceless heavenly being that like you can barely register with your eyes

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He looks like a sad cat, no fucking wonder he kept escaping

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A few people liked the old art of fairy Aaravos so I decided to draw him again

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Felt like the right time for a throwback to this

Me: What’s this? A new Rayllum blog?

Me 2 seconds later: Wait…

*boop*

im not sure what you mean this is definitely a rayllum blog? 😭

jk yeahhh you just got FOOLED, fool /j/lh

ok i'm a lil proud of my dedication tho

this is my rayllum posting day fr i've decided

(screenshots under the cut)

reblogs of this and this post

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I just realized I never posted the other drabbles I wrote based off that clip

Aaravos was there to guide him, to give him the knife, not to force it upon him. That would just be crude. Even to touch him, to kiss him, despite being on the cusp of each others’ reality, it all depended on Viren’s consent, on the next step. He was a gentleman, after all. He watched as Viren came to terms with himself, seething with rage. I refuse this path. I’m done with dark magic, and I’m done with you. 

Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed a shaking finger at Aaravos, all his rage, all his regret, poured outside of himself. Aaravos’s eyes widened, his mouth an O. Wait, he said, reproaching, his hands grazing his face. They met a turned gaze. His eyebrows furrowed. His hand could fall away, he could leave it be. What was the point of crudely forcing Viren into something he didn’t want? There was no elegance in that. No efficiency in repeated pleas to stop. He let it pass, watched him go. He came by one last time, if only to give him something to mull over, but did not conceal the pain in his eyes. 

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shoutout to tv tropes also. canon can die i am stuck before s6. I am extremely ill over this scene

A crossroads between such vile things.

And you would choose to lose your daughter?

What choice do I have? At every turn, I have made vile choices. And at every turn, I have lost.

He chuckles.

Even fate picks its favorites.

(And I am not among them.)

If it was meant to be, I would have lived out my days peacefully with my daughter. But it wasn’t.

So if …alone, on a beach.. is how I must go out,…so be it.

Aaravos grabs his shoulder as he makes to turn his back on him.

How can you say such a foolish thing?

Fate has done no such thing.

You have done this to yourself, Lord Viren.

As I stand.

Fate does not pick favorites, but I would.

I would pick you.

And you would scorn that?

cries

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I may love this beautiful garbage can of a man with all my heart, but good god was he hard to draw (T-T) That being said, I still had a lot of fun making this! This was made with Clip Studio Paint pro

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2000 posts!

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do you guys think aaravos would give his goons/pawns good medical benefits & paid family leave 🙏

like who’s really on the wrong side here come on

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OMG GUYS SOMEONE LEAKED THE SECRET SCENE FROM EPISODE 1 OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG WHO DID THIS????!!!! 😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱

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uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

*yurifies your old man yaoi*

Just a lil note, I personally believe that GB aaravos would be mas aligned but his OG design is pretty much gnc so yeah, there's no wrong way! But funfact, I made it based on his concept art from the art book

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Screen re-draw of this pretty bastard. I love him.

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chat i might need to bring this one back

this the fic of despair and suffering

Aaravos’s Endless Cold

because of @sthormiiii’s headcanon— I was thinking about how Aaravos has to wear a cloak because he’s cold and. this spawned. Oops

Despite his mastery of both sun and sky, while the powerful archmage could do anything within reason, heating or cool the temperature of the room without a thought, he could not help finding himself freezing regardless. it was the sort of inner chill that soaked you to your bones. that left him shivering and hands trembling with no reason at all, despite the way the fire blazed right in front of him, dancing across his hands, within him. 

he found his body’s involuntary reactions to his solitary confinement an inelegant limitation of his form so he took to wearing a cloak so that as he checked his reflection in the ceaselessly watching mirror, he might not have to look upon the stars that glistened faintly on his skin like the sweat that coated it regardless of his ever constant slight adjustment to temperature. The stars that once shone brightly and winked at him warmly from his skin whispering sweetly of wonders now angrily hummed minor chords and squinted in disdain. It ached in a way more tangible somehow than the constant ache of the inky black tear in the fabric of his ethereal being. He had grown so very, very tired of the pain, and had more important things to attend to. He vaguely wondered what it was like to know temperature, to know love, but with no real commitment to the concept any further. Every time he stretched his mind out to touch the constellations and divine their alignment he was slapped back, his black heartache ate at him and took his stars.

Tears rolled down his face, of no real consequence. He gently touched the black mark making him a mocking example of monstrousness, which he grown used to nonetheless. The days still passed, regardless of the impossibility of knowing. Once, he would have let them take all of him in the darkness, given into the icy cold, the shivering and tears. But withering numb and purposeless into dry tinder,  it was fire he must utilize, dancing across the table, the pit, his hands, burning inside him, and after each bout of those desolate days of darkness—the sun must always rise, mustn’t it—he had grown used to setting fires and burning candles and wearing cloaks to mark his time and burn away his aches. It was enough to believe almost- almost—that the shivers had gone away. So be it, it made no difference if his stars sweat in cold fury or his core shivered in the terrifying icy hunger of a vacuum from the ever open wound. As much as possible, he would cover and neglect them just as the stars taught him—

excommunicated.

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edited bc i forgot to cite the site

claudia…. reflections is here

reflections fans where u at

site used: paint.toys/calligram

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reflections fans where u at

site used: paint.toys/calligram

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Moonshadow illusionists over 100 don't do anything cool anymore all they know is get divorced, look like ur estranged mom, have pet phoenix, eat grub chip and tell half-truths