#and I kind of went from there Love

[softquietsteadylove]

Currently I'm playing Assassin's Creed Odyssey and whilst playing I'm thinking about the Eternals back then, in Ancient Greece.

So basically i thought about Socrates annoying our Goddess of War. And Thena would never admit she actually likes talking to him.

Hugs and much love!! 🖤✨

"Is the Goddess of War cowering again?"

Thena bristled and glared at the old man, "I do not cower."

He chuckled, though, sitting himself on a rock amongst the olive trees behind the main constructions of Athens' outskirts. "And what to call it then?--you hiding here in the trees?"

She rolled her eyes. The old man was not so insufferable, but he had no problem saying things that made her want to pick him up and rattle him like a barrel. Although she was almost grateful for it in comparison to the obsessive reverence of the rest of Athens.

"Too many demands in the day already, young one?" he asked, raising a frayed, white eyebrow.

She sighed; if only he knew how young he was, to her. "They are discussing the launching of ships. Why this would need my input - let alone approval - is beyond me."

But the old man laughed, letting his walking stick rest against a different rock. Thena eyed the pale length of dead wood. "The senators, as they call themselves, are just as new to this as the idea itself. They have assembled this great counsel and yet they still seek the approval of a higher power. One wonders why they assembled this body to 'speak for the people' if they were going to surrender their decisions to a figurehead in the first place."

Thena let old Socrates ramble on. She typically wasn't one for the musings of man, much preferring her solitude. But the old man hadn't ratted her out yet, and as far as humans went, he was far from the worst. "Have you been postulating again?"

"Bah," he waved his hand through the air, squinting up at the Grecian sun through the olive leaves. "Just a crazy old man, to them."

"And you think you are not, to me?"

"Maybe," he grinned at her with what teeth he had remaining, "but I'm a crazy old man who lets you be, no?"

Thena allowed a faint smile on her lips. "Indeed, you are."

"So then, we seem to have reason for our alliance," he chuckled.

"And you?" Thena asked in an unusual invitation to continue their talking. She summoned a blade to her hand and whittled down his walking stick.

Socrates watched her the same way he watched fisherman haul in their catch; with admiration for the craft, but with no further interest in the act itself. "Hiding from that young tyke."

"Young Plato?" Thena smiled as she sliced the wood cleanly, angling it to form a head for a proper cane. The old man was walking around leaning on this tree length washed up on the shore. "He is fond of Phastos as well."

"Ah, yes, Hephaestus?" Socrates raised his other eyebrow, to which Thena shook her head. "What of your Champion?"

A length of wood went flying.

Thena tossed the properly carved cane back at the man, "what of him?"

Socrates shrugged an increasingly bony shoulder. "You're with him when at all possible, aren't you?"

Thena nearly pouted at the needling - but entirely correct - statement. She huffed, "there are many demands on Gilgamesh."

"Ah yes, Gilgamesh," Socrates laughed, resting his hands outstretched in front of him. "And what do you call him?"

She gave him a somewhat tired glare. She could deny him the rest of his needling and simply leave. But then she ran the risk of an advisor or senator or counsellor - or stars forbid one of the many sculptors searching for her - finding her. She sighed. "Gil."

"Oh."

She glared at him anew, her hackles rising despite her best efforts.

Socrates gave her a look that made her want to chuck him right off their cliff of solitude, "Gil."

She hardened her expression at him, if only to keep her annoyance from boiling over. He said it in a way that made her feel agitated. "Have you not other people to pester?"

"None as fun as you, dear," he laughed heartily, his head tossed back.

Thena huffed again; insufferable old coot.

"And what power does your Gil possess, again?"

She glared at him, but he feigned some effort into remembering, scratching the beard on his chin. "Strength."

"Ah, yes, the fella who can reach into the forges and grasp iron with his bare hands."

No trouble remembering him at all, it seemed. Thena pursed her lips, "indeed."

"They do demand a lot from him," Socrates agreed with her earlier statement at this much later junction. He snuck his eyes - still sharp under the wrinkling of his skin - back over to her with a grin. "Not very fair to you, is it?"

Thena refused to dignify that with a response.

Socrates let out another laugh, and she wondered how many rocks might fit in that wide mouth of his. "That's why you're out here moping?"

The shade of the trees was doing nothing to shield her from the heat of the sun.

"Dearie," he snorted, jabbing her knee with the cane (which she just so-kindly fashioned for him!). "You are the patron saint of Athens. I'm sure if you want to steal your boyfriend all you need do is ask."

Thena flushed further at yet more indignity. "I do not-!"

"Oh, save it!" he drawled at her, in a way no one else in Athens would ever dare. He scratched at something in his ear, "I don't care what you think I think or what you know I know."

She glowered at him.

"There you are!"

Thena looked up, a smile coming over her (whether she wanted it or not). "Here I am."

Gilgamesh pushed an olive branch out of his way to lean on the rock beside her. He nodded to old Socrates, "and good day to you."

"And you, Champion," Socrates gave him a smirk. "We were just speaking of you."

"Oh?" Gil looked at Thena beside him, who was glaring at the old man.

"Have you nowhere else to rest after your ceaseless chatter?"

Gil didn't argue with her. He had seen her and the old philosopher interact a few times before, and it was always funny. Jabs were only ever made in good humour. "Actually, I was hoping to steal the Goddess away with me."

"She's all yours, sonny boy," Socrates stood, stretching out his arms before taking up his newly carved cane. "Don't mind me."

Gil simply nodded to him as he began shuffling past them and into the city. He looked down at Thena, stealing one of her hands off her lap to hold for himself. "Hey."

"Hey," she beamed. The unique relief and comfort of his company truly had reached new heights during their time in Athens.

"Time for a break?" he propositioned, pulling her up from her resting rock, her hand still in his. He brought his head closer to hers, "I packed us a little picnic--you, me, in the orangery?"

Thena kept her eyes on her personal embodiment of solace standing before her. She yearned to curl up in his arms, "divine."

"I thought you weren't one for divination."

"Away with you!" she snapped at the old bastard one again chuckling at her expense. She thunked her forehead against Gil's chest.

"Hey," he chuckled, rubbing her back as he allowed her frustrations. "Come on, he's not bad. As far as humans go, I'd say you're fond of the old guy."

"I am done speaking of him," she sighed, still pressing her warmed skin to Gil's cooling robes. She purred as he pulled her hair over her shoulder, running his fingers through it gently. "I believe you offered sustenance?--and solitude."

[egophiliac]

queen of diamonds, upright + reversed 💎

I've redone this like eighty times, I have to just be done with it now and stop staring at all my mistakes oh no 🫠

[tubbytarchia]

Hey guys I think The Last Unicorn is such a Scott book

[general-cyno]

[khaopybara]

❝I'm being led on by an oblivious straight girl.❞

KATO SHIHO as AYAKA and MORI KANNA as HIROKO episode 1 of AYAKA IS IN LOVE WITH HIROKO

[arthur-lesters-left-arm]

the witch was such a hater but also…the message she was relaying to john was basically just “dump his ass!!! he’s holding you back babe, you can do so much better <3” and i find that hilarious

[canisalbus]

Machete and Vasco are so pomegranate-and-the-hand-that-slices coded. To me.

Pomegranates are seen as messy, bloody, inconvenient fruits. You slice or tear or bite and in return for your effort you come away underwhelmed, disgusted, and stained too deep to wash. The consumption of a pomegranate is a violent act of defilement, for both the fruit and the eater.

But that is because most do not understand how to open a pomegranate. They have little patience for the precise carving. They see no point in coreing the fruit gently, no reason to be reverent as they pull the quarters apart. When done correctly, opening a pomegranate leaves little mess. Your fingers will still stain, your knife will still slick, but there will be no pool of crimson drowning both you and the fruit.

The seeds are only sweet to those who understand the merit of a light hand and intricate slicing. Why put in so much effort for a food so bitter and clearly armored against consumption? Surely it must not yearn to be eaten.

(^insane about silly catholic dogs)

.

[dammjamboy]

forgot to ever post this here but i had the most fucked dream the other night and i had to draw it

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Dead Boy Detectives (2024): This isn't a ghost story, it's a love story!

[lunarin64art]

That feeling when he can't stand to see you that way, no matter what you do, no matter what you say😩😭💔

[queenlucythevaliant]

Just to clarify my thoughts (since I've had a number of people ask me about it) re: Job and cursing God. There's a big difference between cursing God as used in Scripture and how we generally would think of cursing at God today.

Cursing someone, in the Bible, has a lot of depth to it. It's not just saying "screw you " in anger, it's got a sense of forsakenness to it. It's the opposite of a blessing, a removal of blessing. If the blessing is presence, your face shining on the person you're blessing, then a curse is absence. In some translations, Job's wife tells him to "renounce God and die," which I honestly think makes a lot more sense to modern ears.

Job says a lot of unpleasant things to and about God in his anger and grief. So do the Psalmists. A number of the Prophets. So can we. God can take it if we come to him with honest expressions of our emotion, including those not-so-nice ones directed at him. I don't think there's anything wrong with getting mad at God and saying, "How dare you, you bastard" when you suffer unjustly. You can say much worse, I think, without sinning, though I don't feel particularly inclined to give examples. But as long as it's an honest expression of your heart, I think you're doing exactly what prayer is for. You're presenting him your heart with an open hand. He can use that. Opposite of love is not hate but indifference, etc.

Job doesn't renounce God. Neither should we. But I think when you're truly suffering, you're gonna have those feelings toward God either way. He'd rather you address them with him directly than try to avoid them. Cursing at God in the modern sense is actually a great way to keep the relationship strong and not end up cursing/renouncing him in the Biblical sense.

[personishfive]

in which his life is like a video game

[egophiliac]

happy new year Ego!!! Just wanted to let you know that I absolutely adore your twst fanart and the tags are just an absolute pleasure to read! You are my greatest inspiration for my personal twst art and I just wanted to thank you for your wonderful masterpieces <333 if possible, may I ask what are some of your headcanons for the diasomnia family? If not for diasomnia then any other characters are fine as well!

thank you, and happy new year! 💚💜💚 that is amazing to hear; it's always a little bewildering but super flattering that other people like my silly little doodles so much!

I don't think I really have any really solid headcanons and also canon keeps validating me left and right (FLUFFY DOMESTIC DIAFAM IS REAL). mostly just kind of...impressions and general thoughts, if that makes sense! lately though I've been kind of obsessed with thinking about Lilia's hair, and specifically when/why he ended up cutting it. (l-look, we're bouncing around the timeline and I gotta make decisions about these things when I draw, it's relevant) (I mean I would probably be weirdly fixated on this anyway, but.)

I think I've settled on the idea that he kept it long until he went to NRC, partly because 1) I like drawing The Ponytail, and 2) I think he thought of NRC as a chance to reinvent himself a bit! he gets to go and be a wacky carefree teenager for a few years and have fun! (officially he's there to keep an eye on Son #1, but how much trouble could he get into, really.) so he gave himself a Cool Teen Haircut to go with his fresh new Cool Teen Persona!

also maybe he had some reflection on his hair's troubled past with three kids...

...and had to weigh his vanity versus the fact that he was going off to be around hundreds of kids on a daily basis, and. the choice suddenly seemed obvious.

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[coquelicoq]

I KEEP FORGETTING TO SAY THIS but my ideal au is always, ALWAYS a three men and a baby au. doesn't have to be men just yknow three adults and a baby. i know i have said this before but it was only the one time and it bears repeating, it bears so much repeating because i need it so bad for everything forever.

[lucy-ghoul]

can't believe a show based on a videogame (usually games adaptations are notoriously bad, which isn't the case here tho) gave me the beauty and the beast/twisted mirrors/enemies to traveling companions/ruthless antihero+optmistic but still badass heroine who takes none of his shit/age gap but make it sexy dynamic of my dreams. as much as i love maximus and i think he deserves the best writing ever because 1. he's a clever deconstruction of the aspiring Knight bro who's actually a bit of a loser and, as much as lucy, sees the world in black&white at first and then doesn't get what he thought he wanted but what he needs (or at least i hope he'll eventually get it), and 2. he's a cutie and i want an epic love story for him too, it's very funny how they tried to give us a puppy kind of romance and the tumblr girlies still fixated on the "toxic ~she bites his finger off and he cuts hers off and sews it on his hand in what we'll pretend it's a symbolic marriage rings exchange or whatever~ asshole who used to be a nice guy/good girl™ with a lot of spunk and hidden anger but unshakeable morals" kind of relationship.