#dost create

[captainsamuelmorrigan]

Spank Bank

Steddie! NSFW! TW: Porn, Body Dysmorphia

Steve has a huge problem. He's obsessed with this magazine he found at Eddie's house. Well, one photo specifically.

He found it in Eddie's copy of Dungeons & Dragons Players Handbook that he had been trying to use to create his first character. The book was so well-loved that for a moment, Steve had thought part of the book itself had fallen out, before looking down and seeing the cover of a gay porn magazine. His entire face turning red, thinking he hadn't been meant to see this, he quickly stuck it back into the back of the book and back onto his nightstand. Falling onto his back, staring up at his popcorn ceiling, trying to get the shirtless man from burning into the back of his eyelids.

He made it 36 hours before tentatively pulling the magazine back out of the book again. There wasn't any shame in knowing what a friend was into. Right? He's one of Eddie's best friends! They can laugh about it later! 'Haha, you left your dirty magazine in the book you lent me. You pervert!'

Steve looks at the front, a lithe and handsome young guy staring straight into the camera, holding up a football. The only indication that this magazine was dirty at all was the text advertising "HOT Young Jocks, Otters, and Daddies!!" Steve shakes his head and puts the magazine face down on the bed. He feels insane. This is way over the line.

Grabbing the magazine once again, he leafs through the pages, seeing all manner of muscular young men in a variety of sporty attire. Some in baseball outfits that were a size too small, legs spread on a bench to see his package straining against his pants, next to a picture of the same guy from the behind, the same pants making his rather round butt look almost like a girl's. Turning further past a few guys making out in camo gear, Steve comes across a dog-eared page.

For a moment, Steve remembers whose porn this is. Eddie had dog-eared this page to return to. The page that was folded for easy access was a muscular, sweaty guy in a basketball uniform. The uniform was a costumey shade of red that seemed that it was made for this shoot in particular, with the top cropped right below this guy's chest, the basketball shorts hanging low on this guy's hips, showing the waistband of his underwear, and a neatly manscaped happy trail. His hair was tossed around sexily. No, teased. It was kind of like Steve's, a warm, natural brown. This guy also had a few moles like Steve. Plus, the basketball outfit is almost a little too on the nose.

The page next to it made Steve's mouth go dry. This Not-Steve was below the camera now, mouth open for someone's hand to be pressing their thumb down onto his tongue. Looking through his long brown lashes like he was receiving sacrament, a silent prayer of reception in his soft eyes.

Steve hastily shoves the magazine in his bedside drawer. He struggles to sleep with so much blood southbound.

It's two days after that that he has to meet Eddie's eyes.

He's over to watch Rocky Horror again, nothing new. But this time, he sits an extra few inches away from Eddie. He isn't worried about Eddie making a pass at him, but he is worried he'll be weird if he thinks about Eddie thinking about sporty boys, his face getting all flushed and sweaty and- Quit it, Steven.

He stuffs pizza into his mouth, willing the cheesy bread to blanket his busy mind.

"Dost the King wish to share his royal thoughts?" Eddie quips.

"Shush, Freak." Steve flicks a piece of stale couch popcorn at Eddie.

Eddie cluches his chest, leaning back dramatically. "Oh! I'm wounded, Steve! How could you bring up my troubled past?"

"Sorry, just distracted tonight."

"Anything I can help with?"

Steve sighs. "Nah, just one of those nights."

They nodded at each other. They had seen enough of vines, girls with superpowers, and demobats to fill a million nights. They looked back towards the TV to watch the glittery outfits of the Transylvanians.

Steve felt a twist of guilt deep in his stomach at the small lie.

"Mm." Eddie said, knowingly.

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for quite a while, the campy sparkly show tunes bursting forth from the wood-paneled television enough to keep the quiet from becoming too awkward.

Janet breaks the silence with her iconic line, "I don't like men with too many muscles."

"I didn't make him FOR YOU!" Eddie shouts back along with Frank, laughing.

Steve takes a breath to gather his courage. "Do you like guys with muscles?"

Eddie's fingers drum on his thigh, looking away from Steve, pulling his hair to cover his face. "Whaat? Steve, do you really want to know my taste in guys? Isn't that like... weird to you?"

"Robin and I talk about our taste in girls all the time."

"Yeah, but that's different. You both like girls." Eddie's fingers pick up their rhythm, speadily pressing out a few chords into his thigh of choice. "You don't like guys."

"I don't, but Nancy does. I've talked with her, El, Max, even Argyle about the guys they like."

Eddie is quiet for a moment. "How about we talk about this another time. I'm kind of floaty on my painkillers right now."

They turn back towards the movie.

...

"Do you think Rocky or Frank-N-Furter is hotter?"

Eddie sighs, folding his hands in his lap. "Rocky. I think I'm too much like Frank. Plus, any gay guy can't resist those smooth muscles." Eddie laughs. "Not my usual type, though."

They part ways an hour later after the movie. Eddie's eyelids had started to droop during "I'm Going Home," and Steve knew he had about 20 minutes before he had to drag Eddie's spidery form to bed.

Once he was home, he grabbed the magazine and turned to the folded page. He stared down at Mr. Basketball, or "Rory," as the mag had dubbed him. He seemed slimmer than Steve, definitely less hairy.

Eddie's line from earlier chimed in Steve's head. "Any gay guy can't resist those smooth muscles." Well, Eddie liked smooth. Steve wasn't smooth. Eddie liked slim. Maybe that's what 'wasn't Eddie's type' about Rocky. This guy in the magazine was everything Eddie wanted. All the things Steve was, and the things he wasn't.

Steve pulled up his shirt, revealing his muscular stomach. It wasn't as toned as his high school days, but he would say he was muscular. His thick brunet curls, spreading up his stomach to his chest, and swirling down towards his cock.

As he pulls his shirt up further, more to the length of the boy's in the picture, he noticed the slight tenting of his pants.

Was this guy in the picture getting him hard? He looked between his junk and the mag a few times, noticing the tenting of Rory's own shorts in the second photo. It seemed that Rory was also a little more well-endowed than Steve. Steve had plenty, sure, but this guy? Steve clenched a little at the thought of staring down the barrel of that thing.

Eddie liked big-dicked, hairless, skinny jocks. Steve was maybe one out of three.

His hand drifted from playing with his stomach hair, following the swirls lower, into his pants. His dick twitching at the notion of use. Twirling the hair around his fingers, watching the front of his pants move, giving slight bits of friction to his quickly responsive dick. He groaned softly. Was he really about to jerk it to Eddie's porn?

He slowly wrapped his fingers around his cock, tugging lightly. He thought about Eddie there. What would Eddie think of Steve like this? Maybe he'd pull out the theatrics, like he used to in high school.

He imagined Eddie looking down at him. "You really think I'd want you, Harrington? With all that beastly hair? You look like a werewolf, man."

His dick twitched at the thought of Eddie looking at him with disgust. His eyes were getting misty.

"I don't even know how I'd get to that tiny cock through that thick jungle anyways. Truly a needle in a hairy haystack. The only thing you're good for is taking my load on those muscles."

That did it. Steve came with a weak cry, tears streaming down his face, thinking about Eddie's glistening cum on his stomach, soaking his belly fur.

The shower after was full of pitiful sniffles and more shame than Steve was used to. He felt empty.

The next week was full of more shame-wanks than Steve had ever done before. Night after night, Steve opening the magazine, finding more of his shortcomings, all ending in his hand around his dick and a pitiful cry in the shower. The nights following are full of fitful tossing and turning. He barely had the energy to do his hair in the morning.

By the 8th day of this Robin had rebooted the 'You Suck' counter. Steve couldn't really blame her. He had dropped VHSs, forgotten to tidy the break room, and worst of all, had snapped at Robin. He had gotten 3 strikes for that one.

"What's your damage, Steve? You're not being a real girl's girl right now. Plus you look like shit." Robin crossed her arms for emphasis.

"It's nothing."

"Truth, now." Robin leaned in. "Or I'm assuming you have brain cancer or something! You could even be a government replacement or something! What's my middle name? Wait... that's something the government would know. Where did I tell you I was a lesbian?"

"You're a lesbian?"

Robin's eyes widen in horror.

"The Starcourt bathroom, after the Russians. I'm me, I'm just distracted." Steve looks away from her. "I found a magazine in one of Eddie's books and it's freaking me out."

Robin scoots to be next to Steve. "Is it like... a porn magazine?"

Steve nods.

Robin cringes. "Are you freaked out in a 'this sex stuff is too weird' way, or in a 'this is gay and I don't like it way'?" She looks softly into Steve's eyes, obviously trying to be delicate with him.

"One of the guys looks like me, but he's like... not me? Maybe I'm making too big of a deal out of it." He starts to turn away from her.

"No! I'm sure it's weird to see that in a magazine, but it's just one picture, right? Could be a total coincidence."

"The page was marked. He'd definitely meant to come back to it."

She covers her mouth, eyes wide. "Oh that's..." She searches for the right thing to say before speaking. "Still, could be a coincidence! There are lots of guys with brown hair."

Later, at Steve's house, Robin stares at the page, mouth agape. "Steve this is... this guy looks A LOT like you. He's got your little chin moles and the basketball uniform, and the styled hair? I get why this squicked you."

"Squicked?"

"Made you feel gross. This is kind of shocking."

Steve pulls the magazine back to himself. "Well- I- I don't care if he's doing that to me." He's shaking a bit as he tries to collect his thoughts.

"You don't?" She raises an eyebrow, reaching towards Steve. "I don't think I understand."

"This guy isn't me! He's smaller, and better looking. Plus, he's like, HAIRLESS! Obviously Eddie would never want me if he likes this guy." Steve flops back, leaning limply against the wall.

"Woah woah woah!" Robin puts a hand on Steve's arm, rubbing soothingly. "Steve pause the negative self-talk for a second. Do you WANT Eddie to want you like that?"

Steve ceases for a moment. "I don't- It's not-"

Robin pats his arm. "It's okay if you do."

"No! It's not!" Steve sits up quickly, Robin having to jump out of the way. He hides his head in his hands, stressfully rubbing his face as his voice grows small. "It's not. He wouldn't-" His voice trembles. "He wouldn't want a guy like me. He wants a guy like that."

Robin reaches over to rub his back. "Steve, I know you're sleep deprived, and it seems like you're suffering through your first gay crush, but I promise you that you and that guy are much more similar than you are different. Even though I think it's really gross that Eddie is doing things while thinking about you, you seem to want that! And that's totally and completely okay."

Steve peeks out from behind his hands. "What if Eddie doesn't want me, though?"

"Stephen Maurice Harrington, you are the biggest idiot in the entire world if you think that Edward Munson is not" she takes a breath, cringing "crazy horny for you if he was willing to find a sporty soft-core porn magazine with a guy who looks so much like you that it grossed me out to see him in the position he's in." She folds her arms again, looking down her nose at him. She raises an eyebrow expectantly.

"Do you think I should talk to him?"

"Steve, I say this as your best friend. Go do him."

Hours later, Steve is on Eddie's doorstep. The newer, nicer, double-wide trailer in front of him suddenly much more imposing than it was last week. He brings his hand to the door, lowering it and turning around before hearing it open behind him.

"Steve? Robin said you were coming. What's going on?"

Dammit, Robin. There was no way to escape now. He plastered his trademark King Steve smile on before spinning around. "Hey! Yeah, I remembered I forgot to return your book." He offers Eddie back his book, knuckles white with stress. "I didn't get around to completing the character, but maybe we can hang out next week, and you can help? Unless you're busy or something. It's totally up to you, man." He crosses his arms to put something between him and Eddie, stepping back.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. "Steve, you know I'm not doing anything. Is this about Rocky? I told you that this was going to make things weird." He hugs his book to his chest, using his other hand to lean on his cane. "If you're going to be homophobic about it, can we just forget about it?"

"I can't forget about it, Eds." Steve shakes his head.

Eddie cringes, starting to lean back to close the door, losing his balance a bit. The book slips from his grasp, falling in slow motion as Steve grabs after it. It slips through his fingers, the pages fanning open enough to allow the magazine to slip to the ground first. The book thudding to the concrete next to it. They both stare, at a loss for words.

Eddie covers his face defensively with his arm. "Steve I- I can explain. I'm so sorry that was in there. I totally forgot about it and- and- I would NEVER make a pass at you. You have to understand! I'm not like- like THAT!" Eddie looks like he wishes he could disappear into oblivion. If he still had the running power, Steve was sure he'd be down the block by now.

"You wouldn't?" Steve deflates. Of course he wouldn't.

Eddie's arm drops. "What?"

Steve bends down, stacking the mag on top of the book. "Robin said, she said the guy in the magazine looked exactly like me. That you... you probably liked me. I knew that I wasn't your type. It's okay." He offers Eddie a weak smile, he tries and fails to stop his chin from trembling. This hurt more than Nancy, more than anything.

Eddie pushes the book out of the way. "Steve." He takes a deep breath, his shaking calming down a bit. "Do you want it to be you?"

"He's thinner than me, though. I mean, I get it if that's your thing. He's thinner, way less hairy, his dick is- Well, you know, not a lot of guys are that big." Steve looks at the little bundle of dandelions in one of Wayne's mugs on the table by the door. Anything to avoid Eddie's eyes.

Eddie lets out a nervous laugh. "Steve. Steve. Look at me." He waves his hand in front of Steve's face, trying to get him to disengage from his self-hatred fixation. "I don't care about that stuff."

Steve looks into the curly-haired boy's eyes. "You don't?"

"Nah, I mean, not as much as some other people might. I like muscley guys as much as the next homo, but beggars can't be choosers in small towns."

"So you're settling for me?"

"Jesus, Harrington. Who pissed in your cheerios? No. I'm saying you're super fucking hot, like, way hotter than some guy in a magazine." He fidgets with his cane, tapping it on the floor, laughing nervously. "I've had that magazine since, like junior year. I forgot it was in that book."

"Did you have that page marked that whole time?" Steve holds his breath, his eyes sparkling as he looks at Eddie.

"Y-yeah? It's really embarrassing. I used to have this weird fantasy where you'd like, be one of those homophobic bullies who turned out to be gay and you'd do a bunch of nasty stuff with me. Again, it's very super embarrassing, actually. You totally don't have to do any of it with me if you don't want to." He tucks a curl behind his ear, looking at Steve sheepishly.

Steve laughs, leaning in to kiss Eddie. It's just an innocent peck, their lips meeting as their eyes close. Eddie's lips are softer than Steve expected. "I want to hear about it. We might try some of it out."

"Careful there, Stevie, you're gonna get my hopes up."

"And about the dick thing?"

"Steve, trust me, I am totally fine handling average."

"What about like, slightly above average?"

Eddie stumbles for a second time. "So the legends are true!!" He laughs.

(Edit: For those asking, the fic that inspired this is "Driving with the Devil" by objectlesson on AO3.)

[st4rtar0t]

How I would connect certain movie dialogues with specific astrological placements

Keep in mind that I am still a beginner, so these may or may not resonate.

I am the rightful owner of the content of this post and any kind of plagiarism will not be tolerated.

"pyaar dosti hai, agar wo meri sabse acchi dost nhi ban sakti toh mei usse kabhi pyaar hi nhi kar sakta"

Translation

"Love is friendship. If she can't be my best friend, then I can never love her."

Venus in Aquarius or the 11th house.

Moon in Libra or Aquarius.

Why? Because these placements suggest a strong desire for genuine understanding and friendship in their relationships.

"Tusi ja rahe ho, tusi na jao"

Translation

"you are leaving, please don't go"

Venus in Pisces

Moon in cancer or strong 4th house influence

The moon in cancer can give attachment to the person you love and cause difficulties in letting them go. Venus in Pisces makes a person extremely devotional towards the person they love, hence making them extremely attached.

"MERE HISAAB SE TOH DHARM EK HI KAAM KARTA HAI, YA TOH WOH INSAAN KO BEBAS BANATA HAI, YA AATANKWAADI."

Translation

"In my opinion, religion only does one thing: it either makes a person helpless or a ter*orist."

Ketu in 9th house

Saturn in 9th house

sun in Aquarius

These placements indicate that the native will question religious beliefs and be critical of the customs or traditions.

"Jab zindagi ek bar mili hai toh do bar kyun soche."

Translation

"when you only live once, why think twice?"

Mars in Aries or Sagittarius

jupiter in the 1st house

Sun in Leo or Sagittarius

These placements can make someone really courageous, bold, spontaneous and optimistic. They will not second guess themselves or doubt their decisions because they fully believe in themselves.

"Zindagi jeene ke do hi tarike hote hai - Ek jo ho raha hai hone do, bardaasht karte jao, ya phir zimmedari uthao usse badalne ki."

Translation

"There are only two ways to live life: either let things happen and keep enduring, or take responsibility to change them."

Saturn in 1st or 10th house

sun in Capricorn

and mars in Aries or Scorpio

These placements make a person action oriented, creates a strong sense of responsibility, authority and taking charge. These placements make a person disciplined in achieving their goals.

"Success ke piche mat bhago. Kabil bano kabil. Kamyabi toh sali jhak maar ke peeche ayegi."

Translation

"Don’t chase success. Become capable, truly capable. Success will come running after you."

Saturn in 10th house

jupiter in Capricorn

and mars in Virgo

All these placements focus on self improvement through hard work and sufficient efforts. Mars in Virgo makes perfectionists through constantly improving their abilities.

"Haar tab hoti hai, jab haar man li jaye"

Translation

"Defeat only occurs when one chooses to accept it."

Saturn in 1st house or strong Saturn influence

Mars in Capricorn

Sun in leo

Pluto in the 1st house

People with these placements are resilient, determined and do not accept defeat easily. They are focused on winning and transforming.

Let me know if you liked it or not

[talonabraxas]

RA ∆.∆∆ Talon Abraxas

A HYMN TO RA, WHEN HE RISES IN THE EAST.

Hail, thou Aten, thou lord of rays, who risest on the horizon day by day! Shine thou with thy beams of light upon the face of the Osiris Ani, the truth-speaker, who sings hymns to thee at dawn, and adores thee at eventide. Let his soul appear with thee in heaven. Let him sail out in the Matet Boat and arrive in port in the Seqtet Boat, and let him cleave his way among the stars that never vanish.

Homage to thee, O Her-aakhuti, who art Khepera, the self-created!

When thou risest and sendest forth thy beams upon the lands of the South and the North, thou art beautiful, yea beautiful, and all the gods rejoice when they see thee, the King of Heaven.

Nebt-Unnut (a goddess) is on thy head, her serpents are on thy head, and she takes her place before thee. Thoth stands in the bows of thy boat to destroy thy foes.

The denizens of the Tuat (Underworld) come to meet thee, they bow before thee in homage at the sight of thy Beautiful Form.

I would come before thee daily to be with thee and to behold thy Beautiful Aten (Disk). Let me be neither prevented nor repulsed.

Grant that when I look upon thy beauties my members may be made young again, even as are the members of thy favoured ones.

I am one who worshipped thee on earth. Let me enter the Eternal Land in the Everlasting Country. O my Lord, I beseech thee to decree this for me.

Homage to thee who risest as Ra on thy horizon and restest upon Maat!

Thou passest over the sky, every face watches thy course, thou thyself being unseen. Thou showest thyself at dawn and at eve daily.

The Seqtet Boat of thy Majesty goes forth mightily, thy beams fall upon every face, thy variegated lights and colours cannot be numbered, and cannot be told . . . .

One by thyself alone didst thou come into being from the primeval waters of Nunu (or Nu).

May I go forward as thou dost advance without pause, and dost in a moment pass over untold leagues and as thou sinkest to rest even so may I.

Thou art crowned with the majesty of thy beauties, thou dost fashion thy members as thou dost advance, and dost produce them without the pangs of labour in the form of Ra, and dost rise up into the heights.

Grant that I may come into the everlasting heaven and the mountain where thy favoured ones dwell. Let me join myself to those who are holy and perfect in the divine Underworld, and let me appear with them to behold thy beauties at eventide. I lift my hands to thee in adoration when thou the living One dost set. Thou art the Eternal Creator and art adored at thy setting in heaven.

I have given my heart to thee without wavering, O thou who art the mightiest of the gods . . .

[tonycries]

To Alpha Tony,

I trust this letter finds thee in good health and high spirits. It is with great reverence and gratitude that I pen these words to thee, for there is a matter most worthy of mention, one that has been heavy upon my heart.

Thy writings, those works of profound passion and bold creativity, have left an indelible mark upon the lives of many. Through thy carefully crafted words, thou hast brought forth a world where the depths of human desire and the beauty of raw emotion are laid bare. In this, thou hast not merely entertained, but touched lives in ways most unexpected. For many, thy work has been a balm for weary souls, a source of liberation, and an avenue to explore parts of themselves hitherto unexamined.

The courage with which thou dost write, free from the constraints of societal judgment, has inspired countless individuals to embrace their own desires and passions with newfound confidence. Thy work has created a space where shame is dissolved, and acceptance flourishes. Thy words have shown that there is beauty in the most unspoken of emotions, and by sharing these intimate explorations, thou hast reminded others that they are not alone in their longing.

It is not often that one encounters a voice so fearless in its authenticity, so bold in its willingness to embrace the fullness of human experience. Thy writings have been more than mere entertainment; they have been a catalyst for change, empowering those who might have otherwise remained in silence. Thou hast brought light to the dark corners of the heart, and for this, there is much to be thankful.

I write to express my deepest admiration and gratitude, Alpha Tony. May thou continue to write with such unbridled passion and grace, for thy words have indeed changed lives—for the better.

With respect and admiration, Lads anon 2

To my dear Historia Lads anon 2,

Didst thou pen this to bring tears to my eyes? Verily, for this parchment that lay upon mine hands dost ought to be framed upon mine wall that all who gaze upon it may know the depth of thine emotion!!

I am gladdened to be of service, and I hold that all should be free to explore their affections as pleaseth them, such is the reason- and thy words that my pen dost floweth.

And as for thy second letter, verily, I shall assuredly be penning missives to love and deepspace. This prose hath been most mirthful!

Thou has made this morn of mine, and for you I am thankful. I am smooching thee softly, mayst thou have the most plentiful week <3

With love,

Tony the Daddy.

[callofdudes]

More ✨ incorrect cod quotes!! ✨

Ghost: We need a distraction.

Price: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises?

Soap, whispering: My time has come

--------

Soap: Do you need help getting up?

Ghost: Nah, I'm cool down here on the floor

---------

Ghost: What did you order this morning?

Soap: What do you mean?

Ghost: I heard you answer the door, and I sensed food.

--------

Soap: So... what’s goin’ on?

Ghost: You want the long version or the short version?

Soap, hesitantly: The short one, I guess?

Ghost: Shit’s fucked.

Soap: Oh. Well, yeah, that’s definitely not an optimal situation.

--------

Soap: *in a jail cell* What about my Miranda rights!? You’re supposed to say I have ‘the right to remain silent’”! NOBODY SAID I HAD THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT!

Ghost: *in the cell next to him* You have the right to remain silent, what you lack is the capacity.

--------

Soap: FIGHT ME, YOU NERD ASS SLUT!

Ghost: At least try to sound slightly more sophisticated when you threaten someone.

Soap: Oh, I'm sorry. I should ask; dost thou want to engage in a duel, my good bitch?

Ghost: Somehow that's worse.

--------

Soap: What do I get?

Ghost: A night of fashion, mischief, mayhem, and possible death.

Soap: Ooh, check, check, and check; not sure about that last one.

Ghost: It won't be you.

Soap: I'll get my coat.

---------

Soap, shooing Ghost away: Can you go be depressed over there? You’re bumming out my whole area.

--------

Soap: Hey, wanna hear a funny joke?

Ghost: I only like dark humor.

Soap, turning the lights off: What do you call a fake noodle?

Ghost:

Soap: An IMPASTA!

--------

Gaz, gesturing to Price: Ghost, look what you did! You made Mom upset!

Soap: Mom, please don’t cry, we’re sorry!

Ghost: I’m sorry Mom... :(

Price, near tears: I DON’T REMEMBER GIVING BIRTH TO ANY OF YOU!

-------

Price, filling out legal paperwork: Were you guys born AMAB or AFAB?

Soap: Bold of you to assume I was born at all.

Ghost: I personally was created in a lab.

Gaz: I just straight up spawned lol.

-------

Ghost: I have the sharpest memory here - name one time I forgot something!

Gaz: You left me, Soap, and Price in a Walmart parking lot at 2am a day ago.

Ghost: I did that on purpose, try again.

-------

Soap: So, what, now I'm just supposed to do anything Gaz does? I mean, what if he jumped off a cliff?

Price: If Gaz were to jump off a cliff, he would've done his due diligence regarding the height of the cliff, the depth of the water, and the angle of entry, so yes. If you see Gaz jump off a cliff, by all means, jump off a cliff.

Ghost: You jump off a cliff!

Price: Gladly, provided Gaz did first.

-------

Ghost: ARE YOU-

Soap: Fucking.

Ghost: KIDDING ME?! YOU-

Soap: Fucking.

Ghost: IDIOT!

Gaz: …What was that?

Soap: Price banned Ghost from swearing, so I’m helping them out.

-------

Soap: *falls down the stairs*

Price: Are you okay?

Gaz: Stop falling down the stairs!

Ghost: How’d the ground taste?

-------

Gaz: Hey Soap, wanna third wheel on my date with Price tomorrow?

Soap: Sure.

Gaz: Ghost! Wanna third wheel on my date with Price tomorrow?

Gaz: Great! I've always wanted to go on a double date!

Soap and Ghost: ...

Price: Gaz...

------

Price: Time sensitive question how flirt boy.

Soap: Throw rocks at he.

Gaz: Hot Dogs.

Ghost: Kill him.

Price: Thanks guys.

-------

Soap: Made you all playlists!

Soap: Ghost, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul.

Soap: Gaz, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression.

Soap: And Price has the ABBA Gold album.

-------

Gaz: *about Soap and Ghost* They make a cute couple, huh?

Price: They certainly are standing next to each other.

-------

Price: HYDRATE OR DIE-DRATE!

Price: *aggressively throws water bottles*

Ghost: Uh... what's up with him?

Gaz: He's trying to yell mental health and wellbeing into us.

Price: I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU!

Soap, crying: It's working.

-------

Soap: Ghost, come out of your room right now!

Ghost: You're not my dad!

Soap: Yeah well I can hit like him!

Soap:...

Soap: Ghost I-

Ghost, slamming his door open: You have three seconds to run.

Soap: L-look at you... o-out of your room..

Soap, screaming as Ghost chases him down the hallway:

-------

Price: Yesterday, I watched Ghost try to eat a decorative rock from Soap's potted plant. Gaz caught him, and told him he can't eat rocks. Ghost started whining something about no food being in the house before walking away.

------

Gaz, watching Soap and Price fight: Are you sure they should be fighting? What if they get hurt?

Ghost, not bothered by the chaos: It’s fine. They’re too evenly matched to hurt each other.

Gaz: Then... who’s the strongest out of you three?

Soap: Ghost.

Price: Ghost.

Ghost: Me.

-------

Gaz: What’s it like being tall?

Soap: Is it nice?

Gaz: Can you reach comfortably for the cupboards?

Ghost: We live in constant fear of the short ones who, in my experience, will climb four chairs, two boxes, a small coffee table, and six oddly placed stools to get what they want.

------

Soap: My stomach growled super loud in French.

Soap: I would like to clarify, my stomach did not speak in French. It growled during French class.

Gaz: Bonjour.

Ghost: Le growl.

Gaz: Hon hon hon, feed me a baguette.

-------

Ghost: I told Price to grab snacks for everyone.

Gaz, looking through the options: Why did you grab fruit snacks? Are you five? Who even likes Fruit Snacks?

*Ghost, Price, and Soap raise their hands*

[twopoppies]

but surely their intention wasn’t to creat new larries. lol. Could you imagine?!? It certainly seems like a last ditch attempt to boost sales, and not specifically to isolate or ostracize larries. Unfortunately, we just bare the brunt and are the butt of this particular slander

I just find it very strange that they use Larry denials to generate press coverage. Because most larries I know don’t care to try and prove anything anymore. And literally no one was talking about Larry and then Louis is like, “and about Larry, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” Okay? So now you’ve got all these people thinking “thou dost protest too much”, and they’re looking into “this Larry thing.” And he’s all over the internet being linked to Harry once again. So what is it that you really want? Do you want us to talk about it? Or not?

Someone is keeping Larry alive and in front of the GP and it’s not larries. The question is why.

In reference to this

[kokuyuu]

Chapter one

(split in half, top part Giyū would be at the top, and bottom half Kokushibo at the end)

Two households, both alike in dignity

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

Chapter two,

(depicts them, meeting for the first time, they are on unequal levels)

With tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew,

Adding to clouds more clouds with his deep sighs.

But all so soon as the all-cheering sun

Should in the farthest east begin to draw

The shady curtains from Aurora’s bed,

Away from light steals home my heavy son

And private in his chamber pens himself,

Shuts up his windows, locks fair daylight out,

And makes himself an artificial night.

Black and portentous must this humor prove,

Unless good counsel may the cause remove.

Chapter three

(Seeing eye to eye, but still having to reach out)

Alas that love, so gentle in his view,

Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!

Alas that love, whose view is muffled still,

Should without eyes see pathways to his will!

Where shall we dine?—O me! What fray was here?

Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all.

Here’s much to do with hate, but more with love.

Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate,

O anything of nothing first create!

O heavy lightness, serious vanity,

Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms,

Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health,

Still-waking sleep that is not what it is!

This love feel I, that feel no love in this.

Dost thou not laugh?

No, coz, I rather weep.

Good heart, at what?

At thy good heart’s oppression.

Why, such is love’s transgression.

Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast,

Which thou wilt propagate to have it pressed

With more of thine. This love that thou hast shown

Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs;

Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers’ eyes;

Being vexed, a sea nourished with loving tears.

What is it else? A madness most discreet,

A choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

Farewell,

Chapter four

(Idk, romance shit, it doesn't exist yet)

Chapter Five

(Domestic stuff and clearly mutual)

[usagiumiko3]

hey guys🌌💕 i’ve been diving into emily brontë’s "the night is darkening round me" and while reading I made some connections between some poems and the lnds characters. here are some of my picks that I think resonate the best.

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» the prisoner «

in the dungeon-crypts, idly did i stray,

reckless of the lives wasting there away;

'draw the ponderous bars! open, warder stern!'

he dared not say me nay - the hingers harshly turn.

'our guests are darkly lodged,' i whisper'd, gazing through

the vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more grey than blue;

(this was when glad spring laughed in awaking pride;)

'aye, darkly lodged enough!' returned my sullen guide.

then, god forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue;

i scoffed, as chill chains on the damp flag-stones rung:

'confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear,

that we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?'

the captive raised her face, it was as soft and mild

as sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child;

it was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair,

pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there!

the captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow;

'i have been struck,' she said, 'and i am suffering now;

yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong,

and, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long.'

hoarse laughed the jailer grim: 'shall i be won to hear;

dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that i shall grant thy prayer?

or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans?

ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones.

'my master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind,

but hard as hardest flint, the soul that lurks behind;

and i am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see

than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me.'

about her lips there played a smile of almost scorn,

'my friend,' she gently said, 'you have not heard me mourn;

when you my kindred's lives, my lost life, can restore,

then may i weep and sue, - but never, friend, before!

(.....)

'oh, dreadful is the check - intense the agony -

when the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see;

when the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again,

the soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.

'yet i would lose no sting, would wish no torture less,

the more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless;

and robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine,

if it but herald death, the vision is divine!'

she ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go -

we had no further power to work the captive woe:

her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given

a sentence, unapproved, and overruled by heaven.

» ‘no coward soul is mine’ «

no coward soul is mine

no trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere

i see heaven's glories shine

and faith shines equal arming me from fear

o god within my breast

almighty ever-present deity

life, that in me hast rest

as i undying life, have power in thee

vain are the thousand creeds

that move men's hearts, unutterably vain,

worthless as withered weeds

or idlest froth amid the boundless main

to waken doubt in one

holding so fast by thy infinity

so surely anchored on

the steadfast rock of immortality

with wide-embracing love

thy spirit animates eternal years

pervades and broods above,

changes, sustains, dissolves, creates and rears

though earth and moon were gone

and suns and universes ceased to be

and thou wert left alone

every existence would exist in thee

there is not room for death

nor atom that his might could render void

since thou art being and breath

and what thou art may never be destroyed

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» remembrance «

cold in the earth - and the deep snow piled above thee,

far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave!

have i forgot, my only love, to love thee,

severed at last by time's all-severing wave?

now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover

over the mountains, on that northern shore,

resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover

thy noble heart for ever, ever more?

cold in the earth - and fifteen wild decembers,

from those brown hills, have melted into spring:

faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers

after such years of change and suffering!

sweet love of youth, forgive, if i forget thee,

while the world's tide is bearing me along;

other desires and other hopes beset me,

hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

no later light has lightened up my heaven,

no second morn has ever shone for me;

all my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,

all my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

but, when the days of golden dreams had perished,

and even despair was powerless to destroy;

then did i learn how existence could be cherished,

strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

then did i check the tears of useless passion -

weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;

sternly denied its burning wish to hasten

down to that tomb already more than mine.

and, even yet, i dare not let it languish,

dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;

once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,

how could i seek the empty world again?

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» stars «

ah! why, because the dazzling sun

restored our earth to joy,

have you departed, every one,

and left a desert sky?

all through the night, your glorious eyes

were gazing down in mine,

and with a full heart's thankful sighs,

i blessed that watch divine.

i was at peace, and drank your beams

as they were life to me;

and revelled in my changeful dreams,

like petrel on the sea.

thought followed thought, star followed star,

through boundless regions, on;

while one sweet influence, near and far,

thrilled through, and proved us one!

why did the morning dawn to break

so great, so pure, a spell;

and scorch with fire, the tranquil cheek,

where your cool radiance fell?

blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight,

his fierce beams struck my brow;

the soul of nature, sprang, elate,

but mine sank sad and low!

my lids closed down, yet through their veil,

i saw him, blazing, still,

and steep in gold the misty dale,

and flash upon the hill.

i turned me to the pillow, then,

to call back night, and see

your worlds of solemn light, again,

throb with my heart, and me!

it would not do - the pillow glowed,

and glowed both roof and floor;

and birds sang loudly in the wood,

and fresh winds shook the door;

the curtains waved, the wakened flies

were murmuring round my room,

imprisoned there, till i should rise,

and give them leave to roam.

oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night;

oh, night and stars return!

and hide me from the hostile light,

that does not warm, but burn;

that drains the blood of suffering men;

drinks tears, instead of dew;

let me sleep through his blinding reign,

and only wake with you!

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» anticipation «

how beautiful the earth is still,

to thee - how full of happiness!

how little fraught with real ill,

or unreal phantoms of distress!

how spring can bring thee glory, yet,

and summer win thee to forget

december's sullen time!

why dost thou hold the treasure fast,

of youth's delight, when youth is past,

and thou art near thy prime?

when those who were thy own compeers,

equals in fortune and in years,

have seen their morning melt in tears,

to clouded, smileless day;

blest, had they died untried and young,

before their hearts went wandering wrong,

poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,

a weak and helpless prey!

‘because, i hoped while they enjoyed,

and, by fulfilment, hope destroyed;

as children hope, with trustful breast,

i waited bliss - and cherished rest.

a thoughtful spirit taught me, soon,

that we must long till life be done;

that every phase of earthly joy

must always fade, and always cloy:

‘this i foresaw - and would not chase

the fleeting treacheries;

but, with firm foot and tranquil face,

held backward from that tempting race,

gazed o'er the sands the waves efface,

to the enduring seas -

there cast my anchor of desire

deep in unknown eternity;

nor ever let my spirit tire,

with looking for what is to be!

'it is hope's spell that glorifies,

like youth, to my maturer eyes,

all nature's million mysteries,

the fearful and the fair -

hope soothes me in the griefs i know;

she lulls my pain for others' woe,

and makes me strong to undergo

what i am born to bear.

'glad comforter! will i not brave,

unawed, the darkness of the grave?

nay, smile to hear death's billows rave -

sustained, my guide, by thee?

the more unjust seems present fate,

the more my spirit swells elate,

strong, in thy strength, to anticipate

rewarding destiny!'

» self-interrogation «

(….)

‘time stands before the door of death,

upbraiding bitterly;

and conscience, with exhaustless breath,

pours black reproach on me:

‘and though i've said that conscience lies,

and time should fate condemn;

still, sad repentance clouds my eyes,

and makes me yield to them!'

‘then art thou glad to seek repose?

art glad to leave the sea,

and anchor all thy weary woes

in calm eternity?

'nothing regrets to see thee go -

not one voice sobs "farewell",

and where thy heart has suffered so,

canst thou desire to dwell?'

‘alas! the countless links are strong

that bind us to our clay;

the loving spirit lingers long,

and would not pass away!

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» ‘the night is darkening round me’ «

the night is darkening round me

the wild winds coldly blow

but a tyrant spell has bound me

and i cannot cannot go

the giant trees are bending

their bare boughs weighed with snow and

the storm is fast descending

and yet i cannot go

clouds beyond clouds above me

wastes beyond wastes below

but nothing drear can move me

i will not cannot go

- - -

i'll come when thou art saddest

laid alone in the darkened room

when the mad day's mirth has vanished

and the smile of joy is banished

from evening's chilly gloom

i'll come when the heart's [real feeling

has entire unbiased sway

and my influence o'er thee stealing

grief deepening joy congealing

shall bear thy soul away

listen 'tis just the hour

the awful time for thee

dost thou not feel upon thy soul

a flood of strange sensations roll

forerunners of a sterner power

heralds of me

- - -

i would have touched the heavenly key

that spoke alike of bliss and thee

i would have woke the entrancing song

but its words died upon my tongue

and then i knew that hallowed strain

could never speak of joy again

and then i felt

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» death «

death! that struck when i was most confiding

in my certain faith of joy to be -

strike again, time's withered branch dividing

from the fresh root of eternity!

leaves, upon time's branch, were growing brightly,

full of sap, and full of silver dew;

birds beneath its shelter gathered nightly;

daily round its flowers the wild bees flew.

sorrow passed, and plucked the golden blossom;

guilt stripped off the foliage in its pride;

but, within its parent's kindly bosom,

flowed for ever life's restoring tide.

little mourned i for the parted gladness,

for the vacant nest and silent song -

hope was there, and laughed me out of sadness;

whispering, 'winter will not linger long!'

and, behold! with tenfold increase blessing,

spring adorned the beauty-burdened spray;

wind and rain and fervent heat, caressing,

lavished glory on that second may!

high it rose - no winged grief could sweep it;

sin was scared to distance with its shine;

love, and its own life, had power to keep it

from all wrong - from every blight but thine!

cruel death! the young leaves droop and languish;

evening's gentle air may still restore -

no! the morning sunshine mocks my anguish -

time, for me, must never blossom more!

strike it down, that other boughs may flourish

where that perished sapling used to be;

thus, at least, its mouldering corpse will nourish

that from which it sprung - eternity.

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» faith and despondency «

‘the winter wind is loud and wild,

come close to me, my darling child;

forsake thy books, and mateless play;

and, while the night is gathering grey,

we'll talk its pensive hours away; -

‘iernë, round our sheltered hall

november's gusts unheeded call;

not one faint breath can enter here

enough to wave my daughter's hair,

and i am glad to watch the blaze

glance from her eyes, with mimic rays;

to feel her cheek so softly pressed,

in happy quiet on my breast.

‘but, yet, even this tranquillity

brings bitter, restless thoughts to me;

and, in the red fire's cheerful glow,

i think of deep glens, blocked with snow;

i dream of moor, and misty hill,

where evening closes dark and chill;

for, lone, among the mountains cold,

lie those that i have loved of old.

and my heart aches, in hopeless pain

exhausted with repinings vain,

that i shall greet them ne'er again!'

» honour's martyr «

the moon is full this winter night;

the stars are clear, though few;

and every window glistens bright,

with leaves of frozen dew.

the sweet moon through your lattice gleams

and lights your room like day;

and there you pass, in happy dreams,

the peaceful hours away!

while i, with effort hardly quelling

the anguish in my breast,

wander about the silent dwelling,

and cannot think of rest.

the old clock in the gloomy hall

ticks on, from hour to hour;

and every time its measured call

seems lingering slow and slower:

and oh, how slow that keen-eyed star

has tracked the chilly grey!

what, watching yet! how very far

the morning lies away!

without your chamber door i stand;

love, are you slumbering still?

my cold heart, underneath my hand,

has almost ceased to thrill.

bleak, bleak the east wind sobs and sighs,

and drowns the turret bell,

whose sad note, undistinguished, dies

unheard, like my farewell!

tomorrow, scorn will blight my name,

and hate will trample me,

will load me with a coward's shame -

a traitor's perjury.

☆ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂✦ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

» the old stoic «

riches i hold in light esteem;

and love i laugh to scorn;

and lust of fame was but a dream

that vanished with the morn:

and if i pray, the only prayer

that moves my lips for me

is, 'leave the heart that now i bear,

and give me liberty!'

yes, as my swift days near their goal,

‘tis all that i implore;

in life and death, a chainless soul,

with courage to endure.

» self-interrogation «

(….)

‘and rest is sweet, when laurelled fame

will crown the soldier's crest;

but, a brave heart, with a tarnished name,

would rather fight than rest.'

'well, thou hast fought for many a year,

hast fought thy whole life through,

hast humbled falsehood, trampled fear;

what is there left to do?'

‘tis true, this arm has hotly striven,

has dared what few would dare;

much have i done, and freely given,

but little learnt to bear!’

[whataboutsimple]

Arrival

SaM AU part 2

The peaceful night sky cast the mortal world in the moon’s gentle glow, scattering silvery glimmers across sleeping valleys and forests. The moonlight, like a velvet shroud, wrapped around the land, bringing solace to those who had long been strangers to it. Leaves shimmered under its cold luminescence, rustling softly in the wind, whispering among themselves.

In distant keeps, guards lulled by silence dozed off unnoticed at their posts, while on the roof of one such fortress, an old black cat lazily squinted at a passing mouse, not even bothering to give chase.

The continent was at peace, more than it had ever been. And by all laws of time and space, one thing was clear — this was the calm before the storm.

Somewhere in the northern lands of the Rostholm Kingdom, the clear sky suddenly flared with yellow and blue sparks, tearing the fabric of reality itself. A thunderous roar rolled across the land, and in the night, two celestial bodies descended, trailing streaks of magical light behind them.

With shockwaves splitting the earth, they crashed not far from each other: a sphere of magma that melted the ground, creating a seething lake of lava, and a shard of ice, encasing the surroundings in jagged, crystalline spikes.

From the swirling remnants of arcane power, they emerged — the God of the Moon and the God of the Sun.

«That was rather rougher than usual, dost thou not agree?» — Soren grumbled, brushing dirt from his knees with a wince. His golden hair, typically gleaming like the sun itself, was tousled, and his eyes held a spark of irritation.

Gabriel shot him a slightly stern glance as he adjusted his glove — «Hadst thou spent less magic on flamboyant displays and more on cushioning our descent, then—»

He didn’t get to finish. Sun clapped a gloved hand over his mouth — «Alright, alright, my heart — I hear thee. Do ease thyself a little, won’t thou? We’re upon Earth! New ventures! People! Discovery!» — his voice was bright with excitement, as though already envisioning all the fun to be had.

Gabriel snorted, choosing not to argue further.

The two exchanged a glance, surveying the chaotic blend of lava and ice surrounding them, looking slightly embarrassed.

«Oh, come now- I’ve mastered this,» — Soren said with a grin, stretching both hands forward. Tiny embers crackled at his fingertips, and his eyes blazed a fierce yellow, like molten gold. Slowly, flecks of lava began to rise into the air, but...

Before he could gather even a handful, his arms trembled. With a sharp breath, he wavered and dropped to his knees, ending the spell — «What in the heavens... This is harder than I do recall? Curious...»

Gabriel frowned. He extended one hand, attempting to draw ice shards to him - only to let the spell fall apart a moment later — «Nay. Something is amiss.»

«What mean’st thou?»

«Drawing mana from conjured matter is but a trivial skill, especially to gods. If both of us falter, then surely our magic is unwell,» — Moon explained, cautiously examining his hands, as if the answer might lie within them.

«That wouldst make sense...» — Soren murmured, flexing his fingers — «Perhaps the world’s core is again in disarray? Remember the Destos era - the magical turbulence? Perhaps thou art right. We should retreat.» — He sighed, looking away and rubbing his neck sheepishly.

Gabriel lifted his gaze to his lover, his stern expression softening. Gently, he brushed his fingers across Soren’s cheek — «Thy proposal to visit mortals did hold merit, Soren. I’d even have enjoyed it... Yet I say — let us return to the Dwelling. Another time, mayhap, when the mana flows more obediently?» — He offered a reassuring smile as the moon bathed them in soft silver light.

Soren returned the smile — «Next time,» — he agreed, closing his eyes, readying himself for the return.

Ready.

Ready...

He cracked one eye open — «Why linger we still?»

«It fails.»

Soren looked up, catching the troubled expression on Gabriel’s face — «What doth??»

«The return. It denies us.»

«Our very home forbids our passage?»

«Nay, the Earth bindeth us. We... mana. We lack divine essence.»

Soren paled.

———

Some time later, the two gods sat side by side near a campfire, staring into the crackling flames. The fire cast flickering shadows over their faces, accentuating the tension etched into their features.

«I comprehend not...» — Soren murmured, leaning into Gabriel — «Divine mana abideth ever... It mirror’th the faith of our flock. Thou thinkest...?» — his words caught in his throat.

«All things are possible,» — Gabriel said, wrapping an arm around his husband’s shoulders — «Centuries have passed. When last didst thou hear prayer? A plea? I cannot say...»

«Nor I...» — Soren frowned — «I thought it was just another age of quiet... But gods, what if this is the quiet? We should find out. A village, maybe. Ask questions.»

Gabriel nodded in silent agreement, drawing him close. As long as it was just a quiet...

———

With the first light of dawn, they were already walking along a well-worn trail, quietly chatting. The forest around them was old and thick, tree trunks blanketed in moss, branches entwined into a dense green canopy.

«Regardless of hush or storm, we are in dire need of new gear. These garments are from our previous visit,» — Gabriel gave his scuffed chestplate a slight shake, frowning — «Pray the currency endureth.»

«If not, simply hand me the coin. I shall melt it down and sell the gold,» — Soren said cheerily, examining the flora with interest.

«Hand thee??» — Gabriel stopped abruptly — «Darling, we did agree - thou kept the treasury last time.»

Soren glanced back — «Huh? Oh.. Drat.»

«Soren.»

«Apologies...»

Gabriel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose — «Very well. We shall vend what remains. Mayhap it hold antique value.» — he muttered, continuing forward.

The sun was long past its zenith, yet the gods remained trapped in the forest.

«I cannot endure this further...» — Soren groaned, dragging his feet — «Why in all blazes doth this forest stretch without end? Felt like we entered at the edge and now we’re in its very heart!»

Gabriel watched his footing thoughtfully — «Art thou certain of thy chosen landing point?»

«By the latest maps? Aye - though the most recent was dated fifty years past, so I expected no perfection. Still, we ought not be this deep in damnable wilderness!»

Sighing, Gabriel turned and effortlessly scooped Soren into his arms. The latter wrapped his arms around his neck, resting against his chest.

«Much may change in fifty years.»

«An entire forest o’ertaking a city?» — Soren arched an eyebrow brow — «Sounds like Stolas’ doing. Always fawning over his flora..»

«Perchance so.» — Gabriel muttered, then suddenly stopped, tense.

«What is it?»

«Shhh...»

Soren froze, eyes scanning their surroundings.

«Another is near,» — Moon murmured, glancing right — «Mayhap friendly. Might direct us to the nearest settlement.»

«And if hostile?»

«Then shall my blade speak.» — Gabriel said calmly, setting Soren down.

They moved carefully through the underbrush. Suddenly, the bushes parted to reveal a clearing. In its center, beneath an ancient oak, an old woman struggled to knock down acorns with a stick.

Frail and hunched, she reached upward with effort.

Soren perked up immediately.

«Greetings!»

The old woman shrieked, dropping her stick.

«Land sakes! I ain’t got nothin’ worth pinchin’, I swear on my ol’ rooster’s grave!»

«Fear not - we are no robbers,» — Gabriel removed his hand from his sword’s hilt — «Merely travelers. Lost ones.»

Она squinted at them, then her face lit up with a smile.

«Oh, bless yer hearts! That tongue o’ yours - ain’t no way y’all from ‘round these parts. Nearest town’s a good three days on foot, if yer legs don’t give up on ya.»

The gods exchanged glances.

«Didn’t bring a map? Well, I’ll be... Y’must be from far-off lands where the moon rises crooked and the roosters crow backwards.»

Soren scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

«Something like that... Wouldst thou be willing to guide us?»

«Guide ye? Honey, these knees been barkin’ louder than a coonhound at full moon. Best y’all come on back with me to my lil’ cottage yonder. Got me an old map tucked under a pie tin.»

Gabriel nodded.

«We would be most obliged. Might we assist with the acorns?» — he gestured to the tree.

Old woman smiled.

«Well ain’t that sweet as honey on cornbread. You go on and scoop 'em up, I’ll keep the squirrels from throwin’ a fit.»

Gabriel approached the oak and struck its trunk sharply. Acorns rained down. Soren caught them in a basket.

«We shall gather them for thee.»

———

The sun had fully set by the time they reached the crooked little hut at the clearing’s edge. Inside, it smelled of dried herbs and woodsmoke.

«Come on in, come on in! Don’t just stand there with bellies rumblin’ like thunder in July. I’ll rustle up somethin’ warm — got stew on the fire that’ll stick to yer ribs proper.» — said the woman, who introduced herself as Alberta, bustling by the hearth.

Soren settled beside Gabriel on a rough bench.

«Art thou not afraid, living here in solitude?»

«Afraid? Pfft, sugar, I done outlived two husbands, a bear attack, and a chimney fire — what’s one more day in the woods? Ain’t nothin’ out here but trees, wind, and ghosts with better manners than city folk. Aye, once was a right proper place, tied to the Church o’ the Moon. But wars came, then the cults. Now it’s just me and the moss growin’ where pews used to sit. Seventy years gone by like smoke in a breeze.»

Gabriel tensed. Soren quietly squeezed his hand.

«Why did the Church depart?»

«Depart?» — she scoffed. «Got tore up root to roof. Some cursed cult came crawlin’ in like rats in the cellar. Killed the priests, stripped the altar bare, and lit the place up like solstice bonfire. Capital washed its hands o’ it. Said it weren't their hen to pluck no more.»

«What cult?» — Soren leaned forward.

«Well, reckon y’all really ain’t from ‘round here. North’s still peaceful, mayhap, but down here it’s a whole different stew.» — she ladled thick mushroom stew into bowls — «by that bracelet o’ yours, I’d wager one of you walks with the Sun, and t’other with the Moon... or both o’ Unity, if that still means a lick.»

«Unity,» — Gabriel answered quickly, catching Soren’s questioning glance — «So, what cult?»

Alberta sank onto a stool.

«Moon Cult, if you can believe the gall. Call themselves the Antilunars now, actin’ like they hold the truth in their teeth. Some even call it the ‘True Faith’ — but I say any faith that burns holy ground and slaughters folk o’ peace ain’t got God in it, only rot.»

A chill coiled in Gabriel’s chest, sharp and twisting — not from the cold, but from the weight of failing those he’d sworn to protect. His people had suffered, bled, been silenced for generations... and he hadn’t even heard their cries.

Soren stirred his stew grimly.

«And the Church of the Sun?»

«Didn’t fare no better, bless their light. The Anti-Solars came swingin’ harder than a drunk with an axe. Took out whole shrines and towns ‘til the rivers ran red.»

Soren slammed his spoon down.

«Gods damn it...»

Now they knew why their magic was fading. Faith was no longer flowing to them - but against them.

Alberta leaned in suddenly.

«Watch them holy signs, sweethearts. Towns these days’ll toss a preacher in the stocks and spit on the hymnbook. World’s gone sideways, and the good folk keep their heads down and mouths shut.»

Gabriel stood sharply.

«Excuse me...»

His voice cracked. He stepped outside, letting the door slam behind him.

Soren watched him go, then sighed.

He’d never cared much for mortals. But Gabriel... Gabriel had always cared for every one of his followers.

———

(Author's notes: my cat said it's all good, ni mistakes and ect, and I believe him)

[aslam-rp]

Suhasini ek 28-38 saal ki MBA complete, gori chitti, doodh jaisi sundar aur sanskari ladki hai. Uski height 5’6” aur figure 36-28-34 hai, bilkul makhan ki tarah soft aur ekdum jhakkas personality wali. Suhasini ko jewelry, saree, makeup aur fashion ka shauk hai, par dharmik aur sanskari values ko apna pehla farz maanti hai. Wo ek rich family se belong karti hai aur apne pati ke adesh ka palan karti hai.

Rohit aur Suhasini ki love marriage hoti hai, jo college ke pyaar ka natija hai. Shadi ke baad Suhasini apni zindagi se bohot khush hoti hai, kyunki usse apne sapno ka pati aur family milti hai. Rohit 30-40 saal ka hai aur ek private factory ka bada officer hai.

Lekin shadi ke dusre hi din ek twist aata hai. Rohit ko USA se ek badi business offer milti hai jo uski struggling factory ke liye ek nayi shuruaat ban sakti hai. Suhasini apne dil ko samjhati hai aur Rohit ko USA bhej deti hai.

Malhotra family ke members:

Aporva (Rohit ki maa, ek modern aur high-society lady)

Rohit Malhotra

Suhasini Malhotra

Prachi Malhotra (Rohit ki behan, jo apne pyar aur shadi ki tayari mein busy hai)

Rohit ke jane ke baad Suhasini apne akelapan ko mehsoos karti hai. Wo har roz Rohit ko call karti hai, par Rohit busy hone ke karan sirf phone par baatein karta hai aur wapas aane ka wada karta hai. Suhasini ki andar ki tanhai aur jazbaat usse pareshaan karte hain.

Tabhi ek naye character ka entry hoti hai – Aslam.

Aslam ek 35-48 saal ka lamba-chowda, hata-kata Muslim mard hai, jiske chest par hair hain aur jo gym jaane wale ek strong personality wala banda hai. Rohit apne ghar ke kaam ke liye Aslam ko 15 din ke liye bhejta hai. Aslam Malhotra family ka kaam samhalega, par uski entry ke saath ghar mein naye twists shuru hote hain.

Aporva (Rohit ki maa) ke dil mein Aslam ke liye purane jazbaat jagte hain, kyunki kabhi gym mein unka Aslam par crush tha. Prachi (Rohit ki behan) bhi uski taraf attract hone lagti hai, kyunki use hamesha se aise mardo ka shauk tha.

Suhasini ka transformation:

Sanskari aurat se ek bold aur passionate aurat banne ka safar shuru hota hai. Club jana, drink karna, aur apne jazbaat ke naye rang dekhna, ye sab uski life ka hissa ban jata hai. Suhasini apni desires ko samajhne lagti hai aur Aslam ke saath naye rishton ka silsila shuru hota hai.

Twist tab aata hai jab Aslam poori Malhotra family ko apne charm aur control mein lene lagta hai. Ghar ke dharmik values dheere-dheere badalti hain, aur nayi situations create hoti hain jo story ko aur intense aur thrilling banati hain.

Extra Characters:

Aslam ke gym ke dost jo aage story mein naye twists laate hain.

Rohit ke jija ji ka unexpected involvement.

Aslam aur Malhotra family ke beech interfaith aur cultural clashes.

[kikizoshi]

Hello, Kizo! you've also mentioned some of the interesting aspects of Gogol's personality I haven't thought about before. Like his pessimism. He is so constantly and desperately wants to seem excited, amused, thrilled, that he's managed to fool me. But it makes sense. "The only salvation from emotions is mine or smn else's death". He is quite pessimistic, just like Dost. And he's a perfectionist. He wants an absolute perfect freedom and nothing in between. Why is he like this, maybe trauma?

Thanks for the interesting asks!

It's neat to me that Nikolai manages to fool you. What I love especially there is that, like you said, while putting on that act he's so energetic, vivacious, and drawn very enthusiastic and animated. But when he breaks character, there's a stillness to him. His shrill tone softens into a meditative tenor; his grand gesticulations withdraw into intimate gestures; his stretched mouth and squinted eyes relax into the visage of a quiet, thoughtful, introspective young man. Harukawa expresses all of this beautifully with their drawings, and I just love it so much. The glimpses we see of the Nikolai under his mask are what made me fall in love with him in the first place--it's what makes his character for me.

One thing I really love expressed in characters like Nikolai is the 'sad clown paradox', which I think fits him pretty well. It's the playful jester character who's internally cynical. Nikolai creates a persona of a spontaneous, silly, horrifically brutal psychopath, but the scant few glimpses we get of him, we see a thoughtful and caring person, so much more and so much opposite just under the surface. I absolutely adore that duality.

I'm not gonna talk about potential backstories for Nikolai; I feel like speculation there is kinda pointless for me, since it could be literally anything. But, I can talk about Gogol's influence on him a bit.

Regarding this:

"The only salvation from emotions is mine or smn else's death". He is quite pessimistic, just like Dost. And he's a perfectionist. He wants an absolute perfect freedom and nothing in between. Why is he like this, maybe trauma?

I see a lot of Gogol's influence here. I'm not sure how much you know about Gogol as a person, so sorry if this is reiterative, but it's important context (and please take my cliffs notes version with a teaspoon of salt; I'm by no means a Gogol scholar). Gogol, at the end of his life--though probably during too--was very concerned with the purity of his soul. Why isn't something I can really comment on, but it seems to have culminated in him going to a radical priest, who advised him to undertake an extreme fast (meant for monks, I believe). Gogol then burned his manuscript for the second part of 'Dead Souls', and starved himself to death over the course of about twelve days (whether or not he meant to die isn't agreed-upon as far as I can tell, but that he died as a result of this fast is). All to reach a purity of soul he felt he didn't have, and couldn't get without drastic actions.

I genuinely have no idea if this story inspired Nikolai's, but I wouldn't be surprised if it did. There are a lot of parallels, and if you replace Gogol's 'religious purity' with Nikolai's 'freedom', you get a similar tragedy. Both seem based on the belief "my mortal/inherent failures/limitations are holding me back from what I need". And rather than go inwards and seek clarity through introspection, both externalise their problems and try to "fix" themselves via grand--and painful--proofs of their "faith/conviction".

There's also the parallel with Gogol's priest and Fyodor, though I'm not sure how much it tracks. Fyodor does seem to have some influence on Nikolai, but it sounds like Nikolai was already on his path when they met... that's all backstory stuff though, so who knows.

Then there's still the missing piece of 'why', with Nikolai. Why does he feel he needs to free himself from his emotions? Gogol's motive makes sense several ways: fear of Hell, self-hatred, a deep, spiraling depression. It's understandable, it's human, it's relatable. But Nikolai's freedom?

That Asagiri chose 'freedom from emotions' to be Nikolai's pursuit isn't something I've ever managed to understand. I just don't get it. I can't connect it to anything. You hear about people wanting to be numb, sure, but Nikolai's wants seem more about being capable of doing anything, or proving that he can... And he said (paraphrasing) "in spite of happiness I choose free will," so at the very least Nikolai thinks he's capable of happiness, and it's just not as important to him as his "freedom."

Yeah, idk. There's definitely something interesting there, though, that Nikolai's Ability gives him the freedom to do pretty much whatever (as Atsushi said in Sunday Tragedy), but he's so wrapped up in his own mind that he either can't see the freedom he has, or physical freedom is ultimately meaningless to him--which would make him seeking freedom through external actions an interesting failure to understand himself.

Then again, I don't know how honest Nikolai's being with himself, honestly. His whole "freedom" thing is an ever-moving goalpost. First it was torture people to death and kill himself. Then it was kill his best friend. Then it got so convoluted I won't even try to summarise it. And now he just seems lost. Giving Asagiri the benefit of the doubt and assuming this is intentional characterisation (and not just giving him plot-convenient reasons to take certain actions), Nikolai seems at best very confused (and trying to appear like he very much isn't). And, well, I'm confused too.

So yeah, all that's very interesting. Not sure how much of it was intended. Hard to tell with a character that gets like one scene every two years. And hard to tell where he'll go, considering how rarely BSD characters stay true to who they were past their debut.

Regarding the pessimism thing: ironically, I'd say Fyodor's pessimism is more optimistic in nature than Nikolai's. Because Fyodor believes in a world that can change. Fyodor believes he can make the world a better place, and is doing everything he can to achieve that. Nikolai, however, in his best case scenario, proves that it's technically true that complete freedom exists. But his world is still comprised of people in cages. It's cynical and oppressive, and his grandest hopes don't come close to changing anything for the better. I think that fits mostly very well with some differences I've observed between Dostoyevsky and Gogol.

[miquellathekindone]

The gentle swaying of the cradle echoed throughout the chambers, along with the gurgle of a neonatal voice.

Consort Radagon reached for the edge of the baldachin, gently pushing it aside to reveal the state of the infants in the bedroom Queen Marika had created for them. Infant Miquella's hair glistened in the sparse golden light of the Erdtree coming through the tracery, though beyond making him rest with the same effect it had had on Infant Malenia, Infant Miquella remained wide-eyed towards an uncertain future.

The Cradlesong's Blessing seemed not to have had the desired effect that night.

The Consort held back a sigh, with some fear that the sound might disturb the sleep of the only one who was still asleep at the moment; and slowly made his way to the double crib.

His hands gently touched the carefully carved reliefs in the wood, waiting for the seals to be reactivated by his touch. These glowed golden for a few fleeting moments until leaving the alcove back in gloom, only the illumination of the Erdtree being enough to not be left in complete darkness that would frighten the Infants.

Tiny fingers reached up as if to touch the heavens. Consort Radagon held them down.

Infant Miquella was still awake.

It was strange. So strange that Consort Radagon's eyebrow rose, quietly observing the way the small body of Infant Miquella stirred in his cot, away from his sister's constricting embrace. Infant Miquella slept without a single complaint much of the time, as long as he could hear his twin's heart. It had been an easy decision to let them rest together from the first moment they were born.

Infant Miquella's fingers stirred in his soft grip, like tiny worms, and his golden eyes bore into Consort Radagon's as if promising a future war.

"...Cast not thine eyes upon me, child."

Finally, Consort Radagon released his grip on the little hand, letting it rest on the cot.

"Hast thou truly forgotten me?"

The gurgles coming from Infant Miquella's mouth became more insistent.

Infant Malenia stirred, though she did not awaken from her deep slumber. However, Consort Radagon had discovered some time before her light sleep, and he hurried to get Infant Miquella out of the crib in the same way Queen Marika did. Quickly, with agility. Consort Radagon's hands never dealt with something so fragile, not since the birth of his previous children, but Infant Miquella put up no resistance.

There was something in Infant Miquella's eyes that seemed different.

Consort Radagon cradled the baby against his exposed chest and raised a hand to touch the blond locks that were growing rapidly like the leaves of the Erdtree. The color mirrored that of his mother, very different from the bloody color of the mane of Infant Malenia, who more closely resembled her father.

"Why dost thou not slumber? Doth it vex thee to share thy space with another?"

Infant Miquella's brow furrowed, almost as if he could understand Consort Radagon's words. So stubborn from such a young age. Infant Miquella had been born for great things, just like his twin.

"Ah, thou art merely being obstinate," Consort Radagon muttered. The magic built up in the tiny body of Infant Miquella, a mixture of ancestral blessings and runes of protection, kept the palms of his hands covered in a golden aura that made them both glow. "Mayhaps a song shall aid thee, after all."

Consort Radagon did not have as good a voice as Queen Marika, his usual tone neutral and cold. However, from his throat came a spectral sound that made Infant Miquella's eyes stop searching the shrews for something, preferring to listen to what his father wished to sing.

"...May thy future shine as bright as the Erdtree,

And the shadows be banished from thy path.

O, Lord Miquella the Kind,

Take this song as both a forewarning and as a vow."

[talonabraxas]

RA ∆∆∆ Talon Abraxas

A HYMN TO RA, WHEN HE RISES IN THE EAST.

Hail, thou Aten, thou lord of rays, who risest on the horizon day by day! Shine thou with thy beams of light upon the face of the Osiris Ani, the truth-speaker, who sings hymns to thee at dawn, and adores thee at eventide. Let his soul appear with thee in heaven. Let him sail out in the Matet Boat and arrive in port in the Seqtet Boat, and let him cleave his way among the stars that never vanish.

Homage to thee, O Her-aakhuti, who art Khepera, the self-created!

When thou risest and sendest forth thy beams upon the lands of the South and the North, thou art beautiful, yea beautiful, and all the gods rejoice when they see thee, the King of Heaven.

Nebt-Unnut (a goddess) is on thy head, her serpents are on thy head, and she takes her place before thee. Thoth stands in the bows of thy boat to destroy thy foes.

The denizens of the Tuat (Underworld) come to meet thee, they bow before thee in homage at the sight of thy Beautiful Form.

I would come before thee daily to be with thee and to behold thy Beautiful Aten (Disk). Let me be neither prevented nor repulsed.

Grant that when I look upon thy beauties my members may be made young again, even as are the members of thy favoured ones.

I am one who worshipped thee on earth. Let me enter the Eternal Land in the Everlasting Country. O my Lord, I beseech thee to decree this for me.

Homage to thee who risest as Ra on thy horizon and restest upon Maat!

Thou passest over the sky, every face watches thy course, thou thyself being unseen. Thou showest thyself at dawn and at eve daily.

The Seqtet Boat of thy Majesty goes forth mightily, thy beams fall upon every face, thy variegated lights and colours cannot be numbered, and cannot be told . . . .

One by thyself alone didst thou come into being from the primeval waters of Nunu (or Nu).

May I go forward as thou dost advance without pause, and dost in a moment pass over untold leagues and as thou sinkest to rest even so may I.

Thou art crowned with the majesty of thy beauties, thou dost fashion thy members as thou dost advance, and dost produce them without the pangs of labour in the form of Ra, and dost rise up into the heights.

Grant that I may come into the everlasting heaven and the mountain where thy favoured ones dwell. Let me join myself to those who are holy and perfect in the divine Underworld, and let me appear with them to behold thy beauties at eventide. I lift my hands to thee in adoration when thou the living One dost set. Thou art the Eternal Creator and art adored at thy setting in heaven.

I have given my heart to thee without wavering, O thou who art the mightiest of the gods . . .

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: “Foolish mortals!” Yaldabaoth’s shadow fell over them like a death shroud, “The sin of rebelling against a god is severe. As punishment, I banish you to other worlds unknown!” The whole world shifted as the black wind swirled around them, twisting and contorting to create broken fractals in the flow of time and space. Yaldabaoth pulled his hand across the air over them, a movement as if ripping apart the weave of fate itself. Joker gasped as bizarre doors flickered into existence. One, a monolithic set of stone doors engraved with an alien image, cracked open to reveal a terrifying eye swimming in a void. The next, a glowing white shoji door exuding a strange energy that prickled at their very souls. The third, a circular ornate gate set in the floor, the bulging eyes at the top drank in the scenery as its gaping mouth pooled with vile black sludge. The final was nothing more than a fluctuating cloud of black and purple mist.

Author: BakuBaku

Note from submitter: Look I know its the most kudos fic in the persona fandom I want to know how many people sat down and read this magnificent monster of a 841,574 word fic. It takes me like 4 days if I forgo most of my sleep.

[eri-pl]

Slim Advent calendar 22: Time

“My lady.” Cano bowed as deeply as a prince’s son should before a Valie.

Vairë nodded to him. “What a pleasant visit. May I call thee Macalaurë? This has always seemed to be more poetic.” She kept working on her loom, pulling through it colorful threads with speed and precision beyond any other's.

“Of course.” He chose his next words carefully, not to say anything too controversial. He would much prefer to discuss those matters with someone less caring about controversy, and likely more knowledgeable, but his father barely let him talk to any of the Valar. Cano hated politics. And the fact that he had to be political in order to learn more about art. “May I ask you about the Great Music?”

“Lady Varda knows more, though she does not talk much. But even many of her Maiar would probably be a better source of inspiration, or, even more so, of Irmo's. But ask if thou willst.”

“Was there time then? Before Eä?” Cano forced himself not to blush. His father would probably find at least three logical errors in those questions.

But Vairë didn't admonish him. She paused her work for a moment, then answered. “No. There was no time then.”

“Please, don't treat this as doubting you, but, how did music work when there was no time?”

Now she paused for longer. Cano wondered how much to look at the Valie, and how much at the colorful, lifelike tapestries surrounding them. He should seem bold, but not too bold; decisive but not rude. The tapestries were so light that they flickered like flames with every breath, which made it even harder to not stare at them all the time.

Finally, Vairë spoke. “It might be better to say it thus: there was time, but unlike now. Order, but not yet a measure. Earlier ones came before the later ones, but none were longer than others, until they lasted over then and then more. They had no length, only direction.” Before Cano could verbalize his confusion, she added “Thou lovest thy father. That's one of the things the Noldor are famous for. And thou lovest your harp. And surely thou lovest thine father more, but it's not possible to say how much more. Twice? Thrice? Hundredfold? This question does not make sense. Now imagine time being in this way. That's how it was when we came to be, and that's how it was when we sang the Music.”

It took Cano some time to imagine, but she let him think in peace, and in the meantime worked.

“I see. That's harder to work with, but not impossible.”

Vairë looked at him deeply, pausing her work again. “Dost thou wish to create something resembling the Music itself? Do not.”

“I—” Now he let himself blush. Father wasn't there to chide him about it, and Cano really didn't want to anger one of the Powers. “Not something mighty. But I am seeking to increase my understanding of what music is.”

“Fine then.” She resumed weaving. “It would be pointless anyway. The Music was deeper in a way I cannot explain in any way thou wouldst understand. Like a fabric is to a thread. And yet, it was not complete.” The last words she said with sadness.

“How so? It's the world not complete then?”

“No, unless in the sense that it hasn't come to its end yet. The world is more then the Music, and we do not know all of it.”

Cano stood still, as politeness would have it — he was not some Vanya to sit when visiting one of the Powers, no matter what he would prefer, father made it clear — and Vairë seemed to understand this. It was enough that he asked them strange questions.

“Does this mean, my lady, that there shall be a time when your knowledge ends?”

“Not soon. And not as thou imaginest it. The Music was not…” She took one of her threads. “This is like the Music.” With quick movements of her fingers, she crocheted it into a small square. “And this is like Eä.”

She used a multicolored thread, so the square was mostly gray, but a contrasting line ran across it. “Those are the parts we have not sung. They are not limited to one place, as thou seest. But it is not a big part. The Music ended on the cadence, at least on a six-four before, if I were to compare it to the structures from thine book.”

Cano’s heart leaped with joy. Vairë herself had read his book? And didn't find it useless? Father had said it was decent, but not strict enough. But how could he make thinking about music even more strict? It was an art too, after all.

“I hope to write another one when I learn enough.”

Vairë smiled. “I'll gladly read it.”

[the-blossica-fan]

Arcana, about 37phi: ...How art I going to fix this one...?

Arcana: Dost thou miss thy lover?

Sophia: Are you still calling Forget-me-not to fix the "doomed Yuri" you created? Listen me and 37 are nothing anymore, I have decided to forget about her... For both of our sakes

Arcana: ... But dost thou?

Sophia: My God-... Yes

Arcana: I can fix thy relationship-

Arcana: Oh, she hung up again. Vertin, can thou give me another coin?

She's trying so hard to make Sophia leave the Manus and come back or for 37 to join the Manus and reunite with Sophia. So far she got a middle finger and a couple complaints from Sophia.

She'll manage, some day. (She's about to kidnap Sophia away from the Manus at this point)