#trait: cherub

[digi-lov]

Terriermon (X Antibody) BT16-038 and Lopmon (X Antibody) BT16-067 by Sanosuke Sakuma, and Cherubimon (X Antibody) BT16-079 by Nakano Haito from BT-16 Booster Beginning Observer

[bittersweetburnedcaramel]

@thegoldeatingbitch asked for a tea party, so I made one, with the creature from their profile pic in it :^

Why? Kinda funny, btw it's breaking the fabric of time a bit-

also I suggest clicking for better quality, or else tumblr turns it into a Snes game frame worth of pixels :P

Here's the versions without dialogue, normal and the one wirh reality bending effects :D

[starlit-bawka]

Caving and making dsmp and qsmp Homestuck AUs

[unboundprompts]

How to write about someone���s appearance? Their physique, styles, face , clothes,?

How to Describe a Character's Appearance

-> dabblewriter.com

-> link to Character Description Prompts

Avoid Over-Describing

Overloading readers with too much information can be overwhelming and make your characters feel flat and one-dimensional. Focus on the details that are the most important to the story and the characters themselves.

If the character's appearance is not central to the story, then you may only need to give a basic description. If it plays a significant role, you may want to go into more detail. Always keep the purpose of your physical descriptions in mind.

Show Don't Tell

Don't blatantly state every little thing about your character's appearance, but rather show it through their actions and behaviors.

example: If they are tall, show that through their actions. They have to duck to get under a doorway, they help someone reach the top shelf, etc.

Include Personality Traits

A character's personality is what makes them memorable. Consider their motivations, values, beliefs, and quirks and give them a well-defined personality.

Avoid Stereotypes

Create characters that are more than just their cultural, racial, ethnic, or gender identity. Give them unique interests, hobbies, and personalities. Allow them to have flaws, contradictions, and diverse perspectives.

External Features

External features include a character's height, weight, body type, and general appearance. You can describe their skin color, hair color, eye color, and any distinctive features like freckles or scars. This type of description gives the reader a basic understanding of what the character looks like, which is helpful in creating a mental image.

Clothing

Describing the type of clothing they wear, including the colors, patterns, and how they fit, can reveal a lot about a character’s personality and social status.

For example, a character who wears tailored suits and expensive shoes might be a little snobby and concerned with their image, while a character who wears ripped jeans and t-shirts might be casual and relaxed.

Facial Features

Facial features can be used to give the reader a more in-depth understanding of a character's personality and emotions. You can describe their smile, the way they frown, their cheekbones, and their jawline. You can also describe their eyebrows, the shape of their nose, and the size and shape of their eyes, which can give the reader insight into their emotions.

Body Language

Body language can be used to give the reader an understanding of a character's emotions and personality without the need for dialogue. Describing the way a character stands, walks, or gestures can reveal a lot about their confidence level, mood, and attitude.

For example, a character who slouches and avoids eye contact is likely to be shy, while a character who stands up straight and makes direct eye contact is likely to be confident.

Words to Describe Various Features

Head and face

Oval: rounded, elongated, balanced, symmetrical

Round: full, plump, chubby, cherubic

Square: angular, defined, strong, masculine

Heart: pointy, triangular, wider at the temples, narrow at the chin

Diamond: angular, pointed, narrow at the forehead and jaw, wide at the cheekbones

Long: elongated, narrow, oval, rectangular

Triangular: angular, wide at the jaw, narrow at the forehead, inverted heart-shape

Oblong: elongated, rectangular, similar to oval but longer

Pear-shaped: narrow at the forehead, wide at the jaw and cheekbones, downward-pointing triangle

Rectangular: angular, defined, similar to oblong but more squared

Facial features

Cheeks: rosy, plump, gaunt, sunken, dimpled, flushed, pale, chubby, hollow

Chin: pointed, cleft, rounded, prominent, dimpled, double, weak, strong, square

Ear: large, small, delicate, flapped, pointed, rounded, lobeless, pierced

Eyes: deep-set, angled, bright, piercing, hooded, wide-set, close-set, beady, slanted, round, droopy, sleepy, sparkling

Forehead: high, broad, wrinkled, smooth, furrowed, low, narrow, receding

Jaw: strong, square, defined, angular, jutting, soft, weak, chiseled

Lips: full, thin, chapped, cracked, puckered, pursed, smiling, quivering, pouty

Mouth: wide, small, downturned, upturned, smiling, frowning, pouting, grimacing

Nose: hooked, straight, aquiline, button, long, short, broad, narrow, upturned, downturned, hooked, snub

Eyebrows: arched, bushy, thin, unkempt, groomed, straight, curved, knitted, furrowed, raised

Hair

Texture: curly, straight, wavy, frizzy, lank, greasy, voluminous, luxurious, tangled, silky, coarse, kinky

Length: long, short, shoulder-length, waist-length, neck-length, chin-length, buzzed, shaven

Style: styled, unkempt, messy, wild, sleek, smoothed, braided, ponytail, bun, dreadlocks

Color: blonde, brunette, red, black, gray, silver, salt-and-pepper, auburn, chestnut, golden, caramel

Volume: thick, thin, fine, full, limp, voluminous, sparse

Parting: center-parted, side-parted, combed, brushed, gelled, slicked back

Bangs: fringed, side-swept, blunt, wispy, thick, thin

Accessories: headband, scarf, barrettes, clips, pins, extensions, braids, ribbons, beads, feathers

Body

Build: slender, skinny, lean, athletic, toned, muscular, burly, stocky, rotund, plump, hefty, portly

Height: tall, short, petite, lanky, willowy, stocky, rotund

Posture: slouching, upright, hunched, stiff, relaxed, confident, nervous, slumped

Shape: hourglass, pear-shaped, apple-shaped, athletic, bulky, willowy, curvy

Muscles: defined, toned, prominent, ripped, flabby, soft

Fat distribution: chubby, plump, rounded, jiggly, wobbly, flabby, bloated, bloated

Body hair: hairy, smooth, shaven, beard, goatee, mustache, stubble

Weight: light, heavy, average, underweight, overweight, obese, lean, skinny

Body language: confident, nervous, aggressive, submissive, arrogant, timid, confident, relaxed

Body movements: graceful, clunky, fluid, awkward, jerky, smooth, agile, rigid

Build

Muscular: ripped, toned, defined, well-built, buff, brawny, burly, strapping

Athletic: fit, toned, agile, flexible, energetic, muscular, athletic, sporty

Thin: skinny, slender, slim, lanky, bony, gaunt, angular, wiry

Stocky: sturdy, broad-shouldered, compact, muscular, solid, robust, heavy-set

Overweight: plump, chubby, rotund, heavy, portly, corpulent, stout, fleshy

Fat: overweight, overweight, rotund, heavy, bloated, tubby, round, fat

Lean: lanky, slender, skinny, thin, wiry, willowy, spare, underweight

Larger: large, heavy, hefty, substantial, solid, overweight, portly, rotund

Skin

Texture: smooth, soft, silky, rough, bumpy, flaky, scaly, rough

Tone: fair, light, pale, dark, tan, olive, bronze, ruddy, rosy

Complexion: clear, radiant, glowing, dull, blotchy, sallow, ruddy, weathered

Wrinkles: deep, fine, lines, crow's feet, wrinkles, age spots

Marks: freckles, age spots, birthmarks, moles, scars, blemishes, discoloration

Tone: even, uneven, patchy, discolored, mottled, sunburned, windburned

Glow: luminous, radiant, healthy, dull, tired, lifeless

Tautness: taut, firm, loose, saggy, wrinkles, age spots, slack

Condition: healthy, glowing, radiant, dry, oily, acne-prone, sunburned, windburned

Style

Clothing: trendy, stylish, fashionable, outdated, classic, eclectic, casual, formal, conservative, bold, vibrant, plain, ornate

Fabric: silk, cotton, wool, leather, denim, lace, satin, velvet, suede, corduroy

Colors: bright, bold, pastel, neutral, vibrant, muted, monochrome

Accessories: jewelry, hats, glasses, belts, scarves, gloves, watches, necklaces, earrings, bracelets, rings

Shoes: sneakers, boots, sandals, heels, loafers, flats, pumps, oxfords, slippers

Grooming: well-groomed, unkempt, messy, clean-cut, scruffy, neat

Hair: styled, messy, curly, straight, braided, dreadlocks, afro, updo, ponytail

Makeup: natural, bold, minimal, heavy, smokey, colorful, neutral

Personal grooming: clean, fragrant, unkempt, well-groomed, grooming habits

Overall appearance: put-together, disheveled, polished, rough, messy, tidy

If you like what I do and want to support me, please consider buying me a coffee! I also offer editing services and other writing advice on my Ko-fi! Become a member to receive exclusive content, early access, and prioritized writing prompt requests.

[mead-iocre]

Squeak! | Viviannne Miedema x Wife!Reader

synopsis: the best thing about writing fiction is that you could do whatever you want. In this one, Viv signs a new contract with Arsenal.

warnings: nothing. just pure fluff

word count: 2.5k

———————

Squeak! Squeak! 

Squeak! Squeak!

You smile at the sight of your two loves walking hand in hand ahead of you. One was tall, dressed in a full Arsenal kit minus the football boots, and her hair in its signature messy bun. The other one was small, tiny by comparison, and her hair was split into two cute little pigtails. She was dressed in a romper that should not have taken as long as it did to put on this morning, but as a mum you have learned to pick and choose your battles, and letting your two-year old decide what to wear to mama’s special day was a fight you were not going to win. 

Hence why your daughter is currently strutting around the Emirates stadium in her favourite yellow trainers, embossed with little yellow ducks. And they squeak with every step too. 

Every. Single. Step. 

You mentally curse Lotte for the shoes, a gift she had given Evie for her last birthday and ever since then they were your little girl’s favourite shoes. Lotte was also kind enough to buy the shoes in multiple sizes, so you won’t be parting with the squeaky shoes any time soon. 

“Mummy!” You snap out of your thoughts at the sound of Evie’s voice. She and Viv were a few steps in front of you, your daughter was looking back at you and pointing towards the sliver view of the pitch peaking up ahead. “the pitch, mummy!”

You smile and speed up sightly, catching up to the two. When you reach them, you smooth a hand down Evie’s hair, pushing back the little curls that have escaped her pigtails. 

“Mama play football? Aunty Steffy where?”

“No, Ducky. Mama’s just going to take pictures– for the contract signing, remember” Viv picks up Evie in her arms, and your little girl happily snuggles in her mama’s arms. You and Viv share a look over your daughter’s head, with you telephonically thanking her with your eyes for putting an end to the squeaking nosies. You mentally remind yourself to hide the squeaking shoes at the back of the cupboard later.

You, Viv with Evie in her arms, and the photographer walk through the tunnel until you reach the pitch; the slightly tangy, earthly smell of the freshly cut grass is almost jarring. You could hear the photographer explain to Viv how he wants the photos to look, and you almost laugh when you spot your daughter now sitting up in Viv’s arms– her eyes bright and little cherubic face listening to the photographer just as intently as her mama. People always say Evie looks like you– but her expressions and mannerisms are all Viv. 

“Okay. Let’s take a couple of pictures with you standing in the middle of the pitch, facing the south stand and then we’ll take a few by the stands” With a thumbs up, the photographer goes over to a little studio set up and already waiting on the pitch. 

“Right. Mama’s got to go take pictures now, Ducky.” Viv crouches and places Evie down, doing her best to ignore the pout already forming on her little lips. “Stay with Mummy, okay” 

But another trait your daughter had adopted from her mama is her stubbornness. “Ducky go to! Ducky take pictures, pleeeease” Evie drawing out the ‘e’, her sweet drawl a mix of both of yours and Viv's accents. She hugs Viv’s leg, looking up at her mama with those pretty doe eyes. 

Evie knows exactly how to play her mama. Viv would do anything for your daughter, especially when she would look up at her with the same eyes that mirror yours. You try to stifle a laugh when your wife looks to you for help, her hazel eyes pleading with you to be the bad guy this time because she was definitely not going to do it. You knew that if you did not step in, Viv would do the photoshoot with her daughter on her hip just because Evie demanded it.

“Ducky, come stay with mummy. We can play football while we wait for Mama” You reach into your bag and pull out a soft mini football, waving it enticingly at your sitting pouty daughter. At the sight of the ball, you see Evie’s grip on Viv's leg loosen slightly.

Just like her footballer Mama, your daughter loved football. You and Viv had signed her up for classes as soon as she could run on her little chubby legs, and so far she looked forward to all of her weekly lessons. 

You step closer, crouching down and opening your arms for her. “Come on, Ducky. Maybe you can have a turn for photos with Mama later” 

“Photos with Mama? later?” Evie looks up to Viv for confirmation, and when she gets a nod in return, your daughter grins and skips straight into your arms. Crisis averted. 

Viv leans down to give you a kiss, pecking your lips sweetly before giving Evie a raspberry on neck which earns her that sweet melodic giggle. “I’ll be quick, love. Have fun with Mummy, Ducky” 

With one last smooch for the both of you, she turns and walks off.

You and Evie watch as Viv jogs towards where the photographer is waiting. You were so proud of her. She had been contemplating this for a while– whether to sign a contract extension or begin a new challenge somewhere else. You could tell Viv has been yearning for something new, never someone who likes to settle and be comfortable. She thrives off of being spontaneous (the opposite of you), and not making plans.

Before having Evie, Viv would angsty when she has nothing to do at home. For a while, Viv had expressed the possibility of wanting to transfer clubs and you were supportive of her. You were lucky enough to have a job that allowed you to work remotely from anywhere, so the only thing that you both would need to worry about is finding a new toddler football class for your daughter. However, Viv felt that now was not the time for a change as big as this one. She has a lot of ties to Arsenal, not just contractually but personally. She loved her teammates– teammates that have quickly become family over the years. It would’ve been really hard to leave all of that behind.

So she agreed to the contract extension during the last meeting, and since then it’s been like a huge weight has been lifted off her shoulders. Now, she is taking pictures for the announcement, which you have no doubt fans are eagerly anticipating based on the buzz on social media. 

You are snapped out of your thoughts when the football you were holding is snatched out of your hands. 

“play ball, Mummy! Ducky play now!” Evie places the ball onto the ground, and then takes a few steps back. You laugh when her face contorts into an expression you have seen so often on your wife’s face whenever she’s on the football pitch– eyes narrowed into little slits, rosy lips pressed tight together in concentration– a mini Viv in the making.

Evie runs as fast as her little legs could carry her towards the football. She kicks the ball with her left leg, sending it rolling a few feet away, and then proceeds to run after it; her little blonde curls bouncing behind her, and her yellow shoes squeaking alongside her. 

After Viv finishes taking pictures around the pitch– even taking a few with you and Evie as she promised– you are led into the office where the contract signing and the final picture-taking is due to happen. You and Viv greet Jonas with a hug, and he enthusiastically high-fives Evie, oohing-and-ahhing over her yellow shoes when she points them out to him. 

You spot the familiar looking set up where numerous of contract signings have taken place over the past couple of years. The white backdrop littered with Arsenal logos, the mahogany brown desk, and the matching chair that bares the physical contract and a pen beside it, just waiting to be signed. 

“Love, they want pictures of us” Viv waves you over to another spot in the room that overlooks the pitch thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Quickly checking on Evie, you find her standing by the desk, fully engrossed in staring at the wall displaying the club’s history and relics. You make your way over to stand beside Viv. 

“We’ll just a couple photos of the two of you here, and then we can move onto the signing” The photographer tells you both, a camera poised and ready in his hands. You lean into Viv, feeling her wrap an arm around your waist to pull you close, and you both smile for the photo. The photographer counts you down for the picture just as Viv lets out the biggest full-body sneeze you had ever witnessed.

"Achoo!"

The sound was so sudden and forceful that everyone, including the photographer, jumped. Viv's hair blew up comically, and her face scrunched up in an exaggerated sneeze expression. The photographer, momentarily startled, managed to snap the photo just at that moment.

For a split second, there was silence, and then the entire room bursts into laughter– with your laugh being the loudest. You had tears pooling in the corner of your eyes by the time you managed to calm yourself down. After getting over her initial embarrassment, Viv couldn’t help but laugh along, hiding her face behind you.

Squeak! Squeak! 

Squeak! Squeak!

“Oh god” Viv wipes at her nose, her cheeks still slightly pink. “Sorry ‘bout that everyone!” You palm her face towards your to access any damage. 

“You’re good, love. No discharge” There’s a huge cheeky grin on your face. 

“Gross. Don’t call it that” Viv rolls her eyes, but gives you a shy smile, still embarrassed by the whole thing. 

“Would you rather I call it snot then?” “No!” Viv laughs and then turns to the photographer. “Let’s take another one, and this time I’ll try my best not to sneeze”

“–but she can’t promise that” “–no promises though” You both say at the same time, drawing more chuckles from everyone in the room. 

Squeak! Squeak!

The photographer turns to the two of you and you both resume your poses from earlier. With one hand on the shutter button and the hand counting down from 3, the photographer takes the pictures. You paste a smile on your face, leaning into Viv

Squeak! 

Squeak!

Squeak! 

“Mama! Mummy! Ducky draw! Ducky draw!” 

You’re pretty sure you got whiplash from how quickly your head snap towards where your daughter’s voice was coming from. You crane your head and sure enough, she was jumping up and down gleefully, aggressively waving a white piece of paper in one hand like she was one of those flag wavers at the end of a race. In her other hand you can see what looks to be a pen. 

Squeak! 

Squeak! 

“Evelyn!” “Evelyn!”

Your daughter immediately stops jumping at the sound of her full name, the bright smile of her face dimming slightly. She knows it means that she’s in trouble. You and Viv rush over to where she’s standing right behind the desk, and sure enough Viv’s contract extension that is worth a lot of money is filled with scribbles and lines all across the bottom of the page. 

You eye your wife, wanting to follow her lead on how to handle since this was supposed to be her day. Viv just stares at her contract that is now full of squiggly lines and illegible handwriting. For a moment only silence fills the room. 

“…Well, guess you can’t sign me now. Someone already beat me to it!” 

You break first, giggling, and soon the rest of the room follows. 

“I reckon she’s a better signing than you, Viv” Jonas calls out from the other side of the room, beckoning more laughter. 

In the midst of everyone laughing about the whole situation, Viv turns and crouches down to your daughter– the mini human sized embodiment of mischief and trouble. She’s quiet now, probably sensing that she’s in a bit of trouble. 

“Ducky, this paper was very important and it was only for Mama to write on”

“Oh” A pout forms on your little rosy lips, and then silence as your toddler tries to make sense of the situation as best as she could at two. 

“…sorry Mama” Evie rushes forward, throwing her arms around her Mama’s neck, almost throwing Viv off balance. Viv stands to her full height, toddler in her arms and gives you a wink. 

“Thank you, Ducky. Next time, please ask Mama or Mummy first, okay, you can’t write on things that are not for you to write on, Ducky” Viv rocks her from side to side, her tone gentle yet firm, and so full of love. 

Jonas walks over to you all and places a new, clean, squiggle-free copy of the contract on the table. “Thank god for printing machines. We can print as many copies as needed” 

When it was finally time for Viv to sign the contract she was seated in front of a fresh, unwritten contract with a pen right beside it. Next to her, Evie was seated on her own chair– boosted up with a few pillows stacked on top of one another– with her very own copy of a contract and a pen. 

You watch, standing behind Evie, as Viv signs the contract that will keep her at her home away from home for a few more seasons. A club of people and colleagues that have witnessed your relationship from the very beginning, have witnessed you grow from a family of two to a family of three, and a place that will continue to be your second home for the time being. You were so excited for what’s to come for Viv and the rest of the team. 

As you watch your wife sign her name and signature on the dotted line, you glance over to her left and smile at the sight of your daughter doing the exact same thing– except she was drawing lines and squiggles on her very own contract. 

For the first time in Arsenal’s club history, two people pose for their contract signing– Vivianne Midema and Evelyn Miedema.

two blurbs in one week?! who is sheeeeee

but I was feeling pretty inspired during the last couple of days, hence another fic featuring Viv and reader's daughter, Ducky. I had this idea before Viv announced that she was leaving Arsenal, but I still wanted to write it regardless lol.

I was just introduced to Stardew Valley on the switch and now I'm obsessed (I know I'm yearssss late).

I appreciate yall always,

-- butter.

[wholoveseggs]

Hello lovely! I was wondering if you could whip up a little something about the reader because self conscious and comparing herself to Hayley maybe she’s a little chubby and such so when Hayley comes back into their lives she’s a little worried. But Elijah always the gentleman comforts her with some good ol sex 🤪🤪 if not feel free to ignore 💕

Reminder

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Your relationship with Elijah feels like its unravelling with the arrival of Hayley and a cutting nickname from Klaus. Fortunately, Elijah knows just what to do to make you feel loved.

♡♡ Thanks for the request, this one goes out to all my thick thighed brothers & sisters. May you all find an Elijah to suffocate between them. ♡♡

4.5k words - Warnings: smut, face sitting, Klaus being cruel, Elijah being sweet.

When you are a vampire time passes differently, things change around you, and sometimes you feel like the odd man out. When you first met Elijah everything was different. Culture, language, even the food and the music. He was captivated by you instantly, he whisked you away from your difficult life and kept you in his bed. Making sure you knew how much he loved every inch of your body. He was your first and only lover, the man who turned you and showed you a world you never thought was possible.

Centuries had passed with just the two of you, then Klaus returned to your lives and with him came the lovely Hayley Marshall. Pregnant, doe eyed and absolutely beautiful.

You weren't jealous at first, Elijah was devoted to you and only you. His heart was yours, that was all you cared about. But Klaus brought his chaos with him, and your noble lover had to keep Hayley safe. She needed to be protected, so Elijah spent more time with her and less with you.

You were alone, and it left a hollow feeling in your chest. You felt forgotten and unloved. Elijah did his best to spend time with you, but it wasn't enough.

Then your mind started playing cruel tricks on you, making you see Hayley and Elijah together. She was so pretty, her body was tall and thin, while yours was plump and soft. You had nightmares of Elijah touching her, kissing her, making her moan his name.

It made you want to throw up.

The whole thing made you feel irrational and insecure, Elijah loved you, he told you all the time, but still the thoughts lingered.

It wasn't until Klaus gave you a certain nickname, that it truly got under your skin.

Little wolf he would purr, calling Hayley to him, the words fell off his tongue like honey. It was such an affectionate term, one with many layers of meaning. It was beautiful and sweet, and Klaus seemed so proud to call her this.

But then there was his nickname for you, Elijah's little cherub. 

It was not meant as an endearment, but as an insult. Klaus was right, you did look a little like a cherub, soft, round cheeks, and a full, thick body. It hurt you, even if you tried not to let it get to you. You told yourself that Klaus wasn't important, his opinion didn't matter. But the words he spoke stuck in your mind.

Everything was going fine, you had mastered keeping your insecurities under wraps, until Klaus and Elijah announced that they were throwing a ball. 

It was Elijah's first time hosting one since the two of you moved to New Orleans. He was a natural at hosting parties, he knew just how to make everyone feel welcome. It was a trait you didn't have. You were too quiet and reserved, people would get bored with you and leave. Elijah was the life of the party, everyone wanted to be around him. You were afraid you would ruin it for him.

You never felt good in gowns, you felt big and bulky. The ones you tried on just made you look worse. You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, you looked like an overstuffed pillow. There was no way you could go out in public like this. You even dug out an old corset to try and make yourself look smaller. It just made your breasts spill out over the top. You were mortified and threw the thing in the garbage. You were starting to wonder what Elijah saw in you.

When he entered your bedroom, you were sitting on the bed, resigning yourself to the dress that you knew didn't suit you. He had been busy with the ball, and hadn't noticed your sour mood. He was all smiles, telling you how beautiful you would look in your dress, and how proud he was to have you by his side. He was dressed impeccably as always, and you felt frumpy and out of place. How could you possibly look good next to him?

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yes," you replied in a small voice, not wanting to burden him with your troubles.

You walked downstairs and the guests began to arrive, all the while Elijah's hand rested on the small of your back. He left you to go greet some guests and you spotted Klaus. He grinned and you saw the flash of his dimples as he made his way over to you. You knew he was going to make a comment, you dreaded hearing what it was going to be.

"Hello, little cherub," he smirked, and your heart sank.

"Please don't call me that," you whispered, fidgeting with the fabric of your dress.

"Why ever not? You do look like one," he said, his eyes roaming your body.

"Klaus, stop it," you warned, not wanting to deal with his teasing.

"My brother certainly does seem fond of you, which is odd, considering his type usually looks more like..." he gestured to Hayley, who was across the room talking with Elijah.

You frowned, trying to swallow the insecurity bubbling up, but Klaus still noticed, "Did I hit a nerve?"

"No, why would you?" you lied, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.

"Don't be too upset, cherub, you may not be his usual type, but he seems to enjoy the extra cushion."

His words hit like a punch to the gut. You couldn't believe he would say something like that. It was true that Elijah was quite fit and lean, while you were much softer and thicker. It made you insecure and now that he pointed it out, it felt even worse. You looked over at Elijah, who was talking to Hayley, they looked so good together, she was a perfect match for him.

"You really are an ass," you told him.

He chuckled and said, "I never said it was a bad thing, I think you are rather lovely,"

Elijah glanced up and saw the distress on your face. He immediately excused himself from his conversation and came to you. He could tell that something was bothering you.

"What did you do?" he asked Klaus.

"Me? Nothing," Klaus shrugged. "I was just complimenting your lovely companion," he continued, smirking at you.

Elijah's attention was on you now, he knew something was wrong. His brow furrowed, he could sense your anguish. But before he could say anything Hayley joined the group, her eyes moving from Klaus, to Elijah, and then settling on you.

"Oh, hello," she said, trying to sound friendly.

You nodded politely, not wanting to be impolite, despite the way her presence made you feel. It wasn't her fault, she had no idea you felt this way.

Elijah's hand brushed over the small of your back, trying to comfort you. He didn't realize it, but his touch was having the opposite effect, it was making you even more self conscious. Did he feel obligated to touch you like that? Did he do it for show? Was he just being polite? Your brain was coming up with every reason possible to feel terrible.

You didn't know how much longer you could stay here, watching them, surrounded by a sea of beautiful people, feeling more alone than ever.

You looked over at Elijah, and saw him gazing at you. His eyes were filled with adoration, but it was hard for you to believe it. The voice in your head kept repeating, that Klaus was right, he doesn't really love you, he's just too polite to say anything.

"I was hoping to get a proper tour of the house," Hayley said, interrupting your thoughts, "I've never seen the upstairs rooms, will you show me y/n?"

The question caught you off guard, you had no interest in spending time with her, and it felt like she was just being polite. You wanted to say no, but that would have been rude. So instead you smiled and nodded, following her out of the ballroom and into the hall.

You led her upstairs and she stopped, her eyes scanning the pictures on the wall. Her fingers gently brushed over the frames, and she pointed out an old portrait of the Mikaelson Family.

"God, they are all so beautiful," she sighed, and you knew she was right. Rebekah was stunning, Klaus had a wild, handsome charm, and Elijah was a classic, elegant beauty. They were all perfection, and you had no idea what they were doing with you.

"Is that Freya?" she asked, pointing at another portrait, "she's stunning,"

You nodded, feeling awkward. This was the last place you wanted to be.

Hayley smiled, turning her attention back to the wall, and continued walking. You trailed behind, feeling out of place, and unsure of what to say. Hayley stopped in front of a particular painting, a portrait of you and Elijah. She smiled, and you felt your heart skip, it was your favorite portrait of the two of you.

"You two look so in love," she said, and your stomach twisted.

"Yes, we are," you replied, trying to sound sincere, when really all you wanted to do was cry.

"How did the two of you meet?" she asked.

"He turned me in the 16th century, I was his seamstress," you explained, smiling a little.

Hayley looked at you with surprise, her eyebrows raised, "You fixed up his suits?"

"Well, he wasn't exactly wearing suits back then, but he's always been very fashionable. He liked the way I stitched his shirts," you told her.

"How fast did you two fall in love?"

You bit your lip, and answered, "Well, he persued me for quite a while before I agreed to be with him,"

"Why? Were you scared?" she asked, a smile playing at her lips.

"No, not exactly," you blushed, looking down at the floor.

"Well, what was it?" she asked, genuinely curious.

You gave Hayley a skeptical look, women that looked like her never thought about these kinds of things.

"I mean, he's so gorgeous, and I'm..."

You looked down at your body, your mind conjuring up a list of flaws. Hayley could see the change in your demeanor, she could sense your discomfort. She stepped closer, her hands coming to rest on your arms.

"There's nothing wrong with you, I think you're pretty," she smiled, her hands giving your arm a comforting squeeze.

Your eyes darted to the floor, and you felt the blush creeping up your cheeks.

"Thank you, Hayley," you murmured.

"And Elijah thinks the same thing, I've seen the way he looks at you," she added, her voice taking on a more serious tone.

You glanced up and saw the truth in her eyes, there was a softness, and a hint of jealousy.

"Thank you," you said, a blush rising on your cheeks.

"Of course," she smiled, "I hope I can find a man who looks at me the way Elijah looks at you,"

The words hung in the air, and you couldn't help but ask, "How does he look at me?"

"Like you are the most beautiful thing in the world," she replied, and her voice sounded wistful.

She turned her gaze to the portraits and continued her exploration. You followed, and as you got closer to the end, Hayley paused, her gaze lingering on the portrait of Klaus.

"I hope our child has his dimples," she sighed.

"And not his ego," you teased, and her face split into a grin.

"That's fair," she laughed, her hand falling on the slight bump of her belly.

You continued your tour of the house, showing her the rest of the rooms, and trying to keep the conversation light. Hayley was kind, and didn't seem to notice your discomfort. When you returned to the ballroom, Elijah was standing with his brother, their heads bowed together, discussing something. He looked up when he saw you and his lips curled into a smile.

Hayley's eyes flicked to Elijah and then back to you, "See, there it is, that look,"

You blushed, and turned your head away. Elijah looked at you with love and affection, but your doubts still lingered.

"Did you enjoy the tour with the little cherub?" Klaus asked, his lips curling into a smirk.

Hayley gave him a warning look, her voice laced with an unspoken threat, "Don't call her that,"

Klaus held his hands up in surrender, but the damage was done, you felt so humilated and embarrassed, you had enough of Klaus and his cruel comments. You had enough of him constantly making you feel bad about yourself. He made it impossible for you to feel secure in your relationship. You felt uncomfortable in your dress, in your own skin, surrounded by people who were objectively better than you in every possible way.

"I'm going to bed," you announced, your voice quiet.

Elijah's brow furrowed, and he reached out to grasp your hand but you pulled away.

"I'm tired," you said, turning on your heel and marching out of the ballroom.

Elijah's eyes were locked on your retreating form, a frown on his face.

"Why did you call her that?" Elijah asked his brother.

"It's nothing," Klaus shrugged, a grin spreading across his face, "she's just a little sensitive,"

Elijah's frown deepened, and he glanced over at Hayley.

"She's a sweet girl, just a little insecure," Hayley sighed.

"Insecure about what?" Elijah asked.

Hayley glanced at Klaus, and he shrugged.

"She's just not really comfortable with herself," Hayley finally said, giving Klaus a pointed look.

He had no shame, his grin only grew wider, and he said, "Come on, she is rather plump, isn't she?"

"But she's so sweet and adorable," Hayley added, trying to smooth over the awkwardness.

Elijah's jaw tightened, and his expression darkened, he looked back and forth between both of them.

"You had no right to say those things to her," he told Klaus, his voice laced with anger. "She has a difficult time when it comes to seeing her own worth, you know that, she's been struggling with these issues since the day we met," Elijah continued.

"It's nothing, Elijah," Klaus shrugged, "she'll get over it, she's probably crying into her pillow right now."

The image of you, curled up in bed, sobbing, broke Elijah's heart. He clenched his fists and his eyes narrowed. Klaus really did go too far this time, he really upset you. Elijah would make sure it never happened again.

"Excuse me," he muttered, glaring at his brother before turning around and storming out of the ballroom.

Once you were safely locked away in your bedroom, you sobbed, and the tears wouldn't stop. You had done your best not to show anyone your jealousy and anger, but now everyone knew how pathetic and insecure you really were.

You didn't hear the door open or close, you didn't know Elijah was in the room until his arms were around you, holding you tight against his chest. He didn't speak, and he didn't make you look at him. He simply held you and let you cry until you had no tears left.

Once your sobs had subsided he tilted your head up and kissed your cheeks, catching every stray tear with his lips. He wiped the rest away with his thumb, his dark eyes were filled with worry.

"What happened, love?" he asked. "Tell me what's wrong."

You looked at him, feeling foolish and embarrassed. He had no idea you had been feeling this way. No one did, but now it was too late. You took a deep breath and forced the words out.

"What is it that you see in me?" you blurted out, your face red.

Elijah frowned, looking completely taken aback. "What are you talking about?"

You sighed, frustrated with his cluelessness. "I mean, look at me! I'm not exactly a supermodel."

Elijah chuckled and cupped your cheek, his hand was so warm and soft. "I'm looking," he said, his gaze raked over you and it made you blush.

"I don't understand," he continued, looking into your eyes. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

You huffed and tried to look away, but he held your chin. "I am serious. Why would you ever doubt my attraction to you?"

You bit your lip, still not sure if you should tell him the truth. "It's just...Hayley is so gorgeous, and tall and thin. Then Klaus just calls me your cherub, like I'm some stupid child."

Elijah's gaze softened and he shook his head. "Darling, Klaus was trying to get a rise out of you, don't let him get in your head."

"But he's right... Look at me, compared to her, and Klaus, and the rest of your family. I'm not even that attractive," you muttered, avoiding his eyes.

Elijah frowned and took your hand, placing it on his chest. "Can you feel that?"

You nodded, your hand could feel the steady, strong beat of his heart.

"It's yours," he said softly.

He kissed you, and your heart fluttered, feeling lighter already. His hands slid down your back and gripped your ass, he pulled you closer and you gasped. His tongue slipped into your mouth and teased yours, tasting you.

His hand moved lower and he pulled your dress up, his fingers trailed over the lace of your panties, feeling the warmth and wetness.

"I will tell you this once," he whispered, his teeth grazing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "You are perfect."

His hand dipped into your panties and stroked you, making you moan. "So wet, all for me."

You gasped and pressed your face against his shoulder.

"Tell me who this belongs to," he demanded.

"You, Elijah, it's yours," you whimpered, grinding against his fingers.

"Yes, that's right," he purred. "This sweet, little cunt is mine. Only mine."

He pushed you onto the bed and pulled your dress over your head. He groaned when he saw you wearing the matching set of black, lacy bra and panties. 

He started kissing and marking his way down your body, starting at your neck and moving lower, biting and sucking as he went. You gasped and moaned as he reached your breasts. He undid the front clasp and licked a stripe up the middle, before taking one of your nipples into his mouth, and teasing the other with his fingers.

"These are so beautiful," he murmured against your skin, sucking until they were hard peaks. "So big and soft," he hummed.

You ran your fingers through his hair, needing something to hold onto. You whimpered and arched up against him, the feeling of his hot mouth was driving you insane.

You squealed and tugged on his hair a little harder when you felt him bite down. He chuckled and sucked hard, letting your breasts go with a loud pop. They were covered in rapidly healing hickeys, and he looked very pleased with himself.

He kissed down your stomach, admiring your soft belly. He cupped it, and squeezed your thighs, making you gasp.

"My perfect girl," he mumbled against your hips.

He hooked his thumbs into your panties and slid them down your legs, you sat up on your elbows to see what he was doing.

He slid them off and leaned down, kissing and sucking on your inner thighs.

"These perfect thighs, squeezing my head when you cum on my tongue," he said, his stubble scratched and tickled you. You let out a breathy giggle as his hands roamed your body, gripping your waist and thighs. He growled with satisfaction, biting the flesh and sucking marks into your soft skin.

"Elijah, stop teasing," you groaned, becoming impatient.

He chuckled and suddenly pulled you into his lap. He held you close and looked into your eyes.

"I love every bit of your body," he hummed, holding you firmly against him. "Every perfect curve, and every soft inch.”

He gave your tummy a small squeeze and kissed your pouting lips. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.

You blushed and avoided his gaze. He cupped your cheek and tilted your head up, his fingers traced your features, his gaze was filled with adoration.

"Those beautiful lips, those gorgeous eyes, these perfect cheeks, your soft, little nose," he cooed, kissing your face between each word.

You giggled and tried to hide your face in your hands, feeling a little overwhelmed.

"And this ass," he said as he kneaded the flesh, he lifted you up and smacked it, making you yelp. "It should be in the Louvre."

He kissed you again and slowly grinded against you, his hands explored your body, caressing and squeezing. 

He scooted down the bed and laid back down, looking up at you with a wicked grin. He kept his gaze locked with yours as he pushed your ass forward, signaling he wanted you to sit on his face.

"Elijah, no, I-," you gasped, completely embarrassed. You felt so shy and nervous, not wanting him to look at you up close like that.

Elijah sat up and kissed you. "Do you think you will hurt me?" He asked, his lips brushing against yours.

"No," you breathed.

"Then what's the problem?" He asked, brushing his knuckles over your cheek.

You let out a shaky breath and wrapped your arms around his neck. "I don't know."

Elijah looked into your eyes, a kind smile on his lips. "If it kills me, you have discovered quite a loophole when it comes to killing an original," he said, gesturing to his face and grinning.

You giggled and pecked his lips. You closed your eyes and tried to calm yourself, it was hard to explain your nerves. You'd been intimate with Elijah before, more times than you could count, but you couldn't shake your insecurities.

Elijah sensed your hesitation, he kissed your neck softly and leaned up to whisper in your ear. "Please sit on my face, I want to eat your sweet pussy until you scream."

His filthy words made you shudder and you knew you wouldn't be able to say no, so you bit your lip and took a deep breath.

"Okay," you whispered.

Elijah laid back down and gave your hips a gentle tug, pulling you into position.

Your entire body went hot when he spread your thighs apart. He kissed the insides, making you moan.

"There's a good girl," he hummed as his lips danced across your hot skin. He positioned you over his face and you could feel his breath ghosting over your most sensitive area.

He looked up at you and gave you an encouraging smile. "Sit,"

You bit your lip, but slowly lowered yourself down, inch by inch. He grabbed your ass and pulled you down fast, making you let out a squeak of surprise.

The heat pooled between your thighs as Elijah nosed at your center, teasing the soft skin. You moaned and tangled your fingers in his hair, rocking against him.

You felt a sudden sting as he nipped your thigh. "Stay still, let me do the work."

He licked a stripe up your core, groaning as he tasted you. He spread you open with his fingers, pressing his tongue flat against you, he licked long and slow. He buried his face deeper, lapping and sucking at your clit.

He licked and sucked and kissed, moaning against your soaked cunt. Your eyes rolled back, you tightened your grip on his hair and cried out. The noises he made were obscene, you could hear his mouth sucking at you, and it only made you wetter.

He looked up at you, his dark hair was a mess and his lips were covered in your slick.

"You taste divine, my love," he groaned. "So sweet, just for me."

He sucked hard on your clit, his hand reaching around and grabbing your ass roughly, squeezing and slapping the soft flesh. He growled and began fucking you with his tongue. His hands spreading you open and pressing his face as deep as possible. He buried himself in your pussy, licking, and sucking like it was his last meal. You came hard on his tongue, your thighs squeezing his head tight as you fell apart.

He soothed your flushed skin with his tongue, sucking on your clit once more, making you twitch. You tugged on his hair, gently pulling him away, not able to take the overstimulation.

You moved back and sat on his chest, trying to catch your breath. Elijah caught your wrist and brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. He was covered in your wetness, and his chin was glistening. He grinned at you, completely satisfied with himself.

You snorted and leaned down, kissing him softly. You hummed, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Elijah rolled you onto your back and pinned your wrists above your head. He pressed his forehead against yours, smiling as you stared at him with a blissful, dazed expression.

"You are so perfect," he breathed, nuzzling his nose against yours.

He kissed down the side of your face and nibbled on your ear, his free hand trailing down your body, cupping and squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts, your hips, your thighs.

"Every inch of you," he whispered.

"Elijah," you sighed, blushing from the attention.

Elijah hummed and reached down to his pants, undoing his belt and pushing them down his legs. You reached up and helped him undress, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor.

You pulled him close and kissed him, wrapping your arms and legs around him. You could feel him pressed against you, his thick cock hot and heavy against your thigh.

"Look at what you do to me," he purred, kissing down your neck.

He reached down and guided himself to your entrance, rubbing the head against you. He slid inside easily, your body opening up for him.

He rocked his hips slowly, grinding his pelvis against yours, making you moan and grip his shoulders tight.

His eyes locked with yours as he fucked you slow and deep. You clung to him, your nails leaving marks on his skin.

"You see how perfectly we fit?" He groaned, taking your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. "Look at us,"

You both looked down, watching as he thrusted in and out of you, his slick cock disappearing into your body.

"My love, my beautiful girl," he moaned, his voice thick with emotion. "I need you to understand, no one else will ever come close to comparing. You are everything to me."

He buried his face in your neck and kissed and nipped the soft skin. "This perfect body, your heart, your soul, I will never find anyone like you."

You whined and clawed at his back, you could feel the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, you were overwhelmed and so grateful.

"I love you," you choked out, burying your face in his shoulder.

"And I love you," he breathed.

He held you close and fucked you until you were trembling, tears streaming down your cheeks, clinging to him as you climaxed, shaking and crying his name.

He finished not long after, groaning and gasping as he spilled his release inside you, holding you tight.

You both laid there, panting and covered in sweat. You felt light and dizzy, your muscles felt like jelly and it took all your strength to not fall asleep right then and there.

"I want you to know, I mean every word I say to you," Elijah said quietly, kissing your temple.

"I know, Elijah," you hummed, smiling up at him. "Thank you for reminding me."

"Always."

"And Elijah?" You smiled and nuzzled his neck.

"Yes, my love?"

"I think your ass is the one that should be in the Louvre."

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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[caligvlasaqvarivm]

please understand my vision

ok more seriously

calliope's species canonically only experiences pitch attraction and are specifically drawn to those that remind them of the half they lost in predomination

hussie mentions multiple times in the book commentary that many of eridan's personality and character traits were hazy ideas that eventually became caliborn, and frequently lumps eridan in with caliborn as a sort of proto-caliborn. also eridan literally named himself cal, caligulasAquarium. he also shares riflekind with caliborn and wandkind with calliope

adult cherubs have wings in the shape of the hope symbol, and mating forms that resemble massive serpents, and eridan is the prince (destroyer) of hope, as well as an angel killer (with angels being massive winged serpents in homestuck)

eridan is associated broadly with the number 11 (aquarius being the 11th number in the zodiac) and specifically 311; calliope sometimes types things 11 times for emphasis and ophiuchus would make her the 13th zodiac sign

eridan at one point rants about his kismesistude with vriska being the "kind you don't see in 10,000 sweeps" that will feature "rainbow rivers flowing through star streams all nebulizing and shit" which is basically what cherub mating is like

their . their personalities . they

[neptunes-sol-angel]

BOO! 👻🎃🕸 How are you scaring people with their shadows? Pick the picture(s) that you're drawn to the most then scroll down for the corresponding message(s). Happy Halloween my Sol-cherubs!!

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Pile One

"SHE AIN'T NO DIVAAA!"

You trigger others in a way that threatens their confidence and provoke them into a cycle of evaluating their self worth and identity after an ego death that's probably been long overdue. Some people in this group may hinder themselves back from speaking to people about anything in general, like expressing your opinion on something, talking about yourself, joining in a conversation so that you can be outgoing and network with others because you could feel like developing normal interactions with others is difficult for you. You could feel that people may find what you have to say as meaningless, they could even talk over you, or maybe you fear that people will hate you for what you say. You could also find yourself in too many situations where people are dedicated to misunderstanding you by twisting what you say or snubbing you. But despite their reactions, people strongly value what you say, and are often changed personally by even just a few words that you mention and could still think about what you've said years later whether it's from a normal conversation or an argument. I feel called to mention to this group that you shouldn't restrain yourself by muting your verbal expression in order to please others, because I'm getting that even though you aren't aware that there are people who want to listen and do listen to what you have to say and will like and respect you for who you are, you understand the weight of your words and the repercussions you face when you defend yourself and but there are times you don't in order to keep the peace. You must understand that peace is simply an illusion when you keep putting your feelings and wellbeing aside to keep people that are not even for you in your life. Tip toeing around others is not what's going to keep you safe—you gotta step on some toes to free yourself. This group has to learn both when it isn't your fault for when you trigger someone and when it is. Because I'm getting that another part of this group is more so in the darker aspect of this trait, you don't hold your tongue for anyone and when someone goes low, you go to straight to the pits of hell. You're fully aware of how you know just the right words to break someone and to intentionally offend them. Your brutal honesty isn't needed all of the time and sometimes you're not being blunt, you're just being an asshole. Reserve your poison for the people that deserve it, but it will benefit you to learn that the same way the magnitude of your words can be poison to others it also be venom used to help others heal. I know it may feel like that someone's always trying it with you but you gotta calm down and start seeing the good in humanity, because not everyone is a piece of filth that you need to sweep. The shadow work that you make other people do eventually creates a balance that keeps their egos in check and where their humility is holding them back.

Pile Two

What's chilling about you is how elusive you are. This can mean a variety of things, but one of the scenarios that I'm getting is that this pile could be adamant when it comes to holding grudges. People hate that you don't forgive them because it gives them a reality check with how entitled they feel to treat others and how they expect them to react about it afterwards. You seem to unfortunately attract a lot of people that don't take any accountability. They show up as either someone who feels like they have the right to mistreat others and have control over how their victims feel or perceive the situation or people who have lived their entire lives as victims but are in disbelief when they are in situations where they have made someone else a victim so they manipulate the situation to confirm their bias and lack of self awareness. These people are possessive over outcomes and how they want to be seen. You are very much capable of forgiving others, but you are strong with your boundaries to the point where you don't make yourself accessible anymore to the people have hurt you and this confuses them. They're used to thinking that words have more meaning than their actions or that forgiveness is something that's automatically given when asked for it, but you show them that's not exactly how it works. This makes them have to unpack guilt that they will deal with for a very long time or your absence reminds them of how powerless that they feel. Both are situations that are hard to sit with alone so these people may tend to latch on others and surround themselves with company. The shadow work that you make others do is to reflect on situations where they are habitually self-undoing.

Pile Three

What makes other people shook about you, is how unmoved you are but how you always seem to ironically move others. You could have this radical intelligence and self sufficiency where you don't care who's on your level or not. You could be isolated by others a lot, and on the outside it could look like you're out of touch with humanity, but no, you're actually way ahead of your time, they just need to catch up. The same things that people have tried to shun you for, end up becoming trends in the future. You guys are very secure with yourself and it intimidates others, but you've grown or will grow to not let that effect you anymore. I see that your purpose involves leading others. You guys could be coaches to help people break habits that maladaptively stagnate their lives, you keep yourself strong, in order to pass this on to others who finally decide that they to help themselves. Your insight isn't going to be accepted by the majority because those people are still stuck on outward appearances or are complacent with their own delusions, and it's not your responsibility to help everyone, but you're good at what you do and you have the potential to save a lot of lives with the changes that you help other people make within themselves. It doesn't even have to solely be changes either, you could motivate others to recognize what they already have within themselves too and that's so empowering. If you guys are tarot readers that are feeling down about the messages that you're trying to bring to people, I'm getting that you guys need to keep going, what you're doing is meaningful even if you can't physically see it, you awaken others deeply to things that they may not be ready to publicly share with others so give it time and remember your mission. You aren't here to entertain any thoughts of staying the same, you are here to promote growth. Don't downplay your gifts, you know what you know.

[vagabond-umlaut]

it's easy to ferry souls, not carry them

deep down in the realm of the netherworlds, there exists a rower who transports deceased souls from the land of living to the land of dead-

and occasionally lends an ear and a hand, in the event of yet another collision between their weary queen and her just as cheery suitor...

[uraume deserves a raise.]

▸gojo satoru x fem!reader; the tale of kore!gojo & hades!reader w a guest appearance by charon!uraume; uraume is a very nice parental figure to you [ooc!uraume but ehh]; the reader is honestly so sweet and hot-tempered...; the cutest doggy cerberus too is there!!!!; gojo satoru must be his own warning...; uraume does not like gojo [no parent [blood-related or not] actually wld]; fire hazards; 2k wc

▸ i've nvr read percy jackson and wtv i wrote here is based on my shaky knowledge of greek myths and stuff 😁😁 anyways, this header's from pinterest, these dividers are by @benkeibear and the characters used ain't mine. pls do not plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

▸ belongs to series 'wreaths of asphodel' – same universe as the work 'hey, where is the pomegranate tree?' — but you can treat this as a stand-alone fic if you wanna!

"why is kore so set on marrying me, uraume?"

it isn't the ask itself which causes the rower to nearly lose grip of their oar– but the way it is spoken: soft, solemn and faintly tense. they look away from the endless expanse of the styx before, to find you staring at your reflection in the inky waters, features unnaturally crumpled.

uraume holds back a frown. "has her majesty considered asking the god the same?"

"i have asked him," you mumble, "but i did not receive any conclusive answer in return. the imp was being too vague– must be a trait learnt from those shifty nymphs always sticking to his side."

if your faithful follower detects anything except dislike in your words, they make no mention of it. merely humming as they continue to row the boat, "and may this servant know the question her majesty asked the god?"

"two," you mumble even more clumsily now; they take a beat to grasp it, too concerned by the way you drape yourself over the edge, nearly falling into the water as you say, "i asked him two questions— one, if he loves me; two, if he wants to have children should we get married."

shock must not be uraume's first reaction to these queries, yet it is— and for a moment, it isn't you sitting there anymore.

instead, it is a little girl, no older than seven or eight years, cherubic face fixed in a look of deep concentration and fascination while the rower narrates to her stories from times millennia ago–

only for the child to morph into a young lady– no, goddess– the very next beat... slouched under a regal cloak too heavy for her shoulders, under a royal crown too large for her head... that sweet innocence of childhood nothing but traces now, having been withered by the foul, dirty politics of those damned deities high up on that mountain—

"what answers did the olympian offer her majesty?"

"he said he would love me and sire my children if that is what i want— i asked if he wished anything out of our union— he said all he wanted is to be my husband–"

something between a frustrated sigh and an exhausted scoff erupts from you, becoming an opaque fog the moment it hits the frigid air of the underworld. uraume plucks the oar out the water to come sit next to you, letting the boat be driven by magic.

"you're worried," they state, forgoing all formalities in favour of giving you some much-needed comfort. you never much cared for stations anyways, quite unlike your elder brother, the former king.

"an unfamiliar friend poses more risk than a familiar enemy, uraume," you mutter, resting your head on their shoulder, "why do you think kore wishes to marry me so much, if not out of love or the prospect of the powerful offsprings we might beget?"

"marriage is not solely for love or for procreation," the rower starts to explain, mildly amused before it grows into sympathy at your baffled expression.

ah, they muse fondly, not unlike a parent watching their child witness the world seemingly the first time ever since they learnt to walk, you who presides over something as profound as death yet knows not of the trivialities of life...

"it can also be for many other reasons like–"

the remainder of the words skitter away from uraume— cerberus is playing with gojo.

the fierce guard of the netherworlds, the three-headed hound, loyal and dutiful to a fault: hades' dearest canine companion is frolicking with the god of life in a green meadow, that most certainly was not there so close to the stygian marsh, when they last—

"gojo is laughing," your remark draws them away from their musings, only to find a changed shadow over your countenance— pensive yet not thinking at all; almost as if you too are floating in the stale air of your kingdom akin the soft flower petals...

another ring of raucous laughter pierces the silence, mingled with a delighted series of barks— cerberus is busy licking gojo's face now, the olympian reduced to a puddle of giggles as he scratches behind the dog's ears.

his happiness so clear in the stretch of his grin and the crinkle of his eyes, very much the jarring contrast to the last time—

oh. oh, oh, oh–

"escape," the word leaves uraume in a sudden moment of realisation, as quiet as a breath but loud enough for you to whip your head back to face them, confusion engraved into your scowl. "escape?? what is that supposed to mean, eh?"

the rower feels their lips lift into an infrequent smile. "the god of life wishes to marry you to escape— from his mother, or from his many suitors, or perhaps from mount olympus itself."

"wha– how– hah," you breathe out a disbelieving little huff, "that is simply ridiculous. have you even heard yourself? that is ridiculous."

used to such resistance from yourself, even more from your brother, they move to state their points, only to beaten by you as you persist to speak.

"no one in their right mind will decide to come live in the underworld, no matter how overbearing their mother or insistent their suitors are. have you seen this place? it's too, too unlike the lushness of the earth or the grandeur of the heavens he has experienced. and–" you add, a harsh laugh accompanying it. "gojo satoru is a god. a fish might leave the water— but a god never steps a voluntary foot down that horrible mountain. never."

"but the olympian never truly lived on mount olympus," uraume says once they're sure you've completed your tirade, "and you are a goddess as well. why do you speak so ill of the heavens then?"

"why?" you echo the word. they nod, hoping you take the bait they've intended for you. you do.

"why, because that place is nothing but a shining apple with a rotten core!! everything is polished marble and glittering gold there. people constantly wave at each other, lavishing smiles and praises like there is no tomorrow. everything is so warm and bright— what a bunch of lies and liars!"

familiar fire burns in your aura, the immense heat making the waters erupt into boiling— uraume uses their powers to cool the river down, lest anything disturbs you.

you're too far gone in your rage to be shaken, however, continuing:

"but it never can hide the grime and dirt accrued beneath such shine and sheen. nor the vicious minds and crooked hearts of those deities up above– what lame excuses of gods and goddesses, hah. and you might think me to prefer the light and warmth up there— you will be sorely wrong, my dear uraume!! i much prefer the genuine darkness and frigidity of my beloved kingdom to the faux comfort of the awful mount olympus—"

"is there no possibility the god of life too despises mount olympus for these same reasons, milady?"

you open your mouth and close it, then open it again to let out a very aggrieved whine– momentarily transporting uraume to your younger days. the rower merely chuckles when you punch their arm lightly.

"you're the worst, uraume," you cry, getting up and moving to sit on the other end of the boat. the rower too rises but only to resume rowing the boat by the oar.

"you never spoke this way when sukuna was the ruler— only because his baby sister is the ruler now, and you think she is very stupid—"

"as much as i respect and revere lord sukuna, he wasn't one to listen to anyone else," uraume interrupts gently, "you do, though– which is why i spent so much time telling you this. i hope you did not mind."

"hey, no," you immediately wave away their concern with a wide grin, eliciting a smaller one from the latter, "i could never..."

another peal of laughter and barks rings through the otherwise-quiet. you abruptly trail off, the same conflicting expression from before on your face yet again. though not without a spark in your eyes, uraume notes, almost as if you're slowly learning how to solve the puzzle who is repeatedly offering himself to you.

uraume keeps the silence you initiate, choosing to row the boat while you keep staring at the assortment of hues near the stygian marsh...

until you call their name and declare, an odd firmness in your smile, "well then, it is decided. i shall allow gojo to stay here for as long as the god so wishes to, escaping whatever or whoever he is escaping. and i shall protect him from the latter, should it ever come for him."

a beat. your smile falls into something graver. "would it be better if i swore by the dread water of styx, uraume?"

"uh, um," the rower finds themselves at a loss of words, the first time in seemingly forever, and they have been around since titanomachy– but before they can recover themselves enough to formulate a proper reply, a giggly voice joins in—

"well, if my rose does that, i would consider myself the most blessed amongst all mortals and immortals!"

— and the waters surrounding the boat shoot upwards in a scathing geyser-like jet and steam— the ferocious queen of the netherworlds visibly torn between remorse and terror, as they offer uraume a stiff nod and gojo a horrified look, before vanishing in a wisp of fog.

the boiling waters of the river styx calm down only after a twenty-minute-long struggle by uraume, joined at the very end by gojo.

the latter looks positively delighted, when the former collapses to the bottom of the boat, exhausted beyond belief. "hey, charon. was that a result of your queen getting flustered by me, huh?"

yes, it was. it very much was, the sentences nearly slip past the tired rower's crumbling defences... until it hits them– who they serve, and who they don't.

uraume decides to throw back a glare and a lie. "her majesty was not flustered, lord kore. she was enraged at how you invaded the privacy of her weekly boat ride, intended to make her relax."

"oh, puh-lease," the god makes a face. the rower is certain he would have been punished in the pits of tartarus for all eternity, then some more were he to pursue you this way during your brother's reign, let alone disrespect you thus.

ignorant and insolent, he continues, "in few days time, i'll be allowed into the privacy of her living quarters; what is the privacy of her boat th—"

"you're lucky you did not make such outrageous remarks in front of the queen," uraume cuts him off, none too kindly nor gently, "if you did, her majesty would have certainly burnt you along with the boat to a crisp–"

"i know," comes the defeated reply within the instant. and while gojo is still not in uraume's good graces, the latter decides to notch him a level higher, considering the god of life accepts their queen's powers.

not many do.

he strikes a pathetically pitiful figure, uraume reckons, seeing him sit then slouch on the bench. "was she serious when she said she would protect me?"

your loyal subject nods, certain and solemn. "yes, she was. the queen is never careless when it comes to making promises."

"oh, that's reassuring," gojo says quietly— only to recline even further in the very next beat– an anguished, grating wail tearing from him to the stifling silence looming near the stygian marsh. uraume wonders if it is worth it to steer the boat towards acheron... then push him into its waters of woe...

they decide against it on catching the desperation worn by the god.

for all it is, it might nothing more than a ploy. yet something tugs at their mind to pause and listen when gojo howls, "why does my rose always scurry away after tilting my world on its axis? why does your queen always torment me like this, charon?"

uraume stares pensively at their face in the sacred waters of styx for a while. then heaves a mighty sigh.

certain, this exchange between the goddess of the dead and the god of life will impact not only your and gojo's respective worlds— but the general world and everyone else in it, as well.

did you know, in the actual greek myths, persephone was never called so before her marriage to hades? she got it only after, w the name meaning "bringer of death". her initial name was kore, referring to her being a maiden & the spring goddess.

the river styx was called the "dread river of oath" by homer– in both the iliad and the odyssey [greek epic poems], swearing by its waters is the "greatest and most dread oath for the blessed gods" -> this shows how serious the reader is towards ensuring gojo's safety and freedom, and how deeply this affects gojo as well [source: wiki 😇]

also: the reader is totally ready to jump into the water to swim away when she realises gojo was listening in on her conversations- but then she remembers she can js vanish away and so she does js tht— the queen of the underworld, and of escaping, hehe

also also: the reader is slightly jealous when she is talking of the shifty nymphs always sticking to gojo's side. [uraume identifies it; you think it is js your usual dislike to such frivolous things and ppl as flowers and nymphs etc.] [hades is emo imho 😊]

▸ masterlist

[citruslullabies]

We’ve see Bee do Dad! Dogday. Let’s see your interpretation of him and how he is with child/teen reader.

On it!

Trigger warnings: none

Romantic/platonic?: platonic

Requested by: anonymous

Category: heavy fluff

Ship (romantic or platonic): dad!Dogday x child!reader

Word count: 661

My Baby, My Baby

He had never wanted you to be here, never wanted you to witness the horrors that left him in ruins and you alone.

You were his angel, his cherub, his baby. You meant everything to him and all he wanted was for you to be safe and happy, and he was horrified knowing that the last time he saw you he had left without saying a word since he was running late. He wishes that he had given you a hug and squeezed you tight, told you how much he adored you. But he had grown to live with the fact that he hadn't done those things.

But here you were, and he couldn't believe it. He saw your face and wanted to cry since he immediately recognized you. And oh how you had grown, he had to look twice. You had grown into an amazing human being, but… why were you here, in this awful place? You shouldn't be here. He spoke up, still chained to the wall by the wrists with belts. But he realized something. “Y.. you.. you're poppy’s angel..”

The way he referred to you was so soft, almost as if he was in disbelief you were really here. He tried to reach out to you to hold you, but was stopped by restraints. “Come to save us, but there is nothing left to save. Not here.” He spoke solemnly, body going limp as he gave up trying to break his restraints to hold you. He was so weak.

You stared at him with big brave eyes, his voice having a hazy home in your memory but you didn't focus on that for now. You took a few steps towards him, an expression etched into your face that he himself used to make when he was determined. He wanted to cry with how much of himself he saw in you, but there was no time. He had cried too much already. You, without a single word in the painful silence, quickly tore him off the wall as if he was some outdated poster and winced at how heavy he was but pushed through.

He didn't want to weigh you down, that was the last thing he wanted. He struggled a bit in your arms in any attempt to get down, letting out a breathy huff. “Cherub, I will weigh you down. Please. Leave me, go.” He said, practically pleading for you to abandon him like he did with you so you could save yourself.

But you hadn't listened, you had always been stubborn. Haven't you? But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, it was one of the many traits he adored. As you held him against your chest, all he could remember were the silly flashbacks.

Like how he would hold you the same way when you were a baby, the way you'd giggle and smile up at him like he was the only one who could make you feel that happy. How your little baby hands would grip onto anything that they could and how you'd babble, how you'd cry. This was the same way he'd hold you when you scraped your knee when trying to learn how to ride a bike during the summer at his mother's house, he remembered your salty tears flowing down your chubby face and how he'd soothe you while applying alcohol. His shirt was always stained with your tears in the end.

He couldn't help but clung onto you like you once did with him, his chest feeling heavy as he held back the tears. He felt your strained steps as you carried him instead of leaving him, and he was so proud of you. You had grown up to be an amazing person, far better than he was when he was still human. He had to stay alive, for you, at least until he knew you would escape.

He could die happy if he knew his baby was safe.

Thanks for requesting!

[digi-lov]

Cherubimon BT7-079 by Ishibashi Yosuke from BT-07 Booster Next Adventure

The pose of Cherubimon in this card is a reference to this part of the Digimon Frontier anime opening.

The background also shows the broken wings of Ophanimon and Seraphimon, the other two of the Three Great Angels, whom Cherubimon had betrayed in that season.

[nightcolorz]

So you seem to be the Armand expert and I have a few questions!

So what are the clear differences between like the book and movie and show Armand like what facets of the characters remain and which facets changed?

Also which aspects of each interpretation do you like? (Like what show Armand difference do you like) and which aspects of book Armand do you wish they would include in a future season? (Hope I’m making sense!)

AHH TY!!! (Being called an Armand expert is my favorite thing lmao)

I assume when in comes to book vs show vs movie u are asking me to talk about the changes of the character that r less superficially obvious (so u don’t expect me to just list height and age and ethnicity differences and be done with it lol). But either way, to start out, book Armand is Ukrainian, 5’6, ginger, cherub like, was turned into a vampire at 17. Show Armand is Indian, 6’0, lean and muscular, turned into a vampire at 27. Movie Armand is Antonio banderas, lmao.

I think the change that most significantly alters the adaptations of Armand from book Armand is the age change. In the books Armand being turned into a vampire as a teenager is essential to everything about him, backstory and personality wise. To keep Armand the same while aging him up you have to do a lot of substitutions that justify why he is like that that don’t include “he has the mind of a teenager”. What they do with show Armand is kind of like, imagine if there was an adaptation where the writers wanted Claudia to have a similar core conflict as she did in the books but she was aged up to be turned into a vampire when she was an adult. How do u keep the essence of the tragedy that way?? And the what the show does is, it justifies Armand being 27 by in some ways reducing his maturity and prolonging his trauma so that a similar affect to being mentally a child comes about anyway. Show Armand isnt physically a child like book Armand is, but bcus of his trauma he thinks like one. Instead of an adult trapped in the body and mind of a child he’s a child stumbling around in the body of an adult, which is rlly interesting. With this, I get the impression that book armand is more mature, self reliant, and well rounded than show Armand is. Which is funny considering he’s the 17 yr old lmaoo. But rlly, book Armand’s emotional problems and his stunted growth come from outside factors, it’s almost like a psychical disability in a way. Show Armand isnt psychically stunted, so to make the character conflict work he is just extra emotionally stunted. So he’s less functioning, in a weird way, then book Armand.

book Armand is also an angrier character then show Armand. Book Armand has mountains of betrayal and hurt and anger stored in his 5’6 ass body. He has that teen boy spite streak, yknow. Book Armand is very psychically violent and confrontational. The way he preforms violence is often very methodical, he’s the ripping wings of a butterfly type. Show Armand has some of these traits, but his violent tendencies are seemingly more controlled than book Armand, who is genuinely unhinged. Show Armand has a stronger reign over his behavior and acts out of anger less often. He is more so just looking to survive than to kill and maim. I think one of the most book Armand scenes in the show was definitely Armand torturing Daniel in episode 5. Violent torture coming from a strange place of childlike curiosity and betrayal is a big thing with Armand throughout the book series.

But despite the violence, book Armand is genuinely more mature then show Armand. He’s more confident, self reliant, and adult by the 80s than show Armand is in 2020. While show Armand has been living with Louis for 77 yrs and hasn’t experienced life ever when he’s not clinging to someone else, book Armand is able to rebuild himself and develop into a functioning independent person. I do think show Armand will become more and more like book Armand as the show progresses, however.

movie Armand is a different character entirely lmao. He’s basically just Armand in the first book taken out of context and played by antonio banderas. He has as much individual character as an audio book narrator lmao. His lack of backstory and older casting that alienates Armand from his core traits and motives makes it hard for me to see him as anything but a watered down extension of book Armand lol.

my favorite part of show Armand is Assad’s wet cat performance, lol. I love how they keep Armand’s book backstory broadly the same and flesh out and add parts that make it more interesting. And I love how they made Armand a person of color, that is probably my favorite change made in the show in general. I love that book Armand is a teenager, and it’s a shame that I’ll never see an adaptation exploring what that means for his character, but I’m happy with how amc is re inventing the material to be just as interesting. I hope they start to include the nuances of book Armand introduced in queen of the damned (aka: the autism). The revelation that Armand is oddly whimsical, earnestly curious, and fascinated with being a part of human society is what I think is essential to humanizing and endearing him to the audience.

ty for the ask!

[youryurigoddess]

The biggest Easter egg yet

I’ve been meaning to address this for a while now, but @camdenleisurepirates gave me the final push after reading my piece on Gabriel’s cross. Huge thanks for that morsel of motivation, my ADHD brain loves you.

This is going to be yet another long read, although not as extensive as my bookshop statues meta. Still, better get yourself some hot chocolate or another drink of your choice and make sure you’re comfortable!

Now, remember the X-Ray interview with Peter Anderson on Easter Eggs in the opening animation he created for the second season? Forget red herrings, apparently our fandom has a literal red phone box! I’m convinced that this whole scene is a one big — the biggest, actually — Easter Egg, and I’ll explain why step-by-step.

The red phone box Crowley used to warn Aziraphale about the Antichrist and the following Armageddon in S1, the exact one where he left change for an emergency call, seems important enough in terms of the future S3 plot, but there’s so much more going on in this frame. Not only the lift.

The angels

At the very start of this sequence we can see a fragment of an elaborate bridge guarded by cherubs sitting on two columns, maybe globes, leading to a distant structure built over a literal mountain of trash — all elements of the S1 and S2 openings which were consciously picked out by the animators and put together in a very ominous pile.

Ready for some scavenging?

In the Gabriel’s cross meta, I already mentioned the importance of Ponte Sant’Angelo in relation to the ex-Archangel’s statue. Now it’s time to widen our perspective and focus on the full picture — quite literally. Apparently the bridge from the opening sequence has ten statues of angels, exactly as the Italian historical monument.

First things first though: the two big cherubs guarding the entry to the bridge might seem familiar to some of you. While they’re obviously not copies of the same statue, a very similar pair of brass cherubs is placed in Aziraphale’s bookshop to symbolize Aziraphale and Crowley. And looking at the screenshot above and the way they sleep or sulk with their backs turned on each other, they are most certainly not talking. The addition of more than one set of eyes is a lovely reference to biblically accurate angel memes though.

If we assume the traditional left-right positioning of the characters, Aziraphale is on the left and Crowley is on the right. Directly behind Aziraphale we can see a ship named “Good Traits”, but in reverse — kinda sorta confirmed by the animator Peter Anderson to be connected to the concept of the seven deadly sins on Twitter. Same that was mentioned recently by Neil in one of his asks.

The presence of Gabriel — a renegade Archangel wielding a broken cross — on the right, Crowley’s side, seems to match this theory. It could also support one of the possible interpretations of the very last bookshop shot in the S2 finale.

Out of all ten statues, Angel Carrying the Cross by Ercole Ferrata is considered inferior to the others on the bridge in that it appears to be a two-dimensional relief sculpture rather than an unbounded three-dimensional artwork, which seems to match Gabriel’s first impression as a character.

The inscription on the statue reads, “Dominion rests on his shoulders" — that is the weight of the cross that Christ was forced to carry through Jerusalem before being crucified. Even though Gabriel’s burden partially disappeared, the whole bridge and its environment is covered with crosses. It’s clear that we’re looking at a direct parallel of Via Crucis, the Way of Sorrows.

Towering over the Italian bridge, at the very top of Castel Sant’Angelo, is a statue of Archangel Michael, seen as the golden angel on the top left part of the trash pile. Aziraphale’s side, perhaps as his assistant, perhaps a rival? Legends of the Jews mention Michael as the chief of a band of angels who questioned God's decision to create man on Earth. The entire band of angels, except for Michael, was condemned to Fall — which could explain why they have such a good access to the Grapevine That Obviously Doesn’t Exist. And whatever’s going on between Michael and Dagon, perhaps.

In Roman Catholic teachings, Michael has four main roles or offices. Their first role is the leader of the Army of God and the leader of Heaven's forces in the final triumph over the powers of Hell. Viewed as the angelic model for the virtues of the spiritual warrior, their conflict with evil taken as the battle within. The second and third roles of Michael deal with death. Their second role is that of an angel of death, carrying the souls of Christians to Heaven. Michael descends at the hour of death and gives each soul the chance to redeem itself before passing; thus throwing the devil and his minions into consternation. In their third role, Michael weights souls on perfectly balanced scales they are often depicted with as their attribute. In their fourth role, Michael appears as the guardian of the Church. Might be the reason why they’re the closest to the building on top of the mountain.

It looks like Michael lost their sword though, just like Gabriel lost a part of the cross he was supposed to carry. The sword in question was supposed to be used to slay the dragon — Satan, the Adversary — according to John of Patmos and his Book of Revelations.

Speak of the devil: interestingly, there are two copies of an anonymous variation of the Angel of Light statue appearing twice on both sides of the bridge. Both the title as well as the statue itself seem like obvious references to one (former) angel literally called the Lightbringer, Lucifer. Perhaps one of them is representing his son, the Antichrist, instead, with the both of them helping out the Ineffables on two opposing — or perhaps only parallel — sides of the bridge?

The light carried by Lucifer appears to be green, a color used in the series as a visual representation of Hell, but on the intertextual level might also serve as a reference to F. Scott Fitzgerald’s classic novel The Great Gatsby and the green light at the end of the Daisy’s dock symbolizing the undying love, desperation, and longing for an unattainable dream. In the story, the color represents the limitations of power and money. Not surprisingly, the novel appears on Jim’s bookshelf and is part of the Good Omens book club — a list of personal recommendations from Neil Gaiman and Douglas Mackinnon for the fans to catch up on before the next series.

Last but not least, the possible connection to Libertas as the inspiration for the Statue of Liberty, shown multiple times in S2 as a foreshadowing of our character’s trip to America in S3. The related quote of Patrick Henry “Give me liberty or give me death” becomes even more relevant if we consider how the motto of the French Revolution was sometimes written as Liberté, égalité, fraternité ou la mort (“Liberty, equality, fraternity or death”). A lesson surely learnt by a certain angel back in 1793, when he was held prisoner for the last time before being forcefully taken Upstairs in the Final Fifteen.

The bridge and the castle

Okay, these are the basic observations. Now a brief historical overview and we will reach the fun bit in a jiffy.

Have you ever wondered about the meaning of this whole complex? It wasn’t always angelic, but named after a Roman noble dynasty. The Aelian bridge was built by the Emperor Hadrian in 134 AD to span River Tiber from the city center to his mausoleum. With time, the remains of more emperors were put to rest in there, until it was plundered and destroyed in a war. Then the remaining structure was transformed into a military fortress and a castle serving as the papal residence in times of war.

The Papal State also used Sant'Angelo as a prison; the Renaissance philosopher Giordano Bruno was imprisoned there for six years. Executions of the inmates were performed in the small inner courtyard, but they weren’t the only deaths in the area. On the other side of the bridge, in the adjoining Piazza del Ponte, under the watchful eyes of the stone likenesses of two saints, the public executions were held, and the heads of the criminals were brought onto the bridge and exposed to public view there.

As a prison, the former mausoleum is also the setting for the third act of Giacomo Puccini's 1900 opera Tosca. Long story short, the eponymous heroine convinces her lover to feign death so that they can flee together. Unfortunately, they are betrayed and the firing squad shoots at him with real bullets instead of blanks. Tosca believes in the quality of his acting performance rather than the truth, and when the realization hits her, she leaps to her death from the Castel’s ramparts.

After Nero’s bridge was destroyed, the travelers were forced to cross this bridge as the only direct route to the Vatican and St Peter’s Basilica, earning it the nickname “the bridge of Saint Peter”. That’s why in the 16th century Pope Clement VII erected statues of Saints Peter and Paul at the ends of the bridge, guarding it as they are supposed to protect the entry to Heaven.

In 1688 the bridge was embellished with ten angel statues, five on each side of the bridge, carrying Arma Christi, the Instruments of the Passion. The Good Omens characters represented by those statues in the opening sequence might be other instruments of Christ’s suffering as parts of the system that needs to be overthrown or replaced.

One angel appears particularly important in the context of both the bridge and the Second Coming — Saint Michael the Archangel.

Legend holds that the Archangel Michael appeared atop Hadrian’s mausoleum, sheathing their sword as a sign of the end of the plague of 590, thus lending the castle its present name. A less charitable yet more apt elaboration of the legend, given the militant disposition of this particular Archangel, was heard by the 15th-century traveler who saw an angel statue on the castle roof. He recounts that during a prolonged season of the plague, Pope Gregory I heard that the populace, even Christians, had begun revering a pagan idol at the church of Santa Agata in Suburra. A vision urged the Pope to lead a procession to the church. Upon arriving, the idol miraculously fell apart with a clap of thunder. Returning to St Peter's by the Aelian Bridge, the Pope had another vision of an angel atop the castle, wiping the blood from his sword on his mantle, and then sheathing it. While the Pope interpreted this as a sign that God was appeased, this did not prevent Gregory from destroying more sites of pagan worship in Rome. In honor of the vision and Michael, the bridge was renamed in their name.

What if the procession from the opening sequence was meant to imitate the procession led by the Pope from the legend? What if Aziraphale, now officially a Supreme Archangel, Commander of the Heavenly Host, is the one actually leading it, with Crowley finally at his side as his partner and second in command, just like it was proposed by him in the Final Fifteen?*

What if by some reason, maybe personal ambition, maybe just a tragic coincidence or situational necessity, there really was an impostor in Heaven, and Metatron — the so called Voice of God who seemingly doesn’t speak up for Herself since Job’s test — has been playing a winged version of the Wizard of Oz all along?

It would make just the perfect sense if not for one tiny detail. The procession we see on the bridge is actually led by Crowley, which doesn’t fit the parallel at all — unless it’s actually a proof of an ongoing body swap, as the mismatched names of the actors could also suggest?

The mountain of trash and the bookshop

The symbolic mountain of trash we can see Aziraphale and Crowley climb is a reference in itself. To an actual mount called Zion, believed to be the place where Yahweh, the God of Israel, dwells (Isaiah 8:18; Psalm 74:2), the place where God is king (Isaiah 24:23) and where God has installed king David on his throne (Psalm 2:6).

In a literal sense, it’s a hill in Jerusalem, although the sources refer to three different locations in different contexts — although for the purpose of this meta the Upper Eastern Hill (Temple Mount) makes the most sense. Its highest part became the site of Solomon's Temple. The same King Solomon the rituals in Freemasonry refer to. Masonic buildings, where lodges and their members meet, are sometimes called "temples" specifically as an allegoric reference to King Solomon's Temple, not actual places of worship. And Aziraphale’s bookshop is built around Solomon’s Magic Circle.

In a metaphysical sense, and especially in the context of the Christian New Testament, it is also believed to be a part of Heaven — the heavenly Jerusalem, God's Holy, eternal city. Christians are said to have “(…) come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are registered in heaven” (Hebrews 12:22-23 cf. Revelation 14:1). Just like the procession were following in the opening sequence.

There’s been some speculation whether the lift on top of the mountain could symbolize Aziraphale’s bookshop, or, more specifically, the oculus in its centre. If you look closely at the enhanced screenshot, you can see that the dome isn’t made of glass and that it looks like a tower (a church’s bell tower, perhaps) more than a whole building.

And there is an actual doorway in there — not like the modern lift doors — opening up towards the source of that white, heavenly light. And what kind of enlightenment can you usually find up in the skies or heavens?

We’re welcomed to crack open the doors to the Heavenly Sanctuary — the Most Holy place, Sanctum Sanctorum, the Holy of Holies — to undraw the final curtain and finally stand eye to eye with God. Who knows, maybe even ask some questions or listen to some answers.

Or, at the very least, to meet one of Her forms known as Jesus Christ. Because that’s precisely where he serves as our (humanity’s) Mediator and the Holy Priest after his Ascension to Heaven. The structure at the top reminds of some temple architecture seen in Antiquity and Christianity.

The Catholic Church considers the Church tabernacle or its location (traditionally at the rear of the sanctuary) as the symbolic equivalent of the Holy of Holies, due to the storage of consecrated hosts in that vessel and their meaning as the Body of Christ. Tabernacle is commonly marked with a red light turned on and off depending on His presence or lack if it.

Looks like He’s already in the area, one way or another, keeping eye on some things.

Are we following a procession of believers happy to embrace their one and true Savior? Or are they actually protesters on their way to dethrone the authority and the system?

Guess we will have to wait and see.

[libraincarnate]

astrology notes: 6 🐉

quick note: i'm absolutely not an astrologer. these are just a collection of some observations, thoughts, theories, and personal experiences. with that being said, i'm still learning along the way & i may come back to edit this post to make corrections. above all this is just for fun. lastly, keep in mind that i’m not reading your birth chart and i know nothing about you. these are just some possibilities that may or may not apply to you. enjoy!

🗡 sag mercury: “be careful what you wish for cause you just might get it.”

🗡 @elysiansparadise had mentioned that people with sun square moon may have parents who have a strained relationship with each other or they may be very incompatible. my friend has this aspect and long before checking her parents’ synastry chart i thought they worked better as friends.

her parents were childhood friends- her mom has an aquarius venus which can be a “friends to lovers” type of placement. they have an 11th house stellium in their synastry chart.

they have been married for a long time- her dad’s venus aspects her mom’s saturn. with that being said, venus represents aphrodite, love, femininity, women, love & mars represents ares, masculinity, men, sex. her dad has venus opposite mars in his natal chart and her mom has mars square venus in her natal chart.

they’re different in the way that moon and the sun are night and day. her dad is more logical & reserved/introverted. her mom is more emotional & social/extroverted. they share the same faith but they also have some important differences regarding their religious beliefs. she’s loud, he’s quiet. etc.

🗡 how many of you with scorpio, mars, or a fire sign in the 8th house have red as your favorite color?

🗡 taurus/libra/venus in the 2nd house: these natives are so naturally beautiful & radiant. they don’t have to try hard at all. they have a personal sense of style. jewelry was made for their bodies.

🗡 libra rising: libra rising is known for having beautiful symmetrical faces. i’ve noticed some people with this placement who don’t have symmetrical faces might wonder why.

#1 you’re human so it’s normal to have an asymmetrical face, most humans do.

#2 you may have have one of your dominant planets in the 1st house. remember that different planets rule different body parts and are associated with different physical features. for example, if you’re moon dominant and it’s in the first house you may have a fuller/rounder & cherub like face. mars dominant 1st house- strong/defined face & forehead, could be androgynous, lusty eyes. saturn dominant 1st house- intimidating smaller eyes, mature face, sharp facial structure/features.

or you may have harsh aspects to your rising sign. for example venus relates to beauty so having venus opposite rising may have an influence on your appearance or how symmetrical your face is.

#3 with that being said having harsh aspects to your rising doesn’t make you unattractive. you're gorg/handsome regardless so who cares.

& if you’re not a libra rising, you can also apply this logic if you don’t have much of your rising sign’s physical traits.

🗡 neptune-venus aspects: wanting to “fix or save him/her” fall in love during the process and live happily ever after.  

🗡 leo mars: might not like when people touch their hair, certain people like hairstylists may be excepted.

🗡  the house your venus is in can show what you like or love about yourself, what others like/love about you. some of your attractive traits & qualities. and what you like about others.

venus in the 1st house: you might really love your self and be an advocate for self love. others may love your personality, your perspective of life, and think you have a beautiful body. you could be attracted to confidence, the way a person carries themselves.

venus in the 10th house: you may like your work ethic, how independent & disciplined you are. others may like the way you take initiative, your ambition, your honesty. you could be attracted to those who possess fame and success.

venus in the 3rd house: you may like the way you think/your way of applying logic and processing information. others may love talking to you, how you have a way with words, your accent. you could be attracted to well kept or veiny hands, people with vehicles like luxurious cars or motorcycles.

venus in the 4th: you may love your mom a lot or think she's really beautiful. like being at home & could be into interior design. others may like your family/being around them, the idea of starting a family with you, your warm and nurturing personality. could be attracted to those who are family-oriented and possess emotional intelligence.

🗡 fixed signs in the 9th house: if religious, they take their spiritual life seriously and are a firm believer in whichever doctrine they subscribe to. very devoted individuals. consistently going to a place of worship like church, the mosque, a temple, synagogue, etc.

these aren’t fixed signs but cancer in the 9th gives me mother mary vibes lol. virgo here would probably be quite pedantic and technical regarding things like details about sacred text and spiritual practices/rituals.

🗡 having both gemini and scorpio placements in a chart can make one sneaky, stealthy, ninja, fbi son of a gun. scorpios know how to be secretive, source information, remain in the dark and disguising themselves as your shadow as they observe you. able to move around quietly. geminis are fast, agile, also able to source information, devious, double agent like, quick thinkers. they both just know things. always a step ahead.

🗡 jupiter in the 5th or positively aspecting your ascendant or inner planets in the 5th house: winning games, contests, bets, money, prizes without much effort. i remember winning bingo like 5 times in one round and people started getting annoyed lol.

if you read this until the end i hope you enjoyed it & thank you so much for reading. ♥︎♥︎♥︎, those hearts are for you.

[ineffableparents]

Do you have any head canons for Cherub and Jay (ie, interests, personality traits)?

Chreub is chaotic and adventurous, more of a spitfire like Crowley but more outgoing than him. She has a fiery temper and rushes into things without thinking too hard about it. Jay is quiet and gentle and doesn't talk a lot in their toddler years. They inherited Aziraphales love for books and the arts, They're a skilled artist with a passion for translating what they see in the world to paper and canvas. Jay is a bit of a cuddle monster, but feels awkward asking for hugs as an adult. The two siblings are very close, Though Cherub bosses Jay around (not that it bothers them a lot)

[goodeapple]

someone could come love me, if somebody knew me (aemond t. pwp o.s.)

AS IT WAS PROMISED, SO SHALL IT BE BESTOWED.

"Aemond has a dragon dick, send tweet."

pairing : Aemond x Ysilla (Rhaenyra'sDaughter!OC)

warnings : Pretty tame I'd say- handjobs, slight oral play, fantasy of exhibitionism, Aemond's dark little mind & his big ole dragon dick.

word count : 3,000+

title from "fue mejor", Kali Uchis & SZA

Ysilla’s line of sight darts to his crotch, peering intensely at the leather holding him in. She stares, gaze unbroken and unbothered, even as he fidgets under her scrutiny. 

“Can I see it?”

Her inflection is curious, lacking a lustful lilt and somehow, that makes this all the more humiliating. 

“I am not a thing for you to study, wicked girl.” The Dragon Prince snarls. He feels heat pulsate in his face. As if he is a monster, reduced to the oddity of his anatomy instead of the man, the scholar, the fighter he has fashioned himself to be by his own will and his own way. But now, he is nothing but a butterfly pinned in place as strangers pick him apart with a sickened curiosity. The socket of his absent eye aches wildly, a sympathetic partner to the abnormality between his knees.

“Pleaseee, Uncle.” His niece’s pleading compels her to her feet, her fingers lacing together to bring a begging fist under her chin. Her heart-shaped face is cherubic, lips parted in a prayer that Aemond wants to answer with his tongue. Or better yet, his cock. The vision of that, of him feeding every fat inch of his pole downdowndown her throat, until she would choke on him and make sweet tears roll down her cheeks… it seems so real, so well within his limits to make true. 

Aemond snorts, tossing her a disdainful look, one he musters from his very tangible dislike for her and those she holds closest. 

“Don’t beg, Silli, it doesn’t suit you. I said no- I’m positive you’ve never heard that before, but I’m not your papa.” His sneer twists his thin lips down, transforming his regal visage into something ugly. “I won’t give into your every whim just because you bat those pretty eyes at me.” 

Ysilla gazes blithely back at him, swaying on the balls of her feet. Her dress flutters around her ankles, the delicate chains wrapped around the fragile bone there catching the candlelight. She’s barefoot- curiously. Her amber satin slippers were shucked off at the door before she had sunk into the too big chair in the center of his room. To quite simply make herself comfortable- to carve out a space wherever she lands, is a trait Aemond finds irritating but commendable. 

At once, an impish smile illuminates her face, her irises lavender in bloom. “You think my eyes are pretty?” 

Aemond bottles in a groan, gritting his teeth in exasperation. Such a little brat. 

“That’s swell because… I think yours are pretty too, Uncle. Especially your hidden jewel.” Ysilla draws closer and closer, and the walls seem to cinch around them. She shouldn’t be here- he may be her blood but Ysilla is unwed and young and beautiful beyond her means. He should have sent her away when she came knocking, a small bound journal promising something of importance to him, her ticket into his den. Giddiness had manifested in the trembling of her fingers and he couldn't lie- he was intrigued. If only to watch Ysilla’s fire extinguish when he paid no thought to whatever had caught her fancy. 

“I dreamt about it last night. It adorned my crown- not my tiara- my crown as Queen. Nestled front and center, staring down any man, any woman, who kneeled before me. Guarding me, protecting me, loyal… to me.” 

Aemond puts desperate distance between them, her words striking a match within him.

Ysilla’s spiraling locks threaded through the Conqueror’s Crown, refined but still imposing, seated on the forged throne. Aemond gleaming in white, a striking savior at her side, first Lord Commander of the Queensguard. And even when he cannot be there, his jewel watches over all. An All Seeing Eye. He does not replace his surrogate orb. It be a piece of himself he shells out to shield her, and then, when they’re together, he’s comple-

The back of his knees meet resistance and he stills, refusing to bask in the jasmine gust brought forth by his niece’s closeness. She brings her palm to his jerkin covered chest and presses- urging, asking. Aemond stares down at her. She’s so tiny compared to him, so much smaller, weaker but she might as well have a blade to his throat.

He gives, settling into the armchair, wishing to become one with the buttons and the stitchings. When she drops to her knees, it is with a grace that is ingrained in her, blended into every shift of her body. 

“I want to touch you, Aemond. I want to make you feel good.”

Her hand creeps along, fingertips dancing over his clothed thigh, conquering the distance to his laces like a soldier riding through a battlefield. Aemond feels himself start to surrender, a loss he will still win as the heat from Ysilla’s palm leeches through the hide of his breeches. He’s warm all over, tongue heavy in his mouth, words too much to muster. Beads of sweat lick their way down the nape of his neck. 

Ysilla stares at him, her chest level with his knees. There’s too much light in here. He can see every delicious inch of her. No shadows to hide in, no darkness to dim her. She’s all propped up and on display in the late evening sun beaming through the balcony doors. Every beauty mark dotted along her spun sugar skin is penciled in by hand from the Gods, each strand of blackblue hair dancing away from the heat of her blistering surface. It makes this dream too real. He doesn’t know what he’ll do when he blinks and she blows away like a puff of smoke. He breathes out, nerves spiraling in his stomach and spreads his knees. 

Aemond doesn’t make a habit of looking at himself. He washes and dresses with a detachment perfected over the years. When he realized how he differed, when his voice dropped and his bones stretched him to the brim and something else grew right along with him, he had floundered on how to handle it. 

Who was he supposed to ask? His mother was out of the question- Aemond would rather crawl through smoldering embers after scooping out his other eye before he went to her. Aegon was self explanatory; his brother’s failed attempt to drag him down the Street of Silk was enough humiliation to last a lifetime. He toyed with the idea of going to Ser Criston or his grandfather, and some days it did seem tempting but his shame always held him tight by the throat. He was already different, already looked down upon with a pitiful gaze and whispered poor Prince Aemond, such a waste and no eye, no prospects, no future. He didn’t feel like piling on to his already stacked deck. 

“You have to… yeah, and then untie me from, right, just like that.” The back of his eyelid and the pitch of his patch are a comforting darkness as he cycles through the prayers in his head. Warrior, grant me the strength to emerge- no. Mother, I ask your mercy- definitely not. Father, may you judge me justly. Yes, it’s solid, spans the points he needs to make. Aemond settles on it and repeats it, backwards and forwards as the tension imprisoning him in his breeches releases and he feels something spring up and off the flat plains of his abdomen.

“Aemond… Uncle, look at me.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, ending his litany. It’s no use, his Gods are not listening. He hopes, he regrets, and he caves as he looks down at his lap.

The tip of it curves into a point, not sharp but defined. Blunt thickness runs through his shaft, until the base of him flares garishly into a hard knot. It’s as long as his forearm and thicker than his wrist. He always seems to be at attention, at mast at every surge of adrenaline, every lingering puff of perfume, every dashing neckline of Ysilla’s gowns when she curtsies- no, reign it in. A viciously red mushroom-tapered head splits to allow a bead of excitement to form and trickle down the lengthy march to his stones. He winces, his cock giving a readied pulse as his niece’s palm settles over his groin. 

“Oh, Gods,” Ysilla looks upon him with a wonderment he’s never seen. It stills the air in his lungs. “Aemond, you’re beautiful.” 

Shamefully, that sends him whimpering, the honeyed praise in her tone wrapping him in a caress that stokes the heat in his belly. She glances up at him with a gentle curiosity, but her attention quickly returns between his legs as he jerks from her proximity and the damp warmth of her exhaling breath. 

“Ooohhh, he’s happy to see me.” Her grin is wicked, a toothy pluck of her mouth. Her cheeks are pinker than the Dornish dress Baela gifted her on her nameday last week. 

Cheeky brat. 

Ysilla hocks spit into her hand and Aemond grimaces. Being raised with only brothers has certainly left an impression on her. It's not oil but it’ll do in a pinch. Her fingers are lithe and thin, hands dainty already but seeing one trying to wrap around him? It’s laughable. It’s arousing- painfully so. 

“You didn’t let me finish earlier.” Now that he has nothing to do but listen, his crafty little niece seems to have taken advantage of his predicament. Aemond can’t help but feel a tiny bit impressed. “So when I found the book in the Dragonstone stacks, after I cleaned off the layers of dust, I read all about the many men in Targaryen history who have been… afflicted by this… hardship. Aegon the Conqueror, Maegor the Cruel- which may have played a part in the six wives- but the last documented entry was well over 50 years ago. A tale forgotten to time and dismissed all the same as just another peculiarity with our family. But this Aemond…” she pumps him slowly, demanding his attention, making him bow for her even when she’s the one on her knees. 

“We are closer to Gods than to men. By our dragons of course, but by this as well! You are something special, can’t you see that?” He likes to hear her excited. Her passion is appetizing, drawing him in to take a bite.

His ego perks up at her attention, but so does his pride. Dragons don’t like to share. Aemond doesn’t like to share. “How do you know if it’s not just me who's been ‘afflicted’?”

Ysilla shrugs, and he doesn’t know her well enough to tell if she’s being untruthful. “I’m very thorough in my research. Just not as quite… hands on as I’m being with you. You’ve always been my favorite uncle.”

Aemond could take her by the hair, twist it nice and tight around his fist, rise to his feet, keep her down on her knees where she belongs- not just there but with him and thrust down her throat until he taps her heart.

“Did you ask my brother the same way you’re asking me?” Aemond growls, nudging at her knee with the side of his boot. He wants to touch her but he has to be careful. His resolve is thinning by the minute and he fears that if he can actually feel her- the suppleness of her skin, the silkiness of her hair, he’ll give way and start something that cannot be undone. 

“Nope, I asked Helaena. Girls talk, Aemond, especially over a flagon of wine.” She elbows his thigh in retribution, but it’s gentle and frivolous and the smile she gives him is all teeth. Fuck, she’s lovely. 

Aemond’s hips jump off the chair, chasing the heat of Ysilla’s hands. She smirks, stroking him softly, the delight in her eyes dimming down to lusty pools of amaranthine.

“So you’re doing this out of what, kindness?”

“I like to think of it more as academic curiosity. But, if I can help you become more comfortable with this part of yourself and maybe even aid your future wife in the process, well that’s just all sugar then, isn’t it?”

“I won’t marry, I will bear no children. I might as well take the Black.” Aemond recites, his tone bored to tears. His future fizzled out to ash once he realized there was no way in any Realm that he could ever properly lay with a woman. He couldn’t, wouldn’t damn any wife to a hopeless tomorrow. Occupying himself with other things helped- he’s a resourceful man. After all, great men never got anywhere by thinking with their cocks. 

Ysilla’s brow furrows and her jaw ticks, an unhappy look passing over her face. “Never say never, Aemond.”

His dick pulses, and Ysilla’s eyes go wide, feeling the might of him in her own grip. She raises her gaze back to this face, and the dazzlement there makes him feel taller than tales. 

Aemond smirks, his straight laces loosening. “I like when you call me that.” 

She pumps him, tightly, and he shivers, a gasp slipping through his drooping jaw. There’s a burn at the base of his spine, a familiar one he would entertain only when his needs raged a war within him.  

Her lips are pouted, shimmering in the dusk drawing the room into darkness. He wants to see the stars sparkle over her skin, the moon crest over her breasts in a gauzy beam. Wants to peel off every offending layer until she’s naked, slick and soft and starving for him and the beast between his legs. 

A stranded curl sways in front of her eye, caught in her fanning lash. His fingers twitch, starting forward before he anchors his nails through the furniture’s stuffing and right down to the frame. Ysilla’s tongue flicks out, wetting her parched lips.

“Do you want to touch me?” 

She wears the crown as she rides him, the Throne Room’s chandelier haloing her dramatically. He’s not sure if they’re alone- the embrace of her hand about his throat keeps his attention on where it is demanded. On her. If there are any stragglers stupid enough to hang around, what an honor it is for them to witness a mating, a claiming. The Dragon Queen taking what’s rightfully hers, for the Gods and everyone to see. 

“No.” 

“You’re a liar, my Prince.” That’s even better than his name, fuck him. 

“I think you want to touch me. I think you want to feel me. I think you want to see… just how far… I’m willing to go.” One solid lick of her tongue, from the root of him to the tip, sends him careening over the edge. Aemond gasps raggedly, a man broken apart. His cock jerks, nearly knocking him in the jaw. Thick ropes of creamy pearl stripe his chest and coat his throat. 

His niece milks him, left hand rubbing up and down his shaft, feeling the veins jump and throb against her palm. And the right, fucks sake, the right squeezes around the flared part of him and the tremors jolt right down to his sack.

“Mmmm, good boy, Aemond.” 

A final burst of cum bubbles up and over the tip of him, and he tries not to shout. Sweet relief blankets the scald from his peak, and the Prince can breathe with a newfound ease.

Ysilla spreads her fingers apart, and his spend webs between them in a milky film. Aemond can’t be sure what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling. But what he certainly doesn’t expect is for her to bring up her fingers to brush at her mouth, plush lips spreading to peek out her tongue. He catches her wrist before she can commit the act, and if he bruises her with his grip, she deserves it for her lustfulness. 

“Don’t.”

Ysilla studies his face, weighing if she can push her luck some more tonight. She concedes, peppering a butterfly kiss across his knuckles, wiping her soiled hand on the fur under her knees. Aemond’s chest tightens and he can’t understand why her simple kiss sends him blushing more than her fist around his cock. 

“Next time, then.”

Hunger nips at him harshly, all the ways they can come together, and cum together, flashing through his mind. 

“There will be no next time-”

“Mmmm, I don’t know if he agrees with that.” She presses her puckered lips just shy of his wet slit, and his hips buck from the sensitivity. Her giggle is demented and a dark part of the silver prince wants to push something down her throat to shut her up. 

“Don’t you have something better to waste your time with? Aren’t you supposed to be looking for a husband?” Aemond rumbles, slouched in his seat. All tension drained from him, his legs weak and wobbling from the force of his climax. He feels as if he is up in the clouds, no dragon necessary. 

Ysilla sniffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a twist. “I will marry whomever I tell my mother I have accepted. And if no one has caught my eye, we will try again next year.” 

She maneuvers him back into his breeches, and if Aemond were a lesser man, he’d whine at the loss of her smooth touch. The leather suffocates him immediately and it feels so wrong. 

“Who better to guide me in the art of pleasing my husband,” Ysilla looks deep into his eye as she speaks the title, and the Prince feels caught, “whomever that may be, than you? No mere man will ever compare to you, in this aspect.” Ysilla finishes his laces off with a bow, hands tucking behind her innocently as she sits back on her toes. 

“In any aspect.” Aemond thinks he means to snarl in a self-righteous manner, but it’s clear to his own ears what he intends. The thought of Ysilla being on her knees for another, warm and wanting and welcoming for someone that is not him, blazes him with envy.

Ysilla beams, and Aemond feels like a trout swallowing the worm- hooked, reeled, and gutted.

“I’m glad we have an agreement then.”

.

.

.