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#a beautiful dying thing
egophiliac · 4 months
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new chapter 7 installment dropped how we feelin????
YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND
THAT'S HIS DAD
#twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland episode 7 part 6 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers#twisted wonderland book 7 part 6 spoilers#BABY DRAGON BABY DRAGON BABY DRAGON#i will take three thank you#god. lilia really has no idea how incredibly loved he is huh.#meleanor: (dies to protect him and her son)#malleus: (is literally born having a huge destructive tantrum because he wants lilia back)#silver: (bases his entire life and personality around how much he loves his dad)#lilia: wow i just can't understand why everyone is so upset about me dying#(somehow sebek ended up being the most normal about him and there's the most unexpected part)#man i really gotta redo lilia's um poster. i wasn't super happy with it to begin with but now there's like. fun shapes and context!#me: ha ha why is his magic called that. that's so weird.#me later: o-oh. oh i see.#SPEAKING OF SEBEK THOUGH there he is! THERE HE IS!#i was so afraid the armor was going to be a bad thing but NO he earned it!#he shook out his hair and turned out to have been beautiful all along!#episode 7 is about two things and two things only: dads and significant hair moments#and also speaking of dads!#i am taking lilia mistaking malleus for revaan based on his voice#as one more tick in the 'if crowley is revaan then there's going to have to be a really good explanation' column#the dulcet tones of dire crowley...#on the other hand if crowley tears off his mask and immediately starts sounding like malleus that would be THE funniest way to do it#auuuggghhhhh it's only been out for hours and already i'm like next part when#we've been cliffhanger'd again lads#idia finally came back to us and they were like 'please wait for the next release :)'#ortho did...did you somehow hack your way into silver's dream palace
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shehsart · 5 months
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Todofam enthusiasts we are being fed well this week. Dabi on the front cover of volume 39, todofam on the back cover and todobros in the extras! This truly was my Todoroki academia 😭😭
If this isn't proof enough that their arc isn't over yet and Hori will be giving the todofam arc the closure they deserve idk what is. Each one of them look so beautiful I'm in awe.
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mylestoyne · 5 months
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ari is so funny for being like “can I seduce jon connington? let me check in with my hot bisexual ex who fucks older men & knows a ton of information about connington & who my dad sent along on this mission for we don’t know what reason”
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themthistles · 9 months
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what's so appealing about jwds is that they very much embody the dynamic of 'two insane soulmates obsessed to an unhealthy degree encouraging the worst in one other and bringing everyone around into their mess' but somewhere along the way they manage to break out of that cycle and become actually good for each other. still incapable of being normal about their relationship but no longer actively ruining own lives and those of their friends, family and anybody unlucky enough to get in the way. your average freaks in love
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the-force-awakens · 7 months
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"fandom is dying" is it? or is it already dead? like i don't know about you but i don't see anyone making things anymore. or if they do, they quickly tire and burn out and can't have fun with it anymore and use it as an escape, because they're stuck in a place of constant comparison: there is a certain kind of "content" (a word that makes me gag) that the new wave of 'fandom' is interested in, and that's whatever is trendy the second it's trendy for gifsets, or anything explicit for fanfiction writing. and then you also have how fanartists are treated: fic writers being compared to one another, being talked down to for how their stories ended, being run off tumblr and ao3 to the point they don't write for something that was so special for them anymore. gifmakers bust their ass making things just to have their creations stolen, get no appreciation and shares, and often have to deal with a constant stream of negativity on their sets.
the new wave of fandom just cares about what's currently trending and unsexy sex and it's so so tiring.
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getvalentined · 5 months
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"Nashi I completely forgot about Nero"
WELL
I
FUCKING
DIDN'T
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cluelessbees · 1 year
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Congrats Will Byers on being the prettiest boy in the entire world
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lunarharp · 4 months
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qifrey's birthday and silly stuff
#witch hat tag#orufrey#excerpt is from my 30k failing eye fic (link in pinned) which has a birthday scene. i revisited and edited it again and it is now 30k :)#kerplunk thing is because of a mysterious game that shirahama has drawn orufrey playing before and to me it looks like Kerplunk.#a kids' game from this 'Real World' which we live in. card game is Cheat from neopets. but it's a real game. i want to play it for real....#you lie and cheat in it..hence the name..and 'branston the eyrie you are a bold one' classic neopets tumblr post...no....ok then.....#'hey qif i know we're obsessed with witches' kerplunk but we used to play cheat all the time what happened to that??'#'oh. i just..don't like lying to you. i don't like how it feels.' 'oh haha i guess that's a good thing. ok let's play kerplunk instead ^_^'#'mm. *dying inside crying in the rain in my soul*'#i dislike trying to illustrate my writing. i resent myself for having described oru's captivating mysterious smile so perfectly#i can't draw that. i know what it looks like perfectly in my mind and i am right there on that roof but i can't draw it satisfyingly enough#writing comes from a different part of my brain. there's different things in there. i'm glad i wrote out some of what i can't draw.#then there are things that i don't write or draw but which are still a crucial ongoing facet of my orufrey mindscape.#the Written orufrey the Drawn orufrey and the Unspoken orufrey... three faces of a beautiful irreplaceable jewel in my heart...#could a depressed person do THAT.
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setmeatopthepyre · 7 months
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I will not be great, but I'm grateful to get through The feeling came late, I'm still glad I met you The memory hurts but does me no harm Your hand in my pocket to keep us both warm The poor thing in the road, its eye still glistening The cold wet of your nose, the earth from a distance
See how it shines
Sometimes there's a thought, like you choose what you're doing But it comes to nought when I look back through it I remember the view, street lights in the dark blue The moment I knew I'd no choice but to love you
Darling, there's a part of me I'm afraid will always be Trapped within an abstract form, a moment of my life The weeds up through the concrete, the traffic picking up speed All my love and terror, balanced there between those eyes
See how it shines
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tequiilasunriise · 1 year
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Wenclair’s peak dynamic is that Enid would die fer Wednesday, Wednesday would live fer Enid, and they would kill fer each other.
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panthermouthh · 2 months
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creecher my beloved <3
(or in other words, very cool and awsome art, and i am loving the frankenstein stuff)
He’s just a lil guy <333 so what about the atrocities <333
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brieattea · 2 years
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WOOF WOOF AGRH MEOW
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cirque-dhomosexual · 2 years
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I'm losing MY FUCKING MIND LOOK AT THEM LOOK AT THEM LOOKING AT EACHOTHER
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ladyluscinia · 5 months
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😶 -> 😑 -> 😡
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citrongarde · 6 months
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neelaverse adjustments (i prommy i'll draw them proper one day but for now u get some weird abstract shit and a funny)
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bonus ~1-2 years post-xy rival designs to match serena and calem's above.
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queenlucythevaliant · 10 days
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Northern Lights
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I heard a voice that cried, “Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!” 
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Who knows what to call the lonely exhilaration of gazing out into a bright Northern sky? Who can name it? 
Jill could.
It was the same feeling that came to her at the teetering edge of a cliff at the end of the world. The same feeling as when she said her goodbyes to Puddleglum and Scrubb before they freed the prince. It was the same feeling that engulfed her now, sitting in the professor’s library with a volume of poetry before her. 
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The wild northern wastes were well named: utterly wild, perfectly desolate, and terribly Northern. 
It was lonely there and often cold, but the sky was an endless whorl of gales and gray clouds. The stones were indigo under the pale winter sunlight, and at sunset they glowed a soft gold, as though lit from within. The gorges and moors lay before her, and Jill loved them for their vastness and their distance. Little grew in that country, but that which did was full of vigor. The grass was short and coarse. Every tree was victorious. 
On a still, deep breathing winter night, Jill lay on her back beneath a covering sky. It seemed beautiful to her, rich and strong and glorious. Her eyes drank in the breadth of it until her tears began to blind her. Yet even then, she still couldn’t look away.
She felt bigger here in the wastes, like the landscape. Stronger, wider. The further she walked, the more she felt herself stretch out. One of these days, maybe, she would catch hold of herself at edge and tug, and Jill Pole would open up clear as the Northern sky. 
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And through the misty air passed the mournful cry of sunward sailing cranes.
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The thing that surprised Jill most about the battle with the serpent was this: there wasn’t any yelling. Always, it seemed, whenever she read stories about people fighting with swords, the combatants would let loose some guttural yell before their blows fell. They would scream and writhe in pain as they died. They would shout instructions to their fellows, “Look out!” or “Hit him there!” But the whole affair with the serpent passed with very little noise. 
The poison-green coil constricted around the prince; he raised his arms and got clear, struck the serpent hard, and then Scrubb and Puddleglum dispatched the creature with heavy, hacking blows. The monster died writhing, but not screaming. And then it was over. 
The thing that surprised Jill most about the moments before battle was, of course, the noise. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stop listening to her own breathing. Every footstep rang out like a gong, and any words exchanged rang with a kind of finality that made them sound louder than anything. 
“You are of high courage,” Rilian told her when it was over. 
Yet the thing in Jill’s chest just then didn’t feel like courage. It was a deep breath, a plunge, and a release. It was loud and quiet all at once, till she was standing, blinking in the night air as snowballs whizzed round her, and maybe that was something like courage after all. 
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And now, there was a stirring in her chest as she reread the words on the page. Sing no more / O ye bards of the North / Of Vikings and of Jarls! / Of the days of the Eld / preserve the freedom only / nor the deeds of blood! 
She thought of grief. Of freedom. 
The lonely ache in her belly grew stronger. She felt herself uplifted into the huge regions of sky that were just beyond those cliffs, weightless as the breath beneath her buoyed her up, further, further…
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When she saw Caspian up close, Jill thought that he looked like the sort of person who was meant to live in a castle. A silly thought, perhaps, since she knew he was a king– only she wasn’t thinking of Cair Paravel. No, Jill was picturing the ruins of an old British castle she’d visited once on holiday. She still remembered how the stonework had loomed over her, all towering arches and crumbling walls. That was where Caspian seemed to belong. He had an air of ancient tragedy about him. 
When Rilian disappeared, all things had wept but one. The serpent coiled beneath the earth and flicked its forked tongue, spewing poison. 
Now, the king half rose to bless his son. He whispered a few words as he caressed Rilian’s cheek, words meant only for those beloved ears. Jill saw Caspian’s lips move and wondered what a man like that could possibly say, when time ran so short. 
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They laid him in his ship, with horse and harness, as on a funeral pyre. Odin placed a ring upon his finger, and whispered in his ear.
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Jill furtively took Myths of the Northmen and held it up to the professor with a question in her eyes. She was still shy around him and Miss Plummer, though she wished she wasn’t. 
“Would you like to take that with you?”
“...Please.”
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It takes a certain kind of person to be exhilarated by the heights. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling. 
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They walked to the train station with an autumn wind blowing hard, and though Jill couldn’t fathom why, she turned and saw Lucy grinning, fierce and joyful– grinning and reaching a hand out towards her friend.
Jill reached back and grabbed it. “What will you do, once we’re back in Narnia?” she asked. 
The wind blew harder. The feeling of anticipation grew and grew, until it felt so big that she couldn’t dream of containing it. And there was Lucy, holding Jill’s hand and laughing like it was easy.
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Preserve the freedom only, not the deeds of blood!
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The second time Jill went to Narnia, she found herself not at its edge, but at its end. 
The thing about the Norse apocalypse is: it feels believable. It doesn’t reach beyond earth’s horizon to pull down hope beyond hope. It’s only the kind of courage that hopeless humans have: you are going to die, so you might as well die bravely. 
They found the last king of Narnia bound to a tree. His eyes were faintly red from crying, and his wrists and ankles red from the coarseness of his fetters. 
In the Norse myths, Loki broke free of his fetters at the end of the world. He escaped to the helm of a ship made from the fingernails of the dead.
The last king of Narnia fell forward onto the ground when Eustace cut his bonds. Jill crouched down beside him and watched as he rubbed feeling back into his legs. He wasn’t so much older than her, she thought. Jill was sixteen years old; the last king of Narnia could not be older than twenty-two. 
In the myths, the gods were ancient, hewn from the bodies of giants old as the earth. 
Jill put out a hand and helped the last king of Narnia to his feet. Not for the last time, she shivered. Something deep inside her (deeper than her chest, than her heart, than the marrow of her bones, deep as her soul, deeper) was singing an elegy and she didn’t know why, or how, or where it had come from. The king clutching her hand, who could have been her older brother, would have no heir.
Yet when he asked, “Will you come with me?” Jill could only smile. 
“Of course,” she said. “It’s you we’ve come to help.”
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And the voice forever cried, "Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!"
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“This really is Narnia at last,” murmured Jill. The springtime wood had little in common with the wintry lands she had traveled the last time she was here– but it awakened the same feelings of Northernness in her chest. 
Their party may as well have been the only people in the world, for how isolated their little wooden path seemed. Yet it wasn’t lonely, really, cocooned in all that green with the wind in the leaves and the primroses nodding and blue of the sky peeking through above. 
Jewel told stories about what ordinary life was like when there was peace here. As he spoke, Jill could almost hear the trees' voices speaking out of the living past, whispering, stay, stay. She was caught up to a great height, looking down across a rich, lovely plain full of woods and waters and cornfields, which spread away and away till it got thin and misty from distance. 
“Oh Jewel–” Jill said with a dreamy sigh, “wouldn’t it be lovely if Narnia just went on and on– like what you say it has been?”
She needn’t be a queen, as Susan and Lucy had been, but Jill would’ve liked to stay. She would've liked it all to stay, if it could. She might have been a woodmaid in a place like this: with the turn of the seasons, the swaying trees, swords into plowshares. Oh, if only she could stay!
Ahead, the last king of Narnia was softly singing a marching song. Jill tilted her head back and let warm shafts of sun caress her face. 
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I saw the pallid corpse of the dead sun borne through the Northern sky.
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“So,” said the last king of Narnia, “Narnia is no more.”
He tried to send them back. Jill shook her head. It was very loud and very quiet. “No, no, no, we won’t. I don’t care what you say. We’re going to stick by you whatever happens, aren’t we Eustace?”
They couldn’t go back anyway. Neither would they flee, not south across the mountains nor North into the great wide wastes. No, they would stay. They slept in a holly grove on the edge of ruin, waiting for the bonfires to light.
Jill slept fitfully, but in between she dreamed. She was high up in the air, buffeted by clouds and pierced by shafts of silver sunlight. 
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They all died, in the myths. Jill knew that. It seemed beautiful and brave when she read it in her book, tucked away safe in the Professor’s library. It was terrifying now– and yet it was beautiful and brave still.
The dogs came bounding up, every one of them, running up to the king and his men with their tails wagging. One of them leapt at Jill and licked her face, tongue roughly lapping up the sweat and tears that had dried on her cheeks. 
“Show us how to help, show us how, how, how!” the dogs were barking, almost ebullient in their enthusiasm. Jill bit back a sob. How lovely, she thought. How terribly beautiful. How dreadfully brave. 
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So perish the old Gods!
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The white rock gleamed like a moon in the darkness when Jill finally reached it. She ran back to it alone, her hands shaking, while her friends stayed forward with their gleaming swords and Jewel’s indigo horn.
The while rock gleamed like the moon. Jill’s first shot flew wide and landed in the soft grass. But she had another arrow on her string the next instant. It was speed that mattered, not aim. Speed, and turning aside when she cried, so as not to drip tears on her bowstring.
The white rock gleamed. In the myths, a wolf devoured the moon. Peter’s wolf, slain many thousand years ago in this world, opened his jaw wide and darkness fell over everything.
Her next arrow found its mark. After that, she lost track. She pulled, and she prayed that her hands kept still another minute. 
The unique thing–maybe the appealing thing–about the Norse myths, was that they told men to serve gods who were admittedly fighting with their backs to the wall and would certainly be defeated in the end. Jill let loose another arrow, felt the white rock at her back, and she knew that the clawing fear–beauty–bravery deep in her gut was the same feeling that she felt on the heights. The same feeling, but a different face. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling. 
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“I feel in my bones,” said Poggin, “that we shall all, one by one, pass through that dark door before morning. I can think of a hundred deaths that I would rather have died.”
“It is indeed a grim door,” said Tirian. “It is more like a mouth.” 
“Oh, can’t we do anything to stop it,” said Jill. Better to be dashed to the ground than it was to be devoured. 
“Nay, fair friend,” said Jewel. “It may be for us the door to Aslan’s country and we sup at his table tonight.”
A hand tangled itself in her hair and started to pull. Jill braced herself hard, for a moment, until her strength gave out. She was standing on the edge of a high, Northern cliff. She took another step, and fell.
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Perhaps when the moment comes, our bite will prove better than our howls. If not, we shall have to confess that two millennia of Christianity have not yet brought us to the level of the Stoics and Vikings. For the worst (according to the flesh) that a Christian need face is to die in Christ and rise in Christ; some were content to die, and not to rise, with Father Odin.
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The world inside the stable was beautiful. It made Jill’s chest ache in all the loveliest ways. 
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Build it again, O ye bards, fairer than before!
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