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welcometogrouchland · 1 year

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[ID: a piece of digital art depicting Luz, Willow, Amity and Vee from the owl house at Luz's quinceñera. The piece takes place outside the owl house at night with the characters all dancing. Willow's dress is blue with yellow and pink flowers as decoration. Luz's outfit is based on the good witch azura with a white and purple colour scheme. Amity wears a pink dress shirt and a dark blue skirt with transparent fabric both on the skirt and acting as the sleeves. Vee wears a yellow dress with white trim on the bottom. Light glyphs float in the air, the dancefloor lights the scene from below, and Hooty extends across the background. End ID]

on today's episode of "pieces I put way too much work into realistically!". Since it's unlikely we'll get a quinceñera for Luz at this stage of the show, I wanted to draw a cute scene of it, which slowly turned into posing and lighting practice

(Small disclaimer: I'm not a part of a culture that does quinceñeras! I hope that there's no glaringly inaccurate details here. As far as I know there isn't hard and fast rules for the dresses or dance floor? so hopefully everything here is plausible. Feel free to let me know if there's any egregious errors here. There's some doodles under the cut that are slightly more detailed, so same goes for those)

[ID: black and white digital doodles of owl house characters at Luz's quinceñera. The first doodle shows luz, Gus, Hunter and king, and is labeled "Gus, king & hunter = chambelands". The next shows willow, Vee, and Lilith with Luz and is labeled "Lilith, Willow and Vee = damas". There's a doodle of amity where's she's labeled "escort". There's a small full body doodle of Luz in a suit labeled "she gets a costume change!". The last doodle is Luz and hunter dancing together, labeled "Luz + hunter sibling dance". The background is purple. End ID]

#the owl house #toh #luz noceda #EDIT: I FORGOT THE FUCKING TAGS #willow park #amity blight #vee noceda #sigh. i won't tag anyone under the cut #lumity #okay that's good #feel like the id might not be up to scratch? if anyone has any suggestions I'll edit it!#same if the small text proves inaccessible #i know some screen readers pick it up and others don't but that no matter what it's hard for visually impaired people to read #if it proves troublesome i won't do it again #anyway in case you're wondering where eda is (bc realistically she should be here)- i like to think she'd get her own role in the ceremony?#not sure where though because I'm not sure which roles are/can be performed by family vs family friends vs a priest/professional #and thus i don't know what would be fitting for eda #i also know that father/daughter dances are traditional at quinceñeras and I've seen a few suggestions for who luz might dance with #since obviously her father's passed away #while the idea of dell (as her surrogate grampa) or one of her friends dads filling in is sweet #part of me thinks luz would go very non traditional and dance with eda? as a parent figure alternate to her mother?#i don't know if that's like. totally out of whack for a quinceñera/where the line between non-traditional and inaccurate is #since the tradition has obviously evolved a lot over the years and I'm just an outside observer #if anyone has hcs or suggestions feel free to let me know #(tho you'd probably prefer to discuss them with fans who have a bit more knowledge on the subject/are actually latino)#i should do more reading on this I'm just swamped rn (I. should really do some research for art class soon)#uhh i think that's everything i had to add??? yeah m #just reiterating the disclaimer uptop. please tell me if I've been silly or insensitive i do not want to be either

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craycraybluejay · 6 months

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You said in tags once that pedophiles and child predators aren't the same, can you explain why? /GEN

For the same reason that people with any kind of attraction to anyone ever aren't all rapists/don't all pursue romantic/sexual feelings that could or definitely would hurt the other person. Because paraphilias are simply the morally neutral state of experiencing attraction and rape/grooming is Not That. Because people *choose* to hurt others, but not what they feel. Because a good majority of child sexual abusers aren't even pathologically/paraphilically attracted to children, they *just want to hurt them because they can.* Because they're dissatisfied with something in life, or want a punching bag, or want to feel powerful, etc etc.

It's not really different conceptually from physical abuse. Do people do it because they have icky feelings about liking blood or violence? No. They do it to feel powerful. Sexual abuse is not about sex but about power. Hope this answers your question. I've answered it a good million times on this blog but eh I'm in a generous mood.

#anon response #pro para #girl imagine if ppl blamed randomass sadists for me getting beat up as a kid #like. no. thats not how that works. if they got off on hurting me in a literal sense they mightve been a little nicer ab it.#honestly its just flat out offensive to equate thoughts and feelings with abuse #regardless of someone's pathology you can always choose to do good and always choose to do evil #what you do with that ability is up to you. but rather than focusing consequences on random 'freaks' maybe focus them on #'normal people' who decide to covertly abuse their kids. or the priest who got tired of being godly and did some fucked shit #it is not the freaks you should fear but those who put on a face of normalcy while treating others like garbage and hurting people #also mostly those that are self aware know how to Be Good so to speak and im saying this broadly ab all 'dangerous' thoughts #ppl who know they can get triggered into violence will usually avoid sais triggers. ppl who spiral out of control during an episode will #have someone watch over them or find some way to offset any possible damage #even for people in whom some sort of harm is an instinctive reaction and not a conscious decision #steps can be should be and are taken to minimize problems and recover from anything that needs it #i trust a big 3 paraphile easier than an unstable person in power with no self awareness #because ive met both and only one has ever seriously hurt me. guess.

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dreadark · 4 months

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thanks to lemuen complaining about aulus not shutting the fuck up, I think we can safely conclude he was in fact the guy thorns was fighting in leonhardt's kin memories

this still doesn't explain why leonhardt has thorns kin memories but I don't think that one is ever being explained

#arknights #i dont know what kin memories means but i love saying words #im being completely serious here about that being thorns tho #a sword technique where you trace circles...#that's literally destreza. look it up. it uses so much geometry #and the part about not following the book exactly? look at thorns archive file 2 #incidentally that's also the file that mentions he studied under a certain priest...#i used to joke about ayers being a walmart thorns (in personality. i e2d him for this #and then ak does this. alright.#im connecting the dots BUT WHAT AM I CONNECTING???#post

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seraphicalsuccubus · 8 days

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oh no I smoked too much weed and gave myself zoomies both from the excitement from my new peak pro and the excitement from the new weed itself and def smoked way more than I should have and probs will continue to smoke more than I should because of this double dose of excitement until I finally just pass out after days of hardly sleeping recently lmao

but ANYWAYS before that happens !!! I currently have the strongest urge to go wreck people in fucking battlegrounds to level one of my assorted disc priests and because like …. ever since I got 100k honorable kills achieve, I’ve wanted that goddamn fucking ‘the Bloodthirsty’ title from the 250k honorable kills achieve and I was farming that before I stopped having the drive to game a few months back.

so let’s see how queues go at 2am on a fucking Wednesday morning, I wonder if I’ll give up before I find a bracket with fast pvp queues tonight tbh. it’s more likely I’ll end up pugging a raid on my mistweaver main if it takes too long to get into a battleground just to preoccupy myself for a bit and try to get a chance at trinkets and shit lmao

#this is huge tho I haven’t WANTED to game enough to drag my laptop out and play in MONTHS #I logged in for the first time in ages the other day and I had so much fun in my battlegrounds I didn’t even realize we were winning #I was just having a fucking blast being a healer and a menace because I’m playing a disc priest rn of course lmao #and now I want to game again so bad but like mindlessly and bgs are mindless to me I guess???#like they’re so easy and all muscle memory and hardly take any thought so I think I could function enough to fuck some people up for a bit #or raiding Amirdrassil on LFR or normal. also pretty mindless even when pugging groups and all that.#everything’s usually one shot one kill or like 2 shots per kill max because people learn from their mistakes !!!#but like as a healer I know my shit so it’s just mindless (except for Larodar ((MY BELOVED)) because I LOVE that fight and get super into it #his dialogue is just too fuckin good and the voice??? truly chefs kiss like perfect voice casting #almost as fantastic as Sire Denathrius tbh and that’s like the big vocally satisfying one for me LMAO #this tag rant went on a wild roller coaster what the fuck I am so sorry for anyone who read these #I’m trying to read them back and I can’t even understand my fucking thought process LMFAO

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tennessoui · 10 months

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democratic fic part 3

(democratic fic masterlist) (2.5k)

Anakin breathes in for a count of three and out for five. Obi-Wan Kenobi is the single most vexing creature in the entire galaxy.

Not a small part of him wants to grab the boy by his throat and shake him, make him look at him. How dare he look away. How dare he test Anakin’s control so casually. It is untenable, the way the boy smirks and flutters his eyelashes and begins to walk as if Anakin’s compliance is a matter already resolved.

“No,” Anakin steps forward and reaches out to grab his arm. Before his fingers can curl around the bone of his wrist, Kenobi has snatched his hand away, curling it to his chest protectively. The boy turns and glares at him, all hints of sweetness washed away from his face. “I said no, Obi-Wan.”

“Alright,” Obi-Wan says, tone as far from alright as it can get. “Then have a good rest of your night, Senator. I will, I am sure, see you again during my stay on Coruscant, though I will not inflict my company upon you any longer—”

The boy cannot be serious. “You are throwing a tantrum,” Anakin snaps. “I will not be beholden to the whims of a spoiled princeling—”

Obi-Wan throws an embittered, fierce look over his shoulder at him. “I am the grandson of a Count, Senator, I am not a prince—”

“Then stop acting like one!”

“And no one has asked that you accompany me—”

“You just did—”

“Yes, and I have taken your rejection with aplomb—”

“Sith’s hells you have,” Anakin mutters, working his jaw furiously as his thoughts fly rapidly through his head.

Everything he knows about Obi-Wan Kenobi points to the boy being made of soft stuffs; he is bratty and rude, no doubt about it, but he does not possess the spine that would be necessary for him to truly venture into the Lower Levels of Coruscant by himself. He is simply testing Anakin’s patience for the fun of it. Perhaps the thrill of it. But a failed Jedi turned spoiled servant of the Court would never have the guts to go alone somewhere so violent and dark.

“Fine,” Anakin says, turning away himself. “Do send me a comm tomorrow morning so that I know you are alive.” “I didn’t realize you would care,” the boy sniffs, his head held incredibly high when Anakin peeks back at him. For someone apparently not born into aristocracy, he has taken to it quite well. It sets Anakin’s teeth on edge, and his whole body twitches forward, filled with the urge to put his hands on the boy’s body, ruffle him up and tear the cold mask of indifference off his face.

These are very, very dangerous thoughts as he is quite sure that the boy would welcome those sorts of advances and Anakin has already committed to not allowing the boy into his bed. If not for the scandal should they be found, the questions of propriety, the fact that Kenobi is a ward of a foreign Count, then simply for the reason that Obi-Wan Kenobi is a spoiled little brat of a princeling, and Anakin is old enough to know better than to give into his demands.

He listens to Kenobi’s footsteps move further away from him, towards the elevator at the ends of the gardens that would take him to the speeder lot. He’d probably get into a speeder and fly back to his grandfather, pouting the entire way.

Yes, Anakin can see it now: Kenobi in the front seat of the speeder, full and pink bottom lip pushed out—perhaps even wobbling slightly, spit-slick too—hair a bit tangled and mussed from the wind, eye makeup smeared slightly from rubbing his hand over his face, pointing his speeder back to his grandfather’s apartments because he would never in a million years venture into the Lower Levels without some sort of guardian.

But—

What if Anakin is wrong?

After all, he only met the boy a few days ago. He has impressions of Kenobi, but that doesn’t mean the boy can’t surprise him. He’d been unexpectedly catty in the presence of Padmé: what if he could be unexpectedly brave and direct his speeder down far below the safest levels of Coruscant?

Dressed as he was, he would be noticed immediately. He’d be a target before he even stepped out of his speeder, and if anything happened to Kenobi, the blame would fall on Anakin’s shoulders.

Stars and moons and blasted suns, Anakin thinks to himself.

He turns around. He follows Kenobi’s disappearing figure with his eyes. It’s rather easy to do at least, with how the boy glimmers and glows in the light of the lanterns as he kriffing sashays along the garden path to the elevator bays.

Anakin gnashes his teeth; Anakin’s feet start moving.

—-------

The kriffing idiot goes to the Lower Levels.

Anakin barely has time to hijack a parked speeder and point it towards Kenobi’s when the boy flies his own over the edge of the lot and down at a steep angle.

Too steep of an angle to be going anywhere but to the Lower Levels—alone, looking as he does, dressed as he is.

Anakin curses once more and follows him over the edge.

—--------

He’s just going to make sure nothing bad happens to the boy, that’s all. It’s practically his duty. And as long as Kenobi doesn’t feel him in the Force or see him following him, it won’t be giving into the boy’s whims. As long as the boy doesn’t know he’s there, then he will not think he has won, which is of the utmost importance.

He has not won.

This is the thought on repeat in Anakin’s head as he jumps down from his stolen speeder and lands on the ground of Level -214 solidly. Kenobi has already dragged his bike, a lithe, slim model of a speeder, into the crook of an alleyway, as if that’ll be enough to keep it safe.

Anakin lets out an explosive sigh as he watches the glimmering blue and silver figure disappear into the crowd. “Hey,” he barks to a street vendor leaning against the wall next to the mouth of that same alley, lazily using a long stick to stir a pot of foul-smelling, iridescently blue liquid. He tosses him a roll of credits. “That’s, uh. Fifty-eight credits. I’ll give you a hundred more if that bike is still there when I get back. Alright?”

He doesn’t actually have one hundred more credits, but he knows he certainly looks like a man who does. The vendor seems to believe him, if the eager way he nods is any indication. Good. He can’t let the kriffing princeling’s speeder-bike be stolen, else the idiot would probably ask someone to give him a ride back to his apartments and either end up stolen himself or dead in a gutter.

Speaking of the princeling, Anakin can hardly see him anymore in the crowd, which obviously cannot stand. He throws the hood of his cloak up to cover his face and stalks after the boy.

Kenobi is already turning heads, just as Anakin knew he would, and while he takes a sort of sick satisfaction in being right, the feeling is mostly swallowed by a darker emotion, one that’s much harder to name. His feet pick up their pace as he watches Kenobi round an upcoming bend in the main street, eyes turned upwards as if basking in the neon lights and flickering signs.

Fucking tourist, Anakin thinks to himself uncharitably even as he follows doggedly, eyes glued on the shifting muscles of Obi-Wan’s back and shoulders as he walks instead of the sentients on the streets around them.

Where is he even going? What does he even want to get out of this little excursion save for a layer of muck and grime on the hems of his robes and the perfume of smoke and liquor and stars know what else clinging to his skin?

When Anakin visits these levels, it’s for a specific reason, to complete a specific purpose. He does not wander through the levels, he does not need to stop at the vendors or skulk inside the cantinas—though he has been known to indulge in the Lower Level clubs, moreso a decade or two ago than nowadays.

It’s strange cutting through the crowds of this platform, feeling the slight sway of it beneath his feet as his ears are overwhelmed by the clamor of the inhabitants, as his eyes begin to strain under the barrage of flickering neon lights.

When he’s down here, he is usually heading towards a podrace or coming off the high of one, and this—following Kenobi in his useless, aimless trek—does not feel similar to either scenario. It feels more like he has already lost just by being here, traipsing after Kenobi’s figure like a dog on a leash.

Anakin is so distracted by his thoughts that he almost misses the moment that Kenobi stops.

Or is stopped.

Between one moment and the next, a tall, hulking form melts from the shadows of the cramped alleyway Kenobi has chosen to wander down. It’s a Zephrian, long purple horns curling around their thick and proud forehead, shoulders wider than two Kenobis put together. Their hands fall onto Kenobi, bringing him to a halt at the same time that Anakin realizes that he’s not the only one who has been following Kenobi as a much smaller figure darts forward from just in front of Anakin to launch itself up to land on Kenobi’s exposed and unguarded back, claws sinking into pale flesh and pulling a pained noise from Kenobi’s lips, high-pitched and soft, filled to the brim with surprise.

Its voice begins to chatter loudly in the narrow alley, and the Zephrian’s voice joins in, but Anakin cannot hear any of it over that sound Kenobi had made.

His feet are moving of their own accord, his body pushing roughly through the thin remnants of the crowd to get to Kenobi.

“I—I don’t carry any credits on me,” Kenobi is saying, voice wobbling from fear or pain, Anakin doesn’t know.

The smaller figure, a Kowakian monkey-lizard, lets out a sound akin to a cackle, and its claws leave Kenobi’s skin to dive into the waves of his hair, grasping at a hair ornament—sapphire and twinkling diamond—and pulling it out of the locks with enough force that it pulls another cry from Kenobi’s lips as his hands raise to defend himself.

A moment later, Anakin is there, hand clenching down onto the Kowakian’s neck and ripping it away from Obi-Wan, the sound of his pain deafening even as it fades from the air. The Kowakian goes flying—Anakin hasn’t used the Force consciously in years, but that has to be what rises up and responds to the push of his hand, that has to be the reason the monkey-lizard slams so hard into the wall of the alleyway that the plaster cracks in multiple places as its body snaps.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, a punched-out, instinctual noise that Anakin has no idea how to interpret. He cannot turn to look at him either, because the Zephrian’s hazy red eyes go wide as he focuses them with what looks like great difficulty on the monkey-lizard’s rather unmoving body.

“Go,” Anakin commands, voice low and quiet, his body carefully moving in front of Kenobi’s as the boy shifted towards him, curled up on himself with one hand pressed to his face as if terribly injured or frightened. The Zephrian steps backwards, mouth twisting, and then steps forward with his mouth stretches into an angry snarl, eyes hazy with drink. The Force reverberates around them with a warning, and the Zephrian takes another aborted step forward, chest heaving.

“Anakin—” Obi-Wan cries, and Anakin’s hand shoots out. The Force runs up and down his arm, like a loth-cat batting at him for affection. You’ve returned, it seems to murmur in the air around them, nuzzling against his mind, his soul.

He pushes out, picturing the Zephrian going flying as far and as hard as the Kowakian had, and the Force obeys with glee. The would-be attacker’s feet lift off the ground as he’s thrown into the same cracked wall as the monkey. Anakin hears his body connect with the duraplast, but he doesn’t watch it, swinging around fully to glare down at Kenobi.

“What the fuck did I tell you?” he’s growling out before he can stop himself, vision turning red as he glowers down at stubborn, willful, beautiful Kenobi. He takes a step forward, and Kenobi does not move except to tilt his head further up.

His eyes are dilated. Fear?

He should be afraid. Anakin has just—Anakin does not know what he’s just done, but there’s no undoing it. The Force is swirling around him like a churning whirlpool, the sort that sucked souls in and spat them out on Kamino for thousands of years. There had been a reason the Jedi warned him against using the Force. A reason he hadn’t touched his connection with it in decades, had simply suffered through its warnings and nudges and prods.

Now all his reasons lay in tatters around him, and the Force is so fucking loud.

Obi-Wan isn’t so much as breathing as he looks up at him, pink lips wet and parted as he allows him to approach, to back him up against the other side of the alley wall.

“What did I tell you?” Anakin snarls, hand falling to rest on Kenobi’s shoulder while the other makes a fist at his side. He’d fucking said—and now someone’s gone and made a mess of Kenobi’s hair; someone’s gone and clawed at his dimpled chin, leaving a long scrape up one cheek, leaving marks across the play of muscles on his back, leaving his eyes wide with fear which never would have happened if he’d just listened. His hand jumps up to smooth out the messy tangle of Kenobi’s hair, tenderness in the face of his fear warring with righteous anger.

“Is that what you wanted to see, princeling?” he murmurs, tightening his grip on Kenobi’s shoulder. “Was that enough of a Lower Levels experience for you?”

The boy shivers.

(Link to the corresponding poll for this fic)

#democratic fic #a bit shorter and i won't put it on ao3 until i have the results of the next poll and write it out #but im very interested in your votes for this next poll and the one after that #do you think obi-wan is really actually afraid ;)#obikin #i will answer that now: no he is not he is aroused out his damn MIND boy would be on his knees if anakin wasn't holding him up #also yeah 1000% obi-wan mind tricked those two into attacking him #knowing him they were probably like. social workers. traveling priests.#doesn't matter. they had low shields and obi-wan wanted to see what anakin could do #boy did he deliver

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420jimmyuso · 5 months

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pretty men running the wwe iktr ‼️💯💯💯

#wwe #wwe smackdown #smackdown #finn balor #damian priest #finn balór #the judgment day wwe #the judgment day #pretty men #they are so pretty #i love them #pretty men world domination #i know that’s right #triple threat match between me and them but it’s in a bed #if you know what i mean #finndamian you will always be famous #finndamian just show up be pretty and run wwe and i think that’s awesome

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thebirdandhersong · 7 months

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well mark that down as situation 2938489 that I don't know how to handle

#i would love advice on this if y'all have any thoughts to share because i know what my parents think and im having trouble sorting it out #i love these three friends of mine but it is really draining to be around them now because all they will talk about is church drama #(re: our old church) and rehashing it all and being Outraged about the horrors etc etc #either that or being downright condescending about protestants/non denominations and acting like it's funny to talk like that all the time #i end up being more angry or resentful or exasperated at the end of our conversations than glad and at peace like i did before #(before all THIS ish happened and the three of them were like okay this is all we're going to talk about now)#i've tried to say in gentle ways (i am simply not capable of this kind of blunt confrontation) that maybe we should not be talking #so uncharitably towards other people especially behind their backs. like. yes bad things happened. we have to acknowledge that.#but continually making jokes and jibes at a priest's expense really rubs me the wrong way especially since i KNOW that he loves us #and in many ways was trying his best in the circumstances. and are we not supposed to be loving our neighbour #and is this not downright slander to keep going on this way esp since it goes on for HOURS at a time #anyway i don't know what to DO because if i keep chatting with them/meeting up with them conversation will be 90% this thing and i Hate It #but on the other hand i feel responsibility towards them because my godson's one of them and another is a friend who is a fairly recent #convert and if i leave them to stew in their own echo chamber i doubt it'll do them good #am i supposed to keep some distance? am i supposed to keep arguing whenever one of them says something unkind or inflammatory?#am i supposed to keep speaking up so that they hear a different perspective? am i supposed to run in the other direction for my own peace o #mind? anyway i am still thinking this over and it stresses me OUT #it used to be fun and life giving to be around these people and now it is so exhausting and seriously alarming in many ways

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quietwingsinthesky · 2 days

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i don’t know man, if i remade my entire self in a shape that my god could love and then i lost her, i’d be a lot worse. ten could have been far more batshit and i would have forgiven him completely.

#never ever be over ten as the priest to rose’s bad wolf its sooo taaty and fucks them both up #rose never asked to be this to him. she just wanted to save him.#but because she saved him he had to be reborn from devotion. how was he ever going to be fit for anything but prostrating himself over #altars. has to be dragged kicking and screaming from sacrificing himself because this is what he was made for.#until finally it kills him. it was always going to kill him.#and he knows that when he dies without rose he will lose the parts of her she burned into him.#he will never be worthy to kneel for her again. he doesn’t even know that he’ll want to. terrifying to forget how to pray.#you understand. you do. ten my fucked up little guy who loves so hard its a religion not a relationship #you can’t be domestic with a goddess. which is all she wants. but she burns too bright. and he’s running out of time to see her.

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divorcemotif · 5 months

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the latter part of the latest tsv remind anyone else of the premise of that one eskew episode

#I like when romance and/or the family purport to be a happy perfect conclusion but theres something glaringly hollow about it yknow #this episode and the allegra stuff go in kind of opposite directions with hope and unreality ofc. perpendiculars rather than parallels mayb #tsv #the silt verses #op #looking through the transcripts again made me realize dev calls him sebastian instead of seb here.. fucked up!#also it's called a hotel in the stage directions until the very end when C & H get into the car it's 'motel'. significant?#I just like how many angles to the ambiguity there might be. like obviously are they actually still in the rapture and bliss. but also it's #impossible to know what the killing of hope and the new absence of the presence in the motel would have altered if they didnt know it was #there the whole time. seb didnt know he was a priest ..#anyway the eskew transcript for ep 22 is slightly different than what he says in audio and im sad bc I like the audio more. ah well

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brakish-tea · 6 months

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My friend is like 'Oh I'm so Hunt aligned' like boy you are a victim of The Buried get yourself together. On a separate note I love scaring people in dark caves.

#tma #the buried #the magnus archives #so many bitches fancy themselves to be avatars #and then say 'i love the spiral-vast-eye :)'#like girl you are BASIC #you are going to be EATEN #if im being honest I'm more of a dark enjoyer but i love caves and i do have chronic fatigue #and some days i just want to lie down in some dirt and go to sleep and let my bones finally rest #also i love scaring people in caves have i mentioned that #also back to my previous point #if they came in contact with the spiral theyd be confused (obviously) that it might not be the distortion and idk lose it. like that priest #if they got vasted theyd get fucked up existentially like me when i was 7 #if they got eyed theyd finally know what its like to have a schizospec disorder

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cryptidm0ths · 1 year

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pokemon AU

#himeru #kohaku oukawa #enstars #ensemble stars #pokemon au #crazy:b #himeru the fairy no ghost no ice type specialist and hohaku the fighting type specialist #who acidentally ended up with a bunch of huisianforms #ya know what it fits #the meinfoo is from sakuraneechan who has a shiny meinshao #lets ignore husian seasles shiny and say its the same as regular sneasle #the liligant is from his other sister #mm my himeru pkmn thoughts are collected else where #their other pokemons are a dragapult a sylveon and kanames sobble #everyone doing kaname pkmn au🤝sobble #anyway the zoroark is doing heavy duty with himeru it was a gift from the priest #and the mimikyu is their original pokemon from their childhood #eh and ive said it a few times but im trying to copy the style od the early pokemon mangas bc i really like #moth draws #id in alt text #whats kohakus fourth pokemon you get to choose #um ill post the rinniki ones when im done bc goddamn its kinda difficult #and takes a long time to draw #pkmnstars au

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queenlucythevaliant · 3 months

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🪆would love one featuring Russian thoughts on God! ✝️

SO. I could have sworn that I've posted "Avvakum in Pustozyorsk" on this blog before, but I can't seem to find it so here it is.

(For context, this is written in the voice of a 17th century Russian Orthodox priest and religious dissident (an "Old Believer"). Avvakum was sent to the military outpost of Pustozyorsk where he was imprisoned four fourteen years, then eventually burned at the stake. It uses this historical voice to reflect on the religious persecution of the Soviet era. Also, it's fairly long, so I've highlighted my favorite stanzas.)

Avvakum in Pustozyorsk The walls of my church are the ribs round my heart; it seems life and I are soon bound to part. My cross now rises, traced with two fingers. In Pustozyorsk it blazes; its blaze will linger. I’m glorified everywhere, vilified, branded; I have already become the stuff of legend: I was, people say, full of anger and spite; I suffered, I died for the ancient rite. But this popular verdict is ugly nonsense; I hear and reject the implied censure. A rite is nothing – neither wrong nor right; a rite is a trifle in God’s sight. But they attacked our faith and the ways of the past, in all we’d learned as children, and taken to heart. In their holy garments, in their grand hats, with a cold crucifix in their cold hands, in thrall to a terror clutching their souls, they drag us to jails and herd us to scaffolds. We don’t debate doctrine, of books and their age; we don’t debate virtues of fetters and chains. Our dispute is of freedom, and the right to breathe – about our Lord’s will to bind as he please. The healers of souls chastised our bodies; while they schemed and plotted, we ran to the forests. Despite their decrees, we hurled our words out of the lion’s mouth and into the world. We called for vengeance against their sins along with the Lord; we sang poems and hymns. The words of the Lord were claps of thunder. The Church endures; it will never go under. And I, unyielding, reading the Psalter, was brought to the gates of the Andronikov Monastery. I was young; I endured every pain: hunger, beatings, interrogations. A winged angel shut the eyes of the guard, brought me cabbage soup and a hunk of bread. I crossed the threshold – and I walked free. Embracing my exile, I walked to the East. I held services by the Amur River, where I barely survived the winds and blizzards. They branded my cheeks with brands of frost; by a mountain stream they tore out my nostrils. But the path to the Lord goes from jail to jail; the path to the Lord never changes. And all too few, since Jesus’s days, have proved able to bear God’s all-seeing gaze. Nastasia, Nastasia, do not despair; true joy often wears a garment of tears. Whatever temptations may beat in your heart, whatever torments may rip you apart, walk on in peace through a thousand troubles and fear not the snake that bites at your ankles – though not from Eden has this snake crawled; it is an envoy of evil from Satan’s world. Here, birdsong is unknown; here one learns patience and the wisdom of stone. I have seen no colour except lingonberry in fourteen years spent as a prisoner. But this is not madness, nor a waking dream; it is my soul’s fortress, its will and freedom. And now they are leading me far away and in fetters; my yoke is easy, my burden grows lighter. My track is swept clean dusted with silver; I’m climbing to heaven on wings of fire. Through cold and hunger, through grief and fear, towards God, like a dove, I rise from the pyre. O far-away Russia – I give you my vow to return from the sky, forgiving my foes. May I be reviled, and burned at the stake; may my ashes be cast on the mountain wind. There is no fate sweeter, no better end, than to knock, as ash, at the human heart.

--Varlam Shalamov

#i know this is way longer than most of what i've been sharing #i thought about putting a cut somewhere but i just couldn't think where #you can't cut this. i mean right??#so yeah. hopefully you're okay with long #i've got a whole bunch of great Russian poems about God and the church #but this is consistantly the one that hits me hardest #and it hits me a little differently each time #i have seen no color but lingonberry (blood) in 14 years #and i am preparing to die #but i want to forgive my foes #i want to go joyfully #and i want to knock as ash on the human heart. i want my life to be a witness #and i wish there was a way to tell him that it is #the bit about God's will to bind as he pleases and the linking of that with human freedom... surprisingly reformed for an Orthodox priest #idk #i adore this poem #i have a couple stanzas done in calligraphy and hanging up in my closet #so even though it's long i hope this poem was to your liking friend #russia where are you flying to?#ask me hard questions

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