They see right through me
Always an angel, never a god
time for some repeating song lyrics everybody! after absolutely scrutinizing the archer and not strong enough i've decided they're both each songs equivalent
you can see Ei's and Focalor's hands right there which now i'd like to share the headcanon that Archons have painted nails alongside their glowing hair, which can back up potential future fanarts of Scara having black/dark purple nails. i was debating on Nahida or Ei for the hand cupping Scara's face, went with Ei because i made Scara's eyes purple with a swirl of cyan and it'd match with Ei's painted nails, totally not some form of symbolism in his eyes or anything lol.
(i posted this for the first time in tiktok and it sort of flopped 20 mins in but who knows! + the text feature in csp is so hard to use. whats up with that)
Here's the full picture!
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Sovereignty.
Revelation 5:1-2.
"And I saw in the right hand of Him who sat on the throne a scroll written inside and on the back, sealed with seven seals. Then I saw a strong angel proclaiming with a loud voice, 'Who is worthy to open the scroll and to loose its seals?' "
A scroll resting in the hand of God gives us confidence that the ultimate sovereignty of God will prevail over earth; but only as the seals are opened will God's plan unfold. And only Jesus, the Lamb slain, is worthy open them. (Verse 6)
This week, as you see evil assailing the earth, take courage. Be bold to proclaim His redemption.
Pastor Robin.
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Redacted David / Angel Headcanons
[In no particular order]
✩ David gave Angel free rein to decorate their entire house except for the kitchen and the garden
✩ Angel tried befriending a venomous spider once and cried when David killed it
✩ David loves beard scratches and enjoys Angel touching his face in general
✩ Angel has an absurd amount of charms and trinkets on their keychain
✩ David intentionally sets his most recently worn hoodies on the edge of the laundry hamper so Angel doesn't have to dig through it
✩ Angel tried being big spoon exactly one (1) time and decided the backpack life was not for them
✩ David's hands are almost always just cold enough to be startling
✩ One of David's most prized memories is taking Angel to "meet" his parents
✩ Angel's style is maximalism that almost verges on hoarding while David prefers dark minimalism - over the course of their relationship he slowly accepted their chaos as part of their home's atmosphere and came to find comfort in it
✩ David still has his dad's leather jacket and, on his worst days, will spray his dad's old cologne on it and curl up with it as close to him as possible
✩ Angel, Asher, and Darlin have an arm wrestling competition nearly every time they're in the same room, they have yet to convince David to join despite their best efforts
✩ Most people tell David he looks like his dad, so he gets unbelievably happy when one of the older pack members tells him he looks like his mom
✩ Despite being a human space-heater, Angel is still a blanket hog
✩ David always stops at kids' lemonade stands and tips them with whatever pocket change he has
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Just wanted to tell you that your recent art of Machete looking after Vasco while he's sick reminded me of Nights at the Villa by Gogol. Only a small fragment of it survived, probably because it's straight up author's diary about falling in love for the first time with a man who is already dying. It's such a beautiful little piece and your art really reminded me of it's vibes. Anyway, I'm mentally ill about russian literature and I love your dogs <3
The longing and lamenting quite something, poor guy.
It's not very long so I'm just going to put the whole thing under the cut ->
They were sweet and tormenting, those sleepless nights. He sat, ill, in the armchair. I was with him. Sleep dared not touch my eyes. Silently and involuntarily, it seems, it respected the sanctity of my vigil. Its was so sweet to sit near him, to look at him. For two nights already we have been saying "thou" to each other. How much closer he has become to me since then! He sat there just as before, meek, quiet, and resigned. Good God! With what joy, with what happiness I would have taken his illness upon myself! And if my death could restore him to health, with what readiness I would have rushed toward it!
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I did not stay with him last night. I had finally decided to stay home and sleep. Oh, how base, how vile that night and my despicable sleep were! I slept poorly, even though I had been without sleep for almost a week. I was tormented by the thought of him. I kept imagining him, imploring and reproachful. I saw him with the eyes of my soul. I hastened to come early to him and felt like a criminal as I went. From his bed he saw me. He smiled with his usual angel's smile. He offered
his hand. He pressed mine lovingly.
"Traitor." he said, "You betrayed me."
"My angel," I said, "Forgive me. I myself suffered with your suffering. I was in torment all night. My rest brought me no repose. Forgive me!"
My meek one! He pressed my hand. How fully rewarded I was for the suffering that the stupidly spent night had brought me!
"My head is weary," he said. I began to fan him with a laurel branch. "Ah, how fresh and good," he said. His words were then… what were they? What would I have not given, what earthly goods, those despicable, those vile, those disgusting goods… no, they are not worth mentioning. You into whose hands will fall -if they will fall- those incoherent, fleebe lines, pallid expressions of my emotions, you will understand me. Otherwise they will not fall into your hands. You will understand how repulsive the entire heap of treasures and honors is that attracts those wooden dolls which are called people. Oh, with what joy, with what anger I could have trampled underfoot
and squashed everything that is bestowed by the mighty scepter of the Tsar of the North, if I only knew that this would buy a smile that indicated the slightest relief in his face.
"Why did you prepare such a bad month of May for me?" He said to me, awakening in his armchair and hearing the wind beyond the window-panes that wafted the aroma of the blossoming wild jasmine and white acacia, which mingled with the whirling rose petals.
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At ten o'clock I went down to see him. I had left him there hours before to get some rest, to prepare [something] to him, to afford him some variety, so my arrival would give him more pleasure. I went down to him at ten o'clock. He had been alone for more than one hour. His visitors had long since left. The dejection of boredom showed on his face. He saw me. Waved his hand slightly.
"My savior." He said to me. They still sound in my ears, those words.
"My angel! Did you miss me?"
"Oh, how I missed you." He replied.
I kissed him on the shoulder. He offered his cheek. We kissed; he was still pressing my hand.
He did not like going to bed and hardly ever did. He preferred his armchair and the sitting position. That night the doctor ordered him to rest. He stood up reluctantly and, leaning on my shoulder, moved to his bed.
My darling! He weary glance, his brightly colored jacket, his slow steps- I can see it all, it is all before my eyes.
He whispered in my ear, leaning on my shoulder and glancing at the bed: "Now I'm a ruined man."
"We will remain in bed for only half an hour," I said to him, "and then we'll go back to your
armchair".
I watched you, my precious, tender flower! All the time when you were sleeping or merely dozing in you bed or armchair, I followed your movements and your moments, bound to you by some incomprehensible force.
How strangely new my life was then and, at the same time, I discerned in it a repetition of something distant, something that once actually was. But it seems hard to give an idea of it:
there returned to me a fresh, fleeting fragment of my youth, that time when a youthful soul seeks fraternal friendship with those of one's age, a decidedly juvenile friendship, full of sweet, almost
infantile trifles and mutual show of tokens of tender attachment; the time when it is sweet to gaze into each other's eyes, when your entire being is ready to offer sacrifices, which are usually
not even necessary. And all those feelings, sweet, youthful, fresh - alas! Inhabitants of a vanishing world - all these feelings returned to me. Good Lord! What for? I watched you, my precious, tender flower. Did this fresh breath of youth waft upon me only so that I might suddenly and irrevocably sink into even greater and more deadening coldness of feelings, so that I might become all at once older by a decade, so that I might see my vanishing life with even greater
despair and hopelessness? Thus does a dying fire send its flames up into the air, so that it might illuminate with its flickering the somber walls and then disappear forever.
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*Kendall Roy voice* Your problem, uh, Henry, is that you are hung up on words, on fucking labels, OK? “Gay,” "homosexual", uh, fucking, uh, “carpetmuncher.”
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