Hi! I Stepped Out Of Dramione Fandom For The Last Couple Of Years, And I Was Wondering If There Are Any

are you still mad that I gave up long before you did?

currently reading and just had the urge to quickly draw the scene. though, i took a few liberties

What do you think about the post-June 2014 messages on Search for the Blindeye? I find them strange because some of the messages on what appears to be the Author's side start to sound more like Bill's messages, referring to Dipper as Pine Tree (although maybe if the Author had some way of seeing the normal world ("You're saying no?") in the same way communicates he'd know Dipper by that name?), the little couplets... It'd also be interesting to see if the Author were responsible for the credits.

lol wouldn’t it be interesting if in the next episode, the author refers to them with their corresponding symbols like it’s normal and everybody would be so uncomfortable about it. 

You have a point though. It bother’s me that the year before, right after the “Author” stops sending out messages, “Bill” says “HE’S GONE BECAUSE YOU FAILED” 

When the messages started appearing again, they become more cryptic and it’s harder to tell if it’s the “Author” or “Bill” talking. (Normally Bill is on the left and Author is on the right but now most of the messages are the coded ones on the right)

Some of the coded messages I found interesting were.. 

“ALL THE SECRETS OF THE UNIVERSE COULD BE YOURS. IF YOU ARE WILLING TO MAKE A DEAL.”

—which is presumably Bill since he says something like that later on in Sock Opera. 

But then there’s..  

“SANITY AND CLARITY WERE AROUND AT FIRSTUNTIL I HAD MET HIM AND WAS COERCEDGUILT BUILT UP AND IT ATE INSIDEI COULD NOT FORGET NO MATTER HOW I TRIEDREASON TURNED TO DOUBT AS QUICK AS A FLASHFIND HIS SECRETS IN MY CACHE”

which is probably the Author and “HIS SECRETS” would be referring to Bill’s secrets whatever those are. 

Another one is..

“A WISE OLD OWL LIVED IN AN OAK THE MORE HE SAW THE LESS HE SPOKE THE LESS HE SPOKE THE MORE HE HEARD WHY CAN’T WE ALL BE LIKE THAT WISE OLD BIRD?“ 

You know what has a lot of owl images?

The Mystery Shack. Or the former home of the author. Is it possible that the author has received enlightenment somehow (possibly through Bill)? But it turned him insane in the process?? 

We officially know next to nothing about the author (so far in the series) but all these clues (plus the crazy ramblings in the journal) lead to nothing good. 

"You often said how excessively lavish everything is in Vere," Laurent says, "yet I find Akielon men to be similarly excessive."

Damen peers at him from his position on the bed, on his front as he cradles his head with his arms. "How so?"

Laurent picks his nails as he hums, "the statues."

Damen directs an amused gaze at Laurent's prone form by the window's ledge. Expect Laurent to nitpick everything.

Shaking his head fondly, he explains. "Multiple have been commissioned to depict Akielon men in their glory."

Laurent snorts, as sophisticated as one can be when doing something unappealing. "How predictably vain."

An amused breath passes Damen's lips before shifting himself on bed. Now, he lays on his back, gazing up at the ceiling.

Teasing, he says, "I prefer Kings' monuments showing them in their glory rather than those sly ouevres mostly hidden in unfrequented annexes."

Laurent rolls his eyes. "Of course you do. But not every art is made to have the public's eyes set on them. They contain messages that aren't easily expressed in words, so they show it instead."

Damen hums contemplatively. "No, the public aren't always the audience" he agrees, "But they're still made to be appreciated by someone nonetheless."

"Then what of the others?" Laurent asks. Damen twists his head to face Laurent, but his lover is looking out the window.

"What others?"

"The pieces that show unusual subjects unlike your glorified Kings." Damen pauses but, unnoticed, Laurent continues. "I saw you looking at one, a statue of a woman crying on her knees, in the gardens earlier. What of pieces like her?"

Licking his lips, Damen answers. "A message, as you've said. She's mourning for her husband before she was turned into a fountain by a God who heard her sorrow."

Laurent's brows rose at this. "How miserable."

Damen nods. "It is. It was commissioned to warn men of a wife's pain if they become careless with their own life."

Laurent nods in understanding, of what, Damen does not know. "And did it?"

He nods. "Some have had practiced caution since."

Laurent diverts his gaze to him, his eyes gleaming a beautiful blue from the moon's light., like water under night's glow.

"But you don't perceive it as a paragon of a mourning wife," Laurent says with a steady and firm gaze.

Damen smiles, shaking his head. "No, not really."

Exhaling, he closes his eyes. "When I looked at her weeping face. I imagined her mourning of another's death rather than her husband's," he quietly admits, "I thought of the life she could've lived and desired it to be her reason for crying. I appreciated her tears."

Laurent pushes himself away from the window and walk towards Damen, who doesn't move when he felt Laurent's shadow covering him, nor when a firm hand pressed on his chest.

Laurent drapes himself over Damen's chest, rising and falling under him.

"What's her name?"

Damen's chest expands with his inhale before he releases it, loud in the quiet of the night. "Egeria."

NOTES: excuse this since everything is rushed. But I just had to contribute something because Damen is lovely, duh.

This just killed me. It's so beautiful ╯﹏╰

At last, Harry stands before Voldemort in a blood-soaked field, the taste of copper and ash coating Harry’s tongue. The sound of war has faded into the background as the soulmates stare one another down. Things could have gone differently. Harry could have given himself up as requested, could have walked through the Forbidden Forest to his doom. But Harry is not willing to chance that Voldemort will live through this. He’s fought his way through countless Death Eaters to stand here in Voldemort’s way.

It has come to this at last and there are but two pieces of soul left to destroy, one in himself and one in the tall, inhuman frame barely ten metres away.

Harry is tired. Harry is ready for this to be over.

“You have lost,” Voldemort taunts.

“No,” Harry replies simply, raising his wand.

And then Voldemort is tilting his head, studying Harry in a silent moment. His eyes have narrowed, but they are oddly unthreatening.

“No?” Voldemort repeats, tasting the word, his normally high-pitched voice toned low.

“No,” Harry states calmly.

“You should have told me,” Voldemort says, then. There’s a holy fire in Voldemort’s eyes that Harry hasn’t seen ignited before. Unlike the light of obsession and rage and violence, this flame does not call for bloodshed. Instead, it burns with possessive wonder.

And Harry knows, right at that moment, that Voldemort has figured it out. That he hadn’t until then.

“I thought it was obvious,” Harry answers instead, the wand in his grip warming, tone dry, gesturing to the space between them. “How else would you explain this?”

“I suppose it was,” Voldemort replies, considering. “And I have been too far gone to see it. Though, looking back, it explains a much-needed drive to find you. Come here, soulmate. Be with me.”

It’s like a punch in the chest, wringing his lungs dry. It hurts his very soul to hear Voldemort acknowledge their bond, it hurts more than Umbridge’s punishments, more than seeing his godfather fall through The Veil, more than hearing the wails of Hermione as she’s tortured by an insane witch.

But pain is all Harry knows, all he’s ever known. Harry ignores those words, knows Voldemort is trying to draw him in with the same glowing warmth of an angler fish's lure, positioning Harry just before the strike. Harry knows that he must die to bring Voldemort down. That mutually assured destruction is the only way. So he ignores those words, ignores the potential of even more future words that Voldemort will whisper but is physically incapable of meaning, and stands his ground, staring Voldemort down with cold steel in his eye.

“It is considered a foul reflection of one’s character for their soulmate’s first word to be no,” Voldemort states abruptly. “It is poor form for your destined companion to deny you instantly. I would never have considered the words of my soulmate to have been spoken by a toddler as I raised my wand against his mother.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Harry retorts humourlessly, wand-hand beginning to tremor lightly with exhaustion, but he keeps it steadily trained on Voldemort. “Imagine if your soulmark was the death curse.”

Voldemort doesn’t reply to that, instead still and calm, unnaturally at peace.

“I thought I had killed you long ago, for I’ve heard so many noes from so many strangers,” Voldemort then eventually replies, contemplative. “Though if I must have an equal, I suppose I would only accept it, if it were to be you. After all, you already have a bit of my soul, don’t you?”

Harry realizes things are rapidly going downhill. Voldemort has figured out what he is; Harry sees this going one of two ways.

“Fight me,” Harry whispers sharply, inhaling deep.

“No,” Voldemort states simply, lowering his wand, lip twitching as if telling an inside joke.

Harry shrugs, embodiment of indifference, and lowers his wand.

Voldemort smiles and it is a cruel expression.

Harry thinks to himself, quietly in the confines of his mind, Extinguo Animarum. The wand in his hand glows gently at first but then, in a moment of sudden movement, a golden bubble explodes from his wand and entraps Voldemort and himself in a sphere of his own design.

“You didn’t,” Voldemort says.

Harry tries to laugh at the aghast nature of Voldemort’s tone, but a dry sob heaves out of his chest instead.

Voldemort could never expect this, would never, because Voldemort could not possibly imagine doing something like this himself.

“Extinguisher of Souls,” Voldemort whispers and he does not struggle. Voldemort knows there is no way out of this now. “You are mine, Harry Potter, in this life and the next. Do not forget.”

The glowing, golden orb sears ever brighter. It fills with blinding light, piercing into Harry’s chest as it floods Voldemort. Voldemort’s eyes never leave Harry’s, upper lip twitching in an expression Harry cannot decipher.

This is right, this is what you are made for, Harry tells himself in the moment as the light swells to unbearableness, glows in his glasses, a reflection of his life in a solitary beam of light.

Harry hears the words echo in the timelessness between moments as his soul is ripped apart, as he feels his connection to Voldemort shatter as his soulmate is obliterated by purifying, heatless flame, as they are torn violently from the mortal plane in the mutually assured destruction of Harry’s own making.

No.

Avada Kedavra.

What a couple they make.

The wolf is so done with the fox’s bs 😂

just a quick draw

An AU where nothing hurts, izz so good

satosugu week day 7 - valentine’s! except i combined it with teacher AU (but gojo is a full-time sorcerer). where having gojo around for that particular conversation changes everything.

long AU notes under the cut- (spoilers!)

Keep reading

Demon Laurent is confused about the unkempt sacrifice.

Finally done ｡ﾟ(TヮT) I did 16 pages of these while guessing the characters' proportions, I'm so stupid for not making character sheets. Everything would be nth times easier if I did.

Oh well, they turned out great anyway.

Yasss, I can still catch up with Damenfest ‎٩(⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)و̣̩⋆̩

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