#u betcha

[strawberrylovely]

i was tagged by @empty-blog-for-lurking thank you so much!

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you like).

“I just wanted to touch you again.”

👀

i tag @sockdooe @puppetmaster55 @musical-chick-13 @kitausu @hashtag-anthems @renofscales @ashkazora @manifestmerlin you don’t have to if you don’t want! but i think this is fun 🥰

[ndostairlyrium]

a wip of something I find hilarious but it’s just a good looking man who forgot how to put on a shirt

[misfittcd]

updating my muse list - aka removing a couple (leon & glenn)

[maglorslostsilmaril]

gotta say, bread is 100% humanity’s best creation

[pumpkinpaix]

thoughts on hyoshun, after the wars

after the wars, after everything, when seiya is healed, and they all finally have a minute to breathe and be human again, there’s a moment where everyone is suddenly lost and untethered. the graude foundation still has pretty much endless wealth, so it’s not like they have to worry about their livelihoods, but they’ve been fighting nonstop since they were seven years old, and not having any fighting to do is very strange. so they all split up for a while

Ikki was never really a permanent fixture in the mansion like the rest of them anyways, and he disappears on his travels. he doesn’t take any of the foundation’s money because he’s prideful and frankly still wrestling with his own bitterness about what was stolen from him, and he travels on his own power, works odd jobs, wanders. no one sees him for almost two years. the only person he calls sometimes is Shun, and he always takes care to time it when he knows his brother will be asleep, leaving short voicemails from payphones around the world. “I’m still alive,” he usually says. “Sleep well. Don’t worry about me.”

Shun and Hyoga are sort of together, sort of not together, still trying to figure things out--they got close after they became saints, so a lot of their relationship is built on shared trauma, shared experience, and the constant threat of imminent death, but they’ve never really had the time to know each other in other ways--how they react to minor inconveniences, what chore they hate the most, what they’re like on caffeine, what they’re like on lazy, contented days, what kind of schedule they fall into when left to their own devices--they travel apart for a little bit, seeing what it’s like to have space, but they end up falling together again anyways, so that’s that

Hyoga takes Shun to Saint Petersburg (still Leningrad at the time) and Moscow in the winter--it’s still the USSR in 1990, and the soviet union is frankly on the verge of collapse--but everyday life continues. restrictions are loosening and Hyoga has citizenship, so they’re relatively unencumbered in their travel through the two cities. Shun, it turns out, really enjoys european paintings, especially 19th century Romantic vibes, so Hyoga takes him to the Hermitage, where Shun stands for almost twenty minutes in front of Aivazovsky’s Ninth Wave half in tears, and then spends another twenty in front of Repin’s painting of Sadko, smiling and marveling at the details

at the Tretyakov, he cries three times: once in front of Ge’s Conscience, Judas, once in front of Perov’s Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, and once in front of Vrubel’s The Demon, Seated

when Hyoga asks him why on the third one, he says, “he reminds me of my brother”

Hyoga looks at the painting and thinks, he reminds me of you

(see notes for links to the paintings, if you’d like)

[hannahyelley]

for: @undertakerxsonny​

location: chez sonny (the funeral home) 

   “I’ll confess, I dumped all the mints you guys have out on the counter, into my purse -- put it on my tab, or mark it as my Yelley visiting fee.” Time always moved differently here; weeks could feel like seconds, or extend as long as lifetimes. When had she last seen, Sonny? Before they found the child, and before Lourdes was rendered mortal, in Hannah’s eye. They’d been communing, inhaling the fumes of her candles, trying to reckon with an undead love -- Edith, who in recent times, had been so quiet, she could barely reconcile, they phantom she’d believed she’d known. The funeral home is nice -- as much as the word could be applied, to a place that housed the dead, harboured mourning families, and smelled like pine floor cleaner. She’s hovering by the entryway to an empty showing room, where she’d been told he would be -- there was seemingly too much to say, and not enough oxygen, to sustain the depth of words, she wished to unleash. Hannah wanted to telling him everything; wanted to know why his aura was so bleak, darker then last time -- why she knew, he was not, ok. 

  She grips a lighter in her giant granny bag, finding comfort in the action; she’d tried to smoke in the funeral room a couple years back, and was told off by a stern Italian -- Sonny’s equally dark haired and omnipresent, relative. “So, I guess I’m here to interrogate. Maybe read your aura, say something about the celestial in-balance that’s lead us here.....and ask, why the long face. I think I know, but I don’t want to know, what I think I know -- so just, let me know....that what I know, is right. That you’re grey, because of her.” 

[astrogations]

I drew a bastard man

[di-kut]

At long last din can mcfreaking lose it

Finally