the simple soup store

he/him ✦ devolving artisan to bg3 junkie ✦ wips, drafts all here

[unsupervisedsoup]

do ignore how horrible the armour looks, but here is my son, kairos

originally a dnd character that never made it to a campaign so naturally i made a campaign for him consisting of me, myself, and i and its been going on for about four years

below are the few and far between drawings i managed for him, my best friend draws him much more often than me haha

early happy birthday to my favourite child & passion project!!!

[unsupervisedsoup]

haven't drawn much in awhile, figured i'd draw my best friend and i's ocs screwin (:< very very proud of this, no reference and purely imagination mind you, just like my ancestors used to do it, planning on fully rendering it later on

interested in hiring me for commissions? here you go -> https://thesimplesoupstore.carrd.co/

[thecollectibles]

Moth and Flame by Eli Ring

[unsupervisedsoup]

haven't rendered much of anything in awhile but i do think my skills w people's faces are improving

[unsupervisedsoup]

haven't written in awhile, have this as product of the longest i've ever yearned

The sun has grown sallow, leaden lie my limbs, yet with these hands, I pray that illness claim me. That some pale-winged fever, might steal me soft and early, for sickness is a gentler guest, than any hope I've harboured.

For I have grazed the wet gums, the angled teeth, the fevered breath, and kissed the open heated mouth, of some rabid hound; thinking myself beloved. Mistaking ruin for embrace, and calling every wound, a testament of longing.

continued over here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74568031

[writingwithminotaur]

The creative struggle 😔✊

[unsupervisedsoup]

been awhile since i made anything

its about a current writing wip i've been caught up with that i gave up on krita and then continued on windows paint

[thecollectibles]

Moth and Flame by Eli Ring

[unsupervisedsoup]

derealisation since january has been hitting hard recently although it produces great art

[overthinkinglotr]

I love the way the films show us Aragorn being a dad……like he’s so HAPPY and he loves his son so much……..

Another underrated Dad Aragorn™ moment is when Aragorn sees a kid preparing for battle at Helm’s Deep. He asks him his name, and the kid responds “Haleth, son of Hama, my Lord.”

If you were playing Close Attention™, Hama was the name of this guard, who was killed during the warg attack:

The kid’s dad just died!

And I think Aragorn’s clearly aware of that. The way his expression changes when Haleth says his father’s name…. the way he sort of looks away…..like “this kid’s already going through too much and his dad is dead too?”

So he’s instantly like. “LISTEN. For the next five minutes, I’M your dad.”

I also love the Energy™ Aragorn has around the hobbits.

The Hobbits: What about second breakfast????

Aragorn: You’re acting like children.

(hours later. the hobbits are sleeping peacefully as Aragorn watches over them.)

Aragorn: (a little choked up): I’ve always dreamed of having children

[unsupervisedsoup]

best thing to see on google's search results when feeling extremely fatherless

[draftinglettersss]

the scene after ~ bitter revenge

a scene about rage, guilt, grief, and the one person who stays

a lil background:

the fmc—avina—is a troubled, orphaned teen bent on avenging for her parents. when she seemingly finds the one responsible, she takes action.

the mmc—nathaniel—is not-so-secretly in love with her. he wants to show her it’s okay to be vulnerable and be the one beside her when the world comes crashing down.

word count: 1.3k

TW: violence, blood, trauma, implied murder, emotional breakdown, cursing, knife, threats (I hope there’s not more😭)

I stumble back. Bright red blood pours out in pulses from his neck. His shirt and blazer soak it up like a sponge. It spreads fast. Too fast.

He makes a sound and my breathing stops. I feel my insides tighten and I suddenly feel sick.

I—I—

I can't look at him.

I somehow find my way out of the horror room. I don't think about professor Vassilis still standing there. Not about the dagger I'm still clutching, soaked in blood. Only about the blood and the air that can't get to my lungs.

I stumble and raise a steadying hand to the wall. My legs shake. They'll give out any moment.

But I can't breathe.

I have to get out of here.

So I force my legs to move. My heavy steps echo in the empty dark halls. The corridor seems longer and tighter than before. I try not to sway but I'm getting dizzy with sickness.

I pass the rest of the team but I don't care—not even when they enter the hallway, confused. As long as I walk fast enough they might not see what I've done.

I see the exit. I need to—

Footsteps. Firm clink of boots.

“Avina.” Nathaniel’s soft voice calls.

Why? Why is he here? He can't see this. I don't want him to. He shouldn’t.

Not him. Not now. Not this.

“Go away.” My voice sounds distant. It cuts like steel through the cool air. I force my legs to move faster.

I push open the door and don't turn to look back. Instead I walk. I don't want to acknowledge what happened. I don't want to go back there. I can’t go back. I—

The door shuts with a careful thud. I turn around and clearly make out his silhouette even in the moonlight.

“Go back.” I shout and point to the warehouse. My hand shakes but my voice doesn’t. I turn around so I don't have to look at him. Cross my arms, as if that’d protect me from falling apart in front of him. My fingers somehow still hold the murder tool.

I don't want him to see me like this.

“Go!” The two syllables rumble out of me like a roar. My tone is sharp, cutting, final.

And yet.

Nothing.

I hear nothing.

No retreating steps. No defeated sigh. No nothing.

“For God’s sake, Nathaniel, LEAVE!” The scream ripped out of me with force enough to leave me shaking. I bellowed, turning to shove the words at him. My shoulders were stiff with tension. Nails digging and leaving halfmoons on my plams. Hair, whipping the air with my sudden movement.

“No.” Just that. Quiet, firm and impossibly irritating.

He’s so stubborn. I don’t know if I should laugh or cry. I settle for the first option and huff a bitter chuckle, taking a few steps towards him.

I’m inches away from him. My head tilts back slightly to look up at his face. Him and his stupid height. I look at him with what I want to be hatred. With what I know would scare someone off.

I raise the dagger. My eyes don’t move from his. His don’t even flinch.

“Do you see this?” I speak low. He doesn’t even spare a glance at the weapon. My teeth grind together so hard it ached. I make a small move, closer to his face. “Do you know what this is?”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. He is holding back. But I don't want him to hold back. I want him to turn around and realise, once and for all, that I'm not worth it.

I throw the dagger straight to the ground but I don't care anymore. Irritation simmers under my skin like a pressure cooker on the verge of bursting. I am shaking with it.

I look at him like I want to hurt him when I know I don’t. I’m trembling with the urge to push him away, to make him forget. But he just has to be so Goddamn stubborn.

His eyes sharpen. Good.

“It’s blood.” I spat, closely observing his reaction. So close that we were breathing the same air. “Real—still warm—human blood.”

I watch him. But he makes no reaction. Again.

I take a step back. “Is this what you want next to you?” My arms spread and I actually laugh. “Is this what you imagined?” Two feet distance sat between us like a threat, a line I dared him to cross. “A mess. A disgrace. A murderer…bloodthirsty for revenge.” I pause to watch him. Then slowly move to close the distance again. “A sad, bitter girl ready for anything in the name of her parents.”

I'm so close that he has to look down to meet my gaze. So close that I can feel the warmth radiating off him. So close that I have this fleeting treacherous urge to lean in.

“Is this what you want?” I ask softly, almost nicely.

His eyes are warm. He looks at me like he sees the good parts of me that he believes are there. But that makes me even more irritated. Because that girl is gone. Non-existent. Dead.

I push him. “Answer me!” My shout pierces through the dead of night and echoes off the sky. He stumbles back but quickly regains his balance. His eyes find me again almost just as fast.

And now my breathing is heavy again. The furious tremble has returned to my limbs. My eyes are wild and my hair is probably a mess. But I don't care. I corner him.

“I just sliced a man’s fucking throat, Nathaniel. I watched him bleed out in the rhythm of a heartbeat, staining his suit in dark bright red. And I enjoyed it.” I watched him like I believed it. “Because it was coming for him. Long. Time. Overdue.” I glare at him, hating the still look in his eyes and that damn softness there that hasn’t faltered when I have to force myself to stay upright because I can feel my knees wanting to give in to gravity.

Yet, I step even closer.

Because I want to be dangerous and I want him to see that I am. My voice lowers. “Do you think I can’t do that the same to you? Do you believe I’ll be merciful?” I say, “Do you even realise what exactly I’m capable of?” I stare straight into the depths of his unflinching gaze, daring him to oppose me, begging for him to leave.

“You once said my eyes were haunting blue.” He rasps and my shield shatters. “If you want them to haunt you—go ahead.” His calm broke me.

Stop.

Stop. I said to the tremble in my limbs.

Don't be weak. Don't be weak. Don’t—

But I can't look at him anymore.

My face turns ugly now that I'm not facing him. Lower lip trembling, teeth sinking in to make it stop. Eyes burning and lids falling to block the tears from spilling. But I can’t make it stop.

Blood.

So much blood.

My knees can't stand the weight of it and I fall to the ground. An ugly sob breaks away from me and I want to dissappear from the face of the Earth. I want the ground to swallow me up. I want it to end—this grief, this pain, this guilt—

A hand shyly touches my back. He is right next to me. His arm slowly, hesitantly snakes around my shoulders. And it's probably because of the blur of the tears or the piece of me that broke but I bury myself in his chest holding onto the cotton of his shirt like a lifeline. Clutching onto the only piece of safety I’ve known.

His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer to him and I break even more. I'm a mess of sobs and tears and I loathe it. Because if he pulled away I wouldn't survive it.

likes, comments or reposts would be greatly appreciated. I’d love to know what you guys think!

I am aware it might need work. just don’t be too harsh when giving feedback. please 🤍

[lemonomelette]

don't talk to me or my son ever again

[jay-wasstuff]

Le abdollen. (You're late.) You look terrible.

Hannon Le. (Thank you.)

[books-4-life9]

The way Legolas grabs him and falls with him, not letting him go

Even when he no longer has the orb he’s still on the ground with him

[the-noir-symphony]

Somehow they fit 🥹

[charlidos]

Seems Orlando didn't like having Legolas arguing with Aragorn, it appears to have upset him. Maybe he didn't like saying harsh words to his mentor, his friend, his guardian angel. Not as Orlando nor as Legolas...

He can barely say the words, poor chap. That long pause is quite telling.

(From the DVD commentary to TTT. Video from a Chinese site, subs mine.)

[meteors-lotr]

Legolas: *gets down on one knee* Aragorn, also getting down on his knees: What are we looking for? Legolas, who had been reaching for the ring in his pocket: Dude...