Wong: ...

Self-protection spell.

when in a quiet place chant;

Elements of the sun,

Elements of the day,

Come this way,

Powers of the night and day,

I summon thee,

I call upon thee,

To protect me.

So shall it be.

Coming into a fandom late

all things must pass / all things must pass away

hozier / julia jacklin / thomas cole / florence + the machine / mary oliver / bo burnham / taylor swift / eugene boudin / andré aciman / lorde / george harrison

Read Part 1 here because it was getting long hahaha. Click read more to torture your dashboard even more (and I kinda accidentally put a lot of time into it).

Keep reading

Undertale fan comic- Stand-In 73

“That, detective, is the right question.” - Dr. Lanning

[First page] [Previous] [Next] [Chapter list]

Commission info | Buy me a coffee

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* If you want to do anything with Stand-in comic. please read the rules

glenn dean, landscapes of the west / user @petrichara

I could write entire essays on the fate serie and fate/grand order and all the themes and the writing and why i want people to go banana with me, but really it all boils down to “The reason why humanity could be saved, the single thing that allowed the world to survive, is that despite their own imminent death, someone looked at a dying girl and chose to comfort her in their last moments.”

I'm embarrassed of how long this took to make

Oh, but angels making nests for their human partner when they’re feeling amorous. Nests of the finest silk blankets, their own feathers, luxurious pillows and satin sheets. Angels wearing the flashiest, gaudiest garments to catch their human’s eye, polishing armour to within an inch of its life and puffing their chests out whenever they travel together, shooting glares at other angels, inviting a challenge.

Makers getting growly and possessive of their human partner. Showing off their strength to impress them, building immense sculptures in their partner’s image, even building houses for them to prove they can provide a safe, warm place for their human to live. Gigantic, burly makers utterly melting under their human’s gentle touches and feather-light kisses.

Demons positively draping their human partner in expensive jewels and golden finery. Demons spending hours sharpening their horns and claws to scare off other demons who might get too close. Touching their partner at every chance they get to leave their aroma behind, then getting huffy and frustrated with their human when they have a shower and wash the scent off.

Thinking about,,, Lalter

An if of an if, ghost among the ghosts, one of a kind. The result of solely one, specific, set of events.

There is only one of her, yet she’s called to Chaldea. To a Chaldea. To all Chaldeas.

She roams through the halls. The servants she meets often pass through each other like ghosts, unaware of each other; different Chaldea, different worlds. “Why do you ride a horse indoor?” Asks Jack, or maybe Nursery Rhyme, or maybe Bunyan, a few seconds a few Chaldeas apart. “Why do you ride a horse indoor?”

(Llamrei is like her; one foot, one hoof, between all worlds, the eye of the storm. Her friend. Her anchor.)

“You’re always up at the oddest hours.” Say Robin, and Sanson, Emiya. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

She can’t remember the last time she was awake.

Battles are easier. Singularities are easier. She’s at her most coherent when the world is breaking. It’s like only one of them can be whole at the time.

“Lalter!” The Master waves at you. “I’m glad to see you today! You’re so hard to find, I swear.”

Transient. Dream-dweller. Her very existence is but flickering. Of course she’d be hard to find.

(… And, admittedly, she’s made herself scarce. Seeing other versions of herself isn’t exactly pleasant. Like someone else watching her through her own eyes.)

The Master sits next to her and speaks of many things at once. The Master is asian, black and white. The Master is blond, brown-haired and red-haired. The Master speaks to her in Japanese, Russian and English. It’s all just sound. It’s all just a body.

(She’s heard people, many times, wonder how could the Master spare so much love for their servants. She wonders if the Master themself is aware of this. That Humanity’s Last Master could have been anyone, that they all overlap, a thousand eyes and a thousand voices and a thousand hearts that beat and echo and love love love.)

“It must be weird,” they say absent-mindedly (they for indeterminate gender and they for multiple) “to see so many versions of yourself on a daily basis.”

And she turns towards them, turns their head to their face and their timeline and their Chaldea, and can’t help but mutter; “Wouldn’t you know best?”