I mean he’s an angel alright.

listened to Bohemian Rhapsody today… i’m so very sorry

If this post gets 100 notes I’ll recreate the entire song through memes

OK so I’ll do my best to get this done soonish–it may be a week or two, but I’m doing it

My masterpiece… is complete.

op did not put in this much work for 160 notes

i just read this post whilst listening to bohemian rapsody and that was An Experience

Give this legend more notes. Now!

And who said there weren’t amazing people on this site?

midgardian etiquette 101: when going to their homes, hang your coat first or in some cases, your mjolnir.

naw maybe it’s actually asgardian custom to check your weapons at the door

It was medieval custom to check your weapons at the door of the meadhall before greeting the king of the place you were going to. It was courteous and showed respect. You can see it in Beowulf. 

what i don’t understand is how that hook can hold the mjolnir.

the hook is worthy

the hook is worthy

Peter Pan would disagree.

I’ve not read the comics but I always figured Mjolnir wasn’t heavy so much as stubborn, and if it decided it didn’t wanna move it just wouldn’t. It sits on Loki, rather than crushing him in Thor 1, and in Avengers it rests on the floor of the ship, and trying to pick it up Hulk starts breaking the floor with his weight, but Mjolnir doesn’t seem to weight anything at all (If it was as heavy as Hulk implied, it would drag the whole ship to the ground right?). Mjolnir isn’t heavy, cos its not going down, instead it is a fixed point and everything else just moves around it. Hence, the hook doesn’t hold it, it merely remains in place.

so what you’re trying to say is that Mjolnir is like a chicken head

 instead it is a fixed point and everything else just moves around it. 

OK SO WHAT YOU ARE SAYING IS THAT WHEN THIS HAMMER WAS FORGED IN THE HEART OF A STAR IT BECAME A FIXED QUANTUM POINT AND THE UNIVERSE MOVES AROUND IT—AND THOR IS THE ONLY ONE WITH THE PROPER RESONANCE TO INTERACT WITH IT ON A QUANTUM LEVEL AND SO HE IS THE ONLY ONE WITH THE LEVERAGE REQUIRED TO SHIFT THE REST OF THE UNIVERSE AROUND THE FIXED POINT THAT IS MJOLNIR

THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE

DUDE YOU GUYS SCIENCED THORS HAMMER THAT IS AWESOME

i just… can’t have this not on my blog.

This got really sciencey really fast and my mind is blown

This part messed me up so bad

Aedion inclined his head in mocking invitation. They could certainly try.

AEDION ASHRYVER YOU STOP TEMPTING FATE LIKE THAT YOU GOT ME

YOU DROWN THOSE BITCHES

“Aedion is my pride.”

DID YOU JUST MAKE A PUN

Of course Dorians first response in a woman’s body is to see what a female orgasm feela like. Of course.

GET UP YOU STUPID BASTARD GET UP BEFORE YOU DROWN

HOLY SHIT HOLLLYYYY FUCKING SHIIIIIIT A E L I N THATS MY BITCH

DID MANON JUST FUCKING PROPOSE TO DORIAN

The Fae Queen smiled down at him. “You are not a very skilled spy, King of Adarlan.”

DORIAN HAVILLIARD WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING

My final piece of Throne of Glass art, The Kingdom of Ash tour poster!

And just for everyone asking: no, prints won’t be available for this, or the group poster, so far as I’m aware. 

Lucien Vanserra.

Heir of the Day Court 2.0 becoz I deleted the first one that I did in April dladjaskd. DAY COURT FOXBOI IS MY FAVE FOXBOI!!! <3 <3

Rowaelin.

Click here for Lucien!!!

KOA IS COMING OUT SOON AND I THOUGHT THAT IT’D BE A GOOD IDEA TO PAINT ROWAELIN SKDJALKSJDKALSD.

SARAH PUT ELIDE AND LORCAN TOGETHER IN THE BACK OF ONE OF THE SPECIAL EDITIONS NEXT TO ROWAN AND AELIN THAT MEANS ITS ENDGAME OMFG

Yep! And then she put MANON with ABRAXOS, not Dorian.... 😳😳😳😳

Aurora by yamiao

Masterlist

Preferences Masterlist 

Holiday Fic Collection Masterlist

Series:

Circumstance - Rowaelin daughter x Feysand son - Fic Masterlist (Completed)

Ten Minutes Ago - Feysand Cinderella au - Fic Masterlist (Completed)

When We’re Married - Rowaelin Arranged Marriage au - Fic Masterlist On going

A School of Wings and Fire - ACOTAR x TOG Hogwarts au - On hold

The Veiled Arrow - Nestaq Mulan au - Part 1 Part 2

Belladonna Farm - Nessian Farm au - Part 1

TOG:

Rowan Whitethorn: Sad Drunk

Bonding

Broken

Battle of the Senses

7 Minutes

Rainy Day Rowaelin Headcanon

Sick Day

He Finds His Queen

Bookish Valentine

See Something You Want?

Make the Bed

ACOTAR:

Pajama Day

Just Pretend?

Double Date

Cuddles

Marry Me

Nightmare

Jealous?

Rewrite the Stars

Ice Cream

As You Wish, Nes

Double Date

Nesta’s First Starfall

Pranks

Smile!

Bear the Storm

I See You

Spin the Bottle

Happy Futures

The Seer and the Shadowsinger

Blush

Sweets

Kissing Prompts

Elorcan

Rowaelin

Elriel 

Elucien

Request More Fics!

Strawberry-child

My Grandpa, you have to know, already had depression when I was born. Until the day he died, I had never really gotten to know the man he once had been, before the disease had taken hold.

People told me that my Grandpa had been witty, and full of life. His eyes had sparkled when he had teased others gently, when he had laughed when he had surprised everyone with a good joke.

I couldn’t remember any of that. The Grandpa I knew was neither really witty, nor full of life. And I had never seen his eyes sparkle, or heard him laugh aloud.

That doesn’t mean that I didn’t love my Grandpa. I did, very much so. He was very patient with us children – his precious grandchildren, he called us. He was a good listener, and probably the kindest, most gentle person I’ve ever met.

But Grandpa was always a bit sad, and a bit tired. We could never visit him for long, because he had to go back to bed after a short time.

“Your Grandpa is easily tired,” my parents explained to me. “That has nothing to do with you.”

Well, I didn’t think it had. I always had fun when we visited Grandpa and Grandma, and even though Grandpa’s smile never really reached his eyes and he fell asleep easily, I know he enjoyed it, too.

He would get up early, to prepare everything for us. He would smile often, even though it cost him much energy.

And, especially – he would go outside, into his personal little garden, and pluck all the ripe strawberries he could find from the bushes, arrange them on a little plate, and wait patiently for me to run into the living room where he was waiting with the strawberries. He would smile – sometimes, it even reached his eyes – and say, “There is my girl.”

It was our ritual, and neither of us would have changed anything about it.

Until one day, I was four at that time, Grandpa was nowhere to be seen when I ran into the living room. No Grandpa, no strawberries on the table.

It was raining outside, the sky dark and crying, and Grandma followed after me where I stood in the middle of the room, utterly confused.

“Where is Grandpa?”

“He went back to bed, sweetie,” Grandma looked ready to fall asleep herself – so, so tired. “You will just have to wait for him. I’m sure he will come down when he hears that you’re here. How about you draw something for him in the meantime?”

I nodded, suddenly feeling sad all of sudden. So Grandpa had one of his “cloudy days” as I called them, where he was feeling even more tired and sad than usually.

I sat myself into a corner, paper and colorful pens strewn out next to me, and started to draw. A big, smiling sun, and red dots for strawberries, and me and Grandpa should be on the drawing, I decided.

While I was drawing, my Grandma talked to my parents, in hushed whispers.

Adults tend to forget that children understand more than they think.

“It’s the new medicaments… they make him even more tired.”

“Can’t he change…?”

“Switching from one to the other was already bad enough. I almost couldn’t get him out of the bed in the mornings… he didn’t want to get up at all…I’m so glad you came today. He always feels better when he knows that you come to visit…”

It wasn’t the first time that I overheard the adults talk about Grandpa. I didn’t understand everything they said – strange words like “therapy” and “depression” were unknown to me then. The use of “medicaments” had me led to believe that Grandpa was sick, like me when I had to flu or something, and I always hoped he would get better soon.

When I had asked Grandpa about it, he had just shook his head and ruffled my hair. “Don’t worry about me, sweetie. Your Grandpa is going to be okay.”  

I was utterly engrossed in my drawing, until suddenly, everyone was running around, worried voices sounding throughout the house.

“Where is he?! He can’t just leave the house without telling me, something could happen to him…”

“Mother, calm down, I’m sure he didn’t go that far…!”

“Where would he go in this weather?”

I was looking around, confused because everyone was so loud and worried.

My Mum kneeled down to me, shrugging her jacket on while she told me, “Stay right here, okay? We’re just going out for a walk for a moment. We will be right back.”

“Ok,” I said, nodding, and went back to my drawing.

In a matter of minutes, I was left alone in the big old house, while my parents and my grandmother went outside to search for my grandfather (though I didn’t know that in that moment, firmly believing that they had gone for a walk).

I was content with drawing until a few minutes later, someone cleared his throat right next to me, saying warmly: “Aaah. There is my little girl.”

I looked up from my drawing, beaming as I saw my Grandpa standing in the door way to the garden. “Grandpa!”

My Grandpa smiled back at me. He was soaked wet, having come into the house from the rain, without a jacket or boots or anything. He didn’t even seem to mind the cold (because cold he must have been), he only smiled tiredly down at me, lifting the plate he was holding in front of him like a present.

The plate was laden with freshly picked strawberries.

My Grandpa explained, “Couldn’t let my granddaughter go back home without her favorite fruits, hm?”

My Grandpa sat me at the big dining table while he went to dry himself off a bit. As he came back, he motioned for me start eating, while he himself just sat there and watched me.

I was stuffing my cheeks with strawberries, until I saw that my Grandpa’s eyes were falling closed again and again.

He was paler than usually, and looked even sadder.

I stopped eating, and watched him, too. He tried to smile, but didn’t really manage.

“Grandpa?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“Why are you so sad?”

He shifted a bit, blinking slowly. I had never really asked for the source of his sadness.

(Today, I wonder if anybody ever did ask him so directly.)

“Sometimes, we don’t need a reason to be sad. We just are,” this time, he smiled, tightly.

For me, that was very odd. When I was sad, I had a reason to be. I was sad because Grandpa was sad, for example.

“Grandpa?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Can’t you be happy again?” 

My Grandpa was quiet for a few moments, looking silently at the plate between us.

Finally, he reached over and picked one strawberry up. It was the smallest of them all, and more than half of its surface was pale-green instead of deep red like the others.

“I made a mistake with this one,” Grandpa said, holding the little berry oh-so gently between his fingertips. “It was too early to take it, and yet I did. Now it will never have the chance to get that happy, red color.”

I nodded, very seriously, thinking myself very mature for understanding his disappointment.

(I didn’t, not really. I would understand later, when I was older.)

Grandpa laid the berry back down and looked up. Looked at me.

And for a moment, it seemed like the sky had cleared. The clouds over his face cleared as he smiled at me. Really smiled, so that it reached his eyes and lit them up.

I laughed, grinned, because it had been so long since I had seen him smile.

He reached over, stroking my cheek with his knuckles, and chuckled. “You have that red color, too. Are you a strawberry, sweetie?”

I laughed some more, thinking that very funny.

Grandpa’s smile slowly disappeared, even though his eyes stayed clear as he said, very quietly, “We are a bit like these strawberries, you know, sweetie? When we are happy, we’re full of color and life. When we are sad, we are pale and…”

He trailed off, frowning slightly, not ending that sentence. And I didn’t dare to ask.

At this point, nobody had yet explained to me what the opposite of “life” is.

“It’s exactly the same,” he continued after a moment. “We are sad and pale sometimes. But with time, and care, and warmth, we get colorful and happy again. Do you understand that?”

I nodded, hesitantly. I didn’t really understand, but I didn’t want to tell him that and disappoint him.

“Sweetie,” grandpa said, almost urgently, “That means, no matter how sad you are, you can get happy again if you just keep living.”

He stopped again, plucking the small, pale strawberry from the plate and looking at it as he added, “If you don’t keep living, then… You will never get a chance to be happy again.”

We looked at each other, really looked. I was a bit confused, and overwhelmed. I understood that he was trying to tell me something important, but wasn’t sure if I really understood what he was saying.

Perhaps he could see that.

Just when we heard the front door open and close again, my parents and my grandmother returning, my Grandpa shook his head, smiling. He reached over to hold my face between his hands, so gently, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “And, anyway… I’m always as happy as I can be when you visit me, little strawberry-child.”

We couldn’t talk more about strawberries and being sad and becoming happy again after that. My parents and my grandmother were so relieved to see my grandfather (still a bit wet, still cold and pale) safe at home, they took turns in gently reprimanding him and asking him if he was alright.

He nodded along, looking even more tired now that he had all that attention. He was sent back to bed (“You’re almost falling over!”) and smiled back at me as he waved at me.

I waved back, left with my parents who patted my head and hugged me and told me that we probably better went home now.

Only when we were already on our way back home did I realize that I was still holding my drawing, pressed tightly to my chest.

In all that serious talk about strawberries and being sad, I had forgotten to give the drawing to my Grandpa.

We never talked about strawberries again. Our ritual had never changed – Grandpa still awaited me with strawberries every time, and I would be the happiest girl on earth when he greeted me with a smile.

That didn’t change, even as his condition got worse and worse.

Five years later, I was nine, my Grandpa died. Just fell asleep one evening and didn’t wake up again.

My Grandma was crushed at that time. We all were. It took a long time for us to stop missing him, to stop being sad when we visited his grave or just went to visit Grandma.

I hadn’t seen the dead bed of my Grandpa. Nobody would let a nine year old girl see that. But I heard my mother say, in the evening when she came back and cried, “He was so… so pale. Pale and…”

She trailed off, much like Grandpa had trailed off in his sentence all those years ago.

By now, I knew what the opposite of “life” was, and understood what she wanted to say.

Grandpa would never get the chance to get happy and colorful again.

Three more years later, I fell into depression.

No wonder, many people said. I had always been a very quiet, empathic and sensitive child, without many friends. I had been bullied for years, and my parents were in the middle of a divorce at that time.

No wonder, they said, completely normal to fall into depression because of all of this.

That didn’t really make it easier for me.

Suddenly, I understood my Grandpa’s “cloudy days” so much better than I did as a little, clueless child.

I felt sad without reason. I felt sad with a reason. I basically felt sad almost all the time, and when I didn’t, I just felt numb and tired.

I just kind of dragged on. Day for day, I struggled to get out of bed, went to school, did the best I could do in that state. I was still bullied, my parents were still arguing, my father was still blaming me, and I cried a damn river, day after day. But I went on, and on, and on.

I was sent to psychologists, pretty much sent myself, because I knew that I needed help to get out of it. I switched psychologists a few times, but it was basically always the same – questions, taking notes, more questions.

That went on and on for years.

One day, my psychologist asked me, yet again, “Did you ever think about what dying would be like?”

Normally, I would just answer “Yes” and let it be. I was tired of the question, to be honest. I had answered it so many times, over such a long time, that I was wondering if she was awaiting the same answer again and again and just asked because it had become a habit.

But this time, I said, “It would be easier than living, wouldn’t it?”

That had piqued her interest, I could tell. She was taking notes furiously now as she continued, “Are you thinking about trying? To kill yourself, I mean.”

“No. Never.”

Now that surprised her. For the first time in a long while, she looked up from her notes, looked at me. “But you just said that dying would be easier.”

“That I did.”

“But you never think about really wanting to die?”

“No.”

“Why? Don’t get me wrong, that is very good, that you don’t want to do it, but… most people in your situation would…”

I watched as she searched for words, and managed a tired smile.

And I thought of strawberries as I answered.

“Because I’m sad right now. And if I would die right now, being sad and pale, then I would never get the chance to become happy and colorful again.”

After all this years, I still don’t know why my Grandpa decided to tell me this little thing. This comparison between a strawberry and me.

He could have told it anyone, his wife, his children, all his other grandchildren.

But he didn’t.

He told me.

He couldn’t have known that almost a decade later, I would be in a very similar situation to the one he was in – depressed, sad and numb.

I don’t know why he told me. But I’m so, so glad he did.

I never forgot.

I’m almost twenty-one now. My depression never really left me. It got better – so much better – but I know it will never completely leave me. That’s okay. I learned to deal with the remaining of my cloudy days, saying hi to them like to old friends and to send them away again. My life has become a lot better, and much has changed (for the better).

But I never forgot what my Grandpa taught me, when I was a mere child of four years.

What my Grandpa taught me was: No matter how sad and broken you feel, how hopeless – don’t give up hope. Dying may seem like the most comfortable, the easiest way out of this, because it seems as if everything has been lost and there is nothing to live for anymore.

But that’s not true.

Me, and you, and everyone else – we all have a future to live for. We all have chances – not one, not two, but as many as we need – to become happy and lively again. In the future.

The moment you die because you can’t stand it anymore, that’s the moment you lose all the chances to become happy again.

Dying is not your way out. Dying is how you lose. Dying is how the depression wins.

I don’t know about you, but I would rather be a strawberry-child. Being a strawberry-child, that means that you, even when you are sad, you never forget that you can become happy again in the future. That you just have to keep on living, and that, if you do, it will be worth it.

Let’s be strawberry-children together, okay? Until one day, we can become happy and colorful again.

(I promise, you will.)

Cried

For god’s sake, read this

@rowan-buzzard-whitethorn how appropriate right now. Bring your tissues.

The FCC will soon vote to kill net neutrality. But Congress can stop them if they hear from constituents now.

Yesterday afternoon the House subcommittee that provides Congressional oversight for the FCC held an important hearing about the agency’s current plans, including current Chairman (and former Verizon lawyer) Ajit Pai’s move to gut Title II net neutrality protections that prevent ISPs from controlling what we do online with throttling, censorship, and extra fees.

With Capitol Hill’s attention now on the FCC, and Pai’s final plan to gut net neutrality protections expected in the coming weeks, it’s extra important that Congress gets flooded with phone calls from Internet users telling them to stand up and defend the open Internet.

We’re also hearing there are key members of Congress considering whether to step in and force Pai to slow down. This means best chance to stop the FCC from breaking the fundamental principle that makes the Internet awesome is to pound Congress with phone calls right now.

You can call your reps easily with just one click here: battleforthenet.com

You’ll see a script on your screen, or you can say something like this:

You can also just call this number directly and enter your zipcode to get connected to your legislators: 202-930-8550.

If you run a website, blog, tumblr, or forum, help spread the word by putting up a sticky post, or use one of these widgets, ads, or banners: https://www.battleforthenet.com/#join

Ajit Pai is expected to circulate the text of his rule killing net neutrality on November 22, the day before Thanksgiving. Once that happens, it will move to a vote at the FCC’s open meeting in December, and it will become much much harder to stop him.

It’s clear that the FCC remains set on killing net neutrality. But Congress can stop the FCC from gutting the rules that keep the web open, affordable, and awesome.

Idgaf if this isn’t my theme we’re losing this fight tell your family tell your friends l e t ‘ s g o

I can’t stress enough how important this is. I rarely deviate from my surreal meme theme but this is something that can’t be ignored. This decision will affect the whole world!

This bitch stole my line. - Loki, probably

Teaser | New ACOTAR Fic

Summary: Tamlin de Chagny has finally become the new owner of the Opera Velaris, one of the most famous theatres in all the human realms. But the popularity of the opera house can’t be accredited to Tamlin’s ownership of the establishment, nor to Lucien Vanserra’s efforts as manager. It can’t be attributed to the beguiling soprano, Amarantha, or the lovely prima ballerina, Elain, or her brilliant and passionate ballet tutor, Nesta. It can’t be attributed to the talented musicians in the orchestra, or the hard work of all the cast and crew, or even to the hidden gem of the opera, Feyre Archeron, the dancer with the voice of an angel. No, the only one who can take credit for the fame of the theatre is the Phantom of the Opera. 

Author’s Note: So I’m really excited to share this new project I’ve been working on with you. The Music of the Night is a multi-chapter retelling of the Phantom of The Opera with Feyre as Christine Daaé, Rhysand as Erik/the Phantom and Tamlin as Raoul de Chagny. The fic won’t follow the narrative of the book or the film directly for reasons that anyone who has seen the film/read the book will understand and the Inner Circle, Lucien and the Archeron sisters will feature in the story as well (so all the main ships will feature too).

                               CHAPTER 1 COMING SOON

Omg Bianca PLEASE TAG ME

PLEASE TAG ME TOO!!!

@aelin-and-feyre @songbirdsbooks Sure thing! 😁

I LOVE Phantom of the Opera! Can you please tag me?

@highlady-kat of course! ❤

Omg this sounds amazing!! Can you please tag me 🙏🏼😍

@dreamingofradescapes sure! I’m glad you like the idea and I hope you’ll like the fic too! 💕💕

Really looking forward to this one!! Can you please add me to your tag list as well??

Alllllll done 😊

Amren from the ACOTAR coloring book!

Chapters 27, 34, and 75:: Amren is an Angel.

There are certain “trigger words” for angels Maas uses: Grace (what gives an angel power is said to be their Grace), Smite, twin-cities (Soddam and Gamora are often referred to as this), burning wings, the halo, and also capitalizing ‘Father’.