Sorry for inactivity! Been trying to catch up on the commissions since my tablet was out for a month, but I managed to finish the rough gem designs for the gem au! It works a little differently tho, so if you’re curious, check out the lore/info under Read More! <3 Will try to work on Cable/Kathy/Fusion/Gem weapons next time! 

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A Partial Guide To Legendary Sites...

Legendary sites, similar to magical locations, are areas with special properties or effects from which a character might gain a significant benefit.

Magical locations are areas that have been crafted by mighty magic or imbued with ancient power. 

They are hard to find and harder to use, and confer their powers but rarely. 

Legendary sites, in contrast, are places where great works have been wrought and where seemingly impossible deeds have occurred. 

These locations have a lesser kind of power. 

A site such as a sandy beach where an explorer stepped for the first time, or a plaza where a long-fallen marvel once towered, pulses with its own renown, if not with true magic. 

The stories that inspire these places and make them famous lend them reputations that can be shared by those who brush with such a site’s notoriety. 

Characters who visit these sites of historical import, incredible acts, mystery, and great danger come away changed, not just in the eyes of the public but in their own hearts as well…

Such legendary sites need not be unique. 

Their inspirational effects might develop wherever a spot becomes imbued with a momentous event or spectacular achievement.

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me: wow, overwatch has sort of interesting designs and a pleasing style, maybe I’ll check out the lore and see what’s up

blizzard, rummaging through its pockets feverishly, pulling out a folded piece of notebook paper: uh yeah we got uhhhh……… Omnic Bad™. Bad Guys Everywhere. Doomfist? and somebody just wrote Mad Max on here but idk what that means

Me: I should draw more of my own lore and dragons

@memoriam-fr ‘s lore one-shots: *lurking in the corner with vivid imagery and moments that demand to be drawn* 

I didn’t really want to try and tackle a background since I’m still working on portraying lighting on dragons much less buildings, but anyway
Freyja is about to throw the heck down

The Lore Can Wait

This is for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing SPN Hiatus Challenge, Week 3.  The prompt is, “Could you be any louder?”

Sam was up to his eyeballs in ancient texts about sirens when he finally realized you were calling his name.

“Sam! Sammy! Earth to Sam Winchester! Look, a clown!” Giggling at the panicked look on Sam’s face, you winked at him.  “Made you look!” you teased.

“What?” Sam snapped irritably.

“Are you DEAF, Dude?” Dean demanded.  “Come, ON. You comin’ or not?”

It was then that Sam noticed you and Dean both had your coats on.  “Coming where?” 

“To the bar, Genius!  If I do another second of research, my eyeballs will fall out!”  You sighed dramatically.

“I have a lot of research I want to do tonight,” Sam said stubbornly.

“Come ON, Sam! Who’s gonna be my wingman when Dean inevitably ditches me for some bar skank?” You whined.

“Hey!” Dean said indignantly.

“I’m not in the mood,” Sam repeated.

“Nevermind, then.  Forget we asked.  Come on Dean.” You said quietly, walking towards the door, shoulders slumped.

Dean looked at his brother critically. “One of these days when you hit puberty your gonna realize there’s more to life than research and studying the lore, Sammy.”  Leaving Sam to ponder this he walked out to join you in the garage.

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anonymous asked:

How did you find your pantheon? You mentioned pop culture and personal rep, did you come up with them??

 Hey darling!~

Oh gosh my Pantheon is something i’ve been working with off and on for several years. I had the inspiration come to me when I was a teenager and I went to like a muesum/collection thing and got inspired to associate certain Gemstones with certain royal titles. they were originally going to be for a murder mystery story i was working on but that never got off the ground unfortunately haha.

From there they kind of laid dormant for a while until i began starting to get back into witchcraft and such. I knew i wanted to work with a pantheon but none of them really called out to me much like how my court does. When i decided I wanted to work with them I already had their Stones/Court Titles picked out from my earlier story (a few minor title adjustments were made -a few court members got elevated to higher statuses which they seemed content with so i knew i was on the right track-) From there i began looking into it more and found several links that were really super useful for me when coming up with correspondences and associations for my court because at the time I wasn’t sure if i even wanted to use Pop culture icons or not (or even which ones i’d want to include)

Pop Culture Paganism: An introduction
Creating a Pop Culture Pantheon

This last one by @thiscrookedcrown really REALLY helped me a lot with breaking down my god/desses into spheres of influences:

Creating your own Pop Culture Pantheon: an Ask

(This is getting long so i’m gunna put the rest under the cut so i don’t kill your dash :’D)

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Ok  since I see more of this shit happening right now it’s time for some good old Mercy Myth busting.

‚Mercy is 60 years old’


She is 37. She wasn’t one of the founding members of OW, we know she joined the organisation when she was around 17 and then served until she was around 32. She was even supposed to be 34 years old, but a typo was made in the Recall short and Blizzard didn’t bother to fix it, so they rolled with it. All myths that she has to be above 60 because she used tob e Anas Co-Workers are bullshit since Co-Workers are not the same as classmates and they can have different ages.

She also ages normally, this has been confirmed by the head writer Michael Chu a few times.

 ‚Mercy experimented on Reaper/Genji!‘

Let’s take a look at this, shall we?

Genji was left for dead by Hanzo, and got the offer from  Overwatch’s leadership (aka Jack, Gabriel, and Ana)  that they were going to save his life if he’s going to join their ranks. He accepted and Mercy, who was the head-doctor that time, built the body and treated him. The decision to pressure him into anything was, as far as we know, not done by Mercy in any way. She simply followed orders and from her lore personality and the fact that she spent the time after OW was shut down in crisis regions aiding civilians we can say that she would’ve saved his life without offering anything in return. Genji also recognizes that what happend to him wasn’t her doing but Overwatch’s.


Everything that is about ‚Mercy turned Gabriel into Reaper!!!‘ is based on one exchange – and that is her asking ‚What happend to you?‘ and him answering ‚You tell me, Doc‘. People say this is proof that she turned him into this…but…it says the opposite tbh. If she knew what happend to him why would she ask? Besides, Reaper sounds more like he wanted an answer as well, and he knows that Mercy is the most capable doctor in the world, meaning that if someone could answer this question, it’s her. It could also be that during the explosion at the old HQ, some of Mercys experimental tech got caught in the blast and spilled over Gabriel and caused a mutation, but that doesn’t really make her guilty since it was an accident. Then there is also the chance that Talon stole her tech and created Reaper with ist help. As long as we don’t know what exactly happened during the incident there is no canon ground to blame her for anything here.

There were also rumors of another exchange,but the head writer said the lines never existed and were never in the game at all (the comment that the OP claimed Mercy was making was ‘This is not what I intended for you’ when a Reaper is on her team)

‚Mercy is evil‘

There is nothing indicating that she is. Her entire lore-character has never done anything to cause that suspicion at all, and people jump on this theory becase ‚no one can be that good‘ but lmao what if she just is??? The trope that the most compassionate one turns out to be the big bad all along is so overdone and I think the OW writers are more capable than this cheap theory. If you want to headcanon her as such then sure, go ahead, but don’T run around with SHE IS ACTUALLY EVIL OMG SHE IS THE DEVIL! When there is no base so far and everything is held together by your headcanons.

tl, dr: check your lore and don’t run around screaming SHE IS AN EVIL AGELESS IMMORTAL VAMPIRE when there is nothing in canon to support it and everything is based on people’s desire to see her as the big bad

So where’s Blizzard going with all this

I didn’t want to talk about the Roadhog comic, because I wasn’t really all that impressed by it. I feel it doesn’t add much to the story of Roadhog that wasn’t already implied by his bio and voice lines. I feel it’s for someone who checks up on the lore every now and again.

But people are already at it again with holding this comic as the proof they needed that Roadhog hates hates hates Junkrat and the homosexuals can stop now, thanks

Just… Christ. Look.

It’s not the story I would have liked, for how Roadhog and Junkrat met. It was definitely one of convenience for Roadhog. Roadhog is clearly at a financial lowpoint, and in comes this kid who needs muscle and willing to meet Roadhog’s 50% demands.

Roadhog is also in it to stick to the Queen of Junkertown. You want this kid so bad? Great, I’ll keep him from you. He’ll destroy and create chaos and get in her hair and maybe we’ll take this show on the road and fuck the world too. It’s probably why Roadhog goes along with Junkrat’s plan to travel the world for riches and bombs. Roadhog can remind the world about his home and, before Junkrat forgot about the plan and screamed their names at the top of his lungs outside Junkertown’s gates, was going to blow up the Queen. Perfect. Again, partnership of convenience.


Roadhog sure had a good time traveling the world, didn’t he? And the places where he’s actually showing joy isn’t when shit’s blowing up and civvies getting their comeuppance. Roadhog never appears thrilled during the entirety of the “Going Legit” comic, where they — ahem — hang the suit who hired them out to dry and de-tooth a police officer.

When does he looked like he’s having a great old time? Next to Junkrat, sunbathing. Next to Junkrat in a car, hanging off the edge of it whooping his lungs out. Junkrat’s “You hook ‘em and I’ll cook ‘em!” line and Roadhog’s reply “Shut up”,  turning into Roahog initiating the corniness with“I’ll hook ‘em -“ and Junkrat finishing with “ — and I’lll cook ‘em!” And let’s not forget their coordinated high five in the middle of their dancing emotes.

And if Roadhog’s just watching Junkrat because it’ll piss off everyone? Roadhog sure is letting Junkrat make himself comfortable in his home that’s he’s probably had before everything went to shit and is probably the only thing he can call his own. There might be a no-homo couch in Junkrat’s shed but apparently they eat and plan heists and watch TV together.

Where am I going with all this? That this partnership of convenience is going to slow cook itself into the other kind of partnership.

What I’m finally starting to piece together is that Blizzard likes to do traditional — with a bit of flavor. The Overwatch story so far is cliches all over the place - corporate and political espionage, disgraced soldiers, a heavy handed metaphorical stand-in for racism, the world - gasp! - not being all good or all bad - but with PoC. And a lesbian. And a person who on the autistic spectrum. And women who are of various sizes, but all various types of conventionally attractive. Overwatch is Progress Lite, essentially.

So I feel Blizzard are going with the “enemies to friends to lovers” trope for Roadrat, which fittingly is the same tag I often avoid on Roadrat fanfics on A03. It’s not my favorite. Lots of unnecessary nastiness and slow build up for the story to end at the beginning of the relationship. BO-RING.

I want to see Roadhog and Junkrat develop as a couple. Junkrat’s still a big blank slate on how he handles things outside of money. The pettiness is a nice touch, as witnessed in “The Plan” short. And this observation of Roadhog’s from the “Wasted Lane” comic — “He’s a liar. He lies to himself, most of all.” Lots you can do there, Blizzard.

Honestly, Roadrat aside for a moment, Blizzard’s lore so far with Overwatch is just spinning its wheels. Oh, Mei was really sad about her friends but gets out of it? We knew that! Yes, her short was sweet, but would have been better ages ago. Pharah stopped a God A.I.! Great, what’s one of those, exactly? Hey, what are the effects of Winston breaking international law and triggering Recall? Who cares for now, apparently!

Now back to Roadrat — Blizzard, suspense is do-able, but not forever. Hints easily become queerbait if you leave it up to interpretation because you feel it’s the balance between appeasement for MOGII fans and the dudebros who I’ve had to see on Twitter today joking about the idea Roadhog and Junkrat being lovers and making the Queen of Junkertown’s Roadhog’s ex-girlfriend because that’s the only way a man can piss off a woman, apparently.

Give me my boys, together and in love, because they understand what it’s like for the world to forget you. To not see you, and when they do it’s certainly to not value you. It’s to use you.

… And there’s my own heavy-handed metaphor, Blizzard hire me


Forgotten Realms, the Faerun region of Calimshan. Full of Djinn and Magic! DnD Lore check it out!

Winchester Sister- Smallest of the Four: Part 1

Originally posted by paxlve-gif

Request: Can you do one where it’s not just the reader and the brothers but you have an older sister too?Thank you!
Title: Smallest of the Four
Parings: Sam x reader!sister, Dean x reader!sister, older sister Winchester x reader!sister
Words: 850
Summary: reader is the youngest of the four Winchesters and is sometimes put under a lot of pressure by her older sister and two older brothers.

(A/N this is one of my favorite requests I’ve gotten. I would have never even thought of this. I’m making it into a little miniseries (maybe like two to three parts) just because I’m so in love with this request, and also there is a lot of dialogue in this one so)
You are on a hunt in South Dakota with your three older siblings Kelly, Dean, and Sam. It has never been easy for you, being the youngest; you are constantly left out, they won’t let you on many hunts, and unfortunately you are treated like a child.
“(Y/N) wake up, Kelly got breakfast.” Sam says, shaking you awake. You take a deep breath in and sit up in the motel bed you and Dean share. Sam smiles and walks back to your other siblings who are already stuffing their faces with food.
“Slow down, if you eat any faster you’ll choke.”  Your oldest sibling, Kelly, says to Dean whose cheeks are full of food.
“Shut it woman, you can’t tell me what to do.”
“The hell I can’t. I think I remember being the oldest, which means I have more authority over you.” Kelly says with a smug grin.
“Yeah one year older, big whoop.” Dean says, twirling his finger in the air. Dean notices that you’re wake and reaches for something in the takeout bag.
“Catch!” He says and throws something in aluminum foil at you. It flies across the room, hitting you in the face. “Oops, sorry. It’s a breakfast burrito. Eat up.”
You rub your stinging face as you unwrap the aluminum and begin to eat. Sam sits beside you on the bed, drinking a smoothie. Your sister coughs and gets everyone’s attention.
“So, (Y/N), we have all been talking and we think that you’re ready to go on this hunt with us.”
“Really?” You say, a smile appearing on your face. You haven’t been on but about ten hunts in your seventeen years of life and just the thought of you being out there with your family excites you.
“Yes,” Sam says, his tone turning serious, “but you have to do exactly what you’re told, no funny business.”
“Yeah of course!” You say quickly.
“Alright, get up and get dressed. The sooner we gank these ghosts, the better.” Kelly says and you head to the bathroom to shower.
Dean looks at his older sister once he hears the shower running, “You really think (Y/N) is ready for this?”
“Relax Dean, she’ll be fine. It’s a salt and burn, one of the easiest things out there.” Kelly replies, putting her shoes on.
“I just don’t want her getting hurt.” Dean whispers.
“And she won’t. Dean I swear if you and Sam won’t stop babying her, she will be good as dead.” Kelly says sternly, a tone of voice that has always reminded her younger siblings of their father.
“We don’t baby her,” Sam starts but Kelly cuts in.
“Yes you do! I tell you to teach her how to clean a gun and I come back five minutes later and you two are doing it for her. She needs to learn how to fend for herself… without her two big brothers there to coddle her along the way.” Kelly says curtly before walking outside and driving away in the impala.
You come out a few minutes later oblivious to the argument that has just occurred. “Where’s Kelly?”
“She, uh, she went to get more salt, we’re getting kind of low.” Sam pipes up, glancing at his brother. Dean nods and goes to his duffle, pulling out shotgun shells and salt.
“(Y/N), it’s time you learn how to make the shells for the shotgun.” Dean says as he lays out all the items on the table in the motel kitchen. You nod and sit next to him while he explains every step as he demonstrates for you. “Okay now you try.”
You take a shell and pour out the powder in it, just like Dean showed you. You then pressed in the salt and tried closing it, but of course it bursts open and salt flies everywhere. “Damn it.”
“Watch your mouth,” Dean says instinctively, “but hey, it’s okay you’ll get better.”
Your face starts to heat up with embarrassment; here you are, related to three of the best hunters in the world, and you can’t even put damn salt in a shotgun shell. You stand up from the table and lie next to Sam in the bed, who was checking up on lore on his laptop. You hear the impala pull back in and a few seconds later Kelly stood at the door.
“Why the hell are y’all laying around in here, get your asses in the car.”
Sam pats your back as he stands up and you follow after him. You two slide into the backseat as Dean and Kelly ride up front. Sam stretches his legs uncomfortably; his legs dig into the back of the passenger seat from him being so tall. “God, Kelly, can you please sit in the back for once. I can barely move back here.”
“Quit being such a pansy, we’re almost there anyways.” Kelly retorts, not turning back to look at her youngest brother. Sam rolls his eyes and grunts. Finally Dean pulls up to an older looking house where four people have died in in the past seven months.


go back to sleep, go back to sleep

The half-destroyed distillery where he stashed Rowena is a four-hour drive from the bunker, just over the border into Missouri. Not bad, but not great, either. He almost wishes it were farther away, though he doesn’t want her too far out from under his thumb. It’s just that he’s out of practice with lying to Dean. Distance helps.

It’s almost two a.m. when he ditches the stupid little stolen car a few miles outside of Lebanon. If he’s lucky it’ll still be there when he needs it again, though he kind of hopes it’s not. It gave him a twinge in the neck, crammed into its tiny interior. He walks the rest of the way, keeping to the side of the empty dirt roads. No one out here, ever, and certainly not at this time of night. The spring air’s cool, damp from the earlier rain. The moon’s big and looming in the huge empty sky and he shoves his hands into his pockets, breathes it in. He’s still not feeling in peak shape, but he’ll manage. The blood loss was nothing, really. He was prepared to do a lot more to get what he needed. Dean’s all too happy to feed him lots of red meat, in the meantime.

The door creaks as loud as ever when he comes in. Lights are still all on, as he left them, and the war room’s empty, as is the library, as is the kitchen when he checks it. He leans against the table there in the empty bright and sighs, closing his eyes. If he had a cup of coffee or two, maybe he could check into more of the lore about the curse-work Rowena’s going to have to do. They haven’t read every single book, and he’d be happier knowing more of the theory behind what she might get up to, even shackled and trussed, while he’s gone. He rubs his hand over his face, presses a thumb into his temple and lets his head’s weight fall, the low achy headache pulsing against his bones. Behind his hand it’s suddenly all dark and he sways, the day settling down heavy under his skin, and, okay. He doesn’t want coffee.

He should shower. He walks instead down the steps, down the dimmer hallways and around the corner to his room. Dark, and empty, and he strips off slow, kicks his boots and jeans into a pile on the floor. He blinks at his bare, neat bed.

Dean’s door is closed, but Sam doesn’t bother knocking. They don’t, usually. Dean especially doesn’t. He slips in, lets the door fall half-shut behind him so there’s just enough light to see by, and there. Dean, sprawled out on his back, blankets hitched up because he bitches that it’s always cold, down here. Sam curls his fingers around the edge of the door, just looks at him for a few seconds.

The bed doesn’t creak when Sam slips in. Can’t. Thank god for stupid memory foam mattresses. There are two pillows in here now, since they share about half the time, but Dean’s got them both. Sam lays on his side and curls his arm under his head, the corner of sheet he could steal tugged up to his waist. He can see the edge of Dean’s profile, in the so-dim light. His cheekbone. The fine clean line of his jaw. The familiar pale shape of his ear—and how can an ear be perfect, Sam wonders. How is it possible that even after decades of familiarity, of knowing this body as well as his own—better than his own—it’s still a marvel, sometimes. How is it possible.

He spent an hour staring at the codex. All the symbols, the sloppy pictograms, smeared rust-brown into the awful pages. No worse than the Book of the Damned, but still grotesque. Maybe Sam’s sense of the grotesque is skewed, though, since all he could see when he looked at all those vile spells was hope. Didn’t matter what the Stynes threatened, or what Dean warned might happen as a result of meddling with the dark. Didn’t matter that Rowena had practically drooled at the thought she’d get her hands on it, and didn’t that set the alarms to ringing. Still—it didn’t matter, and it still doesn’t. It can’t. The book and the codex to read it, they’re tools, that’s all. Tools are meant to be used; it’s up to the craftsman to decide how. He knows it’s meddling with forces unknown, and he knows that how badly things could go, if it all goes wrong. He blinks and his eyes are hot, but dry. Dean breathes deep, sleepy and oblivious, and Sam curls in a little closer, forces himself to stop just staring. No sense in worrying about it, now that he’s made his decision. He’s never had the luxury of being choosy about how his world is saved, and he’s not going to start now.

It’s—what—Sam jerks awake and it feels like an instant since he closed his eyes, but his brain’s all fogged, useless. He lifts up on one hand and feels for his gun but—oh, Dean—Dean’s moaning, in his sleep, breath coming jagged. Dreaming again. Sam stares, for a stupid second, and then puts his hand flat on Dean’s chest, shakes him. “Dean,” he says, “hey, it’s okay—”

Dean snaps a hand up and grabs Sam’s wrist, and then his eyes open, completely alert all at once. He lets out a short shocked breath, blinks at the ceiling, and then turns his head and looks at Sam. “When did you get here?” he says, after a second. His voice is low, pitched to rumble under Sam’s hand.

“Been here,” Sam says, which is mostly true. Dean still hasn’t let go of his wrist, and it’s—starting to hurt, a little. He puts on a smile. “I was trying to get some sleep.”

Dean snorts, and lets go of his arm, sits up. “Well, didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty rest,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “God knows you need it.”

“Cute,” Sam says. He rubs his wrist, he hopes unobtrusively. Dean shifts around, gets his feet on the floor, and while Sam watches he plants his hands on the bed on either side of his hips and drops his head down, sighs. He’s broader now than he used to be. Works out when the Mark won’t let him sleep, but right now he just looks… tired. Sam clears his throat. “You want to talk about it?” Dean gives him a look, over his shoulder, and Sam shrugs. “Just asking.”

“Right,” Dean says, with an edge of sarcasm, but then he sighs, again, and shakes his head. “Right,” he says, more softly. He sounds—defeated. “Just—not much to talk about, Sammy.”

Sam licks his lips and sits up, all the way. He catches Dean’s shoulder, and tugs, and he’s aware of the gift it is that Dean still lets himself be turned around. That he still is willing to be here, with Sam, that he’s still the brother Sam knows, has always known, even when brutal circumstance has torn them apart. Dean’s expression is hard to read, but he doesn’t move away when Sam puts a hand to his jaw—just closes his eyes, leans into it.

It’s dim enough in here that Sam can’t really see the Mark. They haven’t talked, really, about the future Dean sees, about the decision he’s willing to let Sam make, and Sam doesn’t want to get into it. He drags his thumb over Dean’s cheek, stroking over the stubble, and then tugs Dean in, kisses him, soft, once. He’s not giving up. He never will.

“I’m tired,” Sam says, when he pulls back. Dean blinks at him. “It’s like four in the morning. I want to sleep.”

Dean wraps his hand over Sam’s wrist. Softer, now, not that Sam will mind if it bruises. He gives Sam a long look, and though his eyes are harder to see in the dim, Sam still knows the look in them. “You want me to stay?”

Sam lets out a little huff, can’t help it. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I want you to stay.”

(read on AO3)

Hostis Humani Generis

Among the many caches of lore treasured and guarded carefully by paladin orders are copies of the Hostis Humani Generis. First penned by the last surviving Paladin of the Order of the Icarian Redeemer, the tome is one of very few documentations shared by all paladins of good alignment, no matter the Oath they swore, with the core manuscript updated by chief scribes at least once a decade.

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