oil-lantern

Over The Garden Wall is Underrated

Over the Garden Wall is a masterpiece cartoon show, recieving a 9.2/10 in IMDb and 4/5 on Hulu and yet so underrated. While many people are talking modern shows like Star vs The Forces of Evil, Steven Universe, OK KO: Let’s Be Heroes, Duck Tales, Adventure Time, and so forth or even talk about older shows that are done like Avatar the Last Airbender, Gravity Falls, Teen Titans, etc. 

Keep reading

before he sells the beans to jack, he is born in a house that smells of ceder.

his name is Tiffany. a bold bright name. a stardust name. a girl name. but he is not a girl. he knows this, even if others don’t. his mother puts him in dresses, teaches him how to sew, chastises him when he lets his voice get low.

“my great-aunt’s friend’s sister,” says his mother, with her red lips tight, “once knew these girls that spoke and diamonds came out of their mouths. you know what happened to the nasty one? she got toads. that’s your future if you don’t figure out how to be a nice little girl.”

so he speaks gently. but the whole time he is wondering: who gave them the language of gems. who gave them the language that rolled out of them. it must be magic. and if there is magic, maybe there is hope for him.

he takes off in a dark night. a sad night. one where the fire was too low and he was sick of mirrors. he leaves his mother a note: gone to find where the gems grow. 

in the black woods, he cuts off his hair. wears his father’s clothes. feels, at last, whole. runs and runs and runs until his air comes out in a wheeze. walks for weeks and weeks.

he finds the old woman carrying water. she is ugly, her mouth all twisted angry. but she carries the water alone. 

the boy does not have much. but he has shoulders. a good back. hands that work. when he takes her burden, she says, “thank you, young man.” and he smiles at her, but doesn’t say anything.

her house is damp. she feeds him stew, apologizes. says she used to make lovely foods but the price of milk and eggs got far too high. she says: if you carry my water for five weeks, i will give you something special. and he agrees.

she talks for him. spends a lot of time telling him of people he never met. girls with lips blood red. girls with white fairy dresses. boys who fell in love with swans. 

the boy says little. just nods. sleeps on the floor of her empty barn. when she’s not looking, he darns her clothes for her, keeps the floors swept, fills the lanterns with oil, makes her a blanket for the coming winter. 

on the end of the fifth week, she gives him the beans. tells him that they have been passed down in her family, that this was her portion. she says that she is too old now for such adventures. that she hears the beans will bring treasure. fortune. all the things of greed. she says: i will give them to you, for what you have done to me.

in the morning, he takes off. he feels the weight of them in his pocket. he thinks of the old woman and the stories and the sight of her tired hands. he stands in the market for a long time, unspeaking, simply staring at the cobblestones beneath him.

jack’s voice is the last call in the evening. a beautiful cow, young and thick and healthy. 

the boy has no money. he bounces the magic bean in his pocket, and thinks of treasures. 

“wait,” he says. 

jack turns. 

transaction complete: one cow for a handful of magic beans. the boy walks the cow home to the old woman, gets there in the morning. they are both very tired. he falls asleep beside the beast in the hay. dreams of the foods the old woman can cook now that she can get milk.

when he wakes up, he is changed. it is as if he simply turned into who he was made to be. not a new body. familiar. the body he could always see.

the old woman stands at the door of his barn. she says, “good morning,” and then she says a new word. a word he’s never heard. a name. his name. a boy name. 

he repeats it. it is a jewel in his mouth, so he says it again. another diamond.

“time to fetch water,” she says, winking. the whole way, he whispers his name. it never quite tastes the same, always beautiful, always a fine thing, always his. the something special he was lacking.

in the back of his pocket, there is one last magic bean. he will fetch the water and plant it. and he will carry that old woman to the castles she has never seen.

Lovecraft talk: Aku, Ashi’s wraith form and the Beast in OTGW and why they look the same

A lot of y’all are comparing Ashi’s wraith form with the appearance of the Beast from Over the Garden Wall. I’m not an expert in Lovecraftian horror, and it actually won’t take a lot to explain why these designs look alike, but instead of going into painstaking detail about it in this post I’ll just provide some links below:

HERE is where I mentioned that Aku is a direct reference to the outer god Nyarlathotep. Some folks were kind enough to support that claim and I’m sure they and many others noticed it already far before I did.

HERE is where I mentioned the Beast from OTGW also as a direct reference to Nyarlathotep. It’s a long read but dig hard enough and you’ll find it there.

To add to this, here’s a picture of Nyarlathotep. Looks like Aku’s tower and shadowy tentacles, right? But there’s more to that.

Here’s a picture of it, closer, along with the real form of the Beast. Notice the faces on their bodies, and the fact that Nyarlathotep is sometimes referred to as the ‘faceless god’, and that he considered humans his toys. Because, man, think about it, of all places, why does Aku settle on Earth? And why hasn’t he destroyed us already? He destroys other world but not ours. That’s because we have too much value to him as playthings. I mean just consider the obvious fact that he’s fucked with Jack’s head enough times to disturb him for several lifetimes. This is what the Beast literally did to the Huntsman in OTGW. Aku has little to no actual interest in physically destroying Jack and the rest of humanity because without us he’s bored as shit. He’s even bored out of his fucking mind without his favorite toy to mess with, Jack.

Also notice this reoccurring theme of trees and birth and children. And I’ll only mention Ashi once. It’s not a mere coincidence that Aku or the Beast and even Nyarlathotep have the physical attributes of…how the Scotsman words it, a tree ogre. The Beast was a literal demon tree made out of the remains of children, and it was blatantly shown in the show how the children even transformed into eldritch abominations, the edelwood trees, before being consumed by the Beast. And they bled black blood which served as the oil for the lantern. Note it, BLACK. Jack was born when his father banished Aku and cursed him into the ground as a darkened wooden stump. Ashi was born out of the murky tar-like tree sap that came from Aku after her mother imbibed it into her system. So it’s no question Ashi’s wraith form or whatever you wanna call it would take the same physical attributes as her father. You can even say she’s a demi-god or a kin of the cosmos because of this. Even in the video game Bloodborne, the Moon Presence who inhabits the nightmare realm, makes its appearance near the nightmare image of the Great Tree in the city of Yharnam. And as if the ideas of cosmic horrors, trees, and birthing children in line with the existence of eldritch gods aren’t fucked up enough especially with how it all seems like a gross parallel to the idea of the Tree of Life in the Book of Genesis in the Bible, here’s a bunch of examples of the human placenta. GODDAMN it looks like a tree.

Lastly, and this is probably just me geeking out over and celebrating Samurai Jack, Bloodborne and H.P. Lovecraft altogether. Here’s a side-by-side picture of the lunar eclipse that freed Aku from his banishment and a picture of the Moon Presence in Bloodborne when it makes its appearance shortly after the blood moon surfaced. Fuckin A this is all some refined spooky shit and I love it. It’d be bullshit to call this a coincidence at this point.

That’s all. I hope you guys enjoyed reading.

So that's what you can do with them

So our party was a tinker-ish bard(me), a wizard(Wiz), a half-Orc barbarian (Bar), a rogue(Rog), and a cleric(Cle).

*starting out in town*

Me: hey the book says we can by some vials of oil while in town?

DM: yes

Cle: but we’ve got plenty of oil for the Lanterns, don’t waste your gold.

Me: okay, well im gonna get some caltrops then.

Bar: who the hell uses caltrops? They’re useless

Me: actually, I’m gonna get the oil too.

*i spend most of my gold on caltrops and oil, just to piss off my teammates for the most part, cause I joined late and they’d been using me as “the intern” for awhile. Later on we find the village of Lizard men we’d been looking for, and found the Leader, his healer/second-in-command. They’re in a crumbled old watch tower with one largish opening on one side*

Me: oh shit I’ve got an idea

Rest of the party:??????

Me: okay, so I quietly lay the caltrops in the opening of the tower *rolls successfully* and then use ventriloquism (or some sound creation spell-thing, I don’t remember exactly) to yell in the middle of the group to scare the shit out of them. (Rolls successfully)

Bar: oh wait, imma stand on the edge of the caltrops

Cle: me too

Rog: I ready my bow to pick off any that don’t hit a caltrop

Wiz: I’m with the rogue (he had a bow too, but did use a spell here and there)

DM: alright, this’ll be interesting

*we manage to take most of them in the caltrops, but the leader, his healer, and 2 or 3 lizard men made it out and ran for it*

Me: I’m gonna chase after the leader

Wiz: I’ll come with (by now [wiz] has only got a single flaming hands left)

Bar: alright, the rest of us will take these stragglers

DM: [me] and [wiz] catch up with the Leader and his group, the Leader is laying down while the healer try’s to keep him alive, the guards stand nearly unscathed from the previous fighting, they raise their weapons as you two approach (the rest of the groups still fighting by the caltrops)

Me: Oh shit oh shit oh shit, [wiz], do you have any flaming hands left?

Wiz: yah?

Me: prep it. (To the DM) I open my vials of oil and throw them at the group of lizard men. *rolls a Nat 20*

DM: alright, uh, they’re all coated almost evenly, barely a drop hits the ground

Wiz: ooooooooh, I cast flaming hands on the leader. *rolls succesfully*

DM: *apparently rolled only 1’s or something for the lizard men* they all just kind of flail on the ground while being burnt to a crisp, despite the nearby creek. *at this point the DM’s just kinda flabbergasted*

Bar: well shit, so that’s what you can do with them

3 Things Normal People Don't Think are Beautiful but Harry Does. (If Only when Draco is Involved With Them)

Late late late but still happening omg school starts tomorrow

Yeah lmao not gonna go for le excuses just gonna write this sin k

Gonna make this shit angsty… lmao just kidding

For @perfectlyprongs
—————————————-
Well, Harry Potter is different. Not just because he’s the Git Who Lived and he defeated Volde-more-butterbeer-please, but… let’s just say he has weird taste.

He sees things in a different light, particularly when they involve Draco Malfoy. He finds things beautiful that others… well, they just don’t understand it. The first of which, being Draco himself.

Now, if you had suggested that Harry find Draco even remotely attractive during his first year, he would have steadfast denied it. I mean, Malfoy? Attractive? No way in hell. Sure, his hair was nice… he rather liked that bleach blonde, and it perfectly suited that pale, aristocratic skin. His eyes, cold and grey as stone, reflected candlelight and sparkled like smoky Quartz. He was the perfect height; just a bit taller than the lanky Harry himself, and his pointy features looked to be chiseled from stone.

Okay, fine. He was quite attractive, and Harry obviously wasn’t the only one to think so. Girls would blush as he walked past, particularly during third year when the Malfoy heir ditched the gel for letting his soft hair take a more natural shape. They would giggle and whisper, and he always had that damn Pansy Parkinson hanging off his arm… not that Harry noticed.

But when Harry talks about finding Malfoy beautiful when no one else does, he isn’t talking about looks.

The first time Harry actually falls in love with Draco’s personality is when he comes back for 8th year, and apologizes to him for everything he’d done.

He’d walked up to Harry in the Great Hall, and asked to speak to the Savior in private. Harry’d looked to his friends, who seemed worried, but decided to go anyway after seeing the pleading look on the other man’s face. He looked broken; his pale skin gaunt, eyes dulled, bruises on his face and neck, cuts on his hands. Yet, he still attempted to look put together.

“Harry…” He’d said, looking to the stone floor of the empty classroom they’d found themselves in. “I know you have no reason to forgive me. Hell, you have no reason to listen to me right now. But, I got you here, and I better not waste the time I have.” He took a deep breath and looked to Harry, who hadn’t moved, green eyes wide behind circular glasses.

And Draco told him everything. Everything. About his father, about the abuse, fear, scars. He showed Harry. Showed him the broken skin; the cuts, the gashes. Told him about the choices he had to make, and how he was so so so sorry but he didn’t know how to leave. Because once you’re a Death Eater, the only way out is to be killed.

And still, Harry said nothing.

“God, you fucking prat!” Draco’d yelled, tears filling his eyes, and hands pulling at his hair. Harry jumped, startled. “I’m trying to apologize! I’m- I’m basically professing that I’ve been in love with you since we were twelve and you have nothing to say?!? JUST FUCKING ANSWER ME!” He screamed, running for the door, tears streaming down his face because God, he thought he was so stupid. That it was such a horrible idea, and how else did he expect that to go?

And then Harry’s hand was around his wrist, pulling the blonde to his chest, which was heaving with his own sobs. The two of them collapsed to the floor, Draco in Harry’s arms. Soon enough, he’d sat up, wiping the tears from Harry’s cheek with his thumb.

“God, Potter. You’re such a sap.” He’d said with a smile, and kissed the black haired Wonder Boy. That’s when Harry found Draco’d personality to be just as beautiful as his looks.
-
Another thing Harry found beautiful was blood. Not aesthetic blood, but real blood.

Like, for example, blood running down Draco’s lip when he bit it too hard while the other man was pressed to the wall of the restricted section at two in the morning, invisibility cloak forgotten on the floor whilst their oil lantern cast dancing shadows over their intertwined bodies.

See, that’s not how the two had kissed up until that point. Their kisses were usually shy and playful, considering that Harry was just growing into his sexuality, and Draco came from a traditional pureblood family; where would he have learned how to kiss? They were in a newer relationship; if new was considered four months. It was January, and the “Gay Couple of Hogwarts” had decided to go for a midnight (two am; whatever) stroll through the castle. They somehow ended up in the restricted section, and one thing led to another.

“Fuck, Harry. Where did you learn to kiss like this?” Draco sighed against Harry’s lips, and felt them curl into a smile.

“No idea. Maybe-” He started kissing down Draco’s neck as his Adam’s apple bobbed. “from Ron and Hermione feeling the need to snog whenever I’m in the room”

“God, I’ve never been so thankful for Weasley.” Draco basically moaned the words; I mean how could he not, with Harry’s hot mouth biting the juncture of his neck and shoulder, robes pushed aside and velvety skin on display.

Soon enough, lips were on lips again, hands in hair… and on arse.

“Fuck!” The obscenity left Draco’s lips when Harry bit down on his lip in reaction to the Slytherin groping his ass. Harry’s eyes widened and he pulled back immediately, taking Draco’s porcelain face in his hand and seeing a small drop of blood drip down his lover’s swollen lip.

His eyes grew darker and darker with every millimeter it slipped, until he licked it from Draco’s chin. Both men sat still for a moment, before Harry broke the silence.

“You okay?”

“Just kiss me.” Harry of course complied. The tang of blood on his tongue was surprisingly pleasant… surprisingly Draco. He pulled back again, after accidentally opening the small abrasion again, watching the crimson paint its way across Draco’s white chin and pink lips. Breathtaking.

At least until he kissed it away.
-
The third thing he found absolutely gorgeous was a bit unconventional.

The two men were alone in the dorm room; Ron and Blaise, their other two roommates were away in Hogsmeade with their girlfriends, and Harry and Draco were definitely making use of the time.

Draco was sprawled across a bed; he didn’t much care who’s it was because Harry was on top of him, ravishing his lips and running his hands under the Slytherin’s white button up. His blonde locks were messier than they had been possibly ever, and his pale hands roamed Harry’s unclothed back, tracing the muscles.

“A-Ah!” He gasped when Harry rubbed up against his covered erection, the fabric giving him basically none of the friction he craved. Harry laughed breathily, peppering kisses on Draco’s neck and face. Draco opened his eyes and stared his boyfriend down. “Get this bloody shirt off of me or I swear to Merlin-”

Draco never got to finish that sentence, because Harry had already ripped the shirt over his head, buttons be damned, and latched his mouth over his hard nipple. Malfoy gasped and arched his back, burying his left hand in Harry’s mess of hair, leaving his right to grip the silky red and silver sheets.

Harry swirled his tongue slowly over the puckered skin, savoring the way Malfoy writhed beneath him, panting and begging for more.

“You want me to…” Harry said as he pulled away from Draco’s red marked chest, eyes flickering to the very obvious bulge in his trousers.

“Do I want you to what?” Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow and sitting up on the edge of the bed, pushing Harry off of him so the Gryffindor was kneeling on the floor, his cock straining against his muggle jeans. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I think you know what I mean-”

“I want you to say it.” Draco said seriously, grey eyes boring into green, causing Harry to blush, but not falter.

“Fine.” Draco once again raised an eyebrow as Harry let out an agitated (yet aroused) breath and palmed himself through his jeans, letting out a little moan at the pressure, and unbuttoning the jeans and pulling them down over his hips. “Draco, I want to suck your cock.” Harry moaned again, licking his lips. Draco sighed while he unbuckled his belt and tugged it off, unbuttoning his slacks and pushing them down so only his grey boxer-briefs were between his cock and open air.

“Do you now? I would never have known.” Harry laughed, reaching toward the blonde and grabbing his hip, teasing his thumb over the waistband of the underwear, poking it just under the elastic.

“God, how I love your cock. So long and thick-” Harry squeezed Draco’s bulge through the underwear, causing his lover to let out a sharp moan. “It doesn’t taste bad either. Tastes just like you.”

“I would hope so.” Draco grunted as Harry finally pulled off the offending article of clothing, causing his cock to spring out and land against his stomach, the bead of precum that had gathered at the tip splattering at the impact. Harry stared at it lustfully, appreciating the delicate curve of the organ, an the sparse trail of white blonde hairs that led from his naval to the base.

“Beautiful.” Harry whispered, carefully taking the flushed tip into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it, Draco throwing his head back and panting and Harry took it deeper and deeper.

“Y-You know, people don’t usually think of- Ah!” Draco moaned sharply as Harry lightly scraped his teeth up his hot shaft. “T-they don’t think of sucking cock as beautiful.” He panted and moaned louder as Harry moved faster and faster. Draco grabbed The Prat Who Lived’s head and viciously fucked his mouth until he came with a scream of “Harry”, sweaty and satisfied.

Harry sat back on his haunches, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and gently jerking himself beneath his underwear.

“I do.” He said with a smirk as Draco came down to join him, kissing him hard and replacing Harry’s hand with his own.

3

“so…”
“so.”
i gathered it wasn’t safe to be standing in the woods, kissing like long lost lovers, given the state of him. we found an abandoned house, of which there were plenty in the outskirts of town we found ourselves in. i gave him a bandaid from my sweater pocket, and he wiped his blood away before lighting an old oil lantern we found inside.
“what now?”
“i don’t know.”
“i didn’t think you were real. i thought. i thought i made you up.”
“i didn’t think you were, either. i thought maybe you were… an angel. that’s embarrassing.”
i feel him shift uncomfortably behind me.
“i was writing about you, if that’s any less embarrassing.”
we sit in the silence. moments pass.
“what were you doing out here tonight? what happened?”
“i don’t… i don’t remember. i don’t remember anything, i don’t know-”
“did you hit your head?”
“i don’t know, i don’t – all i remember is you.”

The Bookshop That Has (Almost) Everything

fun fact this is loosely based on a real bookshop I once found somewhere in greenwich idk exactly where it is but if ever find urself around the area look out for it its v cute and v tiny

summary: Phil works at a bookshop. Dan buys a book one day, and, in a ploy to see Phil, keeps returning with more and more obscure requests so Phil has to spend more time searching. After Dan leaves with ‘cactus maintenance: a memoir’, Phil starts to suspect something’s up.

words: 7.3k

-

“Look,” Phil sighs when he catches sight of the book Dan’s clutching today. “I know there’s a very good chance you keep cacti and you just wanna maintain them and it’s probably wrong of me to assume otherwise, but-…can I ask you something?”

Dan gulps, putting the book titled “Cactus Maintenance: A Memoir” down on the counter.

“Do you actually need half of the books you come in here for?” he asks softly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s a good chance you might actually ride motorcycles, study bricklaying, want to know more about frogspawn or- you know, wanna look after your cacti, but…” he shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just- um, you’re the first person I’ve met that, you know, buys one book every single day. When do you get time to read them all?”

-

i.

Graveland’s Books is the kind of place you’d only come across if you were either very bored, very desperate, or very lost.

It hides on the tail end of an alleyway just behind the village market, and the gnarled wooden beams, the glass oil lanterns lining either side of the aged brickwork and the rusty bronze bell hanging above the door would fool anyone into thinking they’d just stepped out of 2016 and into the 18th century. If it wasn’t for the mobile phone shop sitting directly opposite, of course.

It’s not big in size, with a staff room and an office the size of a postage stamp upstairs and just about enough room to fit two free standing bookshelves in the middle of the shop, but books spill into every single crack. Stacks and stacks of fiction and history and travel and biographies narrow the aisles between the shelves, and it’s all too easy to trip over a random pile of books in the middle of the floor when you’re not concentrating properly.

But, for a job running along the sidelines of university, Phil enjoys it. He’d certainly rather spend his time flicking through a story about a cursed mushroom than stack supermarket shelves and deal with obnoxious co-workers, anyway.

Keep reading

So I found this true story on reddit and it was super funny for some reason:

I once delivered to a house where all of the lights were off. Directions on the receipt: “knock on side door”. After finding the door I did as instructed and someone answered the door. They were wearing a red cloak and a realistic skull mask, while holding a oil lantern in one hand which they used for light when I asked them to sign. Six or so cats proceeded to run out of the door and circle around my feet. They signed, never said a word, didn’t take the mask off , or turn on any lights, and handed me $7 before shutting the door and abandoning their cats to the cold.

All That Remains of Lance McClain [Part 4]

yo, sorry that everything is taking a bit longer to update and post! I’m currently looking for a job that I can handle along with my schooling!

I also know I promised this update a long time ago, but when I originally wrote it, I wasn’t happy with how it turned out, so I decided to completely re-write it, which then took ages to edit until I was 100% satisfied with it.

Preview:

The others nodded and made themselves more comfortable as Shiro leaned back over, pressing the play button on the cassette player. Alexa’s voice flowed through the room again, dragging team Voltron into the story easily.


Keep reading

“so, what are we?”

your eyes change from chocolate to caramel
as your heart flits between tugging emotions
they look confused at something so new
so let me make this easier for you

i’m not too good with sprouting words when
you’re in the same space as me and thus
i’m carving a poem on the lining of my lips
with the sustained ease of a romanticist

so the next time you close the gap between us
and my heart beat loses all semblance of sanity
let these words guide you like a flame
to rediscover the path from where we came

your cloaked voice transcended time and
found me in the unrelenting hours of the night
it whispered promises into my midnight ear
suffused the air like a record player

your hands were like dormant volcanoes
first fragile, recoiling, retreating; afraid
but as sands fall, so do your walls
and a fire erupted, your touch smouldered all

your mouth made mountains move
it blew me off my nimble feet and
flung me into the blustery, twinkling air
weakening my resolve with an uncanny flair

my intended words have flown from my mind
i believe i was attempting to define us
but i lack the penchant to semantacise this
and shall, instead, bathe in its simple blissfulness

let me try to put this prosaically
you make me positively giddy
i think i stumbled into a rhyme mistakenly
but what can i do when you, my dear, are poetry

i quite enjoy our blurred lines and
smiles seeping into spontaneous kisses
so let’s forget labels, implications and linguistics
hand-in-hand is we’ll take the risk to jump off this cliff

because we are oil-lit lanterns exuding incandescence
we are crisp white sheets with pancakes and cream
we are the feeling you get when your stomach flips
we are head on shoulder and lips on lips

words are sticky ropes tightening on our fingers
but to answer the question pervading your lungs
and i hope this sets your pulsating chest free
we are anything you want us to be.

—  so, uh, what are we?

When I was a kid, my step dad would pay me to clean his condo. I had to clean everything except for his oil lanterns. They were too precious. As time went on, we started building our relationship and forming trust, he finally allowed me to polish the lanterns. I cleaned them thoroughly yet delicately because by now they were precious to me as well. Fast forward, my step father passed away and when he did, my mother gave me all of his CDs. I added them one by one to my itunes, i must have added over 500 songs. When I finished, I turned on shuffle and pushed play, and the first song that played was Daniel by Elton John. Daniel was my stepfathers name. Today I got this tattoo to remember a man that I miss more than words.

Tattoo done by Nate at Marion Street Tattoo & Gallery in Denver, CO