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Probably should have posted this yesterday, but hey, it's still good a day late. Photos of the Dante and Vergil cookies I made for C and Ari for Christmas
***
Dante
Vergil
Mmm, phallic imagery
Even cookie!Dante gets stabbed a lot.
Aw, holding hands
Vergil on Dante
Dante on Vergil
***
(warnings for silliness, cookies in suggestive poses with each other, and cookie-on-cookie violence), and a bit of slightly surreal sorta-Virgil/Dante - note the 'i' rather than 'e'.
***
Dreams
***
Virgil is a man posessed, driven by some will other than his own. By day, he writes, striving to finish his last great work. He senses somehow that his alloted time in this world is drawing to a close, and that he must finish, for Augustus, and for himself, so that he might rest in peace.
And at night, he dreams. Many times, the dreams are of his work - his young king, Aeneas, prophecies echoing in the air, Erebus, and the dark halls and punishments of Tartarus. Some times, though, the dreams are different. They are still of a dark underworld, but one filled with fire. And there is another man there with him. His dress is strange, but his features seem to proclaim him Roman, although of what family, Virgil does not know. He can see, though, that this man is like himself, touched by the Muses. There is anguish written deep in his face, and Virgil longs to know it, to reach out and comfort this familiar stranger. But when he does, the dream fades, and he awakes in a cold sweat, to an empty room.
***
Why I shouldn't be left on an island in Mexico with a copy of The Aeneid (warnings for weird surreal stuff, present tense, and I'm the only person that's edited it).
***
Dante
Vergil
Mmm, phallic imagery
Even cookie!Dante gets stabbed a lot.
Aw, holding hands
Vergil on Dante
Dante on Vergil
***
(warnings for silliness, cookies in suggestive poses with each other, and cookie-on-cookie violence), and a bit of slightly surreal sorta-Virgil/Dante - note the 'i' rather than 'e'.
***
Dreams
***
Virgil is a man posessed, driven by some will other than his own. By day, he writes, striving to finish his last great work. He senses somehow that his alloted time in this world is drawing to a close, and that he must finish, for Augustus, and for himself, so that he might rest in peace.
And at night, he dreams. Many times, the dreams are of his work - his young king, Aeneas, prophecies echoing in the air, Erebus, and the dark halls and punishments of Tartarus. Some times, though, the dreams are different. They are still of a dark underworld, but one filled with fire. And there is another man there with him. His dress is strange, but his features seem to proclaim him Roman, although of what family, Virgil does not know. He can see, though, that this man is like himself, touched by the Muses. There is anguish written deep in his face, and Virgil longs to know it, to reach out and comfort this familiar stranger. But when he does, the dream fades, and he awakes in a cold sweat, to an empty room.
***
Why I shouldn't be left on an island in Mexico with a copy of The Aeneid (warnings for weird surreal stuff, present tense, and I'm the only person that's edited it).
