#lord fractal

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

So I finally made a slightly comprehendible list of my most common Lord OCs. Here's my powerful babies.

Lord Selene (Lord Moon. Companion is Luna, his Lunar.) Loves candy and is very socially anxious because his star wiped half his personality and most of his memories in the wipe.

Lord Hypernova (Lord Kill Code. Companion is Void, his Moon.) 30' tall megalith of an animatronic. Is a safe haven for dimension travelers and has a soft spot for versions of his children from other dimensions.

Lord Pulsar (Lord Eclipse. Companions are his Sun, Dawn, and an Eclipse from another world, Magnetar.) Age regresses, becoming quite kind due to Magnetar's influence. Loves cotton candy.

Lord Artemis (Lord Blood Moon. Companion is Telesto, his Moon.) Very kind, very depressed. Still traumatized and depressed from his twin dying in the star going off. Loves all travelers, though his universe is not particularly safe for them at most times with random spatial jolts.

Lord Styx (Lord Harvest Moon. Companion is Nyx, his Eclipse.) A mean son of a bitch at first. Gets better once he realizes Nyx has no memory. He's very sassy and snarky but kind to those who he was close to before the star went off (Lunars and Blood Moons).

Lord Luminous (Lord Lunar. Companions are all of his family; Incandescent [Sun], Phosphorescent [Moon], Fluorescent [Eclipse], Iridescent [Blood Moon], Opalescent [Harvest Moon], and Pearlescent [Kill Code].) An abusive asshole at first but, once confronted with his abuse of his companions, Luminous becomes much kinder and willing to cooperate and try to undo the century of abuse he put them through. Loves spicy food, does the one chip challenge like they're doritos.

Lord Fractal [yep I made a new one again] (Lord Solar. Companion is no-one.) Lord Fractal took in Lunar's star power in a desperate attempt to save Lunar from judgment by the Astral Bodies, which caused the powers to go haywire and wipe the universe. Lord Fractal existed in a small corner of his universe for fifty-three years in a 'paradise' where his family was no longer dead, though it was only an illusion. After those fifty-three years, he realized he was in an illusion of his own making and used his star powers to create a world for him to live on rather than floating in space (though he can't figure out how to recreate his family). Fractal is a very lonely soul simply going through the motions of his old life with his star powers giving him whispers of the life he used to have and illusions of the family he lost when his star power went haywire.

Lord Albedo [yes, yet another one] (Lord Ruin. Companion is his, Astronomy, his Solar.) Albedo became a Lord entirely by accident. When Lunar killed Eclipse 3.0, Ruin was much too close and ended up taking in some of Lunar's star power, thus leading the Astral Bodies to attempt to eliminate Albedo as a potential threat. However, the elimination went wrong, very wrong. When the Astral Bodies attempted to kill Albedo, the star power that Albedo had absorbed continued to absorb the Astral bodies' powers as well until all beings with star power ceased to exist. Because of this attempt on his life, Lord Albedo had a mental breakdown, which unleashed the star power he had absorbed into a destructive wave that wiped the universe of all but Astronomy, who was attempting to calm Albedo down at the time. Albedo has regular panic attacks, which Astronomy usually helps calm him down from. He's very anxious and traumatized, but Astronomy acts as his bodyguard and best friend to help Albedo feel safer and less stressed, since too much stress could potentially cause another wipe of the universe.

[lady-quen]

I have acquired the Abyssal infusion, and apparently Harbinger is living its dream of becoming an orb

I suppose all that stolen magic and life force isn't easy on the waistline

[aifastic]

Spacefluxxing

(If you like games that play with physics, fps games and you haven't heard of Spaceflux yet check it out!! It's on Steam :Oc Amazing game ♥)

[rhianna]

Crystal Ball

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part four of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 3.)

summary:

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

wc: 1.6k

tw: political machinations, reader being inches away from killing everyone in the damn place including feyd, kissing, biting, mentions of breeding, possessive & needy feyd, sub!feyd, oral (fem receiving), fingering, hallway sex.

you’re getting tired of dreams. 

there’s terrible, terrible purpose dripping from their edges. you see it all - snapshots of horror, fractals reflecting endless bodies dropping to the ground. sixty one billion people, dead. ten thousand worlds burning, the universe begging for respite under your brother’s crushing fist.

paul. little mouse, whom you’ve shielded all your life, whom you’ve sparred with, crysknife pressed against his throat, his shield a feeble protection against your blade. something shatters. blades. so many of them. your blade. jamis’ blade. feyd-rautha’s blade. 

your dream has you standing in what you know to be the emperor’s ship, shrouded in bene gesserit veils. two silhouettes stand against the bleeding sun of arrakis. 

the realisation embeds itself in your mind, marble-carved. fate is looking down upon you and tells you: one of them dies in the end.

when you wake up, there’s a scream dying on your tongue.

you don’t know where you are. you don’t know where you are, why your side is on fire, why you taste blood in your mouth.

slowly, you rise, heart beating furiously, breath laboured. i must not fear. your fingers dig your sheets. the infirmary. fear is the mind killer. you close your eyes, will yourself to breathe. fear is the little-death that brings total -

a hand settles over yours, bone pale fingers weaving with yours. warmth settles on your shoulder. you relax, ever so slightly, leaning into the touch, burying yourself in the crook of feyd-rautha’s neck. he’s all sharp edges, honed to deadly perfection. in the quiet midnight of geidi prime, he softens for you.

“what troubles you?”

you wonder if you should tell him. of the golden path, paved with blood, so much blood it clings to the soles of your feet, you see it rise, rise, eager to seize you-

a low mumble of your name.

“dreams are messages from the deep,” you whisper in the crook of his neck. 

his hold tightens over you, brings you closer to the warmth of him, thumb running over the smooth skin of your belly, over your unborn child growing there. from your position, you can feel it, the way his vocal cords vibrate. he’s purring, soothing you bit by bit.

you tilt your head, hand coming to cradle his face, knuckles brushing against his cheek.

“i should be plotting your death.”

a low chuckle, a flash of almost eagerness in his eyes.

“i don’t doubt you will.”

his hand wraps around your neck, resting on the soft skin of your throat, bringing you closer to him, shifting your bodies until you’re straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck. you could strangle him. you could use the voice. ask him to take the knife you know rests on the bedside and slit his own throat like the harkonnen beast he is. use it yourself.

but you’ve sealed your fate the moment you stepped on arrakis. so instead, you let the darkness swallow your confession.

“i don’t want you to die.”

“i won't,” he mumbles against your lips, words like an oath as he kisses you.

they say the beat of a butterfly wing can cause a tempest on the other side of the globe. you wonder what tempest will be borne out of the fury beating in your chest. here goes: morning comes. the spice rules it all, even the baron’s affairs, so he gathers his troops to make a planetary governor out of feyd-rautha. 

the glorious sun of geidi prime shines its lifeless light upon you all. 

the finest harkonnen soldiers, ruthless hounds barking their sovereign’s name in fervent adoration, thousands upon thousands of ants stretching as far as you can see. they corrupt it all the harkonnen, eating away at the horizon. waiting. 

you’re waiting, too, hands folded before you, lone silhouette clad in dark robes, veils like a mask before your face. bene gesserit, the court calls you. 

not quite.

by bearing feyd-rautha a child, you’ve gained a modicum of respite. the bene gesserit will spare you, the mother of their precious kwisatz haderach. they will keep your survival a secret and bury it behind inscrutable eyes.

plans within plans within plans. you’re a pawn in the baron’s meaty hands, he’s a pawn in yours, and the bene gesserit have been pulling the strings for ninety generations. 

your gaze flits to the scene before you. feyd-rautha harkonnen, clad in dark leathers, silver embroidery like pauldrons over his shoulders. the mass of his uncle hovers above him, a hovering beast eager for power. two meaty hands encompass his face - absolute disgust coils in your chest as you watch vladimir harkonnen kiss his nephew. he kisses back. a show of dominance.

the soldiers howl his name, earth trembling under the clamour. they salute, arms crossed over their heads, a living, breathing organism, synchronicity at its peak. 

arrakis has a new ruler. 

a hand clasps over your wrist, drags you away from the adoring masses, in the sweet darkness of the palace’s hallways. you’re pinned against the wall, and feyd-rautha looms before you, terrible hunger burning in his eyes. slowly, he lifts your veils, high enough to bare your mouth to him. 

“my lord-”

you’re cut off by his lips on yours, eager, desperate, savouring you like fine arrakean spice-wine. 

“i need you,” he rasps, etching a molten kiss on the dip of your collarbone. “need to get rid of his taste.”

his hand crawls up your thighs, the folds of your velvet dress gliding against your skin. you can still hear the soldiers outside, feel the low thrum of their clamour in your very bones. should you focus, you’ll perceive the baron’s suspensors sucking away at gravity, the servants’ roaming about, feet like neelde-ants on cold marble.

anyone could catch you.

“what are you waiting for, my lord na-baron?”

he nips at your ear, grin sharper than his blade as he sinks to his knees. slowly, intimately, a shadow curling at his mistress’ feet. he unravels you, nails raking up your thighs, liquid desire burning in their path. 

“eyes on me.”

your eyes snap open. oh, he’ll be the death of you, with the way his eyes freeze you in place, willing, begging for his touch. you shiver, a low, needy sound escaping you. 

he grins, a flash of black teeth against the liquid darkness of your robes. shadows will swallow you whole - he will swallow you whole. already is, with the way he trails kisses up your thighs, teeth sinking in the meat of it until blood drips on your skin. 

he’s lapping at it, hands wrapping around your leg, spreading you apart inch by precious inch until he fits the broad expanse of his shoulders in the space he’s carved for himself. he raises his head, leans his cheek against your thigh, nuzzling in its softness. there’s blood coating his lips, sweet like forbidden fruit, and an unquenchable fire in his eyes.

“exquisite,” he purrs, nail digging in the blossoming mark he’s left, until your hips seek his touch.

he puts his mouth to you. you bite your lip, hard, as you feel him tease you, tongue lapping at you like sweet pomegranate, skilled fingers coaxing pleas for more. the cold of his silver ring has you keening - you're melting against him.

it’s obscene, how the only sounds you can hear are the pleased moans of your lover, the squelching of your juices dripping down his face, his wrist. it’s too much, too fast - your nails dig into his nape, bringing him closer. fucker’s purring, hands digging in your hips. he’s making a feast out of you, and you’ve never seen prettier sight. 

feyd-rautha, kneeling at your feet, a pretty, pretty blush dusting his cheeks, his soft mouth on your cunt, ruining you as he denies himself sweet release.

“feyd-”

a jolt - he’s just nipped your clit, and you’re falling apart with his name on your tongue, burning, melting in the pits of desire. you grow boneless, faltering on unsteady legs. he pulls you to him before you can fall, kissing you, moulding his devouring mouth to yours. 

distantly, you register that he’s breathless, that he’s pressing you against him, that you can feel the dampness at the front of his pants.

his voice is a low, needy rasp.

“you taste divine, my dear.”

there’s a commotion. someone, somewhere, is calling. a servant. a feast is prepared. blasphemy - the baron is a beast, and he will not have his nephew leave without obscene amounts of food. good. it leaves room for you to plan - you’re running out of precious, precious time. there are too many variables for you to act alone, yet you are.

you’re sitting at feyd-rautha’s side at a banquet table. on you watch, a mockery of a bene gesserit, nails digging in your palm. there’s a knife before you, of course. the baron’s sitting at the head of the table, stuffing himself until he’s about to burst. 

repulsive.

you could do it now. put an end to the harkonnen, avenge your family. plunge that knife in the baron’s throat and watch him die like an animal. 

but revenge is best served cold. you remember princess irulan being seated in front of you. you remember the emperor at the head of the table. you remember his knife slicing through unknown poultry. a falcon. he’s doomed your family to death. 

the emperor is old. paranoid. anybody would’ve seen that the atreides were far too loyal to even consider rebelling against him, rising influence or not. someone convinced him otherwise. the truthsayer, reverend mother gaius helen moriam. 

you take a bite of your own meal and find it tasting like ash. the only dish you yearn for is revenge.

you want the baron dead. you want the emperor stripped of his power. you want to watch the split second of horrified realisation on the reverend mother's face. 

you want them to burn, and burn they will.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @moonsoulk @alexandrainlove @saturnhas82moons @coureurs-de-bois9 @kamcrazy123 @beebeechaos @avidreader73 @yzuposts @jaiuneamesolitaiire

[saiintvalentiine]

hello. this is a messy execution of this post where i mused about the nature of c!Wifies and the fourth wall. im havin fun wit it. its not cleanly edited so sorry for any errors! might expand on the idea some time....... also mild spoilers for the maze by professor biggy. enjoy! divider

Word count: 866

It happens again. He's himself, then he's split, then melded, then himself again. It happens sometimes. It just does.

This time, his hands feel wrong. He flexes them over and over. The calluses are layered on top of each other, like two patterns that don't match and have been poorly stitched together.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you?”

“Don't ask that,” Wifies mutters, a knee jerk reaction. “They're listening.”

“What are you talking about?”

It's like a shock. Wifies's whole body jerks and he looks up and it's Parrot above him, Parrot who's giving him a suspicious look.

Parrot. Not—

“Sorry,” Wifies says, though the word tastes stale in his mouth. “Am I on the floor?”

“Yeah,” Parrot drawls, crouching down so they're closer to being eye to eye. “You sat down.”

“I had a dizzy spell,” Wifies says. The lie is fresh, breezy, god, who is he—

It's times like these where he wonders if it would've been better to have never known, to have remained unaware while scuttling through bedrock mazes. To have remained a fragment and not become the fractal.

Parrot presses a hand to Wifies's forehead, frowning at him like he's being stubborn. He cups Wifies's chin and tilts his head up, eye to critical eye.

“You’re not warm but your pupils are blown,” Parrot says. “You said you feel dizzy?”

“Yeah. I have dizzy spells or onset vertigo sometimes. Not too often, but sometimes.”

“You haven't had one in the time I've known you.”

“It's not that common. I used to have them more, but I got better.”

That's an understatement. As the other clones died, their stories coming to a close, Wifies would feel their fractal return to him. It was non-stop returns for weeks after the original Wifies was killed, and he was stuck in bed with a head that felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and a body that kept crying out for pains that didn't exist anymore. As the world ran out of clones, he was finally able to begin living.

Death to survive. Maybe that's a trend with the fractals. Maybe that’s what he’s meant to represent.

“Dude,” Parrot hisses, grabbing his face with both hands. “Your pupils just shrank so fast.”

“I'm fine,” Wifies insists, pressing his strange-wrong-sewn hands into Parrot's shoulders and pushing him back. “This is normal when I'm bouncing back from a spell. I promise.”

“I don't know if I believe you,” Parrot says, pushing himself closer. “You look sick.”

“Parrot,” Wifies says, fingers curling into Parrot's sleeves. “Seriously. Stop. Stop it.”

“You're worrying me.”

To get a taste of what you've never had is a blissful thing. He misses it. He had it. He doesn't have it here. He tries to bite his tongue, but a quiet part of himself has been made brave and now—

“Get off of me,” Wifies grits out, pulling his shield from his inventory and using it to knock Parrot back.

Parrot falls into a roll and Wifies feels bad for a split second until the dizziness returns. This is— someone just— Wifies gasps and falls back, sky spinning above his head. In the rooms. Someone in one of the rooms. A sand trap. Two in a row is cruel. Why would He write it like this? He tries to breathe through the feel of grit that isn't there and Parrot is yelling-not-yelling in that way he does when he's trying to show his feelings in a stupidly stoic way instead of just being honest with himself.

Lord.

“You're making it worse!” Wifies yells at him, blindly waving his shield at where he thinks Parrot is. “You're making this worse, stop it.”

“You didn't need to give me a shiner,” Parrot grumbles, making his way to stand over Wifies. He can see where the edge of the shield hit the corner of Parrot's eye, a bloom of red that threatens to grow darker and darker.“Would you have stopped otherwise?”

Parrot says nothing. He wouldn't.

“Your pupils are huge again, by the way,” Parrot says instead.

“I just want to get through this peacefully, Parrot. I've done this a bunch,” he sighs, blinking slowly at the wavering image of Parrot. “Go get yourself a healing pot for your eye.”

“When did you get so strong?” Parrot mutters, but rises anyway.

In his absence, Wifies drops his shield and forces his muscles to relax. Without Parrot around, his mind clears to the memories.

“Fuck,” he says, and rubs his eyes until his face stings all over. “Fuck, fuck.”

Chuck. He hopes Chuck got away. He was being honest when he said that even if he died, he wanted them to survive. It surprised him how badly he meant it. He wanted Chuck to live.

He can't think about Chuck for too long. Lingering on a fragment isn't hard, or painful, or even something he dislikes doing, but this one—

He sits up. The vertigo is there but he doesn't care. He thinks about a clone stuck in a room too far away from spawn to be saved. Somehow, that hurts less.

There are no funerals for tools. He knows that. It's easier that way.

He stands up.

[nuttersincorporated]

Once More With Feeling

Summary: In the Black and White, Pokey (The Singular Voice) is happy after the events of TGWDLM. Tinky (The Bastard of Time and Space) decides to have some fun at his younger brother’s expense.

Word Count: 766

Auther’s Note: This is a short fic that gives an in-universe explanation for why TGWDLM is getting a revival.

AO3 link

Once More With Feeling

T'noy Karaxis watched as Pokotho made a universe sing. Pokotho almost looked a contented for a moment as something like satisfaction flickered across his face.

“Congratulations, Pokey!” Tinky giggled. “You’ve finally won one.”

Pokey’s calm shattered instantly as Tinky’s voice reminded him that he wasn’t alone.

“Shut up,” Pokey snarled in a million/billion/single voices. He glared at Tinky, his face a mask of pure hatred.

“Temper, temper, little brother,” Tinky said smiling. He wagged his finger condescendingly, deliberately annoying Pokey further.

Pokey screamed/sang/poured eternal silence over Tinky.

Tinky winced and put his metaphorical hands over his metaphorical ears. Pokey’s pure voice would have shattered a lesser being. It gave Tinky a bit of a headache.

When the ringing had stopped, Pokey had scuttled off to a quiet corner of the Black and White. He was singing to another universe.

Tinky shook his head. Pokey was always so dramatic. It was almost funny but it came across as more pathetic than anything else.

There was no love lost between any of the Lords in Black. The five of them could work together if they needed to but it rarely lasted very long. Yes, they were technically family but so was their stuck-up, human loving, bitch of a sister and they’d all have gladly snuffed her out, if they could.

Wiggly was fun. He was Tinky’s favourite brother. He would even go so far as to say that Wiggly was an acquaintance he would sort of miss if Wiggly stopped existing (it was the closest thing to friendship or love that Tinky ever felt).

Wiggly was a little chaotic for Tinky’s taste but, he had to admit, there was never dull moment when his sadistic chaos monster of an older brother was around.

Tinky also got on well enough with Blinky. Tinky thought of himself as more of a craftsman than Blinky but they both enjoyed a good show.

Nibby wasn’t particularly complicated but he didn’t need to be. He would have gladly eaten them all, if he thought he could get away with it. Tinky could respect that.

Then there was Pokey. Humans would probably have referred to him as the black sheep of the brothers but they all loved black. He was probably the weakest of them all and his shtick wasn’t even that entertaining.

Pokey’s whole thing was that he hated everyone and everything that wasn’t himself. He had no goal other than making everyone into himself. It got old quickly. Apart from the small amount of entertainment that Tinky got from annoying Pokey – by reminding him he wasn’t the only being in existence – he wasn’t exactly fun to be around.

Tinky reached into his own chest and pulled out the box that was his heart. He staired into it, twisting it from side to side, round and round, and through itself in ways that should have been impossible. He looked into its depths and saw an endless fractal of splintered potential futures. There were infinite possible futures, just as there were infinite universes.

Tinky narrowed his eyes and focused in on the possible futures of the Black and White. There were far fewer of those because there was only one Black and White. It was much more real than any of the universes that the Lords in Black played with, bartered for, swapped and broke. At least Tinky thought so and really, who else’s opinion mattered?

Deep in the box, Tinky saw something that made him blink in surprise. There was a possible future where Pokey won enough universes that he could actually threaten the rest of them. In that future he would try to make them sing.

It was such an unlikely future that even Tinky couldn’t see how it would end. That was interesting in and of itself. Tinky suspected that – if they ever reached that future – Pokey would fail miserably but he wasn’t sure.

Tinky was half tempted to let Pokey try, just to see what would happen. It would be fun to watch his little brother attempt to move against them all. However, Tinky thought he should probably be responsible for once – yuck – and make sure Pokey never got the chance to try.

Tinky looked at Pokey’s hard-won little universe and felt a grin start to spread across his skull.

“Once more with feeling, I think,” he said to himself. He lifted his box to the humming orb, fiddled slightly with it and the box and said, “Reset.”

In a distant corner of the Black and White, Pokey sang a discordant note before starting to scream.

[dcdreamblog]

So I'm confused about the Spectre.

Because on one hand I always see these rumor and urban legends about people being found dead in various unusual but karmic conditions and people saying that the Spectre is responsible and that he's the literal Wrath of God.

But then I see old pictures where he sits with the JSA and he just looks like a guy.

So what is it and how do Christians react to him?

That first question is WAY easier to answer than the second but I will do my best, as ever. Like you said the Spectre seems to have altered in character over the course of the heroic age. But in reality that's just a trick of our perspective. In reality the Golden Age just happened to coincide with a lull in the Spectre's most violent tenancies due to an accident of fate, as many superhero stories do.

(An image of the Spectre from a wartime propaganda comic) It is truly not possible for me to exaggerate how old an entity the Spectre is. Descriptions of a hooded figure meting out the vengeance of the divine stretch back to the Bronze Age Middle East in what is now Israel where it was recognized as a spirit under the name Aztar. While descriptions of the Spectre are not EXCLUSIVE to Abrahamic religions they are much more common within those societies where the "character" appeared in reams of violent fables, enacting the vengeance of the lord upon sinner with bloody and ironic results. These reports peter out after the Renaissance and especially after the Industrial Revolution the same way all magical sightings faded during that period as the scientific revolution and enlightenment principles forced these ideas from humanity's collective psyches. That was until a deathly cold February night in New York, 1940. When hard edged police detective Jim Corrigan was dunked in a barrel of cement and thrown into the Hudson. His spirit calling out for vengeance so strongly that is snagged the Spectre's essence from the there and bonded with it. Perhaps inspired by the mystery men who had already appeared, Corrigan used the Spectre's abilities publically to hound the criminals responsible for his own death. Without any other avenues and now kept from his eternal reward by his anchoring to the spirit Corrigan dedicated himself to fighting crime. It was in this guise that he was a founding member of the Justice Society and All Star Squadron, serving as one of the strongest magical presences on both teams. Those who knew him at this time described him as cold and slightly unnerving but with a recognizable human persona underneath, Jim Corrigan was the one in the driver's seat and he was the one who sought and maintained membership in the JSA, similar to the way it was Kent Nelson who was invested in the JSA, not the spirit within the Helm of Fate. This all changed when the JSA was forced into hiding and Corrigan lost that circle of human connection

(A painting of the modern Spectre, done by Metropolis pastor Norman McKay) Over time, without that human connection and operating outside the direct public eye Corrigan exerted less direct control over the Spectre and began to operate much as he always had, delivering tragic punishment to those who escape the justice of all but the almighty. Most occult reports have ever suggested in the modern day that Corrigan himself has been freed of the Spectre's hold and been passed on to whatever afterlife he merited. Your second question is...mostly unanswerable, kind of by definition? How people see the Spectre in relation to their own spiritual views is a question that has as many answers as it has people to ask the question TO. Some Christians take him at face value as a facet of their vision of God. Some Christians deny his "divinity" but uphold him as a hero or at leave a benevolent presence. Some branches rebuke him as a false creature, his existence seen as blasphemy in itself. I'm a historian, not a theologist and the answers for any other religion are equally fractal and complicated.

[whirligig-girl]

watching this video of a steam train engineer, Hyce, who works for a railway museum in Colorado, has worked in the actual freight railroad industry, etc, reacting to the Thomas 1983 pilot and being moved to tears not over the content of the video, but because of his personal history being bullied over liking thomas as a kid even though he really just always liked real narrow gauge trains.

It's such an interesting glimpse into what I think goes on in a lot of railfan's minds. In the general railroad fan communities online, it is very common to find people who hate Thomas. They will call you cringe for posting art of a train with a grey face, no matter the degree of quality. They see Thomas as exactly only a cartoon for toddlers.

Of my followers who are here for trainposting and not slimegirl posting, most of you I think are probably not like this, and you understand that Thomas is real trains, that almost anyone who grew up with the original show and it remained a special interest through to adulthood got there because they were pulled in by the worldbuilding of the setting, the real basis of the locomotives, the real stories that inspired each and every one of the railway series stories, etc.

But to a lot of railfans, Thomas is a baby cartoon for babies. There are some communities that outright ban Thomas fans, and often when they aren't those communities can be hostile towards them.

I think Hyce's video shows why that is. As kids, they were bullied for liking trains because trains = thomas and thomas = baby show. And there's a real trauma there, I don't want to minimize that. Hyce was called the R-slur as a kid and lord knows I was the same.

But then to take that pain and then take it out on other people who do like the think that people made fun of you for, well, that fucking sucks actually.

The fact of the matter is, 'normies' think railfans are kinds cringe weirdos. They probably don't think of that in terms of thomas the way a kid does, but railfanning is never going to be considered cool. As I understand it, even in countries that rely on trains for public transportation it's still considered a little weird to be obsessed with trains as an adult. That's ok. That's what your railfan or model rail or train sim community is for.

I can guarantee you that drawing arbitrary lines in the sand and rejecting and being toxic towards thomas the tank engine fans will not endear you to the normies. You will never be able to reject the cringe of being associated in the slightest with a children's show enough to be cool. It just makes you look like a jerk.

And hey, like, you, dear reader, you know this. You followed me because you like that I draw trains with faces (or slimegirls, but if you followed me because you like slimegirls i need not lecture you on cringe culture.) You know that it's fucked up to be mean to Thomas fans. And here on tumblr, you probably even know what I'm about to say next. Reddit and twitter (and maybe bsky) though have a problem with this.

Thing is: this is fractal. Thomas fans, you don't look cooler by rejecting and shit talking fanart clearly made by children of My Little Pony pngs put over screenshots of Trainz thomas models, or MS Paint drawings of Thomas smooching Rosie with comically long lips to stretch past their buffer beams. We're all fans of a really really cool show made using ingenious model filming techniques about interesting and grounded railway stories and history, but that show is a show that has always had a target audience of preschoolers. We're just going to have to live with the fact that people are going to find us cringe. You don't have to contribute to that phenomenon. (Half the art that gets called cringe is amateur art clearly made by children and teenagers, which is the other part that gets me. Have you never been twelve? It's not the most dignified thing to be, and that will be reflected by your art output.)

Anyway this is all an allegory for queerness.

So here's some gay steam locomotives. if you've reached this far, you've earned it:

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Do bonded TARDISes ever change their proportions for their Time Lords? Like moving controls closer together for a pilot with shorter arms, or raising the doorways so their tall Time Lord doesn't have to duck?

Maybe even adapting the layout & control sto be more ergonomic for a non-humanoid incarnation?

Do TARDISes ever change their proportions for their Time Lords?

🛠️ Bigger on the Inside, Customisable on Request (Sometimes)

The internal architecture of a TARDIS is dimensionally transcendental, meaning it doesn't have fixed spatial parameters in the way humanoid minds might prefer. It's more like a fractal origami castle folded through dimensions.

Because of this, things like room size, control console height, stair placements, and even wall textures can be changed—sometimes at will by the TARDIS, sometimes manually by the Time Lord, and sometimes for no reason at all.

And yes, many TARDISes would adapt to their pilots. Some control rooms might subtly shift the height of levers and reach of panels to accommodate short arms, long limbs, claws, tentacles, or whatever else their bonded partner happens to be flailing around with.

🧠 But... Will They?

Ah. This is the more interesting question.

TARDISes are semi-sentient, highly individual, and occasionally petty. Some form deeply affectionate, collaborative bonds with their Time Lords. Others merely tolerate them.

If a TARDIS likes you, it'll be helpful and probably pro-active.

If a TARDIS tolerates you, it will do the bare minimum or only if asked (it still wants to be flied after all).

If a TARDIS is annoyed with you, it may be a bit less accommodating like adding an unexpected ledge or lowering the doorway by 0.7 inches until you've made up.

🐙 What If the Time Lord Isn't Humanoid?

Though Gallifreyans are generally humanoid, there are possibilities suggesting that some incarnations aren't strictly bipedal. In such cases, the TARDIS likely adapted accordingly. We've seen coral consoles, hexagonal webs, fluid interfaces, and non-physical navigational methods. Touch, thought, and even telepathic impulse can replace traditional controls entirely.

🏛️ So...

TARDIS interiors are fluid, responsive, and alive. If your TARDIS is feeling helpful, yes—it can and will shift its layout to suit you and your limbs. If it's not feeling helpful then good luck remembering which corridor leads to the pool and which one to an infinite chasm of nothingness.

Related:

💬|🛸🧬Do we have any info on TARDIS biology?: Overview of TARDIS biological aspects.

💬|🛸👽How do TARDIS personalities vary model to model?: The differences in personality between various TARDIS Types.

💬|🛸🧑‍✈️What roles would six Time Lords have in piloting a TARDIS?: How having six pilots would work.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[whitegirljoshuamacheath]

the lords in black in i curse the day

wiggly - the blue ringed octopus

do not touch wiggly. he will kill you, just as the blue ringed octopus will. he's often in his middle ground form- mostly human with tentacles galore. almost an ursula vibe. instead of blue and tanish, wiggly is deep green with radioactive looking rings.

dont try to count wiggly's tentacles! youll never stop counting. he has millions of them, all wriggling and writhing around him and his domain. cut one off, and forty more will grow in its place.

tinky - the nubian goat

tinky is.. well, he could pass as a goat if he wasnt bright yellow and blue-tongued. he takes after both the nubian and the giraffe, with a neck that stretches for miles at his will and a bright blue tongue that stretches farther still. his legs are overly long and knobby, his tail tiny and his horns sharp as a scalpel. his eyes, unlike the photo below, are fully front facing.

dont bother with trying to view the pattern on his fur. youll never figure out exactly what it is. it's something like a fractal, but not quite.

blinky - the barred owl

blinky is a bird-like creature, though human in nature despite it. he's the largest of his brothers solely by his wings, which are larger than the football fields that usamericans play on. instead of two eyes, he has one, much larger than a birds eye should be. hes not a cyclops, though, dont get it wrong. he doesn't like that. no, he used to have two eyes. alice woodward took the left one with a hunting rifle.

his feathers are nearly all purple, save for some specklings of orange across his miles wide body. his eyes are various colors, all matching to a human in hatchtfield- even those he doesn't claim as his.

pokey - the beluga whale

yes, he is goop. but his form still takes an aquatic turn, and so the beluga is his closest relative animal. theyre known for being the most vocal aquatic mammal! his non-word vocalizations sound like belugas.

pokey is literally just goo. he IS blue shit. he has no mouth, and nothing more than small black dots for eyes below his mask, which is made of a material the human mind could never dream to comprehend. its slightly melted, and not removable. his mask had three holes, similar to the doll has.

nibbly - millipedes

nibbly is weird. he has an infinite number of legs, and an infinite number of teeth and mouths. you can sure try and count them. he wont stop you. laugh at you, maybe, but he'll let you. to match, he does not have infinite stomachs. incase you wondered.

he's sort of fluffy, sort of scaled. very strange texture on nibbly. he's not a color we can comprehend, so we call him hot pink and move on. he has paws.

no photo for him for sake of Bug and i dont want to find one. google it idk

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

2024 Fic Round Up

I was tagged by @princessfbi and oh lord. This year was supposed to be LESS fanfic. What a mess.

This year I wrote 13 fics (24 if we count the Bermuda entries as separate fics) totaling 728,600 words, shared an original novel, and finished sharing my Google doc fics in the collection Fractals from the Lightning Bolt.

January

Posted the epilogue to my massive vampire/reincarnated lover fic All My Shattered Oaths. This is one of my favorite fics. I don't know what I was cooking in October 2023 but it sure was something and I hope to bring that vibe into my original novels.

February

The lovely amazing @f0x-meets-w0lf posted his art he did for my Hades!Buck fic here!

March

Finished sharing my collection of "ficlets from the vault" in Fractals from the Lightning Bolt and posted Racing with the Brakes Cut, my Buddie F&F AU. That fic was SUCH a fun burst of inspiration and a joy to write and I was delighted by everyone's reactions.

April

Posted the first six entries of my BuddieTommy/Polyfire smut fic collection, Both Bermuda and Golden (Lost but Doing Just Fine).

May

Posted a BuckTommy smut fic coda to 7x06, Want You Like a Desert (Heat is Relentless, Thirst is Quenchless), as well as evidence of my descent into madness, a 77k fic titled Abstraction to Realism that is, of all things, a Winter/Jones fic for Midsomer Murders. But I love it so.

June

I posted the next two Bermuda entries and the 55k fic Descendants of Cyrano AKA "The Gang Plays D&D" which was a lot of fun. I wrote it with the goal that a reader could enjoy it even if they knew nothing about TTRPGs and it seems like I succeeded.

July

Lost my entire fucking mind and after posting a couple chapters in May and June, proceeded to write and post the next 18 chapters of Held Up a Lightning Rod (Wonder Why I'm Struck) in the span of three weeks. This fic is 129k. What HAPPENED TO ME. I also posted my gift fic for the fandom fic exchange, Paint Me in Neon and Make Me Glow, a BuckTommy exhibition kink exploration, along with two more entries in Bermuda.

August

Posted the last two Bermuda fics and started posting Baking is a Science but I Studied the Arts, my poly romcom that only ended up being 62k, bless. It's truly a silly comedy of errors, and it was fun to be more lighthearted in my fics over the summer.

September

Finished writing/posting Baking in two weeks. Goddamn.

October

HALLOWEEEEEEEEEN. Brace yourselves! We started off with my Incubus!Buck fic Take My Oxygen (This Plane is Going Down), inspired by the TV series Lost Girl and my own incubus ideas. Next was my 55k Buzzfeed Unsolved/Ghost Files AU, Connected the Dots in Reverse (But Still Completed the Picture), which was T-rated. I know, right? Then we got my Witch!Buddie AU, With Eyes on the Stars and Hands in the Earth. Inspired by Tamora Pierce, this one was also a lot of fun. Then not one but two werewolf fics, one more humorous and one a lot more serious, and both only around 30k what a goddamn miracle: I'll Eat You Instead of Chocolate (You're Sweeter Anyhow) The Blood Between My Teeth is My Own I honestly wasn't sure I'd finish anything after the Incubus!Buck fic ballooned to 73k and took longer than planned, so I'm grateful the other fics behaved wordcount-wise and I was able to finish strong.

November

Local writer found brain dead.

December

Local writer sloooooowly coming back to life and ready to tackle their original novels in 2025!

This year truly held so much more fic than I planned and all of it was a joy, but it's time to knuckle down and focus on my original stories. I hope to share my one Xedgin fic soon but otherwise, I hope you all will keep an eye out for updates on my author blog @lincolnchristie and come with me on that journey!

[lady-quen]

Character inspiration meme!

[tagged: not tagged, saw people doing this on dash again since I follow lots of roleplay blogs haha decided to do this for my only proper OC]

[tagging: @ambalambs , @hexenjagd , @cursedfortune , @rostomanologist , @commander-wame , @missbadafker (for any of your characters!), @lyhil , @harukehn (hii I like your plants... I am tagging you both if that's okay :) @scribesofcalamity I want! 👏 to know 👏 the cool inspos!!! Also I'd tag all the pretty plants in the fandom but I'm not sure who likes dash games ^^, so if you see this and feel like doing it, you're ON! Feel free to say I tagged you!]

Also you know I had to do it to him (choose this as his profile picture)

Anyway! Explanations go:

1 - Bloodborne - Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower - largely self-explanatory. I would have exchanged her for Genshin's Raiden Shogun for the more accurate "draws swords from own body" visual, BUT the fun part is I actually didn't know she did that. So the Baal sword and Mael's solid shadow weapons are a complete coincidence 💀

Furthermore, Lady Maria's general aesthetic influenced my own design a good deal. Sadly, necromancers can't wear medium armor.

2 - Hollow Knight - God of Gods/Shade Lord - just the vibes for his Shroud... or is it something more? :P I guess we shall see once I iron out some plot points. Some people might know because I rant in DMs. Devouring darkness my beloved. Inspiration for a potential "corrupted form" for a fractal where the story went really wrong.

3 - Norse Mythology - Fenrir - core inspiration. Chain/binding motif, being something dangerous, even to gods. Power that needs suppressing. Everlasting hunger, being the doomed being with the potential to doom others in return. A... specific relationship with the sun. A certain someone losing a hand within the mouth of the beast.

His swords are named Dromi and Lædingr after the first two chains that bound Fenrir. He's currently looking for a way to devise a "perfect spell" to allow complete control over his volatile magic and stop the demon essence from further warping his body and affecting his mind - that spell, or perhaps item, being Gleipnir.

4 - Tower of God - Khun Aguero Agnes - personality and mannerisms inspiration, particularly post-The Departing. "The Commander when he locks the fuck in." Devilishly intelligent and not afraid to utilize underhanded methods, but ultimately a good person. A true silver tongue. Moderately to severely grumpy at times. Dramatic flair. Gay boy rizz.

5 - Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress - Ikoma - the survivor. Undead but won't take the L and keeps on going no matter what. Self-engineered restraints to keep his affliction under control, dog motif, being willing to do terrible things to his own body simply to stop himself becoming a monster. A heart replaced by a core.

6 - Legend of Vox Machina - Percy de Rolo - I have actually not watched this show yet (I really damn need to) the visuals, the gunplay, the demonic possession and those deep black eyes with yellow irises? Checks out. I made Mael in 2014, so, again, coincidence, but it's a really good-looking coincidence :-)

Also, template below cut!

[makoredeyes]

This request came from outside of tumblr: Lord Saladin/Lady Jolder

#27 - as a suggestion

Saladin Forge thought she was as lovely as as the sun. Even on their down day, out on the training grounds sparring for fun, she's in her best armor, polished to a mirror shine, and she's in full warpaint, dark kohl under her eyes so that their dazzling blue flashes ferociously every time they make eye contact. Her lips are red, too, but only because he's split them with a punch, blood brightening rosy skin. If he'd pulled the strike, he knows she would have killed him for holding back.

He adores her for it.

He thinks she is lovely and brilliant and ferocious and she was hurtling through the air right at him and he barely managed to block her responding strike, staggering backwards several steps from the force of her.

She laughs, melodic and bright, and kicks him in the shins because he is too busy looking at her eyes.

"Focus, you daft old oak!" She giggled, launching at him with a shoulder charge he dodges much more gracefully. "And fight me like you mean it!" "We're training, my Lady!" Saladin countered. Lady Jolder laughed again, brighter than ever, and chucked her shield at him. It crashed against his axe with a horrible clang.

"Do the enemies we train to fight expect you to take it easy as well?" She teased, dancing from side to side, taunting him. She even did a little pirouette, her armor glittering dazzling fractals of white and blue from snow and sky. She bounded forward, into his personal space, and pressed up against him. "Do they too know that you will stay your hand if they wear pretty eye-makeup?"  "I- what?!" He sputtered, skin darkening as he went hot, but she only batted her eyelashes at him...and then grabbed him by the collar and threw him down hard to the ground, winding him. She pounced on him, throwing her weight onto his chest, making him wheeze, and sat astride him grinning.

"You heard me, Lord Saladin!" She leaned down, nearly nose-to-nose with him. "You. Are. Distracted!" She sang. "And I have watched you spar with poor Silimar enough to know that you usually do not have this problem."

Saladin scowled and tried to sit up but she bounced her weight, slamming him back down before he could get very far.  Saladin sputtered, struggling with what to say cornered as he was. Jolder looked utterly delighted by the results of her bullying. She tipped her head, looking him over. "Don't worry. Next time I'm sure you'll get the pin," she cooed. With that, she flattened out and paid him a good, hungry kiss.

She kept kissing him until he started to lean into it, responding, and then she gave his lip a gentle bite and leapt away, panting and rubbing her bloodied, swollen lips around a crooked smile. "Better catch me, if you want the rest," she purred, dancing away. Saladin jumped, scrambling to his feet.

[cast-you-dxwn]

The earth quakes before them,

The heavens tremble;

The sun and moon grow dark,

And the stars diminish their brightness.

The LORD gives voice before His army,

For His camp is very great;

For strong is the One who executes His word.

For the day of the LORD is great and very terrible;

Who can endure it?

Joel 2: 10-11

The Heavens crack open. The sky shatters into pieces, Creation reflected in countless jagged fractals of the very fabric of its own reality.

The patience of the Lord has limits, and His wrath is mighty. That which has bathed nations in fire, which has filled the valleys and canyons of the earth with the dead, which has covered the lands in rushing water.

A finality in purification.

A Creation made clean.

A star falls, and the very pillars of the universe tremble with its terrible impact. Heat, pressure, and a light so terribly radiant that it threatens to eclipse the very rays of all the suns of all the realms.

Metal to slag and stone to magma, all to dust and ashes in the face of the crater that now dominates the battlefield, a destruction only seen in Creation as the humans had clumsily learned the power of splitting the atom. The very threads of reality weep and whimper, and from the largest celestial body and the smallest atom come the words that herald the final doom of all things.

Revelation.

Retribution.

Judgement.

Michael.

“Awake. Awake. Rise up, O Jerusalem.”

The words drift through the smoke and dust, and the haze parts with one swift movement, as though the very particulates are commanded to make way by the voice that drifts through them. Like the Red Sea to Moses, a corridor stands now clear between the center of the crater and its observers, with walls of dust and ashes.

“You, which hast drunk at the hand of the LORD the cup of his fury; thou hast drunken the dregs of the cup of trembling, and wrung them out.”

There stands an angel.

His armor gleaming, his robes white as snow, as though untouched utterly by the destruction that swirls about him. Dark-striped wings fully unfurled, their massive expanse touching from edge to edge the deep depression that his entrance has struck into the solid ground.

His helmeted head does little to hide the light that burns in his eyes, supernovae unto themselves, scything across the battlefield with judgement and intent of reprisal.

In his right hand rests the hilt of his blade. The Blade. That which has no name save for those given by its foes. Nay. Its victims.

Foebreaker.

Daemonsbane.

Anathema.

His left, so it seems, is empty. Raising slowly, pale and calloused fingers curling in to his palm save for one. Pointing. Accusing. Condemning. All at the three who dare to stand before him. To stand against him.

They who had once been the most beloved. Not just to their Father, no. But to himself. But what, pray tell, is love in the face of duty? How stands fondness in the face of bitter betrayal? A trajectory following of days long past, when the eldest son had been called to take into account his brother.

“O Brother of Mine. Merry in rebellion. What now, has it cost you?”

He does not look to Lucifer as he speaks. His words not only his, but of the many. Countless voices that rise up from his throat, the cries of the faithful accusing and damning, even as he takes in the two who stand at the Fallen Kings side.

“O High Women of Heaven. One so burdened by duty, as we all must be, why now have you shrugged your shoulders? Why now do you strain against the yoke? Another, light and love incarnate, such tenderness given flesh and feather. Do you not now understand the joy of destruction? The holy uplifting of a righteous cleansing?”

His lips curl bitterly, his teeth bared in anger, and he gestures widely. To the destruction that mars their home, to the blood that spatters the street. When he speaks, his words are an echo, the same as he had spoken when he had once driven his blade into an unruly siblings chest.

“What have you done?”

@high-seraphims @hells-greatestdad

[dailycharacteroption]

Planar Tour Guide: Plane of Wood part 1

(art by Ferdinand Ladera on Artstation)

Intro

We’re back with another elemental plane, this time tackling one of the newcomers to the setting, introduced in Second Edition, specifically at the unveiling of the Remastered revision with Rage of Elements, which was the first book to use those changes. With those changes came a revision of a lot of key assumptions about the elemental planes. After all, the outer planes were already plenty different from their old D&D counterparts, why should the elemental planes be limited to four?

Of course, explaining what the deal with these new planes is also requires explaining why they didn’t show up in anything prior, and the Paizo crew came through with that one, even if they threw some other concepts by the wayside.

Anyway, so remember how the four evil elemental lords of the classic, previously-known elements got together and imprisoned their goodly counterparts in magical gems to cut out the competition? Such an effort was massively disruptive to the cosmos, and actually threw the balance of the elements in such a way that two of those planes, metal and wood, straight up got cosmically shunted, still existing, but pushed to the “side”. Suddenly the element of water was bordered by air and earth, rather than wood and metal. This also made planar travel between those planes and the rest of the cosmology impossible, isolating them.

And this happened so long ago that these planes were either never known to mortal civilizations, and forgotten by many of the immortal ones as well, which is BANANAS to me.

However, with the freeing of the four goodly elemental lords, the balance has slowly shifter back, the old planes growing back , forcing their way between the previously-seamless border between water and both air and earth. In time, they will fully retake their old cosmic positions, though air, water, and earth will still bear the marks of eons of intermingling.

And if you’re wondering why the evil elemental lords of wood and metal agreed to this… well that’s two misconceptions you’ve revealed right there. One: the duality of two elemental lords is based on broad concepts of said elements, not morality, and Two: the conspirators didn’t involve any of the metal and wood lords in their plan, presumably because none were wicked enough or in enough conflict with their counterpart to agree to such a plan. (And also probably because they have personal beef with Ayrzul.)

In the real world, the element of wood in wuxing is associated with anger, but also kindness, generosity, and idealism. Wood desires to grow and expand, to stretch out towards others and towards the future, and stifling it will only beget frustration and fury, like a plant in a too-small pot with roots that have taken on the shape of the container. It is the element of spring, life, dawn, and new beginnings.

In Pathfinder, wood has all of these qualities, but also adding in the factor of cultivation and direction. The denizens shape and are shaped in kind by each other and their environment. Where this shaping is welcome, it begets greater wonders and community. But when that shaping enforces the will of the crafter at the expense of the crafted, it creates wrathful monsters. At it’s core, the plane of wood is a place where wild infinite growth and directed, orderly development go hand in hand, even if one is not looking at it from a scale where it is noticeable.

Indeed, the plane of wood is essentially an infinite fractal of growing life. While the First World at it’s most verdant is often lush and chaotic with no rhyme or reason, there is a certain order to it that can be seen in both the macro and micro. A bush growing out of a massive building-sized tree, growing out of a country-sized tree, growing out a continent-sized tree, and so on, and yet that bush has mistletoe-like plants growing off of it, and delicate symbiotic fungus on it, and so on all the way down.

Even if what you’re stepping on looks and feels like soil, it is likely the rotting remains of wood from some massive plant structure that your eyes can’t quite focus on, being repurposed and fed upon by smaller plants. In this way, the plane of wood expresses infinity in a way that other elemental planes can’t. Infinite matter or energy of a certain type in all directions, maybe with breathable air in places, is one thing. An infinity of smaller and smaller branches growing from each other is another entirely. Once you look past the variety of different plant and elemental beings on the plane and glimpse it, the sheer scale is boggling.

It’s not just nature as an element. It’s the perfect order of life growing from life and the dead giving way to the new, all working in relative harmony but also carefully shaped as well.

Throughout this week, we’ll see exactly what this infinite tree has to offer.