#maybe not with a dagger

[ghost-t-cryptids]

Me, but if I was a badass fantasy mercenary!

(My commissions are OPEN!)

[bbbbbbbbatman]

I think it'd be funny if the identity reveal was super anticlimactic. Clark has an interview scheduled with Bruce Wayne about some new project or initiative the company is doing and he walks into Bruce's office and sits down and through a combination of sounds/smells/matching injuries/whatever just immediately recognizes him as Batman and is so surprised he can't contain his reaction and he's just like "Batman...?"

And Bruce loses the Brucie Wayne posture immediately, rolls his eyes and just says, unsurprised and a bit condescending, "Superman."

And then they just sit there in silence, staring at each other, Clark very confused and Bruce clearly annoyed at how quickly Superman recognized him. And when it becomes clear Bruce isn't going to say anything further, Clark looks down at his notes where he has some questions written down and, without knowing what else to do, just awkwardly starts with the first question.

The following interview is one of the strangest he's ever done. Bruce gives some very typical Brucie Wayne answers but all completely deadpan, hardly any inflection. He's also clearly grumpy the entire time. Aside from Bruce not acting like Brucie Wayne, there is no further mention or acknowledgement of their superhero identities. Clark goes back to Metropolis in a daze and still isn't convinced that the whole thing wasn't a fever dream.

[chainymail]

love how solid, unglamorous, utilitarian, and brutalist the rondel dagger is in the wider realm of daggers. Flat top because you need something to punch while you hammer the blade through steel. Rarely bears a sharpened edge because this is a weapon meant to puncture and wedge through gaps. It’s a basically a dressed-up railroad nail that rips through chain mail like cotton. It’s most useful in close combat when swords become cumbersome and a wrestling match needs to end in blood. We don’t need to use the term phallic okay cut to the chase that thing is a cock.

(source right text)

[lucabyte]

On autonomy, and what it means to be Obliged to Help.

Bonus:

[bossuary]

So, the companions each have their dialogue with Solas as you make the endgame push to confront Elgar'nan.

But I...see, I have a question about whether or not that's the first time any of them interact with him after Tearstone. Does the game make it clear where Solas emerges when he escapes from the regret prison? Because if he comes out where Rook went IN...hooboy.

Rook gets blasted into the I've Made a Huge Mistake Museum. Solas takes the dagger from them and cuts his way back into the world. Does Solas come out...like...right there where Rook got zapped?

Because I am dying for that scene.

Really just NEED TO KNOW what the companions say to Captain Inevitable Betrayal when he pops out of the Fade without Rook.

As Solas strides past whoever is left on Tearstone Island, giving the corpse of Ghilan'nain one of his patented Sad Smiles...

Does Taash take a flaming berserker run at him? Nevermind getting swatted away, just rolling back up onto their feet, smoke billowing.

Does Emmrich set his jaw against incivility, swallowing the thousand forbidden curses he has called to mind in favor of a reasonable greeting or question?

Does Harding crackle with an unyielding blue power as she lifts a wall of stone in his way, demanding answers as a titan, as a friend?

Does Lucanis move to strike when Taash moves--he and Spite having adapted to the benefits of a pack hunt--with a godkiller tremor still pulsing in his limbs?

Does Bellara appeal to memory, to who Solas was, her voice strengthened by the hardest-earned lessons, to ask where Wisdom can be found in any of this destruction?

Does Neve look at the faint scratches on his ancient armor, the tension in the way he grips the dagger, and ask Solas to explain why power makes him think he's right.

Do Davrin and Assan block the way as they were always meant to, a last line of defense between Solas and the world he intends to destroy?

[yffresbeard]

if i could change anything about bosmer lore id reverse who's bodies are eaten and who's are left to rot, as per the meat mandate.

endocannibalism for fallen village members and loved ones, as an act of mourning and perhaps ritually passing down their wisdom and strength or other attributes. im imagining like, a Mourning Stew sort of situation? enemies are left to rot so their memories and attributes can never be passed down.

[vigilskept]

Throwing my hat into the elves and culture discussion, I think one of the things that I find most... upsetting is _what_ Bioware took from Judaism to make their elves. Which is to say, not a lot. What they took was Jewish history - ghettos, diaspora, and blood libel. The bad parts. Stuff about our oppression. Not stuff from Judaism as a religion or Jews as a culture. We don't get to see elves celebrate any cognates to Jewish holidays. There's no equivalent of kashrut or Yiddish or Ladino (despite that not making sense with the Dales being around for four centuries). The two most defining features of Dragon Age elves, the vallaslin and the Evanuris, directly contradict Jewish teachings. Jews started writing down our history and laws as soon as we lost our homeland and independence to Babylon, but it's written into the fabric of Dragon Age that the elves didn't, and their story is one of obtaining a lost past, not preserving a remembered one. It's even indicated that the city elves largely worship the Maker.

In thoughtful hands this could be a story about how Jews are seen as a religion when it's convenient to oppress us one way and a race when it's convenient to oppress us another, but it's not. Instead the impression I am left with is that in the mind of Dragon Age, Jews are defined solely by our oppression.

thank you for sharing!!!!

this came up earlier when an anon asked about making an elven oc from a (marginalised) cultural context they themselves aren’t from and i think it always comes down to a question of whether oppression and suffering are the only things you’re interested in or whether you care enough to learn about community, family and joy. and bioware seems to fail to clear this bar every time it comes to the elves.

i truly think some of the most incredible work in this fandom has come from fans putting those things back into the setting.

[bas-taard]

now wait a second

[wraithsoutlaws]

"I don't want to push records. I'm not a salesman. I just want to make music." — FULL STORY BY OLI O'HARE IN NEON NOISE ON STANDS OCTOBER 2077 (inspired by elvenbeard's amazing kerry magazine spread)

[wardensantoineandevka]

I will admit I'm a little salty that people, in an effort to prove that there is no good dialogue in Veilguard at all, keep comparing mission exposition to the high point narrative set pieces of prior games. I agree that some of the writing related to plot mechanics and mission exposition in Veilguard is a little too utilitarian, but that doesn't mean none of the dialogue is good or that prior games didn't also sometimes have this issue here and there.

I also generally dislike when people put the bar for good writing — and all writing too, not even just dialogue writing, ALL writing — at mic-drop sentences that still sound good completely divorced from context, because that really just reduces "good writing" down to like fake-deep philosophizing or witty quips exclusively. sometimes, a really good bit of dialogue sounds like a completely normal sentence out of context.

[anghraine]

I saw a staggeringly wrong post (I think from the same source as this take) about how TOS Kirk doesn't experience any meaningful suffering or angst, he just gets frustrated by challenges to his authority/command. The idea of him having real angst is just made up and projected onto him by fandom. Yes, this is the same James T. Kirk who feels the need to log this thought process: "No man achieves Starfleet command without relying on intuition, but have I made a rational decision? Am I letting the horrors of the past distort my judgment of the present?"

It feels almost like cheating to bring up the most obvious counter-examples tbh, but I actually find it really interesting that Kirk's most haunting fears/vulnerabilities throughout a bunch of episodes are so persistent and clear throughout the show as a whole. A major one, for instance, is his loneliness/dread of being abandoned to solitude. Ignoring everything except TOS:

"Dagger of the Mind":

HELEN: The machine wasn't on high enough to kill. KIRK: But he was alone. Can you imagine the mind emptied by that thing? Without even a tormentor for company.

SPOCK: He thought you'd like to know the treatment room has been dismantled and the equipment destroyed. KIRK: Thank you. MCCOY: It's hard to believe that a man could die of loneliness. KIRK [staring into the distance while the camera focuses on his almost blank eyes]: Not when you've sat in that room.

"Conscience of the King":

LENORE: At the party, you were such a brash young man. KIRK: And now? LENORE: Now somehow different. Not a ship's captain with all those people to be strong and confident in front of. You know, you're really very dear, aren't you? In some ways, very lonely.

MCCOY: Mr. Spock, the man on top walks a lonely street. The chain of command is often a noose.

"This Side of Paradise":

KIRK: Except for myself, all crew personnel have transported to the surface of the planet. Mutinied. Lieutenant Uhura has effectively sabotaged the communications station. I can only contact the surface of the planet. The ship can be maintained in orbit for several months, but even with automatic controls, I cannot pilot her alone. In effect, I am marooned here. I'm beginning to realize just how big this ship really is, how quiet.

"And the Children Shall Lead":

KIRK [provoked by the alien's powers into a panicked meltdown rooted in his deepest anxieties]: The ship is sailing on and on. I'm alone. Alone. Alone.

"Is There In Truth No Beauty?":

KOLLOS [through Spock]: But most of all, the aloneness. You are so alone. You live out your lives in this shell of flesh. Self-contained, separate. How lonely you are. How terribly lonely.

"Requiem for Methuselah":

SPOCK: The epidemic is reduced and no longer a threat. The Enterprise is on course five one three mark seven, as you ordered. KIRK: A very old and lonely man. And a young and lonely man. We put on a pretty poor show, didn't we?

[nostalgiaclown]

Do you think he was scared, handing this over to Rook?

The last time Rook grabbed the real lyrium dagger, they got dragged away into the fade.

He knows this is the replica... but... maybe, imagine for a moment, a flash of the scene returns to him...

Owch...

[lucabyte]

So does anybody else ever think about how Loop felt the need to demonstrate that the party's deaths wouldn't have any effect on the loops. I know I do but that's besides the point. Anyway I don't think Loop actually needs to bathe, they just like to feel included.

[princesscrystal-hyperfixations]

Isat Ori Au/crossover, featuring Light Spirit Siffrin with Moki Mirabelle and Bonnie!!

[lovesickeros]

☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, violence {☆} word count 0.8k

You are dying.

Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.

It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.

You will die.

"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."

A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.

"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."

They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.

"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."

Silence.

You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.

It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.

In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.

They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.

And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.

And alone, the cold remains.

Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.

But the cold remains, bathed in gold.

It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.

It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.

Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.

But you are yourself.

And you are where you belong.

They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.

All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.

One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.

Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.

[medeaschorus]

my favorite problematic princess got updated art