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Brennan just wants to share his passion with Matt

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caleb: what are we going to do then? the man crawled out of a grave once, maybe he will do it again.

keg, who just met these people:

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“Untitled” (2014) by Nguyễn Hoàng Nam ☀ Child in purple áo dài claims her persimmon kingdom

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“I loved you both so much, but what we believed in was a lie.” (Caleb, ep. 141)

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Enamel pin designs featuring heraldic devices for (some, but not all) the valar, important characters from Tolkien's legendarium. I will be creating heraldic devices for all the valar (eventually). Which ones speak out to you? Do you have a favorite vala? If I'm honest, I really can't decide, but I do really love Mando's, Ulmo's, and Manwë's devices!

I’m making these via. Kickstarter and will be released as a three-part series. The first campaign is live! 🙌 Here’s a link. 🔗

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NEW OFFICIAL VETH ART JUST DROPPED!

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The notes of every silm post that mildly breaks containment

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characters raised to be tools

Weapons. Trained, tested, forged in steel and fire. Failure is an inevitability that ends in death. Pain should not be felt--it should be recognized, familiar, and inconsequential

Martyrs. In the form of servants and princes, of leaders and underdogs. If blood is necessary, the martyr will lift their hands and offer it all

Shields. Like tempering a sword, but only to bear and not to lash out. Wounds are medals--not symbols of pride, but symbols of worth. A pretty shield is useless; scars mean a job well done

Experiments. Raised on the cold comfort of a lab table. Restraints are only necessary when they're not in their right mind. Is it honorable, to be twisted beyond recognition? Or is it just a necessary evil?

Monsters. Cruelty, caution, and regarding one as a creature beyond reasonable thought is tempering in its own right. But if you keep a leash at the right length, perhaps the massecre won't reach you. One can hope.

Idols. Pretty face, pretty name, pretty hands around their shoulders and throat. There to seduce, manipulate, force any feeling to come to the surface and twist it to their favor. Any genuinity stays locked behind the guilded cage that surrounds their pretty little heart

Trophies. Status and wealth and the traditions that keep someone at their heels, on their knees, to display and serve and decorate one's ballroom.

Sacrifices. Drenched in honorable clothes, prepared and adored and cleansed. The gift of hope at the cost of one's life. Is it taken with no fight? How can you escape the ropes you were born in?

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little did we know the entire disaster that resulted in the ship & its crew being trapped in this separate cosmos was simultaneously a meet cute between steve and the foldlight

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How long is 600 words anyway?

If you're not sure about scope for your #FjoreverToJester piece, here's the piece I wrote up originally to gauge the length for submissions! It's not the one I'm using, but it might give you a general idea of how much space you really have and what that might look like.

Your mileage may vary based on how wordy your style is and how introspective you want to get, but hopefully this helps give a feel for it! (Alt text below beneath the cut.)

(Yes, I'm a Garamond bitch.)

If you've got an idea and are ready to RSVP to the biggest event since the Catatheosis, look no further! But act fast—the form closes TOMORROW, JULY 31.

The Voice of the Tempest knows how to handle her liquor these days, and it doesn’t hit the way it used to anyways, but she’s been drinking more than usual tonight.

She’s been to tons of weddings—officiated plenty of them, in the last several decades. She’d tried to keep up with Scanlan and Pike’s the first couple of times, but at a certain point, why bother? Usually it was just folks in Zephrah, occasionally visits to friends.

The last one was before, though. Before that stupid solstice. Stupid moon. Stupid gods.

Stupid.

Too much had happened. It felt like too much was always happening, rushing past her in the blink of an eye, and she’d thought maybe that was something that was true of both of them, but… it wasn’t the same. Time out of sync, or something like that. That’s what it felt like anyway.

It hadn’t really been anything official, one way or another. Just… a drifting away.

So yeah, Keyleth is alone at this beautiful fucking wedding, for a beautiful fucking couple,  and she’s a little fucking drunk.

“Oh!”

She squeaks as her foot catches on something, the room goes tumbling and her drink with it, arms flailing to maybe grab onto her dignity before she loses it, and though it may not be her dignity after all, she does catch something remarkably solid.

“Hello,” says the cheery voice of one Verin Thelyss.

The room rights itself as he rights her, helping her to her feet graciously. He has the same intent—almost intense—expression that she had seen on his face when they’d met, back in Vasselheim, that he had retained through battle and siege. It seems to not be a product of warfare but simply his face. Which is, Keyleth has to admit, because she can’t control much of anything right now, let alone her own thoughts, a very nice face.

“Fuck,” she says aloud, accidentally. Imogen fucking Temult better not be nearby. And she better not be fucking mind-reading.

“No need for crying over un-spilled… drink,” says another voice, and her wine glass floats into her field of view, still a third full, not a drop on the floor around them. Verin’s hands are still on her arm, but he lets go to allow her to take the glass from the air and focus on the slighter individual at his side performing the levitation.

The illusion is different than it had been in Vasselheim, for good reason, and she’d been too distracted by other things at the time to clock it. Now, though, she can see the fuzzy edges of it, now that she knows there’s something to look for.

“Thank you, …” She trails off, prompting for a name with a raised eyebrow, and the pleasant smile only widens, even masked by illusion as sharp as any blade. 

“You’re welcome,” he clips, and turns and walks away.

Keyleth gapes for half a moment, and then turns to Verin, whose expression briefly resembles Percy’s when Cass gets the better of him.

It passes quickly. “You’ll have to excuse him,” Verin sneers after the disguised wizard. “He was raised by moorbounders, poor thing.”

“I’m not sure what a moorbounder is, but I doubt your mother would appreciate being referred to as one.”

“No, probably not,” Verin admits jovially. 

“Are you here alone?” she blurts, then, “Besides him, I mean.”

Verin raises one mirthful eyebrow. “I am, yes. The court sent along a gift basket.” He gestures toward the overflowing gift table.

Fuck. Did she remember a gift? She must’ve. The party is in full swing, and she is definitely drunk, but what the hell. “Do you want to dance?”

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I finally did it! I finished the thing!

Hoo boy it’s like I completely forgot how damn hard the process of animating is. But hey, I got to the end eventually.

Anyway, please enjoy this short animation of Jester casting Spirit Guardians, modeled after Sailor Venus’ Love and Beauty Shock attack sequence.

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one thing I like about essek's story is that he. stops.

he removes himself from his station, he leaves all his resources behind, he entwines his life with people who will, going forward and in no uncertain terms, keep him accountable, he works alongside an organization whose intent is to keep those like him out of power

he looked around once the blinders came off and not only thought 'this isn't how i thought my life would go' but also, later, 'this isn't what i want my life to be'

he did bad, and then felt bad, and then, though stumbling like anyone learning something crucial and new, he stopped, he changed, and he grew

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The only choice that we've ever consistently made is to take care of our friends.

1/2

Photography by @lilypuggles

Had so much fun as Veth at Fantasy Forest this year! She's always fun at these type of events

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HOW THE TURN TABLES yesssss YESSSSS

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Imagine being Steve. You’re a scientist on an extraplanar mission and you fall through a wormhole or something and find yourself in another cosmos with every other member of your expedition dead. You somehow find the strength to keep living, and the conviction that you can survive. You float around in 0g and find things you can eat, all the while dodging the omnipotent laser monster that wants to eat your brain if you think too hard. With no way to escape, this is probably it until the end of your days. Then, suddenly, a ship arrives! It’s full of aliens and they also get attacked by the laser monster, but you help the survivors escape! They’re traumatized, grief-stricken, confused, and they look weird as hell but hey, they’re people! Finally someone to talk to! One of them is even a cosmologist, even if he doesn’t seem ready to discuss your theories of the multi-cosmos just yet. You’re hopeful that the arrival of Something New might mean finally, finally finding a way home, and sure enough together you start to make new discoveries. And they even confirm your cosmological theories! One of the aliens realizes that she is basically a homing beacon for her home, so you start to make an escape plan. And hey, it’s not your home, but if they have universities and fold studies it’s got to be better than here. So you go back to their ship (which attracts the laser monster if you try to fly it) and get ready to run. And then it turns out the incredible engine that powers their super-powerful, state-of-the-art alien ship looks like this: