#so to speak ??

[dduane]

Via @iucounu at Bluesky.

[northwindow]

Terrance Hayes, from So to Speak

[cadhla182]

Carol/Morrigan commission for AssaultGodzilla!

Based on this meme: https://x.com/ReddsMess/status/1759102049554473000

[nighthaunting]

I know we’re all just clowning here on tumblr dot com but I do think the perception of Morgott as like, ultra-religious and sort of blindly following the Golden Order despite their hatred of Omens is a really contextless reading of his situation.

If we read the description of his great rune it says:

That the Omen King was born of the golden lineage, and that he was indeed the Lord of Leyndell.

Morgott was the rightful ruler of Leyndell, Omen or not that was his golden city full of people who would revile him if they knew of his true origin.

I think his motives are less someone who’s tricked themselves into believing in something that hates him and more someone who’s wanted a place where he belongs for so long that now that there’s finally a place that he provably has a right to he’s never leaving.

Morgott isn’t deluded about what the Golden Order is or he’d never have invented the Veiled Monarch. Even the lines about his becoming the Erdtree’s protector don’t really indicate he had a particularly faith-based reason for doing so, but rather that he found that he came to love the Erdtree despite not knowing love.

Morgott is the gothic heroine who just inherited a big cursed estate but he wants a place that’s his own so bad he moves into the haunted house anyway and starts loving the architecture despite it being full of ghosts that hate him.

Morgott who led the Night’s Cavalry to hunt Tarnished, and beat the shit out of Rahdan, and launched the Seige of Mt. Gelmir and prosecuted the bloodiest and most costly war in the Shattering is not a guy who is getting his blind fundamentalist on, he’s a guy who’s decided that he’ll pile up a mountain of corpses before he lets anyone take away or threaten his place and is willing to be extremely proactive about defending it.

Editing to add:

And see the thing is, I think there’s even more nuance to it than just Morgott finally having a scrap of something to call his own and being willing to defend it with all his might!

In hindsight, I actually think Morgott had a better idea than anyone what the Tarnished would eventually have to do to get to the Elden Throne.

His dialogue as he’s dying makes it clear he’s known about the thorns blocking the way into the Elden Throne and been considering every way anyone might get through them.

In his dialogue as Margit in Stormveil, he says very specifically “the flame of ambition” and speaks of snuffing that flame.

I think Morgott realized that the only way a Tarnished could get into the Elden Throne would be to burn the Erdtree, and not only has he come to love this fixture of the haunted house he chooses to live in, but he knows that burning the Erdtree would destroy the place he calls his own.

Is it any wonder he’s so proactively trying to stop any Tarnished from even approaching Leyndell in the first place, when in his eyes it wouldn’t be unreasonable to view a sufficiently powerful Tarnished as a direct threat to the piece of the Lands Between that he’s carved out for himself?

[devilander]

Why do you keep running headfirst into the same brick wall? It's because deep down, there's a part of you that is still... human. We gotta cut that part of you out.

[kryptamazon]

SuperCorp AU in which Andrea drags Lena to a pole fitness class where Kara and Sam are the instructors.

[yuesya]

There is music, echoing elegantly into the silent darkness. Solemn and magnificent, countless notes rising and falling to blend into an ethereal melody.

It has been quite a long time, since the Choir’s song of Order last resounded through the stars.

Penacony, the Land of Dreams, no longer remains beneath the jurisdiction of the Harmony. For Order has been established, and from it, an intergalactic Paradise will arise. Is already on the rise, weaving together the blissful dreams of its inhabitants under the iron grip of a watchful conductor who is determined to see their ideals become reality.

“This is just the worst.” Three words, grumbled lowly in an unhappy voice, discontented. Silver Wolf grits her teeth mulishly, hands curling into fists. “Penacony’s gone. Firefly… didn’t make it out this time.”

A slow blink of eldritch blue eyes. The white-haired girl standing beside the youngest Stellaron Hunter remains unmoving. There is no change in her outward expression at all.

“… Firefly?”

“She’s gone,” Silver Wolf’s voice is louder this time. A little more fierce, too. Gloved hands come up to wipe roughly at her eyes. “Firefly is dead now, Shiki. That –that was her third death!”

“Third death. Penacony.” Shiki is silent for another moment. “… It’s Order that killed her.”

“We need to go.” Silver Wolf sucks in a deep breath, and sets her shoulders. “Any longer, and we won’t be safe here, either; Order is actively subsuming everything around it into its Choir. If this is part of Elio’s script, then–”

“‘You will draw your blade.’”

“… What?”

“My script from Elio,” Shiki’s voice is infinitely soft. “… He told me, ‘You will draw your blade.’”

Then, she proceeds to do so.

One hand grips at the sheath of the sword at her side, while the other closes around the hilt. Shiki draws out the entire length of the thin blade in a single smooth motion. Careless, almost, and unhurried. There is no particular strength behind it. It can’t even be considered a proper swing, but–

But beneath the tip of her blade, there is a distortion in space. Something –something that parts beneath the edge, a thin line that swiftly stretches into a yawning chasm that blooms into the world around her, tearing through the space and stars and Order Itself like an unstoppable tidal wave–

That just keeps going and going–

Red. No, black. Looking into the emptiness left behind in the path of the tear in reality is something that hurts, is actively painful, but blissfully calm at the same time. There’s something that’s almost alluring about it. No, repulsive. Radiant sunlight, and the darkest shadow.

… It doesn’t make sense. But it doesn’t need to. For the stars themselves are meaningless, and in the end there is noThINg thAt matTeRs in wAke of HeR SILENCE–

…

…

…

… Elio stares blankly up at the familiar blank panels of the ceiling. It has already been several long seconds since he’d roughly pulled himself out of his last simulation, but the harsh thud-thud-thud pounding of his heart has yet to begin calming. The sharp, distressingly poignant headache in his skull shows no signs of easing anytime soon, either.

What he’d seen just now… was not a desirable scenario. Not at all. Something definitely needed to be done, especially in regards to Firefly’s ‘third death’ in the Land of Dreams.

“Elio?” Kafka’s face appears in his field of vision as she leans over him, waving a hand in front of his eyes. “Everything alright?”

… Hopefully, they will be. As long as Elio can work things out and direct them on a better course of action.

“I’m fine, Kafka.”

“Hmm.” The woman stares at him for a moment. Then, smiles teasingly, “Maybe you should take a break. Wouldn’t want you to start stress-shedding now, would we?”

Elio sniffs, even though the vertigo of the sudden motion makes the room spin dizzyingly. “If I lose all my hair, then you and the other Hunters are most definitely to blame for it.”

[vigilskeep]

saying this at an extremely random time because i truly don’t mean it in the direction of anyone or any message in particular, but if we could maybe in general just keep in mind that i am not actually an Authority on anything i talk about. ur compliments are very lovely and i appreciate them sm, and i know i do make posts kind of intentionally in a way where they’re supposed to make people laugh and get attention and thus a follower count or whatever, but just, i have had a bad experience or two with it feeling a bit out of my control and people getting... over-excited? and putting me on a pedestal or something which stops being fun pretty fast and can be uncomfortable both for me and for others in the same fandom space. ideally i’d like to have the really wonderful level of interaction i do have here while a) being responsible with it and b) having my own boundaries. i would love us all to keep in mind that i am just another random guy on the internet who, particularly if we’re not mutuals, you don’t know and who doesn’t know you. and, perhaps a separate point, that i’m a random white guy on the internet and i get things wrong, which is one of many reasons you should not be listening to me to the exclusion of all else, and, for example, over the voices of fans of colour. the last thing i ever ever want, in that situation or any other, is for it to be intimidating to question/discuss/criticise something i’ve said. i think if we remember all that, we can be chill and have a chill time? that’s all i want to do instead of sounding like i’m issuing press releases which i kind of do right nowww okay bye i’m going back 2 sleep 💤💤💤

[lurkdragonstuff]

I'm an atheist and a philosophical materialist. I don't think there's anything more to the universe than what can be observed and measured. Disagree if you want, that's fine, but take as read that this is where I'm coming from.

As you can imagine, this makes it very strange to me that my brain thinks I'm a dragon.

I have been trying to square this circle for years. Since around the 2000's, when I first made contact with the Internet, I would look in on the otherkin community, and the draconic community nested inside it, and I would think, man. I wish I could believe that. I wish I could believe that souls were real, and that I had one, and that it was a dragon, and that's why I was so odd. For quite a while, I just explained it as a furry fandom thing. Sure, yes, my fursona is feral, but ferals are furries, too. This is still true! I'm still in furry fandom, and my dragonself still acts as my fursona. But they are also, in a deeper sense, me.

I'm a secular pagan. I don't think gods exist, and I don't think magic is literally real. I can't really cast a curse on shitty charities. The moon's a big shiny rock. It doesn't care if I roar at it when the sun reflects off it just so and I can see the whole of its tidally locked face.

But my dragon brain doesn't know that. It likes the big shiny rock. It likes little shiny rocks, too. It likes to light things on fire, and considers this a sacred act, both bringing destruction to noxious things and bringing honour to things worthy of it. It likes to growl and hiss when things annoy it. It likes to collect things, to have a hoard. It likes to range around its territory, keeping an eye on what's around in what season. It finds it frustrating that its wings don't seem to work at all, and its other limbs barely better. It wants its tail back. It wants its fire breath.

I'm autistic. Sometimes speaking is hard, and I growl and hiss when things annoy me. I like to collect things related to my special interests; I have a sprawling collection of cetacean, Nintendo, and SEGA figurines, as well as lots of little animal figures. Plushies, too, and videogames, and books. I do wildlife photography, as well, marking who's around in what seasons. This is, to my frustration, limited a lot by waning energy because of chronic health problems.

If backed into a corner, to say what I really believe, of course I'm a human. It is in my DNA, expressed in a bipedal body plan, five fingers on the forelimbs only, nails and not claws, no wings, no muzzle, no tail, short neck, skin and fur instead of scales. Not even any horns. I find this frustrating, but it is what it is. I also find it frustrating when people call me 'she' and not 'they', and that really there is no feasible gender presentation that would guarantee that strangers would use the right word. The best I can hope for is that people will read the 'they/them' button on my hat, or otherwise call me 'he'. Still wrong, but at least novel.

I honestly think my draconic identity developed when I was younger as a way to explain why I was so weird. I have never been normal. I will never be normal. As an adult, I have fancy words like "autism" and "anxiety and depression secondary to post-traumatic stress disorder" and "seasonal affective disorder" to explain why I'm abnormal.

But a part of my brain, I think the same one that still believes in magic and deities even though I don't, tilts its head, then grins a sharp grin and says, "Cool story, bro. I'm still a dragon."

I generally have, for any given of my eccentricities, the philosophical materialist explanation (generally that I am either brainweird in some way or another or am playing pretend for placebo purposes to manage executive function etc.) and the dragon explanation (generally what the pretend play revolves around). But - and this is hard to explain - it isn't exactly playing pretend, either. It's me.

When I'm pretending to be Link, either playing a Zelda game or writing Zelda fanfic, Link isn't me. I might be inhabiting him as an actor, but he isn't me. When I play Animal Crossing, and I'm playing a character named after me, that's closer. It's me but greater. Me but more. Me existing in a life I wish I could have.

When I put on my mask, when I sit and daydream about the multiverse-hopping shenanigans I get up to, when I hiss at someone startling me by getting into my space, that's me. I'm not a dragon, I'm a human wearing a mask, daydreaming, hissing because "back the fuck off!" isn't allowed in the workplace.

Yeah. Cool story, bro.

I am still a dragon.

[bloggingboutburgers]

Today took a turn so no completed OC-tober drawing again i guess

[dandelionlinolinaline]

ok rant time, stick with me.

the reason i don’t like damian wayne is not that i don't enjoy him as a character, it is that he feels like the final nail in the coffin that is 'robin'. now what do i mean by this? dick grayson as robin is obviously fantastical. he is an interesting foil to bruce/batman, he i tragic and complex, but his backstory is very much not real. he feels like a fictional character, so it isn’t a stretch to suspend disbelief and 'buy' him being robin, so to say. the family dynamic he has with bruce is NOT like father and son (argue with the wall on this one), it's paternal, but regardless of age difference in different interpretations, it is very much an unconventional family dynamic.

now, i've never really had a major issue with jason todd as robin (maybe because he has been red hood for basically my entire lifetime), but he was the first step in a direction of a more traditional family; son, father, grandson (and older brother), which i strongly dislike. now say what you will about jason todd, but he was arguably the most 'real' of the robins (in terms of backstory). he has a much more plausible family background (not counting sheila working with the joker) and feels less like the fantasy of dick grayson and more like wish fulfilment of a poor kid (ultimately this is what i think led to his downfall at dc - they couldn’t sell the 'fantasy' of jason todd in the way they could the other robins).

tim drake is where i kinda take issue. he is the 'normal' robin, but is very clearly an 'upgrade' from jason todd. he fits into the socialite life, bruce is significantly older than him (enough to be his actual father), and dick also takes a much more active role as a 'big brother' than he did with jason. tim drake, as neither dick or jason did, seems like the successor to bruce wayne, as well as batman. he is a genius, brilliant detective, rich and well-versed in the upper echelons of society. he is a HUGE leap in the direction of this sort of 'born for the role' idea i really despise for robin.

(i will take the liberty of following dc's example and overlook stephanie brown's robin)

lastly damian. not only is he batman's biological son, he is a prodigy who has trained since birth to be the next batman and is the heir to the league of assassins (i also hate what his creation meant for talia as a character, but i'll let that rest). he is now amalgamation of this slow trajectory towards robin as an heir who is divinely 'destined' to become batman (evidenced by the fact that damian is the only robin to consistently have the surname wayne).

don’t get me wrong, i greatly enjoy damian wayne and think he has an interesting dynamic with a number of characters and has some really lovely character devlopmemt and arcs, but i hate hate hate how robin went from 'orphans make do' to 'the heir apparent to not only batman but bruce wayne' and i. idk, i just wish dc had kept more of the charm and choice that the relationship between bruce and dick.

[see-arcane]

A belated moonlit commission based on a very lovely ref shot that I maybe got a bit carried away with. Consider it a pseudo sequel to this little thing. (Feel free to imagine Gowan's, "Moonlight Desires" playing in a moody reprise here.)

If you're interested in some art of your own, my Ko-Fi info is here.

And if you'd like the little vignette I scribbled to go along with the image, check below the cut:

Part of him wishes he could tell her this isn’t necessary. A small part, one that whispers when another might weep or bellow, but it’s there just the same.

You really don’t need to do this, darling. I would never have run in the first place. I would have danced my way to you regardless. Do you know that, Mina?

He cannot speak these things any more than he can look away from her. It's just as well. Her stare is a gleaming pit there is no crawling out of. His peripheral goes as far as the starlit sky, the high bright moon, the clouds. The very top of the Carpathians, sinking steadily out of view.

Yet they are dancing. Her arm is a careful iron bar around him, but the mist holds tighter still. Her mist. Her strength. Cold and cradling, whirling in a legless waltz as they spin in the moonlight like a fairy dream. They never did get to dance on their wedding day.

“Jonathan,” and her voice is crystal, “My Jonathan.”

“Yours,” he breathes. “Always yours, Wilhelmina.”

Should it worry him that he could not say otherwise if he tried? Perhaps. But it is not otherwise. He feels the vise of her mind pull snug around his and does not dread the thought of it tightening to a noose. Insurance upon insurance. As if the height were not enough to keep him pliant. As if his heart were not anchor enough to keep him sunk in the sea of her. But she is changed, his Mina, and she takes no chances. The small whispering part of him pauses to wonder how few chances were taken down on Earth; if the others were silent because they slept, or because…

She undoes his collar, slips free the cravat. The air is crisp on his throat. Her kiss is not half so sharp as the breeze when it finds him. He smiles through it all, unblinking as her.

And even so close to the heavens, he sees the moon is a dull marble beside her eyes.

[piratelil]

Watching the epilogue animatic in 2023 and seeing the “Remember Her Message” mural and then being hit with this almost a year later 🥲

[psyduckz]

watching twd and daryl dixon is such a great dog archetype. rick gives him an order and he goes running. tells him let’s go and he’s at his heels. even when someone else asks him something, you can see his eyes on rick, looking to see if he agrees

[andyouknowitis]

you can tell a man by his triangles

[xamaxenta]

bath