#I am however having fun

[licorishh]

double ?? upload ???? yeaaaahh i've gotten FASTERRrr for whatever that's worth so complementary blyla because guess what i miss them too (nobody was surprised by that)

[elodieunderglass]

Eggs for Killie is over!

I award myself the 150th egg for all of the little bits of art. Thank you so much for inspiring me to make them! It’s been really amazing to see all the hard work and to truly appreciate the wide range of crafts and activities everyone can do. Bobbin lace? Shoemaking? Knife forging? Translating Irish? It’s genuinely incredible.

I also really appreciated the people who were taking a rest, too. Thank you for that as well.

And I SUPER, SUPER appreciate everyone who was going through saying encouraging words, leaving replies/reblogging with comments, or liking all these posts. That was also a huge outpouring of kindness and time. I saw you doing it (and tried to make sure OPs did too) and any credit for people feeling empowered? That’s for YOU.

I know for a fact that people were following each other simply because they spotted one of their people through doing this. Thank you for being here - and being brave enough to find each other! 

If you have a project you were working on specifically for this, and missed the inbox, drop me a message - I don’t want to miss you.

150 eggs x 60g (weight of medium-large chicken egg) is 9000g of eggs.

That’s 16.8% of Killie’s body weight in eggs.

I am planning to write a book about Killie and I think it will be very VERY funny to acknowledge every single username who contributed in the acknowledgements…

…. Because I am planning to throw them back at you.

Now rest up, everyone. April Fools tomorrow, we gotta make the REST of the website unusable.

[egophiliac]

the lovers, reversed

(aka I'm still freaking out about Jou)

[ex0toxin]

awughhh silly shipchart.. my canonverse hcs 🧠

og post

[civetside]

more funny doodles!!! this time harrow nova version

[emeraldghast]

still catching up on autumn life

@driflew + @evenmoreevil + @jinxitaj + @tibbycaps + @cherrifire + @hopepetal + @applestruda + @aresonist are detailed enough to tag i think. mostly cuz i wanna see if any of em have thoughts on sona designs (i loveeeeeee informed stylization of character designs) local doody and froag hafta find this on their own though

[cal3ris]

Am caught up with The Rings of Power, and rather enjoyed it! It had to grow on me a bit, I felt that at first the callbacks (quotes and shots) to LotR were a bit too on the nose. But I like what they did with the expanded worldbuilding, like Númenor and the Harfoots and Rhûn. And I am as always a huge sucker for the costuming!

I also don't mind the large cast, with so many characters it's easy to find at least some that appeal to you (also means less screen time for each but hey, more for the imagination to fill in!) Not sure how I feel about the writing, but on the whole I enjoyed it well enough.

[commandertartarsmoocher]

🎉 Happy New Year 🎉

🎊 2025 🥳

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Do you like sci-fi and indie animation? Check out Monkey Wrench!

[moeblob]

So does he, Gallagher.

[bisclavret]

like many who have suffered at the hands of bbc merlin before me, i recently indulged in a thought experiment in which i outlined my own version of seasons 3-5 that stay thematically and tonally in line with the show (except they're less fucking stupid). but then i quickly realized that focusing on details is pointless: all you need is to solve the one Big Problem the show has, and the rest will follow. the problem in question? ✨morgana✨

i like the first two seasons. s1 achieves what it sets out to do and has fun while doing it, and s2, while flawed, sets up a ton of potential that the following seasons unfortunately squander, beginning with the insidious season 3. you can only distract me with cute knights and goblins and fart jokes for so long before i start seeing through you, evil, evil season of television.

my hypothesis is that if the writers had crafted s3 morgana into anything more sympathetic than a violent half-alive poltergeist that can never be reasoned with because she's suddenly terminally off her rocker, everything would've fallen into place. a sympathetic morgana would've made real, valid arguments against uther (and arthur) that wouldn't just be the ramblings of a woman possessed. her betrayal of arthur would have stemmed from her feeling increasingly morally superior to him because of his complacency in the face of their father's tyranny. under morgause's guidance she would stop believing that arthur is capable of change, and the whole point would be that she might actually be right. arthur would have to actively try and prove her wrong, instead of getting praised for doing the bare minimum because the bar is on the floor.

furthermore, morgana's prophetic dream about arthur and gwen becoming king and queen and her decision to prevent this however she can is a direct parallel to merlin learning about that same prophecy and making it happen by any means necessary. merlin's desires about his and arthur's futures are subtextually fueled by gay love and devotion, so why couldn't morgana's be? why couldn't she properly express her bitterness that arthur gets to be with gwen in a way she can't "took gwen away" from her, instead of suddenly declaring that gwen is nothing more than a servant, after two seasons of demonstrating again and again that she loves, values, and respects gwen more than anyone else in that godforsaken castle?

following this, an angry and emotionally volatile but still sensible morgana asking gwen to stay by her side during the coup of the castle in the s3 finale and gwen going behind her back to help arthur and the knights would've hurt like a bitch. double-sided betrayal! gwen having a real plot! the proper beginnings of a toxic yuri that would shape a generation!

then there's the utter hubris of having morgana shoot arrows at the same civilians she worried herself sick over for 2 seasons — even morgan, her medieval counterpart that was rooted in every sexist trope in existence, doesn't just go around killing senselessly but instead has (often petty!) personal vendettas against gwen, arthur, and the knights. morgana had every right to be sick of the pretensions around chivalry in camelot (she was always quick to mock it, even in s1), and to lash out at the knights and soldiers after years of feeling powerless in a castle full of armed men that blindly followed her oppressor. the show conveniently forgets that morgana was victimized as a woman as well as a sorcerer those first 2 seasons.

but like i said, this is not just about morgana. allowing her to remain a real and multifaceted character even as she betrays everyone in pursuit of her ambitions would've given the rest of the core four more interesting conflict to work with: merlin because he would have to experience real consequences to his actions, arthur because he would watch his sister go against his father (and his knights, and his birthright) and experience some actual internal dilemmas about it, and gwen because she would be forced to choose between morgana and arthur without the pretense that it's an obvious or easy choice for her to make.

even morgause and gaius would come off more interesting as mentors: neither one inherently evil or inherently good, both jaded by events that happened before our protagonists were even born, both heavily influencing morgana and merlin into fulfilling roles that they think are appropriate, but that morgana and merlin may not have chosen for themselves had they not been under their care.

you get the gist. if the show followed its own setup, morgana's mistakes wouldn't lie in cheap and senseless acts of violence but in alienating the people she loves because she is too hurt and jaded to trust them. meanwhile, everybody else would feel guilt over "failing" her and yet they would be too caught up in their own (sometimes flawed!) beliefs of right and wrong to truly see her point of view.

arthur would convince himself it was sorcery that corrupted her. merlin would know that isn't true but he wouldn't be able to argue without confessing everything, which is the defining conflict between him and morgana and it's cheapened when she's just an evil witch caricature and merlin is framed as inherently virtuous in contrast. gwen, too, would become a more active participant in her own life by choosing arthur over morgana and choosing to rule camelot with him instead of just waiting politely to see where things go.

and, of course, uther's downfall and death would be quick, final, and completely earned — when and why did the show even decide he of all people was the sympathetic villain, anyway?

lastly, and perhaps controversially, i think morgana should've learned merlin's true identity by season 4. her being the first of the main characters to find out makes perfect sense considering their shared history and their interconnected and mirrored arcs. even the show seems to agree, considering she does find out a little before arthur. but the narrative itself tried pointing flashing neon arrows towards this way earlier — there is a whole entire episode in s4 where merlin being emrys is repeatedly spelled out for morgana and she still isn't allowed to see it. that episode makes her look like the stupidest person to ever live, which is pretty funny im not gonna lie, but also another frustrating thing in the endless string of frustrating things that make up this show.

morgana learning that merlin has magic would've transformed the source of merlin's anxiety from a crippling fear of being outed someday to the crippling fear of knowing she could out him at any moment. this would make him want to beat her to the punch (perhaps he'd consider killing her for a minute and decide against it because she isn't a cartoonishly insane evil person in my version of events) and maybe he would even feel some tentative excitement at the idea of coming clean, now that it seems inevitable. after all, he always intended to tell arthur eventually! and i think gaius would have to admit outright that he does not want merlin to tell arthur he has magic because he, gaius, simply cannot risk such a gamble. it would be so interesting to see gaius and merlin clash and disagree once it becomes obvious that it's not merlin that isn't ready for the reveal, it's gaius. delicious!

with morgana's knowledge looming, things would inevitably spiral into a magic reveal by the end of season 4. i picture this season as an absolute mess of miscommunication between everyone at camelot, which is, y'know, canon. growing increasingly cunning and vengeful, morgana would use this tension to her advantage, destabilizing the court from the outside while she creates alliances with other sorcerers outside of camelot (instead of living alone in a hovel for no reason — morgana le fay i'm sorry i'm so sorry they gave you agravaine instead of your all-female entourage oh my god).

and here's where the events would change beyond recognition (aka here's where the meta becomes the fanfic i refuse to write). picture it with me: a militia of sorcerers infiltrates camelot and arthur and gwen have to set aside their differences (assuming gwen kissing lancelot and arthur overreacting happens, which it should) for the good of the kingdom as well as for love. picture high priestess morgana in her element, side by side with a bunch of misfit sorcerers that aren't so easily vilified, chopping down camelot's soldiers and knights and assuredly making their way to the newly-minted king.

then, just as it starts to seem that all hope is lost, in swoops merlin (the actual merlin, not his old fart disguise) on dragonback (kilgharrah hates morgana so much i know his sexist ass would stoop to anything to stop her)!!! imagine merlin showing off the extent of his powers in front of everyone and preventing the sorcerers from getting any further, declaring loud and clear that camelot is protected by him, by emrys. imagine that display of power alone being enough to send everyone home.

imagine the loyalties clearly drawn: merlin on arthur's side, morgana on the sorcerers'. imagine arthur, feeling confused and betrayed by everyone at this point, banishing merlin despite everything he's done for him in the angstiest, most emotionally dysregulated scene the show had ever put to screen. imagine merlin starting season 5 free at last but very lonesome, an embittered dragonlord like his father. imagine the absolute mess camelot would become without him, even with gwen — now queen guinevere — there to pick up the slack. imagine arthur actually earning merlin back, finally growing into his role as king as he does so. imagine the reunion.

all this and more could've been not just possible but inevitable if morgana was allowed to remain a complex character that is neither inherently good nor inherently evil: it was undeniably the biased and one-note treatment of morgana's downfall by the writers that set the precedent for literally everything else that happened after merlin chose to poison her. the show wouldn't have even had to jeopardize its tone or the monster-of-the-week vibe, all it would've had to do is admit that even the "good guys" are capable of mistakes and what makes them good is the ability to feel remorse and change for the better. (as opposed to uther, who was miles beyond redemption since way before the pilot and deserved to lose everything and die alone. OBVIOUSLY???)

in a world where morgana remains multifaceted and sympathetic, mordred would get a better arc as well, so if we really wanted to, we could still end on the same tragic note that the show ended on. with so much harm inflicted onto so many innocent people by the pendragons for so long (including mordred and the many druids and sorcerers that raised him), it could realistically end up being a little too late for anything more than one shining glimpse of king arthur and the sorcerer merlin's short-lived golden age before fate catches up to them. glimpsing that reality just to immediately lose it would've been far more satisfying and far more tragic than whatever the writers thought they were doing with all that pointless carrot-dangling.

and finally, an ending in line with morgana's new and improved arc. in this version, rather than bleeding out on the forest floor alone, she would channel the morgan le fay we know from the legends: sobered up by the reality of her brother dying, she would use her high priestess status (and perhaps also her pendragon status) to be granted passage over to avalon alongside arthur on the boat — a one-way ride — just to make sure he gets there safely. this is her penance for the harm she has caused, the same way arthur's penance is to die and leave the true ruler of camelot (gwen) behind to achieve everything he was too slow and indecisive to build while he still had time.

merlin's penance, then, would be to stay behind and watch them cross over without him, waiting and waiting and waiting until they come back or until he can finally join them. which is a bit fucking harsh if i'm honest, so i'd at least make it slightly more faithful to the legends by having him return as an old man and letting him take a long nap under a tree by the shore, his body slowly enveloped by vines like the cobwebbed fisher king in 3x08, never fully sure if he's dreaming or if there really are strange shapes fading in and out of the fog over the lake. still tragic, but nevertheless a little more open-ended and whimsical than [TRUCK NOISES] THE END!

[sforzesco]

giulia farnese, lucrezia borgia, caterina gonzaga

we are. figuring out looks. slowly but surely, we're figuring out looks.

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / insta / tip jar!

[sipthegossip-if]

THE CRAB. Hard shelled and always side-stepping. Cool glances and clipped words. You will meet their edges before you meet their eyes. They have a way of retreating just when you think you're getting close. Most people think it's arrogance but it's River's armour. Because underneath the practiced distance, there's something tender. A softness, they don't trust the world to hold gently. They are the kind of soft that bruises easily, the kind that hardens out of necessity, not nature. They are the kind of person that makes you second guess every interaction, not because they are cruel but because they are careful. Careful with their time, their words, their heart. Like a turtle retreating into its shell, they only come out when it's safe— and it rarely ever is.

River Fox doesn't let people in. Not because they don't want to— but because they have done it before, and it didn't end kindly.

If they ever open up to you, it won't be loud. It will be quiet. A door left half-open, in hopes you will walk through, look their ugly in the eye still love them without question.

ROMANCING RIVER FOX : It didn't happen all at once. With River, it never does.

It started with annoyance— the sharp edged awareness whenever you walked into a room. Too careless, too loud, too there. You talk like you have never been hurt. Like you don't know what it means to lose something you never got to name. So, their mouth becomes a gun, their tongue, a knife and their words, bullets.

But then arrives the hesitation. The way their gaze falls down to your mouth, mid sentence while you're rehearsing. And before they know it you begin to bleed into their music. It feels like you see right through them, and River has spent years perfecting the art of being unreadable. River sometimes wishes they were anyone else but River Fox— perhaps, that would have made loving you easier. But River turns cruel when they crave love— because anything is better than this want. They are ashamed of it. Ashamed of being caught in the act of wanting something that could never be theirs.

They will kiss you like a secret, like a mistake they will make again. They will touch you like they are waiting for regret.

River only hopes you will prove them wrong.

PERSONALITY : River Fox doesn't trust easily. They have built these walls around themself not because they are cold but because they remember. Every misstep, every betrayal, every time someone mistook their softness for something breakable. Pathetic wet cat. They feel everything deeply. Too much and all at once. They loathe being underestimated but they loathe being understood even more. Their quiet nature gives them a mysterious gravitational pull that their fans adore. Devastatingly loyal, once they let you in— but you will have to prove that you're worthy of it time and time again.

APPEARANCE : Dark skin with visible patches of vitiligo. Dyed platinum blonde hair, styled in loose, messy locs that fall around their face. Multiple silver rings on their fingers, a small silver hoop earring in one ear, triple helix piercing and multiple bracelets. Often dressed in dark or muted shades. 5'11. Lean but strong frame. Chocolate brown eyes.

[bandtrees]

they would get divorced in one universe just to find eachother in another one

alternatively titled: sometimes you're the level-headed token flesh-head impulse-control-and-polycule-member of a stubborn, eccentric, and hearty telephone-headed drug addict, and there's cruelty in the world you deem fit to suicidally fight, and that either goes about as well as you'd expect it to, or you learn about love and the value of your life and junk along the way

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

working on something rn and just. There are zero thoughts in four’s head

[overtake]

Was on a train from Berlin to Amsterdam after Euro quarters and thought what if backpacking Daniel (late 20s, mild crisis about what he wants from life has led to him bumming around Europe) and football fanatic Max (just finished university, his teaching job begins next school term) were also on a train from Berlin to Amsterdam after Euro quarters

Daniel’s greasy curls are matted against his oily face and he can still catch pungent whiffs of last night's nauseating adventures, despite the two showers with gritty bars of hotel soap he’d taken before running for this train. His hair has dried down gross and stringy, crushed against the hood of the jumper he should not need in July. Suffice it to say, he is not looking nor feeling his best, and it manifests in his arms trembling as they weakly attempt to throw his oversized duffle bag onto the train rack.

“Jesus fuck,” he mutters. He’s never been this hungover in his life, probably. His mouth tastes like stale beer and his eyes feel like sandpaper, and he’d really like his body to stop shaking.

“Do you need help?” A voice says from behind him, sounding lightly amused at his suffering. He turns — too quickly, very bad idea for his dizziness — to see a guy around his height but twice as broad, an orange Dutch national team kit stretched tight across his wide shoulders and showing off the round shape of his soft chest. There’s remnants of last night’s face paint still on edges of his cheekbones, the heavily smeared lines vaguely resembling what was once Holland’s flag. Blond-brown hair pokes out the edges of a garish bucket hat, and a crowd of friends in their own patriotic attire behind him are observing them with interest.

How these guys escaped the Euros viewing less fucked up than an Australian watching the sport for the first time is beyond Daniel’s comprehension, but he’s too grateful for the assistance to do much more than grunt an assent and thank you as the guy reaches up and pushes Daniel’s bag up the final few centimetres.

Daniel heaves out a grateful breath and collapses into the open seat below his settled bag, prepared to curl up against the window and contemplate all his life decisions on the six hour train journey and attempt to not spew in a public and embarrassing manner.

Dutch guy glances over at his friends, who have taken up three of the four seats at a table, and then, insanely and without invitation, seats himself right next to Daniel.

“Big night last night?”

Daniel stares at him for half a second, trying to make his brain come online enough to form words. “Uh, yeah. Was in the fan zone. Don’t think I stopped drinking until two hours ago.”

The guy offers him a big, crinkly smile. “Oh, same. Haven’t slept yet.”

“How are you so put together?” Daniel asks. He grimaces as the train begins to move, throwing one arm over his eyes and squeezing them tightly shut until the motion sickness eases ever so slightly. “I’m going to die, I think.”

“Practice,” the guy says solemnly, patting Daniel’s shoulder sympathetically, then letting it linger for a few seconds longer. Oh. Oh. Daniel’s too hungover to even think about the movement involved in sex right now, but like, yeah. This guy is big and strong and hot, and he’s quietly pleased with himself that he can pull even looking and smelling like this.

“I might need some of your training,” he says, flashing a big smile and then remembering the food stuck between his teeth that he couldn’t get out with brushing, floss long lost in the depths of his hellhole bag. He purses his lips together quickly, trying to hide the evidence.

Hot Dutch boy doesn’t seem to notice anyway. He just pulls a water bottle from his blue backpack, propped carefully on the fine hair dusting his delicious thighs, and offers it to Daniel. There’s a fancy luggage tag on his bag, and Daniel steals a glance at the MEV spelled out in delicate gold letting. Very cute, him branding a cheap backpack like that. “Thirsty?”

“Very,” Daniel says, gratefully taking the bottle — opened, he notices, which means these little plastic coils have been sucked between the plush pink of this guy’s lips and rested against the cute freckle decorating the top one — and swallowing down a long gulp.

“I’m Max, by the way,” he says when Daniel is done drinking, careful to ensure his fingers brush against Daniel’s hand when he takes the water back. He’s not aiming for any subtly in his intentions, particularly not with the intense stare he’s directing at where Daniel licks the remaining droplets of water from around his mouth.

“Daniel,” he responds in kind. When Max has placed his water back into its pocket, he takes Max’s hand and pumps it dramatically. “Enchanté, Max.”

Max has long fingers, his nails short but well-groomed. They’re a sharp contrast to Daniel’s bitten stubs, the edges of his thumbs permanently red and half-bleeding. The dark hair of Max’s arms trails up to his hands, which are moisturized, strong, and big enough to wrap around the expanse of Daniel’s throat.

“Will you be staying in Amsterdam long?” Max asks.

Daniel shrugs, tapping one worn-down, stained Van against Max’s navy blue sneakers. “Dunno. I could be convinced to extend my trip if I had a good tour guide.”

He knows Max’s friends are listening in, can see them whispering and giggling and taking photos to probably send in a larger group chat, but he focuses his attention on Max’s pretty blue eyes and the way Max’s hand is still loosely holding his.

“I don’t actually live in Amsterdam,” Max admits. He bites at his lower lip, dragging it through his straight, pearly-white teeth. “But I don’t mind sticking around for a bit.”

One of Max’s entourage leans over, says something to Max in Dutch that sounds like a protest, but a dark-haired boy slaps him in the stomach to shut him up and rolls his eyes at Daniel as if to apologize for his friend’s behaviour.

“You can rent a car and drive yourselves back,” Max snaps at him in English, then turns his soft attention back to Daniel. “So, tour guide. I better work on a good list while you sleep.”

Daniel drops his head down to Max’s shoulder, already making a plan for how he can casually rearrange his body to end up with his head on those plush thighs. “I guess we should find a few things to do around the city while the cleaners replace our sheets, yeah.”

Max laughs. “Do you enjoy football? We can go out and watch semis together, maybe.”

“To be honest, I’d never watched before,” Daniel admits. “I’m mostly into UFC. I just thought it seemed like a good time.”

Max brushes his fingers through Daniel’s gross hair as if it’s something soft and precious. “I’ll explain it all to you. It’s really such a good sport. Do you know anything about English football? Virgil plays for Liverpool.”

He’s off after that, explaining leagues and players and rules to Daniel, doing all these cute hand gestures and making himself laugh with all his little jokes. Daniel doesn’t even mind that he can’t drift off to sleep. He’s content listening to the rumble of Max’s voice, steady like the movement of the train, as he curls himself up into a tiny ball to rest his cheek on the smooth, pale skin spreading out of Max’s terrible khaki shorts.

He thinks he’ll like Amsterdam.