#Tone Mythology

[unita-n]

My Fireforse 2011, 2012, 2016

[rocks-in-space]

That was one of the best d20 episodes ever <- me, about Misfits and Magic 2 every single week

[nobledragonflying]

my two cents on what kashi is that he is krishna. my evidence (as little as it is) is that krishna is often described/depicted as having blue skin and what does kashi wear?

THISSSSSSSSS (I brightened & over exposed the screenshot to see it better)

AND his rings may symbolize his previous lives/reincarnations, which he calls "adventures" because, just like krishna, kashi is a chill and wise dude. Giving out advice and is obviously way more powerful than people assume

[namidew]

Sketch of @gingermintpepper ‘s Hyacinthus and Apollo !!

They’re very cute, and are a part of a novel ginger is writing !! They write very well in fact. Go check out their writing and art !!

[seiwas]

hi sel!! i missed seeing you around dash - i hope you’re enjoying your lil vacation!

n for your lil game.. if it appeals.. may i suggest touya + rain/storm ?

scar hello!! sorry i've been on and off these past months 🥹 i missed being on here too!! i have been enjoying my lil vacation though 🥺 it's been a while since i've just chilled at home! thank you for sending in a prompt 💗

contains: fallen angel touya, visions in dreams, kind of disorientating what's reality vs not, reader tries melatonin, there is a fire

touya + storm

there's a storm outside your window.

the rattling of string lights on your balcony jolts you awake, the wind howling an eery melody. this weather is common at this time of the year, but tonight, you feel uneasy. you think there's something on your front yard.

your footsteps are light as you make your way down your staircase, the flashlight on your left hand clutched tightly as you reach for the umbrella by the door.

it's zero visibility on your front yard, heavy rainfall being dragged sideways by the wind. you squint, flashing your light at the area in front of you.

a broken branch from your neighbor's tree dangles loosely towards your fence, but you can't make out anything else apart from that. you contemplate stepping outside to get a better look, but a burst of light streaks itself across the sky, lightning flashing before thunder rumbles loud enough that it reverberates in your heartbeat. a sudden chill breezes over you, your skin prickling from strands of hair standing.

your flashlight flickers, the light going out once before you tap it on your wrist twice. and when it turns back on, you think you can make out a figure hunched over the shrub at the far right of your garden.

you flash your light over the area to get a better look but it turns black―your vision or the light, you're not sure.

the next time you open your eyes, you're tucked in bed, squinting your eyes at the brightness of sunlight.

a dream? you wonder. the jacket you're certain you reached for is still right by your vanity, untouched. could be.

your front yard is trashed, just like you expected it to be, if your subconscious was trying to tell you anything from last night's dream. plants are uprooted, with small branches scattered all over the grass. you suck in a breath when you spot the broken branch from last night just as you saw it―still barely hanging on as it dangles over your fence.

you must have heard it break off in your sleep, you tell yourself. the mind can be quick in associating these things.

things become weird after that.

you get more visions in your sleep, mostly when the storm beats heavy raindrops against your window. sometimes, they're the same as the first time―instances of you searching outside but blacking out and waking in your bed the next morning. others, they're stranger, more vivid. you see a man with white hair turning red at the tips.

he comes to you in flashes―in between lightning strikes and thunder claps; in fragments, distorted by sheets of rainfall. you can never fully make out his face, but his eyes glow a striking blue amidst the darkness that often surrounds him.

the melatonin makes it worse. for a few nights now, you've begun to see more of his silhouette, similarly hunched over that shrub from the first night, except it grows taller, almost as if he's standing.

you wake up every time he almost reaches full height. but were you even really sleeping?

your therapist tells you it must be stress. this particular time at work is busy, after all. and, "halloween festivities can be impressionable when the mind is tired."

so you let it go, hoping that the dreams disappear eventually.

but then you find a feather. it's long, far too long to belong to any animal you know of; the color is charcoal black, with its tips slightly crisp as if it's been burnt. you find it by the shrub, where the silhouette crouches over every night in your dreams.

your palms sweat as you handle it, a mixture of anxiety and fear. you feel sick to your stomach; scared and disoriented. what even is real?

you call your friend, midoriya, to keep you company. he's no cynic, but if anyone could think up an explanation for anything, it'd have to be him. he has notebooks and journals full of analyses and theories on a bunch of weird things.

"can you tell if he's... uh..." he tries to find the words, as if trying not to scare you, "demonic?"

though with how jittery he is, you're pretty sure he's just as, if not more, nervous.

"i don't know yet," you admit, setting down his blanket for the night, "i guess he does feel kinda angry, but..." you think back to those blue eyes, trying to discern the exact emotion in them, "not at me i think. i don't know."

midoriya jots down some more notes as rain increasingly patters outside your window. you're sure he'll spend the whole night figuring this out from the way he continues to ask you more questions.

that night, you dream of the figure again, but something about this time feels ominous; larger. it starts out with his face, lightning illuminating glimpses of his expressions. you see scars across his cheeks and his hair turning a shade darker. another crackle of lightning brings him further away, hunched over the shrub again, except this time, he begins to stand; and you're prepared to wake up again right before he shows himself in full height―except you don't.

he stands before you still concealed by the downpour, but his presence is simultaneously chilling yet glorious. and you don't expect it, what happens next―the unfurling of wings right by his sides. they span the width of your entire yard, large and so unlike anything you've ever seen before.

then, an alarm breaks, and you wake, neither in bed nor on your front porch.

your feet touch wet asphalt, the sensation hardly differentiating itself from how drenched you are by the rain. thick smoke fills your lungs as you stand before a blazing house a few streets down yours. sirens sound around you―an ambulance, a firetruck, and a police car, all managing the commotion.

people evacuate their nearby houses as the policemen round them up at a safe distance. out of everyone in the scene, you seem the closest of all, the heat from the fire nearly licking at your cheeks.

"everybody, please step back!" one of the firemen shout. to your right, another one hurriedly hauls a body down to the stretcher beside you. a paramedic immediately tends to the person before you can even catch a look.

"please step back!" the fireman closest to you calls out, but the sound is muffled in your ears, almost by a dull ringing and the subtle sound of wings flapping. an unexplainable urge pulls you toward the body.

"hey―!" the fireman tries to call for your attention, but you ignore him, inching closer towards the stretcher. you tiptoe to get a better look, and as you catch a glimpse of the body's face―

the fireman holds you by the shoulder, "i said―!" as another paramedic addresses you and asks, "do you know this man?"

and right there on the stretcher is him―white hair with red at the tips; his cheeks are an angry shiny red, like its been melted, burnt. he remains only semi-conscious, eyes half-lidded as he is tended to. but when you peer over, he blinks and manages to look at you.

you find the same striking blue.

[see-arcane]

In which I can't stop making fantasy fashion for Doomed Bride of Death characters. This time going classical and giving Persephone a pomegranate punch and a lot of garnet glitter.

[bitchface24-7]

We know the Winchester Brothers Obsess over one another, it’s canon and blatant text within Supernatural.

Here’s a little blurb I came up with cause I can’t sleep and it’s 2:10 in the morning :)

——————

Sam loves his big brother. It’s a given. After everything they’ve been through it’d be unfathomable for them not to love each other.

But Sam can’t stand the fact Dean doesn’t seem to love him as much as Sam loves him. Sam knows Dean loves him, would do anything for him. But it seems like Dean’s avoiding him.

He’s going to bars more often and hooking up with the first girl he sees. There’s been too many times Sam had to leave their shitty motel room cause Dean wanted to get his dick wet. It’s frustrating, it’s embarrassing. The only thing that weirdly enough makes it better is the fact Dean is constantly wearing his amulet Sam gifted him all those years ago.

Those girls may be there for the moment, but Sam is Dean’s for life.

Sam thinks Dean doesn’t love him as much as he loves Dean. He’s proven wrong on one of their hunts though.

By a Siren.

——————

“I gave him what he needed. And it wasn’t some bitch in a g-string. It was you, his little brother.” The siren taunts as Dean holds Sam, his sharp knife digging into Sam’s throat. Sam damn near blacks out at that. A demon known to take on its victims sexual fantasies; and Dean’s is Sam?

The confrontation goes rapidly with Bobby coming in and saving their asses. Stabbing Dean in the shoulder and the demon in the back.

Sam doesn’t know what to think, he doesn’t know what to say. So he keeps quiet. The pleading look on Dean’s face help him make that choice as well.

——————

“What did he mean?” Sam questions out of the blue one day, months after that fateful hunt.

Dean looks over to Sam in confusion from the motels couch, “Who Sammy, Darren? The waiter from the diner? It was an innuendo that meant butt se—“ before Dean can finish his taunt, Sam cuts him off with an eye roll, “No Dean, not Darren. I know what he meant. I meant the siren from a few months ago.”

At the mention of that hunt, Dean shuts down. His expression flattens and he somehow metaphysically pulls away from Sam. Sam can’t get a read on him; and he hasn’t been able to do that since he was a baby.

“Nothin’ Sammy. It means nothing.” Dean mutters as he takes a long swig from his beer, the sports game playing on the TV now Deans main focus.

Sam scoffs at that lame ass excuse, “Bullshit. It means something and I think I have the right to know what that is.”

“The hell you do! You don’t need to know everything you fucking snoop, leave it be!” Dean’s voice raises as his jaw clenches. Sam raises an eyebrow at his brothers aggressive reaction. He’ll get Dean to crack, one way or the other.

Sam decides to taunt Dean. With an over-exaggerated flip of his hair, Sam quotes the siren, “I gave him what he needed. And it wasn’t some bitch in a g-string. It was you, his little brother.” Sam says in a fake saccharine tone. Batting his eyelashes at his older brother before getting serious.

“Dean, Siren’s take on their victims greatest sexual fantasy. Their celebrity crush, the one that got away, the server from your favourite restaurant. All that shit. But yours was… me. Why?”

Dean purses his lips and takes an even bigger sip of his bear, wetting his lips as a drop trails down his neck. Dean wipes it away when the back of his hand with a morose sigh. Sam quickly averts his eyes from that gesture.

“You just answered your own damn question Sammy.”

Sam gapes, “I’m your biggest sexual fantasy? How, why?”

Dean rolls his eyes at his brothers shock, “I don’t even know where to begin Sammy. I’ve always loved you. I’m not sure when the wires got all tangled and fucked up but it happened. I guess being the main one to take care of you really messed everything up, huh?”

Sam wants to cry a bit. It does make sense, Dean is everything to him. His mother, his father, his brother, and his best friend. All they’ve known all their lives is each other. They’re each other’s greatest weakness.

“If it’s any consolidation Dean, my siren looked like you too.” Sam quietly states as he gets up from his laptop and moves to sit next to Dean. Stealing the beer from his limp hand and taking a massive swig. Deans eyes and lips part minutely.

“You… wait— what?” Dean questions, his words barely escaping his lips. Sam just smiles and kisses his brothers cheek; as close to his mouth as he can, before shuffling around and getting comfortable. Leaning into Dean’s side he makes himself small to cuddle up to Dean. “So… who’s winning?”

Dean just huffs a laugh at the blatant change of subject, steals back his beer and continues to watch the game, “Look at the top left corner. It tells you.” Sam rolls his eyes, “You know I’m not a big sports person. I don’t know the team names from just a few letters!” The two continue to bicker, as if nothings changed.

In all honesty, it really hasn’t. Their unspoken bond has finally been brought to the light.

[variousqueerthings]

VQT!

Dev Patel mentioned in his reddit AMA that some of the hijra in Monkey Man were not actors and were from the hijra community. I just remembered your tag and thought you might like to know!

AH THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME KNOW!

I was trying to find anything in interviews and coming up short. It does make it have some grounding in real world collaboration with people, rather than "just" coming from the outside and making statements -- obviously can't say for 100%, but it feels like it was supportive and respectful in the narrative, and hopefully behind the camera too

[h0bg0blin-meat]

Just a heads-up for people who think Agni and Soma are married. There is no proof of them being husbands in any of the scriptures but there IS super queer subtext to their relationship, so they might have been boyfriends, but not husbands.

[bronzegods]

Every time someone depicts Sutekh as pale with red hair, another part of my soul dies.

Source: Papyrus of Ani, EA10470,32

[mad-hunts]

okay, but who was going to tell me that the soundtrack for EPIC: the musical was full of BANGERS??? like OMG — scylla randomly came on while i was in the car, and that was all i listened to the rest of the ride home because it was just THAT good

[traewilson]

Saw Quinton Reviews' side video talking about Star Wars and how the brand's strict dedication to continuity leads to past "mistaken" continuity gets snipped off, like Sebastian Shaw as Anakin Skywalker. It got me thinking: Star Wars, deep to its most primordial basic structure, isn't actually myth - that's the bones of the body of Star Wars. In its proverbial genes, its history, and even cursory knowledge of how George Lucas tells stories shows this. American Graffiti is the most obvious example of this, being a dramatization of Lucas' childhood experiences. Indiana Jones is another example (until the last one, anyway, but we don't talk about Dial of Destiny). The first three films are defined by the pop culture trends of the time they were set. The villains in 1940s serials were, naturally, Nazis, so the villains are Nazis in the Indy films set in the 40s. This commitment to historical accuracy does lead to problems, however - namely, another source of villainy in the 40s were racial stereotypes of tribal peoples. Cue Temple of Doom, and the cartoonishly bigoted portrayal of Indian people in that film. This is why Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is the way it is. In the 50s and 60s, the villains of American serials were the Soviets, so the villains are Russians. A chief obsession of that time was with aliens, so, like how religion was a big obsession in the 40s, aliens are a focus on Crystal Skull. Dial of Destiny partially failed because the filmmakers didn't engage with the series' formula, or rather, the executives didn't want Indiana Jones to deviate any further from what fans were nostalgic for. This results in a sort of bizarre feedback loop, where Indiana Jones is now referring back to ITS OWN PAST, ITS OWN HISTORY, rather than the actual history of the pop culture of the real world. The villains in the Indiana Jones films everybody likes are Nazis, so we're doing Nazis again.

Indiana Jones was on a trajectory where it would mirror the pop culture of the time period its set in. In the end, it abandoned this and gazed down its own navel, harkening back to the history of its own series, nonsensically contradicting the pop culture of the late 60s going into the 70s. Star Wars ran into a variant on this issue with continuity - with history.

Star Wars, of course, is obsessed with its own history. George Lucas himself was obsessed with the history of the Star Wars universe, at least the continuity of the films he made. The creators involved in the Expanded Universe were allowed to do their own thing, provided they didn't contradict his films, and with full knowledge their stories are only as canon as Lucas wanted them to be - which resulted in situations where stories about the Clone Wars pre-Prequels were essentially erased from existence because they, inadvertently, were inconvenient to a constantly revised history. To be clear, this isn't adjusting actual real life history, where it is a good idea to keep its narrative as accurate as possible. These are stories, fiction. And yet, creators and fanbase alike are as obsessed with the minutiae of Star Wars' history as the preacher is obsessed with the minutiae of the Bible and Biblical narratives.

This obsession with historical revisionism for a history that does not actually exist is resulting in the eradication of elements that are no longer convenient to its narrative. Sebastian Shaw as Anakin Skywalker, Clive Revill as the Emperor, all performances destined to become pop culture relics, only known by the most devoted of acolytes at the altar of Star Wars. I'd argue this started all the way back with Splinter of the Mind's Eye, the novel that was essentially George Lucas' backup concept for a Star Wars sequel if the first underperformed, realized. This novel is meaningless to the grand Star Wars continuity. An odd little curio; a peek into a future of the faith that could've been. I only know about it because I was obsessed with Star Wars as a kid. Less and less will know of it as time goes on, because it's basically a heretical text written in unwitting defiance of a constantly rewritten history. This eradication is deeply unfortunate, and actively works against Lucas' undeniable mythical inspirations for Star Wars. Myths are fluid, dynamic, ever-changing. Star Wars only changes as nostalgia and continuity so allow. This will be a BIG problem with Star Wars going forward - both the religious fanaticism of the fandom's strict devotion to their particular denomination of fandom faith (the Prequels are the best! The Originals are best! The Sequels are best! If you don't think that'll happen, I wouldn't bet on it.) and the strict devotion of the creators to the constantly changing, constantly eradicating, timeline of a world that is entirely fictional. Star Wars confines itself like this to its own detriment. Luke Skywalker won't be nostalgic for people forever. Anakin Skywalker won't be nostalgic forever, and in time, Rey won't be either. They will, gradually, over the course of time, become confined to the dustbin of history, along with Sebastian Shaw's Anakin, of Clive Revill's Emperor, as Splinter of the Mind's Eye, or Gennady Tartakovsky's Clone Wars miniseries. Some of this, of course, is the relentless march of time's fault, I get that. But the structure of Star Wars has grown to such an extent that stories are becoming harder and harder to write for it. You can't do too much; you absolutely cannot change Anakin's fate, or a different end for Luke that contradicts Last Jedi, or a British guy as Darth Vader's true self.

All this buildup to say George Miller and how he's handled the structure of the Mad Max franchise will give it a longer life, I feel, once its originator has passed on. George Miller is, frankly, a much better mythical storyteller than George Lucas. Anyone can be Max. Anyone can be Furiosa, or Immortan Joe, or Dementus, or Lord Humungus or the Doof Warrior or Aunty Entity. That's the beauty of this series; since anyone can be anyone, and hard facts are few and far between, this allows much more room for creative experimentation.

Anyway that's my ramble for tonight. I'm sure this will be a mess to get through, but it is a somewhat accurate picture of how I think. I'm a natural rambler. This is why Xwitter and I are not getting along lately.

[grimm-the-tiger]

This popped into my head unbidden.

[ultrabananapudding]

I love tragic love tbh so when you said Orpheus x Eurydice for Jalim, it also made me think about Alcyone x Ceyx. They were another happily married couple that were very devoted to each other, but their hubris got the better of them. They called each other "Zeus" and "Hera" which pissed off those 2, and Zeus struck Ceyx' ship while at sea and he died, and when Alcyone found out she threw herself into the sea and drowned, but, unlike Orpheus and Eurydice, their tragedy does have a semisweet lesson of their love triumphing over their tragedy, because the gods' had enough compassion for their tale afterwards that they transformed them into 2 kingfishers, or the Halcyon birds, named for Alcyone. So the morale of the story basically, their love and devotion was enough so that neither the gods' nor death kept them apart, and lived on despite their tragedy.

AUGH, this has the perfect balance of sweetness and tragedy !!

I can definitely envision Jalim here as Jason jumping back into Hell to save Salim perfectly mirrors Alcyone throwing herself into the sea - I'm interpreting this as her trying to seek out her lover rather than having done this to kill herself.

Thanks for the nice summary and your knowledge in Greek mythology coming in clutch 🌸🩷🌸

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

So for an art project we'te gonna detail a trip. Can be one we actually made, can be fictional, can even be to a fictional place. So, naturally, I was caught between lotr and tma/Michael's corridors. But lotr is probably the wronh vibe and also the tma obsession is fresher so guess who is gonna make a really jarring left-behind style diary of a trip through that pale yellow door!

[holdoncallfailed]