#in character: there is work to be done

[philialdevotion]

frost-bitten fangs

An overnight outage to the stables’ heating system results in the deaths of several wyverns, personal mounts and beloved lesson drakes alike. In their grief, passionate students vowed to sleep overnight in the wyvern stables to help them keep warm through the night. [Grants Flying +1]

[littlelightfish]

Funny things I found out playing with language setting in Netflix while looking episode 15:

Chilchuck's scream sounds HAUNTED in brazilian portuguese. Give it a try if you can.

(You can hear it here)

In spanish dub, Senshi says: "tocó mis senos de hombre", which means "he touched my man boobs" in Spanish. And I think that's the best dub line one so far.

[bellwethers]

Tough.

[fictionadventurer]

Personally, it's always a bit wild to me to see commentators interact with the Hunger Games franchise as if Collins were writing science fiction stories instead of essays with faces. She's just not that interested in fleshing out side characters or digging into the details of the worldbuilding. These characters are concepts and symbols before they're people. There's an almost mathematical precision to who and what she explores and how deeply she does it. This is a step or two away from pure allegory. If she were writing a couple of centuries ago, she'd have named her characters things like Innocence and Anger and Watch-Carefully-Your-Soul-Lest-Ye-Be-Damned, but since she's writing for modern audiences, she has to settle for puns and allusions. If she has another essay to write, she'll assign some faces to it; she's not going to look into backstories or other eras just for the sake of storytelling, and it's not a failing as a writer that she doesn't.

[elisenel]

Something catches Blitz' eye in the toy garage and Fizz can't help but lend a hand to his bestie 🤲

[lambment]

HOO boy had to get this out of my system

[squeakadeeks]

hello cookierun nation here are all of the cookie cosplays i humbly offer to ye that ive done so far. love those lil dudes

[canisalbus]

Sighthounds are so sleepy by nature it just makes Machete even funnier that poor guy must be absolutely EXHAUSTED beyond regular standards. The greyhounds around him are baffled that he stays up all night working.

[saragrosie]

I have been sketching. So much tma. Here's some expansions on my Jon and Martin designs I've been doing.

Another note I forgor to mention is I love how after hearing Simon go "it's enough to make your hair turn white" about Martin's office in s4 many of us collectively agreed his hair turned white because of his association with the Lonely. The shared consciousness is real and we use it to play hot potato with the communal brain cell dedicated to the sillies.

Closeup of apocalypse boyfriends (also to the person who said they love my s5 Jon's fancy white girl updo: I think about that every day)

[naomistares]

mini comic about a kinda freaky terrible queen and the nonsensical takes she has about the times people have tried to kill her

(more thoughts in notes)

UP NEXT! ANOTHER short comic, (and then one more) this time taking place one month before the kings death, in which we will have: one annoying prince! one lousy fight scene! rejoice's dismissive nature! and row reveals a secret.... tune in next time for all that

[bluejelly8]

Needless to say i am enjoying the ever loving FUCK out of The Fall of the House of Usher. I went from having a normal day to running around like a rabid dog and shaking my head as i tear apart my favorite chew toy

[philialdevotion]

✧ falesia: the disquieting awareness that someone's importance to you and your importance to them may not necessarily match.

Everyone loves the Exalt.

They love the way she smiles at them; how she listens, really listens, and considers the concerns that throng their lives. Hundreds bury their hopes in the smooth twist of her lips, and she respires pure redemption in return. Who wouldn't love such a smile? They love how kind she is, how gently she promises, with every last word, to repair the wrongs her father wrought. They love her like they love Peace. Hardship has taught them all, in empty shelves and flayed-cheek hunger, to love Peace.

When Her Grace walks amongst the people, it is quite natural that she be accompanied. The people love her, but not enough for her to walk amongst them unattended. Tears cried in exultant joy, or bitter rage shine with the same raw iridescence; Phila would rather her bones form the forth of pearlescant sea-scum souring the walls of Southtown's canals than let a single beslubbered hand touch her Exalt.

She places herself at the rearguard. She avoids meeting the eye of the one she defends. It is for the best, is what she tells herself: she doesn't have to see her own warped face held in such bitter relief with warm pupils. In those eyes, olive branches unfurl their leaves to the sun. Moss pillows oak trees bending under the weight of their own age. Her eyes are groves that Phila dares not disturb.

A girl has pushed her way to the front. She crumples in on herself, hands clasped in prayer or restraint or awe. Her lip quivers as her parents encourage her forward. Look, there she is. Isn't she beautiful? Phila doesn't need to look any longer. She knows the answer all too well.

They complete the procession. Another success for the Halidom. Today has been a good day and tomorrow shall be much better. They are alone in the throne room and Phila asks if she noticed how wonderful the sun was that day; like a great glowering sweet, sucking the light out of the sky and illuminating their path through the city.

Phila loves the Exalt. She loves the Exalt as only a subject can. At a remove. From her throne-side. They are all servants of her cause, and sometimes Phila can play at it being enough. It is a joy to serve. It is a joy to know she can be of use. It is a joy to know that those feelings, which steal into her heart with barbed-bladed pangs, can never be requited, because it means she can die for her cause quite easily. That is how it must be. And when she doesn't fall too close into the scope of her arms, that is how it is. The possibility of anything else is vertigo-inducing; she fears the fall.

[hinamie]

i mean he's got all the outfits now might as well show them off

bonus:

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[notelectrictigerart]

night shift hijinks

Gift exchange art of Rose and Kanaya for @whamss

[candle-scm]

the duality of Katara

[lucky-fy]

For the Laicion nation (aka, me and three other people)

I had this illustration commissioned (a big thank you to @lunehowls) for my werewolf AU Laicion fic (still a WIP).

The general pitch is as follows :

AU in which Laios never got to meet his sister again, putting his life on a whole other path, a more desperate one. A military deserter with barely a coin to his name, Laios hitches a ride on a boat to one of the elven continents, where he learns about magical tattoos that binds one’s soul to a wolf’s, effectively making them artificial werewolves. Illegal magic be damned, this feels like the answer to… everything.

In the process, he learns about the existence of an illegal fighting ring in one of the elven cities, where beastmen gladiators gather. Freshly tattooed and without anywhere else to go to, Laios decides to head there, where he meets Lycion, an elf and artificial werewolf gladiator. If they first bond over a simple shared meal, by spending time together (sharing the same room in the barracks, maybe the same bed? gasp) they find that they have a lot in common, notably a shared distaste for the body they were born in, a dysphoria partially remedied by becoming a werewolf.

They bond :)

NB: I commissioned another piece, go take a look :D