#this is just a glimpse. of course.

[moe-broey]

Wait a minute

I can literally just put them on my backpack front and center. (Plus a close-up on the cluster of Things where Céline lives!)

[filurig]

OK I WENT AND SCANNED THE ZINE I MADE AND... here are most of the pages - so every middle "spread" has one left and right page on the back of it and then a bigger pic once its unfolded, but didnt include every side for every larger spread.

this basically explores a bit of folke and adrian's relationship - adrian, the Creature, ends up finding folke's brother's recently deceased corpse and imitates his appearence, the only real way for a basilisk in their world to learn to shapeshift into something.

So their relationship is a bit complicated. but also, it ends up eventually settling into something that isnt only full of bitterness...

[stickmenyaoi]

about absence; presence. Lover; Warrior

Inspired by.

[novelconcepts]

Do you ever just lay awake at night, turning over in your head the stark difference in delivery between Hewson's Van saying--steadily, unshakably--"it's just something that's happening to you...happening to us" and Cypress' Taissa saying--imploringly, whiningly--"this was not just my dream, this was our dream"?

Do you ever just turn it over and over, how often Tai tried to scare Van away, and how it only made Van set her feet more firmly? How Taissa's first love was this person who saw a problem fall into Taissa's lap, a problem that was quite literally trapped inside Taissa's body, and decided unflinchingly: No, that's an us problem now? How she refused point-blank to walk away even with blood in her mouth, how she flatly informed Tai "I'm never gonna be scared of you", and promptly turned a moment of pain into a declaration of love? And how this would etch itself into Taissa for the rest of her life? How she'd take these things that worked with Van--with the person Van was, with the bond they shared--and try so hard to run through an identical script with Simone?

Except Simone is her own person. A completely different kind of person. A person who hasn't been offered any of the context, any of the realities going on inside Taissa. So: naturally she doesn't respond the way Van did at eighteen--and will go on to do all over again in her forties. Naturally, she hears our dream as the excuse it is, not as a plea for connection. Naturally, she is scared away when Taissa pushes, and shouts, and begs. Because there isn't blood in her mouth, not yet, but there will be. And they have a son to worry about. And she isn't eighteen and a special kind of immortal, a special kind of romanticized. She's a grown woman with responsibilities, with priorities, with an understanding that you can't fix someone just because you love them. And Tai can't just perform a revival of the play she and Van had memorized twenty-five years later with a whole new performer in the works, and expect it to shake out the same.

Of course it doesn't work. But look at Taissa trying it. Look at Taissa trying to reframe her first love through a new lens. Trying to recast it. Trying to play it through again. Van taught her love was sticking out the blood, shaking off the pain, making a you problem into an us problem. Does it ever just eat at you, how tragic it is, watching Taissa try to shape her marriage around a woman who isn't even wearing a ring?

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

oh my god oh my god oh my GODDDDDD i can’t BELIEVE i found these on my little rainy october thrift shop wander this morning. like, one would have been more MORE enough. but both?? at once??? i am quite simply floating and may never touch back down to earth

[sysig]

Delusions (Patreon)

"Could I have your hand, sir?" Max didn't move, which Dexter was, sadly, getting used to.

"Sir?" Max jerked, then turned and stared at him, lost and blank. "Your hand, please."

Max's hand lifted shakily, and he laid it gently in Dexter's upturned palm. Dexter gave a quick and quiet "thank you," then turned it over in his own hand, observing him closely.

Too closely - his knuckles were rough and his fingernails were dull and cracked in places. His once-soft, not-a-day-in-his-life-subjected-to-hard-labour hands were now, already, toughened and split and scarred in places, especially the heel of his palm. He turned it over again, this time to stop looking so intensely. He had only wanted to give it a cursory glance to begin with.

"Do you know what I see, sir?" he asked as conversationally as he could manage, running his fingers along Max's abused flesh. He seemed to be at least half paying attention, his eye gazing down between them, and he'd occasionally twitch, encouragingly Dexter thought. He seemed to want to curl around him, then stopped and shook, his hand squeezing into a fist. Dexter coaxed him back out, encouraged him to hold himself lightly.

"What do you see?" He was almost startled by Max actually continuing their conversation, that happened so rarely now, shaking and quiet as it was. He took a deep breath, was he really going to do this?

"I see a hand, with five fingers." Max remained quiet, though his brow curled, and a guarded look came into his eye, though he still wasn't looking at Dexter. He felt a pang of guilt, but he had to try. "What do you see?"

Max's eye unfocused and began to water. He looked up, but not enough to reach Dexter's gaze in return, instead staring through his chest, and he felt just as hollow and empty as he must look to him.

"Do you take me for a fool, DAX?" Quiet and as close to angry as he'd heard since they'd been here.

No, not angry.

Betrayed.

He swallowed down the stinging lump at the back of his throat. He had to put on a brave face, had to keep his composure if he wanted Max to get better. That was the only thing he wanted, more than anything.

"Of course not, sir. Genuinely, what do you see?"

Max pulled his hand away and turned his body, his bandaged side facing Dexter. Shutting him out, pointedly. Dexter's empty hand curled into a fist, he was no better.

"Please, don't..." Max took a shallow, shuddering breath, and several beats before he spoke again, even quieter. "Don't ridicule me." Dexter could hear his breath catch, and he wanted nothing more than for this all to just stop.

"Sir, I didn't-"

"I've had enough of that." He shook his head stiffly, the action strange and wrong, like he had forgotten how. He stilled, his head turned even further away. "More than enough."

[wyvernquill]

Finally some more Dreamling Anastasia AU!

(Obligatory link to the masterpost with all the other posts in this AU - it's also pinned at the top of my blog!)

So, it's been... a while... but I've recently finally got some motivation to write a bit more of this. Apologies to everyone really looking forward to the finale/resolution - I've decided to go all the way back to the start of the story, instead. I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless!

(Tag list: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-kingdom - since it's been a, uh, really long time, please let me know if you're no longer interested in this AU/fandom and don't want to be tagged anymore, I won't mind! On the other hand, if someone else would like to be tagged in future updates, please let me know!)

---

“Sister… it’s me.”

The man on the dilapidated theatre’s stage shrugs a heavy, moth-eaten velvet coat off his narrow shoulders. It crumples into a dark semi-circle around him, releasing a dramatic cloud of dust.

“Dream… of the Endless~”

.

“Ah. Hm.” A somewhat fussy older gentleman in the empty space usually reserved for the audience adjusts the small circular glasses on his nose, grimacing in a polite and distinctly English way - which he has, once, after first coming to this realm and taking this form, spent hours practising in the mirror - while checking a long list in front of him. “Mr… Carter, was it…?”

“Oh, please.” The man on stage flicks back his white-streaked bangs. “Call me Hal.”

“Yes. Of course, Mr. Hal.” The gentleman purses his lips. “That was… not, er. Not terrible, I suppose. And we’re pleased to note that you appear to have… brought your own cloak.”

“Don’t get used to it. Zelda and Chantal only let me borrow it for the audition.”

“Well, it is a lovely cloak. Only, ah, while Dream of the Endless was known to have quite striking eyes, I do think that, perhaps a little less eyeliner…”

“I could tone it down, I suppose, but I really think the performance would lose something without the makeup.” Hal sighs melodramatically. “I can sing and dance too, if you need it for your… what is this audition for, actually? Play? Music hall show? Ooo, one of those moving pictures?”

“Er.” The gentleman fidgets with his cane, grass-green eyes flickering around the empty theatre. “Well-”

“Thank you, Hal.” The younger man beside him interrupts with a winning smile that only barely covers the boredom and frustration lining a rather ruggedly handsome face. “We’ll let you know.”

“Hm.” Hal, clearly enough of an old hand in the acting business to know a polite “you’re not getting the role, piss off” when he hears one, frowns, and bends down to gather up the borrowed cloak, stalking off towards stage exit right with his head held high, not deigning either of the two men with even one more look.

“...I really do not think this will work, young Robert.” The older man mutters, decisively striking through Hal Carter’s name on his list. It is the last. “None of them look even remotely like him. And the voice-”

“I know, Gil. I know.” The younger man, Hob - only Gilbert is proper and precise enough to call him Robert - rubs at his temples, as if to stave off a headache. “They never manage to get the voice right, do they.”

“Ah, if it were only that…” Gilbert sighs, setting the list down. His eyes are soft and unfocused, seeing far into a past that has long since been razed to the ground. “His Lordship, he… he had a certain air about him, you understand. An otherworldly strangeness. He was the dream-maker, and dream-made, and to look at him was to gaze upon infinity.”

A soft scoff.

“Even if we claim that he has been greatly reduced by being turned into a meagre human - no offence, dear friend - as long as he does not have some spark of endlessness about him, nobody who has ever met him would fall for the ruse. And we are attempting to con his family. I simply cannot see any viable path to success.”

Hob does not respond, for a moment, picking up one of the flyers on their table.

It reads:

.

SEEKING Actor, slender, pale, tall, dark-haired, in the 20-40 age range to play the role of Dream of the Endless (method actors preferred). Generous pay and further benefits await. Auditions each weekday at 6pm at the Old Whickber Street Theatre, Soho. Ask for Hob and Gil.

.

“We’ll find him.” Hob insists. “The perfect pretender. He’s out there, I just know it.”

“We are not the first fools who have attempted a, a caper of this sort.” Gil points out, almost gently. “None of the others ever succeeded.”

“Yes. Well. None of the others managed to find and correctly identify the late Dream’s own pouch of genuine dream-sand on sale at the black market.” Hob shoots back, gesturing at the cord just barely peeking out from under Gil’s collar. (They’ve decided it would be safer if Hob comes into contact with the sand as little as possible, and Gilbert has taken to carrying it as closely to his heart as he can manage.) “It’s hard evidence, Gil, it’s a sign, it’s our chance - and it might just be enough. The trick with a good con is really making it look like you’re giving the mark exactly what they desperately want… and there’s nothing in the world Death of the Endless wants more than to have her brother back.”

.

(She wants it so desperately, in fact, that she’s offering immortality to any sentient being who manages to procure Dream for her.

And, well.

There’s nothing in the world Hob wants more than to live forever…)

.

“Your word in- or, well, kept out of Destiny’s ears, young friend.” Gil sighs, collecting his lists and notes and the remaining flyers, tucking them into his coat and reaching for his cane. “In the meantime, how about we go down to the public house and have a bit of a snifter to wash away the memories of all those atrocious performances, eh, my lad?”

“Best idea you had all day, Gil.” Hob grins, clapping a hand on Gilbert’s shoulder. “Are you buying?”

Gilbert raises one grey brow. “At the risk of provoking a joke regarding my non-human status: in your dreams, Robert.”

Hob laughs; and, together, they step out into the winter night, old snow crunching under their shoes and new flakes beginning to drift, gradually, down from the sky.

.

.

.

It has been a decade since the end of the Endless’ reign.

Ten years since humanity tore Destiny’s book from his hands and burned it.

Ten years since Destruction abandoned his siblings, hiding away in his own, separate exile. 

Ten years since Despair’s first aspect was killed, and another took her place.

Ten years since Delight went mad with grief and became Delirium…

.

And ten years since Dream of the Endless was captured, bound, turned human, and killed.

.

People still whisper about it. Still speculate, trade gossip and hearsay back and forth. Some insist that the Dream King yet lives, hidden away, turned human, just biding his time, waiting for an opportunity to return to his siblings.

It’s a lovely legend, Hob supposes. A fitting end and non-end, for the Lord of Stories, to live on in one… but that’s all it is. A pretty tale, which will breathe new life into a myth only for as long as it’s being told. It isn’t true…

…but now, ten years later, Hob and Gil will damn well make it so.

.

.

.

Ten years is also, coincidentally, all that a man a few streets down from the old theatre can remember of his life.

Ten years since he was found, naked and emaciated and bleeding, in a ditch next to some countryside road in East Sussex.

Ten years of fighting his way through a life in poverty, with no family, no friends, no-one to care for him, except perhaps the birds.

Ten years of strange and haunting dreams, blurred faces calling out to him with names he can never remember later but knows are his; ten years of waking every morning with tears on his face and a longing for someplace - and someones - he wishes he could remember; ten years of a woman’s voice begging him night after night to come home to her, to them.

.

Ten years of being much too busy starving and freezing and barely surviving to spare even a single thought to the dying legends of the Endless.

.

This man turns his face up to the sky, snowflakes catching in his dark hair and on his coat like stars glinting in the night; and he shivers, his breath clouding mist-white in the air, curling thin arms around a narrow torso.

(For a moment, just a moment, his eyes glow dark and infinite, a mirror to the night sky and the endless universe beyond.)

And then, he ducks his head down into his scarf, shivers again, and continues on through the snow.

Ten hard years have taught this man better than to waste his time standing about and daydreaming.

[lavenoon]

“Your kindness is imprinted upon us. You are entirely brave and brimming with love when there is fear and malice roaming this world. We profoundly care for you, sweet heart.”

@naffeclipse CAN YOU HEAR ME SCREAMING?

comic callbacks: three names, clever heart, oops trauma

[vickyvicarious]

Mina's morning and evening hypnotic answer is unvaried: lapping waves, rushing water, and creaking masts.

Even moreso than the information being the same every time, if her wording is always that unchanged, that's... worrying.

[iniziare]

Following my usual daily ventures on X and Tumblr, I realized that there's two things that I wanted to address/bring up. So, as per usual: spoilers. /echo, echo.

— The Fade prison is still failing. It needed replacement (which is referenced on several occasions, but a big one is during the memory with Mythal that expands on the DAI scene), and nothing in current lore tells me that this has changed in any way: it's still failing. Nothing I can find says that it now being bound to Solas, who is decently weaker than Elgar'nan, magically 'resolves' that issue. Therefore, his 'atonement' doesn't automatically equate to an 'eternal imprisonment', even if Lavellan's choice of words for going with him include 'forever', for she simply doesn't know what she's walking into or for how long, and instead enforces this tether to him from the deepest form of trust one one else could ever find (heartbreak.mp3). The atonement lasts as long as Rook decides as they hold the dagger, or until the Veil falls on its own. But that touches on another topic briefly: if you want to 'punish' Solas the most, or longest— though this ending is 'kindest' (not quite), it is the one that keeps him in the prison the longest. The dagger trick (this warrants a post on its own, and it's the only one I have writing beef with, character 'bias' aside), or the worst ending(s) all send the lyrium dagger with him, which, has you wonder if he's then simply given the opportunity to slice into the Veil, and slip out. Does the prison need a host, if said host holds the lyrium dagger? And even if he couldn't what could he do from inside after 'Pride' has been taunted, and 'punished' (in Rook's, and the audience's eyes), since again, he is in possession of his dagger? There is no atonement here, only resentment from a spirit that is now even closer to finding its fully perverted nature of a Pride demon. So I think if speaking morally across the board, which option is really 'for the greater good of Thedas', instead of personal resentment (though understandable)? But in that, I like that we're repeatedly told that we don't know, and we're making it up as we go. Out of all protagonists, Rook's personal journey of mental development is the most intriguing to me, and arguably (in my opinion), is the most 'human' in the sense that I think they give us the most relatable options of choice, understandable/relatable resentment being one of them. But anyway, I digress: if the atonement ending isn't chosen, then I definitely think the story isn't quite concluded, even though I don't believe that it ever really is.

— Blood magic. No, Solas has no loathing for the nature of blood magic at its essence. He stated so very clearly back in DAI during a conversation with the Inquisitor in Haven, and the bit of the conversation that pertains to my point goes as follows: 'Magic is magic, just as water is water, but it can be used in different ways. (...) Dalish magic is more practical, not needing Chantry approval, although they still frown on blood magic. Superstition.' And when you ask him to elaborate, 'You said censure against blood magic was a superstition...' He adds: 'Most modern cultures forbid blood magic. Publicly, even Tevinter disapproves of it. But as I said, magic is magic. It matters only in how it is used.' And yes, I can already hear it, I know exactly what point will be brought up (lucky me, I found a video that touches on this exact topic that showcases both scenes): and I want to say firmly that no, this is not a retcon, nor is it Solas changing his mind, nor is this a total and utter lie (he rarely, rarely lies that fully, and clearly). He simply states that he abhors the use of it, as in— he, himself, despises using it; which is why he so firmly says no to Cole, when the notion is brought up in DAI. Now yes, he did employ the use of blood magic in relation to Rook (the extents, I need to do research on, as it's obvious that Solas absolutely winged that part of this 'plan', but all of it is also a bit flimsily written due to, for starters, the details that Varric shares being incredibly personal at times, but I digress), and I see so many on X and whatnot complain of how this means that 'Solas changed his mind', no— what it intends to show you, is the ferocity with which he believes that he, and only he, is able to fix what he broke. The game intends to show you that over, and over again, and it is to prove just how far a spirit can be pushed from where it started. And no, stop approaching Solas as if he is your regular elf next door, or anything but exactly what he is: a spirit. Trying to sway a spirit from its nature is incredibly difficult (we'll go into Mythal, and the nature of his care, and devotion to her that started the journey of his spirit's perversion, another day), and that is literally the explanation behind what people are calling an 'inconsistency'. It's called desperation, but more so, the strength of a belief, or more specifically, how far something that is akin to being... the 'personification' of a belief can go in, well, its own belief. I think Solas has proven that one can go very far. The perversion of spirits, and the reality of what demons then truly are, is a tragedy that Dragon Age has been trying to prove to us for years. It doesn't take away the wrongs that they can do once they get twisted, but it's tragic, because spirits are benevolent; serene, and peaceful at their core. And it's kind of heartbreaking to know that something so purely good, can be pulled from that nature.

[mantisgodsdomain]

Anyways, to those who have been wondering what we've been doing during our impromptu Tumblr Vacation or whatever we're calling it, we've been trying to find a playthrough of Baldur's Gate 3 that is made by someone who doesn't annoy the shit out of us, and also tormenting Karlach Cliffgate (as you do)

[nattikay]

gentle reminder that the A2 script pages that have been going around from the Blu-ray bonuses are from an old/outdated version of the script, and anything that isn't shown in the final film cannot automatically be considered canon, whether it's scene/dialogue changes, character details, lore details, etc.

Stuff gets changed and/or cut for a reason, be it because they didn't have time for it, decided to go in a different direction for the character/lore, decided the scene should be moved to a later movie, or anything else.

It's fun to see alternate versions of the story that could-have-been, and if you want to play with concepts based on the script in headcanon or fanfiction, feel free of course...but be very very cautious about considering any of it "canon" until/unless another source confirms it (such as how the Tsu'tey's Path comics confirm some of the A1 deleted scenes).

[bookwyrminspiration]

this isn't fully articulated but there's something about how as king Bree was powerless, touted along and constrained. but as soon as she renounced that inheritance, stopped being king, she could decisively make her own calls and moves

[dyinggirldied]

DP X DC: Transmigration & Dimension travel & Reverse transmigration?

This is inspired by a dream (and prob after long reading of trashy transmigration manhwa).

So Tucker (bec i headcanon him as a fan of trashy books) somehow managed to convince Danny to read a book with cliche title "Rise of the Bat Prince"

It was a story about the main character Jason, a street rat who was adopted by the great King Bruce, whose royal image was a fearsome black bat. This book journey Jason's adventure as he rose to become one of the greatest princes, among his rivalry with Bruce's other adopted sons and daughters: the eldest and charisma Dick, the intelligent Tim, the only blood son Damian, the brave Duke, the dangerous mute Cass, the loud Steph.

Not only that, Jason had to fight with other nobles and royals' classism, those who often laughed and discriminate and framed him as a "brute"

The story concluded with a happy ending with Jason eventually succeed Bruce as King.

It would have been no problem had Danny not wake up as a servant tending to said Jason. Never mind that the story never had a servant character as Jason.

Now, Danny still have powers and he wanted to find Clockwork to take him back. But he saw pitiful Jason (who was just newly arrive at the castle) and decided uugghh alright i will help him. Just this once. But its not once time. It was multiple times. Danny did not know it but he eventually helped solved the family drama and misunderstandings/miscommunication (thank you Jazz).

He ended up changing the story into a found family one, and obliviously didn't realize the King's children were fighting for his attention, but Jason always won anyway 🤣

But with the story ended happily, Danny eventually returned home (only a few minutes had passed in his world, i don't know how he got back but *wave hands* magic).

Strangely enough, the book had disappeared and when he apologised to Tucker for losing it, Tucker looked at him like he was crazy and ask "Dude, what book? I don't think I've ever heard of it?"

Danny asked and searched but no results found. He thought it was a dimensional thingy that had got lost until he came across an article that showed the Wayne family, everyone in the pic looked exactly the same as those in the storybook.

The exception was that Jason looked buff, with green eyes and streak of white hair instead.

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

four walls: alex moodboard

(miles’s version)

[husbandida]

No one

Absolutely no one

Me and my broken brain: What if I made a Nevermore Trimberly Au?