#vague post kinda

[blossomhcir]

// chat, is it puritanical to ask people to engage critically with themes and handle taboo subjects with respect without fetishizing it?

[syrren]

“The artist becomes the canvas!” - TMAGP 002: Making Adjustments

[gunstellations]

encounter (1/?)

next page

cont. of unfamiliar side

[radiance1]

The Justice League have a problem, one that needs some level of knowledge and expertise of a being from the Infinite Realms to give them a better chance of actually solving this problem.

However.

Every ghost they have summoned, without fail, took one look at Constantine. Squinted (yes, squinted). Then decided to go back to where they came without a word.

This. Would have been useful, nice even. If it was a situation where they needed the summoned being of a cult to head back to where they came without a fight.

But alas, that is not what is happening.

The Justice League, obviously, ask him why the ghosts keep fleeing back to their Realm at the sight of him, but Constantine can't answer because he genuinely has no idea why they keep leaving when getting a proper look at him.

So they keep trying and they do find some success in it. They summoned a boy, most likely older than he physically looks yet it still puts some of them off because of, well.

You know.

A boy with white hair and toxic green eyes. The boy stops short, as if not expecting to be randomly transported to somewhere else, takes a look around the room, then the Justice League. His eyes settle on one person.

Constantine, in particular.

He squints (Why do all of them squint? Nobody knows) and then a sudden looking of realization passes on his face. Different from the looks of vague fear and genuinely want to not involve themselves any further, his face held slight disgust and a heavy amount of disappointment.

Thankfully, he didn't leave immediately after that.

Constantine asks what's with the look on the ghost boy's face, the ghost boy in question squints even further. Stares at Constantine for a moment or two, buries his face in his hands and brings his knees to his hand and groans out.

"He could've done so much better."

[answermywearyquery]

the theerapanyakul kids: how close are you with each other?

loan’s kinnporsche 2nd anniversary: favourite familial relationship: the theerapanyakul kids (insp: ��+½)

[hrokkall]

ULTRATOBER /// EIGHTH CHARACTER DESIGN SWAP

I did, in fact, draw their faces but wasn't 100% sure if that conveyed "angel" enough so I gave them upside-down masks. But here they are uncovered.

[anniebass]

two pals being nineties and stuff

scene from Stuck on Rewind on ao3

[the-random-phan]

Sides of a Coin

[moron-rights]

end cards please, an epilogue, please, I’m begging

[the-shrimp-alchemist]

Anyone else think Ed and Ling should've been a little more. I dunno. Drenched in blood during this arc? :)c (for the sake of the blood showing up on their dark clothing let's just say there's So Much Of It)

I didn't draw this for October 3rd btw, but now's as good a day to post as any!

Bonus, by the time they emerge:

dramatic reveal ruined, more at 11

[nicoappreciation]

i get that it’s fun to be a hater sometimes but personally it’s a pet peeve of mine when people get too pessimistic/negative about something when i think it’s not really necessary and i feel like that can apply to a lot of situations on this side of the fandom. like not to be a hater of haters but i started having a lot more fun once i stopped fixating on every plot hole and worldbuilding decision i didn’t like and i think some of y’all could benefit from that

[blossomhcir]

// I feel the need to specify something even though I’m not as active as I would like to be: (tw for mentions of incest)

There is a huge difference between writing taboo themes and gleefully romanticizing those themes. The fact that incest exists in asoaif is not a shield you can hide behind to write incest smut and ship siblings. I do not have any objections to mentions of incest or exploring how incest impact characters or functions as a theme in asoiaf. Clearly that is not a boundary that prevents me from engaging with the work. My boundary is when writers use the existence of those themes to fetishize and enjoy incest content then act snuggly superior that I do not want to engage in said content. I’m sorry I think that topics like incest require thoughtful, nuanced handling and prefer to be conscious of how these sensitive topics are approached.

Engaging with the source material accurately means acknowledging the damage incest, grooming, and the patriarchy does to characters and the overall narrative. Engaging with the material means understanding the themes GRRM is presenting you with to actively make you think critically about the world he’s created. If you read asoiaf and blindly accept the institutions and cultural norms presented as infallible and correct, then your reading is incomplete. If you think that accurately engaging with the source material means that you can write about incest with glee and revel in siblings railing each other, you’re the one missing the point. And frankly, I don’t care to be condescended to by people who can’t understand that the existence of a taboo topic in a work is not the same as license not think critically about said taboo.

[robotclownindulgence]

[therealcallmekd]

And On Next.... The Weather!

doubt any of you woulda expected this one did ya!

[mementoasts]

feels like somebody is looking in...

[lovesickeros]

☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, violence {☆} word count 0.8k

You are dying.

Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.

It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.

You will die.

"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."

A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.

"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."

They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.

"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."

Silence.

You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.

It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.

In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.

They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.

And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.

And alone, the cold remains.

Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.

But the cold remains, bathed in gold.

It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.

It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.

Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.

But you are yourself.

And you are where you belong.

They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.

All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.

One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.

Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.