Icon by @ThatSpookyAgent. Call me Tir or Julian. 37. He/They. Queer. Twitter: @tirlaeyn. ao3: tirlaeyn. 18+ Only. Star Trek. The X-Files. Sandman. IwtV. OMFD. Definitionless in this Strict Atmosphere.
I do not own these pics. They were sent to me in an email. But I thought I’d share with you all because they’re just AMAZING.
DRAGONS
I feel so stupid I didn’t know they could fly, I thought they were like CHICKENS, I never questioned it because these pictures never circulate, I am WAY OVER MY HEAD.
Das a phoenix not a dragon. Obviously.
Birds like peacocks may be the real-world inspiration for mythological creatures. Here’s a silent, slo-mo clip of one flying down from a roof.
If you’d never seen a peacock before, and your first encounter was one
flying across a clearing with the sun behind it and nothing for scale, thinking it was a phoenix or firebird or dragon would make sense.
I read something a long time back suggesting the noise made by mute swans in flight was a similar basis for myth, because it does NOT sound like wings beating.
Again, these are wingbeats, not voices. If you heard that sound at dawn or dusk 1000 years ago, what story would you tell about it - the Children of Lir mourning their lost humanity, perhaps?
Does anyone know what this instrument is called? Its like a Marimba but it is very large and made out of huge stones. Listen to that tone! haha Love it!
It’s a type of Vietnamese lithophone (literally rock sound instrument) called a đàn đá. Some ethnomusicologists think that these are likely the oldest type of man made instrument.
she looks like shes having fun lol this is bringing me joy
Dina Brodsky’s miniature paintings combine her two passions: cycling and miniature painting. Her landscape paintings depict the view of cycling sceneries of beautiful nature scenes showcasing different types of season and time of day. You can find her stunning pieces on her Etsy shop.
i want to make these just so i can set them around my house, invite people over, and grab a fuckin plant off the mantelpiece apropos of nothing and dig in, reveling in my friends’ looks of abject horror