#ascending in the clouds

[amberluvsbugs]

Lil thing I did on twitter

[ametat-arts]

daybreak ascension - cmm for arukanoda!

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

Emily: "I'm so happy Vaggie got her wings back! That's so wonderful!"

Charlie: "YES TOTALLY and she hasn't even cried today because of them so far, which is extra amazingly fun!!!!"

Emily: "Oh no... why would she cry from having wings again...?"

Charlie: "Cramps."

Emily: "Oh no!! Doesn't stretching them help with that???"

Charlie: "It helps her wings a LOT but then she cries."

Emily: "....can we clarify that a little?"

Charlie: "We-lllllll...."

-last week-

Chaggie: (sitting on couch together) (charlie folded up scribbing in notebook) (vaggie slumped over armrest reading a paperback)

Vaggie: (shifts) (rubs her neck) (still reading)

Charlie: (humming showtune)

Vaggie: (shifts again) (hums with her) (wings pop out)

Charlie: (busy adding stickers to notebook doesn't notice)

Vaggie: (leaning forward) (still busy reading)

Charlie: (giggling and putting sticker on her own cheek)

Vaggie's wings: (gentle flap)

Vaggie: (turns page) (oblivious)

Charlie: (tucks loose hair back in place) (otherwise also oblivious)

Vaggie's wings: (biiiiiiiiiiiiiig stretchy out behind her.....)

Chaggie: (fails a spot check)

Charlie, still giggling: "Hey Vaggie~ You want a stick~er~"

Vaggie's wings: (SMACKS THE AIR REPETEDLY AND WITH KILLING INTENT) (LIKE THE AIR IS A LVING THING THEY WANT DEAD)

Charlie: "-AWUGH!"

Vaggie: (yeets book) (PANIC) "Charlie!?"

Charlie: (lying on the floor) (groans)

Vaggie: "Charlie!!!!"

Charlie: "guhhh... wha'd i hit...?"

Vaggie: (THROWING HERSELF ON KNEES NEXT TO CHARLIE AND CRADLING THE GIRLFRIEND TO HER CHEST) "Sweetie don't move, your eyes won't focus and I think you're concussed- I, I think my wings-" (HORRIFIED) "-my wings..."

Charlie: (staring to one side of her) "Vaggieeee.. there two of yous...."

Vaggie: "...I did this to you."

Charlie: (giggling) "hehehe. double pretty~"

Vaggie: (tearing up) "I hurt you, Charlie."

Charlie: (still giggling) "good job with the being prettiness. gold star. A for adorable!" (sticks a sticker on Vaggie's cheek) (passes out)

Vaggie: "CHARLIE NOOOOOO!!!!!!"

-this week-

Charlie: "....and I think I woke up a few times while she was running around the hotel yelling for help, but I all I remember is thinking 'yay! girlfriend princess carry time!' and then snuggling in for another nap. So it's all still a blur until Husk wrapped some chipped ice in a rag for my head and helped bring down the swelling."

Emily: "....."

Charlie: "Point is- Vaggie was STILL sobbing into my chest when I woke up, and since then it's been a damn struggle just to get her wings out long enough for me to even PREEN them!"

Emily: (blushing) "...it, it has?"

Charlie: (pouting) "She makes me wear a helmet for it and everything..."

Emily: ".... that's... unfortunate."

Charlie: "She did like the sticker though." (sighs) "SO! How's Sir Pentious doing up there with HIS new wings??"

Emily: "Oh don't worry! It's nothing like that!! He's-"

Sir Pentious: (slides by SHRIEKING and SCREAMING grabbing at clouds desperately as he's dragged along by wildly flapping wings, followed by a crowd of heaven's denizens all shouting encouragements and advise as he zooms away into the distance, wailing)

Emily: "....he's adjusting."

Charlie: "Yay~!"

[lesfir]

The "tragedy" of the ascension. No, another word beginning with "T".

Triumph of Evil. confide a secret This is Great.

I rate this story as a Triumph of Evil, which however does not mean tragedy for the evil character. Such an assessment requires a basis within the canon.

Original Astarion, describes his story to the Bosk bear Act 1: Astarion: Tell him your tale - wealth, power, vampires, crypt...

He remembers what he once had and what was taken from him. He has several goals depending on how much strength he has and how successfully he plays the cards of fate: defense, free, revenge, power. \get the hedonistic pleasures debauchery but that's another topic.\ A little analysis of Astarion's path of evil to triumph.

I'm more interested in the latter (Power), as it's where the complex moral begins. These are not all examples, but these are the ones I liked this time.

Astarion: What's not to enjoy? I can walk in sunlight, trespass upon any home, manipulate minds - I'm the most powerful vampire in the Realms! Astarion suspects that the parasite may have negated some of the downsides of being a vampire spawn. Perhaps his master has no power over him anymore. I can only add 10 audios :[

Astarion: No, I'll be safe when I'm powerful enough to grind Cazador into the dust. Powerful enough to do whatever the hell I want.

Astarion: But I'd have to climb so many stairs. Anyway, I already have my eye on a palace in Baldur's Gate. devote. NodeContext: 'palace in baldur's gate' Cazador's palace.

Astarion: Now that's what I like to see an elf at the head of an army. Even a Sharran one.

This shows the dialog over cult control very well. 33 Phrase only when the player hesitates. In other cases 31, he says: it sounds fun (it's useful to have and fun) It is well crafted depending on the player's play style. I analyzed that structure here. Astarion: I'm just saying there's an opportunity here. If we can control the tadpoles, we can keep ourselves safe and liberate the world from this evil. devnote. NodeContext: pause be 'liberate' as he considers what would sound good to a goody-two-shoes player. Astarion was thinking less liberate, more dominate

Astarion: I'm just saying there's an opportunity before us. If we can control the tadpoles, we can keep ourselves safe and enjoy a little world domination on the side. Astarion: You can't tell me that doesn't sound fun.

Important to note that Astarion is cunning enough to realize: There's a chance that he won't get any help, a vampire spawn, outcast. Not "Hello, my name is Astarion, give me whatever I want". So he adds logical, understandable, honorable goals. He benefits from emphasizing honorable one, especially for a good player. He also does the "puppy eyes" thing. Goals like his desire for protection and freedom. Power - that he tries (at least a little) to soften. Softening and logic - it will help us, it will protect us and save us. It makes sense. In my opinion he is absolutely right. No one wants to be tentacles, gnomes at duergar or Arabella's parents. Power is a nice thing in Faerun to have. However, his goals are diametrically opposed to the good. Because he tends to have a brutal power style and finds it fun. (this pie wouldn't mind owning the world) depending on the style of play with the evil player, he's more open. And those goals that are half-false - to liberate the world. There is logic in "liberate the world" since mind flayer is a worldwide threat and changing the world as they please. Not Good. Astarion, however, harbors a desire to rule - a city minimum. Which incidentally was his character before slavery, Magistrates do become Magistrates for a reason. Astarion's reason is wealth and power. There are so many moments. Even if you poke at the globe.

Moments aplenty are some of the ones that show his "Evil" by DND traits. Evil in DND is selfishness, doing what I want even if it's harmful, greed. Let's get back to genres. Tragedy implies the death of the hero. This is the meaning of tragedy and the difference from drama. Drama - combines the comic and the tragic. Unlike tragedy, drama can have a positive ending. Since when is a tragedy when a character has everything they've ever dreamed of, enjoys and doesn't give a fuck? This is the arch to the beginning - wealth and power. More greater. Astarion rather doesn't change in his Ascension. It's Astarion who has a Christmas present dropped on him in the first act. And it makes him euphoric, considering "feeling alive" for the undead is quite a thing. It's important to realize that Astarion isn't exactly an ordinary character. He's an evil character. Which for Wyll is hell. For Astarion, it can be considered fun when it's not happening to him. Watching someone fight to the death like on a show, for example. Do I have to include a screenshot here? XD "Astarion Approves It" is the title of a crime book. There's something light, certainly, otherwise it's not interesting. Astarion's dark side is luring. But the book is still on the top shelf, in the "evil" section. Curious how he perceives eternity. Astarion: Immortality is only as good as the life you're living. An eternity of luxury sounds a lot better than an eternity of struggle.

Astarion doesn't like the downsides of vampirism - it's mirror, sun, hunger, and for spawn, lack of power. But the very idea of Immortality, like eternal beauty is tempting.

Ascension - it's a vampire cheat, he feels alive, the vampire depression of the Vampire Lords eternity won't work for Ascension, that's the point of it. A Vampire's dream can't just be the same vampirism.

Here's a great video everything we know about Ascension and how it works. Immortality without the downside. Power, life of luxury. Astarion approves. It's Great. It's a Triumph. And it is the Triumph of Evil. (selfish, hurtful to others, greedy payment) BG3 Epilogue. Original God Gale. Lord Astarion. Astarion: You can't be serious. You miss being weak? Falling ill? Ageing? devnote. NodeContext: Slight stress on 'aging' Astarion: We can be honest with each other, Gale - one immortal being to another: this is great. devnote. NodeContext: "this is great" as if confiding a secret.

[mumblelard]

the wind that wins or manifestations of my familiar

this morning i dreamt of a game show set in a old shop full of huge rainbow colored candies, gumballs the size of a closed fist, sweet tarts big as a human heart, liquorice long as legs. to win, i had to arrange them in an ancient cabinet until they matched the image of order held in an unseen person's mind. i felt frantic while i built patterns of shapes and colors with the candies, but i could feel immediately when each one was right. without knowing it was the last, i put another piece in place on a shelf where only it would fit, and i could hear her start to say, "it's just like i dreamed" and i woke up

[mcsiggy]

cursed with listening to music that you applied to your oc's is now applied to your new favorite blorbo.

[whenthegoldrays]

Pride and Prejudice (2005) score I love you

[cressida-jayoungr]

Coeli's Picks: Fantasy & Sci-Fi, part 1

(Multiple movies listed left to right.)

One Dress a Day Challenge

Barbarella (1968) / Jane Fonda as Barbarella

Sleepy Hollow (1999) / Christina RIcci as Katrina van Tassel

The Fountain (2006) / Rachel Weisz as Queen Isabella I

Flash Gordon (1980) / Ornella Muti as Princess Aura

"She also wears red, black, pink, and silver outfits."

Jupiter Ascending (2015) / Mila Kunis as Jupiter (left) and Gugu Mbatha-Raw as Famulus (right)

Immortals (2011) / Isabel Lucas as Athena

"I don't know what is up with Zeus's enthusiasm for drapery cords there, but she looks great."

Blade Runner (1982) / Sean Young as Rachael

One Million Years B.C. (1966) / Raquel Welch as Loana

"The costume that almost killed her!"

Mirror, Mirror (2012) / Julia Roberts as Queen Clementianna

Death Becomes Her (1992) / Isabella Rossellini as Lisle von Rhuman

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (2005) / Anna Popplewell as Susan Pevensie

Star Trek (s3e21, "The Cloud Minders") / Diana Ewing as Droxine

Frank Herbert's Dune (2000 miniseries) / Barbora Kodetova as Chani

[faewild-moonchild]

Tobias uses long words regularly when speaking. And often has to define them when speaking to total of 2 weeks of education Roden, which he does very naturally and only teases him about it when the need comes up. That's all fine and good... Until he starts doing it with everyone. It becomes such a natural part of his speech, whenever he uses a slightly lengthy word he defines it for your hearing pleasure. He does it with everyone, with Roden, with Jaron, with the Regents, with Amarinda.

Roden doesn't mind and fully supports this weird habit because it's greatly helpful to him and sometimes he doesn't realize it's not helpful, and actually patronizing, to everyone else.

Jaron finds it offensive but mostly grunts and ignores it. Unless Tobias has the audacity to it when he's already ticked off, then he blows up a little and Tobias doesn't even know what he did.

The Regents make faces at him and each other, and sometimes put in a polite "yes we know what __ means" when they get the chance (Tobias talks a lot when he wants to talk and it's impressive if they can get any word in). Almost all of them hate it and find it so patronizing. The only time Jaron enjoys this habit is when he sees his least favorite regents quietly seething as Tobias defines the word "consequently".

Amarinda doesn't like it either and will always reply to him shortly and hotly. Though he never hears the Regents when they say much the same things, he always takes attention to Amarinda and apologizes fervently.

[moonlightrei]

Cloud of Daggers Chapter 2 - Burning

Chapter 2 is out now - click here to read on AO3!

Relationship: Astarion/Tav (or reader) Tags: Angst, Pining, Post-Canon, Aberrant Mind Sorcerer Tav, minor shadowzel, others to be added Word count: 4.3k

Burning. Your skin was ablaze, the heat licking into every inch of your body, mind and soul. Your blood fizzed, boiling and bubbling, ready to burst out of your veins. You cried out, a raspy, disembodied scream, but it wasn’t your voice. The flames roared in response, your skin melting and twisting until all that remained was ash and crumbled bone.  

You awoke, immediately feeling how your sweat had drenched the bedsheets around you. Another night terror.  

The scorching light that poured through your window told you that you had risen late; Lae’zel would be arriving soon. It seemed the sleeping potion had worked, though you cursed that it didn’t protect you from your violent dreams.  

You stretched your arms out in front of you to shake the sleep from them, half expecting to find them covered in burns and blisters, vile reminders of the torment that had felt so real.  

Dressing quickly, you donned your elven chain and turned to the mirror. The familiar weight was comforting, your body not yet having grown used to a life without the need for armour. The road to the grove was not particularly dangerous, but it was long enough for something to go wrong, and you had learned better than to undertake such a journey with careless planning.  

Three solid raps alerted you to the presence at your door. You grabbed the doorknob and twisted, opening the way to reveal your githyanki friend.  

“No lock?” she mused. “I could have entered and gut you in your sleep. You have grown sloppy.” She smiled, betraying the lack of malice in her words. “Your head would make a fine addition to my collection of battle trophies.”  

“And Shadowheart would have hunted you down and clobbered you,” you said, grabbing your pack and untying the thread which sealed it to complete a final check that you had packed all you would require.  

“I’d like to see her try.” Lae’zel crossed her arms and leant against the wooden doorframe. “She is formidable in battle, but besting me?” She grinned at the idea, baring her teeth. “That is a farce.”  

Satisfied with your inventory, you glanced around your room one final time. Your eyes settled on the drawing of you and Astarion. You rolled it up and slid it into your pack, pulling the thread and tying a tight knot. You were taking it with you to keep Mae and her mother in your prayers, you told yourself, refusing to admit that there could be any other reason.  

The sun beat down on you as you traversed the city, shelter from the hot rays only being provided by the dark shadow that fell over you and your companion as you passed the Szarr palace, its imposing form blotting out all light to the streets below. You yearned to burst into the building and save Astarion from the wretched place as he had wished so desperately for over the last two centuries, only now you knew he would not see you as a saviour.  

“Where’s the egg?” You piped up, searching for a swift distraction. Lae’zel raised an eyebrow at the sudden, utterly unprompted and seemingly random question. “It must be somewhere safe whilst we’re away, I mean,” you stumbled, quickening your pace to get out of the city as rapidly as possible.  

“It’s in safe hands,” she assured you. “Shadowheart has been caring for it. She would make a fine mother, I expect.” Her voice softened a little. “She could heal the hatchling and I could show them the way of battle.” The wistful words tugged the corners of your mouth upward.  

“ Tsk'va , what is this pounding in my chest? It is as if I am in the heat of the fray.”  

“Yet the one you want to conquer is a certain cleric?” you prodded, noting the pink that bled into Lae’zel’s cheeks.  

“Chk.” She increased her pace further, her heavy boots clunking on the ground with purpose.   

A flaming fist stationed at Basilisk gate gave a curt nod as you passed, the sound of Rion training new recruits ringing out from the barracks. The bridge to Rivington was lowered, as was its usual position now. You hurried through the town, stopping only at the crinkle of paper under your feet.  

You peered down at the faded green and red of a poster advertising the Circus of the Last Days. Kicking it away, you cursed that Dryad and her honeyed lies. How ridiculous it was that your heart had fluttered as she gushed about your deep bond and your future together. How you had stared, utterly enamoured, at Astarion, at the delicate curls of his pale hair around his ears, his fanged grin at the answers you gave. He had been so alive, witty and hopeful. Your skin craved the incongruent sunshine he had emitted, a light you would stand in until it burned you to cinders if that was the price of experiencing it once more.  

“Now is not the time to be snivelling over that loathly clown,” chided Lae’zel. It mattered not if she thought you were mourning the loss of Dribbles or if she knew you well enough by now to see right through you, her words were sage. Wallowing would change nothing.  

Your small party continued on its way, covering ground efficiently. The surface of the earth beneath you crumbled slightly with each step, the dirt thoroughly dried out from the beating sun. Mercifully, no breeze threatened to carry dust into your eyes, an irritation you were glad to avoid.   

Lush greenery surrounded the well-trodden paths as the city was a speck in the distance. The once shadow-cursed lands, still practically abandoned, had been overcome with flourishing vegetation, a fine replacement for the vile blackened tendrils that had previously grown there.  

Perhaps once Baldur’s Gate was fixed up, you would set your sights on this place, you mused. The newly fertile land could support a vibrant community of people. You imagined a thriving society, tight-knit and kind. Bustling, but not noisy like the city. A place without the ostentatious commemorations of your achievements, without that dreadful palace looming above.   

A quaint little house of stone brick, a solid oak door adorned with a heavy brass knocker for your loved ones to use when they visited you. Flowers strung from the ceiling with twine to dry out for potions and decoration, a toasty fire to cast a warm glow throughout your abode and a soft bed, your love reclined upon it, just as he was the last time you travelled through here, gazing at you with adoration etched across his face. The fire would crackle as you undressed and joined him, the flames’ flickering reflected in his eyes as you inched towards him, warm skin against his cool pallor. A content sigh would escape you as your lips touched, a gentle graze giving way to something more urgent, his hands coming to rest at your waist, pulling you ever closer.  

You almost walked straight into Lae’zel’s back, wrapped up in imagination as you were. She had come to an abrupt halt, holding one finger in the air in a wordless instruction to be still and silent. Muscles tensed and you strained your ears to hear something, anything, searching for a sign of what had roused your travelling companion.  

She unsheathed her silver sword soundlessly, assuming her battle stance and taking careful, calculated steps. The familiar simmering of magic fizzed at your fingertips, ready to rupture from you at a moment’s notice.   

“Fer Maglubiyet!” The screech rang out through the hush, and a pack of goblins poured into view, charging with axes and scimitars raised high, faces warped into dangerous snarls.  

“ Ignis !” you yelled, your heart thumping in your chest as adrenaline coursed through you. Flames erupted from your fingers and your target screamed and crashed to the ground, convulsing, his burning flesh pungent.  

Lae’zel swung her sword with a cry, cutting effortlessly through the air and into multiple enemies, dispatching of them swiftly. She sliced through another, bringing her elbow back sharply to stun a goblin that dared attempt to race past her, his black eyes fixed on you.  

Few foes remained, the death rattles of those already felled the music to which the others danced, trying in vain to strike Lae’zel, leaving her with nothing more than slight bruises beneath her heavy armour. Your breaths steadied as you resolved that there was little hazard present and cantrips would continue to suffice.  

A frenzied dagger sailed from a goblin’s claws seconds before his foul hand was cut from his body, the appendage landing in the dirt with a sickening thud as the cruel blade buried itself in your shin.  

A pained yelp escaped you, greater flames exploding from you in retaliation, your judgement momentarily clouded by the sting of cold metal in flesh. “ Ardē !”  

The ball of fire impacted with a roar, the blazing inferno desecrating all in its path, sparing Lae’zel only as she leapt from its trajectory. You panted, your head beginning to spin. A heavy thump alerted you to the fact that your knees had buckled, and you placed your palms in the dust to steady yourself. Lae’zel was at your side in a flash, yanking the dagger out and holding your leg still as you reflexively went to scramble away.  

She grabbed one of your hands and thrust it to the wound, ordering you to keep it there whilst she slung her pack from her back and opened it, extracting bandages and her waterskin. She pulled the cork from her bottle and removed your hand, pouring some fluid over the wound to rid it of the dirt you had pressed into it before wrapping a ligature tightly around your leg.   

“Your pack,” she prompted. You shakily removed the bag and handed it to her. Its stopper discarded, she held a potion of healing up to your lips. The liquid slipped down your throat with ease, instantly comforting as a warmth spread through your body, alleviating the pain.  

“We’ll rest here for a moment,” Lae’zel said, picking through the goblins to see if they had anything of use. You repacked the items that she had hastily pulled from your bag, shaking the filth off of the precious paper you carried and tucking it safely away.   

You unwrapped a portion of your rations and began to eat, dried meat preserved in salt quelling the hunger that had blossomed once you’d calmed from your altercation. Satisfied with her inspection of the corpses, Lae’zel joined you.  

“Their rallying cry was to Maglubiyet,” you said idly. “Almost nice, hearing them praise their own god.” You swallowed the last bite of your food, rolling up the wrapping and putting it away. “The Absolute is truly gone.”  

“Have you suffered a knock to the head?” queried Lae’zel. “The Absolute was no more from the moment we destroyed it. A most valiant victory.” You chuckled.  

“I do miss travelling with you, you know?”  

“Of course you do,” the warrior nodded. “I am a formidable ally.” She smiled. “Or did you mean my famous charm?”   

“All of it,” you replied, heaving yourself up and gingerly testing your leg. “You seem to have me well on the way to healed, too. Perhaps you don’t need Shadowheart’s aid when the egg hatches, or was there possibly another reason you seek her out?”  

“Don’t make me regret helping you,” she said with narrowed eyes, though the absence of malevolence was again quickly betrayed as she picked up not just her pack but yours too, swinging both onto her back as to not burden you. “Come, there is only so much daylight remaining.” You scurried to follow as she marched away.   

“ Lae’zel -” you sang, elongating the sounds of her name. “I’ll just keep on pestering you, you know how stubborn I can be.” She continued staring straight ahead, taking such broad strides that you had to skip to keep up. “So, do you think you love her?”  

“Argh, k'chakhi ! Cease your babbling.” The tips of her ears had reddened.   

“Come now, Lae’zel, that’s no way to speak to your dear friend,” you lilted. “Especially one in such an infirmed state as I.” You held the back of your hand to your forehead dramatically. “Surely, I may be close to the brink of death, and to think that I would pass on with our last interaction being so-”  

“Fine,” she growled, cutting you off abruptly as she had reached her limit of your incessant prattling. “The half elf makes my chest tighten, my body hunger only for her. When I turned from Vlaakith I vowed I’d never bow to a deity again.” She stopped walking and turned to make eye contact, her voice hushing to little more than a whisper. “But she would be my new goddess, if only she would accept my worship.” She looked to the ground for a second, then continued on her way.  

“I would devote myself entirely to her, kneel at her feet and offer her my blade. I am free from the lich queen, free to be my own being, yet I yearn to serve her. I had thought this pebble you call Toril to be bland and accommodate no end of displeasing creatures.” She sighed. “That is still true to an extent, but Shadowheart is beautiful. She is the astral sea, glowing and threaded with silver. She is the first blood spilled in battle, the striking crimson and pulse-quickening scent. I read every vital tir’su text during my education in Crèche K'liir , and none described anything as resplendent as her. Nor did they make any mention of this feeling. I have never met a gith who knew of this love you speak of. Yet, I cannot be the only githyanki to experience this obsession. This fluttering of the stomach, occupation of the mind.” She shook her head. “Perhaps I was never meant for Vlaakith’s vision of my people.”  

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you challenged.  

“Chk. You know as well as I that these matters of the heart can be a weakness, a dagger in your side. A tragic pair we are.”  

The sun hung heavy in the sky as you neared the Risen Road.  

“You grow weary. Let us make camp,” said Lae’zel. She set down the bags and began gathering kindling as you arranged some rocks to contain the campfire. She stacked the wood then sat back for you to light the fire with a cantrip.  

You untied your bandage and cleaned your wound again, inspecting it carefully. The healing potion had knitted the flesh together, leaving only a slight raw slash where the knife had entered – with rest you were certain it would heal nicely.  

The streaks of colour drained from the sky and stars glimmered up above. It had been too long since you had sat under them. You ate your fill then lay back on your bedroll.  

With your gaze and your mind focused only on the stars, you considered if Shadowheart might have been correct. Perhaps sleeping under the night sky once more was what you needed to truly rest. You felt calm. Detached.  

You were roused suddenly from your serenity as Lae’zel shot up, her eyes fixed on something in the darkness that you couldn’t quite make out. Your pulse quickened as she retrieved a small blade and approached her target, your fingertips buzzing anew.  

She knelt to the ground, and you felt your brow furrow in confusion. The sound of easy slicing through a stem reached your pointed ears and she returned, holding a night orchid.  

“A most bewitching bloom,” she mused.   

“For Shadowheart?” you asked, already knowing the answer. Lae’zel nodded.  

“I shall have one of the druids see to it that it survives our journey back.”  

The tender gesture made you smile, though as you relaxed once more you couldn’t help but wonder which plant Astarion might enjoy as a gift. You remembered well the warm scent of bergamot that clung to him, how it had embraced you on a bitter night after he had seen you shivering and insisted you layer up with his shirt, the citrus intertwining with your own scent to create a shared fragrance that felt like home. How you yearned to envelope yourself in that aroma, to bury yourself in that coupling and shut the complications of your relationship out, to bask only in the mixture of your essences on the most rudimentary physical level. You would drown yourself in it, let it fill your lungs until they burst, if only it would bring a moment of feeling as you did then, so close to him and so loved.  

Imagining yourself choking on that sweet poison was hardly a lullaby. You swigged your half dose of sleeping potion and settled down, briefly envisioning that the sensation of being wrapped in warmth was because your beloved was there, rather than just the magic taking hold.  

Birdsong awoke you, the tuneful twittering a welcome reprieve from the horrors that met you when you slept. Lae’zel was already up, packing away her bedroll. You followed suit and shared rations before setting off again.   

The familiar sight of the grove edged into view, the rampart covered in vines as it always had been, but lacking the addition of tieflings upon it as had been the case when you first came across the dwelling.  

As the two of you approached the entrance, the great wooden door rose to allow you in. Kagha met you a little way up the path, placing her arm against her chest as she greeted you.  

“Silvanus keep you, child. What brings you back to us?” Her abandonment of the shadow druids and renewed devotion to true druidic ideals appeared to have been maintained.   

“Is Halsin around?” The last you had heard he had elected to go back to the grove to complete some business there before setting his sights on the land that Thaniel kept.  

“Master Halsin busies himself at the site of the nautiloid crash, working on returning the area to its natural state. You are more than welcome to remain here until he returns for the day.”  

“Thank you,” you replied. “I think we will go out to meet him. There’s a place nearby that I’d like to visit whilst I’m here.”  

Kagha bowed her head in acknowledgement, the loose sections of her auburn hair swinging with her movement.  

You headed south with purpose, making a beeline for the dilapidated temple you had explored long ago with uneasy new allies by your side.   

Hinges wailed as you pushed the ancient door ajar, a thick layer of dust swirling up into the stagnant air as your boots disturbed it. You cast a light spell on Lae’zel’s armour so she could see, and paced gingerly though the crypt, careful not to set off any traps you may not have disarmed previously.  

The sarcophagus stood exactly as before, cold and imposing. You brushed your fingertips over the edge of the smooth stone, and it jolted, making you jump slightly despite your expectance that it would happen. You took a step back, making room for the familiar undead that lifted from the tomb, hovering momentarily before meeting the ground.  

“And so thou returneth, as he vowed thou would.” Withers stared at you, his gaze boring through your soul despite his never changing expression.  

“Withers,” you greeted him with a smile. “it’s been too long.”  

He said nothing, continuing only to look at you expectantly. You shifted nervously, flicking your eyes to Lae’zel as you tried to put together the words you sought to speak.  

“The last time I felt lost beyond recognition you put me on the right path. Any advice for an old friend?”  

“Thy path was thy own,” he uttered. “Thy wheel of fate spins still, I can do little to change its course.”   

“Still, any words of wisdom?”   

Withers considered your request steadily.  

“Very well. I asked thee a question before and so I ask thee again.” His voice reverberated through your chest. “What use dost an empty vessel possess?” Your blood ran cold. “He hast eschewed becoming illithid, that may be, yet so it comes to pass that he hast not escaped the fate of a soulless being.”   

You stood in silence, turning over his words in your head as your stomach flipped in time.   

“Thou knowest of whom I speak,” he asserted. “And on this occasion, cleaving soul to body is beyond my abilities.”  

“Astarion,” you whispered. Withers bowed his head in affirmation.   

“And thou,” he turned to Lae’zel. “Thou seek thy bosom-companion, yet walkest alone.”  

“You are wrong, skeleton,” she spat. “Presently, I seek a blade to hold to your throat.”  

Withers looked almost amused.  

“Come, Lae’zel,” you said dejectedly. “Let us be on our way to Halsin.”   

“Friends,” Withers’ voice echoed as you took your leave. “There shall be a time yet when thou will hast need for my services. I shall remain here until such time comes to pass.”  

You swept away the tear that had spilled from one of your eyes, dampening the back of your hand.   

“Until then,” you croaked.  

Daylight blinded you as you exited the mausoleum, the heat of the outside world a welcome return from the chill of the undercroft.  

A breeze carried the stench of rot. The festering remains of the nautiloid lay sprawled over the surrounding area, a blight on the wilderness.  

Approaching the vile carcass, you spotted a tall elf, magic bursting from his hands to purify the purple flesh. Halsin.  

Hearing your footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder.  

“My friends,” he exclaimed. “One moment, please.” Satisfied with his cleansing of the section he was working on, he flattened his palms above the tissue. The earth beneath the tentacles raised and roiled, blending the materials together. He raised his arms to the sky and plants erupted from the ground in reflection. The bright swirl of magic popped up throughout the landscape, a sign that Halsin was not alone in his mission.  

“The source of decay becomes a compost to feed the earth. The worms will have their fill.” He faced you and your companion. “Though forgive me, friends, if talk of worms is still of discomfort to you. It brings me great pleasure to see your faces again.”  

“It seems the wilderness will be better off without the remains of our hardship here. You are doing fine work.” You clasped the elf’s outstretched hand in salutation.  

“I am one of many,” he replied. “Now tell me, what brought you here?”  

You told him of Senta and Mae, and of the countless hungry mouths in the city that needed a druid’s touch for abundant produce.  

“If you require the services of a member of the grove, it is Francesca you need to talk to; I am first druid no more. However, I would be more than willing to undertake this task, if you’ll have me. With Francesca’s sound leadership, I am not needed here.”  

“Are you certain?” you asked. “You weren’t overly keen on the city.”  

“The city may give me a headache, but the heartache of allowing the needy to starve would be much more of a burden to bear. Let us make haste.”  

He accompanied you back to the grove and gathered his belongings, informing a dark-haired elf of his plan. Francesca, you assumed.  

The druids offered you a place to sleep for the night, but there were still many daylight hours remaining and the hungry of Baldur’s Gate could not wait, so you declined politely.  

Your party of three travelled quickly back along the path to the city, Halsin in high spirits at the prospect of sleeping in the wilds.  

“I don’t suppose you came across Thaniel and Oliver on your way here, did you?” he queried.  

“We cut down some goblins,” said Lae’zel. “But no children.”  

It was soon time to camp again, the orange glow of the setting sun spilling lazily through the gaps in the shrubbery.  

Woodsmoke billowed from the campfire and you held a skewer of small vegetables the druids had gifted you over the heat. The crackling of flames filled the quiet, interrupted only as Lae’zel cleared her throat.  

“Druid,” she began, then halted, reconsidering her diction. “Halsin.”  

“I am listening,” came the reply.  

She opened her pack, producing the flower she had picked.  

“I understand you can keep beheaded plants fresh.”  

“Ah, a token as part of your mating ritual, is it?”  

Pink crept into Lae’zel’s cheeks as her grip on the blossom tightened. She thrust it toward him, turning her face away with a scowl.  

“Yes.”  

Halsin smiled and reached out to the bloom, viridian light rippling gently around his outstretched fingers. Dark petals glimmered, instantly renewed.  

“It is done.”  

You reclined on your bedroll once more, the moss beneath you making for a comfortable bed. You slid a ring off your index finger, rolling it aimlessly in your hands, the metal reflecting jittering flames.  

You might have stared at the rotation of the jewellery for an hour, or maybe two. The hushed voice of Halsin conversing with Thaniel and Oliver carried over to you. He was being mindful not to disturb your rest, though your eyes had not grown heavy. You slid the ring back into place and turned onto your side, fixated on the fire itself. Fragments of your nightmares seeped into your mind. The flames had devoured you whole yet here you were, untouched and smooth-skinned as ever. You urged to stretch out your fingers into the blaze, to see if this too was false. How could a vision that had appeared as real as your current view leave you unharmed? Perhaps you lacked the ability to sleep because you were already dreaming.  

You sat up to down your sleeping draught, then rolled onto your other side, your back to the fire. Entertaining such thoughts was fruitless. You set your eyes on the dancing shadows cast from your body as the light flickered, creating a charming show for you to watch until your lids fell shut.

[filthforfriends]

When I go to answer a serious ask, I usually type out my initial ideas, save it to drafts, and craft a response after I've had time to think. But recently, some of the asks have just disappeared. Unfortunately, this was one of those instances. (I'm recalling to the best of my ability).

Anon said they felt like the only one noticing how Maneskin use people as props in their photos, usually People of Color.

This topic touches on some of the most historically and currently relevant subsects of society. Race & ethnicity. Social development & communication, (now in the age of social media). Entertainment & representation. Plus, others I'm not thinking of. I want to acknowledge how deserving of an in depth discussion this topic is, while also acknowledging that I'm not informed enough to broach it. So this is gonna be pretty surface, anon, and I'm sorry for that.

What does it even mean to use somebody as a prop?

Props are used to add detail and context which make the subject or background more interesting. As inanimate objects, they only exist to enhance the scene. Therefore, to treat someone like a prop is to prioritize the way they can improve your image over that person's autonomy. Sure, both the prop and subject can both have individuality, as long as one serves to make the other look interesting.

So who's culpable? The subject, the photographer/videographer, perhaps a director of sorts? Personally, I think the blame is shared and situationally dependent.

Below are the most obvious examples of Maneskin using a person as a prop, posted to their insta pages. The trend anon pointed out is evident. Admittedly, I don't have a good sample size here, though. A ton of Maneskin's content is only available on their stories. Especially content with non-band members (which is what anon is referencing), since Maneskin's publicist prefers to post just the band.

I wonder how many of the people in these photos gave informed consent. (Not necessarily to a band member, just someone). As in "This photo will be posted without your name and seen by millions, but you won't receive royalties." Because some of these images Maneskin (the brand) can profit from via merchandise and copyrights. Conversely, most of the folks in the photos will experience poverty in their lifetime. Some of Maneskin's outfits are worth more than the other person makes in a year and they're treating them like a plant. There's also the safety concern. If any of these people have someone in the whole world that wishes them harm, that person can now find their job/neighborhood.

I know these photos aren't all bad. Victoria probably got consent to post pic #5, just a harmless prank. The woman in pic #3 was likely thrilled to be sitting next to such a handsome young man and thinks all social media is Facebook (which she hates). But why take pictures with the Black men in photos #2 & #4? What about the Latinas in #1 & #12? They're are using POCs as visually compelling markers of cultural and ethnic differences to say something meaningful about themselves. Look how far I've come! Look how successful my music is! You envy me, right?

[seumyo]

katsuki for u!!!!!!!🤍🤍

OH MY GOSH SAKU THE GASP I LET OUT WHEN I SAW THIS AFTER A LONG DAY OF STUDYING IZGDHJANF 🤭 YOUR ARTSTYLE IS SO GOOD I’M STARING AT IT FOR 20 MINUTES NOW 💗💗 look at him, guys !! My academic rival (bf but he doesn’t need to know that) <33

THANK U SO MUCH MY LOVEE 🫶💗 This made my exhaustion fade into thin air like POOF 🪄

[twosetmeridian]

if i should be known for anything, let it be for wielding the title of #1 twoset ysaÿe double enjoyer, alright, like it's really all i want. 🥹

[asteracaea]

... Truman Show continued

After a moment of reflection, Truman utters his catchphrase: "In case I don't see you... good afternoon, good evening, and good night", bows to his audience and exits. The viewers celebrate his escape, and Sylvia races to greet him.

Taylor is being loud. Wow. She is really burning her artificial life down.

as another reddit user said,

[knightofleo]

Wordcolour | Cloud Room