#eldritch melodies

[herbertwest]

When I first saw this show up in my recs I was like....okay is there really any need for ANOTHER song about Margaret Thatcher this is 2024, and then I actually listened to it and I can confirm that there is a need for this song about vampire Margaret Thatcher, and also the band is, as they describe themselves, a 'genre queer orchestral punk band' and they rock.

[melodychocolat]

andrew eldritch when i call the sisters of mercy goth

[levitheeldritch]

Actual rendition of my first time seeing the ghost freaks my brain made

I'm gonna make ref sheets for all of them later. There's... *Checks notes* 9!!! Possibly 10 if you count the random white foot that appeared last month!!

(For context, Walnut (my sister) was born when I was seven. Melody first appeared when I was 5-6 years old. It's funny how I predicted my sister's middle name.)

[rustedguillotines]

@norts-trolls

ever use monsters to work out your complicated feelings toward romance? yeah, me neither...

happy valentine's 🫀🌿

[aveloka-draws]

Please, I need to know more about Percy! I love the eldritch birb!!!

Lamb came across Percy during a crusade, his attempt to distract the vessel worked but not exactly how he expected, instead of killing him Lamb brought the heretic back to the camp with them.

Percy can articulate few words (his name among them) but usually will just caw or sing. He was reluctant at first like most but found that he loves being praised for his melodies.

The remaining old ichor left him unable to fully control his own body, shaking constantly so can't work with the other followers cause of it. Used to be a summoner but lost that power, can make fire flicker if he tries hard enough though.

[lunadook]

Human Replacement Therapy Extended Universe (and inspired) Link Collection Part 1

EDIT: We've hit the Inline Link Limit! I've linked to a reblog containing more links. (The google doc linked at the bottom of the post will still contain everything in one place.)

Been seeing a lot of those Human Replacement Therapy comics and stories going around and I wanted to try and make a list of the first (?) panels/chapters of each one me (and helpful community members) have found so far, so..........

Part 2

Dragon [by ayviedoesthings] Fish [by welldrawnfish] Bat [by kaylasartwork] Puppy [by nyxisart] Mouse [by prettiestplatypus] Worm (I can't find the first one I'm too lazy) [by shaveyoureyebrows] Axolotl [by bubbleverseart] Goat [by kontonord] Elf [by squiretilde] Eldritch [by dawning-mars] Bird [by vy-canis-melodis] Slime [by pollypoirate] Slime (Written) [by mint-and-authoress] Slime (Written) [by scrubbinn] Slime (Written) [by sandyca5tle] Shifter (Written) [by calliecwrites] Cow (Written) [by josphitia] Bovine [by pennymations] Wolf [by gracewolfing] Coyote [by vanillayoteart] Werewolf [by tobydoeswrite] Werewolf [by cyberbeast99] Tiger (Written) [by tigergirltail] Mermaid HRT Poem [by ashleyrowanthewriter] Kitsune (Written) [by mothduchess] ??? [by home-sweet-hive] Sonic [by sonic-spirit] *break so tumblr will let this post*

Aves [by cozy-kitty-corner] Cat [by entroart] King Cobra [by thecrystalmountainsystem] Polymorph [by probablyplural] Human [by deadeyedfae] Werewolf [by lycans-art-kingdom] Mermaid [by noreo-oreo] Puppy [by noreo-oreo] Deer [by aster-is-confused] Lamia [by ariathelamia] Moth [by hyacinthdoll1315] Skunk [by sundaysstrawberrykombucha] Void [by v-draws-whatever] Dragon [by zykeroth] ??? [by transpandaart] Jaguarfolk [by jaguarfolkhrt] Sheep [by cr1zz0] Bunny [by grumpybunny-edith] Fox [by disappointedcreeper] Sparrow [by lylaslilacss] Animal? [by cutepastelstarsailor] Cow [by megamoonerjenny] Bug [by thebugautistic] Vrastelian [by silliestcreature196] Elf [by siimplyapril] Demon [by shockpulse] Wolf and Crow [by sunification] Bird [by tiredtiresias] Shoggoth [by aiden-nevada]

*break so tumblr will let this post*

Bird [by comfeeeeeeee] Bird [by nuclearraven-woman] Manticore [by redroversendjayover] Spider [by sweetspidergirl] Mouse [by alice-arty] Zombie [by sunnyrabbit05] Cat [by v0vivi0v] Cyberdemon [by kazsartcorner] Troll [by artvil-gang] Polar Bear [by frostehburr] Lamia [by robins-warudo] Shapeshifter [by maxine302] Vulture [by prollymad] Dragon [by a-being-that-just-is] Slug [by a-being-that-just-is] Cryptid [by thejaded0nes] Robot [by lavender-inkwell-99] Monkey [by mechanical-sunchild] Eldritch Dragon [by your-pal-nebula] Time Lord [by joyfulbeatrix] Digimon [by reticent-fate] Plant [by jalopytheplant] Slime [by ruckeysquared] Fox [by super-sayian-kitty64] Demon [by pugsofwriting] Weasel [by alice-of-heart] Sylveon [by constellarcreator] Robot [by squiddotmid] Eevee [by darlingsuperstition] Chimera [by gate4043]

*another pause weee*

Swolbold [by flowershakur] Type Green [by scpwiki-official] Dragon [by tresenellaart] Dragon [by theinsidiousdice] Robot [by raptorbricksart] Dragon [by koalaphoenix] Gem [by techno-toister] Hybrid [by ehksidian] Ktletaccete [by fenmere] Slime [by madelinemccoolname] Succubus [by lariumbreon]

Please feel free to let me know of any you know of that I missed or ones you have created and want added! I'll periodically update the post with anything I get links to.

I have also made a Google Doc containing all of the links, including the ones that aren't fitting in this post. Part 2 of this post, with more links, is here.

[arthur-lesters-middle-c-key]

I’ll forever be annoyed that Malevolent doesn’t stop to recognize the significance of a PIANIST choosing to bite off part of his PINKIE FINGER. No matter the hand, the pinkie is maybe the second most important digit for piano playing, behind the thumb. (Second and third fingers, SIT BACK DOWN.)

Your pinkies are hyper-attuned to hit the right notes in a root chord, pick out an overall melody while the rest of your hand is playing a harmony, hell, it’s the start of most scales. As a pianist, I’ve put years of procedural memory into training just my pinkie fingers to do their jobs and if I lost part of one I would be devastated, even as a hobbyist.

There’s so much symbolism potential there, too! I love that John in general has control of Arthur’s left hand, which on piano controls the low notes, the accompaniment to the melody, and the root and stability of almost anything you play. It mostly supports, though can sometimes intertwine with the right hand or branch off into cello-like melody of its own (chopin does this a lot it’s great). That conceptually fits John SO WELL. Not to mention the idea of Arthur being so guilt-ridden with Faroe’s death that he distances himself from being a pianist at any opportunity, only to be reeled in by an Eldritch force that explains EVERYTHING to him as piano… the possibilities make me scream.

…Unfortunately though, I don’t buy the ‘the symbolism is there’ argument for this one, it’s FAR too niche to expect the average audience to know what exactly a professional pianist would value (besides the ~oooooo no don’t break my hands~ beat that every pianist character in a thriller/horror/action story ever seems to have gone through at some point), and malevolent goes out of its way so often to explain symbolism.

I think my frustration is that Arthur having trauma surrounding piano, losing direct control of his left hand, and losing/replacing his top pinkie joint, doesn’t have many narrative consequences. (Didn’t even talk about how a wooden pinkie would probably fundamentally change the sound/timbre of your playing, which would be cool to see reflected.) Arthur seems to be able to play piano fine even with John controlling his hand, and enthusiastically does so at several points post- starting to process Faroe’s death in the dreamlands. It’s fine as a narrative choice, there’s a story to tell after all, but I’ll always miss the character intricacy that could come from exploring these consequences and backstory specifics.

[yan-maid-cafe]

Yandere Monster Fucker Concepts

Not a yandere monster. A yandere monster fucker with a darling monster.

Yandere Royal that gets kidnapped by the big snarling dragon. Only to become obsessed with you and not wanting to be saved. Anytime the hero comes, they alert their big dragon love. Watching as you burn the royal's armies to a crisp. They just want a happy little future between them, you, and your children. Don't question them, they will find a way.

Yandere Cult Leader and their eldritch god. They found you when they were at their lowest and viewed you as their saviour. They know that you're not a "good god", it's hard to hold that belief after sacrificing human life to you, but they don't care. They'll sacrifice countless cultists to you if it means that they can be in your good graces. They can't wait for you to finally arrive into their world, you'll destroy everything in your path and create your paradise. And maybe if they pray enough you'll make them your spouse. Or your pet. They'll take either at this point.

Yandere Pirate that unknowingly enters siren territory while sailing with his crew. Crashing into the rocks, leaving them stranded on the damaged ship. Despite trying to fight off the alluring melody, one by one his men begin to jump off the side into the water to be ripped apart by the monsters. Until finally the captain falls victim too, jumping into the water and feeling themself submerge. Only to be met face to face with the siren that had led them here, but they're beautiful, more beautiful then anyone the captain had seen. Their arms outstretched as if to embrace them. But at that moment, the captain was pulled out of the water by another ship of men. They crew quickly covering his ears before he could hear the song again. Able to read the men's lips as they explained that they were headed back to land. But all the captain could focus on was the beast he had just seen, and just how badly he wanted to jump in again.

Yandere Villain that works alongside a vast array of monsters, but only one catches their eye. One of the small kobolds that they had recruited. From the looks of it, they appeared to be the leader of their little group. They were actually starting to think that those kobolds didn't even listen to them, just their little leader. Which was less then ideal, that disloyalty would just make a coup easier to perform. So the villain needed to get closer to the reptilian leader, if they could get closer to them, than maybe they could redirect that loyalty towards themself. But they were cought off guard by the scrappy little thing, they weren't the brightest but they were very cunning. Having set traps all over the villain's lair in case any wannabe heros showed up. And they seemed to have memorized the villain's plans and were already getting their army in on it. Before they even knew it, the villain finally understood why the other Kobolds picked this one to be their leader. And suddenly the little reptiles didn't seem to dispossable.

I have a lot of yandere ideas but I'm too lazy to write them all. So I'm thinking of posting more concepts like this so I can post more often. It was much easier to write for me.

Also I tried to keep both the yandere and the reader gender nuetral. Which was easier said then done. So if this makes no sense, I'm sorry. I tried to make it work.

[pupsmailbox]

DOLL︰PUPPET ID PACK

NAMES︰ abbie. adelaide. adorablesse. adorablette. aerlyn. alena. alexis. alice. amaia. amaya. andrea. angeline. ankou. annabelle. annie. antoinette. anxiette. anxious. apricot. asaka. ash. asha. aspen. atticus. ava. avel. babette. babydoll. bambi. bambina. bambino. bashfelle. bashful. beau. bellamy. belle. bells. bernadette. blu. blue. bluesse. bluette. blushe. blushesse. blushette. boo. bram. bronach. bronagh. brone. button. buttons. cadel. candace. carmilla. carrie. catherine. cessair. charlie. charlott. charlotte. chelsea. chia. chica. chirella. chirelle. chiwa. chuckie. claeg. coffin. colere. commedia. constance. coquette. cordelia. corelle. corette. corsette. cypress. dahlia. dalia. damon. darling. dawn. dearesse. dearest. dearette. dearie. deidre. demure. desdemona. devin. devon. doilie. doily. doll. dollaintye. dollawie. dollerie. dollesse. dollette. dolleyed. dollie. dolline. dollita. dolly. dolores. dottie. drea. dread. drusilla. dáinn. eeria. eldritche. elissar. eliza. elle. elodie. eloise. emerence. emily. essie. esther. evangela. evangeline. evelyn. eveyln. faith. frill. frillette. genevieve. genoveva. gia. gladys. glorie. glory. gorey. gorie. gracelyn. gregory. gretta. gwen. gwenivive. haldor. haunt. hiccup. hyde. iraia. iresse. irette. itishree. jabez. janelle. janet. jannet. jinx. josie. julie. juniper. juno. kailey. kanani. kewpie. kiva. krak. lace. lacesse. lacette. lacey. lacie. lain. laintess. lakka. lalki. lavender. lea. lefu. letta. letum. libitina. lilac. lillith. lilly. lily. loaela. lola. lolah. loletta. lolita. lolite. lolla. lottie. lovelace. luci. lucius. lulu. lute. lyla. lys. madison. mahina. mandy. mannie. manon. many. mara. maria. marianette. marie. marion. marionette. marionne. marotte. marrionette. marrow. mary. maryjane. marzana. maveth. meek. melanie. melodie. melody. merripen. miel. minuette. mold. moldie. moldy. molly. moonie. moore. morana. morgana. morgue. mors. mort. mot. muriel. murmur. muse. nadine. nadzen. nancy. nanea. nanelle. nanette. nappi. naz. negan. nekane. nelly. nemesis. nettie. nicodème. niegan. nimbus. nina. nuri. olive. oliver. olivia. omega. panchaali. parner. pinkesse. pinkette. pinkie. pinky. pinocchio. pippin. poe. poppet. poppette. poppy. porce. porcelain. porcelynn. prantika. pulau. punthali. pupetta. puppet. puppetear. puppetesse. puppetette. puppette. puppyte. putala. quinn. ravanche. raven. realiteer. rebel. ribbon. ribbonne. riley. rion. robert. rose. rubella. ruby. sacrifette. salem. sasha. satin. scarlet. sebastian. sew. sewine. shivani. shiver. sidney. smierc. smiley. smilie. softesse. softette. softie. solikha. spirit. sprout. statuette. stitches. strings. sweeheart. sweetheart. sweetie. sweetiebelle. sweetine. sychar. teacup. tearie. teddy. tempest. thalia. than. thana. theodora. thorn. trembelle. trista. ultima. ulysses. vanessa. vera. viola. visage. whisp. whisper. willow. winston. wisp. wispera. wrathes. zizi.

PRONOUNS︰ adorable/adorable. ae/aer. angel/angel. anger/anger. antique/antique. app/apparition. bell/bell. berry/berry. berserk/berserk. bjd/bjd. bla/black. blank/blank. bliding/bliding. blue/blue. blush/blush. bug/bug. button/button. cake/cake. car/carcasse. cheer/cheer. cloth/cloth. coffin/coffin. control/control. coo/croon. cor/cor. cor/corrupt. core/core. corpse/corpse. coy/coy. crack/cracked. cracked/cracked. cre/creepy. creep/creepy. cu/curse. cu/cute. curse/curse. cute/cute. da/dark. de4/de4d. de/dear. de/demure. dea/dead. dead/dead. dead/death. dear/dear. death/death. decay/decay. delica/delicate. delicate/delicate. demon/demon. despair/despair. dirt/dirty. do/doll. doll/doll. doll/dolly. dolly/dolly. dread/dread. dress/dressup. dress/up. d♡ll/d♡ll. eer/eeerie. elegant/elegant. en/energy. end/end. evil/evil. eye/eye. fabric/fabric. fae/fae. fi/figure. fig/figure. figurine/figurine. flower/flower. fragile/fragile. frail/frail. friendly/friendly. frill/frill. fury/fury. gho/ghost. glass/glass. glo/gloomy. gore/gore. grave/grave. grief/grief. grim/grimm. grime/grime. gru/grudge. ha/haunt. happy/happy. haun/haunt. hx/hxm. h♡/h♡m. it/it. joint/joint. joint/jointed. joy/joy. ke/ker. kew/kewpie. kill/kill. kor/kor. kor/korrupt. la/lace. lace/lace. lae/lace. lo/love. lo/loved. lolita/lolita. love/love. mad/mad. mae/mae. mari/marionette. marionette/marionette. me/meek. mi/mier. mim/mimic. model/model. morbid/morbid. mu/mutter. mur/murmur. nap/nap. null/null. ny/nym. patch/patch. phan/phantom. pink/pink. pitter/patter. plastic/plastic. play/play. play/playtime. play/time. plush/plush. plush/plushie. por/porcelain. porce/porcelain. porcel/porcelain. porcela/porcelain. porcelain/porcelain. pose/pose. pose/posed. possess/possessed. pup/puppet. puppet/puppet. rea/reality. rest/rest. reven/revenge. rib/ribbon. ribbon/ribbon. rot/rot. scare/scare. scary/scary. seem/seem. sew/sew. sew/sewn. shi/shift. shi/shiver. shx/hxr. sh♡/h♡r. sie/sier. silk/silk. slee/sleep. sleep/sleep. smile/smile. snap/snapped. sneak/sneak. soft/soft. sou/soul. spi/spider. spi/spirit. spo/spook. spook/spook. sta/stalk. sta/stare. statue/statue. sti/string. stitch/stitch. string/string. sweet/heart. sweet/sweet. sweet/sweetdolls sweetie/sweetie. ta/tap. te/teer. tea/teatime. teeth/teeth. thre/thread. thread/thread. thxy/thxm. th♡y/th♡m. ti/timid. to/toy. toy/toy. toy/toytime. trick/trick. un/canny. unca/uncanny. ve/ver. vey/vem. vi/vr. vintage/vintage. vomit/vomit. wan/wander. watch/watch. whi/whisper. white/white. wilt/wilt. wood/wood. wrath/wrath. yarn/yarn. zzz/zzz. ♡/♡. ⚰️ . 🍨 . 🛌 . 🛏️ . 🥀 . 🧸 .

[eri-pl]

Another ficlet. Finrod, Feanor, a natural history lesson in the Halls of Mandos. Not a part of the calendar, this ficlet just happened.

Warnings: nature-documentary-levels of violence (insects dying in awful ways, it may be triggering), discussion of animal reproduction, discussion of death and suffering. Not graphical, but still evocative. And idk how to phrase it, but: don't read if you have triggers around pregnancy. Seriously.

Also, fig trees are weird. Like, really weird. They are irl. If the idea of a cool, metaphorical tree from the Bible (or: a cool tree with fruit that you do eat) being somewhat eldritch triggers you, don't read (and don't google the detailed biology of anything form the genus Ficus)

“And you're showing me all this, because…?”

Finrod saw himself in Feanor's old studio, the host impatiently paced back and forth as he used to. The image was much more detailed than his own memories: the smell of wax and ink, the rustling of papers moved by the warm wind that entered through the window, even the slight aftertaste of coffee.

He missed being alive, more than ever. And yet…

“Lord Námo said it may be helpful,” he replied.

“Helpful for them, to convince me to forfeit my heart, which I don't even have anymore?” Feanor scoffed at him, and a wave of bitterness washed over Finrod. “Or helpful to you, to have someone congratulate you for all your dubious philosophical speculations? Or maybe for helping a Man steal what is not his?”

“This he did not say, but I came to you, uncle—”

“Half-uncle.”

It did not matter much and Finrod didn't hide this feeling. “—to help you lessen your pain, even if only by a little.”

“How graceful. Truely, a son of Arafinwë. Speaking of which, why didn't you crawl back to the Valar with him?” Even in a dream of the dead, Feanor's voice was full of melody and emotion. How was his memory and imagination so detailed?

“I'm not sure. I thought that I could change something, that I could — and have to — protect my father's people. And I was curious about Middle Earth. This too.”

“I see that you have grown up somewhat. Good. So, tell me, Findaráto, has your curiosity been satisfied?”

“Partially. Mostly— no, not mostly. But as much as it could be, I suppose.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the rustling of the leaves outside, and an occasional bird call. Feanor was shielded, almost unpresent, hiding behind the image. He didn't even bother to make the vision of him breathe.

Eventually, he returned and gestured at the alabaster vase, filled with fig branches, which hadn't been there before. “Tell me, do you know how those bear fruit?”

What did it have to do with anything? But Finrod knew better than to argue with his uncle.

“Half-uncle. And no: I don't care that you did not show me yourself saying this. As long as you keep it open, I consider it said. But back to my question.”

Just like Lord Námo, but quicker to get upset. Of course, from his uncle— half-uncle — Finrod could close part of his thoughts. But there had been enough distance between them already, and that would only increase it.

How did fig trees bear fruit? They grew hidden flowers, enclosed in growths that looked like smaller figs and matured into them. The Men believed that those plants, unlike all others, didn't produce flowers or need pollination, but this was of course false.

“And what does pollinate them?” Feanor spoke like a teacher, and Finrod realized that in the vision they shared he was now a child. Should he try to contest it? But he had come to his half-uncle to console him, not to argue. If Feanor would have him as a child, so be it.

He came closer to the branches. Some of them had mature fruit, some young, and some had the small figs that goats ate. “I don't know, I have never thought of that before. I suppose they pollinate themselves— but no, it would make no sense if they had no other tree to mate with. And they do need those small figs nearby… So I would assume those are sources of the pollen and some kind of small creature — an insect or arachnid — pollinates them.”

Feanor nodded and poked one of the maturing small figs with his finger. A group of tiny flies emerged from it — no, not flies, their bodies were built like very small wasps. Some had wings, some crawled on their bellies — and those were dying.

“Look at the females closely,” said Feanor, pulling Finrod’s attention to the winged wasps. Each of them had tiny specks of pollen on her body. They took flight, and landed on the immature figs — some on the small ones, and one on the big that looked like it could mature into an edible fruit.

“They will each crawl inside an enclosed flower — more like a garden actually. Inside each of those goat figs there are many flowers, now the male ones aren't mature yet, but the female ones will be pollinated by what the wasps brought. And in some of them the insect will lay her eggs, preventing growth of the fruit — the tiny actual fruit, not what the ignorants call a fruit — the others shall grow. And when the eggs mature, the new wasps will emerge into the inside of the fig, and mate, and take the pollen from the now-ready male flowers. Then the male wasps will dig a tunnel out and die. And the females will fly out, and enter more unripe figs, tearing off their antennae and wings in the agonizing process, pollinate, lay eggs and die soon after.”

Finrod looked up at his half-uncle's face. “And what do they do here, in Aman? I suppose—”

Feanor smiled and his eyes glistened with fire, but there was no mirth in it. “Where do you think I studied them?”

They stood in silence and pain. No death in the Undying Lands, except when there is. But for the Fruit-Giver the trees had always been more important than things that moved, weren't they?

Finrod shook it off — those weren't his thoughts — but didn't close himself out. He looked at the dying insects and at Feanor. “Once, I would try to comfort you by saying that the figs are beautiful, or that the new wasps are born and fly… But it hurts. Dying. It hurts so much. I'm sorry.”

“You have grown somewhat, indeed. Yes, the new wasps grow… but it's not even the whole of it. We haven't talked about the sweet figs yet.”

Finrod listened.

Feanor poked the ripe sweet fig, but no insect came out. “When a wasp enters the sweet fig,” he said slowly, “she has no place to lay her eggs. The flowers are shaped differently. She pollinates them, and dies — broken, useless, discarded — and the plant digests her until there's nothing left. Just the sweet fruit, for the joy of the Eldar and more glory of the Valar. Tell me, my little philosopher, what do you think: do figs pity wasps? Do they even think about them?”

Finrod forced himself to stay open despite the pain and anger pouring onto him. “They don't know the pain of death, so how could they pity it?”

“Yet, how could they not? How can they expect— and not even care —” Feanor's voice shook, the wasps quivered in agony, the room trembled. Words and feelings roared around like a storm. Slowly, it calmed down and Feanor resumed: “And yet, they do expect. They gave nothing to me, and yet I'm supposed to give everything, and why? Because only I can do that? Because I'm the biggest wasp that they have in their cage? Nobody else is asked for something like this.

“I'm supposed to tear out my heart, and get nothing out of it, and everyone else shall be happy, and I shall be — gone, not even a trace left, digested into the sweetness of a fig. Yes, I know this would be noble of me. I do not care. I do not want to be noble, I've tried being noble already and it didn't work. I want, for a change, to be happy. And I won't take anything less than that.”

The vision blurred, they were in the room, and they were the wasps crawling into a fig, and they were dead bodies lying under the brilliant light that they had helped recover… Finrod took control, dreaming then into his studio, back in Nargothrond. The figs were still there, but now in a simpler, Man-made vase.

“What's this?” Feanor pointed to an empty, unimagined place where a door should be.

Oh. This. Finrod would rather not delve into the whole Celegorm and Curufin situation. “Not very relevant. Two of your sons learned that I was planning to help Beren and, well, we had a disagreement. They took control of the city for some time, but we did not fight. Just argued.”

“What else would you expect them to do?” Feanor stood behind Finrod’s desk in his regal robes, hands behind back, scanning the studio. It was a messy room, compared to his.

“What else would you expect me to do?”

“Not— Oh, I see. You could have mentioned more clearly that you have also been bound by an oath. At least now you understand.” It should have been a question, but wasn't.

“I didn't kill anyone for it.”

“Not with your own hands, no. I appreciate you not murdering my sons for protecting our property. It was more than I would expect with your Telerin heritage.”

Finrod looked him in the eye — now as they were in his imagination, he wasn't a child anymore. “Why are you trying to provoke me? What is this really about? Do you want me to say that we shouldn't have the Trees back if the cost is so high? That we shouldn't have figs or happiness or whatever the metaphor is— I don't know! I trust in the Valar knowing what they're doing, even if they cannot understand how much it takes, but that's just it: trust. And I cannot understand it fully either. Even now. Nobody can, because we aren't you! What do you expect me to say?”

Feanor shrugged lightly. “Honestly? I expected you to say something sanctimonious, a multitude of pretty words about the greater good, sacrifice, and how the wasp dies happy and cheerful, because she knows that it will give joy to everyone else.”

Had Finrod really been like this? Simplistic, blunt, and certain about the things he had no experience with? Maybe. Probably.

“Definitely,” said Feanor, surprised. “You didn't know. How ironic.”

“I apologize. I— I don't think anyone has the right to expect from others something he had not gone through himself. And even now…” The shadows deepened around them, and the air smelled of wolves. Not too much, not out of control anymore, but it was noticeable. “I do not know how I managed to. I'm not who I had thought myself to be; I was terrified, and weak, and lost, and yet… it was enough, somehow. Just enough to do what I had to do. Not to tell anyone else what he should do. To know, yes. But not to claim any authority. Not to try to push you… I'm not making much sense, am I?”

Feanor stepped closer to him, emanating warmth, and the shadows moved back from the light of the fire that was his spirit. The vision was now equally imagined by both of them: a shadowed room blending various memories, unripe figs on the table blazing with light. Pieces of broken marble. Tapestries on the walls. Noticeable lack of blood on the floor. Smell of the sea, or maybe of tears.

“You are both the wasp and the fruit,” Finrod said warmly, looking at the gobelins. They were beautiful.

“I never asked to be a fig! I never—.”

“I know. Nobody asks for it, I suppose. I'm certain Beren didn't either. And yet, if I were to make that choice again, I'd make it all the same.”

Feanor traced the pattern of the tapestry with his finger. “You had a choice.”

“That is true. But does it change much?”

“I don't know.” He started to fade, and with him the tapestry and parts of the room.

“Wait.”

Feanor's presence returned. “There's nothing more to say. You can't convince me—”

“I don't intend to.” Finrod smiled. “Nor do I have anything wise to say to you. But we can simply be here. I miss you.”

“Soon you will go, I can feel life calling to you, your mind longing for its senses. As does mine. The only difference is that you are free to follow. But if you want to dream with me for a while more, I won't forbid you.”

“Thank you, uncle.”

Feanor didn't reply and they sat together, the wasps buzzing around them— or maybe they were moths? Something winged and surprisingly fragile, of that Finrod was certain.

[herbertwest]

Also I think it's very funny that Dominum got a lot of Cannibal Corpse fans mad because they released a song called Cannibal Corpses, tricking the Cannibal Corpse fans into thinking it was a new Cannibal Corpse song lol

[melodychocolat]

andrew eldritch is actually kinda hot tho? okkkkkkk whatever don't even care

[aroace-anomaly]

ATTENTION EPIC THE MUSICAL FANS

I WAS LISTENING TO SCYLLA

AND AT THE END WHEN SCYLLA SINGS "we are the same you and-" and odysseus sings with her on "i,i,iiiiiiiiii"

i was like huh, thats odd, why did he only sing along for that one bit

and THEN I thought back to other songs and realized that, usually, the significance of two characters singing together in the same melody (like in there are other ways, the underworld, warrior of the mind) it means that, for lack of a better word, they AGREE. OR AT LEAST ARE ON THE SAME WAVELENGTH.

SO ODYSSEUS STARING DOWN THIS ELDRITCH HORROR

AND SINGING ALONG WITH IT

*wild gesturing* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[lazyyogi]

Yesterday I drove 2 hours to experience the solar eclipse totality.

As the moon slowly drifted across the sun, red and warm colors became more muted while blues and greens more vivid. I was struck by how incredibly bright the sun was even when 95% of its light was obscured by the moon.

Then came the magical moment of totality. We watched through our eclipse glasses as the tiny sliver of sun completely vanished behind the moon. The day’s warm temperatures suddenly dropped. Birds started singing forlorn bedtime melodies.

We took off our eclipse glasses and looked upon the totality in utter astonishment.

In a way like never before, the moon appeared as a truly 3 dimensional object floating in the sky. Planets became visible (that’s Venus in my picture). And we saw Baily’s Beads, delicate drops of golden sunlight at the edges of the moon.

I have not seen a single picture or video that adequately captures the eldritch splendor of eclipse totality.

The chills, the emotions and giddiness, it was a moment I will never forget for the rest of my life.

It was well worth the nearly 5 hour drive back.

An irreplaceable entrance to my birthday week ���️🌙

[yuesya]

There is music, echoing elegantly into the silent darkness. Solemn and magnificent, countless notes rising and falling to blend into an ethereal melody.

It has been quite a long time, since the Choir’s song of Order last resounded through the stars.

Penacony, the Land of Dreams, no longer remains beneath the jurisdiction of the Harmony. For Order has been established, and from it, an intergalactic Paradise will arise. Is already on the rise, weaving together the blissful dreams of its inhabitants under the iron grip of a watchful conductor who is determined to see their ideals become reality.

“This is just the worst.” Three words, grumbled lowly in an unhappy voice, discontented. Silver Wolf grits her teeth mulishly, hands curling into fists. “Penacony’s gone. Firefly… didn’t make it out this time.”

A slow blink of eldritch blue eyes. The white-haired girl standing beside the youngest Stellaron Hunter remains unmoving. There is no change in her outward expression at all.

“… Firefly?”

“She’s gone,” Silver Wolf’s voice is louder this time. A little more fierce, too. Gloved hands come up to wipe roughly at her eyes. “Firefly is dead now, Shiki. That –that was her third death!”

“Third death. Penacony.” Shiki is silent for another moment. “… It’s Order that killed her.”

“We need to go.” Silver Wolf sucks in a deep breath, and sets her shoulders. “Any longer, and we won’t be safe here, either; Order is actively subsuming everything around it into its Choir. If this is part of Elio’s script, then–”

“‘You will draw your blade.’”

“… What?”

“My script from Elio,” Shiki’s voice is infinitely soft. “… He told me, ‘You will draw your blade.’”

Then, she proceeds to do so.

One hand grips at the sheath of the sword at her side, while the other closes around the hilt. Shiki draws out the entire length of the thin blade in a single smooth motion. Careless, almost, and unhurried. There is no particular strength behind it. It can’t even be considered a proper swing, but–

But beneath the tip of her blade, there is a distortion in space. Something –something that parts beneath the edge, a thin line that swiftly stretches into a yawning chasm that blooms into the world around her, tearing through the space and stars and Order Itself like an unstoppable tidal wave–

That just keeps going and going–

Red. No, black. Looking into the emptiness left behind in the path of the tear in reality is something that hurts, is actively painful, but blissfully calm at the same time. There’s something that’s almost alluring about it. No, repulsive. Radiant sunlight, and the darkest shadow.

… It doesn’t make sense. But it doesn’t need to. For the stars themselves are meaningless, and in the end there is noThINg thAt matTeRs in wAke of HeR SILENCE–

…

…

…

… Elio stares blankly up at the familiar blank panels of the ceiling. It has already been several long seconds since he’d roughly pulled himself out of his last simulation, but the harsh thud-thud-thud pounding of his heart has yet to begin calming. The sharp, distressingly poignant headache in his skull shows no signs of easing anytime soon, either.

What he’d seen just now… was not a desirable scenario. Not at all. Something definitely needed to be done, especially in regards to Firefly’s ‘third death’ in the Land of Dreams.

“Elio?” Kafka’s face appears in his field of vision as she leans over him, waving a hand in front of his eyes. “Everything alright?”

… Hopefully, they will be. As long as Elio can work things out and direct them on a better course of action.

“I’m fine, Kafka.”

“Hmm.” The woman stares at him for a moment. Then, smiles teasingly, “Maybe you should take a break. Wouldn’t want you to start stress-shedding now, would we?”

Elio sniffs, even though the vertigo of the sudden motion makes the room spin dizzyingly. “If I lose all my hair, then you and the other Hunters are most definitely to blame for it.”

[thoughtsafterdark]

The Sun's Lover

Sometimes I gaze at myself in the mirror and my mind bends and buckles against warring thoughts and I wonder if I was meant for more.

Sometimes I feel a breeze in the back of my mind

Sparks of errant electricity

A brief glimpse into something other, something hidden

Something on the tip of my tongue and the edge of my olfactory bulb

Colours I can smell, feelings I can hear, thoughts that have no shape or form. Older than my life, than language, than war. Certainties that tease and caress and seduce but leave me dry and gasping like incubi in my sleep.

That leave my tongue sloppy and lazy like tar black molasses squelching between teeth

Thoughts that taste of longer tongues and darker mouths and sharper teeth on a planet circling twin red dwarves, of methane marshes and hexagonal prism eyes that sparkle like blood red rubies

Words slurring together and thoughts hazy as they come back down to a body that feels paper thin and husky like maple seeds in the wind

I think of the wrath that dances just beneath my skin

The bile that churns and rushes to my face, eyes like daggers, lips fixed in a snarl at the slightest insult

I think of my pride, that squirming bag of worms that lights fires in my blood and how it wars with my desperate craving to belong

I watch them from the safety of my window like a xenoanthropologist. How they love and laugh and touch eachother. How they slide against one another like well oiled gears in a way I have never been able to. I think of the eldritch way in which I care, with a gaping maw and drooling lips, with twirling rings of eyes and 6 pairs of wings, with claws that burrow deeper and squeeze tighter the harder they try to leave me.

And I think to myself, girlhood is not so much different to godhood. A self-satisfres ied sadistic existence hiding a crushing singularity of loneliness, topped with pettiness and boredom.

I wish you would come to me in my waking hours and take me away from this place

Steal and hide me away in palaces of sand and moonstone

I can put up a good fight. I’ll run and scream and beg you to stop, make sure to drag out the thrill of the chase. Isn’t that what pretty nymphs are for?

I see my bitterness reflected in the ozone blue of your eyes, the hardness and cruelty shot through with marble strands of gold

Your skin is a thrumming pool of pure power, an atomic bomb bound in sinew and nucleic acids, ready to turn me to a pillar of salt

Your fingers coax the most bittersweet of melodies, leaping and thrumming from string to string like acrobats. They say the best musicians make the instruments sing, but I’ve seen you make lyres moan and weep

I remember the old stories, of girls turned to laurel trees, of wounded pride and donkeys ears. I remember the blood of the Myrmidon spilled outside the walks of Illium. I know you are a wrathful, self-righteous whore, with greedy fingers that leave bruises  in the dips of hips and a silver tongue to match. Your fathers essence is strong in you, stronger even than it is in him. Nuclear fusion and supernovae to his ion and electron arcs. What is a thunderbolt in the face of the sun’s core?

That is how I know you would understand, I know you would thumb at that gaping festering wound inside my heart and bring me corpses instead of flowers. A plague in just the right place, so they can die slowly, in agony. Nuclear wastelands instead of jewellery. And then afterwards you’d smile that chesire cat smile at me, all satisfaction and faux-inoccence, and we’d wear our best skins and most beautiful masks and dance amongst the stars next to the hunter ripped to ribbons by hounds at your sisters command compose ballads, and study the healing arts and crafts but not so well the grey eyed bitch curses me with eight legs and congratulate ourselves on our own brilliance. Spin lies out of ambrosia and nectar and pretend we are good and just, exactly what the mortals deserve

 Fuck me with your fingers with a fierceness you wouldn’t dare use on your precious lyres, piston into me the way the women in my grandmothers village gut fish (rhythmically, ruthlessly, with the sun beating down on leathery skin and the weight of 6 mouths to feed and the memory of your husbands knuckles shattering teeth), reach up into me and wring the neck of my womb like a newly ripe peach, yank it out of me until it lies pulsing and glittering and full of seed, uterine arteries spewing blood. I want to feel you burrowing upwards until I am impaled on your divinity, until you push upwards into my heart and lungs and your hands are peaking up out of my throat. Turn me inside out and wash me clean until my mortality burns away like a chrysalis and I am reborn in your image.

My ascension is a spectacle that leaves many breathless and many more blinded. “I am the goddess of lost potential” I whisper into the crook of your neck “of promises unkept and grudges nursed. Of doorways and bridges and the space between atoms. Of longing and regret and moments lost.” And then you’d smile that ridiculous smile of yours, like you’d seen me like this always, glowing and thrumming with possibility – and this confirmation is somewhat amusing.

“Pithanotita” you’ll declare against the shell of my neck and the rightness of it reverberates deep deep down, beyond the skeletons of cells that no longer exist and multi corded DNA strands, as if you have struck my very resonant frequency and my de Broglie wavelength sings with the joy of being seen. Not a name but a constant, a universal truth. Phoebus I’ll counter, and I won’t bother using a mouth, though the smirk will be implied. Possibility and Poetry need no lips to speak to one another, we are two sides of the same coin. You’ll laugh out loud then, delighted at my audacity. Only your mother calls you by her mothers name. And I can pretend just for a moment that we might last. The first of our kind to have eternity.  That we won’t end up tearing each other to pieces. The sun and his unlikely lover, regret.