#folly of the fountains

[starfacedstudio]

ID in alt!

A little something for Deltarune's 6th anniversary and a way to say im still working on this even though its been ages (though im sure everyone in this fan space is used to that kind of thing lol)!

happy birthday deltarune, i look forward to seeing where this story ends up no matter how long it may take! :D

[thesixthduke]

[rainandstorm-stims]

Cut open my sternum and pull - My little ribs around you

🩸 | 🩸 | 🩸 🖤 | 🖤 | 🖤 🩸 | 🩸 | 🩸

Please read my rentry before interacting ✦

[queer-ragnelle]

Sir Yvain before and after his victory in The Follies of Sir Harold by Phyllis Ann Karr

[hepdenerose]

Halifax Oddities

Late March 2025, we’d pledged to go somewhere while the exceptionally good weather held. Feeling ropey, I suggested going to Banksfield Museum for art and droning. The easy bus trip landed us at Halifax bus station where Phil chatted to a student who worked part-time in the store. Famished and food options in Boothtown limited, we took a shortcut to Gregg’s and ate butty deals on seating in The…

[galedekarios]

gale & curing the orb - early access

writing my current series of cut content from early access made me think a lot, especially about how curing gale of the orb might have originally worked out if larian had kept to what had been set up in early access. it's no secret that a lot of things were changed or cut entirely, big and small, like for instance halsin's involvement with ketheric's fall, isobel and the shadow curse.

gale's condition, too, seemed different then.

what exactly was different in early access?

while only a few body models were unique in early access, gale's key art showed his left arm in bandages.

in early access, auntie ethel had vicious mockery lines, which hinted what might be beneath those bandages:

Auntie Ethel: I can smell what's under those bandages, wizard. You're all rot and ruin. Come to greet death early? You'll be a lovely spectacle.

we also had information from gale directly as to what happened to karsus in the aftermath of casting his spell:

Player: I was wondering about that “mighty lord” you told me about in your story. Gale: Ah, yes. Karsus Karsus was perhaps the most powerful wizard that ever lived. The child-who-would-be-a-god, the elves called him. And he tried. With a spell of his own devising he endeavoured to usurp in one fell swoop the power of the goddess of magic.  Mystryl, she was called then. Imagine what it must have felt like. To be a god. To know yourself to be untouchable. To be mistaken. As Karsus aimed his spell at her she began to unravel, and with her, the entire Weave. Too late did he realize what he had unleashed. It would have been the end of everything had not Mystryl sacrificed herself.  Gale: The goddess of magic is all magic. By dying, the entire weave was lost, and the spell that challenged a god failed. It was the end of Mystryl, the end of Karsus, and the end of an entire civilization. As the child-who-would-be-a-god was turned to stone, his empire came crashing down around him. The floating cities of Netheril were no more. An event that came to be known as Karsus’ folly.

which is in accordance with the lore:

Unfortunately, his choice was a terrible mistake, for one of the responsibilities of the deity of magic was to regulate the flow of magic to and from all beings, spells, and magic items in the world. Lacking the ability to do so properly, magic surged and fluctuated. With her last remaining bit of power, Mystryl sacrificed herself to block Karsus's access to the Weave, causing all magic to fail. The flying cities of Netheril plummeted to the earth. The severing of the link also killed Karsus and transformed him into stone, and the last thing he saw was his entire civilization being destroyed because of his actions. This was to be known as Karsus's Folly. The stone form of Karsus eventually landed in a part of the High Forest, now called the Dire Wood. The city of Karse was built around its base. Karsus was never accepted as a petitioner by any god, nor did he go to the Fugue Plane when he died. Instead, his soul was bound to the Material Plane. Those with experience in pact magic could call up his vestige, where he appeared as a giant blood-red boulder, like the one found in the High Forest where his petrified form landed. Blood burbles up from the top of the stone, trickling down the side facing the summoner, pooling at the base. When he spoke, the pool fountained upwards, its height varying on the volume of his voice.

the netherese orb then seemed to have a immediate visible physical effect on gale, in addition to the ones that carried to the full release version of the game.

so putting these clues together, i think it's safe to say that the orb caused gale in early access to be afflicted with some form of corrupted petrification, which makes sense given that it's a piece of magic unleashed during karsus's folly.

at that point, this corruption seemed to be affecting his left arm the most, perhaps either from opening the book containing the netherese magic with it, or trying to shield himself with it - but that's just speculation on my part.

so what did the early access set up in terms of curing gale from his affliction?

gale in early access showed a great interest in the astral plane, especially in the absence of time there. he has several banters with lae'zel, which are still in the game now and showing his vested interest in the astral plane as well as any knowledge or insight lae'zel might offer on it:

Gale asks Lae'zel about the Astral Plane. Has she been there? Gale: Tell me, Lae'zel, what is it like on the Astral Plane? Your home realm intrigues me. Lae'zel: Githyanki lay their eggs on other planes. They cannot mature in the Astral. Lae'zel: I will only be welcomed once I obtain a mind flayer's head.

lae'zel notices gale's interest and initiates a banter of her own:

Lae'zel asks Gale what his interest is in the Astral plane, and he equivocates Lae'zel: Tell me, Gale: what is your interest in the Astral Plane? Gale: Time. Or rather: the absence of it. In the Astral Plane, everything is eternal. Lae'zel: It will be my home soon enough, should Vlaakith will it.

in addition to these banters, which clearly show gale's interest in the astral plane - which now in the full release seems merely academic - hinted at another solution to ridding himself of the orb.

what points to that quite conclusively is gale's dialogue when he reveals the truth about the orb to the protagonist.

this reveal differs quite significantly from the full release version. most notably, the protagonist was able to ask him about his own ideas for a what might be able to cure him from the orb.

gale had something very interesting to say to that question:

Player: What would permanently rid you of the orb? Gale: The orb was kept safe and inert in a pocket of Astral Plane, suspended in time. If I can somehow manage to expel it from my body while in the Astral Plane, it will be rendered inert again. Alternatively, I could learn to control it’s chaotic magic, that is; to succeed where I failed before. But without Mystra’s favour, I don’t see how that may come to pass. Of course there could be different answers as well. Faerun brims with more magic than any one wizard could fathom, let alone comprehend. Who knows what outlandish solutions may yet present themselves?

so what does this all mean?

in conclusion, i believe originally there were either more ways to cure gale from the orb - or maybe even in a different manner entirely - than there are in the full release version of the game (begging mystra to remove it, ascension, or accepting/keeping the orb).

perhaps even one that would circumvent having to beg mystra for forgiveness entirely, without gale having to sacrifice his mortality to do so.

i think these banters and lines of dialogue show that the astral plane, which would have rendered the orb inert and stopped the corrupted petrification of his body, would have played a bigger role in gale's quest.

[thugnificent714]

-The Private Apartments of the Imperial Family-

Following the fire of 1837 the Winter Palace was rebuilt under the supervision of architects Vasily Stasov and Alexander Bruillov with Tsar Nicholas I setting the ambitious goal of restoration in 15 months. Stasov oversaw the restoration of the facades and parade halls, aiming to recreate the palace's original appearance. Bruillov was responsible for the interiors, including new designs in more contemporary styles.

We will explore the northwestern most section of the Winter Palace located on the map above. With the exception of room 155, these rooms constituted the suite of rooms given to Empress Alexandra Fyodorovna, wife of Tsar Nicholas I.

Room 155- The Arabian Hall

This room served as the room from which imperial processions through the state rooms began. The double doors were designed to be on a straight axis through the principal state rooms and ultimately the Jordan Staircase, forming an enfilade. Thus, it was here the Romanov family often assembled, in private, before state receptions and occasions.

Room 188- The Pompeian Dining Room

The Small (or Pompeian) Dining Room was created by Alexander Briullov after the 1837 fire reflecting the impressions that the architect took away from a visit to the excavations at Pompeii. The decoration of the walls imitated the frescoes found in the famous Ancient Roman city that perished in the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. Dining chairs of the Greek klismos type were formally ranged around the walls, and dining tables were brought in and removed as needed.

Room 189- The Malachite Room

The Malachite Room served as the state drawing-room of the Empress. The unique malachite decoration of the room and many of its furnishings were made in the "Russian mosaic" technique. The large malachite vase and furniture produced to designs by Auguste Montferrand were among the furnishings of the Jasper Reception Room that perished in the 1837 fire. It was in the Malachite Drawing Room that Romanov brides were traditionally robed before walking in procession through the state rooms to the palace's Grand Church for their weddings.

Room 187- The White Drawing-Room

Part of the suite of rooms reserved for the private use of the Empress. They form an enfilade which culminates in the Malachite Drawing Room, which served as the Empress' State Drawing Room, where she gave audiences and conducted her official business.

Room 186- The Large Drawing-Room

This room was mostly used by the Empress and her ladies-in-waiting. The walls were lined with silk jacquard in a bright crimson colour. The furniture was made of the same fabric with gold fringes lining the bottoms of the seats. Plants and personal items were plenty in this room highlighting the personal nature of this safe space for the Empress.

Room 185- The Empress' Study

This room was also lined with the same crimson silk jacquard from the previous room. being a corner room, it had 4 windows which allowed for much natural light to shine through. A corner of the room featured plants and was sectioned off with a grill that had ivy growing on it.

Room 184- The Empress' Bedroom

Like most monarchs, the Tsar and Tsarina had separate bedrooms. This room was decorated in a dark blue damask with a gold and marble trim. The room was separated by curtains into 2 areas, the bedroom and the living room. A door linked the bedroom to the maid-on-duty's room.

Room 183- The Empress' Dressing Room

The door next to the armoire connected this room to a bathroom that was designed in an Ottoman style.

Room 182- The Empress' Budoir

Room 181- The Empress' Winter Garden

This was a private space adorned with plants, ivy, and neoclassical-style lanterns. The stairs led to a mezzanine area which featured alcoves with sofas and a fountain. To the back of the space was a folly in the shape of a Roman lararium or prayer altar featured in Roman villas.

[kuroyurishion]

LOVE AND DEEPSPACE MAIN STORY UPDATE

These new chapters 😭

Random ramblings below because I need to get this off of my chest.

Under the guide of Spatium Core, you’ll witness the choice between extinction and survival.

Gaia Research Center, Charon: Charon is the ferryman of the dead that ferries souls across the rivers Acheron and Styx. The river of sorrow and the river that is the boundary between the living and the dead and the river solemn oaths are sworn by. Styx is the also the name of the goddess who represents hatred (stygos).

And where does Charon ferry souls to? The underworld (N109 Zone), which is ruled by Hades (Sylus)

Zoion Hunt: “Zoion” is a Greek word that translates to “beast” or “animal”. What are two of the most mythical beasts of all? A dragon (Sylus) and a unicorn (MC).

“Congratulations on regaining consciousness, Subject 001. How are you feeling today?”

Subject 001 aka Unicorn. AKA MC.

Is she going to learn what happened to her here? Get glimpses of the experiments done to her as a child? The researches talked to her so coldly as a child…

Oh… oh my baby… my poor baby MC…

The Alterum: “Alterum” is Latin for “the other” or “another”. Possibly referencing to those who turned into Wanderers via EVER’s experiments.

Fountain of Atei: The so-called fountain of youth. Named after the allegorical Greek goddess Ate. She is the personification of moral blindness and error. She personifies delusion, folly, ruin, and recklessness. The harbinger of disaster, so to speak.

From Zayne’s Master of Fate Myth: “Isn’t she [MC] that variable? She finally appeared… the variable must be eliminated as soon as possible. Any problems that could occur in the future will be avoidable then.”

Snow Fades at Dawn: When dawn breaks snow fades away. Pleasure to see you again, Dawnbreaker. I saw you in that trailer. Or it could’ve been Zayne being badass too. Either works for me.

“Cocoon”: I’m assuming this is some sort of experiment/test site run by EVER.

“Miss Hunter, you should’ve been the most successful test subject.”

That’s what’s she’s always been. A test subject. The most perfect one. The most successful one. She’s the one EVER wants to replicate and is failing to. And that’s all she’ll ever be in their eyes.

Leave my girl alone she’s been through enough 😭

[mind-travel-er]

The Sun's Course [Part 1]

the empire's slumber

— Pairing: Brother Day (13th) x Female reader

— Synopsis: A story in which a Genetic Engineer is recruited by Brother Darkness, in secrecy. At the wake of his death and the rebirth of his Dynasty, Cleon The Painter dares to ask questions. However, Brother Day (12th) won’t tolerate to bring those matters into the light, and especially by the one person capable of understanding its ramifications. You. 

— Warning/Content: Hurt/Comfort, Cleon 13th, Touch-Starved Cleons, Character Study, inspired by S01E03.

— Word Count:  2.7 k

[read me on AO3] · [PART 2]

12,086 Era Imperial | 19 years after the fall of Star Bridge | Rule of Cleon the 12th; The Ruthless “It is treason,” you say. “I know,” answers Brother Darkness, gazing at the glass separating him from his younger self.  There, in a tint of sky blue that only Surfacers had seen, was floating a little cloud. The fetus of Cleon the 14th. “That’s precisely why you are here.

You look at the rumpled traits of the third brother, in his simple linen gown made of ocean. If his younger counterparts were wrapped in royal blues, it seemed that with age, the specter of the color was sinking deeper and deeper, like his melancholy. But it’s not only age that shrivels the face of Brother Darkness. There is a glint in his eyes that only comes with the dread of one’s end. The glint falls on you. “Will you do as I ask?” Your ears have to devote themselves to truly understand his words. “Of course, Empire,” you respond before your next heartbeat. One should not refuse Empire. No one dares. And you have to close the parting of your lips and compose yourself; rewinding his request in your head. As if he were asking permission. Hands clasping the strap of your medical kit crossing your chest, you turn yourself completely towards him, making sure your eyes don’t falter when looking into his own: “I will do as you ask.” A small smile brightens his face for a moment; like a meek, flickering flame. He turns himself towards you, putting his hands behind his back, and your memories echo Brother Day and Brother Dawn with the same mannerism. Countless times, you have seen his holograms do the same ritual during public speeches. You just hadn’t pictured seeing it one day in front of you. As if we had only collectively dreamed of the Empire’s presence, never experiencing it for ourselves.  “Call me Brother Darkness, Engineer. It is my place in the shadows that allows me such folly.” And it is. Terribly so. But you can’t say that, of course.  You swallow, but no saliva comes. You respond nothing, your lips cautiously sealed.  “Surely, you have questions. No one has come here for four thousand years, except for Demerzel and some of the Genetic Dynasty. I myself was not allowed.” He turns his head again, slowly, towards the glass. And one of his hands, gnarled and speckled, comes to rest on the barrier. If only for this obstacle, death and birth would be reunited at last. You dare to look at him, and it tames the slight freeze response gripping your body. He’s not as harsh as you imagined. There’s a softness about him that you could never hope to find in his other versions. At least, that’s your hypothesis.

Then you look around. Even for an artificial womb, with water coming up to the ground, it feels methodical and emotionless. The artificial tranquility of the sound of the fountain mixes with the harsh lines of the brutalist concrete. Even at the heart of the Dynasty, you find no warmth. You wonder if it’s perhaps one of the reasons that led to the destiny of Thespis and Anacreon. The day the only heat to be felt was fire raining down on two planets. You have to remind yourself that this Brother too has the potential to make those same decisions. No one likes doubts, and it could be argued that the foundation of all nations is stability. And stability requires certainty, not questions we do not dare ask. You think of your teachers and colleagues. Friends. Almost family for some. Streeling University suddenly seems like another planet altogether at this very moment. So, you hope this Brother can stomach uncertainty. And you ask:  “Why weren’t you allowed here?” “We had rules,” he responds, perhaps not to you specifically. “Apparently, witnessing one’s own origin can lead to madness.” His head bows, and his thin, white hair acts like a blinding shield.  “Perhaps…” He lifts himself again and scrutinizes the cords floating from the little body, attached to no mother and no belly. “Perhaps the same fate awaits me. Perhaps I’ve seen too much already.” You don’t comment on that last confession either. But you still have questions.  “What do you hope to find, once all the samples are collected?” The white shield goes away, and a mix of blues and greens observes you. Do his younger versions have the same nuances in their eyes? “Two things, Engineer,” he says now, truly focused on you. “First, if we are indeed all the same, just as Cleon the First dreamed. I fear time and experiences change us all, despite our … common bases.” He smiles, but there are no crinkles around his eyes.  “An egotistical search, no doubt. To answer if I’ll be remembered for my particularities… and if they even exist on a genetic level.”

Brother Darkness makes a few small steps towards you. Palms behind his rounded back now coming before him, opened.  “Second, I want to know. Will this one be different?” You can see how wide his eyes are and how the rim of white around his iris tends to take up more space than it should. The last time you saw such a display was from a sub-level worker at the weekly market. An orange in his stained hand, crossing eyes with the Imperial Guards. You look briefly at the fetus of Cleon the 14th, brows frowning.  “How so? I thought the replication was flawless. Aren’t such tests conducted again and again?” “No anymore,” he answers. “Do Luminists open the Script every time they apply their beliefs? The raw genetical code has remained untouched for centuries.” “You fear that corruption of the original material might be an issue?” You articulate. Again, his feet valiantly pace forward despite the smallness of their steps. His hands, slow and gentle, take yours. They can only feel the cold of the Aura separating the two of you. How could such a little thing prevent the most basic human interaction?  “Something’s wrong. I can feel it.”  “Brother Darkness?“ “Like the Sun behind the horizon just before it rises. I cannot see it. But, it’s here. Do you understand? You must conduct the tests.“ Maybe someone else wouldn’t notice the faint tremors of his fingers while he let them slip from yours. But you’re a researcher, and paying attention to details is the core of your practice. All speaks of Cleon the Painter and how he recorded history, producing the most exquisite murals ever made in Trantor. Masterful techniques that you had studied at school; moving patterns embedded in your digital manual. The cold is gone, but something much warmer stays with you. He rolls one of his navy sleeves with application, just as a child might have done during a medical exam. And suddenly, the knot in the pit of your stomach relaxes. The realization blooms in you as this version of Empire folds his linen tunic to offer the veins of his arm. Decades had reduced him to a frail figure that could barely walk without the help of a simple stick. If the man before you was responsible for an entire Galaxy, he was a man nonetheless.  You examine how his bent and rigid fingers fail to grasp the unyielding fabric. How the sides of his index and major, the same ones used to sign peace, are still covered with nano-pigments that swirl and curl on themselves. Your heart tightens. And memories flow from your grandfather, usually tucked away for rainy days. Perhaps you could join and help? But the Aura is there, hanging on his wrist, guarding him jealously. You don’t want to feel the cold again. Instead, you say:

“There’s no need for blood. A simple lock of hair will do.”  He stops. And his brows arch themselves. “Or… saliva, if you prefer. But I doubt that spitting in a tube would be dignified.”  You feel yourself lightly chuckling. He notices your hands; coiled and away. And he’s letting out a small scoff as his eyes wrinkle. The tips of his fingers come to press on the silver bracelet, and in response, a low hum raises the hair on your forearms as it does when a summer thunderstorm is ready to burst with lightning.  “You’re quite right. We can’t let that be my last contribution to this world, can we?” Empire has a sense of humor. It seems that not only color but the kindness of Brother Day would someday deepen as well. Or was it always there? Lingering just under the surface and waiting to take a breath? While searching for a more comfortable place to rest your equipment, only the sound of rippling water comes to you. The room is barren. There’s nothing to sit on. A far cry from the nursery of your little brothers, all in pale shades of apricot. Twins and twice as many teddy bears to fill the space. But here, nothing is soft or comforting. There are only three grey steps at the feet of the tanks. This will have to do. When the heat of Trantor was settling down, long walks at the end of the day were your favorite moments with your grandfather. Habits die hard and survive many, so without a second thought, your arm treads around the old man next to you, offering to slowly sit down. For a brief moment, he looks at you with something holds you in his green and blue eyes. Something you cannot quite pinpoint as you’re focused on opening your medical kit. There, amongst scalpels and test tubes, was hidden a reminder of your mother’s love. A wooden comb carved into the shape of a Ghillie raptor.  “Wood,” he comments with a whisper, now looking attentively at the relic between your hands. “I thought only the Palace had that privilege.”  All objects made of organic matter were indeed banned on Trantor. Those kinds of primary resources were too scarce to be transformed into commodities. The comb was a paradox: priceless because of its essence, and unsellable because no one was wealthy enough to buy it. It was just meant to exist.   “My mother was a horticulturist here. She was in charge of the wild woods before her retirement.”  “I know.”  A smile blooms on your lips. Of course he knows.  “Even wild woods on this planet are painstakingly crafted and engineered, aren’t they?” he says with a low tone. “Nature and Human-made don't have to be opposites. My mother guided life, and so am I. Tweak it and make it better. Not with trees and branches, but with threads of DNA.”  Holding the warm woods between your palms, your eyes are called by the creature deep asleep. Naked and unprotected by any womb. Devoid of touch. And as you follow the invisible link between the dormant unborn baby and Brother Darkness, you observe the carefully crafted bracelet. A protection that had continued the tradition born in this tank.  “Shall we?” At your question, Brother Darkness releases the gentle hold in his gaze and turns himself to offer his spine.   While the carved comb brushes his hair, strings of snow intertwine briefly with your fingers, weaving unintentional caresses. A sniffle is all you hear in response; the sound that someone makes when tears are at the brim, ready to tumble. If they do, you cannot see. But a life without true touch must be a lonely one. Some scars are invisible.  Time stretches itself. 

True, you could have gotten the scalpel out of your kit some time ago. Instead, you comb strings after strings until there’s nothing else to do but take the surgical blade into the palm of your hand. Your fingers select a lock of hair at the base of his neck, one where the disappearance is susceptible to going unnoticed. An unsettling thought grows in your mind, whispering that you could take advantage of the inactive Aura. Make the blue linen red. Nothing to stop your surgical tool, and, no doubt, countless people had dreamed of such an opportunity. Thespis, Anacreon… And how many worlds have been wounded in 400 years? How many mothers crying out after their sons and daughters? How many deaths at the hand of his three fingers signing peace?  However, in front of you, stooped and patient, there’s only an old painter. And he’s a dead man walking anyway, isn’t he? So you tuck away the intrusive thought. The blade glints, and the lock falls.  “You’ll soon ascend.” You speak softly, with a simple observation at the tip of your tongue that you don’t dare quite make.  Your hand clasps the genetic material into darkness. “Ah,” he rasps, “yes.” And he sighs shortly, like filling his lungs might be difficult. “Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful…  It's the transition that's troublesome, you see.” “Aren’t you afraid that the end of the week will come too soon?” “That is just the thing, Engineer. Despite your best efforts and those of your kind, it will always come too soon. Even for those like me.” You wanted to ask if he could promise that your own time, and the life span of your family and friends, wouldn’t be shortened. That he would make sure, even guarantee, their safety and well-being; only for you to focus on the research. Your underfunded Faculty could receive a substantial donation for the risks you were taking. All of this was possible… if unsanctioned studies on the Genetic Dynasty was not considered treason. More so, you fear that betrayal amongst Brothers will steepen the price of your involvement in it. You don’t dare speak because answers will give you neither assurance nor security.

Instead, you place the milky lock in one of your sterile containers. From tank to test tube. Who would have thought that the time in between those two moments would be so defining for the whole galaxy? “I’ll always leave. But I fear one day I might not return.” Science is supposed to be the heart of your work; devoid of political influences or subjectivity. There’s no loyalty toward Streeling University. But it would be foolish to assume you can afford a lack of allegiance towards Empire or its lesser versions. So, you respond: “That’s why I’m here, Brother Darkness. Rest your worries on me.” Saying there’s only the obligation to help him would even be a lie, you realize gradually as your eyes fall on the wooden comb back in your pouch. There’s something more: you want to.  “In the meantime, maybe you should hold on to this …” A faint blush warms the surface of your cheek. You hadn't planned on this. Yet, between your hands lies the little Ghillie raptor, waiting to be gifted. “I know it has no monetary value. Especially to the only person on Trantor that has access to timber.” He turns himself as far as his old bones might allow, wincing at the twist. You can immediately tell the waves are back in the ocean of his eyes as soon as he sees what you hold.  “That’s perhaps the most precious thing someone has ever offered.” “It’s worthless wood,” you comment with a slight smile to lighten the exchange.  His voice stifles, and it breaks.  “It’s priceless comfort, Engineer.”  Silence lingers for a few minutes as he grazes his thumb over the ridges of the wings. Then, it disappears into the abyss of his linen wear. The procedure is done, yet he doesn’t get back up. As if he was maybe waiting for the ghost of the comb to come back in his white hair. Instead, with shivering fingers still stained by swirling pigments, he touches the bracelet, and a warm light embraces him. How many times had he put this armor back on? Had he ever had the liberty to truly take it off? “I have one final question concerning your endeavor.” He only inclines his head slightly towards you, but you know he listens attentively. This is the one question you didn’t dare ask all along, until now.  “Brother Darkness… What will Empire do when he finds out?” 

[vinnial]

small whatever it’s called for folly and wallter because i dug in the deepest corners of the internet and only found like two good fics of them i am starving so let me cook

basic premise: dreamwall morning

divider creds: @/thecutestgrotto

sfw

apologies if i get anything wrong about crocheting during the opening scene i know nothing about it lmao, feel free to correct me

Wallter sat on the couch with a content smile, fingers nimbly crocheting an intricate fountain flower granny square pattern out of blue, red, and white yarn. Despite originating from the basics of crochet, the design was rather eye catching, if he’d say so himself.

A kettle sat on the stove, the bubbling of water inside making for comforting background noise, merging with the tune Wallter would hum to himself— Karma Police by Radiohead, to be precise. It was one of his favorite songs.

Each square he crocheted was diligently sewed together, the craft slowly taking the shape of a thin blanket. He would thicken it later, of course, but Wallter preferred to take his time with his crafts. What good would a handmade gift to his star be if it was sloppy and rushed? For her, (and partially himself), he would take his time.

A thick, dark cloud of smoke appeared next to him on the couch. Without sparing a glance up from his stitches, Wallter spoke. “Good morning, Folly. I assume you rested well?”

Folly chose to disregard his attempt at small talk, yellow iris drifting to the yarn craft. “Is that another one of your pathetic attempts at a ‘gift’? Pitiful.”

Wallter hummed, running a finger along the edge of the yarn, counting each stitch carefully. “You’re wearing one of my ‘pathetic attempts’ right now, dear.” He chimed, lowering the pattern to look at her.

Wrapped around her neck was the scarf he had knitted as a parallel to his own around a month ago. The yarn was bold and red— a color he was certain complimented Folly’s eyes.

“I should shred this insolent waste to pieces before your very eyes.” Despite her words when receiving it, she snatched it from his hands and cautiously draped it around her neck, careful not to tear the fabric with her claws.

That was what he loved about her, he realized. Though her displays of affection were less conventional, he could feel the warmth hidden behind them.

“..You’re staring.” Folly spoke sharply, maroon eye narrowing into a slit. “I simply can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

She tensed the moment Wallter spoke. Compliments geared towards a parasite like her were rare and often dripping with sarcasm and hatred. But coming from him, the words were coated in sincerity, admiration, love. She hated how they made her feel.

“..Silence, slab.” Spat Folly after a brief pause. She was quick to rise from the couch and storm into the kitchen, snatching the kettle off of the stove to cease its whistling.

Wallter’s eyes followed her every step of the way. He chuckled under his breath, attention turning back to his project. As he resumed stitching the pattern together, one thought lingered in the back of his mind;

Oh, how I love her.

when i’m in a corny competition and my opponent is myself

i hope you enjoyed and tysm for reading to the end!!!

[starfacedstudio]

Hey hey! I've seen your grown up lancer doodles! I have a question, it looks like he has horns

Are they horns?? Or just part of his crown??

ID: A page of sketches featuring an adult version of Lancer from deltarune. The design notably features a fur-trimmed, hooded cape and he has three horns. End ID.

they are in fact horns! The crown fits over top of them :)

[to-the-stars8]

Affairs and Letters

Jason Todd x Reader Regency AU! AO3 Chapters

Part XI

The ink of your pen was the water to Mr. Todd’s choking thirst for you. With every letter you had given him before your parting, you proved to be a coy lover, with gentle jabs at his brazenness in his approach followed by the taunting dare to love you as deep as he could. Jason soon found himself pondering ways to get back to you sooner and sooner, crafting schemes unbefitting a man of his station. You had successfully turned him into your most desperate devotee, and the feeling was an addiction he would not break soon. 

His affection had not gone unnoticed, either. Dick took every opportunity to dress down his brother’s approach to you, telling him not to fall to follies of fancy, but he heard none of it. Jason oft turned the sentiment back to his brother, reminding him of his infatuation with particular red-haired women.

One day, while Jason was writing a letter, Dick burst into the study, proclaiming that he would never guess who had arrived with dearest Barbara Gordon and young Master Jon. 

As he assumed himself to be smarter than his brother, Jason bothered not to guess. 

It had been some time since had last seen you, and not a moment had passed when you did not cross his mind. Mr. Todd had attempted to sway his father to call upon the Kents when they passed Kent House for business, but Mr. Wayne could not be influenced to do so without noting his son’s intentions.

Pushing away from his work, Jason made his way to the sunroom. 

There, you exchanged pleasantries with his father and Miss Kyle as Barbara entertained Cassandra with a memory. Outside the glass windows of the sunroom, Jason could see Damian and Jon playing amongst the rose bushes while Alfred, the butler, stood watch over them. 

“Ah,” Mr. Wayne said upon his son’s entrance. “I was wondering when you would make an appearance!”

“Father,” Jason said, letting Mr. Wayne come over and kiss him upon the cheek. 

“Come say hello to our friends.”

Jason instantly took to you, greeting you warmly before remembering it would be polite to greet everyone else. Dick snickered, mumbling something to his father who only gave him a pointed stare in return. 

Miss Kyle, ever the clever lady, smirked as she turned to you. “It is such a pretty day is it not, Miss?” You hastily agreed, blushing. Pleased, she turned to Jason. “Mr. Todd, don’t you think it’s a pretty day, too?”

“Yes, yes,” He subconsciously nodded toward the window. “A fine day, indeed. I thought of taking my horse out this afternoon, but now I am glad to have decided against it.”

Miss Kyle ‘tsked’, “Do not deprive yourself of such a day on our account. Why don’t you and Mr. Grayson take Miss Gordon and her friend here for a turn about the gardens?”

Mr. Grayson beamed with happiness. “Yes, that’s a splendid idea. Come, we should observe the boys in hopes of preventing them from mischief.”

You laughed, taking Mr. Grayson’s offered arm as Miss Gordon took the other. “Ah, is it not odd that we punish children for things we also did as children?”

Jason snickered, only remarking once the four of you left the room. “That is where we differ from the boys— we never got caught.”

The day was sunny and bright, and it made perfect sense that you, Barbara, and Jon had made the trip to visit as it was a rare autumn day not to be wasted. Mr. Grayson let you go the moment Barbara made the gesture that the two of them should look upon the fountain in the center of the garden. 

Jason excused his brother’s rude leave and offered his arm, which you took as he guided you toward the children. Mr. Todd stood as close to you as societal rules would allow as he thought it to be rare to be close to perfection—And such a thing did not exist in his mind until he saw you. 

“How is sweet Jon fairing?” He asked to break the easy silence. 

You smiled to yourself, looking at Jon prancing around Damian, before answering, “Well. He’s recovered so much that Lady Kent wanted him out of the house today. The boy has been bouncing off the walls with excitement.”

“Very good. And, how are you?”

“I am well, and I have managed to survive Lady Kent’s anger.”

“Oh?” Jason sounded amused. 

You snickered, sarcastically remarking, “Do not seem so surprised!” When your laughter died, you grew quiet, as though you were wondering something. Suddenly, you took your arm from his. Mr. Todd almost protested before he saw you reach into your bag, taking only a moment to glance around, and then pulling out letters. It was not a hefty stack, but he was surprised the number of letters you had in your hand could hide so well in such a small pouch. 

“I was kept so busy, Mr. Todd,” You said as you put the stack inside his coat pocket. “That I had no time or excuse to call upon you. Yet, I found that it provided me plenty of time to think of you.”

Jason could not get out the words he wished to say, and his silence seemed to make you proud. You stepped back, walking around him toward Jon with the declaration that you wanted to participate in their next game. When he gathered his thoughts, he joined you with hope and a smile. 

[linkons-most-wanted]

Fountain of Atei - The Hidden Meaning

The LaDS writers love to pack in little hints, clues, and symbolism to their names. Sometimes these get lost in translation, as with the "Fountain of Atei". So, I've done a deep-dive!

(Please take this with a grain of salt as I am not proficient in Mandarin and feel free to let me know if there's anything I've missed!)

Localized Name

The name evokes the Fountain of Youth, hinting at a goal of immortality, which we know is part of the X-Heart project (see the Snowy Stairs World Underneath story) that also involves exposing human hearts to Protocores, and which Ever announced in the Public Account post Immortality No Longer a Dream!. We also know this goal of immortality was/will be achieved (at least in the version of the timeline Xavier is from) at the cost of feeding humans into the core of Philos, giving rise to new Wanderers. (Key lore in the Shooting Stars myth, see here.)

Chinese Name

CN: 阿忒之泉 MTL: Fountain of Ate

之 is "of"

泉 is "Fountain"

阿忒 is used phonetically as "Ātè", "Ah-tuh"/"Ah-tay", localised "Atei"

阿 is the phonetic character for "ah", can also mean "to flatter" (Google Translate)

忒 is the phonetic character for "tè", can also mean "error", "excess", etc (Google Translate)

Crucially, 阿忒 is the CN name for the Greek goddess of moral blindness, Ate. Compare the CN Wikipedia entry for 阿忒 to the english entry for Ate.

Primarily an allegorical goddess, as opposed to a fully fleshed diety

Representing moral blindness and error, she could blind the mind of both gods and men leading them astray. She evokes recklessness and ill-considered actions.

In Homer, atē is something inflicted by the gods; it causes delusion, then folly, then disaster

Note also that the lore of Sylus and the N109 Zone frequently references greek myths: Onychinus = "Of the claw" in Greek, "Mephisto" derives from Greek, Tartarus and Elysium are locations in the Greek underworld, etc

So, we can then understand the full poetic meaning:

The Fountain of Atei represents a mission to find immortality/eternal youth that is ultimately one of self-deception and recklessness, which will inevitably lead to disaster.

Localization commentary

Since Ate is such an obscure goddess, if the name had been localized "Fountain of Ate" it would be too similar in EN to the past-tense verb of "eat", which would be very confusing

"Atei" has a pronunciation that's more appealing to the EN ear, but loses the direct intended parallel to the goddess Ate. It still succeeds at exuding a mysterious quality.

Ever's hubris/folly is well-depicted throughout the story, so nothing major is lost with the localization, but it's interesting context and another fun Greek Mythology reference

[justagreengummybear]

The Candle Still Burns

Boromir Lives fanfic, Boromir x OC

Chapter 1 preview:

Tender Tulips

Boromir wandered the gardens of Minas Tirith aimlessly, having escaped his father’s constant training for him to hopefully find a moment’s peace in the hedge mazes and budding beds of flowers that would soon be opening in the coming spring. He so desperately wanted to be a soldier but the never-ending training days left him weary and exhausted, so being able to finally be alone was a blessing. He wished his younger brother could join him for such things… perhaps they wouldn’t feel so daunting then…

He continues on through the hedge maze until he finally comes to the arboretum in the very center, looking over the beds of roses, lilies, and tulips that were starting to show the beginnings of buds in the parterres. They were still closed tight and wrapped in green, but he could see the beginnings of their bright colors starting to peek through. Despite him being a young man now at 25, he still enjoyed the simple things in life; wandering the city, writing poetry, and he also discovered a love of cooking recently. Although he’d never tell his father about such things… After all, the captain of Gondor should not focus on such folly things, he should focus on-

He freezes when he realizes that he’s not alone in the garden, his feet suddenly feeling soldered to the ground like one piece of iron to another.

She… she is beautiful… His silvery-gray eyes scan over her tan skin and fair face in awe, her long, curly, strawberry blonde hair coiled down her back in wavy ringlets. Although she’s quite a few yards away, he can see the light dusting of freckles on her cheeks and nose, like cobblestone in the streets. Her emerald green eyes scan the pages of a book, her hand lifting up slightly from where she was resting it on the stone bench to turn the page, using that same hand afterwards to try and tuck a stubborn sunset curl behind her ear. Being surrounded by all the green stems and buds of flowers made her beautiful pinkish blonde hair look as though she were the one in bloom instead, as if she were some sort of earth nymph come to ensnare him. It felt as though all the air had been pulled straight from his chest, as if she was some sort of sorceress sent to steal his heart; Boromir, son of Denethor had never seen such a fair beauty like her before, and he doesn’t believe he ever will again…

After a moment to catch his breath, Boromir silently clears his throat and manages to pull his feet from their invisible chains, taking slow steps towards the fountain the maiden was sitting across from. He tries his best to tear his eyes off her to look towards the tumbling water rippling down stone, which he fails horribly at, still drawn to her and wishing those evergreen eyes would look upon him instead of her book.

Said book causes a pause in him when he finally gets close enough to recognize the cover, stopping in his tracks and watching her before his voice finally breaks the silence.

“…I’ve read that book…” He flinches ever so slightly when she’s startled by his words, the pages snapping closed as she presses the book to her chest, her viridescent eyes growing wide with alarm. “…I-I’ve grown very fond of poetry myself. I read a passage from that book at least once a night for inspiration… it, erm… makes one think of the subtleties in everyday speech as their own form of poetry, does it not?” His eyes grow wide in shock at the words coming out of his mouth; is he mad?? What in all of Middle Earth was he saying?! The words had fallen out of his mouth like a pebble causing a landslide, unable to stop them before it was too late. He was the son of the steward of Gondor and he was Captain of the Guard, what on earth was wrong with him that he could belt speeches of inspiration to his men before a battle but he could not speak coherently with a maiden in the gardens?

After the initial shock of this very strange interaction, a warm, summery smile slowly spreads across her rosy face, the freckles adorning her cheeks and nose reminiscent of stars twinkling in the sky. “…Indeed… I did not take the great Captain of Gondor to be a reader myself… Let alone a poet…”

Heat starts to rise from Boromir’s chest and up to his face when he hears her voice, his ears burning from embarrassment. He lets out a nervous chuckle at her retort, slowly stepping closer to her while keeping his arms behind his back to keep her from seeing how much he’s fidgeting with his arm braces. “Haha… Y-Yes, well… a man of Gondor cannot only be educated in battle… a sharp sword should be wielded by a sharp mind.” Gods, he’s making a fool of himself, isn’t he?

Thankfully, this gets a soft chortle of a laugh out of her, a sound that feels like ten thousand silver bells to his ears, and her smile only widens as she places the book on her lap, standing up to greet him. “I could not agree more. A man wielding both strength and knowledge is quite becoming.” She was facing the fountain now, but her verdant green eyes gleamed at him with a hint of mischief, as though she could see right through him. He knows with little doubt that this was probably true…

He grins crookedly at her, his cheeks feeling hot and steamy like a fresh roast over a fire as he avoids her knowing gaze, gulping thickly to try and swallow his bruised pride. “…I unfortunately do not wield either of them, my lady… for I somehow have managed to lose all my thoughts upon meeting you…” He finally turns to fully face her and smiles softly while bowing to her, his ashen eyes looking up into her veridian ones. “…I am Boromir, son of Denethor… and… may I ask your name, fair maiden?…”

He feels his heart nearly stop when her deep green eyes that remind him so much of pine trees in autumn look upon him with such tenderness and warmth. She returns his bow with a curtsey like that of a noble lady, giving him a fond smile.

“…I am Rowena… Rowena Everildis.”

[phightingaus]

Scythe in the elevator au-

I think she would be too confused by most of the people there to be reminded of anyone in particular, other than maybe bive because well. You know.

I think she would end up hanging out in a few particular floors, most likely splitsville because I feel like she would hang around split for some reason, and also maybe funni maze because bive reminds her of medkit for some reason and also I feel like bive would make a deal with her in a "you protect me, I'll help you find your way home" kinda way. This is mostly because she doesn't know how to get home.

Though I think she would be intrigued by Mach, for many reasons (one of them being The Hammer). She ends up going to Mach's shop floor once and touched the fountain that washes curses away and (albeit unknowing) washes off a curse that TCOTTE puts on many of its members to track them and does not notice until a few floors later she actually does notice that some of the symptoms of the curse are gone and she felt way "lighter" than before.

~ 🎩 anon

Last Post

We love curses and other similar afflictions in this household!

In all seriousness, I can see Split and Scythe hanging out! Even more so with Bive since Bivekit is a thing. Perhaps Split was one of the first NPCs she met after Folly, and Split didn't even bat an eye at this very confused stranger. She's just chill like that yk yk.

I imagine Bive would be quite wary of her (general paranoia + Scythe giving off 'weird vibes'. Don't tell her about the whole serial killer thing-) at first, but since Split can trust this person, she supposes that she could, too.

Also the church just casually cursing its members seems pretty in character for them. Especially for Father Overseer. I wonder how they'd react to Scythe's signal suddenly 'getting all wonky', before finally going out.

[appreciatekylie]

Uhm I’m having a hard time appreciating Kylie’s Tension Tour.

I’ll start with saying that I understand the realities of the current music industry. Lately, global tour costs are high and set designs are leaning towards more minimalist approaches. The fact that Kylie is touring around the world is already amazing.

However, Kylie is known for having the best tours in business. She may not have a smash hit always but you know that when you go to a Kylie tour you’d be amazed by different segues, themes, costumes and musical arrangements. Even at her commercial lowest her tours had some pizzazz - read here Intimate Live, KMO, On a Night Like This and Golden.

Compared to her previous tours, Tension just feels lazy. She recycled the same musical arrangements from 2018 onwards for her much loved hits and the new songs don’t have accompanying themes or any spectacle for that matter. Even Padam - her latest career reviving and grammy winning global hit - doesn’t get a special treatment in Tension tour. There is no iconic outfit such as the silver outfit from KylieFever2002 or the red dress from KylieX2008. There is no amazing set piece such as the levitating skull from KylieX2008 or the fountains of Aphrodite Les Follies. There is no noticeable theme or act such as KylieFever2002’s Silvanemesis or KMO’s Dollhouse.

She is a great performer and I’m sure every concert goer will have or already had a great time but this tour doesn’t fit the princess of pop or the icon that revived her career even after 3 decades.

TLDR, Kylie’s Tension tour feels underwhelming with a lack of vision and overuse of recycled musical arrangements - this is especially true when compared with Kylie’s previous tours which set the standards very high.