#four sea interludes

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

✨niche opera poll time✨

[supercantaloupe]

the symphony just sent me a 20% code for their concert this weekend...hm

[draconic-desire]

your yan!neuvi series got me on a chokehold !! I feel so bad for darling but it got me thinking, would neuvillette ever allow them to i dont know, go visit mondt to look at their parents’ grave (?).

Neuvillette meets his (dead) in-laws edition 😂

Ok this idea is simultaneously kinda funny but also makes me cry a bit because I totally think Neuvillette would have ensured your family’s wellbeing in your absence. Despite his flaws, he still maintains his overwhelming sense of duty and justice.

Yandere Neuvillette x Reader

(A Dance with the Dragon Interlude)

Talking about your life four centuries ago has become a bit of a taboo in the household you share with Neuvillette.

Mostly, it only serves to incite an argument, one you are always predestined to lose. The other times, it only reminds you of painful memories. So, you’ve learned to bite your tongue, to keep your past held tightly to your heart. Neuvillette doesn’t seem to mind; in fact, you believe he might prefer if your history were to be wiped from your mind completely, leaving a blank slate for him to carve his essence into.

Which is why you’re so shocked when, on a particularly storming evening, the Chief Justice himself requests, “Tell me about what your parents were like.”

Jolting, you nearly drop the book in your hands. He’s not looking at you—usually, having his gaze on you translates to irritation, concern, or lust. When he’s looking away from you, as he is now, irises trained on the waves battering the cliffs below your home, you know that means he is instead thinking, pondering.

But thinking about what? Your eyes narrow, and your heart accelerates. What is he getting at?

A hand clenches around your heart when you try to picture your mother and father in your head—and fail. Four hundred years without a visit or simple image…of course their features have faded over time. But you’ll never forget the warmth, the knowledge that they loved you until the end and supported your lifelong wish of pursuing marine biology, even when it took you away from them.

You only shake your head. “I don’t want to talk about that, Neuvillette.”

He turns to you, now, eyes filled with calculation. A judge presiding over his court. “I had no parents. I simply…came to exist. Born of the water, the waves, the sea foam, and bestowed with this primordial power.” He glances down at his gloved hand, palm squeezing into a fist. “So the idea of parents is…foreign to me. Though I have a sense of the kind of ceaseless, unconditional love that defines a family.” You know he’s talking about his feelings for you, and your tattoo burns. “Experiencing a loss of that magnitude would be incomprehensible.”

For the life of you, you cannot figure out his endgame here. Why acknowledge your loss? Why equate his adoration and obsession with you for parental love? Your eyes burn, your breath quickens, you feel the tattoo pulse with energy as you—

“Do you ever wonder about how they lived the rest of their lives?”

Yes. No. Everyday. Somehow, you find your voice, a quiet thing filled with warning. Your skin feels so hot, like your veins are laced with lightning. “And how would you know anything about that?”

Neuvillette’s sharp eyes cut to your frame. “I…made sure that they were fully provided for. They lived happy lives, believing you to be living out your dreams in Fontaine. They are now buried together, in the cathedral cemetery overlooking the Brightcrown Mountains.”

Your breath hitches, and that power in your blood begins to settle. Their favorite place. The Brightcrown Mountains, where your father proposed to your mother. The Favonius Cathedral, where they were married. And the cemetery behind the church, where your grandparents had been entombed, too.

Something falls onto your lap. It’s only when you touch your hands to your face that you realize you’re crying. Neuvillette watches you with concern, one hand raised and poised to reach out to you, but he keeps his distance as he lets you process.

You release a shaky sigh. Was it true? Did they pass with no fear for your safety, in ignorant bliss of your extended life? The thought, although morbid in some ways, actually brings you a sense of peace. Your parents never had to endure the loss of you in the same way you had for them.

You swallow thickly, your voice hoarse with emotion. “Can we…visit them?”

That sets Neuvillette’s back ramrod straight as he blinks. You’ve only been out of the house a handful of times, and he was the one to bring this topic to light, but to venture out of Fontaine entirely? His protective and possessive instincts flare immediately, screaming at him to shut this idea down, to grab you and sink his teeth into your neck, dominant, claiming. But as his silver eyes flick across your face, taking in your tears, the tremble in your hands, the pit of mixed despair and relief in your eyes, he relents.

Slowly, he blinks, taking in a deep breath. You’re expecting an excuse, a verbal slap on this wrist disguised as concern for your safety. Which is why, for the second time tonight, you’re stunned when Neuvillette, rising to his feet, extends his hand. “I’ll take you there.”

~*~

The trip is easy, thanks to the Hydro Dragon’s teleportation abilities. The two of you arrive at the large square in front of the cathedral, the statue of Barbados towering above you. Briefly, you wonder what the Archon of Freedom thinks about your situation, or if he even deigns to care.

Not much has changed about Mondstadt in four hundred years. The streets still possess an older feel, cobblestone streets and stone walls surrounding the city. After seeing the drastic change in Fontaine, the fact envelopes you in a sense of comfort, knowing that at least one aspect of the world has aged alongside you, long-lived but unchanged.

It’s long grown dark, and the heavy downpour persists. Neither of you brought an umbrella as you ascend the stairs and wrap around to the cemetery behind the church. The rain, however, seems to dissolve into your skin rather than chilling you or soaking your clothes, no doubt another consequence of Neuvillette’s magic coursing through your veins.

The Hydro Dragon leads you to a small plot towards the back. Two tombstones are erected side by side, and you fall to your knees as you read: (Mother’s name) and (Father’s name) (L/n). Lives entwined to their last breath, they soar high above the clouds.

You hear a rustle of fabric, and soon Neuvillette has joined you, kneeling by your side. He raises his arm, and tendrils of blue light pool from his palm, forming the shape of beautiful flowers. They surround the graves, a sea of blues to celebrate your loved ones.

The two of you sit there for what could have been minutes or hours. All you know is that this is the most at peace you’ve felt in four hundred years.

[rosehipandroots]

if the links had YouTube channels what kind of content would they make

oh i can so get behind this

time: he’s too cryptid lol he appears in the background of Malon’s ranch vlogs. he makes his appearances stranger and stranger to mess with people bc he’s Like That 

warriors: all the beauty. makeup, skin routine, fashion, etiquette. this is however staggered by him and artemis’ impromptu sparring matches bc she likes to ambush him while he’s streaming 

twi: he’s just a little guy doin his farm things. he mostly talks about fishing and his goats and posts tutorials on how to properly herd and wrestle em. his audience is routinely shocked that he can haul 300 pound rams around. his most popular video is of illia roasting the shit out of him while talo and malo cheer her on (he left epona out overnight at the ranch on accident) 

sky: he knows all the birds. all of em. he’s like the rainbow macaw guy that was just walkin his birds lol. he does volunteer work at a zoo and vlogs about days in the life of a zoology student. he also skydives with his girlfriend all the time and he and wind happily talk about seagulls, and he often introduces his sword at the beginning of his videos. he’s got all the sunshine energy 

wild: he’s just Insane on social media. just a total gremlin. wind shows up in his videos a lot & they do crazy shit followed by a cooking tutorial from wild like nothing even happened 

legend: he’s a nerd. such a nerd lol. he didn’t post often but when he does it’s always an infodump on the most random of topics, esp things he shouldn’t really have the right to know/vaguely concerning bc he knows Everything (with an occasional jewelry interlude with wars) 

four: you never know what he’s going to post. smithing, pranking, breaking and entering; he gets away with the weirdest shit and no one knows how. wildcard fr

hyrule: he does those lil soft aesthetic videos with a lot of travelling, landscapes and rain. throughout the course of his videos he somehow becomes friends with increasingly more concerning animals until he’s just taking innocent selfies with a wolf pack in the middle of nowhere (which may or may not include twi) 

wind: had to think about this one for a minute! i think he’d do a lot of out-to-sea videos and chaotic boat manning stuff with tetra. plus bombs! aryll often steals the show bc of how cute she is and often steals the actual camera itself. she talks about seagulls and fencing. wind also does cartography occasionally with legend bc they’re all about maps 

this was really fun!! i think the tl;dr is that they're simply all too chaotic to not be entertaining XD twi and sky are the only vaguely normal ones

[chaos-burst]

"Healing is over."

Euripides, from Grief Lessons: Four Plays; translated by Anne Carson // paramore, “interlude: i’m not angry anymore” // Langston Hughes, from ‘Tired’ featured in Selected Poems // Fyodor Dostoyevsky // @shorthalt // Patrick Rothfuss, The Wise Man's Fear

[ID: a litstack comprised of various quotes on white background.

Gods are stubborn. So am I.

People speak sometimes about the “bestial” cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel.

i'm not angry anymore well, sometimes i am

i am i am i am furious

I am so tired of waiting. Aren’t you, For the world to become good And beautiful and kind? Let us take a knife And cut the world in two— And see what worms are eating At the rind.

i often hear how humans talk of crossroads how they look the devil dead in the eye and dare him to move forward. i stand alone on ground which kills and look the devil in the eye and dare you to move forward.

“There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.” End ID]

[jaynovz]

Madi Fic Rec List

Well hello again! I’ve been compiling this list for quite awhile, but I finally sat down to finish it. 

To me, Madi is characterized by this strict balance between her fiery spirit and the poise she must display as someone raised from birth to be a leader, to be royalty. She’s wicked smart, but also desperately young and inexperienced. She’s thoughtful and conscientious, but with an underlying desire to just go, explore the world, be part of something big, and effect change for her people.

Anyway I just love Madi a lot, and these are some of my favorite stories featuring her in the fandom. They’ve been helpfully categorized into sub-sections! 

Enjoy~~

--

Madi-centric:

Burial at sea by le_mru:

Summary: Two years after Skeleton Island, Madi sets out to find Flint and recover the treasure for the Maroon community, Flint is adjusting to a life after death, and Silver interferes as usual.

in a vault of starlight by whimsicalimages:

Summary: The distance between Nassau and Savannah can be measured as: six hundred and thirteen nautical miles, five thousand pounds’ worth of pearls, or four extraordinary lifetimes.

Alternatively: in the aftermath, Madi writes her own story.

Lightbringer Verse by ElDiablito_SF:

Summary: After failing to fix her relationship with Silver, Madi sets off to find Captain Flint again.

i’m a black ocean leaping and wide by loosedindecember:

Summary: “I am going to Jamaica,” she tells Long John Silver, pirate-killer and pirate king, “and I will have my war after all. And you are going to help me.”

Madi gets her war, and a life beyond war, too.

Quid Pro Quo by annbonny:

Summary: "Trust is a strong word, particularly pertaining to pirates.

She trusts John Silver, but with every day that passes, she is gradually realising that he may not always be around. If Flint ends up killing him- or more likely, she suspects, they kill each other- who will guarantee that the alliance will hold? What is to keep Teach from wiping out her and her people when he feels they inconvenience him?”

OR: Madi adjusts to her role as queen. It is a steep learning curve.

armed with the past and the will by whimsicalimages:

Summary: The language of winning and losing, this language that men favor – Madi can speak this language, though she disagrees with its precepts. Success takes different forms, and failing once does not mean failing forever. It does not even mean failing the next time.

lacuna by doomcountry:

Summary: Madi loves him, and that is her misery. She hates him, too, and the two are at war without ceasing in her breast; the torment, now, after sixteen years together all told, is that it has all dulled, all settled out like water undisturbed.

SilverMadi:

Where There Is Great Love by stele3:

Summary: A brief interlude in the Tether series that jumps back in time to...establish certain things.

“Do you not have a comb?”

Twitching with surprise, Silver turns. The princess—Madi—stands on the shoreline, only a few feet away. Silver quickly glances around and finds her bodyguard standing back near the treeline. Kofi, that’s his name. (Stoic man, much taller than Silver, always has a knife and knows how to use it. Silver would need the captain or Billy with him to survive an encounter.)

He smiles for the princess. “I fear that would only make the problem worse. We had little to eat in the doldrums, and that made all of this quite breakable.” He gestures to his hair but lets his hand trail longer through the air. Better that she think them weak and easily overcome. If his own body is to be a metaphor, well, at least he finds it apt.

Love and Kindness by Wildehack:

Summary: “This is insulting,” John complains, as Madi fastens the shackles around his wrists, looping a chain through to the hook in the bulwark above his bed. “I’m not rabid.”

(Or: the inevitable sex-pollen AU.)

anything for your queen by urca:

Summary: the Silvermadi pegging fic, as promised!

lover please do not fall to your knees by lucystonersix:

Summary: Despite themselves, despite everything, Madi and Silver fall in love. Missing scenes, with spoilers only through the end of season 3.

Into the Blue Blue Sea by Magnetism_bind:

Summary: Madi slowly realizes she's drawn to the pirate with the blue eyes.

FlintMadi:

Maybe in Another Life by samedifference61:

Summary: At the rail of a ship James doesn’t command, they stand shoulder to shoulder.

"John still thinks you’re dead,” James states, because it’s something that needs to be said aloud before they continue.

With eyes unblinking toward the rolling sea, Madi says, “And he still thinks you should be dead.”

James’ lip curls in anger. The wounds of betrayal are too fresh for either to say anymore.

your legs are the north star by jaynovz:

Summary: Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, warmth seeping through his shirt. He peers up into deep solemn eyes. Madi. They've struggled, side by side, ruling in concert, for weeks. Through the toil of retaking Nassau, hardening themselves from this feeling which weakens his knees in its intensity, the sheer hopelessness swamping him like dark waves.

Flint cannot let himself fall away into the abyss, he cannot fade and forget. There is at least one thing left, standing strong and entrenched as a mangrove tree, even as she mirrors his own sorrow.

"Come, Captain, it is late. Let us rest."

taking orders by le_mru:

Summary: Written for the Black Sails Rare Pair Week:

“To be entirely frank,” Madi says, her voice loud and clear in the silence of the evening, “I am concerned if you can take orders, Captain.”

“Orders?” He scoffs. “From whom? Blackbeard?”

There has been some discussion around making Teach Admiral of the fleet, which Flint was, of course, firmly against.

“No.” Madi takes a step to the side and turns graciously, facing him fully. “From me.”

she hangs upon the cheek of night by ElDiablito_SF:

Summary: Madi won't let Flint sleep, but he secretly doesn't mind.

(Set after 4x05)

Line of Sight by samedifference61:

Summary: Flint leans in close so the others won’t hear him. “She wants me to teach her how to use a blade.”

Or, Flint finds it difficult to refuse Madi, and Silver has insecurities.

On Gossamer Wings by khazadspoon:

Summary: It was the first time he had seen a woman naked since Miranda.

Miranda had been slender. Her skin was pale and soft, her hands lightly calloused but still delicate when they touched him. She had been commanding in her sexuality and he had loved her because of it. She had taken control from him, taken the reins and lead their lovemaking with confident and caring hands.

But Madi… Madi was not Miranda.

stitched with its color by x_etoile_x:

Summary: He is my friend too.

She’d reached out to him for the first time after he’d said those damning words, slipping her small hand into his and leaning against his side. Had duty not pulled them back into the world, he thinks they might yet be standing on that beach, like silent watchers in some myth, fading away to nothing with their eyes fixed on the sea.

-

The scene where Madi tells Flint that Silver is alive.

let it rain, cuz you and I remain the same by jaynovz:

Summary: “We have some time yet to wait,” Madi says, taking note of the sun’s position. Their contact isn’t due at the tavern until after dark.

James strides over to the bookshelf. "What would you suggest?" he asks, humming. He strokes a finger along the spines. "I bought a new book in the last port. If you wish, I could read it aloud." James casts her a hopeful smile over his shoulder, standing at a loose parade rest, eyes crinkled and warm.

Madi is so helplessly fond of him in this moment, the way he brims with excitement at the thought of such a simple pleasure. It is appealing, she admits, the thought of settling against James’ sturdy chest as he reads to her, feeling his voice rumble against her back while Madi is charged with turning the pages. Madi stretches languidly and rises from her seat. As much as she enjoys that type of quiet domesticity, she has a more adventurous suggestion for how to pass the time. In truth, it’s something that she's been considering for a while.

Madi cuts James a sly glance as she approaches. "Do you remember the time I caught you in here with John?"

something beyond by eleutherya:

Summary: "The bay isn’t visible from the rebel encampment, but he faces it as surely as a compass points north. Up on the fort, Flint stands with his back straight and his shoulders set, his hands folded neatly behind him. He stands there as though, if he simply waits long enough, if he hopes hard enough, the sea will return John Silver to him."

Madi and Flint have a discussion about grief after losing John Silver. Set directly after 4x01.

By Faith of My Body by x_etoile_x

Summary: Flint is unmoored in the aftermath of the battle on Maroon Island, struggling with grief and his troubled relationship with Silver. Discovering an unexpected bond with Madi prompts a difficult conversation, and perhaps the start of a new friendship. But what evolves between them quickly becomes more complicated, and Flint is forced to confront parts of himself he'd thought buried.

This fic started as a response to a prompt asking for more FlintMadi content, with a special request for non-sexual BDSM, building on the special deference he shows her and the beliefs they share. However, the dynamics between all three characters are explored and it's building toward OT3.

Written for the Built On Sand Black Sails Event 2023

OT3, MadiSilverFlint:

I’m getting tired, and i need somewhere to begin by lacecat:

Summary: Madi watches him steadily as he approaches her. “Perhaps one day,” she begins, but cuts herself off with a swallow, blinking back tears. They won’t be able to fill the hole between them, but maybe they can try to build around it, accommodate it.

He lays a rough palm on her cheek, gentle. He loves her so much. “Perhaps,” Silver says, even though they both know it’s the furthest from a promise. They have survived on far less, after all.

how we could be brought here by love by mapped:

Summary: A 4x03 AU where Flint receives a minor injury in the battle of Nassau Town and Silver is very shaken by it.

I wish for once we could stay gold by jaynovz:

Summary: Madi has discovered that pirates truly are a grimy bunch, but her two have managed to keep fairly clean the last few months when they had access to fresh water.

The governor’s mansion is filled with bustle, men scurrying about, seeking answers from both Captain Flint and their new King, but there is time enough to steal them away. Time enough this evening for some respite, to cleanse the grief and violence from the last few days alongside the dirt.

Good Morning by bana05:

Summary: As Madi prepares to take care of her lovers, they instead decide to take care of her first.

the only way out is the way back in by samedifference61:

Summary: And Silver obviously means to further agitate Flint’s state when he says, “Do you know what she said to me this morning? She said, ‘I cannot understand why the two of you have not been intimate yet.’”

a shared bath, a conversation about death, and a promise

a three way knot by jauneclair:

Summary: Flint knits; Silver pries; and Madi secretly doesn't mind at all.

your heart is the only place I call home by vowelinthug:

Summary: Madi learns the secret of John Silver's past: he used to be the worst.

pass on your way, then, with a smiling face by youremyqueen:

Summary: Flint sleeps in the spare room until he doesn't.

join your hands to your hearts by jauneclair:

Summary: Madi's approach to diplomacy in negotiating relationships is not what Flint expected.

Two Points In Space by illgiveyouallofme:

Summary: Since Silver returned from the dead, Madi has watched him and Flint dance around each other. She decides to take matters into her own hands.

And then everyone takes some things into their own hands.

--

As always, if you have a potential inclusion, feel free to DM me and I will check it out! Thanks.

[unrealistic-ideas-for-writers]

Wuthering Waves Interlude: Beneath the Sands

Act I. Midnight on the Dunes

Quick A/N: This is a test run for this project with some world building, some practice for me writing Caladin, and for others! If you’d like your OC to participate, feel free to tack on their thoughts and what they may be doing prior to the quest. Another Author’s note will be at the bottom with specifics to help maintain a good flow.

Ether. Noun. The regions of space beyond the earth's atmosphere; the heavens.

Etheric. Adjective. Of or pertaining to the ether (an all-pervading medium.)

Caladin thumbed over the worn and yellowed cards. A remnant. Of what was, what has been, and what will be. He didn’t know how many days he’d been here. It should’ve been at least a month- that was according the Squad’s day keeping at least. It was hard to tell. Caladin had been charged with leading his squad to handle a strange occurrence just South of the frontlines- a site of worship for the Dusk Father. The desert had been welcoming, clouds casting shadows over her sands for once.

Though perhaps that’d been a warning.

The Etheric Sea had appeared shortly after, an odd barrier had fallen. It ripples like water, but too dense to pass through. It stretched for miles- they had walked to try and find a work around.

Eventually, exhaustion caught up to them, leading them to take refuge in the Dusk Father’s embrace. For a bit, everything was alright.

The next morning, in Mother Dawn’s early light, they saw the barrier drop. Only for a moment. And then began the game of time.

For three days, they watched. And waited. And noted.

Food consumed would reappear everyday at Dawn. Water was the same. And the barrier would flicker.

The Etheric sea loomed above them.

Day Four.

Something changed. Moisture extracted itself from deep within the sand, rising up, and up, and up.

Retroact Rain.

The fighting began shortly after. Wave after wave of Tacet Discords until Dusk.

And when Dawn came? It would reset.

Caladin was loosing track of time. The Dead didn’t stay dead.

Aslan and Parshati had both recieved fatal wounds, and yet they were now running around camp, joking and laughing.

It felt like he was the only one still watching, waiting. It was concerning to see how quick his fellow knights fell comfortably into the pattern.

There was no comfort here.

None at all.

-

According to the camp calendar, it was still the very day they arrived. The day the barrier dropped. But the Squad had tallied otherwise.

They’d been in here for two weeks.

Caladin was fed up with their complacency. Their lack of concern at their undying state. The fact that the only changes had been negative.

And so he let them be, and delved deep into the temple on his own.

His Tacet mark burned white hot as he followed the tingling feeling in his veins. This grew to a searing pain and vibration strong enough to rattle his armor as he found a passage behind the Dusk Father’s statue leading down.

Down into the dark.

Caladin whispered a quiet prayer, asking the Dusk Father for a pinch more luck as he stepped in.

This was his mistake.

Deep with in the bowels of the temple lay an echo chamber, partially submerged in water.

Caladin paused from his place on the stairs, cautiously eyeing the moonlight streaming in from a skylight, perfectly on the center of the room.

It was eerie. The carvings on the walls, usually depicting the cycles of Dawn and Dusk had been sanded away, cleanly and purposefully. Even with his minimal knowledge of architecture, Caladin could say that much.

He hesitated, unwilling to step on the sand stone leading to the moonlit center. The water in here wasn’t still, but there was in clear entry point. The vibrations under his skin grew stronger and his own Spectro resonance burned.

Whatever was warping their time was in this room. Caladin let a flicking of Spectro energy disperse throughout the room, feeling it circle back to him with a bit of information. Light was neat that way, capable of being sent out and bouncing back off object to give him a mental picture of his surroundings. Like a sharper pair of eyes, finding things his mortal body could not.

There seemed to be a plaque buried under the sand in the moonlit circle. It was hollow as well.

The knight sighed quietly to himself, fighting back the instinct to flee as he stepped down into the sand. His boots, designed to leave no traces on desert ground where wind blew, sunk slightly into the grainy path. The man’s gold gaze flickered across the room, carefully measuring each step. As far he could tell, there were no traps- no obvious ones. But.

He stopped just outside the moonlit circle, staring at the faint outline of the plaque in the sand covered floor. It was slightly raised, and his Spectro had indicated the source of that nasty reverberation was coming from underneath.

Dusk Father forgive him.

Caladin kneeled, sand fluttering around him as he slowly slid the plaque to the side.

The moment the space below was revealed, there was a massive, borderline painful uptick in resonance energy.

It surged through the air, sending waves of varying frequencies through Caladin’s body. His guts churned with nausea and he could vaguely register blood dripping from his nose.

Inside, the source of the chaos, was a spherical stone, pulsing ominously.

It was vile.

-

Containing the damn thing was nearly impossible, but using their Tacetite based armor to pseudo-forge a box seemed to work. The high heat produced by Cal’s Spectro and sudden cooling of Aslan’s Glacio allowed for a shoddy job, but it was a job nonetheless. The weapons reappeared during daily reset anyways.

The main problem came after. Removing the Skies damned stone (even inside its tacetite prison), seemed to increase the Tacet discord activity. It also brought those vile frequencies closer to them.

Caladin was still mentally recovering from the wreck it’d done to his body on contact- even if that had also been repaired during daily reset.

The only plus side was the effect on the barrier. The damn thing flickered everytime they got close to it with the stone.

However, this meant attempting to fight through increasingly dangerous hoards of Tacet discords with the stone- the source of all of this.

Who even knows what would happen if they took this thing outside the barrier?

Could they even bring it back for research without bringing destruction home with them?

They couldn’t even touch the thing without its frequencies shredding their organs- the tacetite box barely helping.

-

The fight to get out was rough. They’d made the most simplistic plan they could. Their fastest member, Parshati, would attempt to get the box to the barrier with the covering fire of Aslan from the temple roof, the squad on the ground, and with Caladin setting off his nukes of Spectro deep into centers of the hoards.

She had the best chance with her Aero abilities. But even then.

Caladin had been impaled twice in the past five minutes. How he had managed to miss vital organs was beyond him. A quick burst of Spectro caused enough heat to cauterize the wounds at least.

Another burst of Spectro stunned the hoard nearest to Parshati.

Burst of Glacio dotted the field from Aslan.

Nova, their havoc resonator, had succumbed to the madness hours ago. Caladin had put her down himself.

The nonresonators covering Parshati were dwindling and Caladin was too far to guard for her right now.

This…

Would they even get the daily reset if they won this, miraculously?

Caladin’s golden gaze burned a hole in Parshati- tracking her location, a mere hundred yards from the barrier.

And then she went down, Glacio piercing her head.

-

Aslan fell to the madness. The reset had still happened. But Caladin had learned something new. Resonators that fell to madness did not reset.

Both Aslan and Nova were gone.

Parshati shook violently where she was curled up by the fire.

They were back in the temple. All that was left of their squad was the handful of nonresonators and them. Two empty shells of Knights.

He could see it in her eyes, the fear. The dying light.

She would succumb next. And he did not have the words to help her.

He was close himself.

The pulsing of the stone in its tacetite prison aided him none.

But the quiet presence of his sister’s wedding photo, of Dahlia’s amulet around his throat…

Caladin would outlast.

Because he had made a promise.

Madness would not take him yet.

-

Their next attempt was immediately foiled by Parshati losing herself. Her body had dissolved into powerful winds, killing soldiers and Tacet discords alike.

In the chaos, Caladin made a decision.

-

Mission Report:

Survivors: Caladin, Knight Captain of the Sunstrider Order.

The order of Sunstrider was sent to investigate an old temple of the Dusk Father for strange frequencies. Caladin claims they were trapped there for almost a month. For Solaris, they were found three days after being dispatched.

No bodies were recovered.

Caladin returned with an amateur-forged box of tacetite containing what appears to be the source of the strange frequencies.

It’s incredibly volatile to resonators, though normal humans seem to be withable to withstand contact through tacetite material.

Further study is required.

Bless be the children felled to madness and strife. Of Dawn they fall into the embrace of Dusk.

-

One year later

Caladin’s mind ached. His nose was bleeding and his organs were steadily giving up on him.

He tore through the hordes of Tacet discords crowding the citadel’s streets.

Just up ahead, a large, worm like Tacet discord, easily large enough to swallow a windcatcher tower with ease, raged. The Skies damned thing burrowed into the ground only to pop out, gulping down groups of people, Tacet discords, and infrastructure indiscriminately.

And it radiates the same sickening, vile frequencies of that stone.

Caladin’s stomach lurched, wondering how badly the researchers of the Alliance had fucked up to produce this monstrosity.

-

The citadel fell in mere hours.

But Caladin did not.

The Etheric Sea converged above the battlefield, a highlight to his lone attempts at killing this thing.

This devil spawn.

Spectro warmed his palms.

But never made contact.

Time stilled, and that warmth stayed with him for the next hundred thousand years.

And it was all Caladin had. Both conscious and not of his frozen state.

Until a curious face came knocking.

-

WOOO THAT WAS A LOT.

I know I said I’ve been writing more of Cal being a little silly buttttt-

I hope everyone enjoyed!

For those participating in the project, feel free to add onto this!

My idea was to have a master post of the prelude to the Beneath the Sands quest. For instance, what drew your Oc to the disaster site? Are they a researcher? A local in this desert nation thousands of years later?

Please keep in mind that there was a Court of Savantae set up around Caladin’s ruins and it eventually fell into ruin itself. There’s a high chance your OCs are only aware of the CSC ruins unless they’re a local.:

Anyways, here’s the tag list. Anyone who’s interested in joining said tag list, please interact on the tag list post :3

@uncreative-cryptid

@hobbysognodilibri

@crypticrainbowmoss

@captainsounddisaster

@yupuffin

Good luck everyone!

[activatebutterflyshield]

Time to be long-winded about music again featuring the Four Winds albums by the Oh Hellos. I desperately hope this one will be shorter given how bloody long the thing about Coyote Stories ended up being so to somewhat ensure that this will be split up into four separate posts, one for each album. I’m going in chronological order of release. Come one, come all, but especially @writer-of-random-things, to see me put more effort into tumblr posts than my english essays.

Part 1: Notos (you are here!)

Part 2: Eurus

Part 3: Boreas

Part 4: Zephyrus

Before even getting into the songs, let’s look at the album art. A cicada, the hallmark of summer, buzzing in chorus for a few days before dying. They are a horde, second only to their cousins the bees, wasps, and locusts, but a horde nonetheless. The cicada blindly sits underground for most of its life, growing in solitude and waiting for its cue to escape to the sunlit world, mate, and die. A cicada does not question it’s place in the universe. A cicada harbors no thoughts of doubt in its mission, and holds no grudge when it dies under the sky. But humans are not cicadas.

The first song of the album is “On the Mountain Tall”, a relatively quiet start. It’s very biblical in its symbolism and imagery, but perhaps the most important lines are when the singer calls out, “Still the wild wind blows / Up our of the grave of an angry ghost / Firing bricks from broken canon and prose / To build a wall so high it reaches the heavens in the sky”. The spelling of “canon” is not that of the instrument of warfare on the high seas, but that of generally accepted truth when it comes to creative works, as well as religions. But it is used to describe an action much more befitting the weapon, as the “wild wind” is “Firing bricks from broken canon and prose”, a metaphor for using hypocritical or untrue logic and facts to defend itself. Whomever the singer is singing to, they want the singer to fear them and love them in equal measure, but the singer doesn’t. This nebulous thing is described as being “Quiet as a candle and bright as the / morning sun”, not unlike some angelic thing from on high, and yet whoever they are, they are not “He”, who is “not within them, the clatter of / brass and drums”.

“Torches” soon follows, a quicker paced tune of a back-and-forth between two singers. Each alludes to the other, “Father Ignorance” and “Mother Fortuna”, matching up with the leading male and female vocals. Both figures are referred to by the others as making either “Brothers of us all” or “Sisters of us all” through their actions, though neither seem to be very virtuous people. “Father Ignorance” seems to feed people’s anger and fear, setting “our torch aflame” and burning someone at the stake, no matter their innocence. “Mother Fortuna” turns “shadows into shapes”, stoking paranoia and encouraging violence despite the fact that “the faces in her wake / Look more like our own than the / effigies we immolate”. Neither singer seems to be the one from “On the Mountain Tall”, as the previous song was about someone resisting the carrots and sticks offered by someone quite similar to both Ignorance and Fortuna. And yet these two beings still have power, as they sing together, “We keep that old wheel turning / Over and over, again”, maintaining the endless cycle of fear, paranoia, anger, and destruction.

The next song is an instrumental interlude, “Planetarium Stickers on a Bedroom Ceiling”. It’s a gentle tune that slowly builds into the next song, “Constellations”, but the name alone indicates that whatever stars exist far above are not real things, but rather facsimiles. Pretty things, sure, but nothing like the real, burning, blazing balls of gas that dot the night sky.

“Constellations” begins slowly, as the singer describes the sensation of speaking something that takes their voice away and feels upon their tongue like “Brick and mortar, thick as scripture / Drawing lines in the sand and laying / borders as tall as towers / I babble on until my voice is gone”. The clear and more cloudy references to the Tower of Babel and the Empire of Babylon show how the singer has been confounded and confused by that thick and choking scripture. Everything good in their life, everything good done by them and to them are “like constellations, a million years away”, no more real than those “Planetarium Stickers on a Bedroom Ceiling”. What few pieces of joy they have are no more real than the lines drawn to create “Constellations”. But by the end of the song, those good stars are “imploding in the night / Everything is turning, everything is turning / The shapes that you drew may change beneath a different light / Everything you thought you knew / Will fall apart, but you’ll be alright”. The singer has realized how much they have been smothered by thick scripture, how little they know about the world, how much they want to be free, and how they have been denied their freedom by the world they grew up with, by Father Ignorance and Mother Fortuna.

The titular “Notos” is next, starting with the singer describing the world in the moments before the clouds break and a storm crashes down. The world is holding its breath, waiting for “A thunderous disturbance”, the inevitable response to what the singer has done to those “Planetarium Stickers on a Bedroom Ceiling”. But whatever the world is expecting is not what happens, as the rush that comes “will take you away / Like you’re caught in the undertow / And you will drown in the wake / Of the things you lost to the winds of Notos”. Everything the singer has lost to the thick scripture, all that the spent in hopes that the “Constellations” of good intentions would become real, is now being repaid tenfold over. Their realization is as strong as a hurricane, as untamable as the sea, and more furious than a thunderstorm in this moment. They’re drowning Fortuna and Ignorance in “the wake / Of the things you said that you can’t take back”. It’s a beautifully poetic description of the pure, flaming anger felt by someone in the moment they realized their betrayal, but as the final line of the song says, “You gotta let go”.

The second instrumental interlude of the album is “Mandatory Evac / Counting Cars”. Finishing the wordless cry that began in “Notos”, the song is a slow, gradual build up from gentle guitar strums to the beautiful melody that has haunted the background of the rest of the album, a promising echo that reminds the listener that they’ve come quite far since the beginning of this 20-minute journey, and that they’ve still got plenty of road left to travel.

The final song of Notos is “New River”. The singer’s tune is one of gradual change, of how “though the eons may pass as slow as the sands of an hour glass / Every grain that we’ve counted / Claims that even the mountains can change”. This promise that even the most permanent parts of the landscape can slowly but surely change, that the very land itself can bend to the power of a “New River”, is a powerful metaphor for the prospective journey of the singer. They yearn to carve out a new path, to rise with the tide and bask in the “rain for forty days and nights”, to embrace the change so abhorred by the “Planetarium Stickers on a Bedroom Ceiling”, to erode away where they had once stood “On the Mountain Tall”, to extinguish the “Torches” and prove the “Constellations” to be naught but lines drawn in the sky. Within this wind of “Notos” will they rise and remake themselves anew, casting off the thick scripture and ignoring the roaring fire and wind. The fiery Southern Wind of Summer has risen and raged, tearing apart the walls of “broken canon and prose”, and as stormy Notos leaves, Eurus of Autumn and the Eastern Wind will blow in from the horizon where the sun rises, bringing cooler times and heralding yet more change as migrations begin and more questions are asked.

[mixtapemag]

BEN FOLDS PRESENTS BANKS, JULIEN BAKER AND THE NATIONAL SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA AT THE KENNEDY CENTER

Photos by Christopher Hall

Ben Folds returned to the Kennedy Center on Friday night for another chapter in his Declassified series. The new edition featured Julien Baker and Banks accompanied by the National Symphony Orchestra.

Julien's spectacular set in the middle of the show featured "Ziptie" (arranged for the orchestra by Rob Moose), "Sprained Ankle (arranged by Alex Jacobson), and "Claws in Your Back" (arranged by Eric Allen). It was the usual Julien Baker brilliance - an unparalleled voice accompanied by one of the most exquisite songwriting pens. I put the camera down at moments just to watch Julien's voice ascend into the Kennedy Center rafters, pushed higher and higher by the orchestra at her back.

Banks closed the show with a beautiful run of "Misunderstood," “Waiting Game,” “I Still Love You,” and “Gemini Feed” (arranged by Alex Turley). The NSO treated the crowd to selections from West Side Story with Tiffany Choe on vocals, Blue Cathedral and Four Sea Interludes.

You can read more about the Declassified series at The Kennedy Center over here.

Previously on Mixtape:

Photos of boygenius at connect festival.

Photos of boygenius at pryzm.

Photos of boygenius at the piece hall.

Photos of boygenius at way out west 2023.

Photos of boygenius at the idaho botanical garden.

Photos of boygenius at the forest hills stadium.

Photos of boygenius at the fox theater.

Photos of boygenius at the premiere of "the film".

Photos of Julien Baker at Fox Theater.

Photos of Julien Baker at 9:30 Club.

Photos of Julien Baker at Amplify Decatur.

Photos of boygenius at Brooklyn Steel.

Photos of Julien Baker at Shadow of the City.

Photos of Julien Baker in Prospect Park.

Photos of Julien Baker at White Eagle Hall.

Photos of Julien Baker at Union Transfer.

Photos of Julien Baker at Outside Lands.

Photos of Julien Baker at Newport Folk Festival.

Christopher Hall posts over here. Stop 1.

[extraordinaryhistories]

#19 - 'Satan's Saxophones' (A Sun Came bonus track, 2004)

There is an album I quite enjoy by a German group named the Peter Brötzmann Octet. It’s called Machine Gun, and it is utter unhinged chaos. Most sources label it as a jazz album, and I suppose that’s true in a broad, methodological sense, but listening to it reminds one less of the works of Coltrane or Shorter and more of the works of Merzbow or Haino. Never has a title matched with its music so well – the album begins with a battalion of saxophones firing out notes at an astonishing pace, freed of all concerns for melody or consonant harmony. Everything is distorted, everything is blown-out, everything is furious. It is a very, very strong album and one that has been widely emulated since its 1968 release.

There is a song I don’t particularly enjoy by an American artist named Sufjan Stevens. It’s called ‘Satan’s Saxophones’, it clearly attempts to emulate Machine Gun with its free jazz trappings, and unlike Machine Gun, it does little more than hurt my ears. But just like Machine Gun, it certainly does suit its title!

‘Satan’s Saxophones’, strangely released as the closing track of the core album (???) on 2004’s A Sun Came re-release (but not on the original release), starts with one of the more disgusting Sufjan moments: a little interlude in the vein of ‘Siamese Twins’ and ‘Belly Button’ that uses vomit imagery to devastating effect. The dreaded high-pitch Sufjan who pops up (much to my, and everybody else’s, chagrin) in many places on A Sun Came is back here in fine form. No maggots in belly buttons here, though, or dated terms for conjoined twins. Baby Sufjan instead shares a delightful story about his mother vomiting all over the house – including, somehow, in the refrigerator –  and the family dog slipping on the vomit. I imagine that he intended this as some sort of provocative, Dada-esque inversion of Proverbs 26:11 (‘As a dog returns to his vomit...), but really I can’t give it too much credit beyond just being a horrible story weaponised here for shock value. That, and the dubious distinction of being the first Sufjan song to directly mention his mother. Your move, ‘Romulus’ fans.

The song then pushes boldly forward into a section that represents the feeling the spoken word portion invokes in me, which was no doubt intentional. Hilariously preceded by a four-count, a splutter of saxes dribbles aimlessly, tunelessly, onto the track, accompanied by what sounds like a drum kit getting pushed down forty flights of stairs. It is Sufjan’s sole foray into free jazz, and this is Free Jazz with a capital ‘F’. Even Machine Gun has a ghost of a rhythm; ‘Satan’s Saxophones’ has moments of silence interspersed with bursts of noise, but the playing is otherwise totally aimless, entirely random. Midway through this section, the drums cut out, along with most of the saxophones, leaving just two in their wake. This is probably the most musically painful moment on a Sufjan song. Sufjan makes those two saxophones absolutely beg for his mercy, and oh boy do they beg. It is a sound I can only describe as the dying groans of a factory as it slides down a cliff made of metal into a sea made of polystyrene. Satan’s saxophones, indeed. This one is quite the test of endurance.

The issue, of course, with ‘Satan’s Saxophones’ is that it lacks the deceptive level of care needed to make the best free jazz such an enjoyable listening experience. Machine Gun sounds heavier than some sludge metal songs. It has the low-end kick, high-end bite and mid-spectrum punch necessary to make the listening experience feel like a beatdown from a grizzly bear. And humans like that feeling. We’re weird like that. ‘Satan’s Saxophones’ unfortunately has a weedy sound typical of four-track recording that strips it of much of its brute force impact. There is no assault on the body here, only assault on the ears. It’s a production style that suits an album like Illinois just fine, but Sufjan is playing with an entirely different fire here, and all it can do is burn him.

But we’re missing the point here entirely, aren’t we? I may never – ever – under any circumstances – want to listen to ‘Satan’s Saxophones’, but I am very glad that it exists. It’s a song that comes from the height of Sufjan’s cross-eyed, scattershot songwriting nascency. He clearly did not know what style best suited his inclinations at the time, so he tried a bit of everything. He could very well have been good at free jazz; I mean, why not? He evidently wasn’t, but he could have been. I remain eternally grateful that Sufjan spent his early years ruling out the ‘could have beens’ en route to his true calling, and if ‘Satan’s Saxophones’ makes a casualty of our ears on the way, then so be it. It’s directly because of songs like this one that Sufjan would eventually write ‘Chicago’. Cut him a break.

Songs like this make me feel – momentarily – that a project like Extraordinary Histories is ridiculous. You can hear someone hysterically laughing in the background during the little breaks at various points in this song. He’s obviously laughing at the absurdity of the performance, because this is just some bullshit that Sufjan made for fun. And yet, as I sit here and write nearly a thousand words about ‘Satan’s Saxophones’, I find it hard to shake the unmistakeable impression that he’s instead laughing at me.

[thehistoriangirl]

The Tides Have Veiled [Second Interlude]

The second arc of the story comes to an end with this part :3 I'm still not 100% sure, but I think this fic will have other four arcs Thank you all for reading this story! Hope you like it! ^^

Viktor x Fem!Reader/Gothic AU; Haunted Sea---1.4K----SFW**

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis:  Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: There were three times when the beach of Piltover the Old got stained with blood during your lifetime. This is the first one.

Tags: Strangers to Lovers | Ghosts | Slow Burn | Bonding Time | Some Lore | Dysfunctional Family Dynamics** |

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip

Interlude II: The Crimson Tide

As soon as you enter the lighthouse, you know Viktor isn’t there.

It feels empty when you call his name. The walls newly painted echo the sound of your voice back to your ears without an answer; your footsteps, however, are absorbed by the wooden steps when you decide to climb toward the beacon room, the keys jingling in your hands, still cold from your father’s grip on them.

The open windows carry the salty marine breeze, some hairs prickling your forehead as you get near the balcony where a chair is put against the wall with a book atop the seat.

Nosy, you peek at the worn-out dark blue cover, the words Marine Legends almost erased.

Looking at the coast, you see him. He’s like a painting now—probably all the time, but today it remembers you of those seascapes hanging on the overly decorated foyers from all those wealthy people hosting parties in the city.

There are too many seas today: a sky icy blue, like the frozen surface of a rippling lake with the clouds streaked in harmonious lines across it, and the navy blue of the sea that sways in gentle waves. And in between all, there is Viktor, sitting in a formation of rocks by the cliffside.

Your stomach churns, almost like a sensation of vertigo pulling you toward the rail, down to the sea. You don’t want to get close to it, but you doubt Viktor will be returning soon to the lighthouse as it’s just past noon.

Also, your father told you to return soon, as you must get ready for a soirée.

Back at his studio, your eyes were glued to his stern face, the handsomeness of his youth washed by the ferocious sun in the middle of the sea, by the cold breeze continuously hitting his face, by the scars some mermaids got to draw on his flesh before he carved his own.

Your hands were interlocked against your stomach, wanting to stop a sudden wave of nausea. “Luna told me I wasn’t invited to dinner tonight.” Mr. Fresnel could frighten with your air of perpetual melancholy and the intense gaze you bear, just like your mother’s. Or even worse, he could take a liking to you and go crazy, she had said with her blank expression, knowing-it-all, supposedly.

Gavin clicked his tongue. “You know you shouldn’t mind her comments—you and Astraia are equally my daughters,” he says, his light eyes glued to your face, pulling your back straight.  “No matter what everyone says.”

You felt the twitch of your nose—words stuck that run across your mind in disdain.

Daughter? Only when you see fit. When you need my face to distract a man long enough to sign a paper to give you money.

“Mr. Fresnel is a gentleman, with all that privileged education in the newly built city,” Gavin continued, as if sensing your disgust. “It’s a wonder that a man like him still believes in the miracles coming from the sea.”

He wouldn’t be the first one, not after all the dozens coming from poor coastal towns to Piltover to harvest all the riches of the sea, and all its mysteries. Now, the desolated, wild coast was scattered by huts and docks with fishing boats gently swaying against the waves.

The magic had gone away, and everything was his fault.

Gavin pointed at you, the golden marriage band in his hand twin to the one in the other that is scribbling away. The sight makes you want to yank the older band apart from him. Bold of him to think he deserves the memory of his previous marriage after Gavin left all the things of your mother to burn. "Don't disappoint me."

He held your gaze, the air heavy. Don’t disappoint me even more, hangs in the silence.

Taking deep breaths, you make your descent toward the beach, gripping the keys so hard it’s a miracle your hands aren’t bleeding.

It’s a beautiful day, but now you can only focus on the way the sand pushes your feet under, how the long skirt tangles around your legs like a net, with the roar of the waves growing closer, calling you, demanding you to submit to them just like your mother did. That it’s the only way you could be free.

“Miss,” Viktor says, your eyes darting away from the waves toward his face, chestnut locks of hair glued to his forehead thanks to the humid ambiance. “What do I owe your presence?”

“I came to give you the spare keys.” You swallow hard, feet walking toward the shallow end of the beach, stepping over broken shells and wet sand, almost as if it would devour you. “My father told me to tell you not to lose them again, or you’ll have to pay for the duplicate.”

He brushes his cold fingers against yours when he takes the keys, stuffing them in the breast pocket of his shirt. “I won’t, don’t worry. It was… eh, an… accident.” His cheeks look dusted in pink, and you have to look away.

“Well, it’s fine. I… I think I’ll go now,” you say awkwardly, your stiff hand waving him goodbye.

“Miss, wait,” Viktor calls. He can’t get down the rocks so easily, between the slippery surface and his cane, so you relent and come back to him. “I… I wanted to give you something I’ve found.”

“Oh?”

“It-it’s something I think it’s pretty and… eh, maybe you might like it, perhaps?” All red cheeks and avoiding eyes, Viktor puts a shell the size of your palm from behind his back, bright pink, and orange in stripe spirals.

It feels like being hit in the stomach, bathed in freezing water during winter. You look at the shell, feeling a pull down your insides, down toward the sea.

“You don’t like it. I should’ve known it,” Viktor mutters, clearing his throat as his fist closes around the shell. “You don’t like the sea, you probably don’t like things that come from the sea, either.” He chuckles, trying to hide his nervousness. “Of course.”

“I like the sea.” I’m just scared of it.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Miss,” Viktor says, his golden eyes filled with resolution.

“I’m not lying,” you mumble, closing your eyes when you see his brows furrow. “I just… I hear the screams, Viktor.” Your arms tangle around yourself in a makeshift hug, trying to hide you from his gaze, from this sea that whispers your name in each wave rolling against the beach. “I hear their screams.”

His inquisitive expression morphs into surprise, and you're filled with regret. Why did you say that? He's going to think you're out of your mind, and perhaps he wouldn’t be wrong—if he’d say it, then Gavin and Luna would be right. You don't want to know what you'd do if that's the case.

"You saw it," Viktor says instead, his tone soft and barely audible, making you lean closer to him, ignoring how the water has started to soak the edge of your skirt. “How the waves turned red.”

“I did." The words are stuck in your throat, and you don't really know how long you were expecting to let it out. Since the death of your mother? Or was it since the first time you saw it? Just an innocent child gazing at the yellow sand turned red with splashes of blood, ears filled with wails of agony. “I did.”

Viktor's thumb rests over his chin, deep in thought. "But they don't come here anymore. They know, now.” He looks at you. “Do you fear them?”

Yes, you want to say. Yes, I do. But you don’t, not really.  You're the daughter of your father and mother, after all, and they didn't find them threatening at all, for better, or for worse.

You understand them—how they were used to fulfill stranger’s desires, tossed aside when they weren’t needed anymore. How they retaliated, with sharp teeth and murder songs, unbridled magic and purposeful.

You want to be like them.

“How do you know about the mermaids?” you ask instead, the image of the marine legends’ book in the beacon coming back to you. “Do you like mermaids?”

Viktor looks toward the sea. “I find them fascinating. They were the reason behind the sudden blooming of this town, and now, they’re behind its downfall. It’s… poetic, in a way.”

You chuckle despite yourself. All these years you can't hate the men working under your father’s thumb, they had families to feed, vices to fulfill. But your father? He has no excuse. No exit.

“Yes. I suppose it was only a matter of time.” You can’t trample with powers you don’t understand, at least not for very long.

“A matter of justice, one might say,” he adds with a slight smile. “Then, would you like to keep the shell? Or… eh, maybe it’s not of your liking?” Viktor extends the shell toward you. “You can hear the sea from here, and there will be no screams. I promise.”

It's your turn to feel flustered, lips curved in a smile. This time, your fingers are the ones brushing his palm when you take the shell in your grasp, smooth and warm, heavier than it looked.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you, Viktor,” you say. “I’ll give you something back soon.”

He chuckles. “There’s no need. I’m not giving you this for you to feel indebted.”

Habits are hard to change, you assume but prefer not to tell him that. At least, not yet.

“I’ll let you go now,” Viktor adds once you don’t say anything. “But I hope I will see you soon, Miss.”

“Me too,” you smile, tucking the shell in the inner pocket of your coat as you wave him goodbye, striding up the hill.

Midway through it, you see the outline of a person waiting for you at the top.

“Astraia," you say, hating the slight pain in your voice from climbing so fast. You don’t stop, however.

"You shouldn't behave like that," your sister says, hands taking fists off her dress to avoid it getting dirty. “What will father and mother think if they see you like that with the keeper? It would ruin your reputation.”

As if I have one. “I don’t care.” You’re an oddity, the child of a crazy woman who may be just as crazy, why does it matter? To keep a false image of yourself that will get washed away? “And you shouldn’t either. Focus on your debut, Astraia.” You look at your younger sister’s pristine hair and fawn-like eyes, so, so naïve.

She says your name, but you don’t care. You just can’t care anymore. “What did he give you?”

“Mind your business—”

“If it’s a shell, you know you have to throw it away!” she cuts you off, taking you by the shoulders. “They’re dangerous, you can’t keep them close to you. They… they attract monsters.”

Your jaw feels tense, if it’s for anger or frustration, you don’t know.

“I’m already surrounded by monsters, Astraia, my dear,” you say coldly. Your words freeze her, and you push her hands away, walking toward the house whose entrance looks like an open mouth ready to swallow you whole. “Just... let me alone.”

From the Diary of Astraia Galvin.

Dear Diary,

Today marks one month since my sister hugged me. Since she talked to me. I didn’t think that when she told me that now she was dead to me, she’d mean it. I’m like a stranger to her. She feels cold and aloof like a ghost roaming our shared floor. I wish I knew how to amend it—where did I do something wrong? I only wanted to protect her. Sometimes, I want to go to the ocean and dig up that shell I throw away, but the ocean is forbidden and dangerous. I know I’d die if I ever set foot in it. But what if death is the price I have to pay to earn my sister's forgiveness? Could she be that cruel? I don't believe Mother. She loves me. She has loved me ever since I have a memory. What changed? Was it me? Her? I want to go back to those days when I could lay on her bed while she told me a story about the sea, to wake her up in the middle of the night and both tiptoe down the stairs to prepare hot chocolate because the nightmares wouldn’t end. I want her with me, and I don’t know what to do to cross the rift created between us two. No, when the abyss that separates us is filled with black-ink water that smells like death and magic. Today is raining and she isn’t here; I don’t want her to do something she will regret, as I don’t wish for her the pain that now consumes me like the candle on my desk, almost out and without her returning from the lighthouse. I don’t want the sea to take her. I don’t want the mermaids to claim her. Dear Diary, I only want her to be free. For us to be free. But… I don’t know how much we’ll have to pay for that to become true. And I’m too scared to find out.

[nonwal]

writing updates

figured I should update my pinned post, so here's a list of my active* WIPs—please ask questions about any of these (or any of my completed fics!)

* not necessarily fics that will get published, just works that I am still actively writing/planning/thinking about

Critical Role

the sea, the stars, the dreamers

blumenshadow

space opera/arranged marriage/murder mystery. four wizards have a terrible time on a spaceship. AKA the Among Us AU

partially published, extremely rough draft complete(ish) but in need of serious editing/revisions. still slowly chipping away at that, and publishing will resume after the second draft is complete

a body in absentia

shadowgast

exploration of Essek's (and Bren's) relationship with sex/intimacy through the lens of a scourger AU, plus magical gender transition with the complications of a scourger AU

main fic complete. many one-shots in various stages of completion; most likely to get finished are the one with a riding crop and the voyeurism fic

a wolf is a ghost with teeth

Eadwulf/Fjord/Jester

man who worships goddess of death has existential crisis after his body gets fished out of the ocean and resurrected. also, the ocean really, really wants him back (and Eadwulf wants to be used useful)

unlikely to be finished due to sheer size, but it's a damn fun idea. Fjord is living in an adventure movie, Jester is in a romance novel, Eadwulf is stuck in a ghost story where he is both the house and the haunting

what collects in the hollow

Astrid/Beau/Yasha

a mirror to a wolf is a ghost with teeth, set during the same time but following Astrid. having achieved her life goals and besieged by emails paperwork, local woman has midlife crisis and turns to a frenemy?nemesis? coworker? monk for help. also, Beau mentors a teenage wizard with sociopathic tendencies and Yasha shows Astrid the benefits of eating bugs

equally unlikely to get finished as awiagwt, but I have a lot of ideas

untitled BQ/RQ fic

Bright Queen/Raven Queen

Leylas Kryn is the last mortal who remembers meeting the Raven Queen before she ascended. 7+1 conversations, each time that Leylas dies (+ an interlude with Quana)

unlikely to be finished but it's such a cool concept that I'm loathe to abandon it

Baldur's Gate 3

light in unlit places

Wyll/Astarion

post-canon (possibly pre-epilogue? haven't finished the game yet.) Astarion gets saved by Wyll and runs into complications trying to return the favor. parties, politics, peril. heroic idealist/guy who does the dirty work. (also, the unexpected consequences of releasing that many vampires into the underdark)

in the slapping ideas around phase so we'll see if a coherent story emerges from what is currently Concept Soup

[whovianofmidgard]

Summary:

The times when Elrond overheard strange tales and rumours throughout the years that reminded him of one of his four parents. OR 5 times Elrond heard tales of his parents +1 time he reunited with one of them

An interlude between chapters 12 and 13 of Light Touched

Snippet:

Dear Elrond,  

I know we agreed you’ll come to Númenor in a month’s time. This letter may even reach you just as you step foot on the ship that will carry you here. Be glad I even sent you this at all, for I could have just as easily sprang the surprise on you, my unsuspecting brother, upon your arrival. So, here I am, writing to inform you that my law-daughter won’t be needing your services anymore.  

‘Why?’ I hear you ask. I can perfectly picture you lifting a severe brow, just as Atar Maedhros used to.  

Well, here is the good news: as of last evening, I am a grandfather once more, and you a grand-uncle for the fourth time! His name is Nolondil.  

The babe came early, as you must’ve surmised by now, but don’t fret, dear brother, both mother and child are healthy and safe. You have trained our healers thoroughly and they had performed their duties well despite the sudden shock.  

I can also say that my theory still holds true. Just like the other times, a stork circled overhead the palace’s Family Wing throughout the hours of labour, then hovered outside the birthing chamber’s window to hear Nolodnil’s first cries. Twice may be a coincidence, the third time somewhat suspicious, but after all my children and grandchildren this eighth time is a consistent pattern.  

It’s come to the point that even the people have begun to notice. Some of them are even bringing up other patterns to consider, like the seagulls and albatrosses that keep escorting the ships, especially the ones I and my family board. The scribes had also begun to research the records and other depictions of my crowning, finding references of a swan being sighted rising up from the sea just behind me. All of them have been white seafaring birds.  

It surely seems to me like some sort of sign. A blessing of the Valar? Manwë or his Maiar keeping watch over us? I suppose I’ll never know. Maybe you will find the answer to this mystery, Elrond, one day when you finally sail for Valinor.  

Yet sometimes I cannot help but remember the old rumours going around Gil-Galad's camp at the Wrath. You know the one, where Naneth turned into a white bird and flew away with the Silmaril to find Adar. They never said what kind of bird she was.  

Look at me, rambling on like a wistful old man! I’ll stop here and you better hurry up already and come meet my new grandson!  

Your loving brother, always,  

Elros  

Read the rest on Ao3

[merakiui]

Mera I went back to playing Genshin and- I had a lot to catch up on so I've spent countless nights playing (and farming primos...) And I finally finished all archon quests currently available. I saved Sumeru's interlude to be the last one and i just finished and oh my god i want Scaramouche so bad

All his three versions- I liked him before but just ugh

Also I didn't expect that I would have to name him in the mission (i thought I'd only have to do this after i got him in a banner) so I had a mini panic trying to think of a name but in the end I named him Flumenel.

—Eel anon

(any thoughts about Kabukimono, Scaramouche, and/or Wanderer to share?)

:o omg omg the name you chose for him is so pretty!!!!!! Admittedly, I have yet to do the interlude quest. ;;; I've been holding off until I have a perfect name for my Wanderer. Although perhaps I should play it as a celebration of sorts because my yearly account review gave me these statistics:

I wondered which boss I would have fought the most over the year and of course it's Scaramouche LOL. I fight him every week. <3 the aeonblight drake is only there because I fought it so many times when I was farming materials for mouchey. In the end, it all goes back to mouchey. 🫶 perhaps I'll finally play the interlude on Halloween, as that will mark the one-year anniversary of mouchey's drip marketing!!!!! >w<

But yes!!!! All three of his versions have lots of appeal. orz it's difficult to choose a favorite because they're all just so wonderful. As much as I love his Harbinger and Kabukimono eras, I will admit I'm very soft and fluffy over his Wanderer era. My beloved is healing. T_T I'm so happy for him. I still think it's so funny that Nahida enrolled him in the Akademiya. He went from terrorizing and killing others to now writing political essays as Hat Guy and participating in school events. I will never recover from his birthday letter where he visited a cooking club and made too many dishes, so he gifts them to you. He's so perfect!!!!!! I LOVE HIM AAAAAAAAA. OTL

As for thoughts, it's very scattered. >_< there's alienmouche thoughts and discord mod and even scaramer......... but then this is just me shamelessly wanting to make mouchey a deep-sea merman because of a certain trio's influence. >:( OH OH BUT CHILDE....... unrelated and somewhat tangential, but since you completed all of the quests how do you feel about Childe in Fontaine's quest!!!!!! The end of act four had me so :O !!!!!!!!! And the scene where Wriothesley and Clorinde stop the Primordial Sea Water!!!!!!! It was so tense... it had me on the edge of my seat and I was internally screaming!!! AAAAAA SORRY FOR RAMBLING!!!!!! ;;;;

In conclusion, many mouchey thoughts and many Fontaine thoughts in my egg brain. :D

[slettlune]

a friend of mine very graciously gifted me their ticket to a concert by the oslo philharmonic orchestra tonight because they were unable to go. i used to go to philharmonic concerts way back when i was at uni (because i got student discounts) and while it's not something i've sought out after that, tonight was still so magical i can't help but note down some key impressions just for the hell of it

the theme of the evening was pieces inspired by the sea, so the represented composers were nikolai myaskovsky, benjamin britten, and claude debussy

the conductor vasily petrenko has genuinely the most graceful hands i've ever seen. i fully believe there are actual ballet dancers training their entire lives who still can't move their hands like that. it was mesmerizing

i also went to the... concert preshow...? in the bar, where petrenko talked about the evening's pieces. he's a really charismatic guy!

the audience DO NOT clap between movements, which i get, but sometimes there were pretty long breaks between movements (the conductor put down his baton and everything)? i was like. i'm SO glad someone in this audience are so exceedingly familiar with this music they know when each composition is actually over. i did NOT dare to be the first to clap at any point

the concert peaked early for me with myaskovsky's sinfionetta op. 68. i've never heard it before but i got genuine chills from it, like i was tearing up listening to it (especially the second movement) it was just so beautiful and almost overwhelming

i got a little lost through britten's four sea interludes because there weren't any pauses between the movements like the others. at least i knew when we'd reached the STORM movement. i liked the storm part

debussy's la mer was way more of patience test, and i admit i spent part of it just practicing my intellectual listening face. the program tells me it's one of debussy's later "impressionistic" and "challenging" pieces, and also that "it was poorly received at its pre-premiere in paris". hm.

actually the most memorable part of la mer was that when its final crescendo concluded, there was a noticeable plume of smoke rising from one of the violins. i'm assuming the vibration/friction happened to release a puff of resin or powder or something used to treat the strings (and that nothing was actually close to catching fire) but it definitely made an impression on several audience members.

[phoenixduelist]

An almost top secret level headcanon: Rozália has a twin brother called András Farkas.

Only four people knew of the twins' existence: Gemma who shortly died from blood loss after birth, Bulcsú the father whose decision was to separate them to ensure the bloodline's survival, Marcell who hid the child and his sister Julianna who watched over him.

Bulcsú picked Rozália despite the gender because she was a large, healthy baby and her cry reminded him of a lion. While András was...peaceful, quiet. Small compared to his sister. He only trusted Marcell with his secret, the boy should not know his origin unless absolutely necessary.

András also has green eyes, although with much more blue undertones than Rozália's almost otherworldly emerald green spiked with golden. Due to the massive difference of life and mental state, his features, his face is more gentle, his gaze is brimming with kindness, so does his heart. András knows Julianna as his mother, he was told his father died in a late Ottoman attack. He was raised to be a good man, and Julianna definitely succeeded even with the guilt slowly eating her. Now he is married to a golden hearted lady of his dreams, not of status but the daughter of the village's tailor. His family grew with five children, three daughters and two sons.

With how Rozália has turned out, changed for the worse after the dungeon, Marcell is content with taking this secret to the grave. As much as he loves Rozália like she was his own, he isn't blind to her ruthless ambition and demonic cruelty. He knows if she ever finds out, blood will flow, lives will be snuffed out without mercy and no second thoughts.

And Marcell is right. Especially if she learns this in her Queen verse, a brief interlude of madness spiked breakdown. Because this for Rozália would mean:

Two men, one her actual, the other her sworn father lied to her in their entire lives

If her father picked András instead of her, none of her suffering would've happened. She could've lived a happy, quiet life. Could've had a family she doesn't have to protect with all of wit, strength, rage, skill.

His existence is a threat to everything she's achieved. The knowledge of him could erase all of her hard work even if he wants to stay away from politics and continue being a happy farmer. He's threat no matter what because he's a man and inexperienced regarding ruling, not the cunning chess player she is. And she is both smart and ruthless enough to know that.

Therefore he must be gone as if he never existed, no matter how good the cover is. She's been found multiple times on the seas, the chance increases significantly in a relatively small kingdom. Along with everyone who knew him. She is incapable of killing Marcell; the morning shift would find the captain of the guards in his room with a blade in his heart and his own hand still tight around the grip.

The Devil would visit her brother when he's returning from the market a little later than usual, searching for his wife's favorite flowers. András would learn his true ancestry and no matter how he swears he has no intentions of going near her throne, Rozália's mind is long made up. He would try to reason he has a family. The last thing he'd hear is not to worry, they will join him soon. And they will, the wife, the children; all corpses found after the fire of their house had died down. Julianna? Poor old thing's heart probably gave up when she learned. As a broken windpipe isn't too noticeable.