#sublunar

[redactedfrog15]

Happy Christmas to my favorite bisexual situationship divorced girl boyfriend gaytriangle!

[electromirror]

Sciahri - One Letter [SUBL014]

TECHNO

2024-05-24

[spicykellybear]

Oooh do you have any recommendations for fics where Seri uses his aura on Reigen? 😈

Hi, anon!!! I do have recs! But if you're anything like me and read a lot of serirei fics, chances are pretty high you've already come across these, but here they are anyway! These are all the ones I could think of off the top of my head, but I know there are more out there.

(Also, ALL of these are explicit. So, just a heads up.)

Reigen Out, Touching Hands by @adenil-umano (Adenil on ao3). Serizawa using his aura on Reigen is basically the entire premise and it rules. SO EXCELLENT. One of my favs.

There Along the Way by sublunar is SO SO GOOD. Seri's aura is noted upon a lot in it by Reigen, and the whole thing has a cozy atmosphere. His aura is later used for...things.

Rei[g]n by Dipuc (TomAyto10) is... hot. Extremely so :^) YIPPEE

As is Reigen Gets Absolutely Pounded by giotto84115. Extremely aptly named fic *thumbs up* YIPPEE AGAIN

Used minimally in Rainy Season by @bearberrythief , but I'm a huge sucker for the way it's implemented here, so I wanted to include it!

If I think of any more I'll add em on! :^)

[elfinfen]

Concordia and Elpidius for the book "The Sublunar World: Queen, Master and Executioner"

[tomalbon]

Poem #90

For Hypatia

Papyrus rakes clean the risen neck

Of Helios. His head’s wreckage

Cultivates lilies the colour

Of Grecian blood. Blue becomes yellow;

O-lip gasp recalls Osiris

Dripped in sand. A second flood

Wings green the absent ibis

Flowered on his cheek, tongue arced

In traces of sublunar bronze

Just beyond definable fate.

Lines of the Hellespont lay

Watery limbs from the great zero

Of the sun to hold what remains

Gorgon-like, unsnaked and ruinous

Before a world of unspeakable

Size that a women died for,

And now we all must die for.

Too much distance fills that mouth,

Gore-wet as the poet’s dawn

On continents that bare no name -

So I give them yours.

Salt in your blood, undying oceans skimmed

By the albatross. Grain in your bone,

Pollen and star of grassland solstice.

Pit of your eye, depiction of Euclid

In bowed comets, their centuries unwithered.

We are close to forgiveness

When my daughter feels the rain

And knows the planets are in motion.

-

[no-cinnamon-for-synonym]

Okay, I have to know what "sublunar bulge" is about. That title is so compelling.

In a single day, there are two high tides and two low tides. This is due to a sublunar bulge. A sublunar bulge (aka. "tidal bulge") is the phenomena where there are two major tides circulating the earth at a given time. This happens because the gravity of the moon (and the sun--but we won't get into that), in combination with the rotation of the earth, causes two "bulges" in the ocean currents. There are lots of diagrams and videos explaining this concept if you look it up.

Anyway. Sublunar Bulge is the name of my upcoming Ruthari smutfic. It takes place after Ruthari kicks Rayllum out of the house for a night (the same night Astrid comes to deliver the news). They fuck nasty. Several times.

[synnthamonsugar]

DESTINYTOBER: Day 17 - Fragmented

Read it on AO3

. . .

In the restricted archives of the Reef Cryptarchy, Adonna plays an audio file extracted from a slain ghost found in a hive ritual site. The recording is static punctuated by indecipherable sounds and mic peaks, terminated by a muffled thump. A low buzz, and then recording ends.

A spectrogram revealed hidden signals in the noise. Filtering it, Adonna hears what she thinks are words, though she doesn't recognize them. A new dialect perhaps?

Adonna skims through the Cryptarchy file on the ghost again. It's designated unpartnered, but she wonders if it has a guardian who never came forward out of grief or guilt. What business would a lone ghost have had that deep in the sublunar tunnels?

She flips to the laboratory analysis. Adonna's not a materials engineer, but she understands the gist of it — the ghost has severe structural abnormalities in the composition of its shell. Whatever trauma it'd suffered had fragmented it on a molecular level, damage so profound it was inconsistent with the laws of physics, let alone any documented conventional or paracausal weaponry.

The key word is documented. Rumors abound that the hive are in possession of words that kill. Tales exist of whole worlds torn apart with vocal weaponry. The stories are regarded as legend, the very concept a crackpot theory. But if there's even a chance of it being true … why wouldn't the Awoken want to find out? They could be at risk of disaster greater than even the Reef Wars. If they figure out how to reverse engineer it, they could have the power to never be at risk again.

Adonna leans back in her chair, and replays the tape. Ur . . . Eir . . . Yûl. She whispers the syllables, and feels her hair stand on end.

[contronym-colours]

Supposed to post these earlier but I did some skin concepts and I do like them.

Sublunar the subspace moth skin, I just really wanted a moth skin and subspace was the target and while I originally wanted blood moon I decided blue moon cus bro got too many red tinted skin

Treasurebox the pirate boombox skin, i really didn't know how to implement the visor but the skull was a good decision, tho if you ask me bro probably dives for treasure and doesn't drown for some reason

Crossspace the pirate subspace skin, I wanted pirate skin and I made pirate skin, his fit was inspired by a quick search on Google. You can choose which gear design is cooler but the skulls definitely USED to belong to other people

Enjoy these, or just look at them blankly

[ammonitetestpatterns]

echoes of the saline womb: surelines hemmed by originknotting night

tidal shying, shining in, a disorienting conferral to the compulsions of the spheres, ennobling flashes of mercury out of gaussian moongauzed breaks, a teary sinelash that sends sparkles from under its flutter. it has been said that the sea bears the promise of your return, recapitulating the current, this heaviest embrace of a final assurance. meeting again forgotten latencies, letting pass the faded residua of first vibrations, movements in deep time, the cavern cantique, a basic settlement of the solid, reestablishing form, the unimagined balance that sparks transformational acids into cellular ecstasy, tireless chains of rehearsals for the biomagnification of sentience. littering the recess, the sentiment and braced elasticity of last calls, loner moans and brill built social rituals fabulated and thieved into a more refined reflective mode, presages for sublunar libations over hair twirling casio miasmas, an endless individualized feast of atomic bubblegum and bonbon bombshells at the fringes of your overmodern night. the ghostly stranded roundel made by a girl's idle finger traces the explosive dell unblanking our incipience, a mystery only known under shade of amniotic frequencies, left over now to reconstitutive wavegazing, waiting for the waters that renew.

猫田ゆと白倒会山 - ニセ オールディーズ カラオケ K. Yoshimatu - 気まぐれ　ハニーキャット Keith Edwards - Telstar Shampoo - Tonight バイオリンの聞こえる街 - ふうりん Osiris - Life Beyond The Earth 松田敏宏 - あなたを夢みて Watercolor Sunset - Waterdrops Ken Saul - Mermaid Kimihide Kusafuka & Techno Menses - Lovers In The Sun モア - でも今 Keith Dear - Sleepy Shores Footprint - SHE IS MY LOVE Jason David - Wrecker's Moon ハイディナッシュ - Nach dem Shade (ダメージの末に II) Dennis Harte - Summer's Over You Band - Gentle Air 木彫り倶楽部 - 感慨内容

[alchameth]

how would you say that you pair platonism with the grimoire tradition? im a fan of Jake Stratton-Kent's "low platonism" sort of configuration as a way to approach spirit hierarchies, but i know that everyone has varying ways of harmonizing or otherwise working with distinct paths

Yeah I think the Christian spirit hierarquies can be thought of as analogous to the Iamblichean one and this works fine when we deal with infernals by the use of thwarting angels - though for most of the time I'm not really concerned with harmonizing Pagan and Abrahamic paradigms. I'm also interested in dealing with sublunars through other non hierarquical ways

[earlgraytay]

So I sat with my feelings about The Northern Caves after my liveblog ended for a bit. After a hot second, I realized that I did feel like the ending was satisfying after all... but only once I started interpreting it in a fannish context. And my first exposure to fandom was the most delightfully cringy form of 2011-era ~yaoi~.

It feels incredibly invasive to put a BoyXBoyLemonsDLDR Reading onto the work of someone in my social circle, especially because I don't know his orientation and he's talked about feeling weird about people reading things into his work. But I also haven't seen anyone else bring it up yet and it feels... a lot more satisfying to me when I look at it through this lens?

So, like, slash goggles on... and Rob, if you're reading this, I'm so sorry.

Paul and Aaron are nigh-textually compared to Chen and Salby. The mad visionary and the interpreter of those visions; the one who Sees and the one who Makes Palatable. They're kindred spirits. They See what the others can only barely comprehend. They feel the whole crushing weight of the world and the ways in which it is BadWrong.

Kelsey jokes, right after Paul and Aaron kiss, that this is yaoi! And yaoi means "no climax, no point, no meaning". And in the context of TNC as a whole-- the story about The Northern Caves and what our cast finds there-- yeah! Their tryst is meaningless, has nothing to do with Chesscourt or Selby or Mundum or THE WHOLE BLEAK ENDLESS WORLD.

...but what if it's yaoi that saved Aaron?

what if that tryst was the thing that snapped Aaron out of it, stopped him from spreading more of the infohazard, brought him back from Selby's Hell World?

I assumed, the entire time I was reading TNC, that Aaron was Doomed By The Narrative. He's the protagonist of a story that, on some level, is cosmic horror. He's the protagonist, and he's not the narrator. This guy has a target on his back from chapter one. and when you get into the Selby/Chen parallels? oh boy, Paul has a target on his back too.

The Way Things Ought To Be, in any cosmic horror story I've read before this, is that Aaron kills a bunch of people and then dies, and that Paul relates what happened shortly before committing suicide. especially if we look at the parallel with Selby and Chen. like, my god.

if we look at queer love- queer desire- through the lens of it being defined by Wrongness. of it being Not The Way Things Ought To Be. then Aaron deciding to kiss Paul "before the end", deciding to go against all that is Right in the sublunar world, and act on his desires?

kiss a boy, in the fucking year of 2004. kiss a boy, in front of a guy like Marsh, and in front of an adult authority who's been more than willing to turn a blind eye. kiss a boy, in defiance of all that is Right and Good in the world. it's a brave, stupid, pointless thing to do.

...and it works.

Aaron doesn't wind up talking the rest of the group into a mass suicide. Aaron doesn't wind up killing himself, or spreading the infohazard further, or even "just" converting to Selbianism. He steps back from the fandom and tells everyone he's okay.

He walks away from this as unscathed as any of the Spelunkers could hope to be. Despite being the instigator, the one who looked deepest into the Caves, the one who suffered most and the one who caused the most suffering.

He walks away. Because he deliberately fucked up the Obverse Face and walked away from THE WHOLE BLEAK ENDLESS WORLD. He deliberately made the world Less "Right", acted on his own desires... and snapped out of the madness, enough to recover long-term.

... If Paul had kissed Jenny, would it have done the same for him? we know that the yaoi didn't; he comes out of this a devout Selbian, still with bouts of bright sharp madness, still aware of THE WHOLE BLEAK ENDLESS WORLD and his duty to Fix It. but Paul is not into Aaron, and most likely not gay. he didn't act on his own desire, he was just acted upon. He was moved out of place, but he didn't choose to move.

Maybe hetero desire would have saved Paul. It's hinted that it might have; Mundum doesn't seem to "like" people having simple pleasures. But in this reading, it was The Power Of Gay Desire that saved Aaron, and stopped the horrors he might have wrought on the rest of the cast.

No climax, no point, no meaning… in a world where Meaning wants you eaten alive and your bones spat out in a nice, pretty pattern.

OBVIOUSLY THIS IS NOT THE DEFINITIVE READING OF THE NORTHERN CAVES BY ANY STRETCH; I'm not even sure if this is something that was intentional on the author's part. (I think it was, but I could be very, very wrong about that.)

But once I looked at The Northern Caves with my slash goggles on... Well, some things clicked for me, and made the story as a whole feel more satisfying than it did before I sat down and thought about it that way. And I haven't seen anyone else share this reading (though, admittedly, I haven't looked very hard).

So, yeah, that's my fudanshi take on the whole deal. take it or leave it.

[gregor-samsung]

" – Goethe, di cui pochi di noi possono sperare di vivere un’esistenza piú piena e interessante, dichiarò sul letto di morte – aveva ottantadue anni – di aver provato in vita sua non piú di un quarto d’ora di felicità –. Nessuna alzata di sopracciglio fisica da parte sua – quel gesto non apparteneva al suo repertorio –, ma senz’altro metaforica, per non dire morale. Perciò l’intera classe acquisí il dato e cominciammo a discutere chiedendoci se essere un grande – o anche un modesto – intellettuale significava votarsi all’infelicità, e se le persone sul letto di morte pronunciassero frasi come quella (cosa che a noi pareva palesemente improbabile) perché non ricordavano, o perché sminuire un aspetto cosí rilevante della vita poteva renderli meno restii ad accettare la morte. A quel punto Linda, che non temeva mai di esprimere idee che il resto di noi trovava ingenue, se non imbarazzanti, suggerí: – Forse Goethe non aveva trovato la donna giusta. In presenza di un altro docente, ci saremmo sentiti autorizzati a ridacchiare. Ma EF, per quanto rigorosa nell’esposizione del proprio pensiero, non si mostrava mai sprezzante riguardo ai nostri contributi seppur miseri, o sentimentali, o penosamente autobiografici. Al contrario, trasformava la paccottiglia delle nostre idee in concetti degni di interesse. – È certamente doveroso considerare, non solo nel nostro corso, ma anche fuori di qui, nelle nostre vite turbolente e burrascose, l’elemento casualità. Il numero di persone che arriviamo a conoscere nel profondo è curiosamente esiguo. La passione ci può portare violentemente fuori strada. E la ragione può fare lo stesso. Il nostro patrimonio genetico ci può tarpare le ali. Come pure il nostro passato. Non capita solo ai reduci di soffrire di disturbo da stress post-traumatico. Spesso è la conseguenza inevitabile di un’esistenza sublunare apparentemente ordinaria. A queste parole Linda non poté non assumere un’espressione vagamente compiaciuta. "

Julian Barnes, Elizabeth Finch, traduzione di Susanna Basso, Einaudi, 2024¹, pp. 17-18.

[Edizione originale: Jonathan Cape publishing, London, UK, 2022]

[animalculous]

What if you are a nimrod in (Universe-Equivalent of) Silicon Valley during the Internet Age who in a desperate bid for immortality uploaded his mind into Occult Cyberspace.

What if you are the same nimrod who for the rest of his powerless life have to deal with sublunar entities who are majorly teenagers, young-adults, or even children.

You will be This Guy, [SWAMPMAN].

As far as he can tell, he is in Hell. As far as his new "friends" can tell, they are excited to have a new friend to interrupt their Eternal Duty.

[elfinfen]

Felicia Mortuorum for the book "The Sublunar World: Queen, Master and Executioner"

[ochoislas]

«No has de pensar que sin un plan sublime —dijo vuelto Mercurio al bello Adonis— fundó en su reino la Ciprina diosa tan florida mansión llena de encanto, que divina razón, celeste ingenio, nada al azar jamás forma u ordena, pues su fábrica entera y misteriosa del Hombre a semejanza está trazada.

La noble complexión del cuerpo humano tan cabal simetría en sí contiene, que es parangón y norma sin defecto de cuanto cubre el pabellón celeste. Natura así de otro animal lo parte, que se sienta por sí y se yergue solo; y, como aventaja el alma a la figura, así de todo cuerpo el suyo es regla.

Las maravillas que en sí abarca y cierra no alcanzan las palabras a plasmarlas. Ni en la mar nave, ni en la tierra alcázar, ni bajo el sol hay templo ni teatro, ni máquina de paz, ni ingenio en guerra, que no saque el modelo de este bulto. En tan perfecta arquitectura encuentra la escuadra y el compás toda figura.

Portento grande que con mano franca de plétora de dones colmó Jove; traslado fiel de la divina forma, viviente imagen y acabado calco. Como en angosto mapa esfera inmensa, en él fue compendiado el universo. Tiene sublime frente y ceja alzada no más para mirar cielo calaño.

El mayor mundo tres partes componen, la primera y más alta de los dioses. Segunda estancia ocupa el orden bello de las esferas que compuestas ruedan. Contiene el último lugar más hondo la región de los bajos elementos. Y este mundo menor, que anima y siente, la misma proporción con aquél guarda.

Ostenta el cargo del Motor supremo en la subida sien virtud de juicio. Cual sol el corazón está en el pecho que su calor alrededor difunde; el vientre en la inferior estancia se halla, esfera sublunar, sujeta al cambio. Así en gobierno, sustentarse y vida la animada mansión es tripartita.

Son cuerpos cinco el cielo y elementos, los forjados sentidos otros tantos: el estrellado orbe con sus fuegos es de la vista el natural trasunto; luego entre sí se corresponden fieles oído y tacto con el aire y tierra, y no menor conformidad demuestran olfato y gusto con la llama y onda.

Bien pudo la divina omnipotencia, con el mismo benévolo desvelo con que puso en el hombre tantos bienes, dotarlo aún de un velo incorruptible y de la pura flor de quintaesencia que es contextura única del cielo, y cual vistióle forma al cielo símil, de celeste materia fabricarlo;

mas, pues que para especular nació y cumple que refleje toda especie y que al claro intelecto que lo agracia las sensibles fantasmas encamine, no debió ser forjado de otro temple que del elemental, si bien caduco, por que a cuanta noticia alcance y sienta baste el sentir primero y luego el juicio.

De tanta artificiosa y bella obra que orna del hombre el magisterio ingente son arbitrio los nervios, con que presta el ánima a los miembros movimento: tal flojo, el otro tenso, por doquiera todos a su labor siempre se aplican. Sin ellos no es capaz de ningún acto la motriz facultad ni la sensible.

Ya te adelanta y los efectos mira, y me dirás si obró Venus con tino haciendo que el lugar de sus delicias de universal patrón fuera un dechado.» Aquí calló Cilenio, y con lo dicho despabiló de su estupor al mozo, cuya planta del huerto deleitable pisaba entonces el umbral primero.

*

– Non pensar tu che senza alto disegno (disse volto Mercurio al bell’Adone) fondata abbia Ciprigna entro il suo regno questa sì vaga e florida magione, ch’intelletto divin, celeste ingegno nulla a caso giamai forma o dispone; misterioso il suo edificio tutto a sembianza del’uomo è qui costrutto.

Del corpo uman la nobile struttura in semedesma ha simmetria cotanta, ch’è regola infallibile e misura di quanto il ciel con l’ampio tetto ammanta. Tal fra gli altri animali il fè Natura, che solo siede e sol dritto si pianta e, come l’alma eccede ogni altra forma, così d’ogni altro corpo il corpo è norma.

Le meraviglie che comprende e serra non son possenti ad agguagliar parole; né nave in onda, né palagio in terra, né teatro, né tempio è sotto il sole, né v’ha machina in pace, ordigno in guerra, che non tragga il model da questa mole; trovano in sì perfetta architettura il compasso e lo squadro ogni figura.

Miracol grande, in cui con piena intera Giove de’ doni suoi versò l’eccesso, dela divinità sembianza vera, imagin viva e simulacro espresso. Quasi in angusta mappa immensa sfera, fu l’universo epilogato in esso; tien sublime la fronte, alte le ciglia, sol per mirar quel ciel che l’assomiglia.

È distinto in tre parti il maggior mondo: l’una è de’ sommi dei, che’n alto stassi; dele sfere rotanti hanno il secondo loco le belle e ben disposte classi; ritien l’ultimo sito e più profondo la region degli elementi bassi. E quest’altro minor, ch’ha spirti e sensi, ben di proporzion seco conviensi.

Sostien la vece del sovran motore nel capo eccelso la virtù che’ntende; stassi a guisa di sol nel mezzo il core, loqual pertutto il suo calor distende; il ventre nela sede inferiore, qual corpo sublunar, varia vicende. Così in governo e nutrimento e vita, questa casa animata è tripartita.

Son cinque corpi il cielo e gli elementi e pur de’ sensi il numero è sì fatto: l’orbe stellato di bei lumi ardenti è dela vista un natural ritratto; son poi tra lor conformi e rispondenti l’udito al’aere ed ala terra il tatto, né par che meno in simpatia risponda l’odorato ala fiamma, il gusto al’onda.

Potea ben la divina onnipotenza, con quell’istesso suo benigno zelo con cui pose nel’uom tanta eccellenza, donargli ancora incorrottibil velo e di quel puro fior di quinta essenza, onde non misto è fabricato il cielo, come simile al ciel la forma veste di materia comporlo anco celeste;

ma però ch’egli a specolare è nato e convien ch’ogni specie in lui riluca e ch’al chiaro intelletto, ond’è dotato, i fantasmi sensibili conduca, non devea d’altra tempra esser formato, che del’elementar, benché caduca, per far di quanto intende e quanto sente prima il senso capace e poi la mente.

Di tutto il bel lavor che con tant’arte orna del’uomo il magistero immenso, sono i nervi istromenti, onde comparte lo spirto ai membri il movimento e’l senso: altri molli, altri duri, in ogni parte ciascun è sempre al proprio ufficio intenso, né può senz’essi alcuno atto esseguire la facoltà del moto o del sentire.

Giovan Battista Marino

di-versión©ochoislas

[synnthamonsugar]

Mods asleep, post the (SFW) opening of the NSFT Eris/Toland fic I wrote. (AO3, Explicit, 4,560 words)

It wouldn't hurt to rest, Eris reassures herself as she sinks to the stone floor on aching knees and sore calves. The walk was long, taxing to both her stamina and mental energy. The way back would be harder. Better to recharge here than battle exhaustion in the disorienting corridors leading to the exit, even if it means resting next to . . . it. In the dark inner sanctum of the Pyramid, the statue looms a dozen paces behind her, arms open in silent welcome. She reminds herself it's as dead as anything in here, that it cannot physically hurt her. Awareness does not soften her unease.

Still, she slides off gauntlets and greaves, pauldrons and breastplate. Slips out of her hat, revealing short, gray-flecked brown hair and swept-back horns to the cool sublunar air. Armor will not defend against the psychic threats contained in the pyramid, and keeping them on can only hinder her recuperation. With her fireteam's wards, she's as safe as can be. Smokey figures gather in the ceiling and at the hollows on either side of the wide staircase and the shrine, but dare not approach.

Eris stretches her arms, finding them refreshingly light without heavy chitin guarding her shoulders. She twists at the waist too, loosening the tension in her core. Supine against her padded leather chest plate, she feels her spine decompress with a satisfying ache. She watches idly as phantoms drift overhead, thinks idly about the Guardian and all they'd done to rid the pyramid of its threats. Neither Ghaul nor Firkrul nor Crota would lurk its chambers again. In return, she vows the Guardian and their Ghost will never again return to this wretched place …

She almost nods off, jerking awake when she senses her consciousness slipping. When her body had been temple to the Light, insomnia had been easy to maintain. Not so now. Sleep tugs at her, beckons her into its gentle embrace. She tries to hum to herself in a bid to stay awake, as she'd done to stave off madness in the Pit, but her eyes burn as she fights to keep them open. Along the way, she loses her footing and falls into a fitful sleep of surreal dreams.

"Eris . . . Eris! Wake up . . ."

For a moment, she's in bed at Sanctuary, and he's a visitor in the early morning hours.

"Toland," she murmurs unconsciously, blissfully expecting the weightless warmth of the sprite against her chest, feeling a flicker of disappointment when he doesn't come. Memory of where she fell asleep slowly returns, making her reassess the idea with clarity —

"Toland?" She wakes with a jolt, yelps with surprise when she crashes head-first into a body — a chest. His chest. Too material to be a nightmare, she realizes in the fraction of a second it takes her to process that Toland kneels beside her, that he can't be real, that he is. Hands snap to her shoulders, a steadying gesture, tactile enough to reassure her that he isn't a conjuration. Still, she glances down at her charms to confirm.