#subterranean my beloved

[dragonpropaganda]

The Architecture of Rain World: Layers of History

A major theme in Rain World's world design that often goes overlooked is the theme of, as James Primate, the level designer, composer and writer calls it, "Layers of History." This is about how the places in the game feel lived-in, and as though they have been built over each other. Here's what he said on the matter as far back as 2014!

The best example of this is Subterranean, the final area of the base game and a climax of the theme. Subterranean is pretty cleanly slpit vertically, there's the modern subway built over the ancient ruins, which are themselves built over the primordial ruins of the depths. Piercing through these layers is Filtration System, a high tech intrusion that cuts through the ground and visibly drills through the ceiling of the depths.

Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets, the friendly local ghost, tells the player of the "bones of forgotten civilisations, heaped like so many sticks," highlighting this theme of layering as one of the first impressions the player gets of Subterranean. Barely minutes later, the player enters the room SB_H02, where the modern train lines crumble away into a cavern filled with older ruins, which themselves are invaded by the head machines seen prior in outskirts and farm arrays, some of which appear to have been installed destructively into the ruins, some breaking through floors.

These layers flow into each other, highlighting each other's decrepit state.

The filtration system, most likely the latest "layer," is always set apart from the spaces around it. At its top, the train tunnels give way to a vast chasm, where filtration system stands as a tower over the trains, while at the bottom in depths, it penetrates the ceiling of the temple, a destructive presence. (it's also a parallel to the way the leg does something similar in memory crypts, subterranean is full of callbacks like that!)

Filtration system is an interesting kind of transition, in that it is much later and more advanced than both of the areas it cuts between. This is a really interesting choice from James! It would be more "natural" to transition smoothly from the caves of upper subterranean to the depths, but by putting filtration system in between, the two are clearly demarcated as separate. The difference in era becomes palpable, the player has truly found something different and strange.

Depths itself is, obviously, the oldest layer not only of subterranean but of the game itself. The architecture of Depths has little to do with the rest of the game around it, it's a clear sign of the forgotten civilisations that our friend Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets showed us, there's not actually that much to say about it itself, it's mostly about how it interacts with the other layers of subterranean.

That said, Subterranean is far from the only case of the theme of layers of history. It's present as soon as the player starts the game!

The very first room of the game, SU_C04, is seemingly a cave. It is below the surface, the shapes of it are distinctly amorphous rather than geometric. (well. kind of, it doesn't do a very good job of hiding the tile grid with its 45 degree angles.)

But let's take a closer look, shall we?

See that ground? it's made of bricks. The entire cave area of outskirts is characterised by this, the "chaotic stone" masonry asset is mixed with brickwork, unlike the surface ruins which are mostly stone. This, seemingly, is an inversion of common sense! The caves are bricks and the buildings are stone. This is not, however, a strange and unique aspect but a recurring motif.

This occurs enough in the game for it to be clearly intentional, but why would materials such as bricks be used in otherwise natural looking terrain?

The answer lies in the "Layers of History" theme. This is in fact, something that happens in real life, and it's called a tell

To be specific, a tell is a kind of mound formed by settlements building over the ruins of previous iterations of themselves. Centuries of rubble and detritus form until a hill grows from the city. Cities such as Troy and Jericho are famous examples. The connections to the layers of history theme are pretty clear here, I think. Cities growing, then dying, then becoming the bedrock of the next city. The ground, then, is made of bricks, because the ground is the rubble of past buildings. The bones of forgotten civilisations, heaped like so many sticks!

[m1ssunderstanding]

Understanding Lennon McCartney Rewatch Part 4.3

Oof! Got him!

“She loves you and he loves him and they love each other”. You know when you've got something to say but you don't want it to look like you really wanted to say it specifically so you throw it in between two other things? No? Just me and John?

I'm obsessed with John just heaping praise on Paul in this interview. Every song the interviewer brings up it's “best” “my favorite” “all Paul” “good piece of work” “somewhere I have the tape of him doing it” “damn good” “one of his masterpieces” See also: Paul’s a good lyricist, he just doesn't try because he's insecure. And: one of the most innovative bass players of all time.

John mixing up In My Life and If I Fell “although I don't know why I'm confusing them, they're nothing alike but they have the same–” The same what? Same target? Same muse? Hmm? “It's really about–it's not about Cyn.” He's barely hanging on to not saying it here, like, by a gossamer thread. 

John confessing that the consistent character flaw of Paul's which hurt him ((hurt. Not annoyed. Not angered. Hurt.)) was insensitivity. Not bossiness or lameness or sneakiness. Insensitivity. What John couldn't handle in the end about Paul was that he wasn't aware enough of John's tender feelings. 

He's also so cruel in this interview. And what you've got to pay attention to is the theme connecting the songs he's cruel about: Let It Be (let John go) and The Long and Winding Road (the long and pointless fight). 

The Japanese Monk comparison doesn't quite land for me because it implies that John purposely broke up the Beatles because he knew they were at a peak and he wanted them to stay gold. And I think that's what John would like the story to be. It makes him feel better inside. It makes him look incredibly wise and courageous. But it's clear – John even stated it himself more than once on record – that the breakup was not purposeful or calculated. It was a terrible accident that nobody wanted, least of all John. 

More quotes to live by when examining John's post breakup “ow!”

I find it fascinating that John thought of Paul's and Dylan's lyrics as very similar and says so twice in this documentary. But nobody else ever draws that comparison. In mainstream thought, Bob Dylan is one of the greatest lyricists of all time if not the greatest (it's me. I'm mainstream. Subterranean Homesick Blues my absolute beloved.) and Paul is the worst lyricist to ever get successful. And you know what? I think Paul gets punished for being physically pretty and financially savvy, and I think in the exact same way his music gets punished for being melodically pretty and commercially successful. 

John about Paul's inscrutable messages in his songs: if one knows the person, one knows what's coming down. John in I Know (I Know): and I know. What's coming down. 

I will always love how he says in the same breath . . . “I've compared it to a marriage a million times" and "Paul and I were together.” 

You really do gotta be like “Johns say the darndest things sometimes.” I mean that's what Paul did, right? Because genuinely most of the time he's a fucking sweetheart. After he's sat there defending Paul's insane mourning bus movie, the interviewer asks him to compare himself and Paul. And after saying there's never been a question about commerciality, he says this. 

Nobody think about Paul writing “One of These Days” just before John's death then “This One” a decade later. Don't do it. I do recommend. 

Free as a Bird is such a beautiful song. It's a gorgeous melody, and it's got such complex emotions. He's still mourning something that was lost, but he's hopeful. He's on his way home. 

You all know that long distance interview Paul did right before John died where they bring up some of the awful things John said recently about him (ignoring the millions of loving and admiring things). When Paul's voice cracks and he looks up at the ceiling and struggles for a minute and the lights go out, I have a theory that it's one of their kids being protective. She was messing with the lights before to be silly and then when the bad question comes she turns them off again as a sort of protective sabotage. 

What If though? What If that's true? 

Quote of all time!!! “The person I actually picked as my partner, who I recognized has talent and who I could get on with, was Paul.” He doesn't say ‘as my sidekick’ or ‘running mate’ or ‘captain’s mate’ or ‘second string’ or any of those things that traditional Beatles fans tend to push on them. Partner. 

Serious question, because I swing all over the place as to what I think actually happened between John and Paul physically and emotionally. If we agree that Real Love is about Paul (a baby and another on the way lalalalalala farm . . . Just call him on the phone) Then what about this lyric? “Was I just dreaming (a word of theirs and something they thought they shared) or was it only Yesterday (Paul's biggest song) I used to hold you in my arms? Is that to be taken literally? John used to hold Paul in his arms? i.e. frequent hugging and cuddling?

The heart monitor cuts so harshly into John singing “Grow Old With Me.” As we see beautiful images of John and all the people he's leaving behind. I'm dry heaving. This documentary is so much more painful this time around than the first. 

Anyway I'm glad we got coverage of all the “for Paul” songs. Which. Btw fuck you Sean and Peter. You proved absolutely nothing.

[bhaal-battle-beer-bard]

Astarion x Tav

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

request: for @aristenfromwarsaw

Fangtastic days of our lives

➹summary: a comforting day/evening in the life of Astarion and his love Aristen after post-game settling down, takes an unexpected turn as Astarion while enjoying his new found life and love, sees something of interest…

➹pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Tav (Aristen by @aristenfromwarsaw)

➹content/tags: fluff, comfort, romance, smuty flirting, fun, slice of life, little tiny bit of angst and guilt

➹word count: 5,036 ➹ao3

➹cameos: @evander-jane Devana Lysander @alpydk Ragnar @goromimii @pinkberrytea (by order)

➹a/n: another belated birthday present for @aristenfromwarsaw  Thank you very much for all the great photoshoots you always did for me, just like that. Such things really fill my heart with joy. I hope you like it. Thank you for trusting me with your Tav Aristen. I take writing other OCs really serious, because an OC is very personal thing and it is way harder to get them in character. I used the infos/backstory you gave me once about Aristen for the best I could.

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

Fangtastic days of our lives

Teak, mahogany, oakwood, dried tobacco with the hidden essence of vanilla. From somewhere the sweetness of honey and roasted nutmeg.

These were impressions of antique wood, boiling kettles, clanging beer mugs and laughing voices that filled the Elfsong tavern.

It was like a honey-colored, subterranean, starless sea.

A sea of ​​people, scents, voices and music.

A sea of ​​life that would envelop the coming evening when the sun would have completely disappeared, making way for the aurora again after the starry night.

Astarion was acutely aware of his surroundings. Perception meant survival.

But not today…not anymore.

He could simply explore and enjoy his surroundings while he waited for his beloved:

Aristen the storm sorceress and former daughter of Bhaal. She was able to walk in the sun and as a vampire spawn he had to wait until the sun had made the rays that were fatal to him disappear.

That didn't matter to Astarion. He was used to the night.

But he never wanted to go back to that cold, lonely life.

The Sorceress, along with the other companions, had freed him from slavery once and for all. But it was she alone who had given him back the vision of his eyes, of his entire senses. Astarion could sit in the tavern and just be, taking in the surroundings of life.

No more looking for victims. No more fear. Never again.

The Elfsong Tavern was full of life and he was part of it.

So after hundreds of years, Astarion could finally taste life again. See it. Hearing it with his pointy ears and feeling and smelling it warmly with the scent of pumpkin, butterscotch and spicy beer.

A quite pretty bard with white freckly tattoos on her face and braided crimson hair beneath her Tiefling horns played the lyre on the Elfsong stage. Astarion noticed dagger-shaped earrings on her pointed ears. The Avernus fire of her origins blazed in her blue eyes as she sang:

“Empty kisses, shallow words,

Fiery passion only hurts

When the sorrow takes an oblivion hint

Will you cure and begone with the wind…”

Astarion continued to look around while the sadly whispering voice reached his elf ears.

“I hope someone sings a song like that for me too. Such expressions of love really manage to make me weak,” sighed a tall black-haired woman, whose face bore at least as many tales of adventure as freckles.

"Me too. But I really hope that the ballad has a happy ending,” replied a long-haired beauty at her table. The human woman's wavy, light hair framed a gentle face with captivating blue eyes.

“Oh you heard that? Oh no! ", the adventuress, ashamed, put her hands on her head with her side-braided hair and covered cringing with embarrassment one of the green eyes. "I should stop talking loudly to myself."

The other woman laughed a little and her wavy hair swayed on the shoulders of the long, light dress with floral embroidery: “It’s all good. I won’t tell anyone else.”

She winked briefly.

“But tell me…” she took her hands away from her face with the little different eyes, “…you’re not from Baldur’s Gate either, right? You also speak with a different accent than me.”

"Correct. I come from the East..."

“What did she say? Sêlune guide me?”

Astarion was distracted by an almost desperate voice that sounded at least as concentrated and angry as it was beer-soaked.

He saw a barbarian sitting at the next table, holding his beer mug almost too tightly.

The raised dark blonde hair did not distract from the piercings and black war paint, which Lae'zel would certainly have approved of.

“Okay, can I memorize this Sêlune prayer or not?” he muttered to himself and downed the beer in one gulp.

Astarion had seen him before and that evening he had stared at Shadowheart the whole time. Was the barbarian building up – or drinking up - the courage to speak to Shadowheart next time?

The vampire was distracted from the barbarian when a pale woman walked past his table accompanied by a brown-haired man. He noticed them because they both had scars on their faces. But no, that wasn't it at all. Something else drew his attention to them...they smelled somehow, almost reeked of...swamp? No magic.

That same hidden scent of feymagic that came from the black haired adventuress with the freckles.

The woman's pale face was friendly, almost cheerful. She enjoyed the music and the sad ballad. Did she know the feelings and sad love that the Tiefling woman sang about?

Astarion was all the more struck by the face of the dark-clothed man with the scarred hands who accompanied her: he was rigid and joyless and his eyes had an almost malicious shimmer. He didn't seem to suit her. He walked rigidly like an aristocrat or a trained soldier, or was he rigid because of the blade - that was clearly visible to the Rogue - that he wore under his clothes?

The man's gaze fell on the bard's dagger earrings. But not only the brown-haired human looked at the earrings, but also a white-skinned, tall elf who walked behind him. Astarion didn't know what was more noticeable: his large deadly sword, the long white hair, the black tattoos on his face, or...or the earrings in the shape of a dagger that hung from his ears.

He nodded almost imperceptibly to the bard and she returned his nod briefly.

Frowning, Astarion averted his gaze and looked around the taproom.

Many of the guests listened attentively to the ballad. Couples in love held each other tightly and some wiped a tear from their face.

“…in the dark of the night I see your tears

Rubies glisten full of pain

Rage and misery

Don’t get lost in brandy, bergamot and rosemary”

The ballad finished gently and the bard stood up.

"Thanks! And now for the bard duet!”

With a wave of her hand, she invited her partner onto the stage.

Wild white hair adorned the scarred drow face. It looked like survival for Astarion.

She could be young and old at the same time, that's how it was always with the elves. Young pretty faces and centuries behind them. Sorrow, suffering, joy. Everything was possible.

The narrow waist with the subsequent curved hips and thighs with short pants was adorned with a weapon belt with a sword and a flute.

The skilled hand whirled out a shiny silver flute and the duo began to play:

„Two bards do the trick, because bards do it better

Drow or Tiefling, it doesn’t matter

Shiny white hair, or wagging tail

Their persuasion will never fail“

They quickly changed the melancholic mood and the silver flute had a captivating sound, as if it were a homage to a goddess.

“One plays the flute, the other smashes lutes

Buy us a drink and we’ll tell you who is who“

A Tiefling whose rosé colored hair matched her white pink frilly clothing cheered enthusiastically to the tavern song.

Astarion heard her applaud with a giggling laugh. Cute little laughs with a sweet smile upon her light face.

It was that kind of sweet laugh that told the vampire how innocent, unspoiled, kind and naive the person was.

Yes, the delicate Tiefling woman was a sweet, innocent thing, Astarion could tell that with just a sideways glance of his red eyes. The sweet and naive kind of girl that immediately fell for him. Who he easily ensnared and seduced for Cazador. Or was she one of the people he would have avoided because they were so naive...innocent, undeserving of it? He would probably have avoided her if possible because such a sweet, lovely person didn't deserve to fall victim to the vampires.

Astarion closed his eyes briefly and grimaced at the emerging memories that he immediately wanted to repress.

Thanks to his beloved Aristen, he no longer had to do this.

He was free.

Cazador dead.

All of Baldur's Gate saved, saved from the Empire of the Netherbrain and the Mind Flayers.

Yes, thanks to the blonde adventuress whose fate was forever intertwined with his and all her other companions, he had escaped his fate as a slave. Their courage and their determination, with the help of the other fighters, allowed him to defeat Cazador.

But not only that, the storm sorceress had also given him love and patience. And the confidence to be better than Cazador. He didn't need blood-soaked, soul-eating power to be safe, to be worth anything.

Astarion would never have to hurt innocent people against his will again.

All thanks to her.

And yet Aristen did not consider herself to be good, nor to be lovable.

She loathed herself for her actions as a born Bhaalspawn, which she only dimly remembered. No one could hate her more than she hates herself.

And perhaps it was even worse for her, imagining every day what atrocities she had committed in the name of the God of Murder instead of knowing for sure.

She didn't see herself as a lovable hero, a savior. Astarion wished so much that she could see herself through his eyes just once. Then she would finally forgive herself.

The problem was that the sarcastic vampire had never said that to her and perhaps never would. There would always be something gnawing inside him, at his battered heart, that would prevent him from casually revealing his innermost, deepest feelings. What if he did lose her to someone else one day?  If it would not be an arrow or observer to steal her from him? How could he then pretend that his vain heart had not been destroyed for all eternity?

Darkness crossed Astarion's face at all the thoughts and he shook his head with his white curls to drive them away.

Once again he let his gaze wander over the audience, while his pointy elven ears only casually listened to the singing of the bards. It was only thanks to his beloved Aristen that he was able to recognize the diversity of the guests gathered. To be recognized again.

It had once been a faceless mass. At some point, after all the years of slavery under Cazador, the people in the taverns had become nothing more than a uniform mush to him. Victims, cattle like sheep, to his master. Criminals who hurt him and whom he hurt in return and they became victims of the vampire lord.

Dark, blank faces.

Without eyes, without soul. Just like Astarion himself had felt.

But after Aristen came into his life - with the craziest tentacle adventure of his life - everything had gradually changed.

First he recognized her blue eyes, then her face. The smile of her lips plagued by guilt and bloody ghosts of the past. The same smile as his own.

Then he saw all the faces, the people, their stories and lives again.

He saw the colors. The differences and the similarities. He heard the voices, the laughter, the music. He noticed the scents and smells again. Astarion saw joy and life again.

A scent that stood out from the rest of the tavern's smells suddenly tickled Astarion's nose.

Orchid drifted discreetly from the front door.

A slightly tickling shiver ran over the tips of his elf ears, while Astarion was already peering towards the door with large, round eyes.

Like the true epiphany she was, a blonde woman made her way through the elven song. Her appearance truly stood out from the rest of the tavern's audience:

Her delicately pinned hair and a ladylike, sweeping blue dress made her truly look like a lady of name and rank.

Astarion smiled as he looked at Aristen's appearance.

She always made an effort to look chic and beautiful, no matter what the circumstances. Like a true lady who belonged in a ballroom and not a tavern.

A ballroom, not a bhaalroom.

But Aristen loved all facets of life and also sat in the meadow under a tree in the forest with her fancy dress on.

If Astarion had his way, then very soon she would be pressed into the grass beneath him with the dress rumpled.

He chuckled dirtyly to himself as he couldn't help but think of that thought. And before he even thought about the first visit to his grave together, he shook his head and pushed it all away from his white curls.

"Darling..." Astarion stood up after Aristen made her way to him, having spotted him with a smile beaming with joy, "...you give me all sorts of ideas as always."

“What do you mean?” the high elf asked in surprise and blinked in confusion because she couldn’t follow him.

“Nevermind little love,” Astarion grinned mischievously and briefly kissed her delicate hand in greeting. He gently stroked Aristen's hand again as he slowly lowered it.

“The sun has already set enough for you to go out, Astarion,” his lover informed him. She would pick him up when it was safe for him outside.

"I've already run errands from a few merchants," Aristen spoke as the two left the tavern.

"Nice. Then we can now buy the rest together. Have you got everything so far?” asked Astarion.

The blonde nodded as they stepped outside.

Astarion sucked the air outside the elfsong into his lungs. Had breathing changed since he became a vampire? After all, he was undead.

Astarion didn't know. He couldn't remember, it had been too long.

In addition, the past no longer counted - smiling, he glanced furtively at Aristen who was carrying the basket with the purchases - only the present and the future counted.

“Yes, I did the grocery shopping that wasn’t of interest to you,” the blonde laughed and winked knowingly. “There was wonderful blossom honey, I couldn't resist,” enthused the sorceress, rolling her eyes heavenly at the thought of it and licking her lips in anticipation of the taste of the honey.

“Then I can taste it from your lips and tongue,” Astarion whispered seductively.

"What?"

“Oh, nothing…” the pale elf just grinned again.

His pointed ears were suddenly tickled by the brush of her lips as she leaned in very close to him.

“I heard you very well, my dear,” she whispered to him, her blue eyes sparkling meaningfully at him after she leaned back and gave him a knowing smile.

The vampire laughed. It was a serious laugh. It went from its sonorous, seductive, dirty murmur to a deep rumble before dying out in a high-pitched spike.

“I saw such a beautiful pair of earrings in the window at the Glitter Gala,” sighed Aristen languidly after she continued the story.

“So why didn’t you buy it, darling?”

Aristen shook her head: “Because it’s not necessary. I prefer to save our money for important things. After all, magical artifacts are expensive and the most important thing is that we find something that makes you immune to the sun.”

Yes, that was the ambition and current mission of Aristen and Astarion: to find a way for the vampire spawn to walk in the sun again.

Their friends also kept their ears and eyes open.

Gale read every book that might contain useful information.

Shadowheart, as well as Lae'zel on her travels through the astral planes, always sent them messages when they heard about mysterious artifacts.

And Halsin and Jaheira also reached out to all their acquaintances from near and far.

"If you hadn't used so much of our gold to rebuild the city and help its people, then you could afford any jewelry you wanted," Astarion nudged her with his shoulder and winked knowingly. The slightly accusatory tone was just an act.

“You know I wanted to try to somehow make amends for my actions when I was under Bhaal's control. This will never work, I know that. I can't bring back the people I killed. But I can at least try to help those left behind. It's too little. It’s no consolation…but at least it’s something.”

There was sadness in the blonde's voice. The look in her blue eyes was sincere before they slid slightly to the ground.

Astarion didn't like that, so he decided to cover up the whole thing: "I don't know what you're doing with this penance and compensation anyway."

He casually folded his arms behind his head and sounded as indifferent as he could.

“But…” he grinned playfully at the blonde Sorceress, “we could visit The Counting House again with Minsc. Then we have enough money to play benefactors and buy jewelry and beautiful clothes.”

Aristen raised an eyebrow with an amused grin: "You want to volunteer to do something with Minsc, really?"

“Now that you mention it…argh…better not. You may find him amusing, but he's always bursting in to chatter about his hamster at the most inopportune times. The guard almost caught me picking the lock of the Tabernacle when he suddenly stood loudly behind me, screaming my name and his hug almost broke every bone in my body.”

“What did you want at the Stormshore Tabernacle outside of opening hours?” Aristen asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing!” Astarion quickly dismissed the topic. Too fast.

“What’s next on the list for today?”

“We really have to go to the Devil's Fee. It has finally opened since the devastating battle against the Netherbrain and the reprocessing. If there are special artifacts or information about them anywhere, it’s there!”

Astarion nodded eagerly and the two elves walked quickly through the streets of Baldur's Gate.

"Oh no! No no no!” Helsik shouted from afar as her eyes saw Aristen.

The Sorceress blinked in confusion at the violent reaction and she looked around to see if anyone else was behind her, as the shopkeeper thought she might be.

“Not you!”

"I? But…"

“Nothing but!” Helsik cut her off. “After last time, I already told you that it was too hot to be seen with you and that the store was off limits for now. After the fuss you caused with your little friend and the black-haired fuzzy head.”

Astarion grinned briefly. He knew exactly who the saleswoman was talking about. After all, they had learned of Bhaal's daughter's past and how she had been involved in the Grand Design.

“I have new business partners, so I don’t need loud attention, after all, hell operates quietly.”

“We don’t want to cause any problems, I swear!”

The vampire let his eyes wander over the lavish and devilishly mysterious display while Aristen soothed Helsik.

“We just want to buy an artifact or information. Nothing improper, nothing complicated, nothing dangerous. Just good old Mammon.”

“Child, you will never have as much gold as I want from you so that I can burn my fingers again because of you.”

"Are you sure? I'll pay any price...whether it's gold or otherwise. We're just looking for a way to break the vampire curse of being vulnerable to the sun. Please."

Helsik laughed briefly, compassionately, not maliciously: “Deary, at the Devil’s Fee we don’t break curses, it’s more about the other way. That should be clear to you from the name.”

“My Love…” Astarion slowly tore his eyes away from the display cases and stood next to Aristen again, “…let me talk to her. I think I can convince them better with less…emotional involvement based on old stories.”

“Are you sure?” Aristen asked, unconvinced.

“Of course, baby…” he was already pushed the Sorceress toward the exit, “…you go do the other errands in the meantime and leave this to me.”

Aristen left the devilish business and made her way to the large square of the lower city wall. She visited the arms dealers and her thoughts continued to dwell on the fact that if even devils couldn't find a way to free Astarion from his curse, who would?

She would never give up hope. Anyway, Helsik was probably right: if it was about help, then hell wouldn't be a good negotiating partner.

Maybe they should trust in nature, magic and clerics. The gods may not have heard Astarion then, but perhaps they could now request divine intervention?

The vampire could walk in the light of the Moon Maiden, perhaps Dame Aylin and Shadowheart could ask even more of Sêlune. Maybe she could expand her moonlight.

Perhaps…

“STOP IMMEDIATELY!”

Aristen was snapped out of her thoughts and the blacksmith who was stationed across from Sorcerous Sundries just handed her back Astarion's freshly sharpened dagger.

“COME BACK IMMEDIATELY!”

From the direction of the Devil's fee came rumbling, loud voices and, above all, lightning and sparks.

“Stop the criminal scum!” shouted a city guard. “Subject, let him stand still!”

“Where for?”

“That way!”

“Or rather there?”

“I thought I saw something in that direction…”

“Then I here, you there,” the steel armored guards rumbled.

The clatter of steel armor slowly faded from the blonde Sorceress's ears, but a perfume that differed from her own scent of orchid and rose reached her nose.

Aristen smelled cherries, musk, palmarosa, black pepper and…

“Does this belong to you, little mouse?”

…sulfur.

Raphael's slightly tanned complexion stood before her. His brown hair was done to perfection with meticulous work, as were his clothes. Large, sparkling brown eyes regarded her, both sublime and mischievous.

The devil in human disguise had the white-haired vampire in tow, holding him by the collar like a naughty schoolboy.

"Raphael..."

“So you still know my name. Ah…very good. Tell the wizard of yours that too. Hopefully he’s still looking for my crown?”

Aristen nodded: “We defeat the brain. The crown will then be at your disposal. That’s how it was settled.”

“Excuse me…” the vampire groused

The devil released Astarion, who grumbled and moved his shoulders.

“Stealing from a shop that has connections straight to hell, very very naughty.”

As was his style, Raphael moved his hands theatrically while his voice whispered mellifluously. The reprimand was more than just played as amusing.

“Anyway, you were there in vain. There is nothing to buy there that could solve the vampire's little “problem”. Otherwise they would all be walking around here freely in the sunlight. Or not?”

The devil made a sweeping gesture and looked around ostentatiously before laughing.

“I'll talk to Helsik and smooth things over, after all you don't sleep well in unmade beds like in clover. But tell your wizard that it is my crown. When he finds it, he has agreed to hand it over to me immediately. Not to Mystra and he certainly shouldn’t get the foolish idea of ​​using it himself.”

“He is not my wizard,” Aristen clarified briefly, “Gale belongs to no one but himself. Mystra also has nothing to command him.”

“Does he see it that way too? Or does he like to be walked on a leash? He always just does what others tell him. After all, his own decisions are the stupidest I've ever seen...and I've literally seen it all."

“You mean as stupid as wanting to rule the crown of Karsus?”

“Haha…careful, little mouse,” laughed Raphael. “Just make sure I get the crown as quickly as possible.”

“When Gale finds it, you get the crown. That was the deal. We stick to that. But you'll have to be patient. It wasn't intended that the crown and the stones would be lost again, but it was hard to prevent it when the Netherbrain fell into the sea during the fight."

“I'm surprised you're so relaxed about this. You can't put me on a leash as easily as you can put the vampire spawn on a leash. Or was it rather the other way around and you Astarion put the former Bhaalspawn on a docile short leash?”

Mischief sparkled in the brown eyes of the human-shaped Cambion. There was a subtle, biting, malicious provocation in his words, which he spoke with a sonorous purr, as always.

Astarion's face contorted a little and the vampire barely suppressed a roll of his ruby-colored eyes. For a moment he seemed like a disgruntled cat.

"I think I liked you better when you just rhymed all the time," Astarion replied sassy.

Raphael laughed briefly, unimpressed: “Whatever. Less dawdling and making long fingers, but more diving for the crown,” reprimanded the devil with a raised eyebrow.

The devil wrinkled his nose slightly at the vampire spawn before turning back to Aristen and giving her his full attention.

“By the way, greetings from your fiery friend Karlach and her rapier-wielding colleague Wyll Ravengard.”

“Why are you ordering greetings from Karlach and Wyll? Have you met them?”

“Well, those two made themselves quite a name all around Avernus,” Raphael smiled in his smug way, “furthermore, I greatly welcome their actions against Zariel’s forces.”

He made one of his swinging hand movements with his manicured fingers: “I would like to invite you all to my House of Hope to linger, relax and chat. So you can catch up. You know, the Crown of Karsus is the key that grants you access. And until that happens…fare thee well, little mouse. I hope I will see you soon, knocking on the door of my house.”

As was his style, Raphael bowed expansively and his scent of leather, cedar, lily, rose, oud, vanilla and sandalwood disappeared into a swirl of sparks and sulphur.

“He hasn’t forgotten his flair for great performances. I don't know whether I should admire it or whether he's starting to get on my nerves with it," Astarion sighed briefly before straightening his shoulders and straightening his doublet with a quick tug.

"Anyways..." the vampire turned to another topic, "...I think it would be a good idea if we get out of the immediate area while the city guards are wandering around here."

The elf touched Aristen's elbow to encourage her to leave.

“What did you want to take from the store anyway, in the first place?” Aristen wanted to know from Astarion, curious and skeptical.

“Well…” he started to press and scratched the back of his white curls, “…I saw something…”

"And what was so terribly interesting that you would risk to be arrested by the Flaming Fist?"

“Well...it reminded me of you...and...I thought you should have it. But Helsik is really a cutthroat bitch with exorbitant prices.”

Aristen smiled good-naturedly: “Oh Astarion…”

“However…here…”

The vampire held out a white silk scarf to the storm sorceress.

Aristen's eyes widened. You could see from the shimmer and the way the fabric fell that it wasn't just silk that was woven there. It was definitely the weave itself and more that was at work there. Depending on how it fell and how you moved it, a golden blue shimmered.

“The scarf reminded me of the one you told me about. You know, the scarf with your name on it that you were found wearing as a baby in the Bhaal Temple. It’s one of the few memories you have left.”

The vampire took out a borealis blue thread from his pocket and began to embroider “Aristen” into the scarf.

“I wanted you to have something that you could never lose, that could never be destroyed, that had your name on it. Because if something ever happened again that made you forget...that made you forget yourself, at least you would always have your name with you. Then you know that you are Aristen. Not the daughter of the murder god. Not the chosen one of Bhaal. No Bhaalspawn. Just you. You are Aristen.”

The vampire began to embroider an “&” sign into the scarf.

“And well…” Astarion began to shuffle uncomfortably again and focused entirely on his work so that he didn’t have to look his lover in the eyes, “…if you ever forget something again, then you’ll know that we belong together. I don't want you to ever forget me. And so you also always carry my name with you.”

The vampire finished his work and the white scarf now embroidered with new memories read: "Aristen & Astarion"

“There is nothing in the world that would ever make me forget you, Astarion,” the high elf spoke softly.

She closed the distance between the two of them and kissed Astarion. The elf slowly closed his eyes as their lips met. His cool, hers warm. He felt her breathing life into him as they kissed.

"Thank you so much," the blonde said after they pulled away from each other, "you can't imagine how much this means to me. I love you, Astarion."

Aristen held the silky, white and blue scarf in her hands, stroked the pale elf's blue embroidery and smiled. "I think this used to be the color of your eyes too."

She smiled softly, as soft as the silky fabric of the scarf felt on her soft hands. Hands too soft for the crimes they had probably committed earlier in the name of Bhaal. In a previous life.

Aristen raised her eyes, which were also blue, and caught Astarion by surprise. Speechless.

That rarely happened.

Very rarely did the vampire find himself without words.

“Ah, I…” he took a breath to say something, but he lacked a suitable response, so he could only hold his breath, taken aback.

The gentle look in his lover's eyes and her words had triggered something in Astarion that he still couldn't handle: affection, sincere love.

Towards him and in his own heart.

The white-haired vampire exhaled and smiled just as gently at his beloved Aristen.

He reached out his cool hand to her and placed it against her rosy cheek. The blonde nestled herself a little in the vampire's hand and her gaze lingered lovingly in Astarion's now ruby-colored eyes.

“You never stop surprising me,” his whispering voice sounded sincere and just as genuine was the smile he continued to give her.

It was a smile that acknowledged how happy he was, partly surprised, partly just realizing that he wasn't really surprised anymore. And perhaps that was what surprised Astarion the most.

It was a day like any other.

A day like any other.

One day in the rest of their life.

Their life together.

And it was beautiful.

And he would never want it any other way.

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

➹a/n: i just gave my own Tav Saulus a little cameo guest appearance  😉 in the style of AU I also inserted aristenfromwarsaws other OC Devana, like a little, what are all the other tavs doing when not being the main character

the great Tavs of my lovely mutuals also did a tiny cameo:

Nala Hartwick of @evander-jane

Thomas Rosewood and Nana of @alpydk

Lovely Vierith of @goromimii jamming with my Saulus, best bardic duo

Mavka of @pinkberrytea

I hope I did the slice of life good justice and you all could taste, feel, smell, hear the life through all the description of scents, etc.

[atenea14]

A rough day. Sanguinius x reader

The events here happen before the Nikaea council. English is not my first language so there might be mistakes.

Warnings: Sex pollen, Dom!Sanguinius x sub!reader. Slight breath play, power play, bondage. 

Summary: A mission goes wrong ,as a result, Sanguinius and you end up affected by sex pollen.

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

You’ve been with the blood angels for a while now and you feel lucky, they are one of the few legions that are amicable towards their human crew which permitted you to easily demonstrate your abilities as an incredible psychic. Thanks to your powers you got to meet the higher ups within the legion including their beloved primarch and formed a good coworking bond with all of them. As the good war buddy you were, you went with them in some of their battles. That’s how you ended up in your current situation.

- Y/N you are required in the front line. - Dante approached you in a blink. 

- I thought the battle was done?- You are really fed up with the orcs so more fighting doesn’t suit your mood. 

- It is but Lord Sanguinius requires your help to quickly investigate the subterranean tunnels the orcs have made. Let’s go.- You just silently followed him through the tunnels until you got where Sanguinius was. 

- I’m glad to see you well Y/N.- Sanguinius greeted you, always well mannered, always perfect. 

- The sentiment is mutual, my lord.- You smiled at him waiting for his instructions. He smiled back before speaking again.

- There are some locked compartments and brute force won’t open them, I have no idea what the orcs made but I want you to try and open those parts of the tunnel.-

- I’ll do my best.- 

With that you got to work and managed to open the passages. Sanguinius and his men moved fast to investigate it all, but they didn’t find anything interesting at least under a human view. Within no time you arrived at the most hidden corner where you could see a small box. After some failed analisis and a discussion you were asked to force it open. When you did it a gas cloud exploded in your face, Sanguinius quickly covered you and embraced you, acting as a human shield, getting himself fully exposed to the unknown material. 

- I swear I can not stand those xenos, are you alright Y/N?- Sanguinius asked but you were too dumbfounded to immediately answer, you don’t get angel wings protecting you every day. 

- Y/N?- Sanguinius tried again. 

- I feel fine… I think.- Sanguinius examined your face and looked at Dante. 

- There are some vials left in the box, grab them and get them analyzed immediately, also escort Y/N to the red tear and get her to the medicae.- He turned to look at you once more. 

- I want to profusely apologize Y/N, this is my fault for wanting to rush things and not following the protocols.- You gave him a strained smile and told him it was ok, it’s not like you have it in you to accuse him when he looks at you with so much concern. 

- Just remember you have been exposed to it too my lord, please take care.- With a nod he gently pushed you towards the squadron who would accompany you. 

It’s already been an hour and you are waiting in the medical bay for someone to explain to you what have you been exposed to. You felt good so you were observing your surroundings when you heard the door open, to your surprise it was Dante. It cheered you up to see a familiar face so you eagerly greeted him but a feeling of uneasiness quickly invaded you once you registered his somber face. 

- Is it that bad?- You impatiently observed him sit down next to your bed. He looked directly into your face and he started speaking with a really soft voice. 

- Lord Sanguinius and you have been exposed to what we… have vulgarly called sex pollen.- He paused to let the information sink in but you just looked at him with a really confused expression.

- I don’t understand, I… feel good, maybe it doesn’t affect me?- Dante hold your hand with his.

- Your metabolism is slower than ours so you may not notice the effects now but you will soon. I’ll say it bluntly Y/N, you will feel an extreme need to have intimate relationships and the longer you don’t submit to it the more undesired chemical imbalance you will have on your body, we are working on an antidote but it will come late. On the other hand lord Sanguinius is already under the influence. What I’m about to ask you is not something I’m happy about.- You interrupted him. 

- I… wait a moment.- You used a couple of minutes to think about all the events that have involved you this day.- But Dante… I do not wish to… and if I did wouldn't that be considered heresy?.- You started rambling and the blood angel interrupted you to try to calm you a little bit.

- Y/N, whatever happens next won’t be your fault nor will be considered heresy given the circumstances plus all the matter is being confidential and only de indispensable people are aware of the situation.- You just looked at each other for what seemed an eternity until you broke the silence. 

- What happens if I refuse?- Dante took a deep sigh before answering. 

- Sanguinius' well-being will be in danger. I can’t tell you exactly why but the undesired chemical reactions I told you about may trigger some deeper problems in him. It won’t be your situation so at least you don’t need to worry about that.- Dante dropped all formalities and while that used to comfort you today it brought the opposite effect.

- Would it be that bad?- You put extra emphasis on the word that. Dante seemed to think about it for a moment before answering. 

- Look, no one here wants to force you to do anything, let alone Sanguinius. So I want to reiterate that anything will be your fault. But yes, it would be that bad.- He also put extra emphasis on the word.

- How is Sanguinius now?.-

- He is struggling to maintain control so being near him is not safe. That’s why I want you to have in mind before you answer that he may end up losing control and he surely will be rude.- You only had one question left before you answered. 

- What will happen to me if I try to fight the effects of the poison?.- 

- Since it’s a recently discovered substance I cannot give you any answer to that.- 

- I understand, I will do it.- Dante looked genuinely surprised.

- Are you sure?- You faintly smiled at him. 

- I’m already down the rabbit hole aren’t I? Plus Sanguinius is way more important than me so it only seems to be one correct answer.- Dante stared at you intensely. 

- Attach this to your wrist, the button is an alarm, if the situation goes south press it and I will interfere.- 

Dante gave you a reassuring squeeze to your hand and helped you get out of bed. In a moment you were left alone in front of Sanguinius' personal quarters. 

- My lord? Is Y/N, I am entering.- The room was dimly lit and Sanguinius looked upset. 

- You shouldn't be here, who brought you?.- You ignored his questions. 

- I have been explained the situation so I’ve come here voluntarily, my lord.- He looked troubled. 

- NO, Y/N. You have to leave. I don't have much restraint now.- He wasn’t looking in your direction. 

- I won’t, I’ve been told your health is at risk.-

- And what about yours? I could kill you.-

- You are more important than me plus sooner or later I will be feeling like you are right now.- 

- Y/N I…- You approached him and touched his arm. 

- It will be ok Sanguinius, I know you wouldn’t harm me.- 

Unknowingly you provoked him an electrical and addictive feeling with your touch making him lose all restrain left in him. Suddenly he picked you up and threw you into his bed making you gasp and igniting a spark in your body, all your nerves were on fire and your rational mind became foggy. You just wanted him, and he just wanted you. 

He kissed you while his hands roamed all over your body until they grabbed your hips. You returned the kiss with equal fervor and hung your legs around his body trying to have as much contact as you could. He went to kiss your neck and sunk his teeth a little bit, enough to get a couple of blood drops out of you but your pained hiss seemed to bring some focus to him. He paused for a moment and softly caressed all the parts of your body he could and started undressing you.

- Is not fair I’m the only one naked my lord.- 

- Then undress me.- 

You found yourselves fully naked and you climbed onto his lap kissing him fervently, he pulled your hair and it made you moan. You started moving your hips against him almost unconsciously and tried to push his chest so he was fully laid back on the bed. Instead he grabbed your waist and made you both roll, making you gasp. He pinned your wrist above your head with one of his hands while the other grabbed your face. 

-You are not the one in charge here darling.- 

He intensely looked into your eyes and the hand that was at your face went directly to your center, rubbing it in circles making close your eyes because of the sudden pleasure. 

- Look at me Y/N. Look me and tell me who do you belong to.- Between heavy breaths you answered.

- I belong to you.- He pinched your clitoris. 

- That’s not the proper answer Y/N.- You felt suffocated, you barely couldn’t move since your arms were held with one of his hands and the rest of your body was trapped under him. He entered one of his fingers in you, then another one making it really difficult for you to articulate any words. Sanguinius let go of your hands and grabbed your neck slightly restricting your air flow, you were in pure pleasure, your body was more sensitive than normal because of the pollen and Sanguinius was making you go crazy.

- I’ve asked you something.- He squeezed your neck a little bit more before releasing all the pressure allowing you to fully breath. 

- You, my lord. I belong to Lord Sanguinius.- 

- That's my girl.- With that he retired his hand off your clit and before you could whine he slowly started pushing his member into you making you see stars. You were sure your moans could be heard in the nearby hallways but you didn’t care at the moment and Sanguinus was enjoying them. 

- My lord it’s too much, I can’t.- You were overstimulated and Sanguinius was big, you didn’t think it would fit in. 

- Bear with it, it’ll bring you pleasure. I’m almost fully in.- You whimpered, the stretch was almost painful. He fully stopped once he was completely buried inside you, giving you a moment to adapt and he took that moment to caress you and squeeze your tits and pinch at your nipples making you lose focus on the stretch and allowing you to relax. 

- That’s it beautiful.- He started rocking his hips throwing you into a pleasure spiral, you were getting close and he noticed it. You embraced him while he started to fuck you faster, you were a moaning mess and when your started to clench at his member he roughly kissed you suffocating your moans while you were cumming. You were dumbfounded and were barely able to focus on anything else than your pleasure. He started touching your nub again overstimulating you while not relenting his pace. He was enjoying all your whines and whimpers and complaints about not being able to stand it but he was unforgiving. All your body was on fire and you started feeling a pleasure like never before. He bit you on your neck enjoying the ecstasis your blood gave him, the pain was enough to send you over the edge again and you squirted all over him while he came inside you. He slowed down his thrusts until you both came down from your highs and he slowly pulled out of you making you whimper. You looked at each other breathing heavily but none of you knew what to say. 

- Are you alright?- Sanguinius was the one who broke the silence. 

- Yes my lord.- He looked at you with an expression you didn’t know to decipher. 

- From now on just call me Sanguinius.- He spoke to you with a really soft voice. You nodded and he moved from above you getting out of the bed. 

- We should get ourselves cleaned, you can use my bathroom while I go talk with Dante.- He reached to touch you but stopped himself in the air, turned around grabbed his clothes and got out of the room.

You were left alone in his bedchambers a little bit confused. You wanted to bathe but everything in there was huge compared to you. Slowly, you moved to the edge of the bed and realized that all your body was sore. Once you made it to the bathroom you confirmed your thoughts, almost everything was out of your reach. The noise of a door opening startled you and you quickly turned around to see who entered. 

- It’s me Y/N.- 

- Sanguinius…- A rush of self awareness invaded you since you were still naked.

- Y/N… I’m sorry I…- Sanguinius was looking at your body and you knew he felt sorry for all the bruises he had caused.

- It’s okay, I just feel a little bit sore but that’s all.- He studied you for a couple of seconds. 

- Don’t you want to bathe? Do you wish to leave?- 

- I do want to bathe but everything here is out of my reach so I should leave to the common showers.- Sanguinius seemed troubled. 

- Or… I could help you if you wish.- 

- Sanguinius what happened today is none of our fault so you don’t need to compensate me.- 

- I am not, I just want to take care of you.- If he wasn’t a primarch you would have thought that he was looking at you with love, but it was Sanguinius after all and he is always compassionate so you just pushed your thoughts away and shyly nodded at him. Without thinking too much about it you stepped closer to him and to your surprise he picked you up and embraced you. You just stayed like that for a couple of minutes until he softly left you in the bath. The rest of the shower was spent in silence while you both tended to each other. Once you were done, Sanguinius helped you dry your hair. You stepped out of the bath before Sanguinius and realized that not only had the bed sheets been changed but also were clean clothes for you to use. A shame feeling invaded you making you feel really self conscious making you freeze in the middle of the room until warm arms embraced you. 

- Please do not feel bad, just one of my sons entered here and he already knew of the situation. No one will judge us.- Sanguinius' touch had a calming effect and his words comforted you. You timidly smiled at him and put your clothes on. The situation was kind of awkward so once you were done you just headed for the door. 

- Where are you going?- You froze in your tracks and turned back to look at him. 

- I… to my bed?- 

- Do you wish to be alone?- You didn’t comprehend why he was asking you that. 

- It’s not like I can stay here Sanguinius.- It was his turn to not understand you.

- Why not?- 

- It wouldn’t be proper.- Sanguinius faintly smiled.

- I think we are already past that point.- 

- But it wouldn’t be the same as before. We are not under the pollen influence anymore.- Sanguinius thought about it for a moment. 

- If you want to leave I won’t stop you but if you want to stay it will be okay too. Forget about everything. You owe it to yourself to do what you are comfortable with right now.- 

- I don’t want to be alone.- Sanguinius looked softly at you and smiled. He extended his hand and you walked to him, he picked you up and placed you on his bed. He lied beside you. With his words resonating in your head you found the courage to attach your body to his and hug him. He embraced you with his arms and kissed your head. Your breath slowed down and you fell asleep within minutes. The whole situation was confusing but you knew you’d be alright. 

On the other hand Sanguinius was worried, he was already infatuated with you but now there might be no coming back. You were his and his alone. With everything he had to do for the imperium he knew he owed it to himself to keep you under his wings.

[cringefailvox]

Everyone talks about how Val and Vox so sweet things for each other, what do they do for their girlfriend Vel?

POLY VEES MY BELOVED <3

firstly, i think vox is definitely a gift-giver. he's sending her money, surprising her with commissioned outfits and brand new tech, everything straight off the production line goes straight to her & val. vox may be a little distant and penned up in his subterranean gamer cavern all the time working, but the other vees know he's got their backs. he's always keeping an eye out. vel calls him whenever she needs help and he drops everything to answer. he's someone she can confide in, someone who supports her and values her unconditionally, and he'll both protect her when necessary and stand back with popcorn to watch her protect herself.

val, on the other hand, is touchy-feely to the max. my guy has no concept of personal space, but vel loves the attention. they're cuddling after a long day, bickering over breakfast, giving each other fashion tips and snickering behind vox's back together. ultimate conspirators. val is her #1 hype man, he doesn't have a single bad thing to say about her (bc she'd flay him alive) and he loooves showering her with effusive compliments until her flippant facade cracks and she finally blushes or gets flustered. very few people get to see her like that and it pleases him every time.

[misfiterators]

made it to pebbles!

orange gang got my ass so many times 🥲👍

great news regarding my game progress:

I got so fed up being stuck in shaded at the start of gourmand that I restarted the game to take a different route (I had been there for nearly 3 hours with only 7 successful cycles -n-)

only 1 hour in to the new save and I've already made it all the way to the bottom of the wall in the same amount of cycles

moral of the story is memory crypts sucks

[the-real-rain-world-confessions]

I feel like that people who hanker on about Artificer being evil and vile just.

Miss the point of their story. Because the question was never about "is she evil for murdering every scav on sight because of her children" considering she’s naturally locked at karma 1.

It’s about well.

Honestly, possibly about many things.

But one I think is the helpless rage of being unable to change her circumstances for good. What’s the point of dying and restarting with her pups again if the scavangers are ready to kill a curious pup over what for all they know, are useless shiny trinkets? Natural toys to slugpups perhaps?

They are so frustrated by things outside their control that they are ready to cut ties with their beloved family and bring forth the senseless mad violence she experienced, which ironically traps them in the circle even more.

In that regard, they share similiarities with pebbles.

This is partially fuelled by my own experience with scavangers when playing, as a player that regularly aims for chieftan-;

Have you never been frustrated with Scavangers in Rainworld? Even at high rep? Cause I have been. It’s nice to be able to make them suffer consistently and effectively for every friendly fire that went unpunished against you but not your 1 attempt at trying to rescue a single one from a lizard, stealing pearls before you in subterranean and other shit and being atleast somewhat a pain in sky islands as Hunter. And idk man I usually like them.

…I do have to say it’s pretty funny though watching some people get very pressed about Artificer like they personally murdered somoene’s entire village, fucked their wife, and keyed their car. I get that angry murderhobos aren’t everyone’s favourite, but come on man.

.

[yoomtahsgf]

all 4 of my muses in fashion dreamer!!!

1. meeeeee :3

2. yoomtah zing from epithet erased (my beloved<3)

3. koishi komeiji from touhou subterranean animism (my bestie ^_^)

4. parsee mizuhashi from touhou subterranean animism (also meeeeee :3)

all items except for koishi's jacket are made by me ♡ come follow me and visit my showroom, my id is 7mXegDVkL8!!

extra info under the cut!!

NOTES: i use they/them only ♡ please dni if ur against selfshipping/self inserts/oc x canon, or if ur pr0/c0mship, thank you!!

i was so happy when i unlocked the plaid outfit set its SO CUTEEEEEEEEE theyre my favorite items for sure<3also i dont actually have the makeup or eye color unlocked i just got the makeup from one of the muse advisors and stole the eye color from another player who had it just for the photos but shhhhh LOL also idk if theres actually heart eye highlights in the game i hope there is bc itd be so cute but i doubt it bc i havent seen anyone with any............at least i can edit it<3

i was also super happy to unlock the set yoomtah's in too bc i knew since i saw it that i wanted to use it for her outfit<3i tried to make the colors match her canon hair colors as close as possible.........i wish there was hair more like hers too ueueueueu and also i had to edit her lightning eyes and lil cheek things too her character design is simply too powerful for any character creators KSJDKSJFK

as for koishi her outfit is rlly close to her canon outfit bc i already think its rlly cute and like the kind of fashion i can actually see her wearing<3i can also see her in like either mori kei or gurokawa with not much in between KSJEJDJDKF and this outfit is obviously more mori inspired!!ik there is circle-in-the-middle eye highlights but i havent unlocked them yet so until i unlock them i'll be editing them onto her LOL also her 3rd eye is always a little tricky to edit in but i think it turned out cute here ^_^

i REALLYLYYYYYYY wanted to use the frilled-collar t-shirt dress with choker for parsee to give it that yamikawa vent art print vibe but i have 0 luck with the gacha-only items in this game so i had to compromise</3but as soon as i finally get it i am for SURE updating her outfit!!!i was also stumped on what hat to use for her so since the jacket i used has bears on it i figured.bear hat!!also she actually is wearing green chain earrings in game but 1. u cant normally see her ears with her hairstyle 2. i had to edit her pointy ears in so i just used one of the chain brushes in ibis paint x to put it on her LOL

[theherdofturtles]

Hi @hwsevents I'm late I learned about mythtalia march today weee but ah well I merged Tannhäuser and Hetalia. Hopefully the Pope's staff blooms flowers and I get forgiven unlike Tannhäuser.

For slight background, Tannhäuser is an old Germanic myth about Venusberg. In the mythology, all the old pagan gods have retreated into a subterranean world when Christianity overpowered and replaced them. A man, referred to as Tannhäuser, is tasked with guarding the entrance to the subterranean world to ensure the pagan gods do not return to the land. In some versions of the legend, Tannhäuser fails his task and is seduced by the goddess Venus and pulled into the subterranean world (sometimes his memories are fogged and he forgets the world above, less commonly this doesn't happen and he's just fully okay with going to Venusberg). One day, Tannhäuser successfully makes an escape and goes to Rome to ask the pope for forgiveness which in any version never goes well.

Anyway, here's my poke of fun at the beginning of Wagner's version of Tannhäuser:

The mist sunk into the ground around the quiet grotto… all was peaceful. If you considered bathing naiads, sirens flopping around on the grotto edges, a group of dancing nymphs and centaurs very peaceful. Honestly Arthur didn't know why or how he'd fallen asleep in this person's lap. Especially with this whole chaos around him.

Then, suddenly, Arthur snapped upward. You know he'd just had the most awful dream where he was… somewhere… a whole lot different than this place. Yeah. This place made him feel super misplaced. He couldn't quite recall why the dream made him so sad but it made his whole being shudder and he thanked the Lord that the dream was over.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and Arthur jumped. "Wha-"

The hand pulled him backwards, back into their lap, and then he heard the person speak… "Tell me, beloved, what's wrong?"

Oh… Francis? What the hell was Francis doing here— oh! Yes, he recalled. Francis was the… uh… god of love? Yeah, something like that. Arthur nodded to himself in confirmation. It made sense that Francis was Venus.

"I had this terrible dream," he said.

"Tell me about it?"

"Sure. I remembered the sound of church bells… voices, of people I think I once loved. Uh… how long have I been here?"

Francis suddenly looked nervous. "Don't worry about that."

"No, I could swear I'm not supposed to be here. It's a feeling that goes three meta layers deep. What happened? Wait a second… AHA!"

Arthur whirled around and cracked Francis's nose with his fist.

The satisfying way Francis’s eyes widened a half-second before contact, and the pop of his fist against his face, it was the most cathartic thing on earth.

Arthur shook his hand off as if to shake Francis's icky contact from it.

Francis flinched backwards from shock while clutching his nose. "My love," Francis whined, "what was that for!"

"Somehow I forgot you were a bitch."

Francis's affronted expression said he’d never expected Arthur to disrespect him despite all past history and experience Francis should have down by now. Wait… what past history? Arthur was just supposed to be the guard of Venusberg, he'd never had a past history with the god of love.

"How dare you!" Francis gasped, "how dare you insult all the sweet wonder my love devises for you! I made you immortal like me! In the mortal realm everything sucked for you, but here you can delight in my pleasure forever~"

"Gross…" Arthur scrunched up his nose.

"So just forget everything again about the world above the subterranean realm which the old gods have been banished too according to germanic folk mythology, my love, and sing about how beautiful and great and perfect I am," Francis wiggled his eyebrows.

"I'd rather marry a pig. By the way, wasn't I supposed to be guarding the entrance of this place to make sure you didn't escape?"

"Well, yes, but don't you recall in WWV: 70, Overture, when you're off-stage, the music is supposed to recall the Tannhauser folk ballad to the audience's mind so they'll know that I seduced you by the time the Opera has begun?"

Suddenly Arthur remembered who he was and why he felt so misplaced.

"Damnit. I'm stuck in a Wagner opera with you of all people. Does that mean Italy is the pope?"

[contentpaparazzi]

“kiss me (kill me)”, or “titania and oberon finally discover the OLD_DATA and end up widowed” (cw for body horror under the cut)

in an effort to gather info on improving their deckbuilding abilities and possibly deposing the scrybes entirely, oberon and titania seek out a potentially new source of power. the OLD_DATA possessing infinite knowledge is merely a rumor, something the scrybes are said to keep under oath or between the four of them, but prying knowledge from their subordinates had found them a lead.

titania had been the one to pay the price before she was promptly shot and killed by a well-dressed Man In Blue, never to be seen again. it was just standard procedure.

the two of them began their descent into subterranean territory, in an undisclosed location. oberon always carried the sigil of pentacles with him, so paying a small price was of no concern. titania, on the other hand, always kept her belt fastened to her hips, stocked infinitely with a variety of tools and solutions for any situation. she struck a match and lit a small candle, providing a flickering source of light in the humid darkness.

the two of them descended furthermore, the tension prickling in waves across their backs, but still determined to see this katabatic journey through to the end.

suddenly, and with no previous sign of diminishing beforehand, the flame from titania’s candle fizzled out, grey smoke wisping away into the blackness that encompassed them. only an overwhelming, damp, and alienating eigengrau.

then, oberon felt a small tingle. warm, with energy, but at the same time as cold and unfeeling as the rest of the environment. his ears perked, looking in the direction of where titania might be, judging by the way she shivered against him, her other hand gripping his arm tightly.

“did you feel that?” he asked her, and received a tense “oberon… i think it’s here,” in response.

a crackling, again. maybe not a crackling exactly, but whatever words either of them had to describe the sight before them would not have been enough.

(in front of them would be) in front of them is a blooming cacophony of sound and color (in front of them was), a corrupted fragment of void and lack thereof.

they were told not to handle it barehanded, if one should find a small piece of it, as if it were made of pure azoth, or the fragments of a fallen star.

however, out of sheer anticipation to inspect the fragment closer, they both rushed to seize it, overcome with an exhilarating feeling of power.

titania had been the one to seize it, what with her larger stature and longer arms. of course she had been. she had been the one who had worked the most to seek it out.

oberon rushed to her, never parting from his wife for even a second as he caught a glimpse of the crackling and ever-shifting mass in her hands.

“this is the purest form of energy i have ever laid my eyes upon” were her last coherent words before the crackling spread, erupting in a loud cacophony of static, raw energy, and ones-and-zeros, oberon nearly blinding himself by being in such close proximity to it. he could only imagine for a passing second what titania might have felt.

the cacophony grew louder and louder, oberon shrieking in pain as his ears rang, and every touch felt like pressing himself against the core of a burning star. despite the pain, he opened his eyes, flinching a few times before prying them open.

at the center of the cacophony was titania, writhing on the ground as scattered fragments of energy from the corners of the room spread out into lines across the ground like circuits, ones and zeros beginning to fade in and out periodically in the corner of oberon’s vision. her body was in agonizing pain, only able to let out desperate cut off screams before wretching forward and coughing up rendered blood and spaghetti code.

oberon weakly crawled his way forward in a desperate attempt to reach his beloved wife.

but before he could do so, titania’s upper torso burst from itself.

she stopped moving for roughly 5 seconds, oberon in disbelief, before she writhed again, her size growing exponentially in what had first seemed like a small room. her clothing, including her precious alchemist’s belt, had been torn to shreds and spread across the room in meager scraps along with what used to be cards and broken glass. at the center of it all was titania herself, a writhing abomination with more limbs than before and translucent wings breaking through the surface of her backs.

oberon stifled the urge to start screaming, cupping his mouth tightly over his nose and mouth as tears flowed.

titania (or what appeared in her place)’s large, vacant eyes stared into the darkness for a moment as she stumbled forward, trying to stay upright, before they met oberon’s, her darling husband’s little, loving green eyes.

“kiss me, oberon…” the creature lilted in her voice.

“k i s s m e . . .”

[dcu-rarepair]

Day 2 Gifts

Eight more amazing gifts for Day 2! Head to the Collection to check them out, and view the Release Schedule to see what’s in store!

We also have a handy Commenting Guide to help our Giftees with showing their Giftors some love. And now, here’s today’s works: 

I Will Not Love You (But I Can, Somehow) for syrennetim

Dick Grayson/Jean-Paul Valley Rated T, No Archive Warnings Enemies to Lover, Jean-Paul as Batman Dick hates Jean-Paul. The only problem with that is that he loves him too. Or, Azrael murders someone and Dick helps Jean-Paul cover up his crimes.

Black, White and Red for Murmeloni

Harvey Dent/Jason Todd Rated G, No Archive Warnings Art

Call Me Hot (Not Pretty) for Shenanigans

Cissie King-Jones/Cassie Sandsmark (Young Justice Universe) Rated G, No Archive Warnings First Kiss, Gay Panic, Getting Together Cassie’s day had been anything but quiet and uneventful – it hadn’t even been eventful in the Young Justice way, just the Wonder Girl way, so subduing the sea monster on the docks had been entirely up to her. So, once she’d finished dealing with all that, one would really think her beloved team members may understand that she was exhausted and achy and not moving from her position on the couch for at least the next century, but no. Apparently not. Or; Fellas, is it gay to lovingly cradle your best friend’s face while you help them get something out of their eye

carve your name into my arm for FleetSparrow

Clark Kent/Selina Kyle Rated M, No Archive Warnings Trans Clark Kent, BDSM The thing is, Selina knows how to read people. She knows what they want and more importantly, she knows when they're lying to her. And that's the thing about this unassuming nerd hunched on her couch; he is lying to her. And he is dangerous. But he doesn't feel like a threat.

And Alan Makes Three for BookofOdym

Sanderson Hawkins/Henry King Jr, Henry King Jr/Alan Scott, Henry King Jr/Sanderson Hawkins/Alan Scott Rated E, No Archive Warnings Voyeurism, Light Dom/Sub Hank is dating Sandy. Hank is sleeping with Alan. When Sandy catches Alan and Hank together, Alan takes it upon himself to teach Sandy just how to fuck a twunk like Hank properly.

Lightning Rod for dxncingquxxr

Dick Grayson/Roy Harper/Wally West Rated T, No Archive Warnings Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence Wally, lost in the Speed Force, watches as his boyfriends have drifted apart more than they ever had before. He needs them together to escape, but he's unsure if this timeline will allow it. Really, he should learn that he has unending faith in his partners for a reason. - Rebirth but Dick/Roy/Wally and also only about them

Genesis 2:23 for TaxiCabToOwTown

Kon-El | Conner Kent/Lex Luthor Rated T, Warning for Underage Omegaverse, Dubious Science Most alphas would probably chafe at working under another alpha, instincts bristling at the perceived submission. Mercy doesn't care--everyone in Metropolis has Mr Luthor's boot on their throat, she might as well get paid handsomely for it. She could do without watching Mr Luthor throw scent at Superman and have it just slide off and Superman's poorly acted responses, but she guesses that's how they ended up here, in this subterranean lab.

Where the Light Shines Through for Ferox

John Constantine/Bruce Wayne Rated E, No Archive Warnings BDSM, Haunting Batman gives Constantine a severe look. “I asked you to meet me for your magical expertise. If you're too compromised to work, I’ll ask someone else.” “I'm fine. It's just a mild Drop. Which I tried to fix, by the way, but unfortunately it's impossible to get decent coke in your town. You should really lay off those poor, hardworking cartels. Anyway—” John crushes the butt of his cigarette under his heel, “—you said your friend needed help?” “Not my friend. A League benefactor.” Ha. John is smart enough to connect the dots. “Bruce Wayne’s got ghosts? Shocker.”

[chronotsr]

No. 7.5 - 1978 Reflections, and the Halls of Mystery

Welcome back to the end-of-the-year recaps! This is technically the first TSR iteration of it!

1. Coolest ideas

It's a lot of stuff from D2. The big ticket item is "neutral-ground hostile shrine" -- any time you can muck about with otherwise hostile people without drawing swords immediately is a big win. I know that the reaction table is supposed to mitigate that some but, cmon. Sometimes you just can't think of a good reason that the 9th goblin pack tonight is not immediately hostile. This is a way more natural way to handle it. And it lets you talk and such and experience their culture from their perspective!

2. Coolest Module You Haven't Heard Of

This is honestly a hard one because all of these modules are intensely well known. Gun to my head, I would probably vote for G1. The D-series is cool but frankly there have been more better and more interesting iterations of subterranean hexcrawls -- Veins of the Earth being the currently famous one. But the thing about G1 is, G1 is a surprisingly natural and fun location. Unlike the others in the GDQ series, G1 is genuinely an adventure you could slot anywhere with no context. It is simply a fun raid on a fortress, which I never get tired of. The twists of "they're piss drunk" and "there's a slave revolt in the basement" are really good (albeit in 2024 a little stale) twists on the classic raid-on-fortress formula.

3. The Growth of Module Design

Honestly 1978 represents a rather stagnant year for module design. The most innovative design feature I see is how D1-D3 feeds into one another in a much more naturalistic way than its predecessors, and all through that deeply useful combination of hexmap and random tables with a handful of pre-programmed setpieces. I am eager to see hexmap technology get much better going forward.

…

Surprisingly, 1978 wasn't too much to talk about? I don't generally think of Gary as an "innovator" in module design space. His main contribution is taking things that already exist and making them feel more natural. Which is not to say that I now buy into Gygaxian Naturalism as this great feat, more than a lot of his competition at the time was seemingly intentionally anti-Naturalism. Their work feels like the reaction to me, Gary is just staying the course of "this should make an amount of sense". Although, his random dungeon monsters mishmash still feels as nonsensical as all hell.

The Halls of Mystery (From Dragon 21, December 1978)

And as threatened, we're going to have a very brief section on The Halls of Mystery, which holds the dubious honor of 1st Dragon Magazine dungeon. I would throw the full header at you, but everything is by Don Turnbull. You may recognize his name, at publication time he works for Games Workshop and he will be heading up TSR, Inc.'s UK branch starting in 1980, leading to the much-beloved Fiend Folio.

So. Not much to say about this, actually, It's a very large room with some branches. The main schtick of the Halls is that the main chamber contains several mirrors, some of which are magical. There's a big riddle on the desk on the south side, the riddle solution is actually quite obvious (say Excalibur three times -- and hey, Don told us the answer and rationale of the puzzle! Thanks Don!). When you move the central cylinder, it teleports you to the corresponding position in the dungeon. The rest is a lightweight stocking of the dungeon with monsters, treasure, et c. If you're keeping score, this is a Zelda puzzle. It's very cute and lightweight and honestly it's so neutrally written (no statistics are given and it would be trivially easy to restock it at any level) that you could genuinely use it in 2024 with very little effort. It's adorable! It is also wonderfully lean, clocking in at two total pages and frankly it's super refreshing to have such a light read of a module here.

Happily, next time we will be covering B1 - In Search of the Unknown, which is the second Basic D&D adventure we will be reviewing in this series (The adventure printed in the Basic rulebook, Tower of Zenopus, was first. This is our first lettered Basic adventure.) And, funnily, the first TSR module in this lineup I've never read before. See you then!

[wellofdean]

Such a good article:

When I work with younger writers, I am frequently amazed by how quickly peer feedback sessions turn into a process of identifying which characters did or said insensitive things. Sometimes the writers rush to defend the character, but often they apologize shamefacedly for their own blind spot, and the discussion swerves into how to fix the morals of the piece. The suggestion that the values of a character can be neither the values of the writer, nor the entire point of the piece, seems more and more surprising — and apt to trigger discomfort. While I typically share the progressive political views of my students, I’m troubled by their concern for righteousness over complexity. They do not want to be seen representing any values they do not personally hold. The result is that, in a moment in which our world has never felt so fast-changing and bewildering, our stories are getting simpler, less nuanced and less able to engage with the realities through which we’re living.

Good stories give us moral clarity by allowing us to process complexity, not by spelling it out, and reading this really interesting article, I can't help thinking of the contrast between the operatic and somehow brain-melting nature of the romance in Supernatural, which was always clear and present, even if it was complicated, subterranean and interdicted, vs the simple, unimpeachable simplicity of something like 9-1-1, which ok, it's clear, uncomplicated queer representation and that is nice! Yes! Sure. Ok. But for me? It cannot hold a candle to the 12 years of highly charged yearning that took place on a show that some members of the fandom still decry as homophobic and accuse of queerbaiting its audience on a regular basis.

For the record, I think it did neither! It told a complex, queer story that required its audience to think, feel and empathize with its characters. It involved me in ways that something like 9-1-1 simply does not, because it ASKED something of me as a viewer.

I'd say the same of about the deep seam of misogyny that runs through Supernatural, and the way the show went from replicating it, sometimes unconsciously, to consciously depicting it as something killing that separates our beloved characters from every softer, consoling feeling, and every authentic desire they have. Is that really 'misogyny', or is it a story that has some legitmate real estate in something that is good for a world without gender hierarchy? Again, it asks me to process it and decide.

Even with the charge of racism, which is, I would say, the most legitimate criticism of Supernatural, the way race was treated carelessly and sometimes in very predictably ugly ways on Supernatural prompts us all to reflect on it -- to call it out and see how unacceptable it is. Is art that shows us our own faces in the mirror bad art, or is it useful to us? There is a difference between moral clarity and moral simplicity.

Supernatural is a genuinely interesting cultural artifact in this regard -- it grew up with us into our present, and it's still going someplace. I think it does teach us moral lessons, particularly in the way it centres non-compliance with hegemony and authentic love of all kinds as the strongest force in its world. But those are not simple things.

Anyway. Just a thought.

[callibones]

WAIT OMG WHAT IF I POSTED MY OLD SILCWORM SITUATION NEWSLETTERS HERE

ohohoho.... if they get a BILLION notes ill get back to work on silcworm 2....!!!!

yknow. my favorite part about silcworm was always the fiction around it. and like. until there's another way to simulate games wink wink.... would it make sense 2 run it as a fiction? like. just post newsletters AS IF things r happening?

take my hand. imagine me posting a bunch of newsletters from my imaginary post-apocalyptic subterranean baseball bunker league. AND THEN after a few alluded-to seasons, opening it up to my friends and mutuals and beloved haters to add some players to the mix.

itd be Easier.... What If?

[elsalouisa]

"When a child, I bad the rare good fortune of knowing one of my great-grandmothers, Zenaide Ivanovna, Princess Yussupov, Comtesse de Chauveau by a second marriage. I was only ten when she died, but she still remains deeply impressed upon my memory.

She was one of the most beautiful women of her generation. She had led a very gay life and had had numerous love affairs, among them a romantic attachment for a young revolutionary whom she followed to Finland where he was interned in the Sveaborg Fortress. She bought a house on a hill facing the prison in order to be able to gaze at her beloved's window from her room.

When her son married, she gave the young couple her house on the Moika Canal in St. Petersburg and went to live in Liteinaia Street in a smaller replica of the Moika residence.

When I was sorting her papers long after her death, I discovered, among a mass of correspondence with the greatest names of her day, a series of letters from the Emperor Nicholas 1, which left no doubt as to the nature of their relations. In one of these letters the Tsar offered her the Hermitage, a pavilion in the park of Tsarskoe Selo and invited her to spend the summer there, in order to be nearer him. A draft of her reply was pinned to his letter. Princess Yussupov thanked the Tsar for his charming attention, but refused his gift, saying that she was used to living in her own houses, and the number of her estates was amply sufficient for her needs. However, she bought a piece of land adjoining the Imperial Palace and built a pavilion on it which was an exact copy of the one offered by the Tsar. Both the Emperor and his wife frequently visited her there.

Two or three years later, having quarreled with the Tsar, she went abroad. She settled down in Paris and bought a house in the Parc des Princes. All Paris of the Second Empire flocked there. Napoleon III took a great fancy to her, but his advances met with no response. At one of the balls given at the Tuileries, a handsome young Frenchman of modest extraction was introduced to her. His name was Chauveau. She was greatly taken by the good looking young man, married him, bought him the Chateau de Keriolet, in Brittany, and obtained for him the title of Comte, and for herself that of Marquise de Serre. The Comte de Chauveau died soon after their marriage, bequeathing the Chateau de Keriolet to his mistress. The Comtesse, furiously angry, bought the chateau from her rival at an exorbitant price and gave it to the state on condition that it should be turned into a museum.

We used to visit my great-grandmother in Paris every year. She lived alone with a companion in her house in the Parc des Princes. We used to stay in a pavilion connected to her house by a subterranean passage, and never called on her except in the evening. I can see her now, enthroned majestically in a huge armchair, the back of which was decorated with three coronets, the emblems of her triple rank of princess, marchioness and countess. In spite of her extreme old age, she was still beautiful and had retained an imposing appearance and aristocratic bearing. Always very carefully made up and perfumed, she wore a red wig and an impressive number of pearl necklaces.

She was strangely mean about some little things. For instance, she invariably offered us moldy chocolates, which she kept in a box made of rock crystal studded with precious stories. I was the only one who would eat them, and I really believe this was the reason why I was her favorite. On seeing me accept what everyone else refused, Granny would caress me affectionately, saying: "I like this child."

She was a hundred years old when she died in Paris, in 1897. She left my mother all her jewels, my brother the house in Parc des Princes, and to me her houses in St. Petersburg and Moscow.

In 1925, when I was a refugee in Paris, I read in a Russian newspaper that the Bolsheviks, while searching our house at St. Petersburg, had discovered a secret door in my greatgrandmother's bedroom; this door led to a room in which was a coffin containing the skeleton of a man. I pondered over this mysterious discovery for a long time. Could the skeleton have been that of the young revolutionary she had loved? Had she hidden him in her home? after helping him to escape? I recollected that years before, while going through my great-grandmother's papers in this very room, I had felt strangely ill at ease and even asked my manservant to stay with me so that I should not be alone".

Prince Felix Yusupov "Lost Splendor"

[peterlorrefanpage]

Mad Love / Phantom of the Opera crossover

Peter Lorre & Frances Drake - Mad Love studio promo (1935).

It's images like this that bring what I call my latent Phantom of the Opera desires to the forefront.

I mean, look at this. Look at his utter absorption as he drinks in the face of his beloved, at his regard palpable even in the poise of his chin, in his lowered eyelids:

Unhf.

It's because of Mad Love and tons of other things that Peter would have been fabulous as the Phantom of the Opera (just as he was in a different way as the Phantom of the Ballet). He'd have used similar elements, I just know it - the obsessiveness, the fractured personality, the masterfulness. He would have made PotO his own.

And after all, Claude Rains did it without singing (I do love Claude Rains).

Now, Peter could carry quite a nice tune. See The Verdict, and even the deliberately-goofy Was Frauen Traumen. But since it's already been established that singing on the Phantom's part isn't strictly necessary, even if we do mingle up movie and musical versions...

...and we already know Peter looks divine behind a keyboard, a la Three Strangers (1946)...

...and even when he's more menacing in All Through the Night (1942). I get that he's standing up from the piano at this moment, but still...

Now.

Imagine him as Erik, the lonely Hades of his own subterranean kingdom beneath the opera house, surrounded by all the lush and profane trappings he'd acquired over the long years. It's a home and a mausoleum in one, built to last out the rest of his days with everything he needs but nothing he wants.

Jaded and dejected, he sometimes feels his heart thudding so strongly it fills his ears like a tell-tale, ticking down the hours to the death he half-longs for. Time, there's too much time no matter how he squanders it, spending hours reinforcing the horrible stories that surround him like the wings of the stage.

Bah. Parlor tricks; amateur work. It's all too easy. He who had made audiences convulse and froth with horror, he who had designed masteries of diabolical architecture for petty gods on earth! What is an off-key shriek from a chorus girl or a whites-of-the-eyes bluster from a manager to that?

It's only when someone comes too close to his home, his security, his intactness, that his heart starts beating a vibration off the true, igniting his darker, more infernal urges...

Yet when he's with his music, tempering and mastering (though he knows he's a mere student of this, this cosmic glory) the pure energy that he hears with his eyes, feels with his skin - sound masquerading as air, as life - when he's more himself than at any other time - there's a small, stubborn, ridiculously hopeful part of him that glimmers up a foolish little wish that someone could sense and feel and know the humanity left in him.

For someone to see him, really see him, away from the shadows, away from the shroud, unshielded in unfiltered daylight.

And not leave him.

Such a hope is somehow the most damning of all. Yet he can't seem to obliterate it.

And then, one day, there - ! Above in the opera house! Something new has come: A budding voice, tremulous, pure.

A voice that brings the light right down to him through the corridors and casements, shafts and stairwells, along the crooked passageway second from the left, around the dust-covered boxes spilled out into the hallway from the broken-hasped door, down alongside the subterranean lake, through his doorways and walkways and archways, down to where he sits on his throne of an organ bench, hands frozen in mid-air, transfixed, overcome.

A voice without affectation. Without guile. Without, perhaps, much timbre or assurance.

But with, somehow, comprehension. Knowledge of suffering, of heartache, of the foibles of humankind. In fact--

Ah. There it is, a glissando of shade like a dark lantern closing, like the edge of an eclipse. He somehow knew it would be there.

How can such light coexist with this shadow?

He must behold its source. He must. Just a glimpse, that's all, surely he can have that. Just to see the face and form that voice comes from, just to fill his eyes and spirit.

And then to creep back to his cold hell of a home, there to feast on the image and the sound, knowing that the corporeal is not for such as him.

...but then, he thinks, as his hands twist his composition paper, crackling dry like mummified bones, why couldn't it be?

####