#that added to the sound effects and the threat music

[foxstens]

didn't quite realize how much the creatures add to the atmosphere until i got rid of them

[goryhorroor]

“horror movies were reborn in the 1930s. sound revolutionized cinema across the board and had a huge impact on the horror genre— and not just in the form of dialogue. sound effects added an extra dimension to terror, from creaking doors to echoing footsteps to the rumbling of castle thunder. music cues built suspense or signaled the presence of a threat. as screen storytelling moved away from symbolism towards realism, the dreamlike wraiths of silent cinema were replaced by monsters that grunted, groaned and howled.”

[moowmoon]

APT.

— spencer reid x fem!reader

— summary: it was just one spooky night at an amusement park, what could go wrong? or… right?

— c/w: i think none?

— w/c: 1k

— a/n: hello! another spencer one-shot! this idea is based on the song "apt. (feat. bruno mars)" by rose! i hope you guys like it! english is not my first language, so forgive me if there's any mistake!

moowmoon playlist

“sleep tomorrow,

but tonight go crazy”

— apt. (feat. bruno mars), rose

The park was covered in fog, making the orange and purple lights of the Halloween decorations give the place even more of a ghostly glow. The air was infused with the sweet scent of caramel apples and sweet popcorn, mingling gently with a light breeze that made the dry leaves dance across the ground. Costumed children and adults passed by excitedly, some in bright superhero and cartoon costumes, others in terrifying costumes of monsters, ghosts, and vampires, laughing and screaming at each scare meticulously planned by the attractions.

In the center of the park, a huge Ferris wheel spun slowly, the seats decorated with fake spiders' webs, witches' hats, and pumpkin-shaped lanterns. On the loudspeaker, soft yet macabre music played while sinister recorded laughter echoed from time to time. The atmosphere emanated an atmosphere of mystery, a promise of fun mixed with chills, making everyone around them feel that twinge of excitement - and maybe a little fear.

Spencer's gaze traveled around the room with a tinge of curiosity. He was fascinated by the details of the park, the care taken with the scary decorations and, for a brief moment, he found himself analyzing the behavior of the people around him, noticing their natural reactions to the scares and fantasies.

In one of the furthest corners of the park, there was a corridor. The dark corridor seemed narrower than Spencer had imagined. The walls were covered with fake spider webs and skeletal hands that emerged from the shadows, while the sounds of footsteps and whispers echoed around them. A dim light pulsed at the end of the corridor, casting elongated, distorted shadows that danced across the walls, creating shapes that seemed to move on their own.

Spencer kept his hands in his pockets, trying to disguise the tension that ran up his spine, but she noticed the way he was biting his lip, his eyes scanning his surroundings as if looking for a real threat amidst the sea of special effects. He was a man of science, skeptical of anything supernatural, but the environment made him slightly disconcerted, and that added to the sense of danger in the air. She held back her nervous laughter, trying to concentrate on the footsteps, but the silence between them only intensified the sound of accelerated breathing.

A loud creak echoed, followed by a quick movement from one of the attractions next to them. Instinctively, Spencer jumped slightly, and she felt equally startled. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, as if to justify himself, but they both knew they were sharing the same feeling of fear; creating a silent but powerful connection between them. The fear seemed to grow with every step, and she wondered if either of them really believed it was just an act.

For a brief moment, a cold, unexpected breeze blew past them, causing the lights to flicker instantly. They both froze at the same second, hearing a low, crawling sound coming from the shadows. The whispers and muffled footsteps seemed to be getting closer and closer, and she felt her heart racing, hammering in her ears.

Then, again, something in the dark moved with a sudden snap, like a door slamming shut. And before she could react, Spencer, in an involuntary gesture, grabbed her hand. His fingers were cold, and the pressure was firm as if he were trying to keep them anchored in reality.

They stayed like that for a second, their hands intertwined, sharing the same apprehension. And neither of them made a move to let go. On the contrary, the grip between them only seemed to get stronger, as if they were anchoring themselves to each other. She could feel the tension in every fiber of his muscles, but at the same time, a sense of security began to envelop their bodies. It was just a simple gesture, but given the situation they were in, the connection that touch created was all they needed.

After a few more cautious steps, and a few more scares that left them on the verge of jumping in surprise, Spencer and she finally spotted a soft orange light appearing at the end of the corridor, announcing the end of the attraction. It was the signal that the ride had come to an end, and the feeling of relief was immediate.

They exchanged a glance and, almost at the same time, let out a deep sigh as if they had been holding their breath from the first moment. She laughed first, a nervous laugh that echoed through the silent space, that echoed through the silent space and that soon infected Spencer. His laugh was low, somewhat restrained, but full of a lightness that was unusual for him.

“I knew you were having fun,” she teased, still laughing. Spencer raised an eyebrow, a crooked smile appearing at the corner of his lips.

“Having fun might be an exaggeration,” he replied, looking down at their hands, which were still intertwined. “I'd say it was a different experience.”

Their laughter gradually subsided and, for a moment, they were just watching each other, the shadows behind and the soft light in front creating a kind of bubble of complicity between them. 

The noise of the park seemed to dissolve around them, leaving only the two of them in the middle of the mist and the lights. Spencer watched her with an intense gaze, that thoughtful, gentle way he had as if trying to record every detail of that moment between them. Her heart raced again, but this time for a different reason.

She moved closer, almost without thinking, the impulse too strong to ignore. Spencer didn't back away, and for a brief moment, they stood there, their breath mingling in the cool night air. Then she leaned in and lightly touched her lips to his. The kiss was quick, but filled with an unexpected electricity, an instant that lasted just long enough to leave a mark on both their lives.

When she pulled back, she saw the surprise in his eyes, the shy smile beginning to form at the corner of his lips. They stared at each other for another second, both surprised, but smiling and sharing a kind of secret that is only revealed on a magical night like that.

[callioclops]

I love the audio aesthetic of retro games. Not just 8-bit music, but the hardware limitations on it. I love when parts of the track cut out because it has to play another sound effect. Someone needs to use that intentionally for a horror scenario. What if the track that cuts doesn't come back? What if everytime it cuts it deteriorates? By playing the game you're breaking it.

Or maybe instead of your actions cutting the track its someone else's. A killer in the game having their audio cue be so quiet you can't hear it properly under the music, but in order to play it the game has to cut the strings or the drums. What if they keep adding threats that cut different parts of the music? What if at one point, the entire track is silent? I feel like the tension you could create from that is too good to pass up.

[redrydersrequiem]

Wandering canary

Heyyyyyy first one piece fic, love the show and glad its doing so well, the oc character is about 32 to be closer to shanks and buggy’s ages this will be a buggy x reader fic because like so many others i love Jeff ward and his portrayal of buggy was “chefs kiss”

The strawhat crew finally landed on a seemingly normal island.( For once.) Finally able to restock their dwindling supplies and stretch their sea legs.

“Finally land!” Nami states pop in her back and relishes the feel of solid steady ground under her feet. “That storm was crazy, we're lucky we made it here.”

“Yeah it's nice to finally be somewhere that looks seemingly safe.” Usopp says looking around at the nice port and colorful looking town.

“Yeah, think of the new local ingredients we can find around here or all the beautiful island women just waiting for a dashing chief like myself to come along.” Sanji says straightening his tie about to walk further on the pier however he's almost pushed into the water by Zoro's yawning form, walking off the ship

“I'm ready for a nap, huuuuh”

“Damit zoro watch where you're going.”

“What was that waiter”

“Why you broccoli headed piece of”

Before the two can argue further luffy plows through them effectively pushing them into the dock below.

“Ohhhhhh I can’t wait any more, come on guys lets gooooooo.!”

Luffy wait nami call out but it's too late the captain of the going merry is off dust trailing behind him as the crew all quickly try to catch up before luffy accidentally destroys something

A short time later the merry was restocked and no threats were found (or had been created) so the crew decided to treat themselves to a night out.

The local bar was nice, not as nice as the Baratie but not run down either. Drinks and food flow, the crew having a grand time when a spotlight turns on illuminating the bars stage. Everyone claps as a person the crew assumes is the owner based on how nicely the old woman is dressed steps forward.

“And now for the event of the night, our very own wandering songbird, ms Canary.”

The room erupts in applause and cheers. The straw hats all look on expectantly slightly apprehensive of all the clapping after the last time the. Had to endure a spotlight and clapping, except for luffy he was full on cheering with everyone else.

The curtain opens and a woman dressed in shimmering jewel tones, coins and bells added to the hems of her skirts to make them jingle, she stands in the middle of the stage a tambourine in her hand posed for the music to start. But its not her outfit or pose that draws the straw hats' eyes. No, it's her blood red hair.

“Hey! Her hair looks just like shanks.” Luffy points nami quickly shushing him and lowering his pointed hand as the music starts.

*Think this outfit but of course character is not Esmeralda

Canary’s pov

* I changed some of the songs lyrics

{ rhythm of the tambourine starts playing}

The music starts and I begin my first movement. My tambourine mirroring my movements perfectly in time,

Hey, soldier boy, I see how you stare

Hey, fisher man, I see you admire

Come gather 'round

Hey, Jack and Pierre!

Come see me dance to the rhythm of the tambourine

Flash of ankle

Flip of a skirt

Feel them excite, enflame and inspire

Come see me dance, hey, what can it hurt?

It's just a dance to the rhythm of the tambourine

The regulars are all in the front row while those from out of town have sprinkled around the bar. One table is filled with younger ones all maybe 16/17 to 20ish years old all smiling at the performance, they definitely look out of place amongst all the Old beer gutted or wind beat sailors and fisherman of the island, but its the youngest looking one that makes me pause, or more specifically the hat on his head.

Memories resurface quickly. The call of my name comes from a fuzzy figure in front of me. I can’t make out any of their features besides their red hair and the straw hat on his head. The sound of someone yelling wait up idiot comes from beside me as blue infiltrates my vision. Their faces and voices are still blurry but hey at least I remembered something. I quickly shake my head and move back into my dance trying to appear normal

Straw hats pov

As she dances around the room coming to stand in front of. The table her eyes taking us all in with a smile on her face till she sees luffy. That’s when she freezes. A confused and distant expression crosses her face quickly, but as soon as it appears it disappears, the woman quickly regaining momentum and spins back into her dance. The straw hats all (besides luffy) silently look at one another making sure they all notice the pause. The music comes to an end, the woman exiting as a band replaces her now playing soft bar music, as everyone goes back to eating and drinking. The straw hats finish and decide to head out.

“Ahhhh that was amazing” luffy laughs rubbing his engorged belly.

“Agreed but did you see that woman's face when she saw luffy.?” Nami asks the group

“yeah she like froze or something” usopp adds

“Wait what?” Luffy asks

"Yeah when she was near our table did you really not notice luffy?” Sanji asks

“Yeah it was weird. How she,” but before Zoro can get out the rest of his sentence a yell of wait cuts him off. The crew all turn towards the voice to find the women now wearing a normal outfit jogging towards them.

“Please wait” canary says catching her breath

“How can we help you, miss?” Sanji Asks ever the gentlemen.

“Um, I'm sorry to bother you all but I was hoping I could speak to you, privately if possible.?”

The crew all look at each other before luffy interrupts and gladly invites the lady to the ship happily dragging her along the rest of the crew following

Canary’s pov

Night had fallen and the kitchen is filled with warmth, tea and snacks being handed out as the crew settles into listen to my story

“To start thank you for not thinking I’m insane, and let me formally introduce myself my names canary”

“Nice to meet you, canary. I'm monkey D Luffy and this is my crew.” The energetic brunette stats arms wide as he gestures to the others each one going down the line to introduce themselves

“Canary huh, got a last name to go with that?”, the green haired boy named Zoro asks.

“I don't actually that's kind of part of the reason I wished to speak to all of you.

“Zoro dont be rude go ahead ma’am start at the beginning”. Sanji scoulds Zoro before turning back to me

“Can you tell us why you need to speak to Luffy so badly?” Nami asks

“I know this is a strange question but none of you would happen to recognize me would you?”

The crew all look at eachother once more before all answering no.

“I should have known better.”

“Why do you ask?” Luffy asks now, invested in my story.

“Well about twenty years ago I was found on a beach after a storm. Some of the villagers nearby found me, treated my wounds and took me in.” I move my hair to show the kids the scar on my temple. “ I don't have any memories from before the storm but sometimes i get flashes of the past and one of them was a red haired boy wearing that hat.”

“That has to be shanks! Luffy says so excitedly, his whole being lighting up at the mention of this Shanks person.

“Shanks”

“Yeah hes the best,hes the one who made me want to be a pirate, hes also the one who gave me this hat.

“Really! then he could possibly know who i am.

“I mean yeah probably. He never forgets a face”

“Do you know where he is now or how to get ahold of him?”

“No unfortunetly, I haven’t really seen shanks in a little while. Hes out there sailing the grand line like us.”

Oh, is all i can get out a immense sense of sadness overcoming me at the possibility of knowing who i am is snubbed right in front of me

Strawhats pov

Looking at canary’s face luffy can help but to think of how to help her.

“Oh hey! I have an idea. why dont you join my crew?”

Everyone’s heads turn eyes going wide as they stare at the rubber boy.

“Really?” Canary asks the young kid

“Yeah any friend of shanks is a friend of mine besides were bound to run into him eventually i know it.”

Before canary can speak Zoro interrupts the over enthusiastic boy

“Luffy the grand line isnt a place for just anyone to travel around its dangerous especially for someone who’s just an entertainer no offense canary”

“I’ll try not to be but I will correct you and say I'm not just an entertainer. I happen to be a petty good sailer and im a marksmen, i'm not exactly defenseless” canary says pulling out the mini Gatling gun on her thigh

“Wow that's cool you know how to use that

“I do i even make my own ammo and everything, I can use a sword too but I'm not really an up close fighter unless I have to be.

“I want to see, I want to see” luffy cheers.

“I would be happy to show you all my skills if that would ease your minds, and besides I’ve traveled a lot looking for where I came from, and I've made friends at every island I’ve visited I can help you get around the grand line, help navigate which islands to go to and which to avoid.”

“Well guys i don't know about you all. But a beautiful talented woman is always welcome to travel with me,”Sanji says with a stricken look on his face as he gazes at Canary.

“I wouldn’t mind having another female around to Be honest.” Nami says wistfully.

“Hey im always for new friends” usopp joins. Everyone turns to Zoro the first mate being the final decider

“If she can actually defend herself and keep up then she’s fine by me”

“ALRIGHT!!!!” Ms canary welcome to the going merry.”

[maya-kholin]

Tav's Irresistible Dance

(a Baldur's Gate 3 fanfic)

Word count: 3k

Pairings: M!Tav x Astarion, platonic Tav + Gale, M!Tav x Halsin is there for exactly one sentence

Summary: Tav isn’t good at flowers and chocolate. He says “I love you” by murdering your enemies while calculating the maximum number of win conditions possible. But a communication error endangers his relationship with the very person he’s doing this for. Misunderstanding/angst, resolved by the end. (Note: Technically Tav x Astarion but Gale is there a lot. What can I say, they like nerding out about magic.)

Rating: T for brief suicide reference, swearing

Warnings: References to canon abuse, (brief/insincere) suicide threat, vampire feeding.

***

“Would you be willing to help me test a spell?”

Gale looked up to see Tav outside his tent, squinting as always in the daytime sun. He grinned and snapped his book shut. “Always happy to assist in the pursuit of arcane excellence. Hit me.”

“Okay, that’s even more enthusiasm than I expected,” Tav said with a look over his shoulder, “but I’d rather not do it here. Would you come with me?”

Tav led Gale some distance out into the woods. He pulled out his violin and checked the tuning. He’d sooner gut you than let you refer to him as a bard, but magic didn’t lie, and Tav relied on music to manipulate the Weave. “I don’t expect this to cause any pain, or have any lasting effects, but it could be… uncomfortable,” he said.

“Well, now I’m even more interested to see what you’ve come up with.”

Tav tucked the violin under his chin and touched bow to strings. “Try to throw me off.”

As the music closed in around him, Gale took note of its effect on the Weave. Enchantment, not terribly surprising given Tav’s knack for the school. But though it had the makings of a typical paralysis spell, Gale felt compelled to move. His feet moved and tapped outside of his control. He tried to force his arms to form arcane gestures, but instead, they swayed to the music. Incantations were swept from his lips, drowned out by the sound. It took him only a few moments to summon the will to resist, but in battle, those seconds would be precious.

“Marvelous!” Gale beamed. “I’m not quite sure of the benefits of modifying a hold spell in such a fashion, but it earns points for flair, certainly.”

“Do you…” Tav cleared his throat. “Do you think it would work on an undead?”

“Oh! Oh, I see. You’re wise to ask, my friend. The Weave interacts differently with undead flesh. It’s a particularly vexing problem. A hold monster spell can potentially stop a dragon in its tracks, but not… shall we say… a master vampire.”

Tav looked relieved. “Exactly. Yes.”

“I think you’re on the right track. Would you mind showing me your notes?”

Tav produced a bundle of papers. “Hope you read Under-Elven,” he said, handing them over. Lines of musical notation alternated with arcane diagrams, with notes and questions in the margins. 

“Oh, don’t worry, I will,” Gale said absently, already analyzing the diagrams. “This is fascinating! Yes… yes, I think it can work, but it needs some alterations. Would it be alright if I made some notes and got back to you?”

“I was hoping you’d offer. Thanks,” said Tav. “One more thing. Would you mind not mentioning this to Astarion? Actually…” He shifted on his feet. “Best to keep it entirely between us for now.”

“Hmm? Of course,” Gale mumbled, barely looking up from the notes. “Now, if you added a dash of Tasha’s sinister compulsion here…”

***

Late that night, Astarion returned from hunting to find Tav still at work in his tent. The smell of alchemical reagents hung in the air as he carefully filtered something foul into a small bottle.

Tav smiled when he saw Astarion enter. He greeted him with a kiss to the forehead and slipped the bottle into Astarion’s hand. “Remember,” Tav said, “bite first, then stab.”

“I’m not sure your poisons would do much to me, darling.”

“Maybe not, but swarming toadstool has an intensely bitter taste when extracted properly.” Tav grinned. “I laughed for a tenday when I learned topsiders just call this stuff ‘drow poison.’ Still, if you’re going to be infamous for something, might as well be something that works. Are you hungry?”

“If you don’t mind…”

“Let me tidy up first. Don’t want anything spilling or catching fire.” He did so, then settled into his bedroll and extended a hand to Astarion.

Tav slipped into his meditation before Astarion even finished. He’d seen the man meditate sitting up with one eye open, so this level of trust was… well, it was rewarding. 

He relaxed into Tav’s arms. It was nice being together like this, without the expectation of… other things. A very large and frightened portion of his mind screamed that it wouldn’t last, that he couldn’t really have this, but he buried himself in Tav’s scent and ignored it.

Both of them were startled to consciousness by an exuberant wizard. “I’ve got it!” Gale was shouting in the early morning light. He was brandishing a bundle of papers. “If you just apply Tenser’s enhancement to the base enchantment matrix – layer on a splash of necromancy – oh, good morning, Astarion. – then you should be able to entrap even a particularly powerful –”

Tav cut him off abruptly, taking the papers. “Thank you, I’ll have a look at this later. Did you sleep? I’m reliably informed that humans need sleep.”

“Why sleep when we’re on the cusp of magical innovation?” Gale wobbled slightly, his eyes bloodshot.

Tav plucked a bottle from his alchemical collection, checked the label, and handed it to Gale. “Take this. A sleepy wizard’s no good to me. I’ll ask Wyll to come with me today.” 

“Oh.” Gale looked a bit crestfallen.

“Just get some rest. I appreciate the help.” 

Astarion watched as Tav hastily tucked the papers away. He was being a little too protective of them. Was he hiding something? “What are the two of you up to?” he asked.

“Just writing a spell,” Tav said smoothly, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t want to bore you with the arcane details.”

“Well, what if I’m interested?”

“I’ll show it to you when it’s working,” Tav said. “Promise.”

***

“I’m not sure your modifications are going to work,” Tav said to Gale later.

“I’m really quite confident we’ve got the Weave structure right.”

Tav peered at the notes, now covered with extensive feedback from Gale in purple ink. “Far be it from me to question the arcane prowess of Mystra’s former Chosen,” he said carefully, “but I think you’ve forgotten one key element of bardic magic.”

“And what’s that?”

“Gale… it has to sound good.”

“I’m sure it will be fine! Give it a go, you’ll see.”

Tav shrugged and picked up the violin. Unholy screeching soon filled the air. “Alright, alright!” cried Gale, waving his hands as if to brush the awful sound away. “You make your point vividly. What do we do next, then?”

“I think I can work with this, but what it needs now is more music than magic… You will let me run this by you again, won’t you?”

“Of course, of course!” “And remember. Not a word to the others. Please.”

***

“Working on a spell”? Was that what they called it these days? Did he think Astarion wouldn’t notice him constantly sneaking off with Gale? Did giving him permission to sleep with Halsin, once, mean he was allowed to dally with the entire camp whenever he liked?

And… seriously? Gale?

No. No. There were those papers, after all. And he never had the scent of, ahem, dalliance on him. Nor had he ever mentioned being attracted to Gale, only expressed admiration for his talent for magic.

If Astarion could just get his hands on those papers, he could be sure, but that was easier said than done. Tav always carried them with him, including when he slipped away with Gale.

The only chance would be when Tav was meditating, but it would be an understatement to call him a light sleeper. Astarion would have to be incredibly quiet. Good thing he was good at that.

So, one night, when he was sure Tav was as close to unconscious as could reasonably be assumed, he very carefully drew the bundle of papers from Tav’s pack.

He felt a pang of guilt. Of course it was a spell. That much was clear. But then, why the secrecy?

He couldn’t make much sense of it, unfortunately. Every other page was lines of musical notes, each accompanied by a page with arcane diagrams and drawings of magical gestures. On the first page there was an empty space where you might expect a title to be written.

Astarion could read music, and it seemed like a pretty damned good song. Lively and upbeat, the sort of thing you’d want to dance to. But that was about all he could make out. Cazador had only ever allowed the spawn to communicate in Common, except as necessary to bring in their marks. Astarion’s knowledge of Elven was… atrophied, at best, and Tav’s Underdark dialect made his head spin. Infuriatingly, even Gale’s notes were in the same tongue. Add to that the advanced nature of the magical diagrams, and he simply couldn’t make head or tail of the spell’s purpose.

He carefully returned the papers. Good news: he’s probably not cheating. Bad news: he’s still hiding something.

But the idea of bringing it up filled his belly with ice. What if they had a fight? What if they broke up? Too risky. It’s… probably nothing. Right?

***

Weeks later, Tav and Gale shared a drink in a quiet corner of the Elfsong Tavern.

“Here’s to you, my friend,” Gale said, raising his mug. “I hope you’re proud of yourself. If I were submitting this for publication at the Waterdeep Academy, I’d list it as at least a sixth-level spell.”

“I am a bit proud,” Tav said, raising his mug in return and taking a drink.

“Not that I haven’t noticed you peeking at my spellbook when you think I’m not looking,” Gale added with a twinkle in his eye. “I think I deserve some of the credit.”

Tav laughed. “Never would have learned to counterspell without you.”

“Just ask next time.”

“I did!”

“Fair enough, so you did. I just wish we had a way to test it properly. On paper, it’s flawless. But lots of things are.”

Tav frowned. “Remind me again why a summoned undead won’t work.”

“It probably will work. That’s the problem. Powerful creatures have powerful resistances. We need to test it on the strongest undead we have access to.”

Tav put up his hands. “I know what you’re about to say–”

“I’m saying you should ask Astarion.”

“You’re talking about basically controlling him with magic.”

“It’s the only way to be sure we’ll succeed,” Gale insisted.

“I admit I’d like some insurance,” Tav said.

“Exactly. And I’m sure he’ll agree it’s for a good reason.”

Tav shook his head. “You may be right, but… no. Even if he does agree, I don’t want to ask it of him. Controlling him even for a few seconds is a boundary I don’t want to cross, not after what he’s been through.”

Gale sighed. “Fair enough. We’ll just have to wing it then. Although I thought I spied a strangely intelligent ghoul the other day…”

***

Baldur’s Gate at last. After going gods knew how long without the comforts of civilization, there were beds. With sheets. Oh, they were still crammed cheek by jowl in the upper floor of a tavern, but there were substantially fewer insects, at least.

The suspicion that Tav was hiding something still nagged at Astarion. So he’s getting a drink with Gale. So what. He’s allowed to have friends.

He’d thought about the tadpole, more than once, and hadn’t Tav peeked into his mind, early on? Discovered things Astarion wasn’t ready to reveal? But their relationship was different now, and Astarion wanted to deserve trust, even if Tav wasn’t exactly earning the same.

Astarion headed downstairs, definitely to see if any of the others were interested in a drink and definitely not to eavesdrop. Even though, with his extraordinary hearing, he might happen to pick something up.

There were Tav and Gale, off in a corner, thick as thieves. Astarion tried to block them out, but his own name made his ears perk up.

“...ask Astarion,” Gale was saying.

Tav’s voice responded. “You’re talking about basically controlling him with magic.”

Gale cut him off. “It’s the only way to be sure we’ll succeed.” 

“I admit I’d like some insurance,” Tav said.

“Exactly. And I’m sure he’ll agree it’s for a good reason.”

“You may be right…”

Astarion’s ears were roaring as he bolted from the dining room. Freezing cold panic gripped him. He couldn’t stand to listen to another word.

Shit. Shit. The spell was to control him. No wonder they kept it from him.

He could feel his freedom slipping away. And what was that nonsense Gale had said? “I’m sure he’ll agree”? To what? To lie down and play lapdog again for some vague notion of common good? Fuck that. Fuck him.

In his fear and rage he forgot the tadpole, the artifact. Forgot that he couldn’t leave. Knew that he had to leave. Now.

Their room was dark and empty, at least. As quickly and quietly as he could, Astarion began packing up his things. Was there anything else worth stealing, while he was at it…?

Suddenly he felt a prickle at the back of his neck, and turned. Diamond-bright eyes regarded him in the gloom. Damn that drow. Of course darkness was no obstacle to him – and he could be nearly as sneaky as Astarion when he wanted.

Tav approached him. “Babe, what’s wrong? I saw you running upstairs.”

Astarion lifted his nose in the air haughtily. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Tav’s face was composed. “I don’t know what you overheard, but at least give me the chance to fix it.”

“Don’t bother. I know the two of you are trying to – control me. Good little Astarion, as long as he’s on a leash, as long as he’s compliant. Point him at something you need stabbed, but don’t let him act out, oh no. Is that what you wanted all along? Was all of this a lie?” His voice was rising as the words spilled out. “Was all that rot about freedom just a smokescreen? Or maybe controlling me isn’t good enough. Maybe you want me out of the way. Plan to talk me into killing myself? Like you did that devil? Maybe I should make it easy for you.” He didn’t mean it, not really, but the panic that gripped him wouldn’t let him stop. What did finally give him pause was Tav’s face. Still level, not rising to the bait.

“Don’t push me away now, you damned fool,” he said softly, his voice heavy with affection. “Here. This is probably overdue.”

Lighting a candle for ease of reading, Tav spread the oh-so-familiar bundle of notes out on a desk. There were many more notes and annotations than the last time Astarion had looked, and the title had been filled in. Gale had written something that Tav had crossed out and replaced, and this much, Astarion very much could read. A Song for Cazador.

Following his eyes, Tav said, “Gale wanted to call it Tav’s irresistible dance, but I told him that’s boring and only wizards name things that way. A Song for Astarion would be strictly true but felt a little mean-spirited. So I decided to direct the meanness where it’s deserved.”

“I… don’t understand.”

“When we face him, we’re going to need an edge.” He said when, not if. “I promised you I’d help you kill him, and I meant it. That doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy. I asked Gale to help me design a spell that could paralyze an undead, and here we are.”

He did all this just to gain an advantage against Cazador? “Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think I’d be anything less than ecstatic that you were working on a weapon to use against my former master?”

“I didn’t tell the group because we need to be flexible in our battle plan. I can’t have you all standing around waiting for me to perform a miracle. We need to do anything and everything that wins us the fight, and that means not counting on me if something goes wrong. And…” He looked sideways at Astarion. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get your hopes up. To see your disappointment if I failed. Worse, to see you count on me in battle only to… lose you.” He shook his head. “I see now it was a mistake to keep it from you. I’m sorry.”

“Then… what were you two talking about just now?”

“We haven’t been able to test the spell on a powerful enough undead. Gale was trying to talk me into testing it on you – with your permission – but I said I didn’t want to ask. I don’t like the idea of controlling you. I don’t want to… be like him, in any way, if I can help it.”

Astarion took a breath, steadied himself. “I… see. Since you mention it, I would prefer you didn’t use me as your guinea pig, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay,” said Tav. “Then that’s the end of it.”

“Thank you. Not that I’m not suddenly extremely invested in the success of this spell,” he added, a bit of his usual rakish demeanor returning. He felt exhilarated, in fact. The idea that someone cared enough to invent a brand new spell for him? “An irresistible dance, you called it? That sounds positively delicious. Dancing like a puppet on strings… just like he forced us to do, for all those years.” He laughed in equal parts vengeful cruelty and relief.

Tav chuckled. “Kind of disgusting, right? And it shouldn’t work on just Cazador. I’m looking forward to using it.”

“Ooh, I’m looking forward to watching you, my dear.”

Tav laughed, then grew serious again. “Are you alright now? Really.”

“I really am. A few months ago I could never have pictured anyone doing something like this for me.”

“Thank me when it works.”

***

For far too long, the outcome of the battle was anything but certain. Cazador had endless minions to throw at them, and though Tav had immediately teleported to Astarion to free him from the ritual, the brief loss of his will had been all too painful.

But then, as Karlach’s axe rose and spattered yet more grimy undead blood through the air, Gale shouted. “NOW!” A practiced flick of the wrist, a tug on the Weave, to transform a possible glimpsed future into certainty. Tav nodded, and began to play.

And Cazador… began to dance.

And kept dancing.

He danced as he tried to melt into mist. He danced as Karlach cleaved through the last of his servants. He danced as Gale blasted bats out of the air. He danced as Tav advanced towards him, clicking his heels in time to the music.

“Understandable mistake to make,” Tav said. “You see, cattle don’t have thumbs.”

Looking upon his old master, Astarion felt not an ounce of pity to see him reduced to a jerking, helpless puppet. But he did feel… He looked over at Tav. “Stop,” he said. Tav nodded and ended the song with a final flourish.

And Astarion stepped forward and took his revenge.

*****

thank you for reading! in my fight against cazador I was salty hold monster wouldn’t work, so I said eff it and clicked otto’s irresistible dance. and he beefed his save for like three or four turns. I shot bats in front of him to assert dominance. it was awesome. I made it into a fic because I thought it was sweet to picture tav preparing for the fight, and then gale turned up.

dms: never let a divination wizard and a lore bard team up. “I cast Otto’s Irresistible Dance on the vampire.” “And here’s his saving throw.”

the magical technobabble is all made up and the only bits based in lore are the names Tasha and Tenser. under-elven is also 100% cope on my part because I refuse to believe there’s no linguistic drift between underdark peoples and their surface counterparts. likewise, astarion not speaking elven well is headcanon but I think I justified it pretty well.

anyways, try otto’s irresistible dance against cazador. or raphael. oh, you like to sing motherfucker? bet you wanna dance too then

[glitterp0prhaps0dy]

Riff and Carol

As Floyd felt himself slipping into the warm embrace of sleep, a sense of tranquility enveloped him. Everything around him was quiet, the perfect ambiance for a peaceful night's rest. But as he drifted closer to slumber, a nagging feeling tugged at the edges of his consciousness. It was too quiet—unnaturally so.

In an instant, Floyd's eyes snapped open, his senses suddenly heightened. The tranquility of the room shattered as he jolted awake, too quickly for his own good. With an audible "OW," he banged his head against the top bunk, a sharp reminder that reality could be far less forgiving than his dreams.

Grimacing, Floyd rubbed at the sore spot on his head, attempting to soothe the sharp ache. As he did, the distinct sound of slow clapping echoed through the room, drawing his attention. Turning toward the source, Floyd's gaze landed on an unfamiliar figure seated on the beanbag.

This new presence was a muddy blue-skinned Rock Troll with dull blue hair cascading around a face highlighted by a purple nose and vivid pink eyes. The troll's attire was a bold statement of rock and roll flair mixed with a unique twist. She wore a fitted, black leather jacket that glistened under the room's dim lighting, adorned with patches and studs narrating tales of musical escapades and nocturnal concerts. Her shirt, a daring piece with a vibrant cheetah print, was neatly tucked into a pair of tight, distressed denim jeans, creating a striking contrast that somehow worked perfectly together. Leather bands, each decorated with studs and chains, adorned her wrists, clinking softly with her every move, and adding a musical undertone to her presence. This troll, with her blend of rock-inspired fashion and the untamed essence suggested by the cheetah print, exuded the wild spirit of rock music with a flair all her own.

The troll offered Floyd a smirk, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Gotta admit, that was pretty funny," she remarked with an effortless cool, rising to her feet. Floyd, puzzled by this unexpected encounter, couldn't help but inquire, "Who...are you?"

With a flair for the dramatic, she paused for effect, radiating an air of mystery before playfully drumming on her knees as though building up to a grand revelation. "I am," she paused again, leaning in as if about to disclose the world's biggest secret, "the one, the only..." And then, with a swift shift back to her relaxed demeanor, she casually dropped, "Carol."

As she continued, her movements became a mesmerizing dance of shadows, her arms cutting through the air with purpose. Despite the laid-backness of her facial expression, her eyes sparkled with a sharp, unsettling intensity. "Skip the introductions," she murmured, her voice a dark, velvety whisper that seemed to echo around the room, creating an atmosphere thick with anticipation. Slowly, deliberately, she closed the gap between them, her presence looming like a storm cloud. "Floyd," she said, her voice dropping to a menacing growl, each syllable heavy with threat and dark promise, making the air around them feel charged with ominous energy.

Floyd's expression shifted to one of sheer terror, his voice barely a tremble, as if every word was a plea, "Please, don't hurt me—" He shrank back, attempting to vanish into the safety of his blanket fortress.

Carol's response was immediate and uproarious laughter. "Oh, you're a blast! I like your spirit. Relax, I'm not here to cause harm. I'm on friendly terms with Barb and... mami," she explained, her amusement still evident in her tone.

Floyd's confusion only deepened, prompting him to inquire, "Mami? Who's that?"

Carol paused, a sly grin playing on her lips, "Ah, right, this would be your first delightful encounter with me—the incomparable Carol. I refer to Rebel as 'mami' because she's practically the epitome of a mom friend, always looking out for us."

With surprising ease, Carol hoisted Floyd, settling him securely in his wheelchair. It became instantly clear—either she possessed considerable strength, or Floyd was remarkably light.

Without a moment's hesitation, Carol propelled them out of the room. Instead of taking the considerate path via the ramp designed for Floyd's convenience, she chose a more reckless route. They hurtled down the stairs, Floyd's screams of terror echoing through the space, a stark contrast to Carol's witch-like cackles of delight that seemed to thrive on the chaos of the moment.

The whirlwind of chaos showed no signs of abating for Floyd. Carol, with unbridled enthusiasm, whisked him into the kitchen. Clinging for dear life, Floyd's grip on the wheelchair arms was ironclad, his whole body vibrating with a mix of adrenaline and fear.

Carol's voice, lilting and loud, cut through the air, "MAAAAAMI~~ BEHOLD YOUR NEWEST TREASURE~~" Her sing-song announcement filled the room. Rebel was in the midst of pouring milk, Barb was somewhat ungracefully consuming cereal by bringing the bowl to her mouth, and an unfamiliar figure was also present. This new troll, with a violet-grey hue and long black hair, sported a red beanie adorned with devil horns, reminiscent of Rebel's usual headwear, his pink nose a splash of color amidst his dark attire.

Rebel greeted Carol's theatrics with a stoic glare, her expression a silent testament to her irritation with the morning's disruption, succinctly communicated by flipping Carol the bird.

Carol, feigning deep offense, clutched her heart as if wounded, barely concealing the laughter bubbling beneath her dramatics.

Carol danced her way over to Barb, a stream of chatter flowing from her that Floyd couldn't quite grasp. He quickly shook his head, trying to dispel his confusion. "Um... what's happening?" he ventured.

The male troll, whose eyes were completely obscured by the beanie perched on his head—Floyd couldn't help but wonder how he navigated his surroundings—gave a casual wave. "Hey, I'm Riff. You could say I'm the brother from another mother to Barb and Rebel," he introduced with an easy-going air.

Floyd exhaled a sigh of relief. Riff seemed far less whirlwind than Carol, and perhaps even approachably normal. However, as Rebel moved past Floyd to take her cereal into the living room, she dropped a comment that punctured his momentary comfort. "Just so you know, he loves playing with fire," she said, her voice carrying a hint of dry amusement.

Floyd's hope for finding a semblance of normalcy deflated, realizing it was a futile expectation in the realm of Rock Trolls. He maneuvered himself to grab his own breakfast, casting a squinted gaze towards Riff, curiosity getting the better of him. "So, how do you see with that thing covering your eyes?" he queried, unable to mask his bafflement.

Riff's smirk broadened, amusement flickering in his voice as he responded, "Ah, little dude, some things are better left a mystery."

From her outpost in the living room, Rebel's voice interjected, "RIFF, HE'S OLDER THAN YOU!" Quick as a whip, Riff shot back, "DOESN'T MATTER, LITTLE DUDE'S STILL SHORTER!"

Floyd couldn't help but chuckle quietly to himself; the dynamic among these four was nothing if not entertaining. Riff, after a satisfying stretch and a back crack, turned his inquisitive gaze towards Floyd. "So, little dude, what's the scoop with being a Pop Troll? Like, where do you all even hang?"

With a heavy sigh, Floyd shared, "We sing and dance to our upbeat tunes, trying to stay cheerful, kinda glossing over the grim fact that Bergens gobble a good number of us up every year."

Silence fell over the room like a thick blanket; all eyes landed on Floyd. Then Carol, breaking the silence with a tone mixed with shock and curiosity, blurted out, "WHAT THE FUCK IS A BERGEN!?"

Now it was Floyd's turn to be taken aback. "Wait, you don't know what Bergens are? They're like, our arch-enemies. Those giant creatures that captured us, the ones who have an entire holiday just to eat us for their so-called happiness—you've never heard of them?"

One by one, heads shook in disbelief, indicating a unanimous ignorance.

"Oh... whoa, I guess it's a Pop Troll thing then, the whole Trollstice ordeal, huh?" Floyd let out an uneasy chuckle, the atmosphere suddenly heavy with the gravity of his revelation.

An awkward silence enveloped the room, only broken by the soft buzz of the television in the background. Then, Riff finally broke the ice with a simple, "Gnarly."

Carol, who was rummaging through the fridge, looked up, puzzled. "Wait, so you're telling me you guys just... resign yourselves to fate? Just like that?"

"No, not exactly," Floyd hurried to clarify, feeling the weight of their stares. "We do what we can to resist during Trollstice. It's just... a lot of us don't make it."

The room fell silent again, all eyes fixed on Floyd, who could feel beads of sweat forming. Eager to shift away from the heavy topic, he blurted out, "SO, ANYWAYS, I USED TO BE IN A BOYBAND-"

Riff rose from his seat, his height and lanky frame becoming apparent, explaining his fondness for calling Floyd 'little dude'. He strolled over to Floyd, effortlessly scooped him up under his arms, and hoisted him into the air with a grin. "Sick," he exclaimed, his smile wide.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day unfolded within the cozy confines of the rock trolls' household, a haven of sorts that buzzed with the energy of its inhabitants. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the group gathered in the living room. It was a scene of calm chaos, with each troll finding their own way to contribute to the collective harmony of their unconventional family.

As the day progressed, Carol introduced the group to the art of tie-dye, a suggestion met with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The dining table was transformed into a kaleidoscope of colors and patterns, with each troll donning gloves and choosing their dyes. Floyd, with Carol's help, created a swirl of vibrant hues on his shirt, the activity bringing a splash of pop troll aesthetic to the rock-dominated household. Rebel's participation was more subdued, her chosen palette of blacks and greys a stark contrast to the others', yet she seemed content in their company, her actions speaking louder than her silence.

The afternoon brought with it a sense of nostalgia as Riff suggested they dive into a box of old board games. The competitive spirit was palpable as they navigated the twists and turns of each game, from strategic battles to hilarious misunderstandings over misunderstood rules. Floyd found himself laughing more freely than he had in a long time, his initial apprehension replaced by a feeling of belonging. Rebel, too, seemed to relax more with each roll of the dice, her strategic moves and rare smiles adding to the day's memories.

As evening settled in, the group congregated back in the living room, this time for a storytelling session. Barb regaled them with tales of rock troll legends, heroes of epic concerts and battles against silence. Floyd shared stories of pop troll celebrations, where music and color intertwined in a dance of joy. 

The day wound down with quiet conversations and shared reflections. They spoke of dreams,of fantasies, and of the music that tied them all together. Floyd, looking around at the faces illuminated by the soft lamp light, felt a profound sense of gratitude. Here, in this house filled with rock trolls, he had found an unexpected sense of community and understanding.

As the night drew to a close, Floyd couldn't help but feel that today had been about more than just passing the time. It had been a day of learning, of laughing, and of building connections that transcended their differences. Rebel, with her silent strength, Barb with her leadership, Carol with her boundless energy, and Riff with his laid-back charm, had all shown him facets of friendship he hadn't known he'd been missing.

And as he prepared for bed, Floyd realized that sometimes, the greatest adventures weren't about how far you traveled, but about the moments shared along the way.

As Floyd was blissfully sinking into the cozy depths of dreamland, his journey to snoozeville hit a sudden detour courtesy of Barb's insistent face poking. With the room enveloped in darkness, Floyd could barely make out her figure looming over him. He squinted up at her, annoyance mingling with sleepiness, and whisper-yelled, "What now?"

Barb, seemingly oblivious to the ungodly hour, pointed to his right ear with the seriousness of a detective cracking a case. "So, I noticed you've got an earring, and it's just on the right side."

Floyd, too groggy to grasp where this interrogation was leading, managed a confused, "And...?"

Barb leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Does that mean you're, like... gay or something?" Before the words were fully out of her mouth, Rebel's voice thundered from the top bunk, slicing through the night with the sharpness of a knife. "BARB! You can't just ask people that!"

The absurdity of the situation momentarily chased away Floyd's sleepiness, replacing it with a bewildered amusement. Here he was, trying to catch some Z's, only to be thrust into an impromptu seminar on ear piercing etiquette.

"Zip it and hit the hay!" Rebel's voice boomed from the top bunk, sounding like a grouchy l creature disturbed mid-slumber. Barb, embodying the spirit of a sulky teenager, grumbled back, "Fine, whatever, mom." Floyd couldn't help but let out a stifled giggle at this late-night sitcom episode unfolding in real life. The absurdity of being interrogated about his earring's social implications at this ungodly hour was just too much. As the ruckus finally died down, silence reclaimed the room, and one by one, they all surrendered to sleep's gentle embrace, hopefully with no more fashion accessory inquiries until morning.

“You still never answered my que-” “BARB SHUT UP AND GO TO BED”.

[tonydaddingham]

I was worried about sullying your original post because it's really good by itself but I've had a lot of thoughts about the Job mini-sode and how it compares to the the Final Fifteen so here goes:

The original reason I even thought to compare them is because I thought the track that plays while they’re talking on the beach - Fallen Angel sounded a lot like one of the songs at the end - either The Biggest Decision or The End?. I haven’t been able to pin down what parts exactly but they all scratch something in my brain.

There are a lot of the same beats between both scenes though.

Aziraphale resigns to a fate that he thinks is about to befall him. He obviously doesn’t want to, but recognizes that he has to. In Job, it’s because he feels it’s the appropriate punishment. In the FF, it’s for a myriad of reasons (to make a Heaven worthy of Crowley, to simply survive, to stand for what is Right - whatever your cocktail is).

Crowley implies that whatever decision he’s made won’t be good for him. “I don’t think you’d like it.” vs “We don’t need Heaven. We don’t need Hell. They’re both toxic.”

In Job, Aziraphale says that it has to be done because he’s thwarted the will of God. In FF, he’s actively working as soon as he hears about the Second Coming (if not sooner) to fight the will of God - or at least the VOICE of God.

“Nothing has to change.” - As far as Crowley is concerned, nothing has. Aziraphale has still chosen Heaven over ‘our side,’ which while it isn’t a phrase that’s used in the Job episode, I would say is the early seed of that concept.

What is Aziraphale? - In FF, He’s an angel without a halo. He’s going to be the Supreme Archangel, but the truth is, he’s exactly what Crowley tells him in the Job scene, and he knows it. He’ll go with Heaven as far as he can in order to meet his end goals.

Lonely- Pretty self-explanatory.

Some other little things that I noticed is the way they’re framed at the end of the Job mini-sode is similar to the end of episode 6. Now they’re shown from the back in the Job but they visually take up the same sides of the screen. There’s a large distance between them, and there’s a stark contrast in how much light is on Aziraphale’s side of the image (even the water on his side sparkles more) compared to Crowley. You have the same effect with the brightness of the elevator vs the darkness of the car. As an added bonus in the Job mini-sode, Aziraphale’s shadow covers Crowley, which again goes with a lot of the thoughts people have had about Aziraphale making this choice to go to Heaven to protect Crowley.

So what I’m saying is that I’m not completely on board that Aziraphale might Fall, but the scenarios are similar enough to my brain that it’s a distinct possibility. 

good morning my lovely!!!✨

gosh, this is such good meta!!! i have to admit - my audio processing is utter shite; i can pick up a leitmotif after a couple of watches, but otherwise unless i listen to the music in isolation, i won't pick up what particular song might be playing in a scene etc... so the fact that you even picked up similarities between Fallen Angel and the two big ones is insane to me!!! im rubbish at it!!!

i have to be honest with you on this too... when i wrote that post, i didn't even really look in any depth at the narrative comparison between job and the final fifteen - it just simply struck me that we've had a blatant reference to aziraphale falling (even if it was only by his own fear) that, as far as we know, hasn't been reckoned with again in the rest of s2 (im still 👀 at the BOL mention in ep6 but that's by-the-by)

so basically the fact that you've gone through it to pick up these similarities is so cool; thank you for doing it and sending it to me, because its a heck of a lot to think about!!! now i don't think aziraphale is going to fall in the sense that we'll actually see him fall, become a demon, and that's that etc - i think more the threat of it, potentially to the point of being physically/figuratively (who knows how the fall itself actually works, but im not taking crowley's work for nuffink) pushed, and some kind of incident that prevents aziraphale from actually completing the fall.

ultimately, we haven't actually - imo - seen anywhere where crowley has singlehandedly saved aziraphale directly when aziraphale absolutely needed saving (ie there was no way aziraphale could have saved himself), and i wonder if this might be such an occasion where we see that happen...?✨

[campterodactyl]

Drinking Game / Bingo

( special Indian movies)

1 sip every time :

- butt / abs / boobs shot.

- per outfit change during musical numbers

- product placement ( +1 if it's pepsi)

- dramatic sound effect

- wrist grab

- slap in the face

- almost kiss

- tilt of the mustache

- dizzying circular dolly shot

- ugly crying

- random instance of nationalism (Vande mataram! / Jai Hind)

- arranged marriage (+ 1 if it's between cousins)

- belly pinch

- way too much dust

- way to much wind ( fan obviously pointed at actors) +1 if indoors

- usage of sign language

- ref to antother existing indian movie / actor ( +1 if it's Titanic)

- freeze frame

-Man vs the machine (man wins)

- Screeching tires ( +1 on dirt)

- hey! ( ray)

- poor taste in jewellery (+1 for oversised watchband)

- bangles are the girls best friend

- eagles screeching

- color lenses ( +1 for men )

- ugly wig

- puncture tire to pick up girls

- off with their head !

- Menacing Tongue / finger

- caracter and actor have the same name

- the drag of the shirt from the back to signify being cool or about to get real.

- 5 years old level of manipulation *and it works*

Level hardcore :

- Glass breaks

- head bobble/wobble

1 Shot for:

- Intermission

- Random gratuitous guest appearance ( don't try this one with Om shanti Om, you've been warned..)

- Title drop

- Train scene

- Actually kiss

- Rain scene

Adding the sensitive ones behind the line

- suicide ( attempt / theat)

- rape (attempt/ threat)

[denimbex1986]

'Rating: ****

With Ralph Fiennes’ Macbeth in Liverpool heading to Edinburgh next month and David Tennant’s take on the bloody Scottish monarch officially installed in Covent Garden last night, we have the intriguing prospect of an English warlord laying waste to Scotland and a Scottish warlord wreaking havoc in London.

Perhaps they should both raise an army and meet half way to slug out who’s boss – in Leeds. The only trouble is that these two very cerebral thinker Thanes could well wind up calling a summit and reaching an entente cordiale.

Tennant has the advantage of experience handling the play’s supernatural voodoo from his time as Doctor Who.

But Shakespeare provided no Tardis or sonic screwdriver to defeat the witches who lure him into slaughter and doom. More seriously, the stand-out feature of Max Webster’s new production is not so much the acting as the minimalist production itself which is performed entirely to an audience wearing headphones hooked on every seat.

Yes, this makes it a bit like listening to an audio book or podcast with a illustrative performance attached. In the solemn, dourly Scottish staging, the whole cast wear black kilts and grey vests or polo-necks, with DM bovver-boots.

Eerie Celtic music is played from a gallery separated from the broad white platform of a stage by smoky glass – the portentous sounds of squawking crows, heavy breathing and plangent song are relayed to our headsets.

It’s very impressive. And yes, to use the phrase du jour, it’s ‘immersive’. But it does also get in the way and if you (rebelliously) take your headphones off you realise the actors are not immersed in the same sound scape as you.

This has the unfortunate effect of taking roughly 20 per cent off the performers’ intensity.

Tennant’s voice is of course a powerful instrument: Thick, resonant and classically trained with the added threat of sounding like a Scottish hardman.

But he’s also an inward looking, muttering Macbeth who’s forced to dial it down so as not to blow the mics. I found him more exciting when he takes the lid off late on and lets rip in battle. Until then he’s in danger of seeming more like an unstable office manager who no one’s sure how to handle.

Interestingly Cush Jumbo as his wife, Lady Macbeth, seems in her turn like a difficult colleague.

Their chemistry is cold, but compelling. From the start she seems to be suppressing a nervous breakdown and does indeed have a panic attack before her OCD hand washing right at the last.

Yes, the show has oodles of atmosphere, but it comes at the cost of separating us from the actors.

And yet, it’s so unusual and ambitious that Tennant probably has the edge on Fiennes. That’s why I’ve got to hand it to the whole company and hail this Macbeth as Thane of Covent Garden.'

[the-jade-jester27]

Heyo! I've been hyperfixating on my little universe again and I now have a rest of some very colorful Jesters!

I'll try to make it short but the basic background lore is that Xegas(the mom™) is a chaos god and made the jesters out of clay! They all have specific abilities, can teleport, and being children of a god, they are immortal and can only truly be killed by a god.

Anyway here's the characters!!!

Scarlet

She/her

Her special ability is that she's really fast

Is the second shortest

Clean freak

Likes to set things on fire

Just a little guy

Is commonly the eldest not because she was technically made first but for comedic effect

Vermilion - Ve

He/him

Special ability is sound manipulation

Is a little troll but he loves his family very much

Loves the water

Has five axolotls he takes care of(Coco, Hopscotch, Treyton, Monica, and Newton)

Very flashy

This man is a fruit

Loves all sorts of music

Has Nicknames for all of his siblings like Jade does but they are all food

This man has ADHD

Is the shortest and is very mad about it

Marigold - Mari

She/they

Special ability is to turn invisible and phase through walls

(I tried my best to make her look invisible spy TF2 style 😔)

Very deadpan

Likes to garden

History buff, specifically about weapons

Would stab someone with a pencil without remorse

Says things so wrong with a straight face

Comes up with really cool code names for her siblings that they use during missions she drug the rest into

Plays chess sometimes with Xegas

Jade

She/her

Special ability is just enhanced endurance and strength

Loves fighting

Has all sorts of nicknames for her siblings

Loves all types of reptiles

Would probably ask if pink panther was a lion

Looks like she would kill you, a cinnamon roll

Azure

He/they

Special ability is stretchy limbs

Family medic

Has severe anxiety

Really worried about his family

Has those glow-in-the-dark stars in his room

Has a beloved plush Moo Moo that helps them with anxiety

They pull on their horns (jester cap?) When extremely anxious

Family artist

Periwinkle - Peri

Genderfluid

Special ability is to clone herself

Loves cooking

Peri and Mari and twins

Always very optimistic about everything

Loves hugs

Is technically the youngest

(they were made last but all of them were brought to life at the same time so youngest on a technically)

Loves candy apples

Xegas

Genderfluid

Has all the abilities of their kids as well as matter manipulation

Loves his children very much

They call him mom

Likes making pottery

Takes sarcasm very seriously

I hope you enjoyed this! I would draw more but my tablet is being weird so this'll be all the digital stuff for a bit

Will respond extremely violently to threats no matter how insignificant they may seem

Has an odd accent (I cannot place where it's from but I do know doll is pronounced dawl and I think it fits)

Likes watching the sun rise and start gazing with Azure

Make sure you have a nice day today :)

Edit: Added more info + changed the character art for Xegas :D

[spudking]

Mini fic ask game thing: dealer’s choice for #11

things you said when you were drunk, korrasami

One of the advantages of living with a waterbender, Asami mused, was that you never ran out of ice. Although, as she'd found out the hard way, you did have to be specific as to what you wanted freezing after a certain point in the evening. It hadn't entirely been Korra's fault Asami had to admit; someone who at that point had had minimal experience of living with indoor plumbing and was completely hammered couldn't really be blamed for deciding to freeze the tap so that they could get ice on demand. The plumber had found it funnier than she had at the time.

The music and the rumble of conversation were still audible as Asami mixed up another pitcher of Kyoshi Island Ice Tea. It had been a hard few months, and they were finally all under the same roof again, without any imminent threats. A Equalist revival movement in Republic city, some acolytes of Unalaq in the North, some rowdy spirits in the East, they'd more than earned a night to blow off steam.

"no, no, seriously!" Korra's voice was just a smidge too loud, a clear sign the drinks were beginning to take effect. "I mean it!" "And you meant it a couple of months ago, but here we are!" Mako replied, tone fond. "Face it Kor," Bolin chimed in, "When it comes to this you're a big ol' chicken." "I..." Korra huffed. "Yeah, yeah ok. I am. Like, one day she's going to wake up and realise she doesn't have to settle for me, right?" Asami was grateful for the chorus of objections. "Settle my ass," Opal scoffed. "She could have anyone!" Korra protested. "Anyone except me," Bolin added. "Yeah, ok, fair, anyone except you two because you're mushy and sweet together." Korra conceded. "But like...I don't have a job and I don't really understand how the toaster works cos the White Lotus never taught me about electricty and I'm trying because Asami's job is like...electricity and stuff...but it turns out you've got to learn other stuff before you can learn stuff which is just unfair...she's just perfect. I love her, you know?" "Yes, Korra. We know." Opal sounded amused. "And we know she loves you too. You're not subtle about it." "So you think I should do it? I should ask her to marry me?"

Asami nearly dropped the pitcher.

"Obviously," Mako said. "We've been all for it since before you first started rambling about it. Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not right now! Make it something at least a little special, not like you're asking for her to get more snacks!" "Good plan. Although we should also get more snacks."

Asami took a moment to try wipe the smile off her face, grabbing a pack of Korra's favourite seaweed crisps in her free hand before rejoining them in the living room. "Refills!"

There was a spare seat next to Korra on the sofa, but Asami, hostly duties complete, opted to plonk herself on Korra's lap instead, pulling her in for a kiss. "What was that for?" Korra asked a little dopily, hair sticking up at odd angles from where Asami's fingers had run through it. "For being you."

She ignored the looks from the others. They'd not ratted her out for having almost the same conversation a few weeks back, after all.

[fearsmagazine]

GODZILLA MINUS ONE - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: Toho International

SYNOPSIS: Set in a devastated post-war Japan, the country is still recovering from the scars of the past as a new threat appears. Koichi Shikishima and colleagues are dealing with devastated homes and issues over the lost war. Filmmaker Takashi Yamazaki asks the question of what happens when a disarmed and defenseless Japan encounters Godzilla.

REVIEW: I am a child of the Toho Monsters. When I was a kid, old enough to go to the local cinema on my own, the Saturday matinees were either classic universal monster movies or Toho giant monster movies. I never saw the 1954 film in a theater, only later as a teen on television. I built and painted an Aurora Godzilla Model kit, of course the one with the glow in the dark pieces, as well as a few of the other giant monster kits. Those films hold a fond place in my memories alongside the classic Universal monster films and the films of the legendary Ray Harryhausen. The best way I can describe my experience of viewing GODZILLA MINUS ONE is I had a reawakening of the awe and wonder of experiencing those films of my youth.

I loved what Yamazaki does with the narrative. At its core the film is about consequences and taking responsibility for one’s actions. Set against the backdrop of post WWII Japan, Koichi Shikishima is a kamikaze pilot who returns home to find his village destroyed and his parents dead. He is plagued by survivor's guilt and tries to subdue his demons by caring for a woman and orphan. The plot focuses on his relationships, the work he finds and when the United States' Operation Crossroads nuclear tests mutates the creature, the lengths he will go to protect the ones he loves and put his ghosts to rest. The film is rich with the social and political themes of the period, and Yamazaki does an excellent job of making them germain without being preachy. He does a marvelous job of finding the emotional sweet spot to engage the audience and transcend cultural differences. Many of the secondary characters feel drawn from the vast mythology of the Godzilla mythology, but feel fresh and sincere. Likewise there are several scenes that pay homage to the 1954 film and the mythology that will invigorate the fans.

The cinematography and visual effects are mind blowing. Yamazaki strikes a balance between logic and the history of the films in the franchise, and still manages to find some fresh and innovative concepts. I loved the way he presents moving in the ocean, how he walks on land once mutated, and the cool new sequence when he unleashes his nuclear blast. Even though it is fantastical I felt they put a lot of thought into the logic of the film. As much as they put into Godzilla, the vision and care that went into the design of the period designs, ships, aircraft, and machinery was flawless. Life action woven with the sound design and visual effects added gravitas to the scenes. I felt that Godzilla was chewing up and hurling life sized boats and trains, and rampaging buildings. The first scene where we encounter Godzilla feels like a homage to Harryhausen’s creatures in the creature's body posture and how it attacks the soldiers.Moreover, there is an aspect to the military hardware that ever so slightly has an aspect to their movement that feels like the hardware of the live action films. It’s like a modern dance number that has some classic choreography movements reimagined.

I loved, loved, loved Naoki Satō’s score. It creates a specific atmosphere to this story and cast of characters and at key moments he seamlessly transitions into the classic Godzilla themes by Akira Ifukube. I had totally forgotten about those pieces as I was so engrossed in the film so that when they hit I had goosebumps. If you are fans of the music you’ll want to sit through the credits as it is a feast for the ears.

GODZILLA MINUS ONE has a magnificent,ensemble cast. They balance comedy and tragedy with superb execution. I was emotionally engaged, I laughed numerous times and was mesmerized by their awe and shock. The young actress who plays the ward of Kōichi and Noriko is just so damn cute. The supporting cast creates these characters that are reminiscent of other characters from the Godzilla universe without feeling cliched. They feel grounded and genuine. They do an amazing job of taking the viewer on this epic journey.

First, GODZILLA MINUS ONE is the only film I’ve seen in 2023 that I would pay to see in a theater again. Second, it is so well balanced that The Criterion Collection should start working on their special edition now. It clearly is a rare Japanese masterpiece alongside the films of Akira Kurosawa, Yasujiro Ozu, and, of course, Ishiro Honda, to name just a few.

I like the Warner Bros. and Legendary Entertainment giant monster films. However, those films are all about the special effects and the blockbuster/visual effects element taking precedent. They’re unbalanced as I’ve never felt emotionally engaged by the characters, or felt their peril or jeopardy. GODZILLA MINUS ONE is a well rounded film that immerses the viewer in the experience and is emotionally engaging.

Thank you to the Japan Society in New York City for the advance press screening.

Until Toho capitalizes on the success of this film, and Takashi Yamazaki has expressed an interest in doing one more film, you’ll be able to get America’s “Big Mac & Fries” equivalent of a giant monster film with “Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire” slated for March 2024 and the Apple+ TV series “Monarch: Legacy of Monsters” is currently streaming.

CAST: Ryunosuke Kamiki, Minami Hamabe, Yuki Yamada, Munetaka Aoki, Hidetaka Yoshioka, Sakura Ando, and Kuranosuke Sasaki. CREW: Director/Screenplay/Visual Effects - Takashi Yamazaki; Based on Godzilla by Ishirō Honda; Producers - Minami Ichikawa, Kazuaki Kishida, Keiichiro Moriya & Kenji Yamada; Cinematographer - Kôzô Shibasaki; Score - Naoki Satô; Godzilla Theme - Akira Ifukube; Editor - Ryûji Miyajima; Visual Effects - Kiyoko Shibuya OFFICIAL: godzilla-movie2023.toho.co.jp INSTAGRAM: www.instagram.com/godzilla231103 TWITTER: twitter.com/godzilla231103 TRAILER: https://youtu.be/r7DqccP1Q_4?si=q7eMpsyeOvoGjkx1 RELEASE DATE: In theaters December 1st, 2023

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay), or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[alexandriaisburning]

037: Satryn

A deliberate homage to Eugene Jarvis and Larry DeMar’s Robotron: 2084, Satryn initially feels almost too faithful to the original. It’s that close imitation that makes the differences starker, turning it into a companion that draws into focus how little aesthetic choices can drastically alter the feeling of what initially seem to be simple games.

Instead of modern analog movement and aiming, Satryn uses strictly digital 8 way movement and shooting. It goes against the assumptions of the modern twin stick shooter, but what it loses in finesse it gains in precision and readability. A similar philosophy drives the visuals. Backgrounds are stark black fields, with enemies coming in high contrast colors and silhouettes, making it simple to discern them at a glance. Each enemy has a distinct behavior, and a smart player will quickly learn which ones to prioritize.

Dotted among the hazards and enemies are Friends, small smiling creatures who you’re here to save from their banishment. Each friend saved gives a small boost to your score multiplier, which becomes important not only for scoring, but survival, since a random powerup will be generated at certain score intervals. These range in usefulness, from bursts that push enemies away, to adding directional coverage, fire speed, or giving you a shield that allows you to take an extra hit. 

Satryn demands a certain amount of adaptability, since powerups, hazard and enemy placements are randomized every run, keeping you from memorizing stages or developing repeat strategies. It generally works in the game’s favor, since the score based focus and lack of ending keeps it replayable. It’s only occasionally an issue where the random generation can cause wild swings in difficulty, with certain enemy combinations being overwhelming, or the random nature of shield bonuses essentially giving you an extra life through sheer luck. 

It’s also worth giving special attention to the soundscape. Satryn has no background music, instead the atmosphere is made entirely of the arpeggiated synth sound effects, and cold hum of this prison planet. There’s a surprisingly detailed use of directional audio, too, with the sounds of enemies and explosions tracking across stereo channels, adding to paranoia with a sense of danger approaching on all sides. 

This reaches a crescendo after you’ve lasted a few waves, where the diamond shaped Wardens that have previously watched from the game marquee enter the playing field. An audio countdown is initiated, before they burst from the sidelines and drop into the arena, approaching with their intimidating size and multiple layers of armor that need to be dismantled before attacking their core. It’s a terrifying reversal of expectations that suddenly projects another layer of uneasiness into future runs. What you previously believed to be a decorative element were actually sentient beings, observing you and deciding when they need to step in. 

Taken with the background fiction and enemy profiles gradually unlocked in the in-game manual, it provides an interesting subtext to the story, especially when compared to the fiction set up by the original Robotron. Robotron had you playing as a superhuman, the result of a genetic engineering error, saving members of the last surviving human families from an army of robots whose calculations have shown that humanity is its own greatest threat, with the only way to protect humanity being its destruction. The last human family has distinct roles of father, mother and child that mirror a stereotypical nuclear family.

By contrast Satryn’s protagonist, the Former, and the friends you save are considered Invalids, tossed onto the prison planet of Satryn to be disposed of by the creatures in its ecosystem. While Robotron draws on sci fi works like 1984, and fears of technology making human life obsolete, and disrupting the nuclear family, there’s an almost queer subtext to Satryn. Robotron’s menace is artificial, cold and calculating, while Satryn’s enemies are very much organic, splattering into streaks of color with each shot, reproducing and leaving traces of themselves in the arena’s aftermath. 

There’s malice in Satryn’s fiction, where extinction comes not from machine logic, but systematic exile and extermination. Satryn’s Wardens have sent you and your friends to this planet to watch you die, and they step in when they’ve decided it’s taking too long to happen. Intentionally or not, Robotron carries heteronormative assumptions about what the family looks like, with an inherent optimism that the same technological faults that bring upon our destruction can enable us to resist against it. Satryn’s Former is instead exiled by their genetic defects, using the powers granted by it to protect their friends. Even the name feels loaded, with the Former pointing to their status as an ex-human, someone who used to belong to society, or someone who underwent a great change. 

 Maybe that’s projection on my part, but there’s something about the fiction of Satryn that resonates with me. Robotron was painted in the colors of kitsch, the fiction little more than a backdrop for action unfolding. And still it came with assumptions about what the future looked like, and what was worth protecting. Decades later Satryn has provided a companion piece that, intentionally or not, reexamines those assumptions. 

Satryn is available for free on itch.io and Android. A "Deluxe" version is available on Steam with online leaderboards.

[rollerwavegallery]

Cable TV Memories (2021)

This is a staple of the Rollerwave genre, a fundamental building block. If Dan Frost’s “To Every Man” is the Eccojams of Rollerwave, then “Cable TV Memories,” lovingly crafted by enigmatic Milwaukee artist The Homecoming, is its Floral Shoppe- an album which defines the genre extremely well. If you’ve ever wondered what straight Rollerwave sounds like, this is it. 

These are the sounds of a world so distant it is barely recognizable as our own. In fact, all signs point to it not being our own. This is a parallel universe of disposable smooth jazz, the kind of music that without a good deal of reverb and other effects is instantly forgettable, yet within the hands of a master craftsman like The Homecoming becomes something more, a delightfully twisted mutation. This is postmodern elevator music, always with a sinister hint behind it, a paratext to decipher. Trumpets and acoustic guitar whisk the listener into a television-induced coma from which there is no recovery. 

The Homecoming has been compared, time and again, to The Caretaker, seeing as “Cable TV Memories” came out post-Everywhere At The End Of Time. I think this comparison is missing the point, though. While both albums are ambient, and both utilize the remixing of contemporary music to create otherworldly effects, I’ve found that The Homecoming’s usage of 1970s samples is particularly otherworldly, and what with the 1970s being more recent than the subject material of EATEOT, I think Cable TV Memories ironically creates a greater distance between the modern and the retrospective.

The commercials The Homecoming intersperses throughout the album, too, serve to create subtle hints of alienation. far from benign, these are strategically placed to give the listener a sense of growing dread and unease. A storm warning that demands the viewer continue normal activities despite the looming threat. An ad which, in a sublime coincidence, advertises a false impression of the 1950s as a flawless, halcyon utopia, in the same way modern genres like vaporwave advertise the 1980s. An ad which literally tells the listener that Chuck Mangione is going to make them feel good, reinforcing the idea that music is a paralyzing drug designed to distract us from the problems of the modern world, and that, whether we want to or not, we’re sinking deep into the couch cushions while the TV continues playing. 

The samples within the album are altered just enough such that they’re rendered dreamlike and surreal, though not enough to rob them of their lifeless corporatism. As the title of the album suggests, it deals narratively with the introduction of networks like HBO for the first time into regions like Chicago and New York- a historical event of the 1970s which would later give rise to the modern cable infrastructure we all use today. 

Despite its detached, ironic existence, the album creates a sense of relatability between the monotony of flipping through TV channels late at night and finding nothing good to watch and the more modern experience of mindlessly scrolling through your Instagram or Twitter feeds and finding nothing of real significance. All entertainment is the same, when you get right down to it, an anesthetic to dull the mind and remove pain, and music is no different. This is a painfully honest realization, and The Homecoming achieves what few other participants in the Rollerwave sphere have been able to achieve- a legitimate deconstruction of the 1970s as an era through the balance of sampling and effect. For that reason, I highly recommend this album, it’s an underrated gem and far, far more people should be aware of it. It will change you.

[grayintogreen]

WIP Wednesday

I'm plugging away at chapter six right now. I'm not gonna hit 75k before tomorrow, but I DID hit 50k mid-month so I absolutely was successful at NaNo. Also the first arc of this fic and the prologue is going to be over 100k, so uh... I'm sorry? You knew what you were getting into.

ANYWAY. Here's a bit of a Widomauk scene from Chapter Five, featuring Czech as Infernal, since the Jester comic decided it and I'm chill enough to adapt it into my lexicon and give it an explanation.

There were some things you just couldn’t say in Common that would have the same effect as they would in another language, so Molly swore under his breath and said, “Jeden myslel, že si uprdne a posral se.”

Caleb looked momentarily alarmed at the guttural words that somehow managed to always sound like a threat even when all he was saying was nonsense. “Was?”

“’Once a man thought he would fart and then he shit himself instead,’” Molly translated with a twist of his upper lip. “Does not have the same ring to it in Common as it does in Infernal, but it’s true enough. You can’t spend your whole life contemplating your navel about what you thought should happen because thinking is useless. It happened. We’re here. This is what we’re dealing with. It’s not ideal, but it’s not terrible either.”

Caleb slowly blinked at him, as if he was missing the point entirely, and so Molly added, leaning closer with a wry little smirk and a casual flick of his tail so that he would get the full weight of his meaning. “So, Mr. Caleb, maybe look at the ocean and just see the ocean.”

The laugh that came from the wizard- his wizard- was more musical than it had any right to be. He caught Molly’s flicking tail and traced the ridges with a calloused thumb in a way that made his toes curl unfairly in his boots. “Will you be saying that when we have nothing but ocean and all of the time in the world to think about what we could have done better and how much more we have yet to do?”

Molly shrugged. “Thinking never gets me anywhere. I do a lot more of it than I once did, but gods does it just bring down the whole vibe of a moment.” He rested his chin on Caleb’s shoulder, tilting his head so not to stab him with his horns while Caleb continued to massage the sensitive flesh of his tail, sending little shockwaves of pleasure up his spine. He bit his lip, his eyes going half-lidded in coquettish glee. “Wanna hear something else in Infernal?”

“Does it involve shitting yourself?” Caleb lifted an eyebrow, his blue eyes sparkling with a bit of mischief. He looked so much lighter than he had when they first entered Nicodranas. If Molly wanted to overthink it, he’d probably place the cause on Jester and Marion- he’d burned their home down and yet they were still together, stronger than ever. He wasn’t the monster that destroyed families. He wasn’t a monster at all.

And yet every decision he made seemed to come from a place of either wanting to prove it or ramming himself against the temptation to prove that a few good turns would not undo years of mistakes and poor choices and conditioning.

But he didn’t want to think about any of that. If it became a pattern, then perhaps a little cornering, a little corralling back towards the light, but why ruin a moment by trying to explain away the light or fear what would dim it?

“Láska je láska. To se nedá vysvětlit,” he recited. He’d learned both phrases from Jester during a time when it became extremely obvious that everything he knew about Infernal and his own heritage was instinct. He understood the words and spoke them fine, but there were a few turns of phrase that didn’t come easily to his instinctual memory that made him squint when Jester used them. She had said it wasn’t necessarily his fault (or Lucien’s for that matter)- she knew these things because she was an eighth generation tiefling on her mother’s side. They still carried Infernal culturally, right down to the accent, rather than merely as part and parcel to their natural lineage.

Love is just love. It can never be explained. It was her favorite phrase. Her mother had taught it to her over and over again until she knew it by rote and could recite it like a daily prayer. You didn’t think about love. You didn’t analyze it. You didn’t worry about it. You just let it be.

Caleb, despite his love for the spoken and written word, didn’t ask for the translation, which seemed appropriate. Even in a foreign tongue, the meaning was clear and to ask would be to contradict it.

And there were some things Molly wasn’t willing to let be contradictory.