#words beles

[monster-noises]

I love second hand book shops, I got to them frequently and always leave with Something and have a good time just peakin around

But i gotta say

It's one of the Worst spots for me in terms of imposter syndrome

I feel like everyone's uneasey with my presence as though i'm a stranger who just stumbled into their inner sanctum and they're.. they're gunna let me stay but they're gunna be weirded out the whole time and breath a sigh of relief when the Strange Unwelcome Freak Leaves

It also happens at record shops and sometimes at small antique shops or cons+festivals

Just this immediate foreboding of being Angrily Tolerated in a Space I Don't Belong

[estellamila]

Öğlen düştüğüm Curriculum vitae cehenneminden hâlâ çıkabilmiş değilim. Belim koptu :/ Tabi bu bilgi sizi niye ilgilendirsin. Ben size iyi geceler dileyeyim.

Sadece isimleriyle bile günün anlam ve önemidjcksks anlatan iki şarkı bırakayım:

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Good morning Tumblrs I'm mixing it up for this one and we are going VERTEBRATE. As an experiment this time I'm giving slightly more explanation so I'll stick the etymology notes at the end let's go let's go

Okay, so in order:

Madyn. From the Irish madaidh, but became a given name - Welsh does sometimes give actual NAMES to animals

Cadno. It literally means 'battle-knowing' but it's also a woman's given name, so same again

Bele Coch. Bele is slightly tricksy to translate and do justice, but it's Latin derived ('feles') and can be applied to either cats or mustelids or anything else that can slink and be agile. Bele'r coed is pine marten, for example. Here it's a red slinky creature

Siôn blewyn coch. Sort of a joke name, from a song

Llwynog. Llwyn can mean grove, and foxes are naturally forest creatures, but in the interests of completion I should mention that it can also mean bush (and is traditionally used in Welsh poetry to refer to women's pubic hair). So it might be describing the tail.

Siân slei bach. The feminine of Siôn blewyn coch, used for a vixen. I believe from the same place.

Canddo. Not the only word to be corrupted like this in Welsh. My favourite example is Cardiff, actually - originally Caerdyf, meaning fortress on the Taff. But over time it's become Caerdydd - fortress of the day

***

So! One of these is fake! I am lying through my teeth about one of these! BUT WHICH ONE?

[bellaofthevalley]

Stellaron Hunters: Singing Dove

Content warning: yandere themes, polyamorous relationship, reader is gender-neutral.

It starts with a chase. 

It always starts with a chase. 

You run through the cold, deep snow. Dried leaves and twigs hiding under the snowy blanket crunch beneath your boots, and the little cracking noises they cause makes you want to cry painful, heaving sobs that shake through your frame. 

The moon hangs high in the sky, your singular source of light. You are so deep within this frozen wasteland, not even Belebog's lights show on the horizon. 

A perfect place for them to hunt you. But hunt truly is too kind of a word; a prey has at least a singular, sliver chance of survival. You are merely a toy between their clutches, ever so often placed in a new playground for their amusement, but at the end- 

You will be back with them. It is, after all, part of the script. Always, always, always- 

You stumble and fall on your hands and knees with a painful gasp, foot catching within viney branches that dig into your boots and pants. You'd been running so much, for so long, you hadn't even realised just how out of breath your poor lungs were. 

In, and out. In, and out. In, and out.

You take in one, last big breath before finally looking back to get your foot out of the vines and hopefully, with the mercy of Qlipoth the Preservation and any Aeon that will listen, escape from this hellhole- 

Only to meet two red piercing eyes staring at you from such darkness, not even the moon could disperse it. Peering, watching, waiting. 

"No!" The frightened scream tears itself out of your throat, and your lack of breath and aching foot are forgotten entirely. In the distance, among the flying crows and skittering spiders, you heard the tinkling laugh of a woman.

Everything is dangerous. Everything is dangerous. Everything is dangerous-

He tells you everything is dangerous as he sharpens a sword, cracks going through its cold blade like broken glass. His voice is low, but his eyes are staring straight at you. Gazing, scrutinizing, waiting. 

How many days, weeks, and months have you spent with them now? With him? You know his past by now, something he'd confided in you in the lonely, dead hours of the night, where you craved interaction even from someone like him. When he would crave interaction from you, would seek you out and hoard your time with the excuse that Kafka demanded he needed you to heal him and soothe his mara-struck mind with your singing, nimble fingers unwillingly going through his hair. 

Everything is dangerous, Bǎo bèi. You will stay here with us.

She tells you everything is dangerous without telling you. You are on her lap, so shamefully naked and exposed yet she lounges against the tub as if the world is her oyster to pick, hands on your waist and nails slightly dragging against your skin until there are raised goosebumps trailing up your body. 

It might as well be her world to rule. 

You will not leave, my darling. She says with the softest laugh, burying her pretty face in your tender throat and kissing your skin. Her perfume still clings to her skin, leaving your mind hazy and muddled- all thoughts of your burning homeland they took you from washing away until all you can think of is her, her, her. She's a devil and a devil hunter; she is a spider that has spun into a web you can see neither the start nor end of, demands your songs as if you, your songs and voice all belong to her. 

Everything is dangerous, my lovely. You will not leave, not now nor ever.

You run and run, boots so torn every twig and rock digs into your delicate skin. You are crying, too, stumbling against trees and branches. The noise that comes out of your throat is half-sob, half-prayer. Mercy, oh Aeon, grant me mercy. 

You speed past the forest. It does not matter where you are, only that you leave. There are so many snapping noises, but all of it is from your running so you- you are sure you are safe- 

No more trees, and the lights from Belebog now shine like the very stars of hope. So close now, and freedom tastes so unbelievably sweet on your tongue. You reach a hand out- 

And fall down again, staring up at the star-less sky with wide eyes and a frantic heart. 

No twig or branch made you fall. 

Spider webs did. 

The moon is so beautiful.

"The moon is so beautiful, isn't it, my darling?" 

Kafka looks down on you, kneeling down by your side. Her pretty eyes gleam in the encroaching darkness, mouth stretched into a small smile that is anything but kind. 

Yet her touch is so very gentle when she cups your face, wipes away the lone tear trickling down your cheek. She is even gentler when she leans down to kiss the corner of your lips, this time tasting your second tear. 

It makes her sigh, so awfully fond. The spider web clings to your body, crawling up your limbs. You are unaware of Blade slowly coming out of the woods, your focus entirely on Kafka. 

"You tried your very best," she croons, voice low and soft. Her smile widens, thumb swiping across your chapped lips, smoothing out the furrowed lines between your brows. "But it wasn't enough, was it? It will never be enough, either. But, oh, how beautiful you looked as you ran and ran, so fully convinced you even had a small chance of success… like a frightened rabbit. Isn't that right, Bladie?" 

Blade's silence is unsurprising, and you are glad for it as you finally descend into sobs, turning your head away from her even as her hand chases your face. All of it… was just an illusion? All of it? 

"Carry them, Bladie." Kafka orders, chuckling. She plays with your hair for a few seconds, humming before she kisses you, kisses under your lashes, one last time and gets up. "Carry them home, where they belong." 

 It ends with you back in their arms. 

It always ends with you back in their arms. 

Masterlist.

[newskin4theoldceremony]

DARKNESS AT THE BREAK OF NOON SHADOWS EVEN THE SILVER SPOON THE HANDMADE BLADE THE CHILDS BALLON ECLIPSE BOTH THE SUN AND MOON TO UNDERSRAND YOU KNOW TOO SOON THERE IS NOW SENSE IN TRYING POINTED THREATS THEY BLUFF WITH SCORN SUICIDE REMARKS ARE TORN FROM THE FOOLS GOLD MOUTHPIECE THE HOLLOW HORN PLAYS WASTED WORDS PROVES TO WARN THAT HE NOT BUSY BEING BORN IS BUSY DYING TEMPTATIONS PAGE FLIES OUT THE DOOR YOU FOLLOW FIND YOURSELF AT WAR WATCH WATERFALLS OF PITY WAR YOU FEEL TO MOAN BUT UNLIKE BEFORE YOU’D DISCOVER THAT YOU’D JUST BE ONE MORE PERSON CRYING SO DON’T FEAR IF YOU HEAR A FORIEGN SOUND TO YOUR EAR ITS ALRIGHT MA I’M ONLY SIGHING AS SOME WARN VICTORY SOME DOWNFALL PRIVATE REASONS GREAT OR SMALL CAN BE SEEN IN THE EYES OF THOSE WHO CALL THAT MAKE ALL THAT SHOULD BE KILLED TO CRAWL WHILE OTHERS SAY DON’T HATE NOTHING AT ALL EXCEPT HATRED DISILLUSIONED WORDS LIKE BULLETS BARK AS HUMAN GODS AIM FOR THEIR MARK MAKE EVERYTHING FROM TOY GUNS THAT SPARK TO FLESH COLORED CHRISTS THAT GLOW IN THE DARK IT’S EASY TO SEE WITHOUT LOOKING TO FAR THAT NOT MUCH IS REALLY SACRED WHILE PREACHERS PREACH OF EVEIL FATES TEACHERS TEACH THAT KNOWLEDGE WAITS CAN LEAD TO HUNDRED DOLLAR PLATES GOODNESS HIDES BEHIND ITS GATES BUT EVEN THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES SOMETIMES MUST HAVE TO STAND NAKED AND ALTHOUGH THE RULES OF THE ROAD HAVE BEEN LODGED ITS ONLY PEOPLES GAMES YOU GOT TO DODGE AND ITS ALRIGHT MA I CAN MAKE IT ADVERTISING SIGNS THAT CON YOU INTO THINKING YOURE THE ONE THAT CAN DO WHATS NEVER BEEN DONE THAT CAN WIN WHATS NEVER BEEN WON MEANWHILE LIFE OUTSIDE GOES ON ALL AROUND YOU YOU LOSE YOURSELF YOU REAPPEAR YOU SUDDENLY FIND YOUVE GOT NOTHING TO FEAR ALONE YOU STAND WITH NOBODY NEAR WHEN A TREMBLING DISTANT VOICE UNCLEAR STARTLES YOUR SLEEPING EARS TO HEAR THAT SOMEBODY THINKS THEY REALLY FOUND YOU A QUESTION IN YOUR NERVES IS LIT YET YOU KNOW THERE IS NO ANSWER FIT TO SATISFY ENSURE YOU NOT TO QUIT TO KEEP IT IN YOUR MIND AND NOT FORGET THAT IT IS NOT HE OR SHE OR THEM OR IT THAT YOU BELING TO BUT THOUGH THE MASTERS MAKE THE RULES FOR THE WISE MEN AND THE FOOLS I GOT NOTHING MA TO LIVE UP TO FOR THEM THEY MUST OBEY AUTHORITY THAT THEY DO NOT RESPECT IN ANY DEGREE WHO DESPISE THEIR JOBS THEIR DESTINY SPEAK JEALOUSY OF THEM THAT ARE FREE DO WHAT THEY DO JUST TO BE NOTHING MORE THAN SOMETHING THEY INVEST IN WHILE SOME ON PRINCIPLES BAPTIZED TO STRICT PARTY PLATFORM TIES SOCAIL CLUBS IN DRAG DISGUISE OUTSIDERS THEY CAN FREELY CRITICIZE TELL NOTHING BUT WHK TO IDOLIZE AND SAY GOD BLESS HIM WHILE ONE WHO SINGS WITH HIS TONGUE ON FIRE GARGLES IN THE RAT RACE CHOIR BENT OUT OF SHAPE FROM SOCIETYS PLIERS CARES NOT TO COME UP ANY HIGHER BUT RATHER GET YOU DOWN IN THE HOLE THAT HES IN BUT I MEAN NO HARM NOR PUT FAULT ON ANYONE THAT LIVES IN A VAULT BUT ITS ALRIGHT MA IF I CAN PLEASE HIM OLD LADY JUDGES WATCH PEOPLE IN PAIRS LIMITED IN SEX THEY DARE TO PUSH FAKE MORAL INSULT AND STARE WHILE MONEY DOESNT TALK IT SWEARS OBSCENITY WHO REALLY CARES PROPAGANDA ALL IS PHONY WHILE THEM THAT DEFEND WHAT THEY CANNOT SEE WITH KILLERS PRIDE SECURITY IT BLOWS THE MIND MOST BITTERLY FOR THEM THAT THINK DEATH’S HONESTY WON’T FALL UPON ‘EM NATURALLY LIFE SOMETIMES MUST GET LONELY MY EYES COLLIDE HEAD ON WITH STUFFED GRAVEYARDS FALSE GOALS I SCUFF AT PETTINESS WHICH PLAYS SO ROUGH WALKED UPSIDE DOWN INSIDE HANDCUFFS KICK MY LEGS TO CRASH IT OFF SAY OKAY I’VE HADE ENOUGH WHAT ELSE CAN YOU SHOW ME AND IF MY THOUGHT DREAMS CAN BE SEEN THEYD PROBABLY PUT MY HEAD IN A GUILLOTINE

BUT ITS ALRIGHT MA IT’S LIFE AND LIFE ONLY

[lovvecherrymotion]

okay very brief munich gig report (mostly under the cut) i probably am forgetting 90% of stuff but let's goooo:

i got EE and i was there by 10 am? i was number 39 and i was pretty okay with this. i did end up getting a really good spot anyway

munich queue 💜💜 i mean, i've already made a post about meeting all of you, but it was truly lovely. i got so many gifts and bracelets! this fandom is full of talented, kind people

the soundcheck was ngvot (every single time i've been to a show i've heard ngvot at some point lol) and vem da greš, both of which i really enjoyed

I GOT TO GIVE NACE MY GIFTS!! like i don't even think he heard what i said BUT THEY'RE WITH THEM. FINALLY. i can be at peace now lol

i really enjoyed both Sector 5 and JC Stewart! they were both pretty good openers! i hadn't heard any of their music before, but i still had fun

WE STARTED WITH KATRINA WHICH I WAS SUPER HAPPY ABOUT

AND I GOT BELE SANJEEEEEE. and bojan said we nailed it the first time which had me like "duh, ofc, i'm here????" I WOULD NEVER FUCK UP MY BELOVED BELE SANJE

we got both Šta bih ja & Schlager. i really really really wanted Bluza so hopefully in london 🤞 i enjoy Schlager more that i've listened to it live lol (and jance were very cute during this song)

on the topic of jance, everyone was mentioning the nacekris was strong last night but as someone who was right in front of jance and barely got to see the others honestly it was kinda hard for me lmao i didn't get those vibes at all. i was so shocked opening tumblr hahahaha. jance were super sweet and smiley and 🥺💕 a solid 95% of what i captured was them and i can assure you they were both very soft and happy

no pijano :((( but he did help bojan at the start of EW and it was very sweet, i love them so much

bojan spit on me. better said, he spit on jan but i was, well, right in front of him, so i got it too lmfao

during the UM bojan was also right in front of me because a little girl got to sing with him (and even went on stage!!!!) and then a super sweet 15yo girl who had her birthday yesterday also got to sing UM - i was next to both of them so i saw bojan VERY WELL. he didn't actually go into the crowd this time

during novi val i made a finger heart at nace AND HE SMILED AND DID ONE BACK AT ME. i know it was for me because everyone got the half hearts lmfao (and then @flananjan told me you could see the heart in a story they posted on their insta and i almost died on the subway back to the hotel)

at some point (i can't remember before which song but i'll probably figure it out when i look at the photos) i put my portuguese flag on stage and jan picked it up 🥺🥺 he then asked me in the softest fucking voice "Portugal?" and i was able to say two entire words to him "yes, Portugal" AND I DIDN'T EVEN DIE ON THE SPOT. he then placed it down and like idk i just!!!! jan knows i exist and i'm portuguese BYE

and when i thought the night just couldn't... well, get any better, JAN GAVE ME HIS PICK. his hand was warm and like way softer than i expected??? this is now my most prized possession. i literally CANNOT believe jan peteh himself gave this to me

the boys didn't come out at the end because they were tired, apparently??? but i was still very happy about all of this. i'm now way less stressed for london (because i won't be carrying around a bag full of stuff for them omgggg) and manifesting i get to meet them then 🙏

munich, thank you for having me 💜💜💜 i can't wait to come back

[bvdomination]

Kedves mindenki! Láttam, hogy Jane visszatérő téma. Először is, véleményem szerint, amikor Ványa az USA-ba érkezett, több hónapig Jane-nel és családjával élt, közel állnak egymáshoz, de ez inkább testvéri dolognak tűnik, mint romantikusnak. Másrészt Ványa segít Jane-nek videókat feltölteni a partnerkereső oldalra (más csapattársak is segítenek neki) Harmadszor, az USA-ban van egy Safe Sport nevű program (ezt mindenkinek el kell olvasnia), Ványa egy interjúban elmondta, hogy emiatt nem lehet egyedül kiskorú lányokkal, mert feljelenthetik. Az USA ezt nagyon komolyan veszi, ezért mielőtt bárki rágalmazná Ványát egy Instagram-poszt, lájk vagy videó miatt, gondoljon bele, hogy ezzel tönkreteheti a karrierjét és a hírnevét! Köszönöm.♥️

Thank you for your submission, I could not have worded this better 😊

Rough translation below:

Dear everyone!

I saw that Jane was a recurring theme. First, in my opinion, when Vanya came to the US, he lived with Jane and her family for several months, they are close, but it seems more like a brotherly thing than a romantic one. On the other hand, Ványa helps Jane upload videos to the partner search site (other teammates also help her)

Thirdly, in the USA there is a program called Safe Sport (everyone should read this), Ványa said in an interview that because of this she cannot be alone with underage girls, because they can report her. The USA takes this very seriously, so before anyone slanders Vanya because of an Instagram post, like or video, consider that this could ruin his career and reputation! Thank you.♥️

The mentioned article is here (x). It's in Russian but you can translate it with Google/ChatGPT etc.

[rosetta-j-stone]

Today's Slovenian Class: describing foods!

Teacher: <mentions the key words "okus" and "dišati">

My brain, Joker Out Sleeper Agent For Hire: "Sanje so tvojega okusa...jutro po tebi mi diši"

Also my brain: "A sem ti povedal kdaj, kako lepo dišiš mi?"

Teacher: <mentions the key words "kislo", "grenak", "slan", "sladko">

My brain: "UUU U UU..."

Me: "Don't you dare-"

My brain: "SLADKI PRAH IN BELE SANJE"

Me: "...this isn't going to help me order food"

[intothetlkverse]

Decided to challenge myself by drawing every single TLK character out there, up until this point in time, and post it here. You can see the finished project on my main account, though I figured to post it on my tumblr just show I could proudly show off my work and a few of my head canons.

Here is the second part of all the elephants across TLK:

Starting off from "The Elephants' Graveyard" we have four elephants. Ashtaa/Ashta(faith) is the leader of her herd and the successor of her aunt Daran/Dara(embrace), may her bones and spirit be laid to rest. Between taking over the responsibilities as leader for the herd, dealing with her aunt's decline and eventual death, pregnancy, and raising two claves already, she has been rather stress and unable to see how her two children have ben affected recently. Still, she is a steady, wise, compassionate, and merciful leader and mother. Her eldest son Harak(fast) has been growing envious of his little sister Belee/Beevi(angel-Arabic), and his jealousy and desire for more of his mother's attention has caused him to do some questionable things, such as nearly killing his younger sister and a then cub Simba in a bone avalanche. Fortunately this event and his mother scolding him is enough to break him out of his envy and after apologizing he vows to do better, though eventually the guilt of what he's done will prompt him to leave the herd and find a new place where he can truly start over. Beevi is very sweet, naïve, and forgiving, however since her brother's actions she has become more alert and cautious, much like how her mother describes her great-aunt to have been like.

Next up from the 6NA story "How True, Zazu?" is Pembe(horns) and her two calves, Cheka(laugh) and Lulu(pearls), looking disappointedly at them for spreading false rumors in order to discredit and humiliate Zazu, though she shares part of the blame for this. Despite knowing the importance of Zazu's near constant scouring and message-delivery, her comments and gossiping about his constant hovering and news delivery was picked up by her children and their friends, who decide to prank Zazu by giving false information and faltering Mufasa's trust in him. However, after Zazu saves the day and everyone from an army ant infestation, the two come clean with their friends about what they did, apologize, and offer to help Zazu out to make amends, while Pembe reflects on how her own actions and words affect her children. Cheka is the more bold, brash, and trouble-making of the two while Lulu is more obedient, but naïve and persuadable of the two.

Next up from the issue "Prickly Problems" is another four elephants. Starting off is Grandmother Elephant/Endesha(guide) who I have decided to merge with Lead Elephant from "Timon in Trouble", so she is both the head healer for her herd and the matriarch of it. From healing plants to poultices, she is a wealth-spring of information and has infinite wisdom, kindness, and mercy to spare. Her son Elimu(knowledge) has taken after her in this regard, choosing to stay with his herd, unlike most males, to help protect and aid his herd. Beside her is his sister and Esme's mother Sama(weather), who has inherited her mother's level-headedness in stressful situations and willingness to help others. Esme(Kind Defender-Arabic) is basically Beevi without the jealous brother, very naïve, kind, and innocent, surrounded by loving family members.

Going back to the Pridelands for a moment we have two helpful pachyderms. First off from the comic "Good Behavior" is Bantam/Basam(smiling-Arabic). A helpful lad who can use his trunk like a leafblower, he helps Simba and Nala clean out the cave so they can get put from under Zazu's strict babysitting rules. I like to think they rewarded him by helping get some hard to reach fruit for him. Next up is former Pridelands' resident Jelani(mighty) from "Simba and the Lost Waterfall". A strong and kind soul, Jelani left the Pridelands during Scar's reign and made himself a home in the Oasis. Simba frequently returned there to help form alliances with fellow prides and to help Timon's colony settle in, and ended up conscripting Jelani's help when a giant tree blocked off a river leading towards a pool.

Below him are his son and wife, part of Endesha's herd from "Timon in Trouble"; Toot/Thato(love-Afrikaans) and Toot's mother/Nariki(I love you). Jelani is more the solitary sort, however he knows about his son and does frequently visit the both of them, spending time with his son and teaching his son things he'll need to know. Thato is very curious and playful at this age, if a bit reckless, and Nariki hopes he'll take after his father's more subdued, yet kind nature as he grows.

To the right and below them we have three elephants from the Timon and Pumbaa Show. Starting off is Chafya(sneeze) from the episode, "Can't Take a Yolk". A scatterbrained and slow-witted fellow, he at least is polite and even-tempered. On the opposite end, we have Gavu(gum) from from "Doubt of Africa", Nedum's brother. Sharing his brother's aggressive attitude, even the slightest thing can set him off, so many choose to avoid him. Lastly, head of the bullies in "Good Mousekeeping" is Mpira(rubber/ball). Since there are so many grey elephants in the show, plus all the bullies look identical, I decided to use my own colors to save my sanity. I also scaled his age way down to a teenager/young adult. He's a jerk that likes to pick on a poor albino mouse, though apparently can't take what he dishes out.

Lastly, from the comic "The Elephant Walk",  we have Koroma(snort)and Ziradi(herb). A pair of calves who are separated by their herd and are terrified of running into carnivores, they unknowingly accept the help of one by the name of Simba, and only at the end when Mufasa arrives if his identity/species revealed at which both faint from surprise. The two are cousins and their fear comes from an incident Ziradi had which resulted in her nicked ear. In the night she accidently strayed to far from the herd, panicked and started frantically running around. her ear snagged against a rock's sharp edge and tore. When she was found, she spun a tale of how she was attacked by a viscous predator in the night, spreading the fear towards her cousin. Of course Simba has since earned the respect and trust of the two since, though even as king and grown up, the two are a bit more skittish then other elephants about predators.

[leviathans-watching]

comfort (food)

day 6: midnight snacks, crying

includes: beel & asmo

wc: .6k | rated g | m.list

a/n: bad friend's suck :( .... for @ombrotherlylove2023

Stomach rumbling, Beel slides out of bed, careful not to disturb his twin. A midnight snack sounds perfect, especially since he’s pretty sure he saw some waffles in the freezer that he can combine with some of the leftover fried chicken from dinner. Levi thought he hid his leftovers well, but not well enough to keep them from him. 

Drooling at the prospect, Beel walks down the stairs, freezing when he sees someone already in the kitchen. Who else would be up at this hour, and sitting in the dark, no less? 

“I’m turning on the lights,” Beel warns, and does, revealing Asmo. Huh. Usually, he’d be asleep by now, something about body rhythm and skin health and all the stuff Beel doesn’t really get. 

“That’s bright,” Asmo mutters, shading his eyes from the sudden influx of light, but not before Beel sees how they’re red-rimmed and bloodshot. He moves to the fridge, wondering if he should say something. Asmo never cries.

Silence falls between them as Beel pulls out the waffles and finds Levi’s leftovers, but he can only take so many sniffles before he’s obligated to ask, “Is everything okay?” 

“What?” Asmo asks. “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. Well,” he takes a deep breath, “actually, no they’re not. But it’s stupid. So.” 

“You can still tell me,” Beel encourages quietly, putting four waffles in the toaster. His back is to Asmo, a small privacy in their kitchen. “I don’t care if it’s stupid.” 

“It’s like, really stupid,” Asmo warns, and Beel shrugs. He’s not going to force Asmo to tell him.

“Okay.”

“Well, basically, a friend of mine is being really weird and I don’t know why. I feel like she’s been excluding me and stuff, but I also wondered if it was in my head, since we’re usually so close. But then another friend of mine asked me about it, confirming it’s actually happening, which is nice because now I know I’m not crazy, but also sucks since that means she is deliberately putting distance between us,” he says in one breath. “And then I had this gut feeling, and I just checked Devilgram, and she unfollowed me! Me!” 

Beel’s not all that into social media but even he knows that’s a big deal. 

“So anyway, now I’ve been following her one-sidedly for who knows how long, looking like an idiot, and I don’t even know what I did wrong! And she’s being so rude and won’t talk to me, and it sucks because I really liked her. When people you think are cool don’t feel the same it really sucks.” 

Beel pulls the chicken out of the microwave, turning towards Asmo. “I’m sorry that’s happening,” he says seriously. “It sounds like she’s being a real jerk.”

Asmo lets out a watery laugh. “She is.” 

“She’s not worth your time. Anyone who’d blow off you doesn’t know what they’re doing,” Beel continues, words coming out a little awkwardly but heart-felt, something Asmo seems to realize. “Even if she does try to be your friend again, don’t let her. She sounds slimy and fake.” 

“Wow, you’re not holding back,” Asmo observes, and Bele shrugs again. 

“Well. She made you cry. Anyone who makes you cry is demon scum.” 

“Awww,” Asmo says, dabbing at his eyes delicately with his sleeve, “you care about me!” 

“Of course I do,” Beel says quietly, pouring syrup all over his creation. Asmo watches, raptly. 

“Enough to share that with me?”

Bele looks down, at his chicken and waffles, then back up at Asmo, who blinks pleadingly. His stomach grumbles again, but his heart lets out a stronger pang. “Fine,” he agrees reluctantly, circling the island and pulling out the stool next to Asmo’s. “Just this once, though.”

leviathans-watching's work - please do not copy, repost, or claim as your own

[basingstokemercury]

Finally revisited Let That Be Your Last Battlefield, another of the ones that spooked baby me.

It's... much less impressive as an adult, to say the least.

As in The Alternative Factor, I got the sense of very little plot progression. People say and do the same things over and over, every so often someone takes over the ship, there isn't much to keep you engaged in the story.

And since I seem to be in the business of nitpicking Trek's morality, I'll say what many people have probably said before: the situation presented isn't symmetrical, which is a bit of a flaw in a story about "just let go of hate everyone".

It's clear that Bele is the more powerful one here (or at least would be if the planet hadn't been destroyed). Notably, Lokai doesn't seem to exhibit this incredibly strong telekinetic ability; does he choose not to use it? Or did Bele's race achieve their historical subjugation of Lokai's because they had a power the other lacked, a la Plato's Stepchildren? This feels like something that could have been expanded on.

Bele is chasing Lokai, who seems to be on the run and making no attempt at retaliation. He's extremely bigoted against Lokai's people, not even trying to hide this - in contrast, Lokai's venom seems mostly directed against what Bele's race has done, rather than any innate evil quality.

As for the charges against Lokai, I'm the first to say that "there are rules, even in war" (thanks, Bones), and even in a war that most would agree is just. Intentionally killing civilians, torture, wanton pain and destruction beyond the needs of the cause... Resisting oppression isn't a blanket justification, and good causes can be co-opted by those who just want to gratify a dark impulse.

But we aren't given any specifics as to whether Lokai did indeed cross these lines, only ranting from someone clearly prejudiced. His repeated demands for Bele's death could read as hatred or bloodlust, absolutely - or they could be the words of a desperate man, knowing his pursuer has no mercy and seeing no other way of ending the chase.

And if your premise is that both sides have been destroyed by mutual, irrational hate, maybe you ought to make an effort at showing that both have equally good (or bad) reasons for their enmity?

Next, The Mark Of Gideon. Judging by discussion I've seen of this one as a teen and adult, 10/11ish me was nowhere near equipped to understand it, which is probably part of why she classed it as "disturbing" and moved on.

Maybe I'll eventually work up the courage for Spock's Brain or The Way To Eden...

[leopardom]

this is going to sound dumb but I had never realised that Bojan is singing back vocals in the studio versions of the songs. I always assumed it was just Kris since he's the one singing them live

it's normal to assume that for the exact reason you did. also Bojan's and Kris' high pitched vocals sound kinda similar so if a song contains such vocals or simple harmonies without words (the uuuus in bele sanje are an example), if you casually listen to a song you probably won't notice this at all. but yeah almost 99% of the time lead singers of bands record back vocals for the songs too, whether there's someone else or even a whole group of people to sing them or not

[absolutebloodychaos]

I just listened to Live At Stožice for the first time and I took notes while listening to it cause like I'm a nerd so here are my initial thoughts about the whole thing

SSOL: LIVE BRASS

Gola: ZA NAJU!!!! The guitars absolutely killed me

Bele Sanje: So fucking powerful live, the opening just AAAAAARGH, the la la la la la la

KRIS' SOLO: My brain has left my body, I have never wanted him more

Plastika: Bojan's melodrama in the the second verse and pre-chorus is INCREDIBLE, NACE'S BASS SOLO!!!!!!!, the drums at the end, Bojan's HAHAHA in the last chorus

Proti Toku: The fucking energy is ELECTRIC, the opening guitar riff!!!!!!, KRIS' BACK UP VOCALS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, the bridge!!!!

Dopamin: KRIS' BACK UP VOCALS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, RAZUM IZGUBIL JE SVOJ GLAS!!!!!, The fucking danceability of this song I swear, ZAME SI ČISTI DOPAMIN, I LOVE THIS SONG SO FUCKING MUCH

Padam: The raw emotion, the atmosphere, Bojan's voice is just AAAAAAAARGH, this shit made me cry, full body fucking shivers

Demoni: THE SCREAM, THE BASS, I felt possessed

Katrina: Jure in the solo was INCREDIBLE, the vocals killed me, POVEJ MI KATRINA

TRUMPET SOLO: Killed me, I need to have it injected into my veins

ASTP: Full body shivers again, every fucking thing in the solo, the vocals, the guitars, it is all too much, I am dead, UGRIZNI, Bojan and Kris

Omamljeno Telo: DA ZDAJJJJJJJJJJ!!!!!!!!!!, everything about this song killed me, I love it so fucking much

Kot Srce Kri Kri Poganja: FUCKING EVERYTHING!!!!!!, MARTIN AND MATIC, the one simultaneous guitar bit before the bridge

Metulji: The gentle guitar, the atmosphere, the drums, I cried again

JAN'S SOLO: I feel touched by god, shivers

Vse Kar Vem: Made me cry so much, it hurt, THE SOLO, the pure longing in Bojan's voice

Barve Oceana: The audience chorus, had me jumping around so much, the drums 🫠

NGVOT: Two words. Kris. Singing. No other thoughts left in my head. Also the solo was incredible

Vem Da Greš: The clapping at the start, THE EXTENDED VERSION MY FUCKING BELOVED, I CRIED SO MUCH

JURE'S DRUM SOLO: Fucking amazing, just fucking incredible

Ne Bi Smel: Kris' backing vocals, the solo, SPET ME K TEBI VLEČE

Ona: BRASS BRASS BRASS BRASS, I love this song so fucking much it was incredible, I literally can't form words about it any more

Tokio: AAAAAAAARGH, the guitar, I was jumping, ANATA GA SUKI, WATASHI MO, this is my favourite song of theirs and everytime I hear the live version it kills me

Umazane Misli: SANJE SO TVOJEGA OKUSA, JUTRO PO TEBI MI DIŠI, KOMPAS VEČ ME NE POSLUŠA, MOJA IZGUBLJENA DUŠA, IŠČE LE U SMERI, KJER SI TI, the audio quality was amazing, the crowd choruses, Bojan's live vocal variations

Novi Val: The emotion, the crowd, breathtaking live, the vibe was so lovely

Carpe Diem: Bojan's laugh while singing Hvala Lepa, the last chorus/es, the guitar solo, I got down to the floor when he said to and my knees got sore but it was okay cause I was running on pure adrenaline at that point

[nevernightcitylights]

BOOK REVIEW: BORN OF BLOOD AND ASH - Jennifer L. Armentrout

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5/5 🌶️🌶️🌶️.5/5

This book is so insanely good that I'm genuinely struggling to put my thoughts into words. But let me just start by saying: screw Kolis, I totally called the whole Sotoria twist, and Sera is an absolute badass. My girl crush on her—and Bele, for that matter—is off the charts. Jennifer L. Armentrout is a master of wit and banter; I was literally crying with laughter at some of the exchanges. But she also handles the trauma that so many women experience with such skill and sensitivity that I found myself crying for entirely different reasons.

I also have to talk about Sera’s pregnancy. I saw it coming, and to be honest, I’m not usually a fan of pregnancy plots. I was hoping it wouldn’t happen, but wow, was I proven wrong. I’ve never had to eat my words so quickly. The pregnancy subplot was beautifully done—adorable, meaningful, and perfectly integrated into the broader story (take notes, SJM). This book has skyrocketed into my top 10 favorites of all time and solidified its place in my top 3 series ever.

[signoraviolettavalery]

Moments from the concert in Ptuj, before I forget

In between songs, people were throwing so many gifts at the stage. Literally just chucking bracelets, teddy bears, sunglasses, etc. Bojan trying to introduce a song and then having to try to catch things as they get thrown at him LMAO

at the part of Gola where he sings "my thoughts are wandering under your shirt" he goes over to Jan, who was wearing an unbuttoned jacket with nothing underneath it and puts his hand on his chest. So now we know under whose shirt Bojan's thoughts wander...

They seem to have changed a line in Ne Bi Smel from "sem bil slep" to "sem kreten" (I'm a jerk) - they made this change at the Belgrade Beer Fest and also at Ptuj

the feral Demoni scream sounds SO FERAL in person, videos do not convey how unhinged it sounds live

They did a song (Gola?) where he was asking the girls to sing a line the guys to sing a line and so on. the girls...doing a really good job. The guys....almost silence lmao, until the girls helped the guys out. I was cracking up.

he said something about who thanks to us fans they have a whole store of (sunglasses?) now? I didn't catch the word but he definitely said "store," I think he was getting across that they never have to go shopping for sunglasses ever again lmao.

During Metulji he just full on....lay down on the stage for a minute while Jan was doing the guitar solo at the end. Just...lay down and lay there. Boy was being dramatic as heck.

there were a bunch of actual children there (like, 8 years old ish? 12?) who were singing along to Novi Val, MY HEART

They did Padam and Metulji!! But did not do Bele Sanje :( :(

Someone was holding a sign that said "Bojan pls take your clothes off" which, um, I think it was a teenager probably but people need to learn boundaries lol

Bojan seemed really tired, GO HOME AND TAKE A NAP

[pengychan]

[Baldur’s Gate III] Hell to Pay, Ch. 29

Illustration by @raphaels-little-beast

Title: Hell to Pay Summary: Assassinating an archdevil is a daunting task, even for the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. Some inside help from ‘the devil they know’ would be good, if not for the detail their last meeting ended with said devil dead in his own home. Or did it? Characters: Raphael, the Dark Urge, Astarion, Haarlep, Halsin, Karlach, Wyll. Rating: E Status: In progress

All chapters will be tagged as ‘hell to pay’ on my blog. Also on Ao3.

*** Well hope the party enjoyed their break because it's Back to The Usual Bullshit now. (But also there's art of the previous chapter now, go check it out!!!) ***

“So, he lives.”

Mephistopheles’ voice was calm, echoing across the throne room with no need for him to raise it. Of course it did: the Palace was but an extension of its master, and its walls would never not carry his voice. 

For a few moments, the words were met with silence. Before the throne lay the smoldering remains of the unfortunate cambion who’d come bearing the news. A shame, that; Rigorath had served their lord well as an emissary for over two centuries, keeping watch on Avernus through the MIrror of Mephistar. Only a few steps away from the corpse, Chamberlain Barbas seemed at a loss for words, and Justiciar Bele appeared particularly interested in the floor. 

In the end, it was Steward Adonides to speak. “Yet you devoured him, my lord. We all witnessed his end at that very moment.”

As though shaken from a stupor, Barbas nodded. In most circumstances, he would have been all too happy to find someone to take the blame - he probably kept a list of devils he’d like to do away with for that very purpose - but this was different. To concede that Raphael indeed lived was to say, aloud, that Mephistopheles failed to kill him. 

“That we did, my liege,” he said, casting a glance at Rigorath’s corpse. “Perhaps Rigorath misunderstood, or was misled. Even if he lived, the halfbreed would have never had power enough to--”

“You seem to forget,” Mephistopheles spoke, his voice calm and courteous as it often was as he glanced out of the window opening onto a balcony, overseeing the icy wasteland below. “The halfbreed has my blood. Surely you do not think so little of it to surmise that some mortal blood would render it powerless.”

“Oh-- of course not, my liege.” Barbas spoke hurriedly, bowing. “I misspoke. What I mean to say is, if Raphael survived, it would only be the mortal half of him. Far too weak, surely, to best an archdevil, as rumor would have us believe.”

A hum. Mephistopheles kept looking out of the window, hands folded behind his back. Outside, the wind kept howling. It had never stopped since the beginning of his reign, and it never would. “He was not alone, it seems, and they did not best Zariel. They only held their own long enough that they could entice her to accept that angelic spark back within her. Not too surprising, all things considered. I have known for some time that the former Lord of the First had… struggles, shall we say, reckoning with the past.”

Barbas nodded. “Ah, of course. It is as you say, my Lord. Duke Zariel had a weakness which was truly unbecoming of--”

“Justiciar Bele,” Mephistopheles spoke again, cutting him off. Bele seemed to recoil before bowing his head. 

“My liege?”

“We discuss matters of justice often.”

“That we do, my--”

“I was not finished speaking,” Mephistopheles cut him off, and Bele shut his mouth so quickly his teeth snapped together as his liege lord spoke again. “Let us assume that the report we heard was correct, and that the human part of my useless offspring still lives. Yet I did devour someone that day. All of you witnessed it, as Adonides so promptly reminded us. So I pose to you the question, how did that come to be?”

Bele licked his lips before he spoke. “A switch, I would imagine. Perhaps the prisoner the guards took to you was not Raphael.”

Far-fetched as it may seem, it was not impossible either. There was no way a simple illusion spell would have fooled Mephistopheles, but it was far from the only way the switch may have occurred. Antilia had not been present when Raphael was devoured - she’d snapped one of her harp’s strings, to have reason to leave the hall - but she’d heard of the state Raphael had been in when dragged inside to face his sentence. Clad in little more than rags, with his face bloodied and a scold’s bridle over much of it, piercing his tongue with a spike. 

Enough of the face concealed for someone else to pass as him. A spike through the tongue, to keep them from speaking up. Yes, it is possible. Likely, even. 

Lord Mephistopheles seemed to think so as well, for he nodded. “Well then. You’re to have all the guards brought to the School of Hellfire, to be sharply questioned. Let Quagrem do the questioning, but I expect you to be there and listen, Barbas. Intently. Raphael was a powerless human when I had him taken to the dungeons, and if he did escape he must have had help here in Mephistar. If the guards are not involved, perhaps they noticed something. Anything they reveal must be reported to me immediately.”

Another bow. “Of course, my liege. Anything else?”

Mephistopheles turned back to the window, a hand reaching up to stroke his beard. He was wearing his Lord of Hellfire form that day, with crimson skin and pearl white eyes. Looking at that profile, the resemblance with Raphael was striking. “That incubus of his,” he spoke. “The one who returned to my court after my son’s downfall. Have them taken for questioning, too.”

“They left weeks ago, my liege, allegedly to collect new forms from the Material Plane. They have not returned since,” Bele replied immediately. Too quickly, in fact, not to raise a couple of eyebrows - those of Adonides and Barbas, specifically. 

“You seem particularly well-informed,” Barbas needled him, “over the movements of this specific incubus.”

Bele glared, but he knew better than to snap in their lord’s presence. “I keep an eye on the comings and goings at court, is all.”

The comings more than the goings, Antilia mused. A most unbecoming thought for the High Cantor of Mephistar, that, which would gain her some reproach from her liege should she speak it aloud. In other circumstances she may have laughed; as things were she kept standing to the side, silent and stone-faced, as Barbas spoke again. 

“As chamberlain, that is my duty. I will seek out this incubus, my liege, and if they are not in Cania I’ll ensure that they are found.”

A slight tilt of Mephistopheles’ head, the golden rings around his horns gleaming faintly. “Very well. Adonides?”

“My lord?”

“You’re to spread the word through all the layers of the Hells that a reward awaits whoever brings me Raphael - alive. Do ensure my cult receives the message across other Planes to keep an eye out for him, and for any of the mortals traveling with him.”

“It shall be done.”

“Any known diabolist who may open a portal to Baator should be looked into. If the fool intends to travel to Cania, certainly he’d rather use a portal than traverse all of the layers from Avernus to here.” A vague gesture of the hand. “You are dismissed - not you, High Cantor. And do send someone in to clean, Barbas,” Mephistopheles added, briefly tilting his head towards the dead cambion’s remains. 

“Of course, lord Mephistopheles.”

There were steps, some slower and some more hurried; the sound of the door leading to the throne room opening and closing; and then, for a few moments, silence.

“... Rigorath was an asset, my lord,” Antilia said quietly, gaze lingering on the blackened innards, on the face still frozen in a scream. It was not the first time she watched the Lord of Cania shoot the messenger when the news they had to relay was less than pleasant. It never failed to make an uncomfortable feeling - will I be next? - coil up in the pit of her stomach. “A reliable pair of eyes on Avernus.”

A dismissive hum, and Mephistopheles stepped away from the window, past the body. “We have more eyes on Avernus than it’s worth counting. I’ll send another emissary to stand watch at the Mirror.”

Was he your blood, too?

It would do her no good to ask that question, even less to hear the answer, so she did not speak it. She only turned back to her-- sire -- liege, folding her hands, and followed him to the pit of flames. Away from the pool of blood which had long since stopped steaming, and was beginning to freeze. She stopped a few steps behind, eyes fixed on the black hair falling down his back, almost indistinguishable from the cape of black voice he wore. She did not mean to keep staring in silence, but that she did, only to recoil when Mephistopheles turned to glance at her over his shoulder. He looked at her, at the corpse, and back at her before giving a wry smile. 

“You are at liberty to speak without the same fate befalling you. You know that.”

Do I?, she wondered. But she was not eager to test his statement, and did not voice the thought. Instead, she bowed her head. “You believe Raphael is seeking to return to Cania.”

“I know he is.”

“It would be foolish of him.”

“Yes. And he is a fool.”

“All that awaits him here is death.”

“And half his soul, the only one worth anything.” Mephisto held out a hand, and called upon a soul from the column at the other end of the room. It fluttered over his hand, but he didn’t consume it right away. He let it weave between long fingers. “I saw his potential, and extended grace for it. I seldom give warnings, but I did warn him. And when he overreached, I only elected to kill the weaker part of him, rather than to destroy him entirely.” A silent glace to where Rigorath’s body lay. “... It vexes me to say I have underestimated that human half. I shan’t make that mistake again, and neither should you.”

Antilia nodded. She’s lived at court all of her life, served her-- father, will the day ever come you’ll allow me to call you such? -- lord for almost as long as she could recall. There was much of his mind that remained a mystery to her, but some things… some things she understood. Some things were indeed easy to guess.

“You expect him to pass through Maladomini.”

“He must. All of Cania is closed to portals; I made sure of it. But the Circle of Ruins remains liable to be breached by a skilled enough diabolist, and Baalzebul would love nothing more than to assist his passage to Cania. Anything to spite me. That too, Raphael knows well. What he does not know is that Baalzebul believes you to be his faithful spy here in Cania.” 

Mephistopheles opened his hand, and the soul he’d been holding onto was sucked into his mouth, his nostrils. His eyes glowed white hot a moment; in that instant Antilia saw it briefly, as though a foggy glass - the glimpse of something ancient and terrible, the flash of too many needle-like fangs like those of a fish of the deep. Then the light was gone, and the Lord of Hellfire stood before her again. He smiled without baring his teeth.

“You are to go to Beelzebul’s court. Offer him any sort of information on my court that’s outdated enough to be of no true relevance, and linger. Ensure that the Lord of the Seventh entrusts you to take Raphael through the passage to Cania, should he truly make it as far as Malagard.”

Antilia swallowed, and nodded. A small part of her balked, but she ignored it. Mephistopheles had given an order; Mephistopheles would not be denied. And why would she risk his ire for Raphael’s sake? She, too, had tried to warn him, yet he failed to heed all warnings. There was nothing more that could be done for him. He made his choices, and he chose wrong.

“Am I to call upon your forces once we’re in Cania?”

“And give him a chance to run back to Maladomini, where we cannot chase him without an open conflict with Baalzebul?” Mephistopheles chuckled, and approached. Once they stood one before the other, she had to tilt back her head to look at his face. “No. You’re to take him, alive, all the way to Nargus. He’ll follow you, as long as you can keep up the ruse, and I know you can. Once you’re deep enough in Cania to see Mephistar atop the glacier, that is when you’ll call upon my forces. He is to be taken here alive. ”

And he’ll remain alive, the unsaid part went, until he begs for death convincingly enough for me to grant it.

“Of course, my lord.”

Antilia bowed, and turned to leave. She didn’t get to take a single step before he spoke again. His voice was quiet - gentle, even, if one did not know better than to describe the Lord of the Eighth as such - but it caused her to still as suddenly and sharply as a shout would have. 

“Daughter.”

No one in court or elsewhere, no one beside herself and Mephistopheles, knew that to be true. None could know. She was to be his spy; none would be foolish enough to trust Mephisto’s own blood, and certainly not the Lord of the Seventh. Mephistopheles rarely referred to her as such even in private. It had been years or perhaps even centuries since he last did. 

She turned slowly. The words - sire, father, maker - refused to leave her throat. “... My lord?”

Mephistopheles stepped closer, and cupped her chin to tilt her face up. “You have served me long, and you have served me well. Once you lead Raphael in my grasp, Baalzebul is bound to know where your loyalty lay all along. You shall never be able to return to Maladomini as his spy in Cania.”

Out of the corner of the eye she still saw it, the corpse of a cambion destroyed in a fit of anger, over the delivery of unpleasant news. He’d been many centuries younger than her but he too had served Mephistopheles well and long, nearly his entire existence. Yet there he lay… and there she stood. “My liege,” she spoke. Her voice was weak in a way a cantor’s should never sound. “I am certain I can still be of use, once my time as Baalzeul’s--”

“You’re my high cantor. Your place at court is secure,” he cut her off. A clawed thumb ran over her cheek. “But you always wanted more. Like your brother, like all your siblings. Ever yearning for more than what you’re given.”

Of course we do. It’s your blood in our veins, that of the archmage of the Hells who’s been coveting the king’s throne since time immemorial. Our blood screams that it’s never enough, that we can be more, must be more. It killed nearly all of them. But I can silence it, if I sing over it, quiet it down to a murmur. I ask for little, so very little, and even that I am denied. 

“All I want--”

“Hush. I know what you want. And you shall have it.” The Lord of the Eighth looked her in the eyes, those white pearly eyes bearing into hers, full of swirling mist. None of his offspring had such eyes, nor pale blue of the Cold Lord. “I am not so naive that I do not know that you shall take no joy in the task ahead of you. But bring Raphael to me, and I’ll ensure the entire court stands witness when I call you my daughter.”

True baatezu did not have hearts, nor other organs - not the kind mortals had. But half-fiends did, and she felt her own heart skip a beat. When it beat again, it seemed stuck in her throat.

“I won’t fail you, father,” she promised, and she meant it. After all, she had warned Raphael not to trust her countless times. 

If he had not learned the lesson, it was on him.

***

“Oh, look. You’re alive. Color me surprised.”

For all the surprise she claimed, Helsik didn’t sound particularly impressed when she lifted her gaze from her ledger. Frankly, Astarion would have expected at least some gawking. She’d been mildly impressed when they’d taken down Raphael, after all; surely, defeating… well, convincing an archdevil to step down was even more impressive. Maybe she hadn’t heard they had been involved. 

“And we are ready to head back,” Durge replied, and placed the Gauntlets of Hill Giant Strength on the counter. She snatched them up as though she expected them to be taken back. Durge sighed while she examined them to make sure they were the real deal, but did not protest. 

They had spent the past three days eating well, resting as much as they could when they were not having a bit of fun, and buying all sorts of potentially useful potions and supplies. Those of them who had no resistance to cold had bought some item - a robe, a ring, a pendant - that would grant them that, on Raphael’s urging. Just so that they wouldn’t freeze their asses off as soon as they stepped into Cania, Astarion supposed. If they stepped into Cania. They had another layer to brave before it got to that.

“... So. You were serious when you said you wanted to go further down,” Helsik finally spoke, clearly satisfied that the gauntlets were… well, exactly the ones she had been after all along.

Once again in his half-elf disguise, Raphael smiled. “Very much so. I don’t suppose Mammon’ lockpick has found a way to circumvent Cania’s enhanced magical defenses since our last meeting?”

A sigh. “As much as it pains me to admit, no. The archmage of the Hells really went all in to make sure no more portals could be opened in his layer. Maladomini is still the closest I can get you to it.”

An annoyance, that. The frozen wasteland of Cania was not something any of them looked forward to, either, but Raphael had made Maladomini sound even worse. A stinking rotten mire, full of crumbling roads and trash-filled cities. The Circle of Ruins, he’d called it. Not very inviting, but then again if all went well they’d only stay a short time.

They’d also stay a short time if all went badly, too. Astarion would rather not think of that possibility, though.

At the counter, Raphael nodded. “Understandable. I have heard the Lord of the Eighth is a wizard of some skill. In that case, we’ll need the portal to open as close as possible to Malagard.”

“Very well. Give me a moment…” Helsik reached beneath her desk, and grabbed something. A scroll, it looked like. Instructions, no doub--

“Ad lapidē.”

Several things happened at the same time - none of which, annoyingly enough, Astarion had seen coming. A holding spell took... well, hold of Raphael, trapping him on the spot where he stood; a gesture from Helsik caused several imps and a couple of minotaurs - were they made of gold? - to appear out of nowhere. And from the door, shutting it behind them, four more people stepped in - a dwarf, two humans, an elf. 

“Shit. Hellfire warlocks,” Wyll growled, reaching for his rapier. “This has Mephisto written all over it. Well then, come forth and--”

“Oh, come now. There is no need to fight yet - or at all, if you’re wise,” Helsik spoke, and turned back to Raphael. She smiled, and whispered something; the disguising spell dissolved and the half-elf’s face was gone, leaving behind Raphael’s own. He glared at Helsik, teeth clenched, but fear was plain to see on his features as he remained frozen on the spot. The diabolist looked back at them. “Mephistopheles is looking for him, and has promised untold riches to any who bring him to Cania - alive. Whatever Raphael has offered you, surely his sire can more than match the offer. And of course, we can split the reward.”

Astarion caught a movement out of the corner of his eye - Haarlep, in the unassuming form of a tiefling, reaching back for the crossbow. He grasped their wrist, firmly, to keep them still. Wait, he mouthed, and to his relief they did, although the muscles and tendons against his palm felt tense as a bowstring. 

“Hey guys, did you know that we went head to head with fucking Zariel?” Karlach snapped. “You and your little friends...” She turned, running their gaze on the hellfire warlocks, two of whom visibly shifted. “... Will be corpses by the time we’re done.”

Helsik set her jaw. “Perhaps. But one or more than you may perish or be maimed, and what for? For the sake of the being-- half the being you fought not a year ago? I am making a generous offer--”

Durge snarled. Their eyes had always been more blood than fire, but for a moment they seemed to blaze all the same. “I too have an offer,” they spoke slowly, their voice a low rumble that promised slaughter, the distant thunder before the storm. “Let him go, and pretend you never saw us before I spill your blood, feast on your marrow, and decorate the walls with your entrails. I promise you, this place won’t be so easily distinguishable from the Temple of Bhaal by the time I’m done.”

No one spoke, no one moved - but the warlocks shifted again, and Helsik swallowed. She clearly didn’t want to fight them; She’d thought they could sway them, counting on the fact they’d hand Raphael over instead of making an enemy out of Mephisto like… what was it that Raphael had called them? The worst gaggle of imbeciles in all the Planes, if memory served.

How unfortunate for them that they were, indeed, those imbeciles. But it wouldn’t hurt to pretend otherwise, at least for a little. “Love, perhaps we should hear them out,” Astarion spoke. “After all, they only want to bring him alive to their master.” Cazador wants him alive. “You remember what you did last time we were in a similar position, no?” Get away from him, or die screaming.

They’d held back, at the time, because Astarion had not yet decided whether or not he wished to complete the ritual himself, and needed all his siblings alive… but now, they had no such limits. Durge turned to look at Astarion; they no longer had the parasite to communicate with, but he rather hoped his look was enough to convey two requests: wait and let me talk.

Thankfully, it was. Durge nodded imperceptibly and Astarion stepped forward, hands up, an easy smile on his face. “Forgive my partner, they do have that pesky bloodlust problem - runs in the family, I’m told, very difficult habit to kick - but they can be reasonable. Now, if I have to be entirely honest, I never really wanted to travel to Cania. Too cold for my taste. Didn’t much enjoy Avernus either, but you do that kind of thing for people you tolerate well enough to want to see them every once in a while. Raphael, though?” he glanced at him, still trapped in the spell. “I am not sure he fits that description. How much of a reward are we talking about?”

There was a long breath, almost a sigh of relief, and one of the warlocks at the door lowered the flaming spear it was holding. “It is good to see you can be reasoned with. Our lord Mephistopheles offers untold riches in exchange for his ungrateful spawn’s return--”

Astarion moved quicker than any of them could react, before the man could add another word. Within an instant he had a crossbow on each hand, and two bolts buried themselves in two different throats. Chaos ensued, with all his companions reaching for their weapons. Durge cast a cone of cold against Helsik, causing her to stumble back with a cry, just as Halsin summoned an elemental.

Astarion grinned. He never had any doubt they’d win the fight, but truly, it never hurt to have the element of surprise on their side. He reached over to grasp Raphael’s arm, pulling him out of the magical hold he’d been stuck in.

“Heard that? You now owe us untold riches,” he laughed, and went back to firing off bolts, faintly wondering how much richer they would be once they were done looting that place.

***

Until that day in  Reithwin Town, a scarce twenty years after the beginning of Zariel’s reign on Avernus, Raphael had no quarrel with Shar. 

He had not approached Reithwin  with the intention of making an enemy out of the goddess of Loss, truly. It was never his end goal, and generally speaking it was quite unadvisable. However, Reithwin had caught his interest - more accurately, the blanket of despair that clung to the town ever since Ketheric Thorm’s faith in Selûne had died alongside his daughter. 

Two of the greatest follies mortals, he mused - to love, and to put their faith in the gods. What blessings they may bestow upon occasion were rarely worth the sacrifices they demanded of their worshippers, whose prayers fell to deaf ears more often than not. A devil, at the very least, would listen.

Which was, incidentally, what he was doing now - and the information his warlock had gathered was indeed of great interest indeed. A selûnite turned sharran out of grief was a delightful sort of tragedy, the kind poems and ballads are full of. The tale of a town forced into conversion on penalty of death, with Dark Justiciars scouring the streets to flush out the last remaining selûnites, hanging their corpses as warning, was too a suitably dark tale. 

But word of the sharran stronghold underground just as Harpers and druids prepared to strike out at the tyrant… that was what truly interested him. That, and the murmurs of a small circle of devout followers of the Lady of Silver, still practicing their faith hidden away beneath the Mason’s Guild. 

That sounded like an opportunity. Particularly as it wasn’t just any mason who led them, but an architect as well - the very same who built Moonrise Towers. A magnificent structure, truly. The man knew his trade, and the dwelling Raphael had made for himself in Avernus - ever floating in the skies as battles raged below - could certainly use improvements. 

It was adequate, he supposed, but it lacked grandeur. And why should he not allow himself just that? He had souls enough, influence enough, to afford it. That, and Haarlep had been making some very unsubtle jabs about how wonderful it would be to have a proper boudoir.

“Or at least a bathing pool,” they’d said, “which would be more beneficial than another gaudy portrait of yourself. And with that goatee! I can’t see why you’d want it immortalized. It’s a mistake, I keep telling you. I should refuse to bed you until you shave it, honestly. Or until you give me a proper bathing pool, whichever comes first.”

Getting rid of the admittedly ill-advised goatee had been the quickest option, along with burning the portrait depicting it for good measure. But truth be told he would too appreciate a larger mansion, one befitting the status he’d clawed for himself where all manners of treasures he owned could be properly displayed. 

Why not? What good is power, what good is wealth, if one doesn’t have anything to show for it? Haarlep would have the boudoir and the pool, and he would show everyone he was a duke in all but name.

And more yet, I can be more, I shall be more, he thought. Until then, he’d amass riches, servants, status. He’d bind more and more souls to him, bid his time, and feast. 

He found Morfred precisely where he knew he would, at work in his guild. He made his offer, letting him know he could be found at the Waning Moon if he wished to speak further. He told the man he’d wait three days, and not an hour more. 

Morfred, architect of Moonrise Towers and devoted selûnite, knocked at the door of his room by the evening of the first day, and the deal was struck. Truly, desperation was the greatest ally a devil may ever ask for.

“The Justiciars in the stronghold, will they all be wiped out?”

“None of them will be left standing on their own two legs. Do you wish to know how?”

“... No. I want them gone. I don’t care how.” 

He’d signed away his soul and his services and that, love, was that. Raphael had another servant and soon an abode befitting of his station. If he played his cards right, he may just ensnare a more powerful servant to guard it, too… and he had a promising candidate in mind. 

After centuries serving at the front lines of the Blood War, and several promotions, Yurgir was an excruciarch no longer. He was now an orthon, and a powerful one. Raphael had seen him lead merregons to battle time and time again and return victorious, covered in the ichor of demons and baring his fangs in gloating satisfaction. 

But the satisfaction never lasted long, and soon enough he’d be back in the midst of the battle, where the fighting was fiercest and the odds to survive were few. As well as bloodlust to spare and savagery in battle, Yurgir had a knack for defying the odds. That, Raphael had to admire. Since the end of Bel’s reign, he’d been taking on some mercenary work. 

Raphael most certainly had treasures enough to warrant protection, and such a powerful fiend would make an ideal guardian - or a convenient bodyguard to take with him for dealings with a certain likelihood to turn violent. But Yurgir would no doubt be expensive to hire long-term. Not so expensive he couldn’t afford it, but why pay up when he could secure his services by hiring him for one mission, with servitude as penalty should he fail to slaughter every Dark Justiciar in the Gauntlet? Yurgir may wield a deadly blade in battle, but he himself was never the sharpest knife in the drawer... and he was confident enough to accept the deal, certain as he was he could not possibly fail such a simple mission. 

And to be honest, had Rapheael not intervened, he would not have failed. Yurgir and his merregons laid waste to Sharran forces, shattering their defenses and cutting all of them with no mercy… all but one.

Raphael’s appearance must have seemed like a gift from Shar herself to the terrified Lyrthindor as he cowered in a hidden room, listening to the cries of his last comrades being slaughtered and knowing full well he would be next. He’d learned quickly enough what he was - Raphael found it polite to introduce oneself -  but with a bloodbath going on on the other side of the poorly barricaded door, he’d take help from anyone willing to offer it.

And Raphael, ever generous, had just the help he needed: instructions he penned himself.

In each of us is more than what we are; parts and multitudes that form our thoughts, desires, nature itself. Manifold are the creatures inside you…

Lyrthindor spoke the words and he did, in fact, become many. The multitude of rats scattered across the Gauntlet, entirely ignored by the pillaging fiends. Raphael briefly considered taking a look at the aasimar that was rumored to be trapped in the Shadowfell - was it truly a child of Selûne? How ironic, but how unsurprising, that her shimmering mother made no more effort to save her than Mephistopheles would spare for him. 

I am older than you can begin to comprehend, his sire had said. None of my offspring, and there have been many, lived more than a minuscule fraction of that time.

Truly, the gods were no better than devils; maybe even the aasimar would admit it now. But despite his curiosity, he decided against trying to seek her out. The Shadowfell was Shar’s domain, and the goddess was unlikely to welcome his presence in it… especially after what transpired that day. So he returned to Avernus instead, where he waited for Yurgir to come crawling, bound to servitude.

It turned out to be a long wait. Raphael had thought of everything but one thing: Yurgir’s sheer stubbornness. Rather than admitting defeat and stepping out to become his servant, Yurgir remained in the Gauntlet, on the prowl, as beyond his reach as Lyrthindor was beyond his. An annoyance, that, but no matter. Raphael had little time to focus on it while he watched Morfred’s wretched soul design him a house fit for a king, and oversee its construction.

As long as the pack of rats in the Gauntlet lived, Yurgir was going nowhere.

***

“All right, I think we took everything of interest on this floor. Have I ever told you that bag of holding was your best steal yet, love?”

“Several times,” Durge chuckled, holding said bag open so that Astarion could dump inside a frankly concerning amount of weapons, potions, and artifacts of infernal origin and unclear purpose. He wasn’t the only one to keep busy looting: Karlach was stepping over the body of one of the warlocks, muttering something about what a good find that ‘big fuck-off halberd’ was - “It’s silvered, too!” - while Halsin put on a rather curious antlered headpiece that, apparently, would allow him to take on a wildshape one extra time before he needed rest. 

Somehow he made even that look good, Durge thought - only to be distracted by Wyll tapping on their arm, holding up a pair of Spellseeking gloves. “Heard these are good for sorcerers?”

“Ah, they are. Thank you.” They put them on, and turned to look for Raphael. He was standing behind the counter, not far from Helsik’s corpse, and was reading through a ledger. He heard Durge approach, and spoke without looking up.

“We are in luck. It seems Mammon’s lockpick here kept notes on how to open a portal on each layer of the Hells, and in specific points. All the materials we need to open the portal to Maladomini seem to be at hand. It appears that we can conveniently make our entrance at the outskirts of Malag-- what is it?” Raphael trailed off, turning to glance at the cloak Durge had dropped on his shoulders. 

“Cloak of the Weave,” they said. “It will absorb some magical damage for you, and add it to the next spell you cast.”

“Ah, I see. Useful, I must admit.” Raphael put the ledger down to properly clasp the cloak, and raised an eyebrow at Durge’s chuckle. “What?”

“You look good in a cloak. It suits you. I actually did wonder how come you didn’t wear one.”

A hum, and he picked up the ledger again. “Force of habit, I suppose. I do rather like the look of a fine cape, but it only suits my human form. It would look quite ridiculous once I transform, I’d imagine, with the wings sprouting beneath it.”

“You’d imagine, or did you find out the hard way?”

“... I am under no obligation to answer that,” Raphael replied, but his lips seemed to twitch in what was almost an approximation of a smile. He nodded his head towards a small heap of items he’d been picking out and placing on the counter. A large fly buzzing inside a small bottle caught Durge’s eye. “This should be everything we need. Let us head upstairs before more come seeking me.”

“Ah, speaking of that…” Durge reached into their bag, pulled out an entire smoked fish, and stuffed it back in before actually finding what they were looking for - a Dark Justiciar mask they’d picked up… at the Grymforge or the Gauntlet, probably. It had been a while. “I know your human face is not widely known in the Hells, but as Mephisto promised such a great reward for your capture, I suppose it’s best to be safe.”

“Of course. You wouldn’t want someone else to capture me, I imagine, when you have the chance to deliver me alive in my father’s grasp and take the entire reward.”

Durge stilled, and gave Raphael a long look. “I sure hope that that was just a bad joke.”

Raphael hesitated, and looked down at the mask before he sighed. “Yes. I suppose it was a poor jest,” he said, and put it on. “Was this taken from one of Thorm’s Justiciars?”

Durge breathed out, and chose to let him change the subject. For now. “It was, yes.”

“Ah, irony. I used to love it, when it was me to--” A sudden explosion upstairs, followed by a yelp, caused him to trail off and look up, alarmed. “What the-- Haarlep? Haarlep!”

“I’m good!” Haarlep’s voice drifted from above. “I’m - ow! - mostly good. Found a trap!”

“You did not find-- you fell into one, you-- ugh. Stay where you are, you walking calamity,” he snarled, and picked up the objects he’d collected with a huff before they all headed upstairs - back to the bloody pentagram and, by extension, back to the Hells.

***

It was not often that Mephistopheles visited the vaults. 

Not because he did not keep great treasures in there - he did - but because he had too many priceless artifacts to count, too many to allow himself to split his attention among all of them. Those he was actively studying or working on would be in his laboratory; the others would stay in the vault, always at hand if needed, and secure.  

Or at least he’d believed them secure, until mortals had dared infiltrate his citadel, his vaults, and take the Crown of Karsus. Not only the Crown, but the notes on the Accelerated Grand Design he’d collected, and which he had kept nearby. He had very little doubt that the Chosen of Bane had read them, for only those writings could have possibly given him the idea of using the Crown to subdue an Elder Brain and infect countless beings with modified parasites. 

The notes should never have been so close to the Crown that they’d catch the eye of a thief; the Lord of the Eighth saw that now. But then again his vaults were never meant to be breached, and neither thing was meant to fall into mortal hands. It had almost been a disaster, for the Material Plane and the Astral Plane, for the Hells and for more Planes still… and if Asmodeus knew it had been his carelessness to almost bring it about, there may have been severe consequences. 

But he did not know, he could not know. Baalphegor had perhaps guessed something, for she had been asking too many questions, and too specific, about the heist. Before long he’d known that she could be his consort no longer and sent her away, but he had no reason to think she may have found out what else had been stolen from his vaults alongside the Crown. If she did not know, neither did Asmodeus - or else he would have already taken action. With the Absolute crisis well and truly over, Mephistopheles was confident enough that the Lord Below would never know.

How ironic, he thought as he entered the vaults, that the key to avert disaster was the very Astral Prism that Raphael had given Vlaakith so long ago, as part of a deal whose finer details escaped him. He’d given the ruler of the githyanki the perfect prison to ensnare Gith’s son, but he also created and kept the very artifact which could set him free. The perfect insurance, a potential weapon to use against the Undead Queen should he ever wish her gone or seek to demand something of her.

Praise did not come easily to Mephistopheles, but he had to recognize his son had shown both cunning and foresight. Certainly he could not have predicted the prism and the hammer may open a path to the Crown of Karsus one day - who would have? - but it had been a masterful deal nonetheless. 

Of course, for all his cunning, he’d fallen short of gaining the Crown yet again… and he’d paid the price for overreaching, as he’d been warned would happen. Mephistopheles may have even chosen to turn a blind eye to his arrogance, his ambition, his hubris: no self-respecting devil would not desire that Crown. But he had come too close to success for comfort, and he had to be made an example of. 

And of course, there was the deal with the vampire lord he’d interfered with. Seven thousand souls - seven thousand! - taken from him, a contract over two centuries in the making lost, and all because he sought to win the trust of a vampire spawn and a few mortals as part of his mad quest for the Crown. 

And to spite me, of course. Always to spite me. Well then, I can be spiteful too, as he painfully found out. None may give away my secrets and live to tell the tale.

Cazador Szarr’s soul was his now, for failing to hold his half of the bargain, and was given to Qagrem to experiment on in the School of Hellfire. Once he got his hands on Raphael, the whelp was going to wish he’d receive such a lenient punishment. And he would get his hands on him: someone would catch him before he returned to the Hells, or his only worthy daughter would intercept him in Maladomini. Mephisto was certain he would not make it to Mephistar on his terms, let alone set foot into his vaults… but, he knew, some extra insurance never hurt. 

And the perfect weapon to crush that insect as he deserved, in the unlikely case he did make it to the vaults, was already there. The very thing he sought would spell his end.

“Raphael!”

The vaults were empty save for himself and the guardian he’d fashioned out of his son’s fiendish half, the part of him that truly belonged to his sire. The ascended fiend screeched somewhere in the distance, responding to his call. There was the sound of heavy steps on ice, the fierce sound of crackling hellfire, and soon enough he stood before him. 

Countless children sired over countless years on countless mortals, and not one had the ability to ascend until Raphael survived what ought to have been unsurvivable. None of his spawn could control hellfire, either; Mephistopheles had admitted to only Baalphegor and Hutijin that he’d been taken entirely by surprise when Raphael manifested such raw power. It was the first time that whelp of his ever truly impressed him.

The ascended fiend standing before him now was more impressive still, thanks to Mephisto’s own handiwork. Arcane magic could do wondrous things, particularly in his hands. None before had succeeded in making a fiend’s ascension permanent, with no need of souls to fuel it - yet he’d made it a reality. This Raphael drew his power from the essence of Baator itself, much like hellfire did. He was more powerful, burned hotter, stood taller than he ever did before. 

Even whole, he’d never been as powerful as he was now. He was perfect at long last. Mephistopheles smiled, and held out a hand. When he spoke, it was not unkindly. None was there to hear, after all: only the two of them. “Come, child of mine.”

Raphael obeyed, for there was nothing else he could do. Three yellow eyes turned to him, and his son stepped closer and crouched, clicking noises echoing deep within each skull. The Lord of the Eighth placed a hand on the central skull, and met Raphael’s gaze. 

“Listen to your father, and heed your lord’s command.” His palm glowed, hotter than even the wreath of flames which crowned his son. There was a chirring noise of distress when Mephistopheles focused his mind on his other face, the human one, but it was not unexpected. Of course it would hurt, being forced to see his other half. Two halves of one soul will always yearn to be one again… but Mephistopheles would not allow it. He’d give the order, and he’d be obeyed.

“Should you face him, you’re to destroy him,” the Lord of the Eighth commanded, his voice a growl. His palm glowed white, and so did Raphael’s eyes; he was silent and still now, listening to his command, taking it in. “You’re to tear him apart the second you ever lay your eyes on him. You’ll stop at nothing until he lays broken and bloody at your feet. Fight to the death, if you must. Thus I command you, and thus shall be done.”

The glow faded, and he pulled his hand away. His son staggered back, groaning as though awakened from a nightmare. Even as he stepped away to resume his eternal patrol, he seemed dazed… but it was of no concern. That would pass soon, leaving behind only an order he could never defy.

Mephistopheles smiled and he turned to leave the vaults, some of the fury that had been churning in his chest finally abating. He’d taken care of every possibility, of every loophole. In the unlikely case Raphael did somehow reach Mephistar and breach his vault, he would die there, at the hands of the half of his soul he’d tried so hard to reach. 

In the vanishingly unlikely case he could kill it… well, it would be a shame to lose a guardian such as that, but no matter. That fool would still fail.

Whichever way it went, Raphael would never be whole again.

***

*** [Back to Chapter 28]

[On to Chapter 30]

[Back to Start]