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m1ckeyb3rry · 1 month ago

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CHRYSOPEIA (OR, THE TURNING OF MERCURY TO GOLD)

“Stay here, thief of Okhema, and I will not give you riches, but something even more precious — knowledge,” he says. “If you can bear it, I will teach you something far beyond what your unimaginative mind can fathom at present: chrysopeia, the turning of mercury to gold.”

Synopsis: You try to steal from the wrong man, and he brings you to someone who promises you the impossible — a way to grow beyond your measly station as a petty thief, by taking something as common as mercury and turning it into gold.

HSR Masterlist

Divider: @/thecutestgrotto

Pairing: Anaxa x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.0k

Content Warnings: another nonsensical m1ckeyb3rry drop with 0 elaboration just vibes, idk anything about anaxa i was just making it up #allinmyhead, mentions of stealing and punishment and whatnot, castorice + mydei + phainon all make cameos to varying extents, this is like canon adjacent because idt it's fully compliant but whatever, reader is an unreliable narrator, formatted somewhat like a scientific paper but don't be fooled it's just aesthetic there's no correlation or anything i just felt silly, this is very like. wtf is going on yk, the biceps in his light cone overcame me sorry, i don't like him or anything, also i haven't played amphoreus yet LMFAOO I APOLOGIZE THIS IS MID <//3

A/N: WHEN I SAID I WAS GOING TO WRITE MORE OVER BREAK I MEANT IT...i lowkey shit this out in like a couple of hours though so it's very mid HELPME also it's like barely romantic icl but whatever #weup also thank you very much to my dear anaxaloving friends apollo @/hythlodayus and choki @/chokifandom for allowing me to bother them with my questions about their man for (seemingly) no reason...i am sorry for butchering your goat SDKJHLF i will do him better after i have played the game I SWEAR (maybe)

ABSTRACT

Background: Quick fingers are the hallmarks of an average thief; a quick mind is what is necessary for those who wish to last in this profession. Discernment and discretion are required — how many have gotten cocky and attempted to rob the Lady Aglaea, thinking her sightless eyes will render the task simple? As many as have lost their hands for it, you are sure. Yet amongst every crook in the fair city of Okhema, you alone have been brave enough to steal from the Prince Mydeimos, who, upon becoming aware of your wandering touch, only gave you a bewildered look and bade you to return his purse, after which he took out a fistful of coins and dropped them in your palm, his lips pressed together in pity as he told you you were worth more than this.

Methods: Your mother is the one who introduced you to this life, and she is also the one who tells you you must find some way to escape it. She insists you could be something better if you try, a temple maiden or a merchant’s wife or a royal attendant. You do not have the heart to tell her you are too dirty to be a priestess, too wicked to be a wife, and too shrewd to be an attendant, for in her eyes your every flaw is erased, your every virtue magnified. So you only smile when she brings it up, patting her on the cheek and telling her you will consider it well. She does her best to smile back, although you know it is difficult, for there is a knife ever-present in her mind, twisting and twisting with every breath she takes, every flash of light her feeble eyes are exposed to — still, she tries, which you are more grateful for than she can ever know.

Results: Even you are not infallible. Even you make errors in judgement. Less so than most, less so than any, but it is this perceived perfection which is your downfall, which drives you to pride and carelessness. It is a white haired man who catches you with your hand in his pocket, his eyes widening like he cannot believe it, and then he is frowning with a great, profound sadness. Your gaze flicks to the sword at his hip and you wonder if he will draw it; his trails after yours and his brow furrows, but he shakes his head as he takes your wrist, telling you that he will not be the one who decides your fate, that he does not trust himself to have that discernment, that discretion — traits, you suppose, that are as necessary for the judges as they are for the judged.

You are sure he is taking you to the Marmoreal Palace, where the Lady Aglaea will put you down for this great crime, this attempted pilfering of a golden Chrysos Heir, and you curse yourself with every step, wishing you had instead tried your luck with the prince of Kremnos again; for all his renowned barbarism, at least he would have to deal with you in his own way instead of bringing you to Lady Aglaea, for fear of his people losing what little faith they still had left in him. Yet to your surprise, the Chrysos Heir, who does not give you his name, takes you out of Okhema altogether, and so it is that you find yourself in the Grove of Epiphany, standing before a one-eyed madman.

Conclusion: “You attempted to steal from my pupil,” says the professor, his voice passionless and bland. He does not assign any moral value to the fact simply for stating it, and anyways, you have no grounds upon which you can deny it, not when your ring finger still itches and the white-haired Chrysos Heir’s face is still solemn.

“I would’ve gotten away with it,” you say, quiet at first and then certain, sure. “Don’t think I wouldn’t have.”

“I don’t,” he says, and that is all. “So you are entirely consumed by the pursuit of wealth. How weak-minded.”

“It is not wealth but life I am interested in,” you correct him. He frowns; at your side, the white-haired Chrysos Heir clears his throat uncomfortably, though he does not move to interrupt the exchange.

“Well. And do you know what alchemy is?” the professor says.

“A fairytale for children,” you say promptly, for you have heard the stories of water turning to wine, of dirt to chocolate and death to life.

“I am only concerned with reality,” he says. “You are right — much of it is fantastical and wrong, or not worth pursuing. Who amongst us has any interest in mundane experiments that help no one? Yet even in fiction, there is truth to be found, and if it is wealth you want, then I will give you an endless amount.”

“You’re…rewarding me?” you say, and you cannot help but turn to the white-haired Chrysos Heir, thinking that he will surely be indignant. Yet he is placid and does not complain; when he notices you looking at him, he even smiles slightly, like he knows something you don’t.

“Make no mistake,” says the professor. “This is not a reward. It will destroy you, and you will fail, and this failure will destroy you further. You will become a shell of yourself, and you will do so willingly, for it is the price you must pay in order to ever attain success.”

“I don’t understand,” you say nervously, for you cannot tell yet if this is a better or worse fate than whatever Lady Aglaea would’ve sentenced you to. “What riches can possibly be worth that much?”

1. Background

You report to Professor Anaxagoras’s lab five minutes after you are meant to, for you still cannot quite believe that it is real, that you have found yourself in the Grove of Epiphany, working alongside a Sage. He is hunched over a vial of some shimmering, flame-like liquid, his face pale as he scrutinizes it, and you stand in the doorway, wondering if you should introduce yourself. Before you can, however, he’s putting the vial away and pulling another out, rolling it between his fingers.

“Mercury,” he says. The liquid metal is runny and bright, a silvery egg-yolk that writhes in the glass he’s trapped it in. “Do you want to touch it?”

“No,” you say, because there’s something vile about it, about the trembling mass that almost has a life of its own. You think that he must be angry at you, for he stares at you, marveling at your hasty, blunt manner, but then he hums appreciatively.

“Good. It’s poisonous,” he says.

“It is?” you say, and you wonder, then, how he can manage to handle it so casually. He shrugs.

“Not everyone agrees with the theory, but it’s an unavoidable truth that everything it touches is ruined, so how can it be anything but? That’s why I keep it contained whenever possible,” he says, setting the vial down on the table before you. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes,” you say, leaning forward in the anticipation of some showy form of magic or mystique. Yet all he does is look at you, and then he frowns, an expression which you are coming to find makes its home on his face more often than not.

“Do you not find my work noteworthy?” he says, motioning towards your empty hands. You don’t know what he means at first, but then, when you realize, you shake your head.

“I can’t write,” you say.

“If you are lacking in materials, I will tell Phainon to bring some for you,” he says.

“No,” you repeat. “I can’t write.”

What you want to say is that you are not a scholar, you are a thief, a girl his student brought from the streets for him to punish. Perhaps this is a part of that punishment, because you have never felt so humiliated as you do in that moment, the hot shame of it washing over you, and so you set your jaw and resolve not to defend yourself. You will not give him the satisfaction of it, of knowing that he has, with such a simple statement, already left you reeling, so you cross your arms and wait for him to continue.

“I see,” he says. “Very well, then. You can go.”

You return to your room, secure in the knowledge that you will be free to go home soon instead of keeping up this charade of intellectual pursuits. Indeed, that night, there is a knock on the door, and you are sure it is that white-haired Chrysos Heir, Phainon, come to take you to Okhema for your true reckoning.

And it is Phainon, but he is dressed casually, not in the way an official escort would be, with a scroll in one hand and a pen in the other. He is awkward when he enters the room, and when you do not greet him, this awkwardness only doubles.

“Professor Anaxa sent me,” he says, putting the scroll and the paper alike on the small, bare nightstand you have been provided with. “Castorice will come by tomorrow to help you.”

He bows in deference then, jauntily and unsure, before backing out of the room. You reach your hand out to stop him, and he does so at once, cocking his head at you, waiting for you to speak.

“Don’t you hold a grudge against me?” you say.

“For what?” he says. “Oh, my wallet? I don’t have anything in it, anyways. You would’ve been disappointed even if you were successful.”

“What?” you say, utterly taken aback. He rubs the bridge of his nose.

“Being a Chrysos Heir isn’t exactly a paying job,” he says. “I’m closer to being like you than being like, say, Aglaea.”

“Is that why you brought me here?” you say.

“I guess so,” he says. “Something about the look in your eyes seemed to remind me of the professor. I thought he would better know how to handle…all of it. I’m not so good with these things.”

“Do you still think he does?” you say. Phainon squints at you, and then, to your surprise, he nods.

“Yes, I do. Rest well,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

The next morning, a woman with mournful irises and gloves pulled up to her elbows comes to your room and introduces herself as Castorice, telling you she will help you learn how to read and write. You think of asking her why Anaxagoras himself will not, but you stop before you can. You’re not sure the answer is one you will like, anyways.

2. Methods

Castorice agrees to draft a letter to your mother, telling you Phainon himself will deliver it — he doesn’t have much better to do, she confesses, giggling shyly like the two of you are old friends poking fun at a third, Professor Anaxa will be glad to be rid of him for a while — and then she brings you to the laboratory, keeping you an arm’s length away from herself the entire time. You almost want to beg her to stay, for now that the veil of arrogance has lifted from your eyes, you are faced with the naked truth that Anaxagoras is a frightening man, perhaps as frightening as Lady Aglaea herself, but you have not lost that much of your dignity yet, so you keep your mouth shut, returning her farewell with one of your own and waiting until she rounds the corner before you enter the laboratory.

“Good morning,” Anaxagoras says, though as before, he does not look up from whatever he is absorbed in.

“It’s afternoon,” you say. He glances out of the window.

“And so it is,” he says.

“Is that gold made from mercury?” you say, pointing at the cup from which he is drawing little droplets and smearing them on blank parchment. It is sparkling and luxurious, but he only laughs at the question.

“In a sense,” he says. “This is what the principles of alchemy were founded on, some would argue. So, you can call it that if you’d like.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say.

“Is it?” he says. “I often wonder myself.”

“For you, I suppose it is meaningless, but to me…” Your words drift into a sigh. “How many cups of the like could I fill with medicine for my mother, just from the contents of that one?”

“Don’t presume things about people you don’t know,” he says. “And you’d be surprised to know the answer is very little. This isn’t the kind of gold that sells for very much.”

“What kind of gold doesn’t sell for very much?” you say incredulously, and now you are in the mood for fighting. “What sort of world are you living in, where such an amount of something so precious is meaningless? For I would like to pay a visit, I think!”

“The kind of gold that isn’t gold at all,” he says, and then the cup is in your hands and it’s warm at the bottom, you realize, warm unlike the clammy coolness of his palms. “This isn’t some metal. It’s infinitely more precious, and yet common despite that — ubiquitous, even. Blood, you insolent thief, this is blood.”

“Phainon’s?” you say, for he is the first you can think of, and you are immediately disgusted by the idea that you hold his life-force in your hands. Anaxagoras’s face mirrors your disgust, though the subject of his ire is you, like you have said something so horrible he cannot stand it.

“My own,” he says, curt, precise, cutting. “Put it down.”

You do so at once. You have known, as all do, that there is a Chrysos Heir in the Grove, but when you were so busy with the activities of daily survival, you had never had much interest in learning more than that basic knowledge. When the Grove was so far removed from you, when you had never believed you would see its fabled halls, why would you care? But now you are regretting your ignorance, for you have committed a grave sin and will surely be punished for it.

“Are you going to send me away?” you say.

“Do you want me to?” he says. You don’t even consider it before you’re nodding your head, perhaps a little too eagerly. “Then go.”

“Thank you,” you say, eager to escape the crushing atmosphere of the room.

“Wait,” he says before you can vanish entirely. “Did Castorice and Phainon bring you what I told them to?”

“Yes,” you say.

“If you ever need anything, go to them,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll find them far more approachable than I am.”

He’s right, of course, but you don’t have enough mettle to tell him that in as many words, so you only mumble that you will before maintaining your composure for just long enough that the door can shut between you. Then you are running and thinking to yourself that no knowledge or riches are worth this, that maybe you should just seek out Lady Aglaea and submit to her yourself so that you can end whatever torment you have found yourself in.

3. Results

“What are you helping Professor Anaxa study, anyways?” Castorice says to you, pausing in the middle of tracing words on a page for you to copy. “He just said that you’re a trusted expert helping him make a scientific breakthrough, and that was that. I tried asking Phainon, but he said he had no idea either, or at least none that he could understand.”

“Trusted expert?” you repeat. She blinks when you drop your pen, bending to pick it up and setting it in front of you as you snicker. “What sort of a joke is he playing? What, do you think I’m some renowned scholar, too? When I can’t even read or write!”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not smart,” she says quietly.

“I appreciate that,” you say. “But I’m just a petty thief from Okhema who tried to rob the wrong man.”

“You tried to rob Professor Anaxa?” she says, eyebrows raising.

“Phainon,” you say, shaking your head and taking the pen, tracing the letters of the name she wrote for you, C-A-S-T-O-R-I-C-E. “Actually, I would have gotten away with it if, at that moment, he hadn’t dropped the juice he was drinking and therefore noticed me…”

“So he brought you here instead of taking you to Lady Aglaea. I understand now,” she says. “You’ve got a lot of courage for even trying that with a Chrysos Heir.”

Her nonjudgmental tone heartens you, and you double down on your writing with a small grin. You’ve never told anyone of your exploits, not even your mother, who would likely only grow more ill if she knew the truth; of course, they’re not something to be proud of, necessarily, but they’re all you have, and you’re suddenly filled with the need to brag to someone.

“I even stole from Prince Mydeimos once,” you say.

“You were successful!” she says with a gasp. You think back to the day, the disappointment on the younger man’s face, the dinner you bought with the coins he gave you, and then you nod.

“Indeed,” you say.

“Most impressive,” she says. “So you are teaching the professor of larceny and whatnot?”

“It would be better if I was,” you say. “But no. He just says vague, cryptic things while I stand there and think it’d be better if I just asked Lady Aglaea to kill me instead.”

“I think most people get that sense from him,” she says. “Why do you stick around, then? You’re not like Phainon and I, who are trying to study and graduate. You’re not a student at all, so naturally, you can leave whenever you want.”

She is right. There is nothing tying you to the Grove, except that it is warmer here, the blanket thick, not threadbare, the room lit with cheery candlelight, your meals coming with a punctual regularity even if you do nothing but lie around all day, as you sometimes are prone to doing. And, too, there is that promise which Anaxagoras made to you — chrysopeia, the turning of mercury to gold. If such a miracle is possible, you want to see it. Even if you never learn how to accomplish it yourself, you think that just witnessing it might be enough to push you forward, to keep you from giving up entirely.

“Why did you tell me you would teach me about chrysopeia?” you ask Anaxagoras one day, while he is furiously scribbling equations with a piece of chalk that grates on your nerves with its every scrape against the black board. “In all the time I have been here, you haven’t even shown me anything about it. You tell me other things, about pricks of fire in the sky and the way the world will end, but that’s not what I was promised.”

“You’re still interested in that?” he says without turning around, though his handwriting grows exponentially messier, to the point that you cannot even hope to decipher it, if you ever could. “I thought you didn’t care for it any longer.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you say.

“You can read now, and you’re even beginning to write a little,” he says. “You know truths about our place in the universe that most can’t handle even beginning to consider, and you have taken them into consideration with a gameness that only someone with a uniquely open mind could. After all of that, how can you go back to living as a thief? How can you go back to who you used to be?”

Now that you have met him, how can you leave? It’s not what he’s saying, but it’s what you understand, or at least what you want to. You shake your head, because this is not something you should want, and then you draw your arms around yourself in an embrace.

“My mother needs me. I have spent so long here without checking on her, and I cannot in good conscience continue to leave her alone. As soon as you teach me, I will go from this place,” you say.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says calmly, blithely. “Be here punctually. I don’t have a moment to waste.”

“Right,” you say. “Yes, I’ll be here.”

Yet the next day, he says he does not have time, and the day after, he spends so long explaining the history of alchemy that he must sprint to his next lecture in order to avoid missing it — not that he does, of course, preferring to show up late than in a hurry — so on and so forth until you are sure he is doing it on purpose.

“I’m serious,” you snap when you walk in on the day that you find yourself fed up with his dallying. “Whether you show me or not, I’m leaving after — hello?”

The laboratory is empty, eerie and haunting without Anaxagoras’s biting words slicing through the silence. You furrow your brow, and for a moment you are irritated to the point of leaving for Okhema then and there. Who is he, to make these arbitrary decisions about your own life? Phainon has long ago forgiven you, if he ever even held a grudge in the first place, and Castorice has never had any ill-will to you to begin with. It is only he who is stubbornly keeping you here, Anaxagoras, who keeps promising you something that he is determined to never follow through on, dangling it before you to tease you in the way one might tease a young Dromas with an overripe peach.

Something stops you before you can, though, and then you’re tiptoeing further into the room with a thief’s well-trained footsteps, soundless like a whisper carried away by the wind, searching for the source of that urge, that odd sensation that you have never felt before.

You come across a small notebook, and before you can stop yourself, you tuck it into your pocket, close to your hipbone for safekeeping. It is not enough to calm the drumming of your heartbeat, but you feel as though it is important, so you keep it as you continue in your search.

Then you are gasping, for you see him on the other side of the desk, collapsed and pale, gold dripping onto the marble floor from a wound in his forearm. It’s mesmerizing, how the rivulets gleam in the dim light, how they still darken his sleeve the same as any normal person’s blood might. There is a deathly pallor cast over his slumbering form, his hair sticking to his brow, and it’s an opportune moment for you to take everything from him, to take the heavy ruby from his ear and the metal embossed onto his eyepatch and flee. They’ll never catch you, they’ll never even think to, but when your fingers reach for him, it is not to abscond with his adornments but to shake him by the shoulders and whisper wake up, wake up, over and over until he does.

“Are you alright?” you say when he clutches his head, sitting up with a groan.

“I’m fine,” he says. “What a waste. So much blood, and I didn’t even get to collect any of it.”

“This is how you gather your materials to experiment on,” you say rhetorically. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“I’m fine,” he repeats. “I told you back then, didn’t I? You have to destroy yourself if you want to succeed. To obtain knowledge, you must first become a shell of your former self. Only when you have sacrificed enough will the truth reveal itself.”

“You’re telling me to sacrifice more, aren’t you?” you say, because you’ve learnt about more than just the universe in the time you’ve been here. “I have to be like you if I want what I truly desire. But what else can I give up?”

You help him stand and give him water; he sips on it pensively before telling you once again that he’s alright and you can leave for the day, if you’re so inclined. You’re about to hesitate, but then you remember it’s not your place, so you raise your hand in farewell and promise him you’ll come back the next day, your irritation forgotten in favor of something that you have only ever felt for another once in your life — your mother, who you worried over incessantly all through your youth and well into your adulthood. But this is different, because he is not your mother, he is no one in particular, and so you have no reason to worry for him at all.

Yet you do, and of the many things you have gained from the Grove, this is the one you abhor most and welcome least, although cruelly enough, it is also the one that you are sure you will forget last.

4. Conclusion

The journal you took from the laboratory taunts you, but you know you do not yet have the skill to read it, and you are reluctant to ask Castorice for help. It feels like something you should keep to yourself, so day in and day out, you shirk your duties at the laboratory, instead practicing your reading diligently, so that you may one day understand the sloping, elegant words.

This is a double victory, because you are then also able to avoid Anaxagoras, who you cannot imagine facing after you have stolen from him in this way. It occurs to you, a few days later, that this is your second victory over the Chrysos Heirs, and for some reason, the thought that you, a mere petty thief, have managed to steal from those destined to be gods, sends you into peals of laughter. You cannot tell Castorice about this, you cannot tell anyone, so you keep it next to the journal under your pillow, petting the triumph alongside the letters of the title page with your index finger, trying to sound it all out and getting further with every subsequent attempt, until at last you are able to read the entire account in one go.

5. Afterword

CHRYSOEPIA (OR, THE TURNING OF MERCURY TO GOLD):

Phainon has brought me a thief from Okhema. I would call him a fool for it, but between the two of us, the greater fool is me, for I have come up with this way to keep her here, although she clearly has the barest amounts of interest in it. But I cannot help myself — she is inquisitive, albeit mistrustful, and I do not think I can leave her to die, as she inevitably will if left to her own devices.

I had Castorice and Phainon inquire into the thief’s background under the guise of a class assignment. She is a slippery and elusive thing, but the two of them have access to that accursed Aglaea Okheman resources that are not available to me. Phainon found her mother, and so I have tasked him with the upkeep of the ailing woman; he is stupidly eager to be of assistance, which I find somewhat infuriating, so I have told Castorice that she is to teach the thief how to read and write. In the meantime, I have continued my experiments, although mercury is proving to be difficult to work with, and I must take breaks frequently enough that it bothers me to no end.

The thief is interested in my blood. I suppose to the unknowing, it does look like something precious, and I commend her for never being afraid to ask her questions. She is right in one sense, as well — it is golden, and after all, the study of alchemy was once nothing but the study of the Chrysos Heir’s mysterious origin, that inexplicable shine in their veins, so perhaps there is some merit to the line of inquiry?

It is true! Aside from simple heat, if the mercury comes into contact with a sufficient amount of that, it will indeed transmute into gold. I have always known there was something missing from the simplistic equations and theories presented in textbooks on the matter, but to think that that final piece was in front of me the entire time, a separate branch of study that, were it not for her, I would never have attempted to connect with the first…

To all those who did not believe, this diary is the proof that chrysopeia is real. If you mix the blood of a Chrysos Heir with mercury over an open flame, it will first blacken, as the impurities of the mercury die, and then it will turn white. If you stop here, you will be left with a silver that never tarnishes, but if you wait, it will turn to a fiery red, and that is when you can be assured that you have made gold. If you doubt me, then you may try it yourself, though it will be difficult to find anyone willing to give up so much of their blood in the pursuit of proving a mere blasphemer wrong.

In order to create the amount of gold necessary to become wealthy, one would need an entire body’s worth of blood. I have attempted to adjust the ratios, but it seems to be an exact and set proportion that resists change. This discovery is ultimately a useless one. I will have to keep trying, but I am not optimistic, and I have other things I must attend to, so I may soon abandon this study.

I can never give her what I promised her, but I hope that, whether she knows it yet or not, I have given her what she wanted all along.

#anaxa x reader #anaxa x y/n #anaxa x you #anaxa #anaxagoras #hsr x reader #hsr #honkai star rail #reader insert #canon au #m1ckeyb3rry writes #chrysopeia

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venriliz · 2 months ago

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✭ Non Sims Interests tag ✭

i got tagged by the lovely @elderwisp and @sashima tysm <3

rambling starts in 3... 2... 1 *takes a deep breath*

✭ Astronomy: I just love anything related related to space i'm literally spongebob in that episode where he's underneath sandy's glas thingy without this stupid helmet and needs water so bad screaming 'I NEED IT!' THAT'S how badly i need to know everything about space! °-° i sometimes spend several hours reading scientific papers online about it, i got a telescope i use all the time and i bought one for my nephew for his 10th birthday to go stargaze with him together and finally have someone to info dump on and be vaguely interested too lmfao. like did u know that pulsars are neutron stars that spin insanely fast (like hundreds of times EVERY second) and would immediately kill us if we'd replace our sun with one bc of the insane radiation it emits? it would happen really fast too, we probably wouldn't notice a thing. THAT'S COOL OKAY?! °-° i also think a colony on mars is a shitty idea :x fuck u elon musk you go first and die from radiation, hunger, dehydration or messing up the landing sequence idgaf

✭ Music: OK lemme talk abt my shitty taste in music. i myself have absolutely NO musical talent, believe me nobody wants to hear me sing or try to play an instrument. i tried learning the piano but i have no talent at all. i dunno how some people get through their days without listening to music whenever possible like wtf is wrong with u?? my favorite singer is prolly jeff buckley like this man had the voice of an angel and died too fucking soon T.T i'm just gonna list more artist i love in no particular order: tears for fears, nin, tash sultana, woodkid, queen, fleetwood mac, clann, mitski, grimes, joji, stromae, radiohead, bloc party, paramore, tina turner, mcr, clairo, maneskin, lorn, kara jackson, atoms for peace, throwing muses, doechii, depeche mode, prince, patrick watson, tame impala, chopin, forest swords, annenmaykantereit, the jezabels, gorillaz, phony ppl, rainbirds, fettes brot, alligatoah, volbeat, joy division, kingo hamada, ella fitzgerald, celeste, kate bush, hall&oats, a flock of seagulls, talking heads, tracy chapman, heartless bastards, akiaura, ethel cain, luke black and 1000s more °-°

i also listen to a lot of osts from video games but i always come back to the og sims soundtrack, the journey soundtrack, the music of both ori games, assassin's creed (especially ac II but i aslo like the odyssey music even though i didn't like the game that much) and the witcher 3 music.

✭ Gaming: OK lemme know if u ever heard about this game: Magical Drop III for the ps1 (it's a puzzle game but i obsessed over it as a kid like it was the holy grail)... °-° this was the first video game i ever played and my sisters let me play with them until i got too good and DESTROYED them. if any of u know the game lemme know which character you played as i always chose the tower (nobody ever knows this game when i'm trying to share my brainrot about it so... T.T)

anyway i'm a passionate gamer and games i love include:

pokemon: the older gens, pkm violet was hot garbage. i also LOVE pokemon mystery dungeon team sky. gen 5 is my favorite!

rimworld: this game cured my fear of citybuilding and sandbox games and i will love it forever.

the elder scrolls: my favorite is def morrowind but i can understand that many ppl can't get into it nowadays because you have to read A LOT. after bethesda released the slob called starfield i don't have high hopes for tes6 though v.v

assassin's creed: ac II and brotherhood was where the series peaked. stopped caring abt the newer games after odyssey

rdr2: i used the savegame editor to replace john with arthur after the epilog because i couldn't let go of this kicked puppy of a man T.T one of the best written characters in any viddy game imo. no game managed to break my heart until that one. damn u rockstar, damn u *shaking my fist with tears in my eyes*

journey: it's simplicity is what makes it beautiful and the soundtrack is chef's kiss

no man's sky: it had a rocky start but the dev's pulled this thing out of the dirt in the best way possible. since i love anything regarding space this is the perfect game for me!

point and click games from daedalic: daedalic made insanely good point and click games in the early 2010's T.T and then gollum happened. most games were first released in german but they all got an english versions i think so i highly recommend them! my favs are the deponia and harvey games.

✭ History: yes, i think about the roman empire a lot but also about the mongol invasion, the black death, ancient greece etc. my interest in learning about stuff that happened in the past probably comes from my grandpa telling me about how he experienced ww2. me and my family are from germany and he was forced to go to the front when he was 17 in 1945 and he also lost his siblings during the war. he always told me that learning from the past is the only way to make sure the future will be better. not sure if learning from the past has worked all that much bc humanity is just as dumb and cruel as it has been back then v.v

✭ Bugs/Insects/Spiders/Crawlers in general: all of my favorite animals fall under that category and while i hate how ppl catch them and pin them onto a board to display them (like wtf) i can't get enough of looking at them (besides dragonflies, like i dunno why but i don't like them as much v.v as a kid i was fucking scared of them. handling big spiders? no problem but being near dragonfly was where i drew the line for some reason lol.

like... i don't know or care to learn their scientific/latin names but still. i just love how much variety there is and how insane and cool some look. most are also so so important for the eco system. °-° i respect people not liking bugs and spiders etc. and being squeamish but... LOOK AT THE PERFECTION NATURE HAS CREATED! WITNESS IT!

yes i'm unhinged but i'm gonna shut up now and tag some ppl

@skaterboisims @thebramblewood @azeterna @moonwoodhollow @charmed-4n @microscotch @kashisun @roocomehome @papermint-airplane @grilledcheese-aspiration @aniraklova @blackgirlprotagonist @gloomiegalaxie @wotunciba did this already <3

#tag games #god sometimes i can't shut up lol

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