caeruleusaether

[caeruleusaether]

neyofilm

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Landscape embroidery by Carolina Torres

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i think all quiet on the western front and the lord of the rings are in direct conversation with each other, as in theyre the retelling of the same war with one saying here’s what happened, we all died, and it did not matter at all and another going hush little boy, of course we won, of course your friends came back

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I finished reading The Lord of the Rings for the first time in my life. With all of *vague gesture at everything* this going on.

I Am Not Okay

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The Names of Shooting Stars

Aurana slows down as they near Alikestis’ forges, Dáire matching her pace. They have enough star-touched metal from the Shining Fields for two crates. Hopefully it’s enough for all of them to experiment with. But Aurana isn’t chatting about what her plans are for her portion of the metal. Her eyes are locked on one person. “What’s Raeder doing here?”

The man in question is waiting just outside of the forge area. He nods to Dáire but doesn’t move from his spot.

Dáire hazards a guess. “My father?” She sighs dejectedly, and he adds, “There’s a lot of history there, and why he’s-“ He gestures vaguely.

“Maybe,” she grudgingly agrees. She’s been so long in the afterlife that memories of her parents are vague. Sometimes she thinks Raeder is trying to fill in for her missing family but she suspects that he feels responsible for their deaths. Aurana realizes that she’s been quiet for too long. “Raeder’s the only family I have left.” A pause. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

Dáire snorts as they approach the other man.

“Listen, Alikestis and Dáire are the only other ones capable-“

Raeder cuts her off. “I’m not here about that.” He glances at Dáire, then motions for Aurana to follow him. “Let’s talk over here.”

Dáire takes the hint and carries the crate of ore to the work bench. He glances back at them. Raeder’s on edge about something.

“Your father was looking for you,” Alikestis says between hammer strikes.

And Raeder’s here for Aurana. “Did he say what for?” he asks absently. Something feels off. He’s pretty sure it’s not about his unexpected trip to the Blessed Isles. Whatever Alikestis says, he’s only half listening. Raeder and Aurana are in a heated argument over something. It has to be about the House of Dust.

Aurana stalks away, angry. Maybe it is about the other night.

“What happened to the Wrath of Dawn?” Raeder calls after her.

She spins on her heel, the faint runes on her skin and horns flaring for a brief moment. “She died in the river!” she snarls with teeth too sharp for any human mouth. Aurana spares a glance in Dáire’s direction before heading to the main gate of Annwfyn.

~*~

That gut feeling of his turns out to be right. The House of Dust is involved, and it sounds like a rebellion. He’s not surprised. Not really. He can see wanting to have a different kind of afterlife, but the way Raeder and Aurana were talking during his visit he doesn’t think it’s impossible to leave. And it’s not an especially cruel afterlife, just a boring one. A mundane one. If there’s a way to leave the House of Dust, why are all reports saying that it’s a rebellion for an unfair and unjust afterlife? Regardless of the strange circumstances, the Cŵn Annwn are among those whose presence was requested to defend the rest of the realm. As are the Hetairoi. It’s not a surprise to see Raeder discussing plans with his father. But he doesn’t recognize the soldier standing next them. Dáire does a double take when he realizes that it’s Aurana in armour, her hair pulled back in a more functional hairstyle and an arming cap on. She’s in full plate in the same style as Raeder’s, but no wing harness. Where Raeder’s armour is blackened, hers is blued.

They’re outside the seventh gate leading to Kur and the House of Dust. Aurana looks out over the gathering forces as Dáire comes to stand with them. Raeder joins her. “I’m glad you made it.”

“How did we miss him?” They were thorough, checking all realms he was likely to end up. Yet he still managed to slip past them. But who else could convince people to fight for him? To convince them that their afterlife was an unjust one and there was no other way out? That they were being punished for a choice that they made?

“We’re not sure, but I was hoping you’d have an idea.”

Aurana’s quiet for many long moments before she says, “I don’t- I have no memory of-“ She stops, struggling to explain. She knows there’s history between her and Laran, but nothing more than that.

“What do you remember?”

Aurana glares at Ashwynn, as if the man is intruding on a private conversation. Maybe he is. She still answers. “Laran is the reason we’re dead. And I knew him. Before. I don’t know in what way.” She asks Raeder a silent question.

“He knows,” he answers.

Aurana lets out a breath through her nose. She’s a little irritated that Raeder told someone she barely knows, but the Caeslien is one of the lieutenants of the Cŵn Annwn. Raeder would need to justify her presence and involvement. “What’s the plan?”

“We keep him from breaking through the gates.” Ashwynn makes it sound so easy. She snorts at what she sees is an impossible task.

“You’re the back up plan,” Raeder tells her bluntly.

She stills beside them, staring out over the battlefield to the contested seventh gate. The murmur and buzz of troops readying for battle begins to swell. How many of them did he convince that the system is rotten, when there are so many chances at redemption? Of finally learning the lesson presented to you in each life? Or the choice to lay down their burdens and finally rest? How did Laran convince the shades in the House of Dust that they were condemned to this place of dust? She turns back to Raeder and Ashwynn. “No.”

“Aura-“ Raeder begins sharply.

“I can’t!” she snaps, glaring between the two of them. “That was taken too.”

Raeder swears, running a hand over his face as he turns away from the command table to look out over the armies. He turns back, frustration and anger clear on his face. “You should’ve said something.”

Aurana starts to reply when they hear the distinctive sound of wood cracking. The first of the seven gates is about to fall.

He jabs a finger at Aurana. “You need to get to the Pool of Mnemosyne.”

“You’re talking about the eradication of a soul!” she replies hotly.

“This is Laran!” Raeder snarls.

Aurana bares her teeth at him as Dáire and Ashwynn share a glance between them. Dying in the Afterworld means a True Death for mortal souls. No exceptions. Aurana’s hesitancy is understandable. But if this Laran has gone mad and can’t be calmed or contained, destruction may be their only recourse.

“It’s a last resort,” Ashwynn reassures calmly. Last thing they need are tempers flaring.

Aurana turns her snarl on him, who meets her gaze steadily. She’s not sure if she can trust this plan, if she should. Then she hears it: something being shouted, over and over again. It’s several moments before anyone can make sense of it.

“Aurana, he’s shouting your name.”

[caeruleusaether]

How come you're all about "feminism" until it's time to protest? We haven't seen you make a single fucking post about the LA riots and it's really disappointing.

Hi friends. This is your reminder not to reply to questions like this. You do not need to self-report your behavior. This is a guilt trip designed to make you violate your own Miranda rights.

Also, they are not riots (Freudian slip, fed?), they're peaceful protests and are a democratic right under the first amendment.

where to find your local protest donate to legal funds my local immigrant support network

be safe out there, i love you.

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headline from the nature briefing today / Map of the World, seperis

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now say it with me: authors/artists dont owe you moral purity. an author/artist job is not to hold you by the hand & tell you exactly what is Good™ & what is Bad™. you should be able to think for yourself

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⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆

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𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

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literally though if you feel like your life is slipping through your fingers and every day goes too fast… try doing hard things, not just taking the easy route, like reading and making art and exercising and cooking a meal from scratch and journaling, doing these things without distraction, without being absorbed on a screen… the time will stretch and you’ll be reminded that life is long and beautiful if you make it so.

[caeruleusaether]

The Names of Shooting Stars

Food has taste. It’s one of those things he forgets time to time. Sure, there’s food in Annwfyn, but it’s unremarkable. Despite the abundance of food, it’s the same as when he was alive. Besides, with him helping the Cŵn Annwn, food is just something you eat to keep going. Like rations during campaigns. Here in the Blessed Isles, food and drink are a way of life, and a family meal is more than immediate family. Raeder’s home on the isle of Argyre (of which Dáire learns is one of six islands that make up the Blessed Isles) is warm and welcoming and absolutely teeming with people.

A cheer goes up when they notice their host returning, and an even bigger one when they see Aurana. They don’t all speak one of the more common languages, Aurana translating for Dáire’s benefit (and the way she says his name in what he thinks is her native language is the closest he’s ever heard his name pronounced correctly by someone not from Kirnan).

It’s not at all what he remembers family dinners being like. There’s raised voices, but they argue the way friends do with mock outrage. All he can remember are bitter arguments and slamming doors. He shoves the memories down as far as he can and focuses on what Aurana’s telling him. So far, he’s learned that the loudly arguing group is debating a subject drunk and will debate it again when they’re sober. The Rule of Hospitality should never be violated. There’s more than two Hetairoi here, and not every holy warrior is a Hetairos.

There are far more people here with the curious divine runes on their skin and all manner of clothing than he can count. From the familiar tunic and trousers to the body paint and animal pelts and too short tunics (chitons, she tells him. She insists there’s a difference), it’s an explosion of colour that he doesn’t remember seeing at court. As he watches everyone and takes things in, Dáire notices that they all look young. Most of them are close to him in age. That’s when he learns that most of them died defending their world from an invasion. A man named Andros (“He’s the one singing outside with a mandolin.”) is the first soul from their world to tell them that they didn’t die in vain: their world is free.

A song goes up and everyone is singing. Aurana translates in his ear. She smells of the honeyed wine they’ve been drinking, fingers sticky from honied dates. It’s a wistful tune, but he can hear the hope in their voices.

He’s drawn in to talk about swords, and before long half the room is engaged in the conversation. They discuss in great detail the advantages and disadvantages between an arming sword, a saber, and a longsword in a pitched fight. He wonders how many of them were part of specialized units, and how many learned other disciplines purely out of necessity.

“We’re debating this next time,” one comments, pulling Dáire’s thoughts from tipping over a gloomy edge. They turn to Aurana. “Bring him next time. We’ll do a proper debate.”

Dáire stares at them for a long moment, it taking longer than it should for him to sort through what the other is saying. He takes in the black tunic they’re wearing that somehow makes them look incredibly pale. The divine runes are faded on their skin, the ears reminding him of a rabbit or fawn. “Do I have to wear the tunic?”

“Yes, you have to wear the tunic,” they say with a severe frown. It’d be more intimidating if they weren’t slurring. “It’s tradition.”

Dáire doesn’t bother to hide his groan, letting his head back as he does so. He’s not sure what he doesn’t want others to see: his rather thin frame that never quite filled out his armour, the wound that killed him, or the massive amount of hair that all men in the Kedros family have.

“Dáire. Dáiredairedaire. There’s an older version of you standing at the door.”

Dáire finds himself suddenly very sober. One look at the doorway confirms who it is. “Father,” he whispers. Maybe. He thinks it’s a whisper.

Aurana surges unsteadily to her feet, grabbing at whoever and whatever she can to stay upright. “Dáire came looking for me, and the Rule of Hospitality-“

Ashwynn waves a hand, irritation written on his face. Dáire needs to diffuse the situation. Aurana’s hand is twisted in his shirt at the shoulder and she’s mostly blocking him from view.  He almost grabs her by the hips, thinks better of it, and pushes himself up from the couch. The movement unsteadies them both until they find their footing. “I coerced her into taking me with her.”

His father pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alikestis said you needed to deliver news to the Blessed Isles but wasn’t sure how long you’d be.” He’s grateful Dáire is alright, but being the only other he soul in the Hereafter that he recognizes from their world has made him protective and cautious. And right now, he’s not sure if this is better or worse than when they were alive. Dáire’s drunk and there’s a girl barely older than him holding on to his son.

“Soooo….”

Ashwynn sighs. Dáire never really got a chance to make friends his own age during the war between Idlesie and S’ran. Chalcedony and Kirnan were in the middle of it all, literally. Caught between boyhood and an adult, Dáire never got a chance find his own way in the world. Instead, joining his father as a paladin in the war. “I’d rather not travel during the night cycle,” Ashwynn says finally.

Dáire feels his body sag with relief, nearly toppling him and Aurana over. They both collapse onto the couch before something worse happens. “We were discussing the merits of the best type of sword to use in a pitched fight,” he offers.

Ignoring all the eyes suddenly on him, Ashwynn takes an offered seat and considers the question. He mulls over the types of swords he’s used before deciding. “Longsword.”

“No!” someone gasps, causing others to start murmuring.

The argument starts all over again.

[caeruleusaether]

hot artists don't gatekeep

I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard

Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.

Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.

Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.

Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.

SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.

SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.

Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.

Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.

Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.

Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.

Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.

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can we ask about ur family's curse

according to my great grandma it was cast on her grandma by a neighbor with the evil eye - "your daughters will marry their fathers and your sons will become them"

which is really just a fancy way of describing the cycle of abuse and therefore worked very well, generally going into effect before the kid in question turned 21

so my matrilineal family tree winds up a fractured, miserable mess, lots of young marriages and parents falling apart generation after generation, serial toxic marriages with generations of kids scattered across the whole state in foster homes - very nasty stuff

until it gets to me (firstborn in my generation of cousins) and by the time im twenty one i am 1. both daughter and son and neither 2. extremely aspec and queer

which apparently this neighbor did not conceive of when casting her eye and seems to have simply error messaged the curse into oblivion. no one born after me has had this problem. all their romantic relationships are loving (though i would never claim them perfect) and their children adored. fairytale loopholed so hard the damn thing disintegrated. its the funniest magic story i have lmao