#COMPENDIUM [thread]

[dontpercievemeplease]

Lil whiteboard thing of Tycho (Heart), Jupiter (Mind), and Terra (Whole)! I wanted to be silly with my guys (pro tip don’t try this on whiteboard, if you accidentally erase it’s hell)

Also have silly doodles under the cut so I don’t spam the cccc tag lmao. There’s a lot of Saturn- sorry he’s just so silly to do on whitboards

[thewandererh]

@if-you-heart @if-you-mind @if-you-soul

begins my villian arc and makes ya’ll cry 😈

bonus fact: they are both shaking (definitely)

[purpleleafsyt]

Asteria, Ciro, Juno

[b00sh]

Hello Chonny Jash (cccc specifically) Fandom.

Goodbye Chonny Jash Fandom.

[jacubesilvora]

Love going back to watch or read something that was foundational to you and realizing, "oh these themes and ideas just perpetuated in my mind for the rest of my life" and you can trace the path from that first encounter with that thing until the present day and what you're reading/watching now

[infulaen]

Tag list! I'll probably miss some tags as usual aaaaa

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

⚔️ 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Spellneedle
Weapon (dagger or spear), very rare (requires attunement) ___ This mithral dagger has a hollow, telescoping handle. While holding the weapon, you can speak its command word using a bonus action to cause it to transform into a spear or back into a dagger, extending or retracting the handle respectively. Regardless of the weapon’s form, it has the finesse property, and you are proficient with it. If you’re a spellcaster, you can use your spellcasting ability for its attack and damage rolls, instead of Strength or Dexterity. You gain a +2 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with this magic weapon. While holding the weapon, you can use your reaction whenever a creature you can see within 30 feet of you casts a spell, allowing you to collect one of the arcane threads used to produce the spell. Only you can see this thread, which remains woven through the “spellneedle” until the end of your next turn or until you use the thread. The weapon can only have one thread at a time. While holding the threaded weapon, you can expend the thread to gain one of the following benefits. 𝙎𝙩𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝘽𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙩. If you make an attack with the weapon, you can expend the thread (no action required) to deal an extra 1d10 force damage to the target on a hit; each other creature within 5 feet of the target (other than you) must succeed on a DC 16 Dexterity saving throw or take the same amount of force damage. If you made a ranged attack with the weapon, it’s magically pulled back to your hand immediately after the attack. 𝙐𝙣𝙨𝙥𝙤𝙤𝙡 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙡𝙡. If you’re forced to make a saving throw against a spell, you can expend the thread (no action required) to roll a d10 and add the number rolled to the saving throw. In addition, any damage you take from the spell is reduced by an amount equal to the number rolled on the d10. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for as little as $3 a month!

[vintagerpg]

What a monster of a first product. This is Outcast Silver Raiders (2023), the Kickstarter first edition that boasts a box 3.75 inches deep (the trade edition, from Exalted Funeral, is in a slipcase and lacks some of the ephemera and bits that are in this, which makes sense considering what the cost-per-unit of this thing must have been). It’s the deepest RPG box on my shelves [er, it was, until Land of Eem showed up]. And what depths!

Map, standees, dungeon flashcards. The Player’s Guide lays out the core rules. Three classes — rouge, sorcerer, warrior. They work mostly the way you expect, though there are surprises. Rogues get a pool of luck points, sorcerers have a set of blood magic abilities rather than traditional spells and warriors get special combat maneuvers. It feels a little Black Hack, a little OSE. The Referee’s Compendium contains advice on how to run the game and its world. One of the longest sections is on ritual magic which A. Presents horrible magical options for players to seek out and B. Roots the game setting to a kind of fantasy occultism that I find extremely appealing. Nearly every ritual is a devil’s bargain. There’s also a lengthy section with expanded character options that basically aligns with the OSE standard. They’re there for completion’s sake, but I agree with Isaac that the game feels better without them.

The real star is the third, and longest, book, The Mythic North, which present a grim world that kinda sorta aligns with medieval Scotland. There is a central church and feudal lords and no lack of corruption, both terrestrial and spiritual. The book is basically split between encounters for hex crawling and dungeons for exploring. Both have threads of narrative that players can pick up and then referees can expound upon. The variety here is pretty awe-inspiring. I particularly enjoy the hex encounters, every one of which offers a unique event, NPC or situation. There is a lot of creativity poured into this thing.

It’s all written by Isaac Vanduyn. All the illustrations are by Kim Diaz Holm, all the maps are by Lex Rocket. Everything adheres to a palette of white, black and red, giving the game a cohesive sense of danger and violence. If I weren’t running my own thing right now, I’d be running this.

[mosaickiwi]

Fall Unto Me (part three)

Part one, part two

I said I was on break but then a lot of things immediately fell out of my brain cause of stress so now I feel silly... sowweeeeee 🤡 Part four WILL be the last part I swear. If you see more Angel!Angel and Demon!Ren from me after that (and da infodump if i get to it) genuinely tell me to shut the FUCK up!!!

yes i am probably writing the NSFW version it'll be in my compendium post if it happens

cw// religious themes

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

Your resolve was getting harder to hold on to, but you kept it. This would be the last time. You couldn't part from heaven again after returning. Atonement was waiting for you, eternal devotion to your duty right after.

Another few weeks went by as you stayed with Ren a little longer, the sea of flowers outside your bedroom window changing little by little each day. So many of them were already fully blooming, most of their petals stretched open to show off a myriad of colors while others curled inwards to hide from you. Practically a taunting mockery with how they took their time. As if insulted you would dare leave once they painted the horizon with their beauty.

It made it all the more painful that you'd never see them again. Or the companion that now felt like a piece you'd been missing.

Something about that encroaching deadline had affected the devil, too. Ren was calmer in some ways. They still brought you gifts and knowledge like usual, but he seemed to be taking his time just like the flowers. Simple answers to your curiosities became thorough while he held you close and urged you to ask more questions about whichever object took interest. 

He'd offered to revisit trinkets you loved as well. Until you were as familiar with using them as he was. You couldn't understand it. 

Your time together was draining away by the second. Didn't they want to make exciting memories? No matter how much you enjoyed it, mastery over human instruments or crafts served no purpose. Heaven wouldn't let you bring those things home, nor could you ask a higher power to recreate them for leisure.

Maybe your love was in denial of your departure. Or maybe spending little mundane, quiet days and nights together like this was their way of coming to terms with it.

Today, you chose to fiddle with one of the oldest gifts while chatting with him. The sun was just beginning to set, casting the room in the faded, flaming gold hue you'd only now gotten used to. 

“—Love?” He was calling you, the end of his tail swaying gently in front of your face to get your attention. You’d missed a few words.

“Hm?”

“You've gotten much better at this,” the pink haired devil hummed above you. His chin was resting atop your head as they cradled you in their lap on a frayed rug, his back against the bottom of the couch.

You looked over your work. The woven red string wrapped around and through your fingers took the shape of a pointed star. You knew real stars looked differently, but the human interpretation was interesting.

“Truly, it’s better than before,” you said with wholehearted agreement. The first time you'd tried—only on the third day of your visit to earth—had simply tangled the string to a knotted mess stuck upon your fingers for Ren to deal with while you apologized, embarrassed beyond belief. 

The patterns they taught you were almost easy thanks to your afternoon of trying. You unwound the string and painstakingly wound it again into one that often graced your practice: an angel. He'd been particularly smug about teaching you the motions of that one.

“An impressive self portrait,” Ren joked and squeezed you tighter in their embrace. “Although it'll take more than some thread to capture your divine beauty.”

Naturally, you rolled your eyes even though the soul it was meant for couldn't see it. A mortal gesture you'd gotten the hang of quicker than anything, as he so favored innocent teasing before expressing his deepest sincerities.

You untangled the string and tossed it to the side, then turned in their lap to make a face this time for their benefit. “I’ll do a painting, then. I’ve had enough of this toy.”

He relaxed his hold long enough for you to wander across the room in search of new distractions, but innocently called after you, “We’ll have to light quite a few candles for you to see well. Unless you plan to have me mix paints for you in the dark.” A second passed before he spoke again. “It’d be a pleasant surprise, I’m sure.” 

“Something else?” you replied, making a swift turn towards the bookshelves. You came back with a couple of novels and sat beside them with your treasure. “Is this really all you want to do? You’ve read every book here before.” 

Even the books he’d bought with strange, flimsy paper currency for you, Ren had said so casually, were already familiar territory. Tedium hardly described how boring you thought these weeks must be for him. But he never objected to anything you chose, as long as you both stayed close to home during the day. 

And you always kept your wings hidden in case a human roamed nearby. You'd never seen one come close to the cabin, or even the field of flowers, but he insisted your safety—and proximity to them—was of utmost priority. It was hard to remember the last time you let loose your wings at all after walking on the beach with him. They interrupted your thoughts once more.

“My sweet, delicate angel, I’ve had all the time in the world to do anything I want.” Their blue eyes narrowed with a smile as they spoke and you knew more teasing was coming. “We could even sit here in silence all night, if you asked me nicely.”

“How kind of you, my darling demon,” you teased them back. 

Another jesting response in his gaze faded to something different as you pulled him down for a kiss, gently at first. The books you’d brought over lay forgotten, soon shoved under the couch in favor of your new activity.

Kissing the demon you called yours felt like second nature now. There was no sting that ever came, no homesick aching in your back anymore. Only the flood of tender emotions he gave you, tainted by your own guilt and fears of parting from him.

You needed more. A stronger distraction. Your hand on his shirt tightened, determined to keep him. To stay in this moment as long as possible.

Ren exhaled, a muttering of blasphemous praise you dare not repeat whispered from his lips to yours, along with one word. A word that sounded odd to your ears. 

You'd heard it countless times over the months, but it didn't feel strange until after the first kiss you shared. He must have said it earlier, too, when you were occupied with that damned little red string. Demonic language was much different, it certainly wasn’t that at all. And the sounds of the word did feel similar to mortal languages, but nothing came to mind. So naturally, you could only assume it to be another of their pet names, but…

The thought fell to the side as you focused on him. He was all that needed to matter right now.

Their comforting warmth that called of your sacred home, your nails curling into the bottom of his shirt just to fall lower, an iron, almost nectar-like taste that flowered on your tongue—did you bite him this time? It felt good. 

Desperately, you brushed your hand over his thigh, getting dangerously close to where you knew things risked going further. You caught yourself and froze. You wanted him, you’d known since that day in the rain. In every way a being could yearn for another’s love. And of course he felt the same. But could you really go home if it happened? 

“Before I…” The words hung in the air and what remained weighed in your throat. Before I leave. Departure was looming on the horizon, sure as the sun would rise tomorrow. You dare not mention it to the one you loved again. You opened your eyes to meet theirs, cautiously as you wondered, “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” they answered, longing clear as the evening sky in his voice. “I couldn’t bear—or ever want—to deny you. Little angel, all you desire of me is yours to take.”

Without another word you did just that. You thought nothing of the faint, staggered line you felt under your fingertips that seemed to start somewhere along his shoulder blade as you lifted the shirt away and pushed him to lay on the rug. Your hands pressed their ink-stained arms flat next to the disheveled mess of pink hair and horns. Ren grinned at your audacity to pin him, but held still for your much needed exploration. 

Eyes half lidded with patient lust, mouth parted to show off pointed fangs, the devil looked to be the very picture of your sinful desires.

To be one with them, even just once, was a memory worth making. No matter what punishment waited for you at heaven’s boundary. You skimmed your fingers from the base of his collarbone, down over their stomach, and began to undo the buttons that concealed what you’d been waiting for.

[blazescompendium]

Blaze's Compendium Entry #9:

Turbo Granny

Warning: Faith and religion are important real life topics, that tackles the culture and way of life of millions of real life people. It is a cultural expression, and must be respected by all means. Here, we use a video-game ( some times) and other media series only to ignite the flame of learning about the matter, using its art when well depicted, but we do this with all due respect to the cultures we talk here, grounded by real life sources, cultures and people. And i mean this with respect. Hope you all enjoy.

Turbo Granny is a somewhat modern Yokai that has been popularized lately by pop culture. In 2024, Turbo Granny has made a resurgence due to the hit anime: Dandadan and her apparition in Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance, both happening in the spam of just 4 moths.

But before that she also made cameos in the anime Mob Psycho circa 2018, Hell Teacher in 1997 and was first introduced as a playable monster in Shin Megami Tensei Devil Summoner Soul Hackers in 1997. She was absent from the franchise for some decades, upon her return in 2022 for Soul Hackers 2, which coincided with her debut in the -at the time- new manga Dandadan.

Despite that, its origins are so obscure, that I was enticed to dig deep into the lore of this monster and understand if it is even a real urban legend. And here is what i found.

First information that we have about her is that she hails from the Hyogo region in Japan. Supposedly. Hyogo is a southern Region of Japan, between Okayama and Kyoto. Capital is Kobe. So i started by researching about the area, to see if anything about the Region itself has any connections to the particular legend, but did not found anything. The biggest news on the region in the timeline we are looking after was a big earthquake in 1995.

Both western and Japanese Wikipedia pages for this region did not include any mention about Turbo Granny. SMT VV compendium mentions the specific location: MT. Rokko, that is located in the metropolitan area of Kobe. Could no find anything about Turbo Granny on this specific location as well, at the western web.

Addendum: I know that blog posts are hardly scientific accepted sources. However, since we are dealing with an urban legend that survived via word of mouth, this kind of data gathering is the most optimal.

However, using the key words: 六甲山 妖怪 (Mount Rokko Yokai) I could find more content than before. This particular blog mentions some variations of the Yokai, like the way she is called 100km/h hag in Hokkaido, for example. However it lacked any sources and seems to have more of a comedic purpose. Other sites specifically mentions the highways around Mt. Rokko and their tunnels as specific apparitions spots for this creature, but then again no source of whatsoever.

Highway and tunnel at Mt. Rokko, supposedly where the Turbo Granny legend began.

Other Japan web content, showed me the Yokai has been discussed in forums lately, like this one that mentions its resurgence in pop culture as of lately.

But it also mentioned something about the legend being from the Edo period, that could run faster than a horse. And the user speculates that the modern take evolved from there, when cars were introduced in Japan. They, however, provides no source for this information. (Hold this information with yourself for now)

A common thread in all discussions online about this particular monster, be it on Japanese forums, or blog posts, are the outcomes the encounter with Turbo Granny can lead to. From what I could gather, those are:

1- Nothing happens, the granny just scares you. 2-if she passes your car, you get a curse 3- if you passes her, your car will break down completely in less than a week. (Terrifying)

They also speculate that this legend could be from 2ch, which brings us to the first myth about this legend, it did not in fact originated on 2ch! Since the SMT game Soul Hackers, from 1997. 2ch was created in 1999.

But if you keep going through the Japanese web enough, you find more blog posts talking about this Yokai. For example, this other one.

That mentioned the Turbo Granny, but divided in categories. The blog mentioned that this guy called Toshiro Yamaguchi described a version called 60km/h hag that could just run at the max speed of 60 km/h. The Turbo Granny we know can reach up to 100 km/h. Other blogs mentions 140 km/h or as fastest as the target.

This also became a common thread in all registers of this Yokai.

Still in Japanese web, I forgot to check Japanese wikipedia. It got some interesting results, as some interesting variations, and some lore. But only contained one source: This book:

口敏太郎 『本当にいる日本の「現代妖怪」図鑑』 笠倉出版社" In a direct traanslation:

''Illustrated catalogue of modern yokai from Japan that really exist'' This book was released in 2007, 10 years after the granny being featured in the Soul Hackers game, so it is not a good original source.

Sadly I could not find this book anywhere on the internet, only the illustration it has about the Turbo Grannny:

The Wikipedia article states a bit of lore from the book. Keep in mind that I have to use machine translation, so feel free to correct me:

''鞠つきをしている最中にひき逃げされた少女の霊が、自動車以上のスピードで道路を疾走する「鞠つきマリちゃん」[1]'' It mentions that it is the ghost of an once a little girl who died after being hit by a car, playing a ball game in the highway or tunnel with friends.

This is an interesting report, but so far is the only place I have found that contains it. It can be just an invention of the author, or just a regional tale. Other sources generally do not touch on the origins of the ghost.

It all gave me the idea to go at Google Books, and check what i could find on the matter.

You see, earlier in the research I was discussing at Discord if this creature could be a SMT OC, which would be huge. That is because the oldest citation about this ghost was from Soul Hackers, in 1997.

But this was ruled out, going by Google Books, found this book mentioning her at the 29th page, from 1996:

'走るお婆さん: 日本の現代伝說' (Direct translates to: Running Granny: Modern Japanese Folklore)

This book seems to tackle a lot of modern Yokai and Urban Legends in Japan at the mid to late 90s. Its descriptions says:

''A four-legged grandmother chases you in a car at 100 km/h? If you remember the phrase "purple mirror" until you're 20, will you die? If you ride the lion statue in a certain department store, will you pass the exam? Among other urban legends about sex, food and more, the third edition of the anthology that collects and deciphers the modern legends of turn-of-the-century Japan.''

At the 29th page:

(No. 5, June 1994, Issue 6), Kayoko Ikeda's discussion on modern legends titled The Secret of the Running Grandma was published. In that, there are mentions of the Turbo Grandma (with a piece of paper on her back that says 'TURBO' as she rushes by) and the Dash Grandma, who runs along the Tokyo Metropolitan Expressway…"

It also had a mention in the 103rd page:

… There are many modern yokai, like Turbo Grandma, who chase after motorcycles and cars. Also, there are ghosts that get into vehicles, such as in the story of 'The Vanishing Passenger' (The White Thread of the Earring, page 22). These eerie phenomena often manifest when they are reflected in the rear view mirror, often occurring around 2:00 AM…"

This means that we can go even further back, to 1994 as the oldest report of this Yokai. And this book states that it was recorded by a woman called Kayoko Ikeda. I went by her name through Japan web to find her complete list of works, and sure enough I followed the path to the book:

ピアスの白い糸―日本の現代伝説 The white thread- Modern Japanese Urban Legends

Supposdely, this book should mention Turbo Granny, but i can not find it online, nor check its index clearly. There is however, a chapter dedicated to car related Yokai and legends, which can be what we look for. It seems to fit with the page 22, mentioned in the other book.

Ikeda who is a translator of German to Japanese, was involved into it. But could not find much of her work related to Yokai. But she is in fact, an academic.

By this, we can kind of conclude the book White Thread from 1994 was the first recorded instance of Turbo Granny in a book. At least, I personally could not find anything else older than that. The idea of the White Thread book was to report urban legends that were being told around at the time, so it may be just that this was really the first person to write about that.

Similar case happened to the Saci, from our entry #7 in Brazil, which was a popular word of mouth legend up until it started to be recorded in books.

Another name that was hot in this research was of Toshiro/Yoshitaro Yamaguchi (山口敏太郎.). He is a celebrated occultist and urban legends enthusiast in Japan, have written several books, currently also makes videos for the internet discussing the case, but it seems he was a frequent apparition on television shows, and somewhat of an authority in the matter.

For example, Yamaguchi has mentioned the Turbo Granny several times, like this one, where he compares her to other Yokai. But Yamaguchi has published several books, and I lack the Japanese knowledge to verify every one of them, that is assuming I would find it online. But it is clear that he mentioned the creature more than once online.

The other claim I went to check was if the idea of Turbo Granny having an Edo Period ancestor checked. And it kinda surprised me.

By combining Edo period and Turbo Granny in the Japanese web, i was directed to a blog article that aimed to find this originnal legend:

The article traces a parallel to another Yokai: Yama-Uba.

Yama Uba is a yokai that is a monstrous hag, that acts like a witch and often is a sort of Japanese Baba Yaga, or Boggeyman. The connection is interesting, because Yama-Uba is often reported to attack travelers on their ox-cars at roads, and in at least one tale they ran pretty fast for an old hag. The story is called:

''Three Talisman'' (三枚のお札』だろう)

The story is about a monk that was hunt down by the YamaUba, and used its magical talisman to escape. During most of the tale, the Yama Uba was running after him with supernatural speeds.

The author of the article speculates that the parts of the tales showing the Yama Uba running after the travelers, that tried to escape by foot, horse or ox-cars, stuck in the collective mind, and slowly evolved to the imagery of a hag running after cars nowadays.

Yama Uba is a very well documented Yokai, being popular as a bogeyman. There are several tales and folklore regarding her, but it checks out that she indeed had tales about chasing her prey.

Personal theory

Now it is time for that part of my text where I give my personal theory, which is totally my own and based on what I have read and researched. This can be debated and disregarded, but it was my own conclusion. Feel free to disagree with me. And even better, if you are a Japanese citizen who had contact with this legend, let me know and correct me if necessary.

Urban legends are extremely hard to pinpoint, and we can only presume their origins, specially with a big language barrier. But we often can also use deduction and a bit of ''taxonomy'' to co relate myths and folklore that could have birthed the legend, the time and place.

I like to compare this to when a paleontologist finds an incomplete fossil, and have to rely on the closest sibling specimens to try and understand the biology of that animal.

In this case, my Personal theory is that I agree with the said article, and i really think that Yama Uba, and its associated imagery birthed the idea of a hag chasing after vehicles, and people.

If you take a close look, the oldest mention I could find about the Turbo Granny is from 1994, then 1996 and then it appeared again in 1997 in SMT. The idea is that this legend was already been spoken about before the internet exploded, and just slowly was registered. If I had to guess, Id say this legend could have originated by word of mouth in the mountain highways and tunnels of Kobe, in the late 1980s. Those places are naturally where people speed up the most with their cars, and even some times host car meet ups. Initial D is a good example of this culture.

Imagine the big showdown that those two would put up....

Of course, i am not Japanese and i can be completely wrong on that interpretation, but at least the connection with Yokai, and the start of the registration of Turbo Granny is factual and can be assured. It is weird however, that Shigeru Mizuki never registered this Yokai, because even if it appeared as late as 1994, he would probably get to know it. But the man was not all powerful.

I had ran across Japanese people online theorizing the Yokai is a warning against old people causing traffic accidents, but it was just that one person, really. I do not believe much in this theory.

The legend probably spread around Japan during the 90s, appearing in probably occult magazines such as the ones the SMT dev team had access, and the rest is history. Surprisingly Kaneko's commentary on the hag for SH book, has no mention of his sources.

''The ghost of an old woman appears on the highway and runs at full speed. She only overtakes cars without causing any harm, and is more of a frightening presence than a horrifying one. There is also the "Dash Granny" of the same kind. There is also the "100km Granny" which causes accidents in cars that overtake her. It's an old woman running on all fours. There are all kinds of old people, like the Jumping Old Man or the Dash Old Man. Anyway, when you're driving at night, apparently there's one that passes you at incredible speed. Apparently it has the word "Turbo" written on its back, or a piece of paper with that written on it stuck to its back. What's more, it's written in hiragana. Personally, I wrote "Porsche Turbo" on its kimono. Still, old people play a lot of important roles in yokai.'' -Kazuma Kaneko, Soul Hackers Subete (machine translation)

Turbo Granny strikes back: The resurgence of the legend.

Turbo Granny gathered a recent cult following, due to her appearance in pop culture media. SMT was a pioneer in this regard, followed by the after mentioned Hell Teacher manga.

Mob Psycho 100 also featured the Yokai, but due to unforeseen forces, 2024 has became the Turbo Granny year and she is indeed having a brat summer.

When the Dandadan animation hit Netflix at the start of October, the Yokai was instantly recognizable. It became one of the main antagonists and characters of the work, that also dabbles in other Yokai and spirits.

Shin Megami Tensei V: Vengeance not only re added the monster, but also gave her an unique side quest, where you have to hunt down the hag through the pre apocalyptic Tokyo, stop her, and photograph her for an occult magazine.

And finally, my favorite piece of media related to the granny...

In 2017 the Turbo Granny was the star of a Broad Wimax commercial, which is a company that sells internet connection. They commercial was about how their internet speeds were able to be faster than the Turbo Grannyy, and it was starred by a comedian. The whole commercial starts as a documentary, but gets progressively funny.

Conclusion

As any urban legend, Turbo Granny will forever be a mystery in terms of origins and original sources. We can say for sure this was not invented by Dandadan artist nor Shin Megami Tensei devs, since the legend was around for a long time. It seems people in Japan recognize it as popular as the Slit Mouthed Woman, for instance. This makes this Yokai unique because of how modern and popular it is, through pop culture.

Of course, Dandadan mangaka added his own flavor to the monster, but that is part of the fun.

Honestly it is pretty cool to witness that kind of popularity for a specific Yokai, and watch how the legend slowly evolves and change over time. Who knows?

I hope this put your itch to know this hag's history to sleep!

Turbo Granny at the Soul Hackers for 3DS opening.

Special thanks to Eirikr for the help with the Kaneko commentary!

[howlsmovinglibrary]

Mid Year Book Freakout 2025

thanks to @bookcub for tagging me and (re)starting the trend :)

Number of books you’ve read so far: 19 (out of a goal of 30)

Best book you’ve read so far in 2025: The Warm Hands of Ghosts by Katherine Arden was genuinely like sandpaper to the soul. in a good way. I felt all exfoliated afterwards.

Best sequel you’ve read so far in 2025: I've only read one sequel so far this year, which was Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales. Ironically, it's my least favourite in the series. It feels like this is when the 'cosy fantasy' marketing dept fully got its claws in.

New release you haven’t read yet but want to: I'm genuinely very disillusioned with new releases, but I do want to read The River Has Roots by Amal El Mohtar based on friends' peer review.

Most anticipated release for the second half of the year: again, see disillusion with current state of publishing but! I want to read The Summer War by Naomi Novik and Play Nice by Rachel Harrison.

Biggest surprise favorite new author (debut or new to you): Annabelle Slator's The Launch Date has been my favourite romance of the year so far, and it reads really well for a debut novel :)

Newest fictional crush: I don't think I really have had one of those, but I fell so deeply in love with what one of the love interests in Warm Hands of Ghosts represented, that every time he had a line of dialogue I started crying.

Book that made you cry: ...see above.

(also The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez)

Most beautiful book you’ve bought so far this year (or received):

I'm not sure if it's any good, but this book was already on my TBR and the UK version had some beautiful sprayed edges.

Book that made you happy: Finishing Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell (and getting to the final 20% where all the plot threads come together so beautifully) certainly did make me very happy :)

my reread of In Other Lands also came at the right time!

What books do you need to read by the end of the year? To The Chapel Perilous by Naomi Mitchison :)

tagging @serkershit, @sitting-in-the-sink, @books-are-portals, @vagabondly and anyone else who wants to do this (this is your invite! just tag me!) x

[bardic-inspo]

Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus

Summary:

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.

Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.

“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”

-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1

Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.

A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.

This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.

No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.

Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.

This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.

There’s only one human here who’s just human.

Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”

Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.

His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.

“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.

“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.

He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.

“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”

Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.

His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.

“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”

Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.

He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.

Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?

Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.

His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?

Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.

But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.

She’s not wrong.

If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?

A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.

“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”

The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”

"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."

His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.

Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.

"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."

“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”

“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.

“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”

Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”

A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”

Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--

No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--

Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.

It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--

It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.

He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”

Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”

“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”

A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.

Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”

The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.

Only one remains.

Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.

The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.

It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.

It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.

At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.

“You.”

“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”

Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.

Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.

She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.

“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.

“I need not fear anything.”

Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.

“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”

“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.

Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.

The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.

“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.

“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”

She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.

Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.

“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.

Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”

The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.

Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”

And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.

His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.

Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.

Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.

“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”

Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”

Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.

“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”

The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.

He hasn’t yet.

One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.

When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.

In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.

To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.

“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”

Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”

Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.

“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”

Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.

Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.

So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.

Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.

He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.

“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”

“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”

Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”

Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.

“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”

Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.

“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”

Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.

Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”

Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.

“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”

Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.

“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”

“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.

Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.

Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.

It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.

One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.

Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.

Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.

And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.

Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.

Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.

Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.

Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.

But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.

Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.

Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.

Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.

“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.

Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.

Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.

“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.

“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.

He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.

Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.

But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.

He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”

For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.

Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”

“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.

His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.

It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.

So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.

Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.

But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.

He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.

He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.

Or--

A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.

The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--

Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.

So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.

But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.

He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.

If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.

He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.

Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.

His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.

Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.

Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.

Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.

“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.

She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.

A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.

Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.

His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.

“There.”

She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.

Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.

Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.

You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.

Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.

Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.

It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.

His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”

“Please,” she starts to say.

But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.

“O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”

Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.

And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.

It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.

Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.

He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.

Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.

“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.

Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.

“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.

He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.

“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”

Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.

When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.

Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.

He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--

Mine, mine, mine.

Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.

Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.

Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”

Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.

“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”

“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.

A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.

The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.

“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”

“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.

“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.

“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”

“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”

Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.

“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”

His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.

Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”

And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.

Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.

Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.

The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.

A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.

She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.

The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.

“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”

And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.

It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.

“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.

Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.

Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”

Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.

Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.

[ofliterarynature]

TBR TAKEDOWN: GOODREADS, WEEK 24a

The Secret Lives of Color by Kassia St Clair

I'm trying to trim down my tbr list(s) and I'm asking for your help! Descriptions and more info under the cut. Please reblog and add your thoughts!

* * * *

A dazzling gift, the unforgettable, unknown history of colors and the vivid stories behind them in a beautiful multi-colored volume.

"Beautifully written . . . Full of anecdotes and fascinating research, this elegant compendium has all the answers." --NPR, Best Books of 2017

The Secret Lives of Color tells the unusual stories of seventy-five fascinating shades, dyes, and hues. From blonde to ginger, the brown that changed the way battles were fought to the white that protected against the plague, Picasso's blue period to the charcoal on the cave walls at Lascaux, acid yellow to kelly green, and from scarlet women to imperial purple, these surprising stories run like a bright thread throughout history.

In this book, Kassia St. Clair has turned her lifelong obsession with colors and where they come from (whether Van Gogh's chrome yellow sunflowers or punk's fluorescent pink) into a unique study of human civilization. Across fashion and politics, art and war, the secret lives of color tell the vivid story of our culture.

Date added: 2020

Goodreads: 4.09

Storygraph: 4.1

PRO:

I think color is a fascinating subject, and I'm also very 👀 about art history and historical fashion

Available from the library in ebook and print

CON:

Not available from the library in my preferred format (audiobook), BUT because of the visual component (color samples), that may be for the best.

May be too informative/factual?

who knows when I'd get to it, my non-audiobook tbr only gets longer

[aevumisles]

╰┈➤ AEVUM ISLES :: JUNE FESTIVAL ❂

Throughout the beginning of the summer season, Isle residents gather in multitudes during the day and the night to celebrate the natural world and the communities that share in it. Many traditions find the Aercon and Echoes alike visiting the sandy shores of the Lunar Coast, cleaning up the environment, and showing goodwill to their neighbors with plenty of gifts. Please refer to the ARCANUS ISLE COMPENDIUM for creature and plant references.

OVERVIEW:

The Sunflower Festival

The Sunflower Festival is a month long event taking place from the beginning to the end of June. While the festivities do not last for the entirety of the summer season, residents of Arcanus Isle take great care to enjoy the warmer weather.

Festivities take place during the night and the day. In the daytime, events like the Sunflower Parade or the Lunar Tournament can be enjoyed in the Lunar Coast and Downtown Arcanus Districts.

Each night, in the early evening, Arcanus residents end off the day's festivities with bright fireworks that light up the night sky. 

The Solstice Ball

Takes place during the 18th - 30th of June.

The festival concludes with The Solstice Ball, a spectacular event where everyone dresses in their best to dance under the glorious Golden Moon. (see: Notable Legends down below.)

Like last year, the ball will be hosted in the Viderenox Observatory. See HERE for details on the observatory.

ACTIVITIES:

NOTE: Other activities such as sea shell collecting, beach parties, garden parties and so on are all celebrated during the Sunflower Festival. While you may create member-run mini parties and events during the festival, only interactions with the listed activities/areas will be considered valid forms of festival participation.

For a limited time, a number of Sunflower Festival wares can be purchased (for free!) from the Aevum Marketplace using the Sunflower Festival Voucher.

Some of these wares include:

Shimmer and Glows Sprinkler - (available only with participation in Nighttime Shimmers and Glows.) An endless sprinkler that sparks and changes color! They are also non-flammable. Lunar Rod - (available only with participation in the Lunar Tournament.) A gold-flaked fishing rod with a special tackle that is highly attractive to the local aevum fish. Fish Charm - (available only with participation in Fish Spy) a small charm in the shape of any fish, made from stones, shells, or wood. Olympic Flag - (available only with participation in the Aevum Olympics) A one-of-a-kind flag with the icon of the sport participated in. Garden Bracelet (available only with participation in Charms of the Garden Activity. Garden Bracelets may be gifted.) A custom bracelet made with several unique charms and beads of flowers. Keepers of the Land, Sky, and Sea Shirt (available only with participation in the KLSS) A cool, breathable t-shirt displaying the logo of the volunteer organization. Homeworld Wares (available only with participation in the Gateway Flea Market) These items are custom to each Echo, and are subject to the rules detailed in the event below.

Requests will be processed from June 22nd - May 3rd. All requests should include a link to the thread, ask, or drabble that shows the participation in said event, in addition to the stats, and thread pages.

(NOTE: with the exception of Garden Charms, these items cannot be gifted to other muses.)

Downtown Arcanus.

Sunflower Parade

One of the many highlights of the Sunflower Festival is the Sunflower Parade! It is a warm welcome to the summer sun and the influx of Ivurie Aether that comes with it. Downtown Arcanus has been decorated with balloons, paper sunflower petals, and plenty of other party decor. Music can be heard throughout the streets during the day. Especially nearby the Arcanus University campus.

During the cooler hours of the late afternoon and early evening, a float parade is conducted by residents who choose to participate. These floats range from large to small, elaborate to simple.

As usual, to announce the event on her very own float is is Arcanus’ own Opal Luminous.

Notably, the East Tower Company and the West Tower Society are known to be highly competitive during the parade. Each year, they create more and more elaborate floats. The not-so-rumour has it that they may even be trying to outdo each other.... While the other rumour has it that they've even gone so far as to try and sabotage each other's floats!

It seems that the director of the WTS has been making massive steps in pushing a positive image for her company after recent events.

While many floats are crafted by various other notable figures and local businesses of Arcanus Isle (Echoes will find a representation of almost every Aerconi-owned business!), the Echoes are equally encouraged to create floats of their own for the parade. Or join in other floats to assist their performances. (Or sabotage other performances!)

Charms of the Garden

This activity is eligible for festival redemption.

A favorite activity amongst festival-goers is creating unique garden bracelet for their friends and family members. There are dozens of different ornaments to choose from, each with their own meaning. All ornaments for Charms of the Garden are created by students at Arcanus University, and the proceeds return to the school's funding.

The charms provided are as follows:

Echo Tree Nut ( peace in change ) 

Field Fish Feather ( brings good people into your life ) 

Sapeng Wool ( aid with memories ) 

Moonview Spring Stones ( rejuvenation )

Lunar Coast Shells ( wealth in the summer ) 

Heavens Mirror Bead ( mourning lost loved ones ) 

May Flower Bead ( protection ) 

Zephyr Lilly Bead ( guidance in dark times ) 

Orb Flower Bead ( good wishes ) 

Sunflower Bead ( happiness ) 

Aether Rose Bead ( balance ) 

There are multiple locations for bracelets to be created along campus grounds.

NOTE: The charm bracelets may be gifted to other Echoes participating in the Summer Festival. Upon voucher redemption, a link to the thread or ask featuring it is required to put this item on your stats page.

The Lunar Coast.

The Lunar Tournament

This activity is eligible for festival redemption.

The Trawler Docks are open and bustling with activity! During this time of year, the ocean is flourishing with many forms of sea life.

Some locals offer scuba diving tours of Arcus Cove's coral reefs, while others will gladly rent out boats for other residents to enjoy the clear blue waters.

Of course, the docks are also host to the largest fishing competition of the year: The Lunar Tournament.

There are three main categories that one could enter into:

Biggest Fish (measured by weight and length)

Most Fish (measured by total weight)

Rarest Fish (judged by leading Marine Biologists of Arcanus Isle).

The competition has a catch-and-release policy upon completion of the final scoring.

Winners of each category will receive a cash prize of 1,000 keys, a trophy representing their category, and a brand-new fishing rod!

Fish Spy

This activity is eligible for festival redemption.

Primarily marketed towards families with younger children, Fish Spy is an event taking place in Arcus Cove. Participants are given a bingo card and taken out the coral reefs. There, they can snorkel in the waters while looking for many breeds of fish on their cards. (The cards are water proof!)

Some fish to find that are native to the Arcanus Isle include:

Comet Fish

Gem Fish

Illumenoctopi

Ripple Kelpies

Successfully filled-out cards can be exchanged for a variety of fish charms.

Nighttime Shimmers and Glows

This activity is eligible for festival redemption.

In brilliant displays of wonder and light, a fireworks show is held every Sunday evening along Halycon Beach. Many gather all across the Lunar Coast just to watch the astonishing display. The firework shows change almost every night, with each display being more even grand than the last.

The show is hosted by Vander Bard of the Comet Promenade. Many enjoy watching the show on the Comets Ferris Wheel, especially with friends and loved ones.

Along the Comet Piers and Comet Promenade many shops offer great selections of fireworks, sprinklers, poppers, and plenty of fantastically sweet and savory treats the likes of fair foods.

The Clearview District.

Aevum Olympics 

This activity is eligible for festival redemption.

Attention all sports fans! Hosted at the Clearview Stadium is the most highly anticipated events of the Isle! The Aevum Olympics. Aercon from all over Arcanus joing together to compete in various sporting events and prove their mettle. Sporting events include but are not limited to:

Track and Field (split between marathon and half-marathon sprints)

Swimming

Wrestling and Boxing

Various sports (e.g., soccer, football, baseball, tennis, etc.)

Pole Vaulting

Gymnastics

Ice Skating

Ping Pong

and many others!

Note: The Olympics can also include sports from an Echoes' homeworld.

All are welcome to come and spectate or participate! There’s just one universal rule:

No Cheating.

Cheaters will be forced to repeat their event against an Olympian Android. (Specifically, one designed by the event's biggest sponsor, the East Tower Company)

It never loses.

Of course, Aevum’s Tossup is one of the most popular sports. Over the spring, the four teams have been preparing near-endlessly for the playoffs that occur during this event. Now, it is finally time for the four biggest teams to compete for the championship title.

See here for information on the local sport.

Make sure to follow Aevum Daily for updates!

Fanalea District.

The Golden Harvests

No people are more excited about the Sunflower Festival than the residents of the Fanalean Farmlands, and Echoes are encouraged to join in! Beneath the Golden Moon, the Fanalean community ensures that their fields are fully revitalized for the coming crops to grow.

Plenty of help is wanted, and Fanalean farmers employ any volunteers to pick up a trowel to clear the fields of Whisper Thistles, care for livestock, harvest the last spring produce, sow summer seeds, and prepare some fields to lie fallow for the season.

Up to 500 keys per day will be offered to participating echoes.

At night, the workers watch in awe as fields of sunflowers begin to glow brightly across the fields, matching the Zephyr Lillies around them. The sunflowers absorb sunlight in their petals, and then under the golden moon, they glow a bright golden color.

Sunflower Feast

During Sunflower Festival, locals will often spend time experimenting with new dishes and flavors. When new recipes have been concocted, chefs of all calibre gather around the bonfire at the center of Fanalea to share them. In fact, the whole community comes together!

Sunflower is a key ingredient in many of the foods found. A glowing, golden tea - called Golden Cortania - is made from the petals of the sunflower. It is especially a fan-favorite. Tins can of Golden Cortania be bought from select shops in the Vesper Town Trading Post.

Some of the foods that can be enjoyed include:

Sunflower Seed Muffins

Pumpkin Sauce Pizza

Eben Root Stew, and many others!

Honeyglow Meadery is also offering Sunflower Wine, which is only available during this festival.

The Aether Reserve.

This activity is eligible for festival redemption.

Keepers of the Lands, Skies, and Seas

As nature is the focal point of the Sunflower Festival, the Padedue Temple, Whisperwind Hacienda, and West Tower Society have combined efforts to create volunteer programs to help clean up and protect the natural world of Arcanus Isle. 

As this is a joint effort, the Hacienda is focused on education, the Padedue Temple is focused on volunteer work, and the WTS is responsible for funding and advertisements.

Information booths with petitions written by the West Tower Society will be posted all throughout Arcanus. Signers will pledge to protect the environment and spread awareness about ways residents can keep Arcanus Isle spick and span.

Those who sign on to the petition pledge will be made automatic volunteers, where they will be assigned a location to clear up any trash and resident-made debris. These trips involve waking up early, and are often an all-day event. Supplies are provided to the volunteers by the West Tower Society, and Willow Westson has designer a cool shirt with “Keepers of the Lands, Skies, and Seas” written on it. —They're tie-dye!

Most volunteer work will be found along the Lunar Coast. Primarily: Halycon Beach, Arcus Cove and Arcus Reef. Downtown Arcanus' Quill Pillar Shores, the Aether Reserve's Moonview Springs, and any of the parks across Arcanus are also available as volunteer locations.

Merchant Town.

Gateway Flea Market 

This activity is eligible for festival redemption.

In the center plaza of Merchant Town, a giant, mysterious tent has appeared seemingly overnight! Instead of the various food stalls and market shops, there now sits a wondrous pavilion called the Gateway Flea Market.

This tent houses brand new stalls full of Aercon selling or trading their random assortment of goods to anyone who may find a home for them. 

While many of of the prices come cheap, many other items may only be acquired through trading specific items that may take hours to find. An Echo dead set on a ware may find themselves embarking on a long and arduous Exchange Quest.

Curiously, in some of these stalls Echoes may come upon strange wares. Instead of the usual bits and bobbles however, what makes these wares so strange is that they may be familiar to the Echoes themselves.

These items range from books and journals, to trinkets, toys, jewelry and clothes, tools, decorations, and other such similar items. As with any item, these come at a price, and some merchants drive a harder bargain than others.

The rule of the game? One man's trash is another man's treasure. 

Be warned if you see one of the Pyrite Pawners triplets! They are all ruthless in their pursuit of unique items to sell in their shop.

Note: The following restrictions apply: The Items can: - Be items that exist in an Echo's native world - Be pulled from any point in time in the Echo's world, regardless of an Echo's current or potential canon points. - Be minor canon items, background items, and major canon items. The items cannot: - Be any belongings found on an Echo's application, current or future. - be weapons or magical in any way. - be eligible for the Tier Four Homeworld Redemption item. - Be larger than a two-foot cube. - Be items that canonically belong to another character or from a world separate to their own. All items redeemed must not serve a largely important purpose. e.g., Bilbo Baggins could not find one of the Ten Rings. These items must be found in either thread or drabble form in order to keep them. In which, a brief description of what the item is, and may be used is required. The thread or drabble must be submitted to the Aevum Marketplace as proof for approval to put on one's Stats page inventory. Requests will be processed from June 18th - July 5th.

Viderenox Observatory.

Solstice Ball

During the last two weeks of June, the main event held inside the observatory is the highly anticipated Solstice Ball. At the twin moon's apex, the ceiling of the conservatory opens, allowing for the light of the golden moon to shine upon the dancers below.

In order to attend, the invited must present their golden letter to the attendants at the gate. Inside, arrivals will find the well-decorated room full of people dressed in their finest, fanciest attire.

Attendants walk between guests with trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvre, though larger portions may also be found at the open bar and snack tables. The food has been catered by the famous Chef Trop Chere, owner of the Casa Nova restaurant. The featured wine is, of course, Honeyglow Meadery's Sunflower Wine.

The telescope is also open to those who may wish for a closer look at the stars. Janus Astrophel can be found assisting visitors with the equipment and teaching them about Aevum's galaxy. The studies and offices are closed during the event. Echoes who prefer to explore will find these doors have been locked. Fortunately, other exhibits may be explored, creating quieter areas of rest during the party.

Of course, the main activity of the ball is the dance!

A live orchestra fills the hall with beautiful music, while the dancers pair and waltz under the stars. In some of the dance numbers, the floor of the observatory matches the night sky above. This creates the appearance of literally dancing among the stars.

NOTABLE LEGENDS:

The Golden Moon

The twin moons of the Aevum Isles have always held a certain air of mystery to them. Most scholars agree that these moons are a symbol of Ebenos, while the sun represents Ivurie's qualities. As Aerconi understanding of the Aether grows, studies have shown that during select periods of time, one Aether may influx so greatly that its influence may even reflects upon its counterpart.

One of these select periods is in the beginning of summer. During this time, Ivurie Aether burgeons so greatly that it reflects in the largest of the two moons, turning it bright golden color. As the light of the golden moon bathes Arcanus in its glow, it can be noted that plants grow much faster than usual, and the wildlife become more active and present in day-to-day lives.

Many speculate that this phenomena is the Aether replenishing itself in all forms of life. There is, after all, no other time of year where Aevum sunflowers glow as they do during the summer nights.

Now, residents of Aevum Isles look to the glowing, golden moon and her many stars for glad tidings, good luck, and rejuvenation.

[the-griffons-saddlebag]

💎 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Bowstring of Twisted Fates
Wondrous item, very rare ___ These dark and twisted threads are spun from unrealized fates. You can string a nonmagical bow with these strings to transform the bow into a magical one. When you do, smoke pours from the strings when they’re pulled taut. When you hit a target with a ranged attack using a bow that’s strung with these strings, the target takes an extra 1d8 damage from the attack: this damage is necrotic if the result of the d8 is odd, or radiant damage if it’s even. If the extra damage is necrotic, you can also choose to deal that same amount of damage to another creature of your choice within 15 feet of the original target. If the extra damage is radiant, you can choose to grant such a creature a number of temporary hit points equal to that same amount instead. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for as little as $3 a month!

[lunastrophe]

Drow Fashion 🕷️✨ About Spider Silk - Part 2

Part 1 can be found here.

In this part, you will find information about spider silk fabrics used by drow, as well as about their colours and their meanings (based on sourcebooks and novels).

🕷️ Black Silk – very popular among Lolth-sworn drow who use it in various temple and ceremonial textiles – wrappings for sacred items are traditionally sewn from high-quality black silk, as well as robes worn by adepts and priestesses of Lolth, garments and purses of noble drow, and robes of wizards. They are usually solid black or emblazoned with red or purple spidery motifs, or delicate, silver spiderweb tracery or embroidery.

Black silks, especially black mesh fabrics, are also widely used in interiors of wealthy drow houses as domestic and decorative textiles for bedclothes, curtains, draperies, tablecloths and so on.

🕷️ Special kind of black silk known as ebonsilk is a rare, lightweight and high-quality black silk cloth, and it is said to be woven from silk threads extruded by Lolth herself (A. Collins et al., Magic Item Compendium, 2007, 3.5e).

🕷️ White Silk – somewhat less popular among Lolth-sworn drow, maybe not counting intricate white fabrics that resemble spiderwebs and similar high-quality materials fitting for nobles. Lightweight white or grey silk is often used for good-quality garments, thin shifts and shirts, and for sheets and bedcovers. Some noble drow carry small handkerchiefs made of white silk, hidden inside inner pockets of their garments. Such handkerchiefs are sometimes embroidered or have lace trim.

Transparent and semi-transparent white gossamers and mesh fabrics that look like spiderwebs are often used by drow in curtains, draperies and other similar decorations, especially in temples and shrines dedicated to Lolth, and in chambers of priestesses and matron mothers.

In contrast to Lolth-sworn drow, priestesses of Eilistraee seem to favour white or silvery, shimmering silk fabrics in their clothing – especially fine, flowing, transparent silks that imitate or reflect radiance of moonlight.

🕷️ Coloured Silk – in many regions of the Underdark, including Menzoberranzan, drow typically favour plain black or dark-hued garments, but coloured silk is often used for trimmings or can be combined with black silk to create more interesting effect. The most popular colours mentioned in descriptions of drow clothes (almost exclusively nobles or wizards) are deep, saturated purple, mauve or red.

Some colours and their combinations are associated with noble drow houses. They are displayed on house banners and on outer garments of house members - for example, on piwafwi cloaks of nobles. In Menzoberranzan (and probably also in many other Lolth-sworn drow cities) falsely wearing colours of another house is punished with death.

Colours typically worn by servants of drow deities: Selvetarm – blood red; Ghaunadaur – purple or reddish purple, often with black accents; Lolth – black, often with red or purple accents; Kiaransalee – black with silver accents; Vhaeraun – black, Eilistraee - silver, white.

🕷️ Quilted Silk – quilted silk fabrics, usually with middle layer made of wool, are often used in travel clothes of wealthy drow, as well as in garments worn under heavier sets of armour. They can be also combined with other materials to produce light armour. They are soft, durable and warm, and mostly much thinner, more supple and more elegant-looking than typical quilted fabrics made by surfacers.

🕷️ Lace Fabrics – silken lace fabrics, usually black and with web-like and spidery motifs, are extremely popular among drow nobles and they are usually very expensive. The most intricate, top-quality materials of this type are used in robes of priestesses of Lolth, as well as in gowns (and nightgowns) of matron mothers of noble houses – they are often designed to be light and flowing.

Lace fabrics that resemble spiderwebs …are restricted primarily to the wealthy, and are often partly transparent – these provide little protection or modesty, but rather serve exclusively as a surface on which to hang jewels and other adornments (A. Marmell et al., Drow of the Underdark, 2007, 3.5e).

🕷️ Metallic Fabrics – spider silk is also used to produce cloth of gold, brocades and other luxury fabrics woven with metal-wrapped or spun weft of gold, silver, mithral, darksteel or other metal. Such fabrics are usually thick and heavy, and they are typically used only in the most opulent garments of noble drow and lavish robes of wizards. They do not seem to be very popular among Lolth-sworn drow who may prefer less heavy fabrics.

🕷️ Magic Threads - some spider silk fabrics are made with help of drow magic and within the reach of emanations of faerzress (magical radiation present in the Underdark). Such magic-infused fabrics may start to fall apart after being transported to the surface and exposed to sunlight.

For more of my drow lore ramblings, feel free to check my pinned post 🕷️