#the imagery

[maxymanspeed]

Max the stubborn hot headed broad shouldered bull and Charles the delicate dramatic prancing horse <3

[sammyche]

baptized

[jout--jout]

the role reversal of laudna now being the one wearing gloves and imogen having her hands free is INSANE you guys… cue the (g)love language

[queruloustea]

Important gay bug lore question, if thks mouth is in it's messed up eye does that mean quirrel would kiss their eye?

uh, very interesting question you have there anon (little do you know, however, that i have already well thought about this. it has been haunting me, day after day, chewing at the back of my mind)

serious answer (i don’t know): to be honest, i think in place of your average mouth-kiss he'd kiss their tip of their mask, where i headcanon there to be a messed-up fused-together remains-of-a-mouth. not quite the same effect, but with enough affection it probably wouldn't matter anyhow.

[phantomdecibel]

Me desperately beating back Epic: the musical with a mop as it persistently scuttles towards me: Leave. Me. Alone. I. Don’t. Have. Time. For. Your. Nonsense-

Epic:the musical, picking me up and fucking eating me alive: :) its just an infant :) it’s just a boy :) what sort of threat does he pose :) that I cannot avoid? :) if you don’t end him now :) you’ll have no one left to save :) you can say goodbye to :) penelope :) when does a man become a monster? :)

Me as I drop my mop, sobbing: please let me go I have a family-

Epic: the musical: :) six hundred lives at stake :) it’s just one life to take :) and when we kill him our then journeys over :) no dying on me now :) defeat is not allowed :)

Me, still sobbing but now also drafting multiple animatics and painting sketches I’m never going to finish: goddamnit

[kolibrieren]

Commentary by Enip, author of the video:

This games does stir up a lot of emotions alright... I played it a while ago but I couldn't get it out of my head.This is a fan edit with some custom made 3D animation. Apart from the scene with Elster and videos from the game, everything was modeled by me with Blender.

Game: Signalis (rose engine)

Music: "Toteninsel" (Rachmaninov) and "Emptiness" (Cicada Sirens & 1000 Eyes)

Poem: Adapted from "Der Krieg" (Heym)

Author's translation of the poem under the readmore:

I'm glad you enjoyed it! Yeah I put a lot of time to make sure those details would fit together. ^^ The poem isn't 100% "Der Krieg" as I adapted it a little and it has been ages since I wrote something in German so it might be crappy, but I'll write down the translation of it I had in mind :

Aufgestanden ist sie, welche lange schlief,

She who slept long has risen

Aufgestanden unten aus Gewölben tief

Risen from vaults deep below.

In der Dämmrung steht sie, groß und unerkannt,

In the twilight she stands, tall and unrecognized,

Und den Mond zerdrückt sie in ihrer schwarzen Hand

And she crushes the moon in her black hand.

Einem Turm gleich tritt sie aus der letzten Glut,

Like a tower she emerges from the last embers,

Wo der Tag flieht, sind die Ströme schon voll Blut.

Where the day flees, the rivers are already full of blood.

Zahllos sind die Leichen schon im Schilf gestreckt,

Countless bodies are already stretched out in the reeds

Von des Todes starken Vögeln weiß bedeckt.

Covered white by death's mighty birds.

Über runder Mauern blauem Flammenschwall

Over round walls blue flames

Steht sie, über schwarzer Gassen Waffenschall.

She stands, over black alleys the sound of weapons.

Über Toren, wo die Wächter liegen quer,

Above gates where the watchmen lie across,

Über Brücken, die von Bergen Toter schwer.

Over bridges made by mountains dead heavy.

In der Nacht sie jagt das Feuer querfeldein

In the night she chases the fire across country

Einen roten Hund mit wilder Mäuler Schrein.

A red dog with wild mouths shrine.

Aus dem Dunkel springt der Nächte schwarze Welt,

The black world of the night leaps out of the darkness,

Über sturmzerfetzter Wolken Widerschein,

Above storm-torn clouds reflection,

In des toten Dunkels kalten Wüstenein,

In the dead dark cold deserts,

Daß er mit dem Brande weit die Nacht verdorr,

so that the night withered away with the fire,

Pech und Feuer träufet unten auf Gomorrh

Pitch and fire drip down on Gomorrh

[indeliblescarspivotalmarks]

the symbolism in the eras tour movie of taylor singing my tears ricochet wearing white is so important to me.

her dancers are in black, walking with their heads down, as though in mourning.

it's alike to a funeral march.

they’re literally hosting a funeral for the loss of her masters.

Taylor being dressed in white show her innocence in the situation. That they are mourning HER loss.

From above, the silhouettes of the dancers are alike to coffins, which I think could be an accidental imagery, but it's Taylor...nothing is ever accidental.

[daisywords]

making sense is overrated (excerpt):

Lya crested the last ring and stood once again encircled within the crumbling walls of the garden where she had first awoken. She saw two things at once: what had been and what was. Nesotor’s garden, groomed and shining, a carefully-kept haven where she would come sometimes to pray. Where she had met Trip for the first time, and then where she had met him for the first time again. 

She put everything else that had happened there out of her mind, and pressed forward to the center, forcing her way through the bushes that were trying to be trees, and the ferns and the dying flowers, until she came to the center, all overgrown with grasses and crawling vines.

The place still smelled of sleep, in some indescribable way, and with a little imagination she could almost see a faint depression in the ground cover marking the place where she had lain asleep. A strange longing welled up inside her to simply lie back down and let the garden claim her again, to let the leaves shield her eyes from the sun and the rain, and for stems to weave over her like a blanket.

But instead, she pulled out her lighter and set the place on fire. 

It choked and burned green and smokey, but eventually, inevitably, it burned. And Lya stood on the crumpled wall and watched. 

The flames took their merry time to fizzle out, but eventually reduced to small pockets that ate themselves out of fuel, quailing at the woodier bushes that had a better memory of yesterday’s rain. She hopped off the wall, and made her way amidst the cinder-filled air to the freshly revealed hole that yawned wide into the earth in the place that Nesotor’s door had once waited. 

The first few stairs were a bit worse for the wear, having had their stone seal traded for only the overgrowth, but once she had skidded down a ways, the place was much as she remembered. She didn’t bother with a lantern; her eyes would adjust in time. 

She felt rather than saw her feet touch water: the resistance against her step, and then, a moment later, the wet seeping into her boots. As if roused by her ripples, the water lilies, whose glow had been nearly imperceptible, brightened insistently as she sloshed past. 

Knee-deep now, and looking down as she approached the pedestal, she was neither surprised nor unsurprised to come face to face with herself. 

The Other Lya floated just below the surface of the dark water, eyes closed, hair swirling lazily round her head. She was lit by a perfect white beam from the sky crystal, and as the Awake Lya bent over her, a shadow fell across her stoic forehead. 

Had the Other Lya’s nose and mouth not been already submerged, she might have been tempted to hold her under and see if she would drown. Instead, she merely laid two fingers on her forehead to see if she was real, or that is, if she had substance. 

The Other Lya’s eyes opened. They were the same familiar true black of her eyes in every mirror, even as they seemed to glow with a fierce radiance, a very bright darkness. 

The Awake Lya stared back. The eyes did not comfort her, not exactly. If anything they made her more afraid. But all at once she understood, and she bent down and kissed herself, not because that was the trick, but because she couldn’t help it. 

Everything spun around her then, and when she had finished turning inside out, she sat up, peeling wet hair from her cheeks, and blinked in the sudden sunshine. 

[ace-in-a-very-distressing-hole]

this scene is cinematic ART and you cannot convince me otherwise

[nepobabyeurydice]

still thinking about that Zombie!Odysseus fic and I don’t think i’ll ever get over it

like imagine emerging from the sea, dead and crawling, no, shambling back home to see your wife, your son and then you fucking kill him and all the suitors. “This is our reward.” you are literally dripping sea water, you’re smearing blood on the half-frayed tapestry of what should be home.

UNDER THE HOOD ALL SHE COULD SEE WAS TEETH

god i’m not over this fic, holy shit.

[john-gosh-darnielle]

drift down into the new dark light

[theauthorpaula]

PAULATHEWRITER.COM

[curly-cottage-girl]

ma’am…. I wish u were real..

[poppy-metal]

these scenes were cultural resets.

[ruomii]

No one made this so I did (?

Basically, Clarke(Keats’s friend/mentor) told Keats that his stomach wasn’t feeling well. Keats, (being his nymph-self) demonstrates how the organ works by “being like a brood of callow nestlings (opening his capa cious mouth) yearning and gaping for sustenance.”

This expert is from ‘Recollections of Writers’ 1878 by Charles Cowden Clarke (pg.132) you can read it on archive.org It has a TONE of precious Keats moments…

[amessandahalf]

saltburn was BRILLIANT let’s talk about in in the tags