#western sconce

[blessedkeith]

Rustic Exterior exterior shot of a stone house in the mountains

[tasteofthedivine93]

The Beauty of the Beast - Messmer x F!Reader - Elden Ring Fic - Part 1

TasteOfTheDivine // Masterlist

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57094387/chapters/145208599 Fic Rating: Explicit🌶️🌶️ (Chapter: Teen) Category: F/M Fandom: Elden Ring // Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erd Tree Relationships: Messmer x F!Reader // Messmer the Impaler x F!Reader Warnings: None Words: 952

MASTERLIST // -> Part 2

You're lost on your travels in the Shadow Realm. Rain causes your cart to get stuck in the mud, wheels not moving an inch. Your Torrent Steed is tired from the journey.

You untie him from the cart, abandoning your only possessions, you whistle your steed away for rest and head into the forest for shelter. You walk as much as your legs can carry you. Till the forest edge unveils a large castle in the distance. The blackened stone looking like charcoal, a large staircase darkens from greystone to black towards the front doors.

You walk warily up the stairs and knock on the door to no answer, instead you push your way inside without invitation or greeting. The night's cold air was making your bones shiver, you needed shelter.

The walls inside are lined with candles and paintings, before you a grand staircase. You call out hello, but to no reply, but you shiver - unsure from the cold or from another presence watching you.

You look around the foyer, till a shadow at the top of the stairs catches your attention. You swear you hear a hiss echo through the empty chambers. You call out 'wait' after the suspicious shadow.

You head upstairs, down a corridor, large wooden doors carved with snakes line the walls, sconces with red candles drip to the floor, windows covered by thick red velvet drapes.

You call out again, no reply.

Another shadow catches your attention down what you assume is the Western Wing. You walk down the hall to the end where a large door opens a crack, light glistening out of the door.

You pause for a moment, holding your breath, but as if in a serpent's trance you pull open the large door with a grunt, hinges creak and groan.

Inside, you see a bedroom, however destroyed, scorch marks line the walls, cracked and broken mirror shards glimmer like water, bed linen covered in burn holes, rugs frayed and black. You gasp at the sight.

You tenderly step into the room as if it was still aflame, looking around for any sign of life. Instead you catch a portrait on the wall, half burnt away, but you see a young man with vibrant red hair and a piercing golden eye. Behind the man a red snake fills the frame. The lower section of the portrait is charred and torn as if struck by the lightning.

You step closer, mesmerised by the painting, trying to look closer at the face shredded by burns.

Then out of the corner of your eye, you spot a small table near an open window, the curtains dancing gently in the breeze. On the table floats a crimson flame, flickering gently. As if it was beckoning you, your feet involuntarily begin to walk towards the blaze.

As if possessed, you feel your hand rise from your side and out of your moth eaten cloak. You slowly reach towards the flame, a sinister call hissing in your mind to touch.

You feel no heat but instead you feel cold as a shadow engulfs you, your eyes snap away from the flame to see a monster in the shape of man, skin greying, wrapped in a red cloak, thin long hair flowing down to his shoulders and surrounded by 2 large snakes who hiss at you.

You step back in horror, falling onto your backside as you try and crawl away. Letting out a gasp of fear.

"Mongrel, intruder." A bellowing voice vibrates in your chest. "Wherefore has't thee cometh here?"

You open your mouth, dry as stone and attempt to shutter out your apologies. You continue to crawl backwards on your hands and feet, instead the man, monster, steps around the table and follows you, keeping you in shadow.

"Doth thee not realise what thee couldst has't done?!" He growls at you. The snakes around him grow and slither in the air towards you. Their green eyes never leaving yours.

You again apologise and ask "Who are you?" The snakes stop mere inches from you.

"The master of thine castle." He replies, still deep. "Where thee has't in mine own domain trespassed"

You turn your head away from the monster and begin to sob. You tell him you got lost in the woods and needed shelter, you didn't mean to trespass. You plead with him to spare you.

The snakes hiss at the man as if communicating with him, who responds with hums of agreement. (The snake simply informs that this person could be the one to break the curse, maybe they should stay.)

The monsters shoulders sink at your tears and plea. The snakes retract back behind him and he knees down in front of you. His face comes more into view and you look up at him threw wet lashes. You notice the same golden eye at the painting, glowing like a star against the velvet night sky.

He was no monster at all, but the same man from the portrait, just older. You study him as you wipe away your tears.

"Art thee lone?" He asks, but this time is voice was softer. You nod.

"Thee can stayeth here if thou desires, take shelter for as longeth as thee need" He holds out his hand to you, fingers decorated with golden rings.

You hesitate at first, eyes flickering between his stretched out hand and his newly illuminated soft features. You nod and reach out, his long fingers wrap delicately around your shivering hand. He helps you to stand. You stare up at him, who looks down at you smiling, still holding your hand. You feel a small bloom of warmth in your chest. 

(credits of gifs in description)

[marzipanandminutiae]

Marzi's Old House Supply Kit: A Non-Exhaustive List

So you've moved into an old house! Congratulations! No, no, look at me. Look in my eyes. Congratulations. You don't need smart lighting. You don't need paltry things like "showers that don't make ungodly noises if you set the water outside a very specific temperature range" or "logical staircases." Because those people who say They Built Them Sturdier Back Then is survivorship bias are wrong, lead paint is only a problem if you eat it, and your new home is basically a tank

also it might have stained glass. so basically you win

(no but seriously the Survivorship Bias argument is just like. tell me you don't live in a city with large quantities of remaining working-class 110-year-old buildings without telling me. I do. they're sturdier. end of.)

but you might need some things to make it a bit more comfortable. here's what I've found, over eight years of living in houses built 1920 or earlier

Power strips. Depending on the age of your house, it may or may not have had electricity originally. And even if it did, whoever lived there almost certainly had fewer things to plug in than the average denizen of the 2020s. There also may have been gorgeous wall sconces that some asshole heartlessly ripped out at some point, forcing you to use the hideous hateful Overhead LightTM or plug in a bunch of lamps. Either way, you're going to need to turn that single outlet in the room into several more. Hence, power strips.

(hey, I never said this list was free of my design biases. deal)

A Good Fan. You may live in a place where retrofitting with air conditioning was commonplace in the last several decades. I do not. So a good pedestal fan can make the difference between comfort and just not sleeping at all from late June to mid-September. Weirdly, I did once look at a place that was from the 1850s and had been retrofitted with central A/C, which is vanishingly rare in even urban Massachusetts. But I digress.

A stud-finder. "Marzi, you spent years of your life explaining to tourists that picture rails existed because trying to hammer nails directly into horsehair plaster and then putting weight on them did Bad Things." Yes I did. "What did you attempt to do the second week of living in your first house with horsehair plaster?" ...shut up. I used the Poltergeist Method to find solid wood- I don't know if it's actually studs or the lath or what; I'm not a builder -to hang my Lady and the Unicorn tapestry from, namely knocking on the wall until it doesn't sound hollow. You might want to go a bit quieter and more advanced. Or, if you have a picture rail, embrace the "long visible hanging wires" look. It is in fact there for a reason!

Window screens. You are actually required by Massachusetts state law to provide these to your tenants. Doesn't mean my last landlady did. And if you own your place, live in another state, or have a similarly laissez-faire building owner, you might end up needing to Bring Your Own Insect-Blocking Shield. Just make sure you've got them, one way or the other. Because see above re: fan vs. air conditioning in old houses.

WD-40. When's the last time those hinges were oiled? Potentially before television. And they WILL squeak. UPDATE I HAVE BEEN INFORMED THAT WD-40 IS NOT A GOOD LONGTERM SOLUTION. Find "actual oil." Not sure what the more specific name is. Good to know!

That's just what I've found needful so far, but I'm happy to update the list as required!

And you'd better believe, if I owned my own place, this would include "the name of a preservation contractor to undo all the unnecessary ~*MoDeRnIzInG*~ aesthetic bullshit the past owners did since the End of Mainstream Western House Beauty AKA 1920 (That Brief Rococo Revival In the 1930s Can Maybe Sit With Us)"

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Found another of my former posts that didn't sell. This is a 1925 Pullman railroad car converted to a home. I think that the problem is that it's out in the middle of nowhere and it has to be moved. I have no idea how you would transport it, but the seller is willing to help facilitate the move. Right now the 3bd, 3ba home is in Bonner, MT. It comes furnished and is $249K.

It's got a western theme. The shades have cowboys on bucking broncos, and I love the soft velvet furniture. Look at the chairs w/scenes on the fabric.

This sofa is an original train seat.

Now, here we have a beautiful desk that looks like it could be original & a chair, plus another vintage bench seat with storage drawers.

Small room flex space.

Outside this bedroom there's wallpaper and a shower curtain with a barbed wire print.

I like the stainless steel shower (there are 3 of them, one for each bedroom). There's also a very private toilet in each bedroom next to the chest of drawers.

Above the toilet is a clever unit with a mirrored medicine chest and a pull down sink.

Cute room with bunks and vintage cowboy wallpaper.

The bedroom toilet units and chest of drawers must be original b/c they're built-in. They probably had bunk beds, but these wouldn't be the originals.

The dining room fits 6 in comfy upholstered chairs.

An antler chandelier matches the smaller antler sconces around the home. On the right is the hall to the bedrooms and showers.

A nice built-in serving cabinet has cowboy stained glass to match the window shades.

The kitchen also looks original. It's completely stainless steel and commercial. I trust that all of this works

At the end of the car is this cute little original seating area.

I'm not sure if even a small chair can fit out here, but it sure is cute.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/Nhn-Nka-Bonner-MT-59823/2054689249_zpid/

[barilleon]

The LICHES method of descriptive text

A while back a friend asked me to write up some pointers for how I write descriptive text. You know, for dungeons and such. I gave her the LICHES method, which I'm posting here now. The primary purpose of descriptive text is to clue players in to what they need to pay attention to. When you ask your players, "What do you do?" think of that as less of an open-ended question and more multiple choice. Your descriptive text gives your players the potential answers. (This is, of course, a broad statement. Players will always pull something out of left field.)

Good descriptive text includes any applicable lights, interactables, characters, hazards, egress, and senses—LICHES.

Light

Characters should know how much light they’re dealing with, and what the source is. Sconces, torches, moonlight coming in from a window? Sunlight filtering in from the forest canopy?

Interactables

If there’s something in this room the characters are meant to look at or touch, put it in. If you want them searching in the desks, tell them there are desks. The opposite is ALSO true. If you put something notable in your description, players are going to expect to get something out of interacting with or studying it.

Characters

If there are people in this room, what are they doing? It's very helpful to give DMs a look at the "moment before" for any NPCs in your description. What were they up to before the characters interrupt their lives? This goes for monsters, too, if they’re readily visible.

Hazards

This one should probably come earlier on the list. Like if something's on fire, you either mention it FIRST or LAST. But lesser-noticeable hazards, like "patched-up holes" or "slits in the wall" can be mentioned casually, without drawing a gigantic verbal arrow to it.

Egress

Some people might disagree with me on this, but it’s very helpful to be told that there are doors, even if they’re already on the map. Some tables don't run maps, and sometimes your VTT's fog of war tool obscures what is and isn't a point of egress on your map.

Senses

A lot of LICHE is based on what the characters can see, but you can play with the other senses as well. Characters can smell “a foul odor wafting from the pile of corpses,” hear “the lazy whistling of a popular folk song,” or maybe even taste “the salt on the wind at the docks.”

Putting it all together you might get:

Fire crackles in the hearth, casting long shadows on the papered wall and the sturdy oak desk pushed against it. An orange tabby yawns and stretches out on the plush armchair, revealing for an instant her sharp claws. Two doors lead out of the room: the western door that leads further into the house, and the eastern door that opens into the porch.

L: Fire I: Oak Desk C: Cat H: The cat's claws (watch out) E: Door into the house, Door out to the porch S: The crackle of the fire, the plushness of the chair

Don't worry about making this stuff sound poetic. You just need to give the players a list of things they can interact with or react to. Role playing gets compared to improv a lot, and there are a lot of similarities! Think of an effective description as the thing your players say "yes, and" to. And you don't have to include every letter in LICHES if you don't want to, or if they don't apply. Sometimes a room is empty. There may be no hazards. But this rule of thumb has really helped me write up some descriptions for both published adventures and home games.

[shepherds-of-haven]

What's the difference between a witchlight, a Magelight, and a Magelamp?

Good question! I'm kind of surprised I haven't answered this before (I probably have but can't find it lol), but here's the breakdown:

A witchlight is a small, roughly candle-sized flame that a Mage conjures. It's almost always a ghostly blue flame and is always attached to a Mage's hand, palm, or thumb. It can sometimes be different colors, like green or purple. Every person has a slightly different way of conjuring their witchlight: some hold it cupped in their upturned hand, others hold it in a 👍 position or even a 🫰 position, whatever is most natural to them. I think of it as a magical Zippo lighter. Looks kind of like this:

It doesn't usually get as big as the last picture, but you get the idea. Notably, the "mnemonic" gesture to conjuring a witchlight is always snapping your fingers together a few times, as if they're made of tinder and flint.

A Magelight or magelight is less of a flame and is more of a golden orb of softer ambient light. The difference is that they are always gold, white, or pale yellow in color, illuminate a much wider area than witchlights, and notably are more "autonomous": they can float ahead of you or bob alongside you pretty much on their own, whereas a witchlight is attached to your hand and has to be held aloft like a torch. Magelights are more independent and don't require much active thought once summoned, serving more as levitating balls of illumination than little flames.

A Magelamp is a physical item that resembles a Victoria-era gas lamp. They're usually set into walls as sconces or overhead as ceiling fixtures and provide diffuse ambient light, pretty much how a gas or electric lamp would. They're constructed from anbar and zharril, Mage materials that can be charged with magical energy and spellwork, and are powered purely by magic. (Magelamps used to be just chunks of zharril crystal that would hold magical light really well before slowly fading... kind of like... glowsticks?... but they've been around for a really long time and have gotten much more advanced over time.) Because the magic lies within the lamp itself, Magelamps can be operated by both Mages and non-Mages. The Shepherds' compound is lit largely by these--so you can walk into a room and they'll automatically light up, or you can speak the command word and they'll light up according to your directions (like "light only the western sconce" or "turn down the intensity by 50%"), but this last part is finicky if you're a non-Mage and you'll usually have to get a spirit to help you if you want to do really fancy things--but they do have to be recharged by a Mage every five years or so. There are also oil and gas lamps and candles/braziers throughout the compound, too, though!

Hope that all makes sense! :)

[jade-efflorescence]

spent some time waiting for your face (all the same mistakes)

 shine on the comets, fall in my life

henry henderson/martha mariott | rated t | chapter one

martha and henry reconnect after the world around them has changed.

ao3

Martha never thought she’d see a ballet again. How strange it is that she is wrong.

Everything tonight is startlingly new—the carved, wooden doors of the theater she stands in front of, the dance performance she is here to watch. (An exchange of Ostanian and Westalian culture after a century comes alive through a spectacle of dance! declares the papers, sensationalizing a future emerging from decades of silent war.) The hundreds of people—rich and poor, old and young, West and East—all surround her in a shared, joyful frenzy. Gold and jewelry and satin dresses float across her vision, all belonging to some giddy figure’s indulgence, all chattering eagerly about a future still uncertain in her eyes. Any uncertainty in the rest of the world is hard to tell—at least for tonight.

Martha is overwhelmed, to say the least.

For the first time in a long while, she allows herself to face her emotions. She is not a wide-eyed twelve year old anymore, nor is she a graying, steel-minded woman, holding to a resigned resolve behind friendly smiles. Instead, she is Martha Marriott, facets of both and neither, the remnants of remarkable and common scars.

The opportunities are far too great to be shadowed by what I used to be, she thinks, and walks past the doors, the tulle of her navy gown brushing the red, spiraled carpet in the foyer.

Like many of the women tonight, her dress is new for the show, though not out of her own insistence. That would be the work of one Becky Blackbell, who despite Martha’s many protests, had taken her and Anya shopping a few months ago and included a piece of finery for her as a gift. ( “It’s extra thanks for handling the brat I was when you were my governess,” she claimed, waving off Martha’s protests on the price. “And you can’t fit into that old black one forever, you know!”)

The material product was never needed, of course, but Miss Blackbell’s kindness during such a tumultuous season for a young heir was admirable, and Martha figured she’d find another time to use the dress. Though she had quite a few reservations about the state of Ostania at this point, she had a feeling that future peaceful events would happen sooner rather than later.

Martha feels too old to be taking pride in her appearance—most of her appeal has faded away with time and circumstance. Yet, she finds herself smoothing down her navy-blue skirt as she weaves through the crowded halls and fixing her braided bun as she goes up staircase after staircase. Finally she enters the theater’s balcony, where she observes people picking their way across the rows of seats on the floor. Red, scalloped wall sconces burn just above her head and the stage is closed from view by a gold-fringed curtain. She finds her aisle number from the remnants of her ticket and sits down, silently pleased at how her dress settles about her ankles.

The theater itself is magnificent: a true blend of Eastern and Western architecture. Martha doesn’t know much about the fine details, and yet she can see something of both in each gilded, sculpted pillar, each curve of the painted mural on the chandeliered ceiling. It’s quite fascinating, how—

“Martha?”

Oh.

“Henry?”

She meets his eyes for the first time in decades—the same comforting, honeycomb-brown she’s remembered all her life. The man’s waist-length hair is in its signature ponytail, a bit thinner and whiter than she recalls. He responds to her voice with a polite nod, giving her a small smile. She glances at his silk waistcoat and notices they’re wearing the same shade of blue.

“What an elegant surprise,” he exclaims, as if they had been old, connected friends all this while. Though she’s entirely aware of life being the opposite, she finds herself softening under his gaze—not quite the blushing schoolgirl, but a sliver of it inside the smile lines that crease her cheeks.

Ever the gentleman, Henry hovers a hand and himself some paces away from the chair next to her. “I hope you don’t mind if I…?”

“Of course not. Sit! I was wondering if I’d recognize another face around here.” That, at least, is a response that springs out of her mind.

“Ahh. Well, then.” He gives her a quick nod and does so, propping up his cane against the right side of his theater seat. A birch one now, she notices, polished and painted to perfection. She hears him let out a deep breath and briefly wonders how close their shoulders are.

She waves the thought away. No one said this night would be easy.

“I must say,” he starts, “that gown on you is simply marvelous. Is it Miss Blackbell’s doing? I’ve been acquainted with her long enough that I recognize some choices from her favorite shop.”

Martha nods and smooths down the skirt, focusing quite heavily on the texture of the bunched-up tulle. “One of her favorites, yes. I suppose she was feeling generous that day.”

“I’m grateful for her consideration, then.”

“Thank you.” She takes a breath, avoiding his gaze. “If you don’t mind me asking, where is Anneliese? Is she feeling alright? I know that an event like this may be a significant amount to handle.”

“Anneliese?” Henry hums. “Unfortunately, my wife passed away a couple years ago. I don’t doubt that she would have enjoyed witnessing such a moment in East-West history.”

“Oh.” Something in her chest bursts like a moth flits through darkness, drawn to a pulsing light. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I appreciate your condolences, Martha. Truly.” Though he lingers over the last syllable for little more than a second, his silence over the matter is sharper than any expressed emotion.

“On that subject, how are you doing tonight?” he asks, lowering his voice and leaning towards her as if they were sharing a secret. “I know this place may not hold pleasant memories. You are free to keep whatever you wish to express to yourself, of course. I know we haven’t been the most…well, the most in touch with each other. However, I figured it would not be elegant of me to avoid asking about your condition.”

(In the midst of the flowery vocabulary and stilted speech, Martha thinks this is the least composed she’s seen him since they met once more.)

She smiles. “Thank you for your concern. It has been a little overwhelming so far. But that isn’t necessarily bad. I suppose I’m grateful that we’ve reached a point where such a thing is possible.” Her mind wanders to olive-green Ostanian glades, to gunshots more constant than changing seasons, to the clawing, desperate feeling of a continually empty stomach, to experiencing the best and worst of humanity. “If I was never allowed to dance in a ballet, or travel the world in a time of peace, or eat in Westalian and Ostanian homes without fear, at least the young people now will experience those things.”

His responding smile takes on a small, wry twist, mirroring her own thoughts in a sense. Even after years of never speaking to one another, never meeting past the occasional student-caretaker conversation or searching for another designer item Becky lost at school, it seems that he can read her well.

“I’ve also found myself thinking that way,” he admits, the wryness in his smile fading to a soft, comforting edge. “It is quite a difficult perspective to maintain, but I’d like to think that the new generations benefit from our altered lives, even if we never see any of those results ourselves.”

“Well,” she answers, “I’d like to think tonight is where those good things begin, don’t you?”

It is worryingly fascinating, how much delight Martha finds in noting the remnants of a love affair that died decades ago, of remembering the picture of a man that died decades ago. She is all too aware of the additional sun-spots on the backs of her old lover’s hands, the weaker volume of his voice, the guarded weight his eyes have yet to be rid of. And yet, she finds she is all too ready to re-discover what makes him Henry once more, if life and loss will let them this time.

She hopes she is not reflecting the folly of youth if she imagines Henry feels the same towards her. Why else would he speak with her so, if not for a yearning for what they had? If the only outcome was a friendship revisited, that would be a delight, for Henry would always remain good company to her. If anything more…well, what would that be but a miracle on earth?

The lights dim. The crowd’s chatter disperses into whispers. Somewhere near the front, the orchestra begins tuning their instruments, mingling notes through the concert hall like the feeling of a velvet curtain.

The curtain parts, and Martha is caught up in the old and the new in a sort of dizzying, fragile dance of her own.

During the intermission of a ballet performance she never thought she’d see, Henry rests his fingertips on her own, and asks her to tea at his home, as the garden they used to meet in long ago has been completely demolished. Renovations, or some such thing, he claims.

“But that shouldn’t stop an old man and woman from catching up, right?” he adds, honeycomb eyes crinkled with fondness.

(A part of Martha wishes she was more surprised.)

[waltwhitmansbeard]

Perc'ahlia Week Day 2: Darkness/Legacy

day 2 of @percahliaweek! ngl this one got away from me. also available on ao3!

BOOM.

Percy jolts upright, eyes straining in the darkness. Only by the sliver of moonlight peering through the heavy drapes is he able to see Vex beside him, shoving herself up from her own pillow. "Was that—"

"A gunshot." Saying the word out loud kicks something inside Percy into gear, and he twists around to fumble for his glasses on the nightstand.

"Oh gods." Vex throws back the covers. "The kids."

They hurl themselves out of bed, hurtle toward the door, Vex pausing only to snatch her dressing gown from where she'd hung it on one of the bed's posters. Still, she's faster than he is, doesn't have the aging knees that he has. Without discussing it, they split up once they reach the wing of the castle that houses the children's bedrooms. Percy gets to Danny's room first, and when he creaks the door open, the low lights from the hall sconces light up the riot of curls on his pillow. He closes the door just in time for the one next door to open.

"Dad?" Vesper rubs at her eyes, her hair braided over one shoulder exactly the way her mother taught her.

"Go back into your room."

"Did I hear a gunshot?"

Before Percy can answer, Vex is there, her face drawn. "Gwen's fine, but the twins' rooms are empty."

The shadows pull long as her words settle onto his shoulders like a mantle. The twins are gone. There was a gunshot. Percy can feel each and every heartbeat in his throat. Vesper's face is pale as her hair. Percy tries to regulate the tremble in his hand as he grips onto his eldest's shoulder, but he's sure she can feel it when he says, "Please stay here and keep an eye on them." He watches the resolve harden in her eye, her spine every inch her mother's. She nods.

They can hear them now, the roused guards within and without, but they simply cannot wait. Percy and Vex tear back to their bedroom, each yanking on boots and grabbing the weapon that, even all these years later, is never far from hand. They must pass three dozen guards before they make it to the grand foyer, where Captain Leore is waiting for them. "Lord and Lady de Rolo, scouts report the gunshot came from the Parchwood on the western edge of the castle grounds."

"Search the castle from top to bottom for the twins," Vex commands, her voice a godly echo among the marble. "They're unaccounted for. We're joining the hunt outside."

There is no argument, not when the Lady of Whitestone speaks. The captain ducks his head in a bow and is off, instructing the surrounding guards to begin the tossing of Castle Whitestone. Percy shares one more look with his wife—he is equal parts terrified and admiring, and he hopes she can tell them apart—before they shove out together onto the sprawling blue-black lawns of the castle grounds.

The moon is waning, hardly brighter than the surrounding stars, so they charge forward in inky darkness. She can see better than he can, of course, so he lets her take the lead. She's also far more intimately familiar with these woods at this point, spending so much time with the Grey Hunt as she does, so when they reach the treeline and what little light they had is swallowed wholly by the thick canopy above, he relies on the sound of her footsteps over the leaf litter to figure out where she's going.

It's torturous, this hunt, when Percy can see nothing and has no idea what he's hunting. He should have stayed inside, should be helping search for his missing children, but he knows, he knows they're not in there, the way he knows the weapon in his hand, the way he knows the woman in front of him, and so he inches forward, waiting, hoping for—

"Don't move!" Vex's sharp command is punctuated by the familiar creak of her bow being raised, and Percy whips his own pistol into the air, even though he has no clue what to aim for. There's a distant crunch of footsteps, one, then another, and then a small, "Mum?"

"Wolfe!" And then Vex is running, and Percy is lost. He tries to stumble after her, but she's too quick, too consumed with asking their son a thousand questions at once. "Are you hurt? What are you doing here? Did you hear the gunshot? Where is your sister?"

"Vex'ahlia." Percy hates that he has to ask, but he is blind.

Vex sniffs. "Right, sorry darling." There's some fumbling, and then Vex, more at home in the woods than he think she'll ever be in a castle, lifts up the small torch she's made of fallen twigs.

She's standing just a few yards away, next to Wolfe, who is dressed in dark clothes and who, Percy can see now, has blood on his hands. His stomach swoops low, a high buzz of panic in his ear. He charges forward, grabs Wolfe by the arm. "Where is your sister?"

The boy—for gods' sake, he is just a boy, a kid, scarcely out of leading strings—swallows hard, then whispers, "There was an accident." Before Percy can pass out, Wolfe continues, "Follow me."

Then he spins, breaking out of Percy's grasp—just a boy, but then, Percy is no longer young himself—and charging deeper into the Parchwood. Percy can't even look at Vex as they follow, can't see the terror in her eyes that courses through his own veins. There was an accident. Is this fate, then? An accident, one twin ripped from the other, a lifetime of absence, a limb severed—

"Le, I found them!" Wolfe crashes to the forest floor behind a massive oak, and Percy and Vex come around, hearts racing and breath short, to see their daughter slumped against the roots, her wild dark curls matted and filled with debris, both hands clutching her side. Beside her, one of the Rifle Corps' weapons glints threateningly in the light from Vex's torch.

"Holy shit!" Percy barely has the wherewithal to catch the torch that Vex launches at him as she collapses to Leona's side. He watches blood gurgle up between Leona's fingers, her face pale and expression weak. "Darling, look at me."

"Hey, Mum," Leona says with a halfhearted smile. "Funny seeing you here."

"It's alright, dear, I've got you." Vex gently pries Leona's hands away, humming apologetically when she hisses in pain, and then settles her own fingers over the wound. Within a few seconds, Vex's magic works its way into her skin, the edges stitching themselves back together.

Leona lets out a big sigh, her eyes sliding shut. "That...that helps."

Vex's arms snatch Leona up, clutching her to her chest. "You scared the shit out of us, both of you."

Wolfe starts to stammer, an apology, an explanation, Percy's not sure, but he doesn't get the chance to say anything, because Percy grabs him by the collar and shoves him mercilessly against a nearby tree. "Are you fucking proud of yourself?"

"D-Dad, I—"

Percy brings the torch close to his face, so the heat makes sweat bead along his brow, so he can see the fear and shame in his eyes. "Where did you get it?" Wolfe's completely blanched, his mouth gaping like a fish's. "Answer me!"

"I took it!"

The torch light dances as Percy's hand shakes. "Percival..." Vex's warning does little to pacify him. "And what, just decided to shoot your sister?"

"Dad, it was my fault." From behind him, Percy can hear Leona try to straighten up, but Vex fusses to press her back down. "I tried to take it from him, it's my fault we were tugging over it—"

"I just wanted to try it out, I swear I didn't mean to do anything, I was gonna put it back in the morning—"

Wolfe is fully sobbing now, and he should be. A few inches in, and there is a new de Rolo to add to the crypt beneath Castle Whitestone. A few inches in, and Wolfe lives the rest of his life knowing the exquisite agony that his mother will carry with her to her grave.

He tightens his fingers in Wolfe's shirt. He wants to explode, to set the Parchwood ablaze, to search each and every square inch of Exandria until he has recovered the last of the evil he has wrought upon this world. His daughter almost died tonight, at the hands of her brother, with one of the weapons that Percy himself built.

"This is my fault." He lets go of Wolfe, who shrinks down against the tree trunk, his dark eyes, his mother's eyes, wet and wide. "This is my legacy. Both of you." He turns to look at Leona, who's crying now as well, before looking down at the gun on the ground, so silent and still. "That too. I thought maybe I could pick and choose. If I brought enough good into this world, I could eclipse all the bad I created." He steps away from Wolfe to pick up the gun, quickly spilling all of its remaining ammunition onto the forest floor before tucking it into the pocket of his pajama trousers. "We can discuss the ways your lives will be miserable for the foreseeable future in the morning. For now..." He shoves the torch at Wolfe, who scrambles to take it. "Come on, let's get home."

He's still trembling as he and Vex lift Leona to her feet. The wound is healed, but she's still sore. She's too big for Percy to carry now, or maybe he's too old, but either way, she has to walk with one arm around each of her parents' necks, and it is a slow, limping walk back toward the castle.

Wolfe leads the way, lighting the path so Percy can see where he's going. When there's a bit of space between them, Leona turns her head to whisper, "It really was an accident, Daddy. It's no one's fault."

He offers her what smile he can, because she, too, is just a kid, and she doesn't know that she's wrong. There is so much fault, so much blame to go around, but it is late, and it can wait until later.

"Don't worry about it now, cub." He kisses her cheek. "I'm just...very happy you're okay."

"Me too."

He tightens his arm around her, feels the even in-and-out of her lungs, and prays to whichever god is listening that the lights of his life are never snuffed out by his legacy of darkness.

[anathemafiction]

A Single Bed

The floor sways up and down, but it has been so long since it bothered him. Nowadays, it's the steady ground that unsettles him — the rocks are too still, the walls too stationary, and the tension he always carries in his legs accomplishes nothing besides making his muscles ache.

No, the Pirate King likes it when the four walls rock and the floorboards creak, and whenever he takes a step, he accounts for the need to keep his core perfectly tight. Dry land is far away, hidden in the cover of a starless night and the two torches burning bright behind the opulence of his desk make the shadows dance around his shoulders and cling to the sides of his face in a way that has his smirk seem almost unnaturally wide.

He takes advantage of the dramatic effect when he spins towards you, arms opened wide, gold buttons flashing in his vest, long midnight hair falling in thin stripes around his forehead. "Welcome," the Pirate says, putting one boot in front of the other to bow before you. "To my den. Make yourself at home, for tonight what's mine is yours. But have no worries: what's yours remains yours alone."

You stand by the doorway to his chambers, the captain's quarters, and the Pirate sees your eyes slowly start exploring the space. He straightens up, resting his hands on the handles of his twin axes and leaning on the edge of the big oaken desk behind him. He smiles as you take the first cautious steps inside. This room is a point of pride. Everything inside, from the paintings to the chests and the covers of the massive bed, was picked specifically by him — it was also earned by his hand alone. The quill, the sconces, the armed chair with a silk covering, the Pirate plundered them all and stored them throughout the years.

Everything here is a reflection of himself, and the Pirate can't help but think how perfectly you fit amongst it. He leans back further, black eyes watching you gingerly touch the heavy drapes on the western windows. You’re like a treasure he found, or one that simply drifted towards him. Glistering and unique and, right now, finally turning to face him.

"It's bigger than I thought it'd be," you say.

The Pirate shrugs. "It's a big ship."

You walk to the middle of his chamber, near the steps that take from the office space to the more personal quarters where his bed dominates the view. "It's more homely too." You purse your lips. "Or comfortable, I suppose. Aren't ships and vessels meant to be..."

His smile tilts to one corner. "Shit?"

He sees those pretty lips of yours tilting too. "Your words, not mine."

He chuckles. He always liked your wit. "That's a misconception. Nothing in life has to be bad, peach. And if it is, well." The fingers tighten on his axes. "You make it good."

His voice came out lower than he intended, more of a growl, but the Pirate can't say he regrets it when he sees you shiver. He has to fight himself from stalking towards you, from seeing up close the way you suddenly bite your lower lip. You like it? The Pirate wants to see your eyes, now, but you're too far away.

"By force?" Comes your voice, and he can't tell what it is he's hearing. It's akin to a whisper too, one that has his shoulders tensing. The door is closed, and you're alone together, and for the first time in a long while, he doesn't know how to proceed.

But he's not about to show it. "By whatever means you need to," he answers, staring deep at you. Come closer.

(...)

"Hell."

She goes down with a groan. The thin mattress creaks under her weight, and Neia feels one of the springs jump up and dig right between her shoulder blades. The pain is annoying, warmth spreading to the socket of her shoulder, but it's not enough to make her move. If anything, she sinks even harder on the pathetic excuse for a bed, letting her limbs deflate on top of the musty cover.

Had it been her old self, she would have called back the clerk and asked him if this is his idea of a bed. Because it isn't hers. The mattress sits on the floor against a dusty corner, and beneath an even dustier window, and had it been but a few months prior, she would make the useless man clean every inch of the room before even stepping one foot inside.

No. She would have made him give up his room and have him sleep in this rat's nest instead. She would have—

But Neia, the former Dawnseeker, is done with interrogations. And, right now, she's done with the world in general. Her armor lies half-discarded on the floor beside her, sword pommel a few inches away from her fingers, and her muscles buzz with relief. The mattress is bumpy and uncomfortable, and the fucking spring is now digging into the back of her neck, but Neia closes her eyes and welcomes the darkness. At least, there's quiet.

She breathes in, deeply, and holds the air in her lungs. Her skin tingles almost pleasantly, and she moves her toes one by one. The road had been as it always is. The bottom of her feet are so calloused that she barely feels a thing, but even so, it sure is good to lay down. To not have to carry her own weight.

Slowly, she lets the air go in a drawled-out exhale. Her chest deflates, her thoughts numb, and the scar on her lip twists around a grimace that isn't entirely disgruntled. She'll take this poor excuse for a bed if it means she gets to—

"Uh."

Her mouth twists down in a snarl. Neia cracks one eye open, scowl deepening at the sight of the ceiling stained with humidity, and shifts her head the slightest bit to the side until she sees you.

Standing beside her bed like an idiot. "What?" she growls.

You lift an eyebrow. "There's only one bed," you tell her in a too casual tone of voice. Neia doesn't know when you started adopting that tone with her, but she doesn't like it. She also doesn't do anything about it.

You look at her, waiting for an answer. Neia doesn't know why she simply doesn't close her eyes and go back to sleep, ignoring you like the nuance you are but... something makes her answer. "And?" she gruffs. Not much of an answer, but she sees you frowning, and now her scar twists again as she smirks.

She likes that look on you.

"And you're all sprawled there as if you're here alone," you protest, crossing your arms over your chest. "There's no room for me."

"How's that my problem?"

You blink, and then look so offended, Neia has to bite her tongue to keep from chuckling. "I am not sleeping on the floor, Neia," you say, trying and failing to sound threatening.

Neia does laugh then, the sound rough and low. "Seems to me you're out of options, sweetling," she says. She closes her eyes again and turns her chin upwards.

But she snaps them open right back when she feels the mattress shift. Neia sits up, fingers already clenching her sword when she sees your silhouette kneeling on the bed. You're tucked in the only available room between her long legs, and moonlight falls on your hair like the veil of a ghost.

"If you don't move, I'll just sleep on top of you," you have the bravery to say, your eyes narrowed, and your lips tightened, and Neia will be damned, but she thinks you'll actually do it. You'll actually dare to lay down on top of her.

Slowly, oh so very slowly, Neia lets go of her sword to sit up properly. Even seated, she looms above you, and she makes sure to use that. She leans forward, forcing you to slant your neck back, the resolute light in your eyes shifting to nervousness as Neia brings her face right beside your own. Yellow eyes brimming, scar twisting.

Holding back a chuckle.

"Are you sure about this?" she asks in a hiss. "Are you sure you want to share a bed with me?"

(...)

The entire piece is available on Patreon!

Part One — Hadrian, Alessa, Alain and Ysabella

Part Two — The Pirate King, Neia, Lance and Rafael

[pwlanier]

A MONUMENTAL RUSSIAN ORMOLU AND JAPANESE PORCELAIN FORTY-EIGHT LIGHT CHANDELIER

ALMOST CERTAINLY BY FÉLIX CHOPIN, CIRCA 1850

This impressive and monumental chandelier compares closely to a select group of Imperial Russian torchères combining Chinoiserie bronze-work and porcelain. Two pairs of floor lamps in Imari-style porcelain mounted with 'dragon' handles and branches are known, one pair in the Grand Staircase at the Yusupov Palace on the Moika Embankment, St. Petersburg, (illustrated here) and another in the Great Drawing Room at the Kremlin Palace, Moscow.

This chandelier is hung with forty-eight branches each modelled in ormolu as a mythological Chinese dragon. Mounted oriental porcelain, specifically using dragon modelled mounts, was made fashionable in Russia by the bronzier Félix Chopin who executed the aforementioned lamps at both the Yusupov Palace and the Kremlin and is also credited with producing similar designs for the Chinese Hall at the Tsarkoe Selo and the Arsenal Hall at the Gatchina Palace (see I. Sychev, Russian Bronze, Moscow, 2003, p. 161).

Félix Chopin was the son of the Parisian fondeur Julien Chopin.

After beginning his career in Paris he moved to St. Petersburg in 1838 and around 1841 acquired the workshop of Alexander Guérin which was on the verge of bankruptcy. A keen entrepreneur, Chopin soon revitalized the business by moving to new premises and employing new craftsman, however the real secret to his success was his keen eye that responded quickly to the slightest change in fashion (ibid p. 168).

Chopin's principal output was lighting fixtures, producing hugely varied designs for chandeliers, floor lamps, sconces and candelabra. In addition to the previously mentioned Imperial commissions, Chopin also produced chandeliers for the Marble Palace in St. Petersburg (1849), the tsarevich's personal palace in Peterhof (1850) and the palace of Grand Duke Nikolai Nikolaevich (1855-86) (ibid p. 168). He favoured the 'French Rococo' style which gave him the freedom to experiment with exuberant and whimsical designs and gave rise to his Chinoiserie revival pieces. The present chandelier therefore fits into the long tradition of decorative historicism whereby Russian designers emulated Western European fashions at the behest of the Russian nobility.

Christie’s

[blueiscoool]

'Princely' Tomb of A Hun Warrior Unearthed in Romania

The remains of a "princely" tomb, possibly from a Hunnic warrior, have been found during motorway construction in Romania.

Workers building a new highway in Romania have unearthed the treasure-laden tomb of a wealthy warrior and his horse. The tomb dates to the fifth century A.D., when the region was controlled by a people known as the Huns.

The tomb is filled with more than 100 artifacts, including weapons, gold-covered objects and pieces of gold jewelry inlaid with gemstones, Silviu Ene(opens in new tab) of the Vasile Pârvan Institute of Archeology in Bucharest, Romania.

Ene is the lead archaeologist investigating the tomb, which was discovered late last year during the construction of a motorway near the town of Mizil in the southeast of Romania, about 140 miles (220 kilometers) from the Black Sea.

Four separate archaeological sites were unearthed during the road construction, and the wealthy warrior's tomb — which the researchers described as "princely" — was just a part of the most complex site, Ene said.

"This tomb is of major importance because, in addition to the rich inventory, it was discovered at a site along with 900 other archaeological features — [such as] pits, dwellings, and tombs," he said in an email.

Invading Huns

The ethnicity of the Mizil warrior still isn't known, but the rich grave goods suggest that he belonged to the ruling class in the region's Hunnic period, or "migration era," when it was controlled by the Huns, Ene and his colleagues told the news outlet Hungary Posts English(opens in new tab).

The Huns were nomadic horsemen who originated in Central Asia. During the fourth and fifth centuries A.D. they invaded and occupied the far east of Europe, while displacing other peoples — such as the Vandals and the Goths — from their lands, causing them to migrate west.

The Huns were a particular problem for the Byzantine (or Eastern) Roman Empire, which until that time had controlled much of the lands west of the Black Sea — a region that now includes Romania.

But the Romans lost the region to the Huns, who went on to invade the Western Roman province of Gaul (modern France and western Germany) and even to attack Rome under their leader Attila the Hun, before losing their territory in Europe to a mixed force of Goths and other Germanic former vassals at the Battle of Nedao — a site now in Croatia — in A.D. 454.

Princely tomb

The latest archaeological finds at the Mizil tomb included an iron sword in a gilded  scabbard, a dagger, bundles of iron arrowheads and decorated braces of bone that were once fitted to a wooden bow, Ene said.

The dagger is especially ornate, with a gold-covered hilt inlaid with gemstones, he noted.

Archaeologists also unearthed the remains of a gilded saddle, a bronze cauldron, several decorated "sconces" — fittings to hold candles on a wall — and pieces of gold jewelry, he said.

The tomb held the warrior's complete skeleton, and his face seems to have been covered with a gold mask, the remains of which were also unearthed. However, only a leg and the head of his horse have been unearthed so far, Ene said.

The archaeologists told Hungary Posts English that the styles of the newfound objects suggest they are from about the fifth century A.D., when most of Europe north of the Danube River was under the control of the Huns.

The excavation of the tomb had to be completed in bad weather and sometimes with flashlights so that the motorway project could go ahead.

The archaeological investigation is now about "half finished," Ene said. Over the next few months, the bones and artifacts will be cleaned, investigated and put on public display, while the site of the tomb itself will be built over by the motorway project.

By Tom Metcalfe.

[tickldpnk8]

Season of Mists Reread Ch. 5

World building! world building! world building! This is my favorite issue in all of Sandman! There is so much going on and so much to dissect. Plus, some political maneuvering! So let’s dig in.

So why is Season of Mists my favorite? All of the mythology/pantheon tie-ins. We see so much world-building even just with Chapter 3. We see glimpses of Norse mythology, DC’s Order and Chaos, Japanese mythology, and Egyptian mythology. Plus, the hierarchy of angels but through DC’s Silver City with distinct Judeo-Christian undertones. Oh, and fairies! I’m here for all of it! But since my reread is specifically focused on Dream’s nature and clues about the ending of Sandman I didn’t see coming, I won’t focus on each of these characters. Instead, I’ll focus on how each interacts with Dream and how that affects their surroundings.

The room where it happens

Late at night, each delegation meets with Dream in the throne room (his chambers?) and each time it does, we see slight shifts in how the room is arranged and how Morpheus appears.

Going in order, we first see Odin from Norse myth:

Morpheus’ throne is what appears to be a short stool or stump on top of a tall boulder. Drapes are in the background and his throne sits on the floor surrounded by candles. Morpheus himself wears what appears to be a dark tshirt, black jeans or pants and likely boots.

Next to visit is Princess Jemmy, and the panels for her visit are very sparse. This could be a design decision considering how the action is on the page, but I wonder if Chaos brings a void to whatever space they are in. Morpheus has the same outfit as before with Odin.

After Chaos, comes Order (fitting?).

We don’t see his throne at all, but the candles are now elevated on sconces. The drapes remain in the background. Morpheus has donned his long collared coat/robe…presumably over his tshirt/jeans combo.

And then this is where things get really interesting, because the above could all be considered Western mythologies of a sort. We next have Susano-O-No-Mikoto:

Not only does the throne room change, but so does the art style: Similar to what we saw in Chapter 3 when introducing Order and Chaos. Everything flattens out into a comic book style of a woodcut print. The green curtains are now the foliage of a tree and Morpheu’s throne is almost a suggestion of a tatami mat on a raised platform. His coat/cloak are now traditional Japanese dress and his bedhead hair even seems to be tied up in a traditional hair do. Or at least it’s drawn differently. And in a close-up shot, we see that Morpheus’ facial features are now different too:

After him, we see Bast from the Egyptian pantheon and this one gets interesting:

Dream’s throne room again transforms into what can only be vaguely described as Egyptian as we see snippets of the yellow sandstone walls and this stone seat that seems to have suggestions of hieroglyphic panels or at least a sunburst. Morpheus is back in this all encompassing robe and in other panels we see his western-looking face.

But this panel caught my eye where Bast says that she prefers Dream in cat form because she can read his thoughts better than when he “wears a human head.”

Bast, of course, has a feline head on a human body. So I got the sense that she has the option of seeing either Dream’s feline aspect or his human one. It’s never explained if this is because she’s seeing him surrounded by other humanoid deities, because Dream can control which aspect she can see, or if it’s because she is leaning into her own humanoid aspect and not her cat one. It doesn’t seem to imply that Dream can shapeshift, but it doesn’t rule it out either.

And then we have Azazel: the majority of this conversation seems to take place in a hallway:

Which appeared to be next to the same staircase Odin took up to the throne room. I’m not sure what it says about their relationship or how demons view Dream, but by the time the conversation is at its end, they are back in the Egyptian view of the room:

As for Dream’s outfit, it appears to be the same peplum cloak he wore to hell, which might be the same cloak he was in for a while now.

A last note on all of these: notice how Morpheus subtly (or not so subtly) exudes power in each of these audiences. For the most part, he's above each supplicant and looking down on them. Or he exudes it in other ways (nothing says power like a series of peplums flapping in the breeze you conjured).

Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown

I was also struck by this scene:

Depending on your interpretation, he could either be dropping or throwing the Key to Hell down the stairs to his throne. I'm inclined to think he dropped it. It really reminded me of some of the scenes in the Lord of the Rings movies with the ring: there's a real weight to this key that makes it just plonk on the floor. This really helped to set the mood of how much the ring key is weighing on his mind at the end of all of these audiences.

[bluewren]

An Evening in the Undercroft

I wrote this small drabble for prompt and I wanted to share it. Makers feels so strange in the context of Thedas, but that is what we call DIY enthusiasts and tinkerers sometimes LOL ps my Sera adopted a fennec fox when she was out in the Western Approach

It was late afternoon, Harrit had stopped by and left with a rubber mallet and several small runes for trimming armor. He didn’t bother to inquire if the tools and pieces were in the same place as last time, just walking past the Inquisitor with her book in her hammock and hoping that the tinkerers here hadn’t shuffled the room yet again. They hadn’t. The sunset marched through the waterfall that was as much a frequenter of this room as the usual makers and crafty smiths. Taliesen grumbled as her source of light slowly dims to dimmer and then eventually the soft orange glow on the parchment was no longer enough to illuminate her book. She made an indignant grumble, sucking on the back of her teeth as she leaned to her right to reach for the rune that ignited the sconces in this room. She struggled past the bricks on the walls until she felt the indent of the rune. The light was back, better now and at least she still had the soft beating of the waterfall. She finally looked up when she heard a hefty crash of the door onto the walls, Sera arrived. Tali puts down her novel, they chatted about the latest thing that Sera caused a ruckus about. There was laughter and somehow talks about a strange fox eluding people. The Red Jenny needed tools for more pranks and to recapture her pet. Then their conversation came to a natural end when Sera raised a brow at the title of her book. Dagna returned to the Undercroft, she was the first one to ask the question about why her friend was reading a romance novel here. It was a book that Solas got from Cassandra and had recently finished. Tali marked the page, her attention was given to Dagna’s current work and if there was anything exciting that the two tinkerers could be working on.

[alicejones2289]

Creative Ideas For A Bathroom Makeover In Western Sydney

A bathroom makeover in Western Sydney offers a fantastic opportunity to refresh and transform one of the most essential spaces in your home. Whether you’re looking to update an outdated design, enhance functionality, or simply add a touch of luxury, there are numerous ideas to consider. Here’s a guide to inspiring bathroom makeover ideas that can elevate your space and add value to your home.

1. Embrace Modern Elegance with Minimalist Design

Minimalism is a popular trend in bathroom design, characterised by clean lines, neutral colours, and a clutter-free aesthetic. To achieve a modern minimalist look:

Neutral Colour Palette: Use shades of white, grey, or beige to create a serene and timeless atmosphere.

Sleek Fixtures: Choose streamlined fixtures and fittings, such as wall-mounted faucets and floating vanities, to enhance the clean look.

Simple Storage Solutions: Incorporate built-in storage or open shelving to keep essentials organised and out of sight.

2. Upgrade with Luxurious Materials

For a touch of luxury, consider incorporating high-end materials that elevate the bathroom’s appearance and feel:

Marble Surfaces: Marble countertops, tiles, or a marble backsplash add sophistication and a sense of opulence.

High-Quality Fixtures: Invest in polished chrome or brushed gold fixtures for a refined and elegant look.

Freestanding Bathtub: A freestanding bathtub can serve as a stunning focal point and provide a spa-like experience.

3. Incorporate Bold Patterns and Colours

Inject personality and vibrancy into your bathroom with bold patterns and colours. This approach can create a dynamic and eye-catching space:

Statement Tiles: Use patterned or colourful tiles for the floor or backsplash to make a bold statement.

Accent Walls: Paint one wall in a striking colour or add wallpaper with unique designs for visual interest.

Bright Accessories: Introduce colourful towels, rugs, or shower curtains to complement your chosen colour scheme.

4. Create a Spa-Like Retreat

Transform your bathroom into a relaxing sanctuary with spa-inspired elements. This makeover idea focuses on creating a calming and rejuvenating environment:

Rain Showerhead: Install a rain shower head for a luxurious, rainfall-like experience.

Built-In Seating: Add a bench or seating area in the shower or near the bathtub for convenience and relaxation.

Mood Lighting: Use dimmable lighting or add candles and sconces to create a soothing ambience.

5. Enhance Functionality with Smart Technology

Integrating smart technology into your bathroom can improve convenience and efficiency. Consider these modern upgrades:

Smart Shower Controls: Install a digital shower control system that allows you to set your preferred temperature and water flow.

Bluetooth Mirrors: Opt for mirrors with built-in Bluetooth speakers for hands-free music or calls.

Automatic Faucets: Choose touchless faucets to reduce water waste and improve hygiene.

A bathroom makeover in Western Sydney offers a wealth of opportunities to enhance your space, whether through modern elegance, luxury materials, bold patterns, or smart technology. By considering these creative ideas and tailoring them to your personal preferences and needs, you can transform your bathroom into a stylish, functional, and enjoyable part of your home. With thoughtful planning and attention to detail, your bathroom makeover will provide lasting satisfaction and elevate your daily experience.

[goldom]

AFoLiS author commentary Part 3-3

Okay, let's get this one done with.

Oh yes, the start of Interlude 4 took me forever to write, because I had an image in my head for Firefly's dress (it wasn't based on anything, just made up), but I had no idea about any of the words needed to describe dress parts. Stelle's suit, on the other hand, was something I'd seen in several fanarts at the time, though I don't know who came up with it first.

"the wall sconces have are dimmed" uhhh yep good job perfect sentence. Annoying thing is Word even has it marked as having a problem, but it's so unreliable about grammar that I just tune it out, boy who cried wolf style.

OH, okay, it's here! I was wondering when the first one would pop up. Parallel occurrences between the two. Pulling all these out for myself is the biggest single reason I wanted to do these notes.

If you ever saw a phrase and thought, "Didn't the author already use that exact line before?" Yes, and it was intentional. Even the game has Firefly point out that the SH are the AE's shadow to their light or whatever, which is super emo, girl, but yeah, they are mirrors of each other. But not in the sense of one being the dark and the other light. Not at all. I wanted to write it so that both, despite all their differences, would continually find themselves thinking identical phrases, often quite far apart in the story. This was on purpose.

So here in Part 3 Interlude 4, when Firefly says she grew her hair out for Stelle:

You didn’t have to do that almost leaves Stelle’s lips. But she did. She did it for you. That makes it even more beautiful.

Then allllllllll the way over in Part 5 Chapter 23, when Stelle gets made up for her, Firefly has her parallel:

You always do and You didn’t have to do that run through your mind, but those aren’t the right choices. “You’re stunning,”

And, little sneak peak for the probably nobody ever gonna get this deep in these notes, this idea actually will get another mirror from Stelle later in Part 6:

You want to tell her she didn’t have to do that. She didn’t have to. But that would be an awful thing to say after the fact. She did, and she did it thinking of you.

What's it about? Wait and see... Okay, moving on.

Stelle dumps out the champagne in a potted plant. I always meant to reference that later with a 'mysteriously' dead plant in the parlor, but never did. Oh well.

Stelle explains the journal. I was surprised to realize I never actually had her say to Firefly that she thinks it uses the Glamoth psychic bond. I think I just thought, well it's covered in the "fade to black" of her describing the journal, but because it was never actually shown, I got to have her explain it later in Planetshine, and it was a beautiful moment.

"World." The word "world" has caused me so much stress. In phrases like "save the world" or "in the whole world." Doesn't work in space sci-fi, does it? In early parts I was using "galaxy," until I realized HSR takes place across multiple galaxies. Sometimes I use "universe," but it sounds so forced, so sometimes I just say "world" and figure people can understand it's just a saying.

Her wife. What an incredible phrase.

I think this was the first time I put any focus onto the fact that this is a gay relationship and that that's something special, and I barely dipped a toe in it. I think I was nervous to, because for one, it's just not something canon will ever actually address, and also it's just generally not done in yuri media, (which I absolutely would call this part of, as opposed to being a descendant of western lesbian fiction). But then, titans of the genre like Bloom Into You do address it, and they're better for it. I wouldn't really dive into the topic further until Part 5. And uh. Part 6 is gonna be something.

I keep having to have Firefly know less about Stelle's mission for the SH than she really ought to, simply because we don't know about it, and I couldn't have her keeping that secret in my story for years to come. I might break canon when I need to, but I'm not going to write my own end of HSR before the game itself reveals it! I think, given their prior relationship, it's believable that she wouldn't be let in on the details.

One of my favorite things about doing a long series like this is being able to go back to scenes from earlier parts and reveal moments that happened off camera (because I hadn't thought of them at the time) but are now relevant. Okay, saying it like that sounds like a lazy writing cheat, but there's only so much you can do when publishing serially, since I can't just go back and add scenes to earlier chapters. Their moment watching the comet is one such thing. It didn't get much focus here, but then Stelle remembers it again in Part 4 with new details.

Firefly's little comment on how she views Sam as alive, though she knows they're not sentient... that kinda went nowhere. When I first wrote it, it actually more overtly said Sam had an AI, but like a day later I read an impassioned post about how someone hated when people treated Sam as a separate person, and it made me reconsider. Turned out to be the right choice, because they're not. I probably wouldn't suggest it at all if I wrote this now, but I won't take it out.

So, after finishing this interlude, I was fully in a hurry to get them back together. I stuffed in a few entries just to feel like there was some time passing. I think the pacing would have been better if there were a lot more, but my heart couldn't keep them apart any longer in real-time.

As long as she’s alive, there is always hope. That’s what I believe.

I wrote in the entry about Cocona. Based of course on canon-Stelle's line, "But I know… as long as there's life… there are possibilities." And let me tell you. You know, if you're someone who is reading this far in, you KNOW how happy I was when I saw her say that. Once in a while, canon-Stelle is exactly the character I want her to be. I loved Cocona's story so, so much.

Uhhh and then in the next entry the girls have psychic make-out time or something.

Oh and here's the entry written when I broke my keyboard and pretended it was Stelle breaking her phone. You know... I bought a replacement part, but never actually changed it out. Right now, my left ctrl doesn't press right, and the tab key clip is broken so it falls off every couple days. I should probably install the replacement. But I've gotten used to the way it is, and it means taking apart the entire thing.

P.S. We’ve been invited to the opening of the Radiant Feldspar airship on Penacony next month. You’ll be one of us by then, so you can come too! Wanna make a cute date of it? Everyone will be so jealous of me~

So I've never exactly addressed how that went down in my universe. Reminder, this was all written between 2.2 and 2.3. Probably never need to. The implication is that nothing of interest happened, because of course my Firefly's third death happened elsewhere. I did find a way to point out in Part 5 that Stelle is not the Feldspar's captain. Not for any plot important reason, just because it never had a chance to occur in my version.

Aside from slightly shorter hair, she looks exactly like the girl Stelle met in the Dreamscape

Huh. I forgot that. I guess by this point I'd already decided to abandon the "she looks different" angle. The comment here was about her wearing her signature outfit, but yeah, I guess she... uh... man I don't know, it'd make more sense for her to start looking the same post-cure. You know what, I'm gonna change that line, it doesn't actually make sense.

The decision here to hide their relationship from Himeko and Welt was written after those two's reaction to Stelle going feral in Part 4. As I mentioned at the time, I was writing parts 3 and 4 concurrently. After having them react so negatively to Stelle, I realized I needed them to not know the two were dating, or else it'd be really out of character for them to be so cold. So I went back to the end of Part 3 and had Firefly want to hide it in order to prove herself.

Wild how things actually make more sense when you write the whole story before posting chunks of it lol.

Here's I think the first instance of Stelle's negative self image, which is still an ongoing challenge for her. I originally thought of giving her that issue based on the fact that she looks really out of place for a girl in a gacha game – she's, like, a normal woman, y'know? Not hyper sexualized, not hyper cute, just normal. And I LOVE that to be clear, but if you were her, surrounded by all those other people, wouldn't you feel a little plain? Though, she also has other reasons for her uncertainty that are still forthcoming.

And uh then they have sex for the first time. Even though I faded to black over everything explicit, I had never written anything like that before and was so embarrassed by it.

And then Stelle gets sad that it's the end of the story, which totally isn't the author talking nope.

We close with a photo of the journal, the framed selfie (printed out on one of those machines at the drug store lol) and a fuzzy blob that's supposed to represent Amber. But actually, it's not a dog at all! It's a stuffed polar bear. Which... accidentally became Firefly's stuffed animal later in Planetshine. The framed photo is still sitting here to my side. The frame originally had an old picture of me with my spouse, and I was gonna just use it temporarily and put us back in afterwards, but then I took more than a passing glance at it and realized it was a pre-transition photo of me, and I decided, y'know what, I'd rather look at StelleFly.

The End! Tomorrow, onward to Part 4.

[pluckinstuff]

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