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herdarkestnightelegance · 2 months

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Magpie Stash

Pairing: Astarion/ g/n unnamed Tav Tags: fluff, trauma Length: 1k words Summary: While looting, Astarion comes across items he wants to own.

A/N: Another headcanon which I may have shared with some of the talented fan fiction writers out there before. So, if that’s the case, don’t come for me! But holy Hells this got much longer than I planed! I guess this is s drabble now? Or a whole ass fanfic? You tell me 😂

Thank you wonderful @nyx-knox for the beta reading! It was *chef‘s kiss* ✨

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Astarion has not owned anything in 200 years.

The only things he could call his were his wits and the clothes on his back - and both he cared for and mended meticulously.

But suddenly he’s part of a ragtag group of strangers, and he finds himself looting a temple not far from where they crashed with a damn Nautiloid after being abducted and infected by mindflayer parasites. And frankly, he’s not entirely sure what part he finds most surprising.

Finding food, weapons and healing potions is a priority. For the others. Not so much him. Honestly. Why should he bother looking for food he won’t even eat? He doesn’t know these weirdos.

But he humors them and even aids his positively helpless companions by picking locks. And as he opens the lid of a gilded chest, something catches his eye.

Beneath old parchment and a rotten carrot he finds …. pretty things? There’s a particularly sparkly ring. A skilfully bound book with gilded letters on the cover. A fine silk scarf hemmed with the most delicate fell-stitches …

He has no idea if those items are of any value. They certainly are useless for the group. But … they are beautiful. And he wants, no he needs to own them. So without giving it too much thought, he takes them.

He has no intention of selling *HIS* items to the vendor they meet at the Tiefling Camp. Hells, he doesn’t even have the intention of showing them to his companions.

He wants these pretty things for himself, he wants to keep them safe. The spawn siblings used to steal from one another all the time, so he’s used to being protective over his meagre possessions. Can’t shake 200 years of hypervigilance that easily.

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Over the next days and weeks of travel, Astarion fills up a little purple leather pouch with whatever catches his eye. Going through the diverse collection of beautiful bits and bobs for a few moments before meditating becomes a secret source of calm for Astarion. A soothing ritual, especially after the more straining days.

Which is what he’s doing now. He sits on his bedroll cross-legged, inspecting the things. His things. His little private treasure trove. That he owns.

A bejeweled comb, random gold coins, a tiny picture frame containing an even tinier painting …

The only piece of his treasure that gave him more of a bittersweet feeling had been a silver hand-mirror he had found in the goblin infested village. To be honest, he was not too mad when he accidentally smashed it in frustration the other night after talking to Tav.

Tav. Their unofficial leader. They never seem to have a problem sharing the things they find. They share their food with the group, their scrolls, and they even gave Astarion that freakish but intriguing tome they had found in that cellar. Far too generous, if you ask him.

As Astarion packs up his collection he hears coughing outside. Again. It’s been going on all night.

He peeks out. Tav is on second watch. The night is cold, and they just added another log to the fire. Still, the cool wind is picking up and Tav pulls their cloak close around their neck - which unfortunately does not prevent the coughing.

For a moment, Astarion considers just ignoring them, letting them hack up a lung. But to his dismay, he … cares? He finds he doesn’t want Tav to be cold or sick. But it’s just because he just doesn’t want their coughing to get annoying. That’s all. Obviously.

So he leaves his tent and saunters up to their leader, who greets him with a sleepy but friendly smile.

Astarion holds out his hand to Tav, holding a long piece of white fabric. He’s offering them his beautiful silk scarf with the immaculate fell-stitched hem that he had inspected a lot over the past weeks.

„You’re coughing too much, darling. It’s keeping me up and I do need my beauty sleep.” he says with mock indignation and his trademark smirk.

„Thank you.“ Tav says as they take the scarf from his hand and wraps it around that oh so delicious neck of theirs.

After an awkward moment of silence Astarion offers a final „Well. Good night, my dear.“ with a courteous bow and walks back to his tent.

He can’t help but wonder at the strange feeling in his chest. Tav can and will never know just what big of a deal this small gesture was for the pale Elf.

For the first time in 200 years Astarion gave away something that was his simply because he wanted to. He wanted them to have it. Because they needed it more than him. And not only that. He does not even expect anything in return. How in the Hells did that happen?

He’s sure it’s nothing.

:::::::

A few years from then, Astarion finds himself in the cellar beneath Tav’s and his home. He’s looking for something, and he’s sure it has to be here somewhere.

“Aha!” From the trunk before him he pulls a skilfully bound book - even though the gilded letters on the cover have worn off with time.

He opens the book - and huffs in relief. And nervousness. It’s still right where he left it between the pages all those years ago.

Hidden inside the old book lies a particularly sparkly ring.

He smiles. A lot has changed since that day they looted that temple and he found his first little treasures. Back then Astarion couldn’t fathom sharing his magpie stash - or anything, for that matter - with anyone. And now? Now he shares a home with the person he loves. And he plans on sharing so much more with them.

What better way of showing that than by proposing with the first thing he ever called his? Because now there’s only one thing, or rather person, he wants for himself. The one person he wants to share everything with.

He looks at the particularly sparkly ring.

Yes. This should do nicely.

So, and on a completely unrelated note: When does a headcanon become a full on fanfic lol?

#astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #this is about astarion #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #astarion fanfiction #ohoh herdarkestnightelegance wrote something

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pervcoded · 17 days

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DOG-EARED AND DOUBTFUL starring yuuji itadori. part iii.

──☆*:・ﾟcontent warning: amab!reader (referred to as a boy), canon divergent, college au (18+ characters) inside of the hybridverse. artist!reader, sukuna is related to yuuji. awkward meet-cute, but yuuji is implied to be (and is) slightly unhinged. reader is human and yuuji is a doberman hybrid. fluffy, safe for work-ish. nude modelling. bashful , sorta pushover reader. reader has a stutter. invasion of privacy (yuuji goes through your sketchpad and gets comfortable fast). british use of trousers (pants) and pants (underwear). scent stuff going on, yuuji has a good nose. yuuji is sorta feral and reader's not in a position to (nor does he quite want to) argue. mdni! reblogs and comments appreciated!

wc: 4.2 words.

It’s beautiful, truly. Yuuji is admittedly philistine in his artistic taste, never had a muse for it; but he finds himself wholly appreciative of the opportunity to become yours- even if it’s only for the evening. He can’t control the way his tail wags, heart pattering quicker in his chest as the excitement overrides his previously projected aloofness, his hands moving faster than his mind in that moment. One more page wouldn’t hurt.

You’re just like any other boy in class, really. Maybe the round ears and lack of fur are a bit of a weird look, but Yuuji wasn’t popular when he first transferred to the university either - and some change is always good, he thinks.

“And your tongue—is it really that small?” Someone had asked on your first day in, your classmates ogling your skin, analyzing its novel texture. You’re good at acting nonchalant when you’re placed on the spot. Tone even, eyes level, posture loose and relaxed as you fold your arm over the back of your chair. You’re smarter than they’d ever give you credit for—laughed along with their jibes so they wouldn’t see how gently you swayed. Trembled. The claws of some touchy Wolverine mutt glancing at your collarbones, and you laughed it off, never once minding the sweat cascading down the apex of your temple.

But your scent is disloyal to you. He never thought to mention it. The sour notes of tangerine, key lime, crescendo in the spot where you stand, a heady cocktail of anxiety and embarrassment and horror.

You’re quite popular for a human, however. Maybe that was your conventional appeal. Or rather stood next to them you stick out like a sore thumb, and that makes you far more interesting—purely by virtue of your association. But Yuuji likes to think you have your own redeeming qualities too. You’re an artsy type. Try and spend a lot of time by yourself if you can manage, but your peers seem intent on laywaying your silence; coveting your time like shiny trinkets in a magpie’s nest.

Still, you’re nice to him.

You remember his name. Say “Itadori, hi,” and give him a solemn nod before going on your way. You give him your leftovers you don’t want if your class schedules happen to line up that day. You share your notes from Anthropology, and sketch him in the margins of your notebook on the days you can’t focus.

The patience of hybrids doesn’t often extend to their own kind, and Yuuji’s felt terribly lonely since his grandfather passed - what with his uncle not being much in the way of making conversation. But you’re easy to talk to.

“Ah, Itadori, can you come here?” His tail wags a little at the acknowledgement, but if you notice you failed to comment. “Uh, yeah? What’d you want? I’m a little busy right now, so,” He smiles half-heartedly, suddenly a little uncomfortable to be seen with you like this. You move your stuff away from where you want him to sit at the table, and his eyes are acutely drawn to each movement of your hands. Gathering up runaway pencils, stacking textbooks. “You can call me Yuuji, by the way. I don’t mind.”

Your face lights up at that, and you tell him your name in kind. He tries it. Once for his pleasure. Again to make sure he got it right. He looks back down at the now emptied table, though he doesn’t go to take a seat.

Your lunch is sparse. Two pieces of bread with peanut butter and something else sandwiched in the middle. A browning apple eaten to the core. He thinks about mimicking the impressions of your teeth.

“Ah, well, I know we don’t talk and um - I’m still kinda new here and - please, you can sit,” Your hand fans out to gesture at the chair in front of you, and Yuuji settles into it uneasily. He can smell you’re afraid of something.

“Yuuji…” You tap your pencil on something he can’t see, draped over your thigh. “I.. wanted to draw you.” Yuuji tilts his head, finger absently reaching towards his chin. “Me?” “Yeah. It’s for an art assignment. We’re practicing portraits.” Your smile is disarmingly charming. “If it was okay with you, I wanted to see if… we could find some time to—y’know. Have you model for me.” Yuuji doesn’t let himself get excited so quickly, the hair on his forearm bristling a bit as he digs his nails into his thigh. Keep it from bouncing. “Okay. Yeah. Sure - that’s fine. I’d love to.” Yuuji sounds like he’s speaking through grit teeth, but his expression doesn’t expose anything other than slight apprehension. You sigh, a weight seemingly lifted off your shoulders. “Oh! Okay!” You try not to sound too happy about it, but a smile keeps weaseling onto your face. “Okay so, we’d have to book one of the art rooms, but that shouldn’t be too hard—nobody really lingers around after class. Lucky us, right?” You’re fishing your phone out of your pocket, and Yuuji nearly forgets to grab it with his unbloodied hand.

“Here. Add your number, take a photo if you’d like.” You’re teasing, but Yuuji never was good with sarcasm. He smiles big and wide for it, pointed teeth all in the front row.

He saves his name as ‘Yuuji 😎’, and hands your tech back to you. You send a quick ‘hey’ to make sure you got the right number. When his pocket rumbles he’s off no later, barely waving goodbye as he leaves you to your own devices.

You text out the details later. Tomorrow, at 7:00.

He gets there at 6:56 on the dot. Campus has been largely deserted this time of day, and the few stragglers left, student and faculty, each flock to their club space or the odd, afterhour meeting. You’re all set up by the time he’s there. You’re well-prepared, graphites and eraser shavings finding a home on the floor around you. Sticks of pastels lie short and chipped on the easels mantle, your fingertips already blackened by charcoal. This wing is new to him, but the hallways look just like this rooms walls. Student made murals scaling taller than him, ferals unfurling across the unorthodox canvas; a magnificent sky. Ceramic busts settle atop storage cabinets; baked and glazed vases filled with paper flowers, tucked into empty corners. Paintings hung to dry. Thick ink stains as he sidesteps a rolling chalkboard, gently pushing it to the side.

You glanced up when the door opened, but it was more reflexive than comprehending. You saw him, then looked back at the canvas, focused. Only when he nearly stumbles do you look back up again, and you’re smiling really wide. You wave excitedly. “Hey Yuuji!” His ear twitches near imperceptably, tail high and wagging. “Hey.” He’s decent at acting, if you think he’s faking casual you don’t mention it, just gesture to the seat beside you. The chair you saved for him has tall legs and a strong, straight back; perfect for a model.

“Well, you can take this chair when you’re ready,” he’s taking a peak at the easel sat in front of you, identical setups matching yours haphazardly set up around a squat stage in the center of the room.

Your sketchpage: marked with vague gestures and dancing, people-like shapes. You’ve been practicing. You absently tug at your collar at the lack of distance between you two (forgot you were using charcoal, so you quickly stop) and a strange aura radiates from you, the smell of frayed nerves stinging his nose. His tail lulls in its movement, a tad disappointed you weren’t as comfortable with him as he thought you were.

“For a portrait, you being closer is ideal, so we don’t h..have to use the stage. I’ll just do my thing over here and… Oh! I brought some water and um, snacks.” You tilt your head in a familiar, curious motion, ”You like shrimp chips?”

He shrugs at you and smiles. “They’re okay.” He’s flattered you considered him, mostly. He really did like that about you humans, such soft and compassionate creatures; moreso than any of the hybrids he knew. Where they-mournfully, himself included-took a unique pleasure in watching another squirm, your kind wasn’t like that at all, were they? Perhaps an underdeveloped survival mechanism. A tail to tuck in the presence of a predator’s bared fangs. Regardless, your grin crinkles the corners of your eyes and makes his heart soar, your anxiety easing out as you stand from your seat, revealing your true smell. Heat and sweet and pastry-light; a creme bruele after the top has been carefully cracked open. Tickles his cheeks pink.

“So, how long you been doing this art stuff for anyway?” You seem startled by the ask and pause before you answer, probably not used to being asked about your interests by the other hybrids. “Years now. E..ever since I was a kid I always liked art, drawing-” You curse as something rolls out of your bag and say sorry to nothing and no one. “Drawing, traditional, digitally. I was thinking about going into graphic design! - I’m still technically undecided, but I love art… It just calls to me, you know?” Oh, he has no fucking clue what you’re talking about. But he hums in the affirmative and reckons now’s a good a time as any to check. Take a peek through your lens and see the shape of your artisan mind. An artist’s sketchpad to him seemed the appropriate equivalent to their soul; so he takes the opportunity to flip through the pages on your drawing pad.

He’s admittedly expecting something grander. Maybe the inside of an old world colosseum or perhaps something abstract and profound, the kind of things disheartened schoolchildren write essays about; A Great Wave or Thinking Man, befitting of the brand of mystery he’d superimposed on you. Nothing suitably miraculous happens. The task merely becomes more intimate by virtue of your artistic repertoire. Surely, not the fault of his plain nosiness.

All flesh upon the paper is laid entirely bare. Inscriptions of bodies wrap around the canvas from the top to the very bottom like the prayers in a holy book. Any free tarp is not spared, a bared torso and breast here, the sole of a foot en point over there. Largely unfinished yet tangible, beginnings and inbetweens and many more ends; scores of tails, teeth, tongue and claws. “Oh, wow.” You’re still digging through your bag so you don’t mind him, preoccupied second guessing kneaded erasers and rags to wipe your creativity off on.

To describe your work as a product of mere fascination would be a woefully inaccurate assessment. Not a proper acknowledgement of your time, effort, sweat, (more than a few smudges in the graphite, a whiff of salt that sticks out above the rest) and conviction.

There’s quick notes scribbled between poses and observations, some names - none of which he immediately recognizes, but makes his head fog with some vague posessiveness regardless. Jealousy maybe. He doesn’t linger on it, instead flipping to the next page. Bodies more and more bodies, some without heads; long torsos; hips; thighs and legs and asses,

Lips, mouth wide open, teeth and tongue presenting. There’s a notable lack of vulgarity to the images. A seemingly clinical observation of how the parts move, some independent of the others; but when it all comes together…

One more page wouldn’t hurt. (It’s just admiration he’d say, when the real reason he’s so riled up is because he’d been hoping for this moment; all his anxieties of pursuing you assuaged by your apparent obsession for him- er- hybrids like him—can’t get ahead of himself just yet—) His fingers move with deft purpose.

You come back with a whole bag of stuff; chips, ramune, what smells like pocky, but he’s not looking towards you as you return. Surely, you think, a blank page can’t be that interesting, and you’re right; that’s not what he’s staring at.

He’s found your page.

Your life drawing class encourages you to practice still lifes in your free time. There aren’t many hybrids tripping over themselves to be ogled by a human - some models even abject to posing in the room while you’re there - so when the opportunity presented itself to observe something more than a picture, someone else, removed from your wheedling peers, obviously you lept for it.

You’d grown tired of drawing yourself.

“Ah, Yuuji-” Your inhale quick and sudden, the sharp clatter of a glass bottle twitching him out of his stupor. You stiffen up when he looks back at you despite his brevity (because he is just fascinated with your canvas all the sudden), your hands flapping anxiously as you step close, you’d collapse in on yourself if you had the option. “Um wait, please! That’s private!”

You are deeply gifted. He doesn’t have to stare it like he did the other ones cause he recognizes it as you so immediately. (Letting his eyes wander all those times seems to have payed off). Recognizes the arch and swell of your muscles, the slope of your back and the softness of the dimples in your hips, the gentle curve of your -

A hand darts over the artistic nudity before he can fully commit it to memory, and you shout: “Yuuji! I got the snacks, okay? Just- we can get started now,” He can’t read the expression on your face as you reset your canvas and flip to a blank page. He desperately tries to meet your eye; but your gaze is leagues away. An inkling of some base, carnal attraction blooms in his chest; your unwitting submission appealing to some feral hindbrain before he recalls your humanity, disappointingly gentle emotions and sensibilities.

He feels sad for you after though it only lasts a moment, his tail drooping pathetically and eyes sagging similarly as the compunction grapples him; and in a frenzied moment of attempting to sooth your shame (smells dull and salty like wood grain) he gets a good idea. According to his standard, anyway. He smiles at you and pants a little. His finger is digging into his collar at an angle, tugging up; in demonstration.

“If you want me to get naked, I really wouldn’t mind!” His whip tail thud-thuds into your easel. “Excuse me?” You initially abject, dumbfounded. Your face feels warm and your skin tingles, the blood in your cheeks stinging it darker, body tensing up. “W-why would you..? I..I wouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. I-it’s a, well - Portraits are mostly sup..supposed to be your face, so, getting naked? Really not necessary,”

He’s already taking his sweater off. “Yuuji, please.” His tail wags a little when you whimper and he has a mind to admonish himself for taking pleasure in such a thing.

“It’s fine, really!” Sounds so easy for him to say, when you’re on the verge of an aneurysm. “I was reading a little about it-” (and hardly did he ever read), “-and apparently, portraits can be half, or full bodies. Well, you’d probably know that better than me anyway.” His voice is dampened by the fabric, but you’re too dazed to notice he said anything. Everything is happening too fast.

He kicks off his shoes and drops trou in your choked silence, your hands tremble as dread wars in your mind and you remain uncertain of where to put them. Nevermind your eyes. The thought of trying to stop him warrs with the concept that having to touch him, see him, will surely kill you. “You seem to draw a lot of hybrids- so I assume you’re already used to seeing us naked? Though I didn’t see a lot of dogs in there…”

The room kicks up a few degrees and your blood simmers beneath your skin, your boundaries bent and bowed as you struggle to figure what happens next. Your shirt feels too, too tight. His is starting to come off. The slow drag of cotton across his body is amplified by the emptiness of the space, at a pace entirely too casual for an impromptu strip tease. “But there’s nothing wrong with trying something new every once in a while, y’know?” He stumbles a little when it’s past his shoulders, self consciously fixing his hair after he’s gotten it slung over his arm.

As if he has anything to be nervous about. He looks at you triumphantly when he’s finished (pants regretfully still on), and he wishes you couldn’t meet his eyes this time; get a good eyeful of how excited he is for you. In what must be respectful to you, you catch his gaze this time, with these big round prey eyes that makes the fur on the back of his arms bristle in the studio’s cool air. A vein in his throat jumps and his pupils dilate, but (too) soon you turn away.

You’ve seated yourself back on your chair and fixed up the workspace, though he has a hard time gauging this new expression on your face. Maybe apprehensive, again? Bashful? You chew your lip with this insistence, bruising the delicate skin there. Your hands move with opposed intention; flattening out the canvas and arming yourself with graphite. “O-kay. Y..you can.. Make yourself comfortable I guess..” He can still smell you, too.

This scent is new. Near cloying and knitting to the inside of his nose as it pours off of you, slight, topping off that twinge of orange peel and grapefruit.

“Okay!” He brusquely shoves past your apprehensions; looking mighty pleased with himself-the dog-the muse’s chair dragging agonizingly against the floor as he goes to set it in place. You do nothing at first. He is seated within seconds and after your hand suddenly is no longer your own, flexed potential in every muscle put to pause in the air, your brows furrowing in newfound frustration.

You don’t look at him, still. Yuuji’s triumph of domination having past, he finds the selfish desire to be observed and admired comes gnawing back to him. He doesn’t want to push you (so he says while shoving you) but he really is going all out. He’d like some of that signature human hospitality back, pretty please? He leans closer.

You get infinitely stiffer and he whimpers. An honest to god beaten doggy whine, and your shock is what finally gets you to look up. He’s far more relaxed than you at present, pouting expression at odds with his slouched posture and occasional pant. His floppy ears tilt open and he momentarily mirrors your wide-eyed wonder. “Finally,” he chirps. ”I was starting to think we weren’t actually friends!” You scoff, still staring saucer-eyed. Your eyebrows go up and down and up, your forehead wrinkles. “You ge-get naked for all your f..friends?” The incredulous twang to your voice wants to read to him like jealousy, but projection is a fickle thing.

Yuuji genuinely thinks about your question, further astounding you. “Well. I guess only for the ones I really like.” The statement is made sincerely, the smile accompanying it darling, and could have perhaps romanticized the situation had you not been a sane-minded human man. The warmth in your face has turned to fire hot heat and you sputter on your words. “I’m fl..flattered. But humans? Don’t do t..this,” you attempt to gesture to the entire situation, “With their friends! This is, frankly, too, too-” You stutter into nothing, the thought dying on your tongue. “Too what? I mean, you don’t smell like you hate it,” he sniffs. “My nose is pretty good! If you-” you dislike the way he stresses the syllable, like you’re special some how, “-were scared, I’d smell that miles away. You have a very strong scent you know? It’s not a bad thing though, don’t worry! At least, it isn’t for me anyway. It makes you feel more.. Genuine.” He hums matter-of-factly, your pencil beginning to tremble above the page. “But aren..aren’t you cold? Or-or something? It’s always freezing-freezing in here!” Yuuji shrugs, ”Aw, it’s no worries really. I sorta run hot, so,”

You knew a lot of things about hybrids. About their keen noses, most gifted with perceptive capabilities beyond that of your kind. Still it feels no better to hear that for despite your subtlety, you never had a chance to evade their prying eyes. You sigh with a shake of your shoulders, and Yuuji takes your silence as an excuse to move closer. “Hey, don’t worry. What’d I say about new things?” You don’t feel terribly reassured, but you nod along for your own sake. “You got an assignment due, don’t you? Just focus on that. Forget Yuuji, focus on capturing..” “The form.” You finish. Yuuji would have said ‘these guns’, but shrugs. “Yeah, that.”

You look at him again, but only now do you truly perceive him, resigned yourself to capturing his image and replacing the blankness on your canvas. Your gaze is sharp and surgical, your pencil connecting with the paper as you change focus between him and it. Him, his infuriatingly cheeky grin and easy-going eyes and loose limbs. This body worthy of envy. Laid bare for you to wrangle and tame, reduce to your second dimension.

You begin to draw.

Yuuji sits in a silence punctuated by the sounds of your scribbles. Upwards stroke, down again; quick curving motions. Stare right at him, into the depths of his soul. Turn away, and sketch some more.

It’s a lot more boring than he’d imagined it. He is very excited you have your eyes on him; don’t get him wrong, but your stare doesn’t possess any of the fullbodied fascination, like he has for you. He almost wished he could give you his nose just so you could smell his pheremones, or his eyes, so you could catch every little jump of his muscles or twitch of the tail. He’d refrain for a few selfish reasons; Your changes in mood. The straightening of your spine and the twitching of your eye after you got a rhythm going. You ditch the graphite, go for the charcoal, and make some bigger shapes, Strikes some fine lines. Stillness comes simply to him, studying you as intently as you are him.

Your movements slow to an inevitable stop after a time, “Okay…” You stare stonily at your canvas. Briefly compare in silence. “I… think I’m finished.” You don’t move away, seemingly taken by your own creation.

He shoots up from his seat and moves close. “You’re no..not gonna put your c..clothes back on?” He looks down at you with his head at an angle, suddenly peered over your shoulder. “You want me to?” Your silence is loud. “Okay then.” He smiles, finally taking a look at your drawing.

The expression you gave him is burrowing and severe. An intense glower that catches even him off guard. An unbidden hunger beneath his eyes accentuated by whisps of charcoal, a pinprick of yellow nestled into his irises. He is in both awe of it and horrified that is how you saw him. How he truly was. You define the slant of his collarbones after the fact, rounding out the muscle of his pecs. You sketch and erase, sketch and erase under his curious eye, sketch. Your palette grows. Swirled into colorless grey by your finger, pencil replaced by your finger. You draw without a model, so he no longer sees the point in teasing you with his nudity. Forgive him for expecting something more dramatic- he’s been reading too much manga, surely…

He gets dressed slow and gets as close as possible to your face whenever he has a question.

“Is art always this boring?” He whispers close to your ear and you shiver. “M..maybe if you’re not the one…the one drawing. This.. I-I’m having fun, actually.” He tuts at you, “You need to teach me how to draw then. Next time when we do this, I can take a crack at drawing you!” His clawed finger crawls down your shoulder, you sweat a little under his attentions.

“Y..yeah,” you swallow. “Maybe..” He smiles cooly as he eases back into the seat opposite you. “I just don’t think it’s fair you get to have the fun all to yourself, y’know?” You shoot him a look, lip pursed. “A-a lot more people would be more … excited about getting a free portrait.”

“Well, a lot more people would be more excited about getting to see me half naked.” Practically naked, to be a precise as possible. Your exasperation beats out your nervousness and you’re no longer afraid to set your brows with attitude, scoffing in irritation. Like he knows how you feel. The sheer restraint you’re exercising. How adamantly you will not allow this to get out of hand; you will not allow yourself to do something you'll regret- “G..get them to draw you, then!”

“Nah.” He drags his chair closer, but it’s not casual like before. Now the oxygen feels stuffier. Hotness that makes the air thicken and drag you down, a heat that blazes too close to your ears and seemingly makes the air tremble before you. You look toward him, not knowing what to expect (but twitching, aching for it).

His tongue runs over his canines in a raw, animalistic fashion, the deep pools of his amber eyes threatening to drown you beneath their surface. “I don’t like them nearly as much.”

all content written by me @pervcoded is owned by me, and you are not allowed to repost or translate my works. don't put my shit into ai generators, don't steal my shit and put it on wattpad. thank you.

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mikaela-the-slut-expert · 6 months

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Maple Robes and Lace Veils

Hua Cheng x M!Reader x Xie Lian

this is the second part of my first story, "The First Glance". Again it's technically about my OC since no one's asking for anything. I just have it written to where it can be for a reader. 😋

Switching pov's

Also guys I am not Chinese but I try to find words and translations that are important to my OC's story.

Dúshé means poison laced tongue in simplified Chinese (I think)

Mûguô means bitch, or whore in simplified Chinese (I think)

Míngqín means song bird it's Y/n's nickname

Previous part: First Glance

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Once the morning has officially started, San Lang goes back to his wood pile. You stand by Xie Lian while San Lang somehow manages to build a whole door for the shrine. Xie Lian seems to love it, it's obvious with how he's become fascinated by opening and closing it repeatedly.

"I thought a door would be easier to stick talismans on than a curtain" San Lang explains. You smile and give a small clap. "It's a very well made door, San Lang, good job" you giggle at Xie Lian's excitement.

At the mention of talismans Xie Lian seems to remember something. He claps his hands together, "Oh Míngqín I forgot to tell you what happened at Mount Yunjin! I'm so sorry, so much happened yesterday"

You wave a hand, "it's nothing to worry about. How important could it be? I was there for most of it." You smile but Xie Lian's face is very serious so really nothing's funny at all.

"Well actually," Xie Lian laughs nervously, scratching his temple. "I talked with the heavenly officials and I found out that I met a calamity yesterday." Your face morphs into shock but Xie Lian quickly settles you down. "Not him." The words are met with silence. Of course it wasn't the white calamity. What were you thinking? ,"They called him Crimson Rain Sought Flower, his name is Hua Cheng" Xie Lian smiles. At this ghost's mention San Lang starts to pay attention to the conversation. "He walked me through the forest yesterday and I mistook him to be the ghost groom but he isn't. He isn't hard to be mistaken after seeing his silver butterflies ."

You're in shock. Because you got caught up in a swarm of silver butterflies yesterday. "I... Just don't understand. Why would a calamity be hanging around Mount Yunjin? Crimson Rain Sought Flower is known to stay in his den." You sigh.

You easily worry about Xie Lian and panic once more. "He didn't hurt you did he?" You move closer to Xie Lian and hold his face, looking for marks or bruises. "Why didn't you call for me, I would've been there right away." You frown and move back once you're satisfied with your search.

"There was no need to call, he didn't hurt me... He led me through the forest and safely delivered me to the temple." Xie Lian smiles but you sigh.

Xie Lian didn't get hurt, but a well known calamity shows up and helps Xie Lian? Coincidence. The same calamity helping you? Intention.

"...I suppose it's okay. As long as you didn't get hurt A-Lian. Just be careful." You look to the ground, but Xie Lian pats your head. "I am careful, ah you really should've seen the butterflies though Míngqín They were very beautiful"

You arch a brow then shake your head. "I actually did see them but, Wèizhī might eat them" Wèizhī is your two birds - Oriental Magpie- , they're not here right now though. They're probably bathing in water somewhere. Hm a bath doesn't sound so bad actually-, "Y/n?" You're brought back into focus when San Lang gains your attention. "Sorry I tend to lose my train of thought" you hum.

"What about you y/n?" You cock your head to the side at San Lang's question. "What have you heard about Crimson Rain" San Lang smiles mischievously.

"Why would I know anything about anybody?" You shrug. Of course you've heard and seen plenty about Hua Cheng, you're a ghost. You're... Residence happens to be near Ghost City.

Xie Lian nods in agreement though, he could use the info. You sigh, "Who knows? He stays in his den, and although close I've never seen him in my city." You shrug again.

All of you eventually go back inside. You end up staring at the painting again. You would have eventually painted something for Xie Lian but you've been busy working on the actual build of the shrine. You've always been good at the arts. Drawing, dancing, and singing. That is why you're the God of Song after all.

"San Lang's skills are very beautiful" You say, looking over at him. "Who taught you?"

San Lang shakes his head. "I had a good teacher a while back, I paint mostly for fun now." You nod at his explanation and smile back at the painting. You really do like it. It shows Xie Lian in what once used to be all his glory.

"Do you really like it so much, Míngqín?" Xie Lian stares at you and you've forgotten you don't have a veil on. They can see your expressions and you aren't just invisible anymore. You blush, and instinctively cover your mouth with your sleeve.

"O-oh, well yes I like it. It's very well done and it captures the prince of XianLe very beautifully." You stutter and look away.

The moment is interrupted when the three of you hear a scream and a man running towards the shrine. "Save Me! Save me please!" The panicked man grabs Xie Lian's wrist very harshly. It's in your nature, you can't help it. You are quick to push the man away, and to protect Xie Lian. He pats your arm however, in a 'It's okay' motion. Xie Lian sits the man down and asks for an explanation from him.

You and San Lang glare at him. Both of you don't trust him and both of you share a glance when the man explains he's from Banyue pass. Which has since turned into a dry land of sands. The man was running away from what killed his other group members.

"You ran all the way from Banyue pass to here?" San Lang asks with crossed arms. Your form is the same. The man seems to sweat at this, but Xie Lian in all his kindness offers the man a drink. Xie Lian is kind but he's probably just testing if the man is a mortal or not.

"No need to be polite you can drink" The man -for all his supposed running- hesitates to take the water Xie Lian so generously offered. When he does drink it, the water going into his body sounds hollow. You and Xie Lian both know it. "You can stop drinking now." Xie Lian says and takes the water from the man's hands. His disguise is ruined and everyone knows now. The man rises up quickly though and pulls a sword from his sleeve, moving to attack Xie Lian.

Before you or San Lang can act, Xie Lian is quick enough to flick the sword away. Sometimes you forget Xie Lian is just hiding his strength. The man tries to run and Xie Lian moves to use Rou'ye but the man drops and a sad looking skin bag(?) is left behind... A chopstick is what caused the damage. You and Xie Lian both whip your heads around to San Lang. Xie Lian goes to investigate the corpse but you still stare at San Lang.

"A chopstick?" You ask with an arched brow. "A chopstick" San Lang only smiles and you sigh. You both go to Xie Lian. When you get closer you can see that Xie Lian is using the array, so you do too. The only thing you can really hear is people being joyful about merits, and ignoring Xie Lian. Officials disgust you.

"Are the lot of you deaf? Did you not hear his highness? He asked a question." Your voice rings through the array and the officials who were once joyful before quiet down. Instead of answering, the cowards leave the array.

You're not a popular force in the heavens. Especially since your personality has always been cold and distant. You were actually loved once before, for your unnatural beauty and voice people revered you. That was until they found out you were a ghost and before they trashed Xie Lian's name. You would cause trouble for the other gods and challenge them often, causing fear to most officials. You always defended Xie Lian's name and when given the chance for promotion, you refused and chose to stay with Xie Lian instead.

This loyalty of yours to a scrap god however causes other officials to look down on you, they also just don't like your attitude. You have other unofficial titles that the heavenly officials made and of course those names spread. There's one title that used to be used quite often but you actually haven't heard any officials call you that in a long time. That title is "mûguô". Someone caught word of your past and decided to spread the name to upset you, but it faded out very quickly. That official -who you never even knew the name of- disappeared shortly after, with their temples burnt and no trace of them.

You're stuck in your thoughts until you hear Ling Wen answer Xie Lian's question about Banyue Pass. You leave the array, Xie Lian will tell you what's going on. When you look over at San Lang he's giving you a cheeky smile. "What?" You tilt your head but he just shakes his head.

You run your hands over your new braid while Xie Lian talks to Ling Wen. You mess with the red ribbon San Lang tied your hair with. It's definitely a pop out color compared to all the white you wear.

"San Lang, I'm afraid me and y/n will have to go far away soon" Xie Lian pipes up and stands from the... Thing on the ground. San Lang furrows a brow at the news and then gives a smug grin. "Why doesn't gege and y/n take me with them? I know a lot about Banyue Pass."

Xie Lian looks confused but he nods anyways. You wouldn't mind if San Lang came along either. "Oh? What do you know about Banyue Pass San Lang, you're far too young to know those things" you tease with a smile, while the three of you head inside the shrine.

San Lang chuckles and goes to speak before a knock on the door makes you all silent. You all look at each other in a moment of silence before Xie Lian opens the door.

When Xie Lian opens the door it reveals Mu Qing and Feng Xin who are in disguise... They are in a shocked silence not having seen you in a long time and to see your face after so long. You all sit in silence.

After you get over your shock you let out a panicked yelp and cover your face. They saw your face! Your cursed, cursed face! You shove your face into your hands. You didn't want Mu Qing to see it. He'd use it against you and you already hate him enough already. Feng Xin saw your face! He'll surely be disgusted with you now.

You start to groan into your sleeves, trying to move away from their eyes. You try to find your veil through the slits of your fingers. You can hear your name tumble from Feng Xin's lips but the door slams and someone whisks you away into their arms. They forcibly move your hands away from your face and now you can see that your face to face with red robes .

San Lang holds your wrists, and that stops you from hiding your face. "San Lang, my veil? Where's my veil?" You don't have a clue where he put it. Another pair of hands come into view and puts your veil over your eyes. You know it's Xie Lian.

Now that you can actually tell what your surroundings are you find that you're in San Lang's arms. You blush and step back. You hadn't meant to grip onto him so tightly.

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Xie Lian sighs in relief when they find y/n's veil. Xie Lian is actually sad to see his face hidden again. He hasn't seen your face in so long and he missed it. Xie Lian supposes he doesn't mind though. If anyone deserves to see your beauty it's him and he actually doesn't want Feng Xin or Mu Qing to look. Xie Lian shakes his head to remove such thoughts. As if he could describe your face like it was a secret to keep between the three of you.

"I'm going to open the door now y/n" he pats your hand. He waits for your nod before opening the door again. He smiles nervously at the two officials outside. Of course Xie Lian knows who they really are but for now he'll pretend. "Ah why are you two here?"

Mu Qing and Feng Xin have crossed arms "Are you going to Banyue Pass? We're going with you" they say at the same time and then glare at each other. Xie Lian laughs but opens the door to let them inside. He looks at y/n keeping an eye on him. Xie Lian knows his temper.

When Feng Xin and Mu Qing see San Lang they're alarmed. Holding up their lighting, and fire. "Who's he?" Mu Qing nods his head at San Lang. Xie Lian sighs, "This is San Lang"

Feng Xin's eye twitches, "where did he come from? Where's his family? Do you usually invite people you don't know into your home?"

Xie Lian laughs nervously but he's glad that the attention isn't on y/n anymore.

Not until Mu Qing attempts to throw lightning at San Lang. It would have most definitely hit the wall and caused a big hole but y/n dispersed it. Sending a shot of ice towards Mu Qing. His face hides behind his veil but Xie Lian knows you're angry. "No fighting in the shrine. If you damage the shrine I promise to return the damage double to your god's palace" he spits with venom, threatening Mu Qing's palace.

It's evident y/n doesn't try to hide who he is. Sure he's in his avatar and he looks simple. However he doesn't do a good job at keeping his abilities at bay.

Xie Lian doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. The tension in the room is very high. Mu Qing looks ready to argue back but San Lang steps in front of y/n and stands by Xie Lian's side. "Are these two servants, gege?" He hums with a smug smirk.

"uhm something like that but not exactly-" Xie Lian gets interrupted when San Lang throws a broom into Mu Qing's hands. "Start helping then" San Lang smiles. His face resembles a mischievous fox. Y/n cackles.

Xie Lian waves his hands trying to calm a cursing Feng Xin and Mu Qing down. "Please for my sake leave him alone" he laughs nervously. He doesn't need his shrine to get destroyed not that y/n would let that happen.

Talking about y/n, ah. He's glaring at Mu Qing under the veil. He'll have to make sure they don't break out into a fight either. San Lang leans on y/n's shoulder and the stiffness seems to leave y/n's body. Xie Lian isn't too worried about anyone fighting. He thinks San Lang will keep a careful eye on y/n.

Xie Lian rubs his temple. "Maybe Feng Xin should make a pathway so that we can get to Banyue Pass quickly?"

Feng Xin does just that. Leaving Mu Qing standing alone in front of the three of them. "Is he coming with us?" Mu Qing points to San Lang with furrowed brows. Xie Lian sighs and goes to answer but y/n answers for him

"Of course, since when was it a servant's job to worry about his highness's friends?" Xie Lian drops his head when he realizes that Y/n has joined San Lang in his smart remarks.

Not only does he have to worry about one silver tongue but two. "Yes San Lang is coming with us. He knows a lot about Crescent Moon Pass and that's sure to help me" Xie Lian explains with a nervous smile.

Mu Qing is interrupted when Feng Xin cuts him off, "The pathway is finished". Mu Qing, ever the prideful looks at the pathway and shrugs, "I've seen better". Which leads to Feng Xin and Mu Qing bantering again.

Y/n interrupts them by activating the pathway. "Stop bickering like an old married couple let's go" San Lang snickers softly, "I never thought of that, they do bicker like an old married couple don't they" The two officials glare at San Lang and y/n. They smile back. Xie Lian only knows y/n is smiling because of his crow feet.

They all go through the portal. Xie Lian lets out a laugh, knowing that he's going to have to deal with all of the four's antics on their journey. Xie Lian is happy with his circus though.

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Tell me if it's good guys I don't have an editor 😭 so sometimes I'm not aware if my story is actually well written. Yeah, anyways if you wanna request something or see more lemme know 🥰 also y'all I'm pulling the timeline out of my ass. I have no clue if I'm doing it right or not 🙏😭

Should I continue the series? Yes or no?

Oh also if y'all actually wanna see my OC lemme know! I didn't draw it don't hate on me 🫵😐

If anyone reads this plz plz plz plz PLEASE tell me if my submission box is working! I know I'm not getting anything but I want to know if it works!

#xie lian x reader #hua cheng x reader #tgcf x male reader #tgcf headcanon #hualian x reader #hualian #mu qing #feng xin

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3lostyears · 5 months

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i adore how protective nine is of rose but i also think what is regarded a lot of the time as ten not caring about or valuing rose in the same way is him having more faith in her. it’s kind of like when people complain about rose not challenging ten the way she did nine when they’re just much more on the same page in s2 because they know each other better, so she doesn’t really need to.

in theory, ten could have yelled at rose in the idiot’s lantern for not waiting for him when she confronted magpie. but he doesn’t, he loses his mind trying to save her (VERY nine) and also acknowledges that her observation was spot on. the whole “domestic approach” line gets attention but i have never really interpreted his intention as being to insult her; in some ways, i feel her reaction is a holdover from nine, who did put down the idea of domesticity (and also actively manipulated her into leaving her mum in world war 3 which never really gets mentioned).

and of course, rise of the cybermen is a parallel to father’s day. the doctor starts out harshly talking to her the way he did when he was nine, forbidding her to see her father, but then he gives in when she just looks at him. which is exactly what he does that in father’s day too of course.

like, why do you think she refuses to be sent away in doomsday, another direct parallel to parting of the ways? she’s saying she’s not a kid anymore, that she already made her way back to him once before. she can’t be protected from the hard choices anymore and she won’t be, because she understands everything that it means to be the doctor’s companion. you never see it on-screen but clearly sometime between tooth & claw and doomsday she asks about what happened before he regenerated; she has to learn that she is the bad wolf, especially when she is to continue her journey of turning into nine in s4 and making hard choices. ten wouldn’t have known that, but it’s a mark of the respect and faith (he believes! in her!) that he stops protecting her from the truth.

#ninerose is so special and i get why people may prefer s1 over s2 because it’s TIGHT #but like…there’s a reason why the romance in s1 is kinda paternal lol #nine probably would have let the devil survive to save rose #or would have needed her to yell at him to make the choice #ten said i choose delusion and being in love and was RIGHT #doctor who #timepetals #ninerose #tenrose #s2 is so much better than people give it credit for tbh #like. direct link between rose looking into the heart of the tardis and ten killing the devil #they’re both insane and they’re soulmates #and then she got stranded on bad wolf bay and KNEW she could get back. some how some day #dw meta

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jackdaw-and-hattrick · 11 months

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Hey Brother

Inspired by Loli-kolinaki by larunde

Dick and Danny Greyson were close. The nine and seven-year-old seemed almost more like twins. That was until tragedy struck the Flying Greysons, both parents dying and the youngest disappearing without a trace, leaving Dick to his own devices until Bruce Wayne came to the rescue. He would come to be known as Robin, then later Nightwing, never stopping his search for his missing brother. Over time, as no new evidence came forward, Dick became convinced his brother was dead. He would be half right.

Danny Fenton didn't have many memories from before he found himself in the Amnity foster system, but what he did know he treasured, holding soft memories of kind smiles and high-flying acts. He did his best to stay connected to his roots, maintaining his acrobatic training and Romani. Then came his accident, and all that took a back seat. The accident had an odd effect, bringing back memories of falling through the broad green he now knew to be the Ghost Zone. As his relationship with other ghosts improved, he began spending time with Desiree, both bonding over their shared heritage, separated by centuries as they were. She came to care for the boy (he would not call her good, never good, but she was sweet, and that was enough)

A twenty-one-year-old Dick was having what could be called a mental breakdown. Jason, his brother was dead, and the last time they’d talked had been a screaming match two weeks before his death. His adopted dad was midway through his own shitstorm and was generally being a bitch intent on getting himself killed as well, there was a literal child following them everywhere and the damn insult of a clown was still standing. He was high when he said it, with no idea anyone was listening, let alone the consequences it would have.

“I just... I wish I had my brother.”

“So you have wished it, so it shall be.”

Desiree at least had the decency to give Danny a heads-up before sending him to a separate universe to help mend his long-lost brother’s fractured life. The rules were simple; Danny could not do anything to reveal his identity, and could not return to Amnity until they knew who he was. He could use his powers, but quickly realized that if he was going to get through to his brother’s family he’d be best off at least pretending to be human. There was no Phantom without Amnity, instead, Gotham got Magpie, a man more on vacation than a mission with a spirit box on his hip and a penchant for areal silk.

Things maintained like that for a while. The Bat colony was making progress; Tim had been successfully put through therapy and had more or less stopped incessantly stalking Danny. That was until one day a chill ran down his spine. Danny did not know Jason Todd, so when he found the kid wandering around with no memories and a soul barely hanging on to a broken body, he had no idea that this was more or less his brother. Still, he took care of him, helping nurse him back to health. Eventually, Jason decided to start working with Magpie under the name Cardinal, keeping his distance from the Colony until such time as he can look at them without wanting to punch someone (luckily being Cardinal means he can do that without questions)

#danny phantom #dp x dc #jason todd #dick grayson #Magpie au #hoping I’ll write something for this but who knows?#digital art #sketches #I have struggled so much with trying to name these characters

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rutilation · 3 months

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I sincerely doubt I'm the first person to have noticed this, but I'm currently riding the high of having just connected some dots, so I'm going to jot down my thought process regardless.

Because I am the sort of person who reads dictionaries for fun, one of the first things I did after being introduced to this game last month was look into the etymologies of various characters’ names. We play as an android named magpie? What a cute little reference to our gameplay loop of exploring and picking up stuff. We’re looking for a girl named Alina Ariane? That’s pretty juicy as well. Ariane, and variations thereupon, are derived from the Greek Ariadne, which is the name of the woman who lead Theseus through the labyrinth with her ball of yarn—a fitting metaphor for Ariane’s role as the beacon guiding Elster through this surreal narrative.

Anyway, a little while ago, I found myself watching this playthrough of the game, and it was quite helpful because the person playing can read Chinese, and I myself am pretty helpless when it comes to characters that I can’t easily copy-paste into a dictionary. Leng means 'cold,' you say? Well, I'm happy to finally learn that! A ways into the playthrough, she points out that one of the hanzi in the red desert sequence is likely to be Ariane’s last name. Intrigued, I looked it up, and found out it means poplar.

That made me wonder if there was some rationale behind choosing that surname in particular. After all, if the first half of Ariane's name was so obviously symbolic, why wouldn’t the second half also be so? I ask myself: what do trees have to do with her? My brain answers: “Die Toteninsel, obviously.”

The trees in that painting are cypress, though. I start wondering: okay, if you’re going to name this character after a tree, why not name her after the tree that holds significance to the story—to her story? Moreover, what do poplars even look like? I’m not an arborist…

They’re not cypress, but what I saw in google images looked like they could be mistaken for them at a distance. Their lenticular shape, at least, was reminiscent of the trees in Die Toteninsel. A new hypothesis starts germinating in my head at this point. Suppose the hanzi for ‘cypress,’ whatever that may be, isn’t in use as a surname. If so, perhaps the devs had to work their way down the line, and pick out a tree that they could use as a last name, one that at least looked like the tree they had in mind, so that they could still evoke the image of the painting through Ariane’s name.

Obviously, I had to return to my precious dictionaries, and test this hypothesis. It failed immediately. 柏 means cypress, and it is indeed used as a surname. Now back to square one, my initial question becomes even more pressing. Why did the devs name Ariane ‘poplar’ instead of ‘cypress?’ If the more meaningful option was already right there in front of them, why didn't they take it?

It was at this point my brain cells finally deigned to rub together, and the answer smacked me across the face. There’s another painting I hadn’t been taking into account, and I’d already seen the shape and form of a poplar, even before I pulled up my search results.

The tall green trees on the left side of the Die Lebensinsel are unmistakably poplars. My earlier observation that poplars and cypresses had similar silhouettes possibly had some merit after all—that may have been what was going through Böcklin’s mind as he worked on this painting which was the intentional antithesis to Die Toteninsel.

(I say “unmistakably,” but, again, I’m no arborist. While some cursory googling didn’t reveal a gloss for the flora in this painting, someone on r/whatisthisplant also thought that these seem to be poplars, for what it’s worth.)

So, Ariane is named not after the isle of the dead, but the isle of life. My reward for answering my initial question is, of course, more questions. Why have Ariane’s name hearken to this painting? I haven't figured that out, but I do think that in order to answer that question, one first has to ask what Die Lebensinsel means to Signalis in the first place, and my thoughts are a little more substantial in that regard. Substantial, but also pretty subjective. Everything prior to this point is trivia dug up by a dictionary-enjoyer, and everything past this point is me free-associating my way through confusing imagery, like our overlord, the big red eye, intended.

As for me, I associate Die Lebensinsel with the artifact ending. Not so much because of how happy it is per se, (highly debatable,) but because of how both the ending and the painting are obfuscated by the game. In Signalis, you can't get away from the other two paintings. They dominate the red desert sequence, they're found decorating the occasional wall in overworld, and you even walk across the shore of oblivion yourself. Die Lebensinsel, on the other hand, is never as tangible as the other two, only ever flitting across the screen for a single frame at a time. It's almost completely imperceptible in the moment; you have to already know to look for it to glimpse it, or else discover it by playing back the red desert cutscene frame-by-frame. All this mirrors how the artifact ending is integrated into the story. The keys to it are right in your face—the safe, the code, a strange signal on your radio, the lilies interspersed throughout game—but it's nigh impossible to grasp any of those things without hindsight, without picking it apart after the fact. You have to really look to find Die Lebensinsel, and you have to really look to find the artifact ending.

There’s also the subject matter of the paintings to consider. Die Toteninsel depicts a psychopomp ferrying a soul to the eponymous isle of the dead, and the story of Signlais is about trying help Ariane die, with the normal endings representing all the ways Elster succeeds and fails in doing so. In the artifact ending, however, we are not trying to put anyone out of their misery. We’re beseeching the King in Yellow, or the Almighty Red Hexagon, or the Music of the Universe, or whoever the fuck, to grant us our own little pocket-dream-dimension where we never have to die and can dance with our wife forever, amidst the decay of a solar system which has just contracted cancer. We’ve already cast off from the shore of oblivion by this point, but the island we’ve landed on in this ending can’t really be considered the isle of the dead. We're dancing, after all, so this must be the isle of life.

This interpretation of Die Lebensinsel having crystallized in my mind, I circled back around to my most recent question: why is Ariane named after the artifact ending? I still wasn’t sure. But, as I ruminated on it, I realized that you can also draw a direct line from Elster’s name to the artifact ending. After all, Elster=Lilith, and Lilith=lilies, and lilies=the artifact ending.

To surmise, my question has gone from “Why is Ariane named after poplar?” to "Why isn't Ariane named after cypress?" to “Why is Ariane named after Die Lebensinsel?” to “Why is Ariane named after the artifact ending?” to “Why are Elster and Ariane both named after the artifact ending?” What could it all mean? Maybe in a few weeks/months/years, I’ll come upon an answer I’m satisfied with.

#signalis #currently reeling from the implications of a cypress/poplar dichotomy don't mind me

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