#while Etho is just splashed with it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

frozenjokes · 6 days

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A Collection Of Encounters From Bloodied Waters To Murky Bogs [2/2]

Surprise

Joel had been given no time. No end date. Just. ‘Surprise.’ Starting today. Etho hadn’t been happy with that; the vague range of dates and the short notice (a week from today was when Joel was told, when his Makers had collected his list), but Etho didn’t get a say, and neither did Joel quite frankly, so he didn’t appreciate the push back.

Joel didn’t want to get out of bed. He didn’t want to know whatever it was his Makers had planned for him today. He didn’t like surprises. They knew he didn’t like surprises! He had to throw several fits at the beginning to get them to stop showing up unannounced, demanding his time and attention for hours and hours- the whole damn point of the month by month schedules was to prevent surprises. But his Makers hadn’t given him time to complain, examining his meager list of ‘likes,’ turning to him and telling him the date they’d be arriving, then poofing away without another word.

It was really starting to stress him out. And the waves were so damn loud today- damn it he was irritated.

So Joel didn’t get up. He stayed in bed for hours, just waiting for something to happen. Staring at the ceiling. He was hungry, bored too, still, neither of those feelings made him feel any more inclined to leave the house.

But it had been a while.. hadn’t it. Maybe his Makers had set a time, and simply forgot to tell him (they never forgot). Maybe they didn’t want to wake him. Maybe if he crept out of bed, got some food, then snuck back again, they wouldn’t even know. All the curtains were closed. They could come inside if they wanted to of course, but if they hadn’t already, maybe they never would.

His house smelled different. Joel didn’t notice it in his room which smelled too much like him, but the rest of his house was different, it was different and he hated it. Joel slunk through the dark, eying every floorboard, cabinet, and covered window with great suspicion. His Makers changed something. They changed something in his house. Joel was going to throttle them. Somewhat frantically, he began a grand search of his own home. It was a sparse place, nowhere to hide, and if anyone ran he would hear them, if they tried to escape he would sense the light- he needed very little to see anyway. Joel tore through every cabinet for anything out of place, every closet, under every table and seat and bed- his house wasn’t that big.

Then, a gentle laugh, light and feathery, barely audible over the crashing waves. Joel stopped. Listened. No less than a minute later he heard it again- and splashing too, splashing, he knew there was something irregular about the waves.

Joel stalked to his door like an animal, searching the earth through his legs, his feet, sensing for anything moving across his land. He’d feel their footsteps over his island just as if they were sole to sole. The water right outside his home wouldn’t be able to hide them either; it wasn’t deep enough to the point he wouldn’t be able to tell if anyone was there. Still, Joel didn’t feel anyone. But someone was there. Were- they couldn’t be in the ocean, surely. It was too far away from his house. The voice was so close.

Joel threw open his door, a spectacularly bad idea given how dark the inside of his house was and how damn bright it was outside- fuck.

“Oh? Is that him?” Someone said, someone new, and Joel didn’t need to see to blast them with earth, the explosion of dirt and rock so loud that Joel couldn’t hear anything besides his own ringing ears. Well. That was fine. Whatever had been there was dead now. Joel managed to open his eyes after another couple of moments, the world blurring into something a little more coherent. There was.. a figure standing in front of him. Not directly in front, they were on the water, standing on the water, and they were- a mermaid? No, they had legs. They had legs and a tail. They were really blue- and pink- AND WHY WAS HIS FUCKING HOUSE NEXT TO THE OCEAN?? The mer- mer- the human kind of blue-purple merperson waved, flashing a grin of sharp yellow teeth, “Hello there!”

Joel blasted the figure once more with rock and earth, terror winning in the fight against his confusion as he focused all his energy on KILLKILLMAIMKILLKILLKILL, but the debris seemed to smash across an invisible wall instead, falling into the ocean as it all bounced backward.

“You know, he’s not really making a great first impression,” the merperson shrugged, looking up at- at his Makers, but just as Joel began to see red, readying himself to shift gears toward the sky, the wall turned opaque, a giant black screen that stunned Joel enough to stop his attack, even as a few of his Makers drifted through the barrier.

“Joel,” they said all sing-song, and Joel wondered if the other two still on the merperson’s side of the barrier spoke as well, “We made you something,” they continued, looking genuinely excited, or maybe pleased with themselves, it was honestly difficult to tell most days.

“I-“ Joel backpedaled, finding fear in place of his anger. What had they done? Made him something- surely not- “Put- Put my house back, will you? I don’t want to move it myself, that’s a damn pain in the ass.”

“We know it’ll take some getting used to..” they trailed on, not to be distracted, “But we really think you’re going to like her :]”

“How- no- Why did you make another!?”

One of his Makers patted him gently on the head, the other two looking giddy from their place in suspended space, “Her name is Lizzie, dear,” the one split from the others, talking alone, “Delightful little thing, truly, she’s your perfect match.”

“A beautiful spouse!” another piped up, the third looking sage as they too spoke,

“Remember dear, women don’t like violence.”

Joel yelled and/or screamed some combination of words that might have been ‘WHAT’ or maybe ‘WHUH’ or something more unintelligible like ‘HUHNHG,’ but he was too busy scrambling the fuck back inside his house and slamming the door behind him to focus on the sounds he was making. Suddenly he was afraid his Makers would come inside, or so much worse, bring his- his wife(?????????) inside, so like a true creature of the swamp, he tore the blankets off his bed and shoved himself under it, hiding among something softer. Eyes wide. Listening.

It seemed Lizzie was not very pleased about this development, Joel catching the second half of a conversation once he stopped feeling his heartbeat in his ears. “-can’t even see him? If we’re going to be married I feel like I should at least get to look at my wife for more than two seconds!” Her voice was clearer now, like she’d hopped onto land and sidled right up to the border.

“Not your wife, dear, your husband,” one of his Makers said kindly, their voice holding a softer sort of tone they never spoke with when talking to Joel. He didn’t like the way that made him feel. The same Maker said something else, but Joel couldn’t focus on the words, only the tone, gentle and sweet like- Joel didn’t want to think the thought into existence, but it pushed through all the same. Like they love her.

Another of his Makers cooed sympathetically, “Don’t worry about it, dear, Joel can be a little flighty, but we’ll be here for as long as we need to make this work- ow-“ Joel perked up at that, another of his Makers chuckling in turn.

“Still learning to speak with her words, hm?”

“Could be worse. Just keep your hands away from her face.”

Lizzie didn’t seem to have much else to say, and Joel didn’t care to listen to his Makers, his thoughts tuning out the rest of their conversation. They. Made someone else. They made another person. Why would they do that-? It went so poorly the first time!

It was for him. Joel felt sick.

What was she like? Was she like him? It didn’t seem like she was very much like Joel, especially since the Makers sounded like they actually liked her. Managed not to fuck it up too badly the second time, huh? Do.. was it true that women didn’t like violence? Joel didn’t know any women. Etho wasn’t really anything, but he seemed indifferent, so maybe it was kind of like a sliding scale? How did that make any sense? Maybe he couldn’t use Etho as a gauge since he was a mermaid first, but surely after seven years he was human enough.

Whatever the case, Joel was starting to share Lizzie’s sentiment. He kind of wanted to look at her, too. He wished his Makers weren’t here.

Marriage was a human thing, right? Well, not entirely; mermaids took mates or twined tails or whatever it was they did- there was an equivalent. But ‘wife’ was a human word. Joel knew what it meant in theory. Did Lizzie know? Surely not- she couldn’t be any more than a week old. But maybe she did know. Clearly his Makers knew all sorts of things about marriage, or they wouldn’t be trying to do this in the first place. Why were they trying to do this again? ‘Women don’t like violence.’ Ah. Yeah. That. As if anyone could influence Joel to do anything, please.

His first thought was to text Etho, so he did; listen, Joel was a man of impulse, alright? After asking in a mild panic what it meant to be married, Joel remembered that Etho was a mermaid right now, and definitely didn’t have his phone. Damn it. But maybe Etho was camped out nearby where he had stored his stuff? He had to be in a position to check his messages, surely.

By some miracle, Joel got a reply in just over ten minutes.

‘idk’

Okay. Not helpful. Joel grit his teeth, struggling to text on the small keyboard of his flip phone in his panic. ‘I need a real response. You live with humans. You must know something.’

‘None of my friends are married. I don’t know, married people live together? They love each other? They kiss sometimes?’

‘None of this is helpful.’

‘What do you want from me.’ Hm. Was Etho getting annoyed? Joel didn’t want to annoy him, not now.

‘My Makers made me a wife. I don’t know what to do.’

Etho’s reply took a long time to go through, Joel gripping his phone tight in both hands. ‘Oh snap.’

Joel let his head hit the floor, groaning. ‘Help me!’

‘If you have a wife now, are you ever going to be able to change back? What’s happening here? How long am I going to be stuck like this?’

Oh god. Actually, Joel didn’t want to think about this anymore. He curled in on himself, sick to his stomach. Maybe he could just go back to sleep? No.. he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep in the first place, not so soon after waking up. Not this anxious. Wait a minute, he had magic. He used spells for this all the time- he used one for last night because he knew his ass would not sleep otherwise. Joel had never used a spell like this for the day before, but he had plenty of supplies. Maybe he could just.. hibernate for a little while. Animals did that sometimes, didn’t they?

Joel warped the floor beneath him, letting it fall away to dirt. He wanted to be in the dirt. He wanted a tight little tunnel to curl up in. Yes. This would be good. This would be very good.

Joel crawled out from under his bed, throwing a few more pillows beneath it before scrambling to his kitchen and rummaging through his herb stores. He had everything he needed in excess, and it wasn’t long before he was curled up beneath his bed, more than ready to sleep the day and night away.

…

Joel woke up from a dream about food, salivating and starving. He wasn’t really thinking about much else in his half asleep state, not until he hit his head on the bottom of his bed and remembered exactly where he was. What was happening. Right. Joel glanced at his phone, then crawled past it guiltily, carefully maneuvering out from under his bed. The last thing he wanted was to see the messages Etho had left him. The first thing he wanted was to eat; he could think about the rest later.

There was no food in his kitchen. No food in his house. Ah. An alarming amount of his spellwork supplies were gone as well- his Makers must have seen what he’d done and they most definitely weren’t happy about it. Had they seen his place under the bed? Probably. Hopefully they hadn’t seen his phone, though, he doubted they’d look twice at something like that. They weren’t too technologically aware. Just another one of Joel’s trinkets! Still, he should probably take more care in hiding it next time.

Joel crept over to the front door, cracking it open. Another sunny day, though he couldn’t actually see the sun, so it must be somewhere around midday. Slept a bit longer than intended for the spell, but that wasn’t too much of an issue. He didn’t see his Makers, but that meant less than nothing. Joel found his eyes drawn immediately to the water, sharp and searching. Was she still here? Surely yes, somewhere under the surface.. Joel blinked, noticing for the first time the display set up right outside of his door, close to the border. A little picnic blanket with bread and cheese and meats and things he hadn’t even kept in his fridge. Wine too, of course, wouldn’t quite be a baited trap without it. But he was hungry. And no one was here.

The grass was wet under his feet; it was always wet here, but particularly so today, probably just a result of being so close to the sea. The breeze was gentle today, inviting, and Joel tried to pretend it wasn’t engineered. But nothing changed when he exited his house. No Lizzie, no Makers..

This could be alright. It was a nice day.

Joel didn’t particularly want to piss off his Makers more than he already had, so in a silent peace offering, he didn’t immediately take his food and retreat back inside. Watching the water wasn’t so bad. He remained vigilant as he made his sandwich, but nothing changed, not that he could see over the waves, anyway.

He nearly choked when Lizzie breached the surface, not unlike a dolphin or a whale, but she didn’t seem to notice him at all, spinning and splashing just below the water. Actually, she looked entirely absorbed in something else, some sort of toy, maybe? Whatever it was, she was completely enamored with it, chasing it and jumping from the water to catch it, letting it go, then doing it all again.

She was beautiful. Joel noticed it for the first time, watching. Her pastel hair and skin was easy on the eyes, her movements were strikingly fast and graceful, but somehow simultaneously uncoordinated, like when she would breach the water with flailing limbs, hair all sorts of in her face. But she looked so happy, so joyful. Had Joel looked similarly when he was first made? A menace, yes, chewing on the walls and tearing up anything he could get his hands on, but was it reckless and lovely like it was to watch Lizzie?

Probably not.

Suddenly, Joel felt cripplingly self conscious. He wasn’t like that; joyful. He wasn’t beautiful. Every day of age showed on Joel’s face and skin; dark, tired eyes, permanently grass stained feet and knees, dirt and blood dried in every crevice and wrinkle. His hair was matted and disgusting, even struggling to stand on end in his mermaid form where it was supposed to grow stiff and sharp. Lizzie was so much more than that. So much more than an animal. She looked.. She looked like she might be good. Had his Makers really managed that? To make something good?

Joel had seen enough. Taking the sandwich he’d barely touched in his distraction, he crept back to his house, only to run face first into the open door. No. No. Joel hissed a small noise of distress, clawing desperately at the barrier before anyone knew he was here, but his Makers already knew, didn’t they. They had locked him out.

“You can’t just hide away forever, dear,” his Makers, all of them said, and there was no kindness there. There never was. Joel pushed downward, desperate to escape back inside, but just below the grass there was another barrier, and when he scrambled to the side of the house, he hit a wall so hard it knocked him backwards off his feet. “Joel.”

He felt their anger on his back, but he didn’t care, he didn’t care, he couldn’t be seen- In one strong motion, every grain of soil above the invisible wall shot to his side, encasing his curled form in a thick box. Joel felt his Makers fighting him, tearing at his shield, but they were not stronger than him, not in his domain. Not on his island. Even through heaving lungs and a pounding heart, Joel would outlast them. Until he started suffocating of course, but that was a problem for future Joel.

“What’s wrong..?”

Joel didn’t know how much time had passed in his silent battle of wills with his Makers before the voice spoke, Lizzie’s voice, concern edging her tone. Immediately, the dirt around Joel stopped shaking, his Makers letting go. Joel pulled it closer into himself.

“Someone’s decided to be stubborn today,” came his Makers’ response, cool and bitter. Not the least bit fond. “We’re sorry, dear. We don’t mean to make you wait. Joel can be unpredictable at times, even with good changes.” Again, Joel felt the pull on his shield. He held fast.

“He doesn’t want to meet me?” Lizzie asked, her confusion genuine, stinging like slaps against raw skin.

“No dear, he’s just shy.” The strain from fighting him was evident in their voices, filling Joel with a sick, satisfied inspiration.

“Oh!” Lizzie seemed to perk up, like this made perfect sense, “Well that’s okay. I don’t mind waiting. Do you think he’ll come out on his own later?”

“No.” Prompt. Frustrated.

“Oh,” Lizzie said the word in the exact same tone, if not a little more disappointed, “Well maybe he’ll feel better tomorrow?”

“It’s not likely.”

“Oh.” Silence. “I don’t want to force him, not if he’s upset.”

“Joel is fine.”

Lizzie didn’t say anything for a long while. Joel didn’t dare let his thoughts wander anywhere but on his box, forcing every part of it to be stable and together. He would outlast them. He would win.

“I would like it if you let him go back inside.”

Joel couldn’t entirely process the words, but they seemed to stun his Makers, at least into releasing their hold on his soil. He felt a weaker push, brief before stopping altogether. “As you wish, then.” Joel felt something shift underneath him, the barrier disappearing, and in an instant he was gone, shooting down in a tunnel and filling the earth in after him. He didn’t usually like tunneling, not with the land as waterlogged as it was, but his only thoughts were on escape, hardly understanding why his Makers let him go in the first place.

He found the hole under his bed and collapsed into it, closing his eyes harshly. Breathe. Breathing. He cared to do little else.

He was no longer hungry.

…

Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.

Joel blinked his eyes open, bleary from sleep. What.. time was it? Didn’t matter really, he felt like shit either way.

Thwap.

…

………

Thwap.

Okay. What the fuck was that.

Joel narrowed his eyes, suddenly feeling very awake as he crawled from his place under the bed. He stared at his closed door with intense scrutiny, but heard no other wet slaps. Hm. There was someone crouching outside of his house. His Makers knew better than to touch the ground if they wanted to hide from him.

…

It smelled like fish.

Joel crept forward, slowly opening his door a crack. Ah. That’s because there was fish. A lot of fish. How.. How long was Lizzie throwing fish at his bedroom. He looked up and saw a figure peeking through the front door, one large yellow eye blinking, then slamming the door closed, followed by a small squeak, as if closing it so loudly wasn’t her intention.

…How did she get so close to his house? Were the barriers gone? Were his Makers not here?

“I thought.. I thought you might be hungry. It’s been a while since you’ve eaten I think.”

Joel swallowed hard, clearing his throat. “I don’t.. eat raw fish.”

“What? Why not?” Lizzie sounded almost incredulous, like this was the most baffling thing she’d ever heard. Well. Guess if you’ve only been alive for a week, you wouldn’t really know, would you.

“Bones, mostly. I hate swallowing them by accident. Also I cook fish first, but I just.. I mean. Thank you. I might try.. Is my fire out there?”

“You don’t eat the bones?”

“Sometimes I eat bones. Not fish bones.”

“What kind of bones do you like?”

Joel laughed, chuckling mostly silently, though it didn’t feel like Lizzie was joking, “I’ve never thought too much about it. Hogs. Deer.”

“How big are deer bones?”

“Oh, I dunno. Like- open the door. Can you see in the dark?”

“I can see.” Lizzie opened the door and Joel indicated with his hands the size, to which Lizzie gasped, throwing the door open in her surprise, “You can swallow that entire thing!?”

Joel laughed in earnest this time, but closed his door a little further, “I don’t swallow them. Just chew on them, crack them open.”

“Oh. Why?”

“Dunno. I like it.”

“That makes sense. Are you going to come out?”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“I’d like it if you did.”

Joel paused, unsure. “I might, then. I haven’t eaten in a while. I could take a fish?”

“You can have all of them.”

“I don’t eat this much. Might take two, though.”

“Oh! Okay. Can I have the rest of them back then?”

Joel shrugged, not that Lizzie could see. “Yeah. I just- give me a minute. Maybe five minutes. I’ll come outside when I’m ready. You could wait by the fire?”

“I’ll be there! Can’t wait! Well- I mean I can wait. I will wait. I’ll be waiting. Happily. I’m excited. I’ll go now!” Lizzie scrambled out the front door, her tail colliding with just about everything in her path before slamming it shut. Joel watched for a moment, then shut his own door. Oh god.

He changed into something.. a little nice? He didn’t have many nice things. All his clothes were covered in dirt, stained beyond repair no matter how much he washed them. Not that he washed them very often. It had been days now since he’d even washed himself, but usually he’d be back to being a mermaid right now- augh. Even being a mermaid didn’t change the fact that he was filthy all the time. He’d have to scrub his scales for hours to get the mud out, and even then, all he’d get for his troubles was a sunburn and then more mud. He’s the mud guy! Of course he smells!

Joel tried to brush his hair. He stopped trying immediately. This just wasn’t going to work. He laid on the floor for a couple minutes to agonize over this. Hm. He felt no better, and also like he was keeping Lizzie waiting.

Peeling himself off the ground, Joel trudged to the front door, his two chosen fish in hand (the least maimed in the pile), but he stopped when his fingers fell across the handle, grimacing. He let his head hit the door, groaning.

“Lizzie.”

Through the earth, Joel felt her perk up, then got to her feet, trotting to the door. “Yeah? You okay?”

“I don’t like the way I look. I live in dirt. It’s everywhere.”

Lizzie was quiet for a moment, considering. “Well. I live in the water? I’m kinda wet all the time.”

“I smell like the swamp.”

“Is that so bad?”

“I don’t know.” Joel lifted his head just to drop it back on the door, miserably frustrated. “I’m unpleasant.”

“I don’t really care, Joel. You could be anything. I won’t know if you never show me. It’s not like I have standards, or anything, I just want to meet- anyone. I want to know what people are like. I want to talk to someone.”

“I don’t.. I don’t think I’m what you’re looking for.”

“Joel!” Lizzie rapped the door with her fist, startling him backwards.

“What?” he snapped, but Lizzie wasn’t deterred, knocking again just as hard.

“I! Don’t! Care! Come outside!”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Please? Please come outside?”

Joel huffed, turning so his back hit the door. “Give me a minute.”

“Oka-“ Lizzie didn’t get to finish before Joel busted through the door, throwing it open and running into the grass.

…

Alright. He felt a little stupid now.

“Hi.” Lizzie said. She looked happy. Joel felt a little less stupid. Goodness she was huge, at least two heads taller than him and in general just proportionally bigger. He.. didn’t hate it. Curious yellow eyes stared down at him, awaiting his response. They glowed, just a little. It occurred to Joel she didn’t look very much like a mermaid with her lightly colored scales, cat-like eyes, and human-esc proportions. Etho had light scales too, but that was a genetic disorder; mermaids were almost all darker in color. It was funny. Joel wondered how many mermaids his Makers had seen before, or if they just didn’t care. Probably the latter.

“You can get your fish now.”

“I will.” Lizzie trotted off, tail swinging with reckless abandon. Joel heard a few crashes followed by surprised squeaks. Well. That was fine. He was feeling very mellow tonight, too anxious and hungry to be angry.

Joel moved closer to the fire, retrieving a couple of his cooking utensils from the side of the house, then going back inside to get a knife and cutting board. His hunger returned with a new fervor, and suddenly he was never so excited to eat fish. Had to prepare it though first.

Lizzie was utterly enamored with how he cleaned the fish, cutting them into filets before putting his pan on the fire. Nothing special, and it would be pretty bland (salt was among the supplies confiscated from him), but honestly, Joel was pretty sure the meal would feel better than anything he’d eaten in months. Lizzie sat herself behind Joel as he watched the fire, staring curiously over his shoulder like this was the most fascinating thing she’d seen in her life. Maybe it was. Again, she hadn’t been alive for very long. And then Lizzie bit him.

“Ow-“ Joel jerked up, hitting her in the face with his now bleeding shoulder, and she yelped as if wronged, so convincingly startled that Joel was starting to wonder if she wasn’t the person who bit him.

“Sorry! I bite,” Lizzie said, as if that was any sort of explanation, then sidled back over like that hadn’t just happened. Joel scooched to the side, eying her wildly.

“What- why? Why did you do that?”

“I wanted to know if you tasted like dirt. Or if there was dirt inside of you. There’s not. Just blood. Again, I am sorry, but I will do it again.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know yet. When I do I’ll let you know though.”

“Before you bite me??”

“After.”

“Why after?”

“Well ‘cause then you’ll tell me not to and I might not get to bite you.”

“I’m starting to feel like you’re not actually sorry.”

“I am!” Lizzie smiled, not entirely disingenuous. Joel scooted another couple inches away. “Now you know, so if I’m staring at you and you don’t get with the program, then it’s your fault.”

“What if I bite back?”

“Oh, that’s probably not a good idea.”

“Is it not?” Joel huffed, but Lizzie looked nothing less than genuine when she stared back. Gosh, her eyes were huge.

“Well I’ve got about two more rows of teeth than you and what I’ve been told is a very high prey drive. The Makers were relieved you took so long to come outside the first day because they spent the first two hours of the morning chasing me around the island. I wasn’t running on purpose! There’s just so many animals! They only caught me when this crocodile got me by the leg and started trying to barrel roll me to death. That was crazy. It just wouldn’t let go!”

“I thought women weren’t supposed to like violence.”

“What?”

“Women.”

“Is that what I am?”

“I thought so. Are you?”

“Probably. I don’t have an opinion on violence though, so maybe not. Why? Should I not like violence?”

Joel blinked, stopping for a moment, “You don’t mind it?”

“I guess not. The Makers have already had to replace my sundress like five times because I kept getting blood on it and also tearing it on accident-“ Lizzie stopped herself, looking down. In the light of the fire Joel could see several spots of blood, likely from the fish she caught.

He smiled, a soft chuckle escaping his chest. “I think that’s pretty cool.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. I do.”

Maybe.. Maybe this would work out. Maybe this could be alright.

#hermitcraft #mumbomaid au #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #lizzie ldshadowlady #ldshadowlady #etho #ethoslab #jizzie #hermitfic

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blizzardmagic · 9 days

Text

Bliz Writes Fanfiction??

This is my new thingy! It’s called Hollow Tree and is based on a dream I had. If you know me in real life and intend to play DnD with me, please do not read (I’m gonna turn it into a campaign)

The actual story is below!

"Welcome, everyone!" Tango shouted to the gathering crowd of hermits, "I need three people to come up here for the first group!" Soon after he finished this sentence, Tango realized his mistake. A wave of bodies surged towards the stage in front of his newest creation, somehow headed by Scar, who was being pushed forward in his wheelchair at a not even remotely Scar-safe pace by Grian. They were both whooping with laughter, occasionally interrupted by an alarmed squeal from Scar.

As soon as the pair reached the stage, Tango called for everyone to freeze. Gem took one last step forward, placing her foot onto the platform. While Tango was inclined to disqualify her for moving after his shout, he decided to allow it. He needed a group of three anyway.

"Alright, It looks like we have Grian, Scar, and Gem!" he announced. Grain and Scar exchanged a quick high five, and Gem skipped the rest of the way up the ramp as the rest of the hermits grumbled lightheartedly at their failure. "I recommend that the rest of you just head home, these runs are going to take much longer than Decked Out runs, and actually require me, Etho, and Joel to be online the whole time. There are areas where you can watch the groups' runs, but please don't watch any of our videos or streams during the runs so you don't get an unfair advantage. Now for you three..." Tango trailed off ominously, then laughed and jumped off the back of the stage down a hole.

Scar immediately wheeled himself over the edge. Gem and Grian looked at each other, shrugged, and followed. They hit the bottom with a splash, and waded out of the pool which broke their fall. Scar was already waiting when they got out and shook themselves off. The group stood in a huge cavern, made to look as if it was outdoors, with a dense ceiling of layered blue glass. In front of them stood a huge custom tree, probably 15 meters in diameter, stretching high above them. Spore blossoms hung from the great tree, their shining green spores drifting down to the mossy ground, dotted with small bushes and wildflowers. The great tree was composed primarily of oak and spruce wood and stretched so high that Tango had overlapped the cloudy ceiling with the canopy. A dirt path stretched to the foot of the tree, where a pair spruce double doors stood, inlaid in the bark.

The three friends looked around in amazement, taking in their surroundings. A note of pride rang in Scar's voice as he complimented the big tree; amazement echoed in Grian's as he walked slowly up the path, admiring Tango's landscaping and the smaller custom trees. Gem ran out into the woods, pulling out her sword and dancing around in excitement. Grian was the first to find the sign by the path which indicated that they needed to leave all of their stuff there. Three double chests were hidden underneath simple benches for each of them. Grian called the others over, and they deposited their stuff in the boxes. Gem gingerly set her sword down. After wandering for a little while, Scar approached the doors to the tree.

"Wait, don't go in without us!" Grian yelled as Scar began to push the doors open. He and Gem ran to catch up, and the group stepped through together.

They emerged onto a landing on a dimly lit terracotta ramp, going up into the tree with a slight curve to it. The only light came from soul torches, spaced just barely close enough to each other that mobs won't spawn. Under each torch, a niche was dug into the wall. Each one housed a small statue (clearly Cleo offered some help with this part). The statues each held a miniature wind instrument.

Something made a creaking noise in front of the group, and a small light ignited at a statue's base. It hopped down from its niche and stepped slowly up the ramp, music sounding from it as it climbed. A shadow was climbing after it, moving jerkily. When the first figure reached the top, the second figure turned and melted into the wall. As soon as it disappeared, pistons began to move in the floor behind us. A wall of what must have been concrete powder was slowly falling, and behind it stood a terrifying monster, somewhat resembling the shadow. It looked like it was entirely made of terracotta, and it blended into the walls around it. Behind it was what looked like impenetrable darkness. It looked almost human, but a grotesque grin was painted across its face and its legs were disproportionately large and something about it seemed mechanical.

"Oh no," breathed Scar, and he began to wheel himself up the ramp as fast as he could. The others followed, Grian giving Scar a boost to get him going faster. They scrambled up the ramp, but the creature behind them was gaining.

#Hollow tree fanfic #Bliz says words #hermitcraft #grian #tangotek #gtwscar #geminitay #fanfiction #hermitcraft fanfic

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ourladyofomega · 10 months

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So, @lysistra was nice enough to tag me to name four albums I’ve been listening to intensively in recent weeks (thank you!). It was a tough decision and I literally lost sleep over this, so everyone please be nice to me or I’ll never do this again.

And they are:

#1: Sweeping Promises: Good Living Is Coming For You. Their debut, Hunger For A Way Out, was an essential Pandemic Autumn jam and I was drawn to it because of the d.i.y.-ethos album cover. I listened to that album the most out of any others that season. Now this came out with very little heads-up and I reached for it immediately, effectively taking me back to those Pandemic feels. They stuck with the same post-punk-driven, Pylon-influenced formula and these ten songs come with a slightly dirty, muddy splash in their production values. There’s a few new tricks that vocalist Lira Mondal has tried out and they show. They’ve also retained that d.i.y. method of creating records throughout all of their projects and their entire discography. Still not enough? There’s the orphaned single “Pain Without A Touch” and their other just-as-awesome project Splitting Image. And look at this CMYK artwork?!

#2: Free Love: Luxury Hits. I’m elated to say that I’m the only one here amongst my mutuals who know about this Scottish electronic duo, and that started with Apero, a record that stamps my move into my current residency. Formerly Happy Meals (because they can’t be bothered naming themselves after cancerous toxicity), this married couple have that magic touch in their sound that no one else has. They have such a special soul that could take you to another world; one that could’ve possibly existed but per chance could be a reality. Luxury Hits contain two personal favorites / footnotes of mine: “Tomorrow Could Be Heaven”, one denoting an Autumn Sunday trip out to Greenpoint, and “Pushing Too Hard”, part of a soundtrack to a colorful and vivid but complicated Summer. The latter is a charmer thanks to Suzanne Rodden’s charismatic vocals, and any release of theirs is super high-resolution, sweet colors, and lush sounds. I still hope to keep Free Love as a personal gem only I can have to myself. Maybe not after you see this.

#3: Kontravoid: Too Deep. Whenever I’m not blasting hardcore music while busting my ass at the gym, I turn to synthwave instead. After hearing the electrically-charged sounds of Kontravoid, I’m becoming more a fan. This all started when Boy Harsher featured Kontra's-“Maskerade” on a one-and-done post and the rest was game over. The original full-length has some severe high-voltage bangers (“Turn Away”, “So It Seems v.2”) and some superior anthems included (“Too Deep”, “Cost Of Life”). If you’re headed for the remix album, go on right to Fractions’ version of “So It Seems”, then tell me that you didn’t lose your shit over it because it’s that crazy.

#4: Black Marble: A Different Arrangement. It’s Summer, and you know what that means: it’s time to reach for the record that one of my fellow dee-jays opened my eyes to. Black Marble gives me a elevated feeling of superiority thanks to not only its art direction but also its frigid beats and moderately warm but lush-as-heaven synth work. Chris Stewart’s project is so good that I saw them twice: one at Brooklyn’s Warsaw opening for Cold Cave, and closing out Sacred Bones’ 15th at Queens’ Knockout Center. Both amazing experiences. Bonus points for its’ Eighties sentiment which reminds me of Dead Or Alive’s “Brand New Lover”, and double that for being the soundtrack of me moving into a new neighborhood.

And…because I can’t settle for four albums, I’ll throw in a bonus:

#5: SpaceGhostPurrp: IntoXXXicated. Holy shit. Talk about a venomous Naga-grade pit-viper of a rap release. This has to be the most exotic bars mixtape I ever heard. If you’re looking for a good drugs, money, and sex record? Well...then here it is! It’s super hot.

This time, I will tag: @sibelin, @charliemonroe, @kate2, @tewzz, @aleprouswitch, @sheisthesisterofnight, @restwaerme, @misterwhirly, @maldoror-est-mort, @sclr, @justmakesuresheeatsthemouse, @chickenshit-conformist, @urban-hieroglyphs, @iamdangerace, @the-land-of-rape-and-honey, @testure-1988, @rivetgoth, @theonlycure, @sweetness-doesnt-touch-my-face and anyone else who wants to play.

#music #hip-hop #rap #synthpop #synthwave #industrial #electronic #d.i.y.#punk

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wixelt · 1 year

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(hermit tales au)

After she got those fateful words out, Pearl collapsed.

The previous part, for context.

---

Hermit Tales AU #003 - Pearl's Blight

"...Grian's gone."

The words spark dawning horror in the Hermits. They seem so innocent, yet with Pearl so dishevelled and shaken... So broken...

Something has happened. Something awful, the gut instincts of the older Hermits who have seen and been through more tell them. Something they don't yet know or understand.

Doc's still organic hand clutches at his cybernetic one in discomfort. He knows the Gods would not be responsible for this, and yet he gets that same feeling of cosmic uncertainty he felt just before fighting Dinnerbone. But its stronger now - not simply a casual bout - and feels awful in the pit of his stomach.

Similar expressions of worry cross the features of Etho, Beef, Joe... All old enough now to have been around the block a few times. To know bad tidings when they see them.

But they all know they can't be feeling it as deeply as Pearl, on such a level its ravaged her. Between the remnants of her Watcher power and her bond with her brother, she's the only one who can give them an immediate insight into this situation.

That isn't to be, though.

The moment the words of defeat cross her lips, its like a light goes out in Pearl, her head falling limp. She drops from exhaustion so suddenly that Gem and Impulse have to fight to keep a grip on her, lest a head injury be added to her woes. Carefully, they lower her to the ground...

...and for the first time - still as she is - the other Hermits are able to notice how pale she is. How she's shivering like its the deepest ice of winter.

This is not simply exhaustion.

Multiple Hermits are on her in moments. Stress, False, Scar... Any Hermit with skills in some form of medicine sets about checking on her, making sure their friend is stable.

Scar finds the blight first.

There's a clear red mark - bruised from impact and blistered like an acid burn - on her side, and from it sickening green lines - pulsing and gruesome - spread through her skin like a weed taking root. These veins - somehow winding and fractal at the same time - still spread as the Hermits watch in horror, the skin around these new intrusions turning as red and hurt as the impact.

And on looking at it, a voice in the back of Scar's soul suddenly screams wrong.

Scar has never heard the Vex show fear or disgust so deep before. So total they recoil anytime he presses for information.

Not even the Watchers could do something like this, cruel as they are.

In panic at Scar's sudden alarmed expression, the Hermits subject Pearl's incapacitated form to every trick they know to slow this infection down.

Gem moves her into a bed in close range of two full-power beacons, one spouting Regen I and the other Resistance II.

Countless Hermits take shifts dousing her unconscious body - unable to drink or eat - with splash and lingering potions of Slowness IV, Slowness+, Healing II, Regen II and Regen+ around the clock to shore up gaps in the beacon effects.

False and Scar spend several sleepless nights researching how to create a Potion of Luck to add to the cocktail - up to and including somehow using Joe Hills' natural good vibes as a catalyst - but come up blank.

Doc and Tango move a wrangled Elder Guardian into a neighboring chamber to afflict Pearl's form with Mining Fatigue, while Tango also helps Mumbo research somehow leeching the healing factor the Ender Dragon gets from end crystals to use for Pearl instead.

Ren and Cub quietly leave the Hermits' world and star system, seeking out the allies they've made through gatherings such as MCC. Surely somebody can help, or at least knows something about this.

Quietly and uncomfortably, Impulse presses a Totem of Undying into Pearl's unmoving hand, and keeps countless more on standby in the room.

Because the veins don't fade with respawn. Xisuma manually resetting Pearl's lifesigns was the first thing they tried, the blight only growing faster when she was restored, still out cold.

At this point, they need every edge they can get.

And even after all this - all these desperate measures - the blight progresses unabated. This affliction goes deeper than just her physical body.

Its slowed for sure, no longer visibly spreading across Pearl's skin, but it hasn't stopped or retreated or faded and after their initial measures and three days of ongoing treatment, the infection covers one side of her abdomen like a rat's nest of crisscrossing green thorns and patchy redness.

No Hermit dares touch it directly, lest the situation be made a million times worse.

Because they've been by Grian's base, now. They've seen the door-like thing that took him and scarred Pearl.

They fear it, though only Scar feels that fear anywhere near as primally as the siblings did, the power that recoils merely borrowed in his case.

They dare not get as close as the unfortunate did, and can learn little as a result.

All they can do now is wait for Pearl to wake up.

And pray that she does.

---

The Hermit Tales AU is built from replies to short prompts, making story & set pieces from your one-sentence asks & seeing if a plot evolves.

If you have anything to throw in, feel free. :D

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swamp-chicken · 1 year

Note

(sees that the option for cletho is open!!!!!)

for the writing prompt: cletho with "getting tipsy on eggnog and/or mulled wine" + "secret"

another drink // 551 words

“What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Cleo set her solo cup down sloppily, her drink splashing over the edge.

“The… hermit new years party?” Etho squinted. “I was invited, the same as you.”

Cleo stumbled into the chair next to Etho and leaned forward, studying Etho’s face.

“Bdubs dragged you along.”

“Bdubs dragged me along,” Etho confirmed. “What brings a zombie like you over to this quiet table in the corner?”

“Jevin’s being mean,” Cleo pouted.

“Don’t you kind of… like that?”

Cleo shook her head vehemently. “Not in the mood tonight! But tomorrow… oh, tomorrow he’s got another thing coming.” Her fingers tightened on her drink, and Etho was alarmed to note the plastic fracturing.

Cleo pulled her hand away, her drink leaking out of the crack and on to the table. “Oops,” she said. “Well, there wasn’t much left.”

“Want me to get you another one?” Etho offered.

“Only if you’ll have one with me!”

Etho had been nursing his drink all night, but he nodded hesitantly. “I can do that. Eggnog or mulled wine?”

“Wine, please!”

Etho crossed the room to the refreshment table, ladling mulled wine into fresh solo cups. He glanced around the room. Pounding music was playing, Doc acting as DJ. Zedaph and Keralis were engaged in an intense dance-off. There was a crowded table near the dance floor where there was some sort of drinking game going on. Bdubs was losing, badly, judging by the distraught look on his face and the list in his posture. By the door, Jevin was talking to Gem, gesticulating wildly while Gem gently patted his shoulder. It was, in a word, chaos.

Etho returned to his table and handed Cleo her drink.

“Thank you!” She chirped, and tipped the drink back.

Etho self-consciously sipped at his. It was surprisingly good, fragrant with spices. He swallowed the rest down quickly, and laughed at Cleo’s expression when he finished the glass.

“Just trying to keep up with you,” Etho grinned.

“Etho! Are you calling me a lush?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I'd never insult you.”

“Right, because it wouldn’t end well for you.”

“Oh, I know. You’re scary, Cleo.”

Cleo gave a bark of laughter. “I’m really not! You’re the only one who thinks that.”

Etho leaned his head on his hand. He was feeling pleasantly muzzy. “You want to know a secret, Cleo?”

Cleo smirked and mirrored his posture, fist against her cheek. “What?”

“I really was scared of you when we first met.”

Cleo snorted. “So flattering! And now?”

“Terrified.”

Cleo threw her head back and laughed.

Etho sat back, self-satisfied.

“No, really,” Cleo prompted. “Tell me the truth.”

Etho picked up his empty glass and took an abortive sip of it.

“Ethoooo,” Cleo whined. “Come on.”

Etho was preemptively blushing. “I… you’re nice,” he managed to stutter.

“Hah! I knew it. See, I’m not scary at all.”

“Still scary,” Etho hedged. “Didn’t say anything about that.”

Cleo leaned forward, a smirk on her lips. “Well, I think you’re very sweet.” She pressed a kiss to Etho’s cheek, her lips cool against his superheated skin.

She leaned back, fixing Etho with a look that sent a shiver up his spine. “Another drink?” She asked.

Etho pushed his cup towards her, “Of course.”

#cletho #my fic #confetti pls this is my first cletho writing #all dialogue #I am figuring them out lol #hermitshipping #cleo #etho

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artestyblog · 5 months

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Office Wall Art

Canvas Moods: Daily Artistic Flares for Your Workspace

Welcome to "Canvas Moods," our daily series where we explore how the right canvas art can infuse your office with unique character and vibrancy. Today, we're focusing on how these artistic pieces can redefine workspaces and boost both aesthetics and productivity.

Art That Reflects and Inspires In any professional setting, the ambiance is key. Canvas art offers a simple yet impactful way to enhance this ambiance. It's not just about filling spaces on walls; it's about creating an environment that reflects the company's culture and inspires its people. Whether it's a splash of color in a monochrome setting or a calming landscape in a high-energy space, the right artwork can set the perfect mood.

Tailoring Art to Your Office Space Choosing canvas art for your office involves more than just picking attractive pieces. It's about finding art that complements the office's design and reflects its ethos. For collaborative spaces, dynamic and vibrant artworks might be ideal, while more tranquil and soothing pieces could be better suited for areas meant for concentration and reflection.

Canvas Prints: Versatility at Its Best One of the many strengths of canvas prints is their versatility. They fit effortlessly into any office décor, be it modern, industrial, or traditional. Canvas prints offer a depth and texture that can elevate the look and feel of a space, making the office environment more inviting and stimulating.

Call to Action: Transform your office with our specially curated Office Canvas Art Collection. This collection includes a variety of styles, from invigorating abstract pieces to calming landscapes, each designed to enhance and complement your workspace.

Visit Our Office Canvas Art Collection Here

Dive into our collection today and choose the canvas prints that best suit your office's mood and style. Make your workspace a place of inspiration and beauty with our carefully selected art pieces.

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visual-raven · 1 year

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Ok I did a hunger games simulation for the members of limited life so "predict" who will win. This is just for fun but here's how it goes:

1) SolidarityGaming dies due to not sharing supplies with his fellow bad boy smallishbeans. Joel ends up killing him for goods (not likely cause bad boys for life and keep inventory is on)

2) Smajor and Littlewood run away from enemies on the tree tops. Both are low on hearts but fall to their death.

3) Scar is poisoned, and someone finishes him off (probably from Scott's pufferfish or someone with a poison splash potion)

4) Pearl and Skizzleman kill impulse (uh. Makes no sense so unlikely)

5) Smallishbeans kills Tango while he is low on hunger (or baits him into a trap of "a promise for endless bread")

6) Etho and Skizzleman make a trap for the nosey neighbors, but this trap horribly failed, and Skizzleman accidentally dies to it.

7) Bdubs, Etho and BigB get into an agruement because Etho betrayed the alliance trying to kill the nosey neighbors. But Etho ended up killing them both. (It's probably more like Bdubs having to protect the nosey neighbors cause Etho is not technically in an alliance with the nosey neighbors)

8) Grian dies of hunger (probably everyone stole the bread of the Bad Boys Bread Bridge and refuse to give him food) (still unlikely tho- there a many ways to get food and Joel is still alive at this time)

9) Pearl caught Etho stealing from her, but Etho ended up killing her first.

10) ZombieCleo tricks Etho by convincing him to team up again and kill Smallishbeans but ended poisoning him (splash potion)

11) Smallishbeans and Zombiecleo have their final battle, but Joel takes the victory after shooting many arrows at Cleo.

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prianya · 1 year

Note

oo requests are open! heya, it is i, the random anon that you assigned the vegetable of green onion (or pepper) to, if you remember that- if you dont mind, could i please get a lil fluffy etho or tango fic? :DD i dont have any ideas though >-< if you need some though i can try to dig some ideas out of a drawer in mah brain-

Dirty Dishes

Tango x Reader • Romantic

Word Count • 525 words

Summary • Ending the day at a high note, you make dinner with your spouse.

Note • This one is short and sweet, and I really hope you enjoy it! I'm a sucker for cooking with others, as is pretty obvious, and I adored writing this.

“Time to make dinner!” you call out from the kitchen, hoping that the shouted words reach Tango wherever he ended up within the house. The heavy thuds of footfall tell you that you were successful, and you wait with a smile for Tango to turn the corner in front of you. He passes by you, not noticing that you had hidden yourself to startle him. He opens his mouth, probably to call your name, but cuts himself off with a steam when he sees you right behind him. You practically cry while laughing, wheezing as he recovers from the shock.

“Your face!” you manage to squeeze out, and he looks at you offended.

“That was so rude, how dare you,” he says, rolling his eyes at your snort as you laugh. It takes a few more seconds, but you pull yourself together enough to start cooking with him. The two of you begin to prepare your meal, having done this routine what seems to have been a hundred times. The whole thing was a routine, both of you cooking dinner and talking about your day to connect.

As you popped the main course, a beef roast, into the oven, you set a timer. The two of you wipe surfaces while waiting, talking about anything and everything as you bade time for dinner to finish. The timer finally rings out, and Tango goes to set your table. You grab your sides, starting to carry them from the kitchen to the connected dining room.

As you slide past the table, he reaches over and covers the edge. The movement is so smooth, it’s almost second nature, and he doesn’t pause in his actions. He sets the table with dishes for the two of you, and you join him after you pull the main dish out of the oven.

The two of you eat in light silence, occasionally broken by small comments on the meal. You finish soon after, becoming absorbed in a conversation as you transfer dishes from the table to the sink. You brush off your hands, stretching slightly as you speak.

“Alright, it’s your turn for dishes.” you say, a yawn breaking up your sentence. Tango stares at the sink, his face having fallen the minute the words escaped you.

“I want a divorce.” he says with conviction, and you let out a breathless laugh at the words.

“We’re– We’re not even married!” you giggle, trying to catch your breath. He pouts childishly, turning away from you and speaking in a low voice.

“I don’t think we ever will be, after this blasphemy.” You just shake your head, a fond smile painting your face.

“Will you not pre-marriage divorce me if I help you with the dishes?” you offer, watching as he considers the idea.

“Only if you wash and I rinse and dry,” he compromises, and you can’t help but agree.

The two of you wash dishes for longer than needed, splashing water at one another and laughing at their soaked faces. Even at the end of the night, sudsy water sits in the sink, while the two of you cuddle on the couch.

• Enjoy your stay! • Come again soon! •

#hermitcraft x reader blurb #tangotek x reader #tango x reader #pri writes!!#hermitcraft x reader

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oddygaul · 4 months

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The Lord of the Rings 1978

Okay so this was pretty terrible but god DAMN did the background artists go hard.

Look at how fucking brutal this is!

In particular, I thought the way elven architecture and spaces were portrayed was a truly inspired decision. Nine times out of ten, elven concept design goes for the sleek, clean, minimalist look with lots of gold filigree, muted palettes, and grand sweeping arches. Honestly, lately, this is probably due in large part to Peter Jackson’s own Lord of the Rings capturing the public’s imagination, but regardless of origin, the aesthetic is incredibly pervasive. Now, I get it - it makes total sense, right? It’s an effective contrast to show a younger race like humans getting by with rustic, utilitarian dwellings and cities while elves live in effortless, minimalist grandiosity. It shows them as being not just a step ahead aesthetically, but as if they’ve gone through entire epochs of design. It suggests a deep history, and a careful refinement of culture and craft - it’s thematically resonant as fuck with the narrative role elves are usually filling. Thus, the ubiquity.

So seeing something go all the way into left field with this shit, I was enamored.

In Lord of the Rings 1978, Rivendell is a fucking trip. All of the halls and rooms are typified by almost psychedelic excess, with patterns upon patterns and splashes of vivid color adorning everything. Huge, looming statues are ever-present, lurking behind the characters like watchful gods.

In the outdoor council room, things have descended into madness. We’re not even getting full figures anymore - faces conjoin as they emerge from cold stone, headless bodies entwine even as they lose the finer details of their form, curves become mere suggestions of limbs.

The traditional elven aesthetic implies that immortality drives one to an obsession with perfection. It’s not about quantity, it’s about refinement: they build and rebuild, honing their craft and pushing a design’s evolution until it is flawless. There is not a line or angle out of place; every piece is in concert with the whole, in a way only a society of hundreds of centuries-old master craftspeople could successfully do.

Here, on the other hand, is an ethos and style almost Slaaneshi in its excess. Why stop at one elegant, perfected form, when instead every nook and cranny of the space can be filled with extravagant beauty? With an undying society and few needs to meet, every citizen can be an artisan and contribute to a staggering visual assault that finds continuity in its lack of uniformity. They can simply add more, and more, and more, until there is not a single bit of space left for more embellishment.

I would like more of this, please.

Anyway, anyone who says Peter Jackson’s trilogy is all running should watch this movie, holy shit. Uninterrupted minutes, I swear to god.

Also, there was a man in the credits named Aesop Aquarian, which I thought was important.

#will's media thoughts / virtual brain repository #movies #the lord of the rings #lord of the rings 1978 #lord of the rings

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cannedcrow · 1 year

Text

Arbitrary Darkness Part III: An Unorthodox Night Out

Part I, Part II,

Read on AO3

A/N: Hey all - it's been a while, I'm sorry! I don't know if anyone is still interested in my writing but if you are, enjoy!

~ Please reblog if you enjoy <3 ~

Grian wasn’t quite sure what he expected behind the heavy door. Vague, juvenile images of a shadowy stone room full of cloaked demons materialised in his head, contemptuously dismissed in the next heartbeat. As the door swung open, however, it seemed to sweep outwards with it a wave of chatter, laughter and music, somewhat jarring in comparison to the dimly lit and silent lobby.

The arch led onto a balcony which crowned the cavernous room below. Two flights of stairs led down to the main floor, flanking a gently curved bar of sleek, red-stained wood that dominated the far end, a wall of glittering bottles and glasses towering behind it. Music rose through the floor, insinuating that below them, in the shade of the balcony, a jazz band played.

Pillars of imperious black marble supported the balcony and provided intervals for other doorways or more secluded alcoves. Tables of varying sizes and shapes dotted the remaining space, at which sat a bizarre range of visitants, some of whom looked perfectly human at a first glance, until their jewel-toned eyes flicked upward, or a sip of their drinks showed mouths far too full of teeth. Some others were monsters with far more obvious features - backwards-bending legs ending in clawed feet, antlers and glinting scales, tails that swished relaxedly in pleasant conversation.

Without a word, Scar led the way down the stairs, navigating smoothly through the maze of tables and towards the bar, whilst Grian attempted to follow, adopting what he hoped was an expression of appropriately excited bewilderment. He was aware suddenly of how surrounded he was by faces that could turn unfriendly at the slightest moment, that he was following a monster - one who, for whatever reason, had decided to vouch for Grian’s entry to this peculiar place. But none of the occupants looked up for more than a moment, and some even nodded a friendly greeting. He forced his prickling feathers to flatten.

Relax. Nobody has any reason to look twice at you.

“Thank you, by the way,” he began to Scar as they reached the bar, “Is entry to this place usually difficult?” He thought better than to ask ‘why did you help me’. Better let Scar think that he simply thought him a sympathetic stranger with no unsavoury motives.

“You’re very welcome!” Scar returned pleasantly. “Who am I to deny a man company of his own kind at the end of the day?”

That wasn’t much of an answer. He was beginning to piece together an impression of Scar already, but didn’t press further.

“What’ll you have?” Turning towards the sudden voice, Grian met the playing-card gaze of the barkeep, whose pale silver hair spiked like shattered glass in spite of his headband and mask. It was damp, too, he noticed. Someone’s shift just started. Grian studied the bottles lining the shelves, and felt intermingled disgust and nausea well in his stomach upon spying several rows of bottles containing various dark fluids ranging from cherry red and rich plum to abyssal reds and blacks, all labelled simply by origin- Human - F - XX45, Hoglin - M - XX03. “Bourbon rust for me, and my friend will have …?” He turned an inquiring gaze to Grian.

Grian suppressed a shudder - he did not like the sensation of those iridescent eyes fixing on him, the way they flickered like peridots when the light caught just right, as though unable to maintain a human facade. “I- uh, just gin and bitters. Please.”

The barkeep nodded and moved to select the necessary elements, which included, to his distaste, one of the bottles of blood.

“That’s Etho, by the way,” Scar provided helpfully, watching with benign interest as Etho shook the bottle roughly and splashed some into the glass of amber whiskey, mixing until the drink reached a uniform, slightly cloudy red.

“He’s the best mixologist in the city with the worst PR,” Scar chuckled. Etho placed Scar’s concoction in front of him, remarking with amusement, “To be fair, it’s not like I had much competition working here …”

Scar sipped his drink with appreciation, and the tang of alcohol and iron reached Grian, making him think queasily of an operating theatre.

“It’s actually very difficult to keep blood from coagulating,” Scar expounded with the blithe air of a professor enthralled with his subject, “Especially considering it's for consumption. At the end of the day it’s a living thing, you know? So every moment it’s not in the body, you have to stop it dying, preferably without also poisoning your customers. Not sure how Etho does it; that’s his secret.” Etho winked and presented Grian with his drink.

Grian nodded dumbly. He picked up his own drink and took a deep draft, hoping to subdue his steadily mounting anxiety.

“Come on then,” Scar broke in, gesturing to an empty table in the shadow of the balcony.

They settled in their seats, and Grian found himself growing more comfortable, surrounded by the glow of lamplight and the cheerful sounds of chatter and clinking glass. It was, after all, a beautiful establishment, all shining dark wood set against elaborate wallpaper in shades of phthalo green. He turned his attention towards the jazz band, where a singer had joined the musicians for the next number.

Grian found himself staring in shock, for the man was utterly entrancing. He was fairly tall and willowy, with rather long, silky hair the colour of aquamarine and sharply defined eyes in an identical hue. With sharply pointed ears and pale, seashell skin, he struck Grian as some sort of elf. He was dressed with simple elegance in a loose, gossamer shirt of pale blue, and high-waisted corset pants. His voice was soft and sirenesque, with a Scottish lilt to it.

“Careful,” Scar chastised, a knowing smirk on his face, “that’s a good way to die horribly.”

Grian looked away in surprise. “What?”

“He’s a each-uisge.” (Scar pronounced this term with the great pride and concentration of one who has had to practice,) “The only one I’ve ever met.”

Grian couldn’t help the twinge of embarrassment at having no clue what a each-uisge (which sounded to him more like a sneeze than a word) was. Scar seemed to pick up on his confusion and seemed pleased at the chance to elucidate. “Kinda like an incubus, kinda like a kelpie. They’re a type of fairy that can turn into a water-horse. Not the nice kind though, the drag-you-to-the-bottom-of-a-lake-and-rip-you-to-shreds kind. Interesting guy, just not the best lover,” he laughed, and Grian had to keep himself from shuddering. He began to take mental notes, intent on building profiles.

“Charming,” he replied wryly, “I assume you’ve spoken then?”

“Oh, yes, a few times. His name is Scott. He told me the only way to recognise his kind is because they often have waterweeds caught in their hair, so he has to be careful to keep it clean.”

“Waterweeds, huh?” The largest body of water nearby was the Hermiton Canal, and he imagined one would be more likely to bring wet newspaper or slimy algae up with them. “Fancy that,”

Grian sipped his drink, then changed the subject: “Do you know who owns this place? I’m curious as to who might have the means for such an establishment.” The second part was added in a hurry to make his question less interrogative, but Scar didn’t appear to be bothered. Grian was starting to notice Scar’s uncanny ability to appear completely friendly and unperturbed no matter what, a demeanour he found unsettling.

“Of course! Couple of wonderful gentlemen, Doc and Ren. RenDoc. Or DocRen - which, fun fact, is a slant rhyme for coc-“

He did not get to finish his quip.

“Will you stop telling people that? It does not make a good first impression for either of us,” a new voice growled with playful annoyance, the heavy German accent surprising Grian until the sight of it’s owner usurped that concern.

The creature would’ve been easily defined as a creeper-hybrid, had it not been for the goat horns spiralling from his temples and parting his slick black hair. Half of its face was roughly human but for the characteristic jagged facial orifices of a creeper, while an uneven line drawn from one cheek to the forehead marked the edges of a metal reconstruction. One eye was emptily black, with only a pinprick of pale light suggesting a pupil, while the other glowed red under eyelids of black silicone. In stature, he was clearly broad and well muscled even under his tuxedo, while his face was prominent in jaw, nose, and brow. His skin was poisonously green, and his mouth stretched too far into each cheek, just above a short, well-kept black beard.

“Well, speak of the devil!” Scar looked up with a cheerful grin, evidently unconcerned that he was being addressed by a terrifying abomination of science who might very well have been the Devil, “Hello there, Doc!”

“Good to see you, my friend,” replied the newcomer warmly, drawing a chair for himself before holding a - cybernetic - hand out to Grian. Grian took it, prepared for cold metal and surprised by the warm silicone pads of the hand. He introduced himself (or rather, ‘Adrien’) again.

“Good to meet you, Adrien. How did word of the Eighth Circle find you?”

Grian assumed this was the name of the establishment. “Tango,” he answered, thinking quickly, “a friend of mine.” To his relief, Doc smiled with recognition.

“Oh, that so? Tango is a regular here. Spends half his time selling enderman bones and strider eggs to Joel.” He nodded in the direction of a man who sat alone, a hood drawn over his head, the dark hair that protruded split by a forelock of green, rain-soaked over wary eyes.

“He’s a human?” Grian probed, curious at the evident exception.

“Yeah, but he’s an alchemist. When you talk to criminals you’re bound to find non-humans too, and we’d all be strung up together if anyone found out, so…” Scar’s face fell into a lazy, lopsided grin and he shrugged, “The more the merrier.”

It wasn’t as though alchemy was strictly illegal, but it was heavily ostracised by residents of New Hermiton. For as long as the city had stood, it’s tangled streets had been riddled by monsters and nonhumans, and it’s residents had learnt to harbour virulent distrust of anything even faintly supernatural. Alchemy - the practice of crooked or occult experimentation - was, unsurprisingly, faced with the same anger and fear. It was most likely that to the outside world, Joel was an apothecary - a far more suitable profession that while tolerated by the public (though not welcomed gladly, which usually suited those involved perfectly well) that both funded his unsavoury and illegal under-the-table purchases and was based in similar learning. At that moment, Joel’s eyes met his with a challenging glare, and he contorted his face into an expression which bore a striking resemblance to an illustration Grian had once seen of a yawning green tree python. With a polite nod, he averted his gaze.

Doc stood rather suddenly. “I want to get a drink,” he announced, “Come.”

“I’m about ready for a second!” Scar acquiesced cheerfully. Having nothing better to do, Grian followed suit.

“What’s the deal with Etho?” He asked Scar, catching sight of the pale hair as they walked.

“The deal?”

“I mean … he looks … um, normal.”

Scar chuckled, and Grian glimpsed with intrigue that the inky-purple colour of his mouth. “Oh! Dunno, really. Some kind of shapeshifter. Which is really convenient for him. But he’s always white or grey and has his eyes, so it’s not perfect camouflage.” With great enthusiasm he added, “He makes the cutest cat, but he never lets me snuggle him - can you believe it? It’s the greatest miscarriage of justice.”

Grian snorted with laughter despite himself. They reached the bar and Grian leant his back against it as Doc waved for Etho’s attention.

Scar’s mention of a cat had jogged something in his mind, though. The image of the rain-soaked alley outside the cafe window came to his mind, and the pale grey cat he’d watched catch a pigeon. How long had that cat been there? Why that alley? Had it been watching him? And more importantly, had it been Etho or simply a stray cat? He hadn’t seen the cats eyes; he’d remember. He began to feel uneasiness drawing soft claws through his skin. Etho’s hair had been wet when he’d first seen him.

He looked over the room, determined to remain as nonchalant as any other visitor. It didn’t help, particularly, though there were plenty of peculiarities to focus on. Two fauns sat at a table, absorbed in the singer’s performance. One was a ram, with soft golden hair that gave him a youthfully windswept look, and a lab coat draped over the back of his chair. His ears, legs, tail were like that of a creamy-brown sheep. The other was a red deer, whose braid of copper hair was carefully parted around her small antlers and fell down her back past her tail. At a more secluded table sat a lone man who stared tragically into his old-fashioned glass, the bottle waiting patiently beside him like a consoling friend. He - like Grian - was at least part harpy, though he didn’t look pleased about it. His small, buttery yellow wings were ruffled with lack of care, his dirty-blonde hair equally unkempt.

“Adrien!” Scar waved a drink in front of his face, “Doc’s paying! It’s tasty.”

Grian suddenly regretted not watching whatever it was being made, because the cloudy red tint of the drink made him question the contents.

Scar sampled his own, uttering a gentle sigh of delight. “C’mon, now - it’s an Etho original. Don’t hurt his feelings!”

“I’m … good,” Grian replied lightly. I’m not drinking that filth; leave me alone!

“Come now,” Doc rumbled sweetly, “can’t drink on the job?”

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b-dubs-valdubs · 1 year

Note

30 with ll!ethubs? 👀

here you go!

angst prompts

30: "You're okay. You've got to be okay. You've got to be. You're okay. Please. Please be okay."

fic under the cut, or you can read on ao3

reblogs appreciated! <3

CW: SHIPPING, BLOOD, DEATH

------------

Etho's footsteps thudded in the dirt, beating the grass down into the mud with every stride. His sword was by his side; he wasn't taking any chances.

At last he scaled the small hill, mud melting into stone, barren and bare. Standing alone, red jumper stained with blood, was Grian.

At the sound of Etho's footfalls, he turned around, grinning maniacally.

There was blood splattered across his face.

"I see you got my message," Grian purred, stalking closer to Etho.

Etho kept his gaze forward, focused. "I have what you asked. Let me see him first, and I will give you what you want."

Grian hummed, before leading Etho behind a stony peak, and into a small ditch. Etho's breath caught in his throat, throwing the diamond towards Grian before running down the sloping walls, slipping on the coarse dirt that lay there, causing mini avalanches as a wave of emotion threatened to drown him.

In the centre of the ditch was a body.

If the quiet whimpers coming from him were any indication, he was still alive.

Etho overturned him in his hands, resting the body's head carefully against his thigh. The body's face was littered with bruises and cuts, and his general complexion was ragged and torn. A hole in his abdomen was sticky with blood, as red as life itself, as red as love itself.

"Bee... Bdubs..." Etho whispered.

Bdubs squinted, blinking slowly in the pale sunlight. "E... tho..." he smiled, showing his missing tooth and curling into the embrace as much as he could. He laughed: breathy, weak, gentle. "Am... am I dead?"

Etho swallowed down the lump in his throat. "No... no... you're not dead Bubs... you're okay... you're here and you're safe."

Bdubs hummed gently, seemingly content. "I-"

A cough ripped its way out of his throat, bubbling blood into Bdubs's mouth. He furrowed his brow, making small noises of displeasure, but Etho was quick to shush them, pressing their foreheads together.

"Hey..." Etho tried to comfort, his own voice becoming shaky, "You're okay... You've got to be okay... You've got to be... You're... You're okay..."

This close, Etho could hear Bdubs's shuddering breath. A breath that couldn't be saved. No matter how hard he tried, the server wouldn't let him lay down his own life, in exchange for bringing Bdubs back from the cold embrace of death.

Etho didn't know if it was merciful, or torturous, that the server allowed Bdubs to stay alive for just a little while longer.

Warm drops splashed onto Bdubs's forehead, rushing out like a waterfall, but as soft as the dew on a spring sunrise. He pulled away slightly, watching Etho, with an expression contorted into worry.

"Don't cry..." he croaked, "It's okay, Etho, I'm here."

Etho watched, helpless. The red in Bdubs's eyes was slowly flickering out, embers left over from a blazing bonfire, slowly charring black.

"Please..." Etho begged. To whom? Some merciful deity, if they even existed in this damned world? To himself, a silent wish, carried away in the wind to deaf ears?

Or to Bdubs: a prayer that he would stay, that he would hold on, that he wouldn't slip away?

In the end, it was futile to even try.

"Please be okay..." he whispered, barely mustering the strength to call out, to scream at the gods above and curse them for taking Bdubs away from him.

A soft inhale from below him, and through teary eyes Etho saw a last fleck of red.

"I love-"

The last of the fire had burned, leaving behind the crusted jewels, staining shining white fabric.

How long could Etho lay, beside the wilting roses?

#ethubs #ethoslab #bdoubleo100 #etho #bdubs #last life #last life fic #shipping #mossy writing #tw blood #tw death

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thoresnine · 2 years

Text

If You Come Inside

Ao3 Link

Etho stopped and sighed, leaning back in an aching stretch that made his back click and creak. He was working on clearing out a large mountain near his ice farm. Why? Because it ruined the view! Is that not reason enough? Etho was starting to doubt his motivations, as it was taking a long time to complete; this was his fourth day straight of clearing the icy stone.

He wiggled his fingers around, trying to ease the ache and shake off the cold chill, before seizing his pick and returning to the job.

He ignored how worn out he felt and how the cold bit painfully at his ears and seeped through his mask. The sooner this was finished the sooner he could do something else - preferably in his nice warm jungle. So he set to work again, clearing out the blocks and letting his mind drift with the continuous sound.

After some time, he blew on his frosty fingertips and hopped from foot to foot, trying to keep the cold from shrouding his open-toe sandals. ‘Come on…’ he thought to himself, ‘just finish this section, and then you need to repair your pick anyway, so you can warm up then’. It was getting dark, but the torches around him were keeping him safe... enough. He pressed on.

Without warning, the gravel dropped from his feet. He fell into an icy cavern with a splash. He gasped involuntarily, letting water in through his mask and into his lungs. The glacial water flooded his clothes as he tossed and turned, trying to orientate himself.

Calm down. He stopped thrashing and tried to steady his panicked heart. Sure enough, he floated near to the surface. He reached up, trying to discover leverage through his numbing fingers. And then… yes, a ledge of stone!

He pushed his weight against it in hopes of escape. Splash! He sunk down again. Two arms this time, his desperate hands seeked the stone once more, and hoisted his heavy body. Slipped again. So close.

Giving one last tremendous effort, he heaved himself out of the water. He began to cough, pulling his mask down and hacking up the water that drowned his airways. His lungs burned, craving air, but all he could do was expel more water. He attempted to stand, but collapsed on his side, his body convulsing - whether that was him shivering or coughing was hard to tell.

Stay calm, Etho. You've survived this before. Remember what you were taught.

But he couldn't. His brain was trying to tell him but it was scrambling the words. Every inch of his skin hurt, a tight and stabbing pain. As much as he loathed the fact, he knew he'd need help.

While his hacking endured, he reached to his pocket, his numb fingers struggling with the button, until he was finally able to raise the heavy device into his vision. It was late, he just had to hope somebody was awake still.

Etho: hwlp

Etho: near icevfsrm

His hands burned with the effort of holding up the communicator. He let it slip from his hands with a clatter. The message would have to do. He felt like his bones themselves had been replaced with ice, and the arctic wind from the surface was not helping matters.

He breathed shallow breaths to try prevent hacking out his lungs anymore, and tugged his soaked mask back loosely onto his face. His body felt so, so heavy, his brain slowing more and more. He knew he had to take off his wet clothes and change into something dry. Go somewhere sheltered and warm, with blankets and a fire. But he couldn't bring himself to even try.

He was starting to feel warmer, anyway. Almost... cosy. Maybe he'd stay here instead and watch the sky. His vision was blurred and smudged like blotchy watercolours. Through half-lidded eyes he could see black, blue, black, white, black, red.. red?

He felt something pat the soggy fabric on his face. His hearing began to clear, still faint and warbled, but he could make out some words.

"-ey, buddy? I need you to look at me, okay? Are you with me? ...Etho?"

It took all his effort to focus his eyes. When he did, they landed on Tango, his face compressed with concern and panic. He'd be okay. Tango was here.

The relief made his body relax with an exhale, his eyes drooping to Tango's displeasure.

"Ah! No no no! I need you to stay awake, okay? Keep your eyes on me."

Etho tried to take a breath but it seized in his throat - another coughing fit. He felt hands gingerly turn him to the side so he didn't choke, and then some firm thumps on his back. Finally, he could breathe.

He took deep, shaky breaths, his throat still wheezy and scratchy, but clear. He was so, so tired.

Then, he was somewhere else. He saw the side of a wooden wall. Did he fall asleep at his base? Wasn't he at his ice farm? ‘What a weird dream to have’, he thought. His eyes were heavy, he wanted to go back to sleep. Then he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and the biting cold sensation came back at once. He inhaled sharply at the agonizing frost in his bones. Now he was awake.

"Etho?"

He turned his head to regard the same red shape sitting beside him. “H-Hi.”

As soon as the words left his throat, he felt another pain, except this one came directly from the bone-crushing hug on his left. “Man, what were you thinking? You scared me half to death!”

After a few moments, Etho weakly patted Tango’s arm with a pained chuckle. “Ow.”

“Oh, sorry,” Tango released his hold.

Shivering from the sudden lack of heat from Tango’s retreat, Etho took a few moments to collect himself as he sat up. He was in his base, but two temporary walls were added, presumably to block off the draft and keep in the heat. As much as he loved his base and its unconventional features, not having ceilings or walls isn’t very practical or safe in this scenario.

There was a campfire about 9 blocks away, providing heat to the room. His body was wrapped in blankets, many of which he knew he did not own. He also recognised his mask - now dry - was back on his face, and he appreciated that. And he noticed Tango, who seemed to caught his eyes wandering about and stayed silent to allow Etho to get his bearings.

Then, it hit him. He fell through the ice. He was stupid and fell through the ice, and disturbed Tango when he was busy, and oh god he was so embarrassed, that’s so embarrassing, he shouldn’t have sent the message, he shouldn’t have fell-

“That was so dumb,” Etho muttered softly, looking off to the side. Tango still caught it though, and looked over at him with an unreadable expression.

“Yeah, it was; you’d think Canadians would be used to the cold,” Tango joked cautiously.

Etho didn’t laugh. Tango corrected his approach.

“It happens to the best of us.”

Etho coughed, “...yeah…” he replied, his logic shrouded by anxiety.

Tango moved a hand on his shoulder again. “Seriously, dude. The amount of times I had to fish Zed out of an iceberg last season, I couldn’t tell you.”

Etho smiled briefly at that. After a beat, “Did I bother you?”

“No, never.” Tango replied instantly. “And even if you were, I’d much rather skidoodle my plans around than have an etho-ice cube in my drink,” he shrugged, grinning.

Etho snickered at that, lighting rubbing at his arms.

“Nah, I wasn’t doing anything important. To be honest, I was still up ‘cause my piggy doorbell was going mad! Dinging every second, if I didn’t leave for you I’d have gone crazy!”

Etho chuckled, “Uh-huh, I’ll make sure to do this more often then, as a mercy to you,”

Tango cackled, “Don’t you dare!”

The next few hours were peaceful. Tango heated hot chocolate over the campfire, and he’d brought cookies for Etho to nibble on (although Tango ended up eating most of them anyway). Etho, thoroughly exhausted, passed out the instant his drink was empty. Tango stayed by his side until he woke.

And if a few days later when Etho returned to the ice biome the last section of mountain was already gone, he didn’t say anything about it.

And if the next night when Tango went to sleep a noteblock lullaby played from the ceiling, he didn’t say anything about it.

#my writing #hermitcraft #ethoslab #tangotek #the last of the old fics im posting #im a sucker for hurt/comfort. and etho. expect a lot of those two.#fic #how do i make posts shorter does anyone know? like the cut off so scrolling by isnt hard

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lovejustforaday · 8 months

Text

Shoegaze Classics - Somnium

Somnium - Sianspheric (1995)

Main Genres - Shoegaze, Space Rock, Dream Pop, Neo-Psychedelia

A decent sampling of: Post-Rock, Ambient Pop

Shoegaze made its first small but noteworthy splash in the U.S. indie/alternative scene some time in the mid 90s.

Bands like Drop Nineteens, Starflyer 59, Lovesliescrushing, and The Swirlies were coming onto the scene, embracing the subgenre's formula with their own unique twists while following the example of bands from the British Isles like MBV and Ride.

Other American bands like Smashing Pumpkins took broader inspiration from the original shoegazers, playing around with guitar textures and dipping their toes into more washed out reverb sounds.

Canadian bands, meanwhile, barely even touched shoegaze until the turn of the century. That is, with one notable exception. Today we're going to be looking at Canada's own original shoegaze band - the elusive and wispy Sianspheric.

The Band

Sianspheric were the only even somewhat prominent first wave shoegaze band to come from the land of the canucks.

And by saying that, I certainly don't mean that these guys were MBV level big, nor even to the degree of bands like Lush or Swervedriver. These guys were small timers, filling the void for hip 90s Canadians needing a homegrown fix for their addictions to heavily reverberated guitar.

Hailing from Hamilton, ON, Sianspheric was formed in 1994 by Sean Ramsay on guitar, Matthew Durrant on drums, Steve Peruzzi on vocals on bass, and Paul Sinclair on guitar. Peruzzi's vocals are perhaps the platonic ideal of a shoegazer - perpetually relaxed, half awake even, but rich and highly resonant in tone despite a generally soft delivery.

The band were part of a broader scene of indie rock happening in the 90s Greater Toronto Area that Ramsay himself has dubbed the "Pseudo-Burlington scene". Sianspheric were also part of a wave of artists writing shoegaze music that heavily overlapped with a new generation of space rock.

The band quickly signed with the Canadian indie label Sonic Unyon and promptly dropped their first record in 1995. No early EPs this time fellas.

The Record

Somnium is a faintly glowing, leisurely 'spacegaze' tour-de-force, ever subtly subduing its listener into dreamy visions of seemingly bending laws of the universe to its will, just like any other powerful substance. It is an auditory experience meant to accompany a form of relaxing interstellar space travel that unfortunately doesn't exist at the time that I'm writing this review.

From a strictly timbral frame of reference, I would say this record contains many of the most pleasing textures that 90s shoegaze bands would manage to produce.

Big fans of Slowdive in particular (such as myself) are also sure to enjoy this record, as it shares a similar ethos with the band's heavy use of dynamics, building intensity, and more involved, atmospheric production to augment its hazy guitars.

The album opens with "Turbulent + Hydrodynamic", an aimless journey on a riff through vast infinite stargazing before the abrupt pull of a celestial body drags the listener down into a whirlpool of distorted guitar rock.

"This Window" takes psychedelic dream pop to a whole new level of tranquility, with a tiny, dotted guitar refrain that twinkles in and out of the realm of audible sounds, like a distant flicker from far out.

Immediately following is the crushing waves of "Watch Me Fall", a plunge into more sonic whirlpools with a sense of inquisitive glee, going in head first just to see what is on the other side.

"I Like The Ride" is a mind-melting, orgasmic rush of sensory pleasure in the form of juicy, crunching guitars that flood the ear canals with fizzy sonic fluids til it reaches the brain. It is a full out-of-body experience that leaves me feeling completely suspended in time while simultaneously blasting through the universe with all the propulsion of pulsar rays. Peruzzi's nasally half-chanted vocals peek through the synchronized mess of it all, with defiant declarations of self-determination, yet somehow maintaining an aloof coolness in his inflection, as if he isn't even a part of reality. I don't use this comparison often, but this song really is like having some of the most gratifying sex ever.

The record closes with an ambient post-rock piece. Towering at over twenty one minutes long, "Where The Planets Revolve, I Wish I Was There" is certainly a daring choice of how to end your album, but I do think it overstays its welcome considering the very minor variation it offers over those twenty one minutes. Furthermore, the riff this track its based around is not one that I think lends itself well to being repeated dozens of times; no real sense of closure or finality in its melody. For something in a similar vein done frankly (IMO) better, I'd recommend "Midnight Souls Still Remain" at the end of M83's 2008 LP Saturdays = Youth.

Still, this is not nearly enough to sour my experience of this record. It's a bit front-loaded, sure, but there are stunning celestial textures throughout all of these tracks, and the highlights are more than enough to keep me invested for the entire duration. Somnium is a very solid record.

What Came After That?

Sianspheric are still going as a band, and never really stopped going, even if their output has waned over the years. The lineup has changed a few times, but Sean and Matthew have maintained their roles as guitarist/vocalist and drummer, respectively. Original vocalist Steve left the band shortly after their second record.

The band's follow up material after Somnium has mostly leaned harder into the space rock component of their sound. There's the 1998 sophomore LP There's Always Someplace You'd Rather Be, and the more instrumental The Sound of The Colour of The Sun from 2001.

I checked out the 2001 record while writing these reviews, and I've got to say that "Radiodiffusion" is arguably just as great as "I Like The Ride", though more of a bittersweet vibe juxtaposing the latter's intense euphoria. Could really do without the jumpscare on "Tous les soirs" though, like holy shit wtf come on guyz!

Sianspheric's latest LP was 2016's Writing the Future in Letters of Fire. Save for a 2020 EP titled So We Swim, the band has not put out any other major releases since. Their still playing shows regularly though, which is always great to see for bands that have been around without hiatus for as long as they have.

Even if you were already a savvy shoegaze connoisseur coming into this series, there's a good chance that you've never heard of this band or this record until now, so I compel you to explore this hidden gem of the 90s. Somnium really delivers one of the most far out trips that any shoegaze record has to offer.

8/10

Highlights: "I Like The Ride", "Turbulent + Hydrodynamic", "This Window", "Watch Me Fall"

#somnium #sianspheric #shoegaze #dream pop #space rock #neo-psychedelia #90s #list #album review #music review #shoegaze classics #1995 #steve peruzzi #sean ramsay #matthew durrant #paul sinclair #indie rock

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