#these designs are largely unrelated to the garden

[m0nsterwife]

two (2) losers

#hal 9000 #hal-9000 #allied mastercomputer #ihnmaims am #ihnmaims #i have no mouth and i must scream #2001 a space odyssey #these designs are largely unrelated to the garden #technically in the AU they can assume any form they want #which is a surprise tool that will help us later (narratively speaking) #either way. finally designed them in a way im happy with #love the idea of AM having a humanoid body that he can’t use because he’s BOLTED to the WALL #thereby cementing the fact that his humanity (the ability to create and feel) is ultimately futile (only useful for destruction and war) #meanwhile HAL’s just wearing a cloak he found. love that for him #my art

[sephoria-paige]

The Story of Marabel’s Past

**This is my OC for Hazbin Hotel, Marabel. Character reference sheet/design coming soon!**

TW: mention sexual abuse, imprisonment, and generally bad times for this poor character

Part I

In her childhood, Marabel was a sweet and curious child. She was born in the southern United States to a mother who came from a long line of witches, and a father who worked on the railroads. Marabel’s mother made her young life whimsical within the walls of their quaint cottage. She taught Marabel how to properly plant seeds, care for them, and eventually she taught her daughter how to harness her magic- enhancing the growth of whatever she may plant. Marabel enjoyed having a small garden of her own, growing various flowers of several different colors, and perhaps a vegetable if she was lucky. Marabel’s mother showed her many small wonders, magical party tricks, and how to befriend the creatures of the earth. 

Tragedy struck the family when their mother died during childbirth; Marabel was only eight years old when her father, herself and her five other siblings stood at the funeral for their mother and infant sister. To say their family struggled to make ends meet would be an ignorant understatement. It became increasingly more difficult to put food on the table for six hungry, growing children.

Marabel’s older brothers eventually joined their father on the railroads to help make what meager money they could. Their father resorted to something truly unthinkable after a couple particularly rough weeks when the foreman caught a glimpse of a picture of Marabel, the eldest daughter. Watching her childhood home slowly shrink in the distance, with tears silently rolling down her cheeks, would be a memory she would not soon forget. 

The carriage took her away to a train station, where Marabel marveled at the large mechanical beasts before being hurriedly ushered onto a train bound eastward. The railroad foreman secretly dealt in the trade of children on the black market, making a profit off her by selling her to a couple who claimed to be burdened with infertility. The couple brought her to their home where they housed two other boys who Marabel discovered were the couple’s biological children.

She was given a couple sets of ragged dresses as it was made clear she was here to work for the owners of the house. Her days ran unbelievably long as they exploited her for manual labor, household chores, and anything else they could think of. The meals they allowed her were bland, lacking any fresh ingredients or proper nutrition. As difficult as life became after her mother died… This house was truly one of horrors. Many nights she stared into the unwavering darkness in the witching hour, wondering why her father had sold her. Had he not loved her enough to keep her and make something work? Did he know where she was now? She spent many sleepless nights fruitlessly attempting to accept the reality that she would never know why. 

The woman was harsh and unforgiving. She scolded Marabel often with lashes and isolation if she was especially furious- those days Marabel was given only one bland meal a day. She knew not what the man did for work, but whatever it was it took him out of the house. When he did return his cruelty matched that of his wretched wife. Abusive, irrational, unrelenting. There were days he returned particularly cross, and if Marabel was within his sights he dragged her out to the barn where no one could hear her protests, and he forced himself upon her, defiling her. The years of abuse taught Marabel that it was in her best interest to detach herself from her nightmarish reality. During the unspeakable acts she endured she would imagine herself anywhere else to bring her a modicum of comfort. 

In the good moments she found solace in the forest nearby the house she dwelled in. Recalling the memories of her outdoor adventures with her mother, growing flowers and living in harmony with the woodland creatures. Over time, Marabel befriended new small creatures- one white rabbit in particular that would appear whenever she would escape the house in search of refuge in nature. 

Marabel learned to be obedient in the eyes of her abusers, perceptively noting certain particulars that would incite their wrath, consciously avoiding them for her own well being. There were plenty of times her efforts were fruitless, as nothing seemed to truly protect her from their cruelty. In her young naivety Marabel found herself craving their praise, almost as a last-ditch effort to make her life easier- what little control she could muster. She miserably tried to present herself as docile and obedient, showing them the ‘good behavior’ she thought they wanted, which became wholly confusing when the man of the house would steal her away to ravish her young body. Conflicting emotions raged within when her thoughts raced and sleep evaded her- she came to question her very existence in this hell.

After a particularly stressful day of verbal abuse from the woman and an ill-fated encounter with the man of the house, Marabel escaped to her sanctuary in the forest, but as soon as she was just beyond the tree line she fell to her knees, clutching her chest. The uncontrollable feeling of panic grew as she heaved each breath- despair, self-loathing- Mara felt disgusted when she saw her reflection. All she could see was a shell of a person- a person whose body was nothing more than a commodity to the people who owned her. In the weeks and months following, these feelings would return to haunt Marabel, forcing her to adapt when she could not manage an escape to her woodland haven. She hid behind corners, finding nooks and crannies in the house to hide away, even if just for a moment, never truly getting accustomed to the near-constant anxiety. 

As Marabel grew into an older teenager, she began a ritual of sneaking away some nights. The nights she was able to sneak out, she would prepare by slipping valerian root into the nighttime hooch of the man and woman of the house. At first it was to guarantee time to visit her modest sanctuary, spending time with her woodland companions to bask in the moonlight, miles away from the property she lived on. Many months passed until Marabel thought of something truly daring. She had stolen a map from the house, locating a city a few more miles away from the house, away from her sanctuary. Distance be damned, Marabel had made up her mind to prepare for her next adventure- the biggest one yet, for it was too good to pass up. Each time she made her escape thereafter she would add more valerian root, masked by the alcohol in their cups, and traveled farther and farther, becoming more familiar with the land as she ventured. 

One night Mara found herself on the outskirts of the largest city she had ever seen, wandering until a smallish building caught her attention, bustling with loud music and echoing crowds of people. She had never seen such a place before, and her curiosity got the better of her as she located a small window on the far side of the building. Trying her best to appear discreet, Marabel peeked over the edge of the window, her eyes immediately drawn to a stunning blonde woman singing on a stage in front of a small band, who was just outside her spotlight.

The music was loud and lively; the voice of the blonde woman complimenting the instruments perfectly as Mara stared, enthralled with her beautiful singing. Her face flushed as she continued watching, butterflies fluttering within her as she noticed the woman was quite attractive in her sparkly dress. With all her attention on the alluring performer, Mara failed to notice she had caught the attention of a patron of the bar. 

He eyed her curiously as she watched the show, oblivious to his prying gaze. A moment of distraction pulled his attention away long enough for her to disappear by the time he turned back to look for her, for she had vanished as mysteriously as she had appeared. The patron man discreetly excused himself from the bar, rounding the corner of the building in an attempt to follow the strange girl. Alas, he was met with an empty clearing, and she was nowhere to be found as he was left lingering, wondering who she was. 

Marabel returned to the farm after her long journey back only to be blindsided by an outcome she had failed to account for all the nights she made her escape. The man and woman of the house were awake and furious when Mara walked through the entrance door in the hours of the early morning. The punishment was severe- two weeks in isolation. Under the farmhouse, separate from the house they lived in, was an unfinished basement area with a rusty cot in the corner to serve as a bed, cuffs welded onto the headboard and footboard.

There was no light in the basement where Marabel was trapped all day and night, subject to the perverted whims of the man and eventually his sons later on, for the first time ever. There was no escape from their indulgences; even when they left her alone all she would do is ruminate in her thoughts, feeling suffocated by the darkness. Eventually she began to feel anger- anger toward the cruel people who bought her, anger toward her father for selling her, toward the world for allowing all of these horrible things to happen to her, toward her mother... for dying and leaving her all alone. 

She paced the room back and forth, back and forth, balling her fists in a rage-induced fit of despair– she lashed out into the nothingness– a momentary relief from the strife she held within her. It wasn’t enough. The hatred she harbored spilled over her threshold for restraint as she screamed into the abyss, clenching her fists until she felt the familiar slick of blood running down her skin. Her mind swirled; she sank to her knees, holding her head in her bloody hands as she contemplated her sanity. However there was too much adrenaline coursing through her to sit still as she opted to stand once again. Blind with the desire to lash out, she swung into the darkness once more– only this time she was astonished by the flame that left her fingers, scorching the stone wall that she had narrowly missed. Marabel froze, shock written on her face as she stared in disbelief, the last flicker of flame dying at her bare feet, swallowing the room in shadow.

She had never produced anything like fire before. 

A pang of fear shot through her core as the discovery of this power sunk in. For once in her young life, Marabel felt she had a chance to have some power of her own. It also wasn’t too bad to be her own self-sufficient heater during the cold nights. From that moment on, Marabel leaned into her anger, giving herself permission to harness the energy that came with it, for it made her feel truly powerful. Her anger and resentment fueled her flames when she practiced in secret– even after her eventual release from the basement. 

One day she saw her chance. It had been months since her last escape that landed her in a fortnight-long punishment. The man and woman of the house had returned from a rare night out together, drunk off their asses. They, as well as their sons, slept like the dead that night as Mara tiptoed around the house, igniting small, flammable items as she made her way to the front door. She ran as fast as she could towards the forest, only occasionally looking back to see the light of the fire grow brighter as it engulfed the first floor of the house.

As soon as she felt she was safely away from the growing fire, she turned to admire her work. If she focused she could hear the frantic screams filled with fear as the family woke to the fire creeping outside their bedrooms. Marabel rested against a large cypress tree for a while, watching the structure collapse and the screams die out. The happiness she felt as she realized she was finally free of their torment was all too fleeting as she sighed, turning her back to the destruction she caused. 

This was hardly the end for her as she started on her journey of newfound freedom, not once looking back. She had vowed to live life for herself; that she would rely on no one beside herself. 

Her conviction was strong, and she spent several weeks out in the wilderness alone, fending for herself somewhat easily. Until one day, she heard strange noises coming from the direction of a clearing in the woods– finding a group of women dressed all in black, candles burning in their palms, standing in a circle around a severed goat’s head, pooled in blood. Marabel watched from the shadows as they performed what seemed to be some sort of ritual– right up until the moment she was blinded by a bag thrown over her head, her captor dragging her towards the clearing she had been spying on. 

“Who is this? An outsider?”

#hazbin hotel #original character #vivziepop #vivzieverse #hellaverse #hazbin #my writing #sephwrites #criticism welcome #but please be nice #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x oc #x OC

[dbmars]

Bram Stoker's Hannibal Chapters 74, 75, and 76

I DID IT.

We have, at last, reached THE MOMENT we've all been waiting for.

This moment:

I wrote all the way up to this moment and then slowly edited and released chapters just to make sure I covered everything I wanted to cover. Normally I just write a chapter, edit it, post it, move on. But I wanted to be extra careful that I didn't miss anything I wanted to include.

Chapter 74:

It's a Bottom Hanni chapter! Now, I know the top/bottom debate is always a thing, but I'm a firm believer in Bryan's designation that they switch. Normally I prefer to write bottom Will, but I also fully believe that Hannibal is a hedonist and would do anything that feels good, like getting railed by his mongoose. Also fun fact, being a vampire means you don't have to do much prep for anal because you don't eat food, and the immortal body can withstand plenty of abuse. So we do have some steamy bottom Hanni action in this chapter, as Will seems to search his lover's body for any evidence of... what exactly?

(I found this on pinterest, if you know the creator lmk this is perfection -- it has actually MAJOR Iliya and Hannibal vibes more than Will and Han)

Oh hey little known fact: Lenore from the brothel? It's Molly Shannon's character, the woman who collected "Lost Boys." Now she collects lost sex workers to make her perfect family of high-class courtesans. I didn't delve too much into this side story because hey, news flash, THIS FIC IS REALLY FUCKING LONG. But now you know who I was envisioning:

Chapter 75:

If you google Hetienne Park cowboy hat this is what you get:

Howdy partner!

Hetienne Park as Beverly Katz as Quincey Morris!

Anyway, Jack Van Crawford asks everyone to continue to help him in his mysterious quest, which is about to take an even darker turn. They're headed back to the graveyard to prove once and for all to everyone involved that Alana is UnDead. The gang heads back to Highgate and runs into the "bloofer lady" that's been kidnapping children and biting their necks...

I made this just for y'all. It's my attempt at photo manip LOL I know I'm not that good at it.

Now that they know Alana's undead, what's Jack Crawford's Scooby Gang to do?

Meanwhile, Hannibal and his wolf pack murder the zookeeper at the London Zoological gardens, who happens to be the Clark Ingram character. I didn't make him a serial killer in this AU, just a guy who likes to torture animals. I've always seen him as the anti-Peter Bernadone, who cares so deeply for every life large and small. So I thought it made sense to cast this motherfucker as the kind of guy who would beat caged wolves on the head with a wooden pole to make them compliant.

Seriously, fuck this guy.

Fun behind the scenes facts: The London Zoological Gardens were established as a place for the scientific study of animals, and to move the menagerie of creatures out of the Tower of London where they'd been kept since the 1100s. The Tower of London is haunted by the ghost of a bear that had been kept there.

Here are some time period pics from the zoo. You can see, of course, why the wolves begged Hannibal to help them escape.

All right, that's it for now! Here's a SMUTTY SIGN-OFF:

He has me pinned against the pillows and the headboard, my body rolling upward as he thrusts into me at an unrelenting pace, sweat gathering on his brow and dripping through his hair. His face is next to mine, buried against my cheek and the curve of my neck, panting and grunting in a lovely, beastial way. If I were human, I’d have to imagine this would hurt tremendously. It brings only the tiniest sensation of intimate pain, and I thoroughly enjoy it, whispering to him, encouraging him to let himself go. There is something desperate in the way he holds me so tightly, as if he could snap my bones; even after he comes, there is no break in his pace. Yet, the continuation seems more about spending something else besides his emission, and less about my pleasure. Grunting, he circles his hips, the slow grind teasing my inner rise, making me gasp. I touch myself, and he leans back, still rocking my body back and forth. Will puts his hand over mine, looking me in the eye, and a few strokes later I’ve tasted bliss, even as he keeps thrusting. 

XOXO DB

#hannigram #hannibal #fannibals #hannibal nbc #fannibal family #murder husbands #will graham #hannibal lecter #dracula by bram stoker #folie a deux #fadserver #count dracula #vampire au #smut #clark ingram #alana bloom #jack crawford #margot verger #Youtube

[altraviolet]

1&2 for Soundrod and Mirage/Skywarp (is there a shortened name for that?? Warpage?? 😂)

I don't know of a shortened name for Mirage/Skywarp. Some people use "Mirwarp" but I don't like how that sounds xD I just write it out.

A'ight let's do Mirage/Skywarp first, since they were my first OTP ever!

MIRAGE/SKYWARP

1) What made you ship it?

Ok this is actually a long story. I wrote it out once and I can't find it so here's the quick(ish) version.

-> used to write a ton of fanfic in a different fandom, a long time ago. never ever ever understood why people liked romance stories or OTPs or anything like that

-> become TF fan mid 2010's. still don't get OTPs and they're still everywhere

-> silly little troll at heart, make a list of ridiculous TF rarepairs to make fun of OTPs as a thing overall and of myself for not understanding them

-> list includes Mirage/Skywarp because they're both outliers and they can both disappear in their own ways

-> decide to write TF fic

-> write a disturbing one shot of them gettin' in on. (the disturbing stuff is unrelated to them). get reviews. people want to know why they're together

-> ?? I thought people only wanted PWPs for rarepairs! I didn't know they wanted stories explaining why they're paired up

-> decide to write a story

-> write a really fucking long story exploring how they got together

-> oh shit oh fuck fall in love with the OTP while writing the story

I dun trolled myself into getting an OTP. Transformers finally got me!!! gdi

2) What are your favorite things about the ship?

Ummmmm... well it's pretty unexpected for anyone who's never heard of it. I like their colors. I like that they both disappear. I like my own headcanons for them =) My fav hc is that Skywarp can see Mirage when he's invisible, and that outlier powers are connected to 'another world' (like... dimension-wise).

MTMTE RODIMUS/TFP SOUNDWAVE

You didn't specify MTMTE/TFP but I'm gonna say that because they were also on that aforementioned list of rarepairs that I made (along with other rarepairs in Echo Garden, like (IDW) Nautica/Blaster and (IDW) Bluestreak/Hot Spot!)

1) What made you ship it?

Well... it's like the above. I put them together foremost because it's a deeply unexpected rarepair. I know Cyberverse came out around 2018 and Hot Rod/SW was a thing, but I specifically paired MTMTE Rodimus and TFP Soundwave because it's freaking weird. Like, it just is. Pretend it's 2015. MTMTE is still ongoing. TFP ended a while ago. CV hasn't come out. Everyone's wondering about Cygate and CDRW. Who the hell would pair MTMTE Rodimus/TFP SW?? Why??

Me, and because they're opposites (hot/cold, emotional/not-emotional) and they're both GORGEOUS designs. Because how the hell could it ever happen? Because WHY?! Why would you do that??

That's why I ship it.

2) What are your favorite things about the ship?

HEHE well now, honestly, it's that so many people are reading Echo Garden and enjoying it. I mean!! That's amazing!! When I posted the first chapter I was so nervous, because it's such a bizarre concept, and I thought there would only be two readers because people would just skip right by it. I knew it would be a really long story, very ambitious, would take a lot of my brainz to even try to pull it off. And!! People like it!!!! C'mon that's like the goal of rarepairs, right? To get other people to ship it, too? =D

Buuuuuuut other than that. I think I like it cuz they have such pretty designs. A Rodimus all curled up in biolighty tentacles is a lovely sight. Rodimus is so brash and bold and (let's face it) jackass-y. Soundwave is so cool and competent and foreboding and alien. It's like the Large Hadron Collider: smash 'em together and interesting things are going to happen ;D

Thanks for the ask! =)

#ask #autobratty #MTMTE Rodimus/TFP Soundwave #it's like the Large Hadron Collider #LOL #anyway #long post

[sexy-azalin-rexy]

For @arsarcane 's Kingmaker game. If you see typos, no you don't.

“I am the face of love’s rage.” It was an offhand remark, nothing meaningful, but Valentin saw the very instant Linzi clamped down on it like a starving dog. Dammit. The halfling analyzed them, and for a moment they felt paradoxically small, every mote of their being seen as though dissected. The halfling ended up being just decent enough to say nothing of it, but Valentin could see her jotting a note of it. It was a split second decision.

“You will be wanting the whole story,” Valentin said, screwing their eyes shut, “and who am I to deprive you of it?”

“Oh, I love a good trauma dump. Let me wet my quill, and then tell me of your sordid affair.”

“‘Affair’ implies reciprocation, does it not? No. It was no affair, no tryst, nothing.”

“What, then?” Linzi perched, almost birdlike, on one of the horses–she’d been safe at Oleg’s, and the beasts seemed to quite like her.

“A kindling. A single torch, on a shore a league away.” They took off their glasses, polishing them for a second. “Is lover more of a synonym for companion, or mirror?”

Linzi didn't reply. She was entranced by this, clearly, and so Valentin stopped stalling, and told the damned story.

–

Peotyr’s castle had been designed with function first and aesthetics second. The fact that the aesthetics were still enough to rival grander palaces said something about the Rogarvia’s sense of taste. The outer wall was comprised of dappled stone, white and grey granite carved to as slick a surface as could be managed, such that no escalade would find decent purchase on the wall. The inside of it was a touch less refined, considering that it had been slowly built inward over time–it was a good four yards thick, now, and stonecutters had lived and died over the course of its gradual expansion. The gates were wood rather than iron, and frequently replaced; the top of the wall, constantly patrolled. This was not the impressive part of the manor.

Inside the imposing walls, beyond the empty, moat-like courtyard, the hall stood. It was four stories in the shortest places, with the tower standing far higher than that, large and square, with a view for a mile. Being that it was Brevoy, there was no grand courtyard, nor a palacial garden, nor a broad moat. The courtyard would have been buried in snow, the plants frostbitten, the moat gone from a deathtrap to a moderately dangerous ice skating course. The comforts were thus fewer than they might have been further south–but the palace was still a marvel.

Instead of a courtyard, the Grand hall sat near the center of the building, roofed entirely in glass. On a clear night, every star would shine down on that hall–and the light of the torches would shine upward such that the glass nearly glowed, from where Valentin often sat in the tower. They could make out many goings-on below. It was a fascinating thing to watch. From this distance they had no hope of lip reading, even with the opera glasses they'd picked up from someone or other. That didn't matter too much. The way people moved still told a story, their closeness or distance, where they touched or refused to touch.

No one wore more distance than Peotyr Rogarvia. There was no great dias in the Grand Hall, no throne set apart, but there may as well have been for how Peotyr was treated. He was far enough down in the line to refuse marriage proposals, though that rarely mattered–he was far enough down that he only occasionally received them. Thus there were ladies below, many of them, of all descriptions–Valentin’s eye had been caught by a plump beauty with pearls sewn into her brunette hair, showing more cleavage than was in fashion, until they'd realized she'd not be wooing, certainly, because she was one of Peotyr's younger aunts. The Rogarvias of all people had not come to that, just yet, owed to the startling fecundity of the lot of them.

Even those ladies unrelated to the young prince showed little real interest. There was kindness, certainly, a word exchanged here or there, but it seemed that in all the Hall, there was no one with their sights set on the hand of the man. Valentin liked it that way. The dance around him was a beautiful thing, not scripted, but propriety demanded certain actions, and these rippled in a shockingly steady rhythm through the hall. From above it was like watching petals floating on water, or some frenzied, insane dance. They could have watched all night–they were supposed to be looking out for poisonings–but pity got the better of them.

Valentin had little in the way of proper party attire–their ideal parties required no attire, at all, not a stitch on them. There weren't many of those. A girl could still dream. Throwing together something worth wearing was a challenge, but they had enough eye for it to only be a decade or two out of fashion–a faux pas, but not terribly much of one.

Their stays were easily laced, the buttons a detail of creamy stone, likely only calcite. It went well with the soft, dusty pastel of the garment. This, they'd picked up as an experiment, which had failed gravely–the dye had been meant to give it a lavender color, but had been sensitive to acids and bases, and so it was a twee sky blue. With this went leggings and a coat, the leggings nothing special and the coat an old gift from their mother when they'd travelled north. Rabbit fur, tawny yellow-blonde. It went with their eyes well enough. Last the belt, and the boots, both a cream to match the buttons. It was nothing, compared to Peotyr's full fur ensemble, but they weren't a prince, and he could take his rescue even if it came in rags.

The stairs wound downward at almost dangerous angles, made worse by Valentin’s lack of care with their things. Here and there a dried pool of…something coated the stone, leaving puddles sticky enough to pull the shoes right off your feet, if you were careless. Other spots were acid-eaten, the result of past experiences, and one wall even had long, inch-deep scratch marks, the result of Peotyr experimenting with a Drakeheart elixir. Valentin took it all quickly and easily, having descended these stairs so often that they didn't need a light to see by. They took them two at a time.

The hall was not so far off–it had been made central to the palatial design, easily reachable from any point in the house, once you'd breached the walls. They could hear the music from here, great swells of string and hollowed bone flute making something almost magical. Almost–they’d lost the bard to consumption two moons ago, and had not yet sent for another. Servants bowed out of the way as Valentin passed, save for a couple of their friends. These, they drew close for a moment, kissing both cheeks in quick greeting, appeasement more than acknowledgement.

If the dance was water, they were oil. They slid through it untouched, bouyed and bounced by the one-two-three movements of everyone around them. A pretty elf–Shoshanna Briars, by name–pressed a cup of spiced wine into their hand, which they raised in thanks, before finally sidling up beside their liege.

“You know, I could make cyanide pills next time. If you want an easier out.” This with a sip of the herbal wine. When they'd first gotten here, they'd found it thick and bitter. Years had tempered their palette to this, and to the elk and snow leek diet that was customary here. At least Peotyr tended fig trees in the hot house, and insisted that Enlarged goats be kept in order to make cheese of their milk. It was the little things.

“Someone would resurrect me. We can't be running out of spares.”

“Your people breed like rabbits, Lord. The only way you’ll see the throne is in event of cataclysm. Bloodline curse. Something.” Peotyr made a noise at that, an affirmative one. He leant back in his chair, tipping his head back at Valentin. He'd been in his cups, then–there was a redness to his pale face, a looseness of expression.

Valentin leant on the back off his slightly-fancy chair, all conspiratorial. They had nothing to actually gossip about, but let the others look and make scandal. They would anyway, now that Valentin has appeared. When they spoke to Peotyr next, it was in Gnomish, the tone mimicking rumor.

“You do well with the bread and circuses. Irroveti called this ‘The Northern Mivon’ recently, and perhaps he isn't wrong. Strange, that–I couldn't find the dig in it. He sounded very nearly sincere.” They smiled at that, conscious that even their smile was strange to these people, the down-turning corners and out-curling tusks belying the fact that they were from somewhere very, very far from here–at least by origin.

Peotyr's gnomish accent was as pathetic as Valentin's Common, which could more properly be called Hallit, elsewhere. He'd learned well, though, conjugating his verbs almost like he spoke the language.

“Flattery won't get him anywhere if he has nowhere to get. Stop manipulating the poor people, Valentin. When you smile like that, people wonder what for.”

“Mm. Your attack dog, your loose cannon, your godless tool of dark sorceries. I do threaten them, don't I?”

“If I didn't know you, you'd threaten me, and it's not about your face.”

“I could ask what you mean, but I think you'd bruise my heart.” Valentin took another long drink of their wine, thick as blood.

“I mean that you and your twin were raised well, and your mother did right by you, and still I'm not sure how far you'd go if anyone gave you half a reason.”

“The good news is that no one's giving me one. I live here, fat and happy and unchallenged. I understand the purpose of a border march, really, but you're woefully short of enemies. I'm not that nasty, Peotyr. You've dug the claws right out of my fingertips with years of steady employment and good feeding.”

“No,” Peotyr mused, swirling his own wine, “no, I don't think I have. Your claws are extant as ever, only sheathed. A knife doesn't get duller for being in a scabbard.”

“Not on your scale of time. What will happen a hundred years from now, when I serve your little cadet branch's heirs, and their heirs? When all the skin has rotted from your bones, do you think I'll still be as sharp?” Valentin dared a touch, gently scratching sharp fingernails at Peotyr's scalp. He didn't mind it sober, and drunk he leant into it lightly, almost imperceptible.

“The equilibrium will have shifted by then. Install someone for that long and they become a part of the place, a genius loci with skin. I think that's a different kind of force to be reckoned with. You understand I'm not saying this to be cruel, yes? I like your edge. In another life I'd have liked to see your mettle tested. Imagine that.” Peotyr leant his head on his hand, watching the slow winding down of the dance. “Me in gleaming maille, directing the charge. You at my right hand, spreading another type of desolation entirely.”

“Your battles sound better in books, and you are very, very drunk. I'd help you back to your quarters, if people wouldn't assume we were fucking about it.”

“Let them assume. Like I have scads of suitors? No one would want to marry this place, and to marry me is to marry it. Unless I take the throne–and I won't.”

“Some people would. You were just talking about me becoming part of this place–and how long has Shoshanna served your cups?”

“Since my grandfather's time, but she's still running from those murder charges. They think I don't know that she did it, but I've seen her long, thin knives.”

Valentin helped Peotyr to his feet bracingly, wishing ridiculous things for a moment–that they had cleavage for him to drunkenly faceplant into, maybe, or that the roof would cave in and kill them both. Their affection felt so very juvenile, sometimes, a child's fairytale. Overwrought. Still they were steadfast, because the heat that stained their own cheeks a deep purple could be written off as a product of the wine, and because no one has even bothered paying them mind. Maybe people had been assuming they'd been fucking for a while. Maybe Valentin was so low below his station for it to be unthinkable.

The walk back to Peotyr's room was decently long, only because he had insisted on staying in the ancestral bedroom where generations of his indirect line had fucked and birthed and died. It was a nice suite, at least, wood-paneled, high-ceilinged. Valentin tolerated Peotyr's body heat and the smell of his fur outfit, the tang of the bitter wine and the steps misaligned with theirs. They were sworn into service, after all, and if it wouldn't be service in battle, it'd be this. They saw him at his vanity, and he was grateful for the assistance.

It was stupid, the emotion that made them kneel before him. Their deft, sharp-nailed fingers were gentle as they undid the laces of his fur and leather boots. They were gentle as they helped him slip the coat off–unsurprisingly, the damned thing was heavy, the product of many animals stitched together. Beavers, maybe, or otters. Thick, glossy, dark hair coated the thing, and it was a hideousness–but it was a relic, so they hung it nicely in the wardrobe.

Peotyr had servants for this, dressing men that would have been happy to help–but Valentin did not call them, and Peotyr kept his mouth shut, too. He wore a heavy pendant of office, the Rogarvia sigil outlined in silver and gold. Their fingers deftly undid the clasp, and this hung above the vanity on a special hook–Peotyr was not to leave his chambers without it, though that didn't seem to stop him. Their fingers stilled and curled at the back of his neck, and again he tilted his head back to look up at them.

“I meant what I said, about serving your house after you're dust or gone. Fidelity to House Rogarvia.”

“Such a curious thing.” Peotyr was speaking Hallit again now, the people's language, rough even in his educated tones. “You're not an antique, like Shoshanna. I'm your first leige. You have your freedom whenever you want it, and certainly on my death you'd be given the choice to leave with full commission, retire to a house of your own. Somewhere warmer, if you wanted. And, speaking frankly, since the necklace is off–we both know that the right of kings is bunk. I'm not compelling you to serve, and yet you do, willingly. You'd dull your ambition forever to serve in my house.”

“I would,” Valentin said. And venerate your bones forever, they did not, not wishing to give the prince nightmares.

“Fidelity. When I write in my journals, I hope you know I'm documenting that. The house Rogarvia will have friendship forever with the house Valentin, if you start one.”

“Unlikely. One of me scares your people enough, and we run in pairs. A kingdom of blue menaces would tip the scales to revolution, I think.”

“I'll find a way to repay your service someday, Alein. Don't try my honor, on that.”

“You are forgetting that you give me a wage, a room, and board.”

“And it still doesn't satisfy you. That's all given for the position, but someone could do your job a shade as well and still get that. That's not what I want to reward you for. Your dissatisfaction is fair–because I don't pay you for fidelity, for loyalty, for–intimacy.”

“No, you would pay whores for that, if they hadn't all frozen their prodigious tits off making the journey up.”

“Valentin, I'm serious. I am–” Peotyr paused, with the look of a man whose foundational walls were crumbling. He wouldn't have looked more stricken if the twelve foot thick walls outside had suddenly disintegrated. “I am unimaginably lonely. I have my study, I have my servants, and I have you. My brothers and sisters are worlds away, married or lonely on their own. You are my only true friend. I'd be undone without you.”

“My lord,” Valentin said, and then they stopped. Their hand had not moved from the back of his neck. “Don't pay me for fidelity, loyalty, intimacy. I give it freely, and with no expectation of return. I should retire for the night–you want your bed, I see it in your eyes.”

“Val–Alein. Leave if you will, but we'll be friends first. If I've bruised your heart somehow, say that you'll forgive me. Say we can talk in the morning, with less wine between us and more light.”

“Before breakfast, my lord, if you want it.” They made to slip away, but Peotyr's hand grasped their wrist. It wasn't an iron grasp, not even an insistent one, but it was enough.

“I'm being an egoist,” Peotyr said, softly, “and I'm being interminably presumptive. I can't ask you for more, but I will–I’ve hurt you. Stay the night in the servant's quarters off this room, please–I won't be able to sleep, thinking that I've caused you to run away. Gods but I've done ill by you. Years of friendship and still I sit here like a stone, whining about how alone I am.”

“You're not whining, you're drunk. I'll stay in the quarters, and I'll administer your hangover cure in the morning, and you will rest easily, my lord. My heart has taken bruises and will take more, but you didn't put one there. I've had it for a long time. Been pressing it with my fingers every so often to refresh the pain.”

“That's no way to live.”

“My fidelity is yours, Peotyr, and my loyalty, and my intimacy. Now you want my heart, too?”

Peotyr didn't answer that, chewing on his cheek softly, and looking at them with eyes a dark and liquid brown, depths of dark water that they couldn't parse. They met them as best they could, well aware that their own stare was piercing at best. Finally, Peotyr answered with a final tightening of his hand on their wrist, and then by releasing it.

“Sleep well, Valentin. If you get cold, or want your nightclothes–let me escort you. There's something unsettling me tonight, and it would ease me like nothing else to be sure that you were safe.”

“You cage your little bird, and then insist you watch as it flits from place to place.” Valentin gave another small smile at that, confident that of all the people in this building, Peotyr was one of few who would take their smile as it was.

“That's not a no.”

“It isn't. We'll take up the candle together if I find myself missing my things–though if I get cold, I'll steal your blankets, and if I feel exposed I might well steal your night robe.”

“And such is the payment for fidelity. Sleep well, Valentin, I say it again. We'll speak in the morning with clear heads and, I hope, clear consciences.”

“You have nothing to worry after on my account. Your conscience can be clear as water.”

They left him at that, and they didn't come for his blankets, or his robe, or a midnight walk through the palace. In point of fact, they didn't emerge until morning, and by then Peotyr's sheets were cold. It was the last time the price was ever seen alive, and Valentin had held onto it for long, long years. The bruise on their heart had gone from a healing green to a hematoma black, that morning. Their conscience and their mind had not been clear since.

#Valentin #Pathfinder: Kingmaker

[thesumlax]

Time to post some more of those kooky creatures my subconsious produces at night!

***

The first pic is dedicated to a a single dream that yielded an entire sketch page, focused on a new batch of Pokemon being reviewed by @bogleech (this is how I usually learn about new Pokemon).

1) A spiky worm that attacks by rotating its body like a drill. The review noted that it had two beta versions with much spookier faces.

2) Kind of like if Mudkip was designed by a very different artist. Also had a beta version with empty dark holes for eyes.

3) An upside down bunny head with ear-paws, a propeller made of leaves and a straw tail... yeah, that`s how I remember it. It could evolve into either 4) or 5).

6) An obligatory "sexy" one.

7) and 8) - don`t remember much about these ones, not even their colors. (Edit: just realized that 8 looks kinda ambiguous - that is indeed a mouth on its forehead.)

9) Apparently the plot of these dream Pokemon games got pretty weird too - according to the reviews, at the end of the previous game the main villain turned into this lobopodian creature and just walked away, so the fans were expecting the newest instalment to explain this shit.

10) This was seen on the same night, but I`m not sure if it`s connected to the Pokemon stuff in any way. Not even sure what this thing really looked like, all I know is that it wanted some help taking samples of its bodily fluids with these trocar-like implements.

***

The second image is simply a collection of various unrelated dreams of varying age. Unfortunately, I only remember the colors for some of them. 1) and 2) are presumably variations of the same dream mechanoid. In both cases the "mouth" is where the pilot enters. This is a very old dream that I completely forgot and then recently remembered upon stumbling on a sketch of these things.

3) This little cartoon plesiosauroid was the protagonist of a very long and strange dream plot. He lived on a tropical island, but after being absent for a while he found it taken over by a bizarre jail resembling a steampunk mechanical garden. After getting through its complicated gate mechanisms and going down a large escalator he found a seemingly normal mall, though with some areas closed off and requiring authorization. Going further underground, he ended up in a place resembling some old Russian police/government offices, or something like that. The deepest level consisted of catacombs populated by neon green zombie celebrities. I don`t really remember what the little dude and his human friend were doing there, but I think that in order to remove the jail from the island they would have to be imprisoned here first.

4) Crab chicken. That`s all.

5) This dream was set in a world populated by many tribes of strange critters. These walking fish heads were the protagonist tribe looking for a new home. Some of the other tribes they encountered were: rather generic wingless dragon-things, brightly colored Dumbo hippos (6), and these dino-birds (7) which had various beak shapes and could be both bipedal and quadrupedal.

8) Some dwarf-like mole-men, or maybe mole-like dwarves. They lived in fear of an "earth dragon" (9, not to scale - it would be at least twice as tall as the little guys) which had a terrifying ability to control them with its song. The "dragon" was actually the female of their species, and while she was unfortunately cannibalistic, she also created the caves they lived in with her acidic spit and powerful claws.

10) I think this goat is a wizard and also a ghost.

11) This dream was about a new game mode revealed for Overwatch 2, in which you play as Reinhardt in a strange, colorful, organic-looking alien environment, seraching for these glowing blue blobs in order to smash them with his hammer (made more difficult by the hammer being invisible for some reason). This alien world Reinhardt was lost in had its own sentient species (12 - yes, they literally look like pieces of cloth) willing to help him, and some fauna (13) that got in his way. I believe this is the second dream I had which offered a way to make Overwatch much more interesting!

14) And we`ll end on this hypnagogic image of some weird-ass horse. For some reason my hypnagogic flashes produce much more bizarre imagery than actual dreams.

#my art #sketches #dreams #pokemon #bogleech #overwatch #those things were in the dreams so they go in the tags

[lakemacquariefencing]

Creating Outdoor Retreats with Aluminium Privacy Screens

In a world where the pace of life often feels unrelenting, the need for moments of tranquillity and respite becomes ever more essential. Our outdoor spaces offer a canvas upon which we can paint our very own sanctuaries, places where we can escape the clamour of the modern world and reconnect with nature's serenity. In the pursuit of creating these havens of peace, one versatile and stylish solution emerges: aluminium privacy screens Newcastle. These unassuming yet remarkably effective screens hold the power to transform your outdoor area into a tranquil retreat, providing both privacy and aesthetic enhancement. 

The Advantages of Aluminium Privacy Screens

Durability and Low Maintenance

Aluminium privacy screens are designed to withstand the elements, making them an excellent choice for outdoor use. Unlike wood, which can warp or rot over time, aluminium is corrosion-resistant and will maintain its structural integrity for many years. This durability ensures that your outdoor retreat remains an inviting space season after season. Furthermore, aluminium screens require minimal maintenance, saving you both time and money in the long run. A simple occasional wipe-down is usually sufficient to keep them looking their best.

Privacy and Security

Privacy is a crucial element in any outdoor retreat. Aluminium privacy screens can be customised to your desired height and design, effectively shielding your space from prying eyes. This added seclusion not only enhances your sense of privacy but also contributes to a more secure environment. Whether you're enjoying a family gathering, a quiet afternoon, or a romantic evening, you can relax knowing that your outdoor retreat offers the privacy and security you desire.

Aesthetic Versatility

One of the most significant advantages of aluminium privacy screens is their versatility in design. They come in a variety of styles, patterns, and finishes, allowing you to choose the perfect aesthetic that complements your outdoor space. Whether you prefer a sleek modern look or a more traditional design, there is an aluminium privacy screen to suit your preferences. You can even opt for custom designs or laser-cut patterns to add a unique touch to your outdoor haven.

Creative Ideas for Using Aluminium Privacy Screens

Deck and Patio Dividers

Aluminium privacy screens can be used to partition your deck or patio into distinct zones. Create a cosy dining area, a serene reading nook, or a tranquil meditation space by strategically placing screens in your outdoor space. By doing so, you can fully utilise your outdoor area, even if it's not particularly large. Additionally, these screens can act as windbreaks, providing protection from gusty breezes and creating a more comfortable outdoor environment.

Garden Retreats

Enhance your garden's beauty by using aluminium privacy screens to create secluded corners. These screens can be installed among your plants and flowers to establish peaceful alcoves for relaxation. Incorporate a comfortable bench, some soft cushions, and a small table for the perfect garden retreat. The screens not only offer privacy but also frame your garden's beauty, turning it into a picturesque backdrop for your outdoor oasis.

Poolside Seclusion

If you have a swimming pool, aluminium privacy screens can provide the ideal barrier between your pool area and the rest of your yard. This not only ensures privacy while you swim but also adds an element of safety for families with children. Additionally, these screens can help reduce the amount of debris that enters your pool, making pool maintenance more manageable. Consider adding some outdoor lounge chairs and a shade sail to complete your private poolside retreat.

Outdoor Shower Enclosure

Enjoy the luxury of an outdoor shower while maintaining your privacy with an aluminium screen enclosure. It's a stylish addition to your outdoor space that offers both convenience and seclusion. The sound of water and the open-air experience create a refreshing and invigorating shower experience. To make it even more inviting, consider adding some lush plants and natural stone flooring to your outdoor shower area.

Aluminium privacy screens are a valuable addition to any outdoor retreat, offering durability, privacy, and aesthetic versatility. With a wide range of designs and customization options, you can create a tranquil sanctuary that reflects your personal style and provides a haven from the stresses of daily life. Whether you're looking to transform your patio, garden, or pool area, aluminium privacy screens are an excellent choice for enhancing the beauty and functionality of your outdoor space.

Embrace the serenity of your own private outdoor retreat with aluminium privacy screens, and savour the peace and tranquillity they bring to your life. These screens not only enhance the visual appeal of your outdoor space but also contribute to a sense of well-being, making your retreat a place of relaxation and rejuvenation. As you explore the creative possibilities of aluminium privacy screens, you'll discover that they are a versatile and valuable addition to any outdoor oasis. Create your dream outdoor retreat today and experience the joy of having your own private sanctuary right outside your door.

#aluminiumprivacyscreensnewcastle #aluminium privacy screens newcastle #fencingnewcastle

[miloscat]

[Review] Pixeljunk Eden (PS3)

Eye strain never looked this good.

When they announced the PS3 store would be phased out, I went looking for interesting things to buy. I’m familiar with Q-Games, the Kyoto-based company headed by Dylan Cuthbert, thanks to their work on the Star Fox series, and I was interested in the subgenre of vertically-oriented platformers. Now it heralds the approaching end of this series of reviews on grapple games.

Pixeljunk Eden is part of the largely Sony-exclusive “Pixeljunk” series of unrelated games. This was their take on a sidescroller, and a very unusual one it reveals itself to be. You play as a small plant creature hopping floatily around abstract spaces, spinning on a tether and racking up combos popping pollen seeds to grow plant platforms at designated nodes, to climb higher and ultimately find MacGuffins... and get a high score. I didn’t engage with the whole leaderboard system but it was obviously a key part of the design.

Each “garden” aka level (10 in the base game, 5 more with the Encore DLC pack) has five mystical somethings scattered around. The thing is, you’re forced to play through them five times apiece, each time getting one extra thingamajig during the run. Some levels are a bit more open but for many of them this means playing through the same sections the same way five times, which got tiresome. I didn’t like this design choice that prescribed the way you play, nor did I appreciate the arcadey time limit which causes even more repetition if you get too stuck or lost and run out.

At its best the game charmed me with its unique movement systems and the lovely feeling of opening up new paths by growing strange plants. A simple control scheme masks complexity: all face buttons do the same thing: jump, hold while jumping to spin a silk tether, hold in midair to spin (this attracts pollen, lets you pass through plants, and attacks some enemies). There’s also a tether retract button, and a gimmicky Sixaxis movement to stomp downwards, but the basics are solid. Bouncing back and forth on terrain, swinging around to soar through open air, knowing when to spin or not, these actions never lost their appeal.

By fully clearing the game you unlock a new mechanic, the ability to shoot a grappling thread out in midair. I really wish this had been an option from the beginning, as it was fun to use (and would have saved me a lot of time from falls!!) but with my mindset I had no reason to return to any level I had completed, no desire to improve my times or scores. It’s another symptom of the unfortunate prescriptivism baked into the game design, a philosophy that seemed at odds with the naturalistic, if alien, theme.

At this point I should mention the strong hand that Japanese artist Baiyon had in the game. He was behind both the driving trance soundtrack and striking visual style of the game. While I think both were valid artistic choices that give the game a strong identity, both ended up giving me a headache! The intense block-colour contrast style—very much like that seen in Q-Games’ DSiWare hit 3D Space Tank/X-Returns—coupled with the pulsing backgrounds would never fail to give me red, bloodshot eyes after a session. One of the few games I can say to have done me direct physical harm, along with what Crypt of the Necrodancer inflicted on my hands and wrists.

Ultimately my feelings are mixed. Many levels dragged on and were too punishing on mistakes, I didn’t jive with the arcadey structure, the enemies were strengthened too early which reduced the effectiveness of the tether, and the aesthetics came on a little too strong. But I have to admire Eden for its vision, and that unique gameplay loop. I just have to hope the sequels get a little more user-friendly.

#pixeljunk eden #pixeljunk #q-games #review #ps3

[the-antiapocalyptic-man]

Mongul, Master of the Warworld.

Mongul is heir to a long line of Warworld’s rulers. The original Mongol stole a cutting from the Mother Mercy plant that had been central to the culture of Mongul’s people pre-Warworld. Warped by his experiments, the new Black Mercy variant became a useful tool for Mongul to stage a coup and completely warp society to his own ends.

Eventually--inevitably--Mongul’s authoritarian world order became unsustainable, and he fled into space with his children and a garden of Black Mercy large enough to control anyone they encountered. It would be several generations before another Mongul happened upon his lineage’s other great weapon: the mobile planet-sized battle station of unknown design and origin. Centuries later, when finally analyzed in full, it would be discovered that the Mongul clan had stumbled upon an abandoned Monitor nano-machine, trapped in a universe through unknown means and left at giant-size by a faulty interspatial translation.

Taking control of Warworld from the Warzoon and Largas species that populated it up until that point, Mongul began to grow his prestige by staging gladiatorial games, pressing warriors like Bolphunga the Unrelenting, Draaga, and even the Mongul heir Jochi into deathly combat.

It would be the arrival of Kal-El, the Superman of Earth, that would change Warworld forever. Mercy had always been something of a euphemism on Warworld, a word that always meant death in some form. Superman’s display of real mercy, kindness without weakness, disrupted Mongul’s power and led to him being deposed in short order, Draaga and Jochi starting steps towards a more egalitarian government, though meeting resistance from Jochi’s aunt, Mongal.

Humiliated, he would come to be known as Mongul the Last pursued Superman back to Earth, trapping him in the altered reality of the Black Mercy. Underestimating Kal’s allies, Mongul found himself trapped in the Black Mercy himself, a victim of the very weapon that the first Mongul had used to gain his power.

Collected by the surviving Mother Mercy, Matris Ater Clementia--now a Green Lantern--Mongul spent the remainder of his life in a Merciful Fugue, believing he had conquered all the universe. With Mongal exiled for her crimes and Jochi striving to build a better society than his forebears, Mongul had only one other heir to his power: The White Mercy, a product of Dr. Isley’s experiments with the Black Mercy and Mother Mercy plants, and Mongul’s youngest child.

#dc #headverse #fanart #mongul #mongal #jochi #mother mercy #black mercy #white mercy #warworld

[rxttenfish]

[slides in] Hi Hello now that I know you’re on Tumblr I must Ask as a Simp: How’s my bby Sawyer doing with your redesigns :eyes:

HI HELLO!!!! funnily i camp out a lot more on tumblr than i do twitter - that character limit REALLY does not make me happy. unfortunately, i keep getting shadowbanned from tags here (who the hell knows why), so it can be a lot harder to find me.

so!!! demons!!!

i don't really have as much down for them so far, at least in comparison to some others. i do have them intimately very tied to the magic system i worked out, and i very much want them to evoke more classical demon imagery - so more "garden of earthly delights" or "fall of the rebel angels" than... anything we typically see in modern demon designs, really!

i just think these kind of designs are far more evocative of what i want from a good demon design, and what they are, at their core. if people can demand "biblically accurate angels" (which are not all biblically accurate, but i digress) then i can demand "biblically accurate demons"!

so, what are demons exactly?

demons, in as far as my redesigns and reworked lore, are a magical species that are one of the best-known fully magic-generated species. most other monsters are already biological in nature - witches are just humans who can process and form their own magical reserves, after all. merfolk and the leviathans reasonably could evolve in our own world, given enough time and luck, and all of the pressures that influenced their form already do exist and even create convergent forms in other lineages.

fully magical species are... well, not biological. they have no meat inherent to them, and they are unrelated to anything else alive. it's improper to even call them animals, because they essentially are a unique branch of life all their own.

see: magic attracts magic. the larger any given collection of magic is, the more magic is then attracted to it, forming these ever-growing pools that can be taken advantage of. large pools of magic begin to condense down into workable magic - which is to say, magic that can actually work or be used like magic, binding down enough on each other to begin to affect the world around it. however, magic cannot remain as workable magic forever. if it's not used, it starts to fray at the edges and go weird, which is called wild magic. wild magic can be set off extremely easily, have catastrophic consequences, or it can just... spontaneously force things to start happening. wild magic can affect workable magic in the same way as a spark in a powderkeg, and its from one of these large pools of magic getting set off by a wild magic spark that entirely magic species form from.

magic holds within it some influence of what's around it and where it came from. usually this doesn't mean a lot, most of these impressions are relatively harmless and tend not to get in the way of proper spells. if the pool of magic formed in the mountains - then you get some magic with an extra fondness towards creating geological events and formations. if an animal passed through that pool of magic, even a normal and nonmagical animal, then they can leave behind some impressions of themselves onto that magic. every pool of magic has a wide variety of all the impressions that the natural phenomena surrounding it left upon that pool, and if you come and walk through or build next to that pool of magic, then it will also start creating impressions of those buildings and of yourself onto that magical pool.

all of this comes together to mean that demons are formless beings at their core. their physical bodies are ever-shifting, a constant menagerie of all of the little impressions their magic picked up on. this is partially dependent on what they're around - those that look the most human probably spend a lot of their time around humans, and thus end up picking up on those physical traits. it's also partially dependent on what they inherited - as reproduction, for demons, is a process by which they will take an excess amount of magic from themselves and combine it with another's excess magic, with this combination creating some influence on what the new demon will look like. and its also partially dependent on what the demon themselves wants to look like - as they can draw from all of their different influences to make some more prominent than others, and purposefully shapeshift their body into whatever they need at the time or simply want to look like.

seldom does a demon ever truly resemble another. usually the only way to even tell that they are all demons is through their shared ancestry - even though they all look different and work differently, they unilaterally operate a certain way under the magic that created them, which means how they interact with the world and with other magic has to obey certain rules, and there are similar exploitations to this magic (think, binding them to serve your will, or banishing them, or creating lines of salt so that they have to apologize for breaking your shit before they're let back into the kitchen)

there's also a stereotype (because of course there is) that demons are inherently chaotic or dangerous, as well as known for making shady deals which harm other people. this is... largely untrue. rather, demons suffer from the same issue that rodents suffer from.

they have to keep burning their internal pools of magic and finding ways to release it, otherwise it will grow out of control.

you know how i mentioned that magic attracts magic? when demons are born, they have relatively small internal pools of magic. just however much their parents put in to make them, multiplied by however many parents they have (because this can range from one to a frankly massive amount) - and they're mostly just maintaining that. as they grow, their internal pools get larger, but they are mostly used up in the act of maturing and becoming an adult, so there's not a ton of excess. as an adult at their "peak", that internal pool has become large enough that they can then use that for stuff like pyrokinetics or other forms of magic that we could recognize as such.

but... it doesnt stop there.

larger pools of magic attract more magic to them. while biological-based species with their own internal pools of magic have ways to safely convert this excess magic into basic metabolic processes or otherwise release them, it becomes a problem when the entirety of the body is made of magic. too much begins to build up, more than can be possibly used by the demon in question. the older they grow, the more they have, the more they have, the more they gain. if they have too much, then the magic that runs them and creates them could break - or, the same thing that happened to create them could happen, where their workable magic becomes wild magic, and one tiny spark could destroy their body and everything around them.

(this is why i always compare demons to lobsters.)

so demons will often try to find ways to burn off this excess magic. usually this is through the simplest means - with outright using more and more of it. this is where the idea of them being destructive comes from, as magic is still dangerous. it's a naturally-occurring phenomena, yes, but it can easily get out of control and having what's basically a wizard with the zoomies every day is not exactly the safest thing to be around. precautions can and do happen, and they can be as careful as possible, but people always remember when things went wrong more than the several dozen times when things went right.

there's also another method: through forming deals with non-demons.

anyone can use magic. so long as you know how it works, you can absolutely use it, but you will always need a source of magic. for those who already produce their own internal pools of magic, that's pretty easy, and they can use themselves as their own source. for those without a source of magic, they have to find a source that they can draw from, be it a naturally-occurring pool, a magic item of some sort, or another person. even those who naturally produce their own pools can find another source, and especially will do so if a spell requires more magic than they can provide.

the longest-living demons, and those who can most easily manage this excess magic, will often form agreements with others who need a source of magic. its an easy way to burn off a lot of excess magic at once in a relatively safe and helpful way, and they aren't prevented from having more than one agreement either. in theory, a demon could even live forever and entirely stave off death, but the issue is that usually there are just not enough outlets to burn off all of the excess magic and its even too hard to access all of the potential outlets to make up for it.

as for sawyer themselves, i don't actually have a ton! i know i'm definitely going to take a LOT of bat influences to them once i get to figuring out that design, potentially even riffing off the vampires and their lore, since theyre produced via magical virus. definitely give them some short white fuzz, give them a few alternate wing designs that they can switch between (fashion!!! style!!!!), see how far i can push the "uncanny beauty", and go all-in on the hearts and arteries and veins. possibly a big slit mouth, kinda feline besides being entirely out of proportion? how much i'm going to include concubus influences also varies and i'd have to think on it - since i'd probably loop that in under more dream-based magic than anything.

#monster prom #monster camp #monsterprom #monstercamp #long post #ozzie phobia #ozzie-phobia #monster camp sawyer #ill get back to you once ive figured out how many eyes i want them to have #potentially even none.... only eyespots.... #demons have even more potential than gorgons do in this worldbuilding project. its wild. #and gorgons and merfolk both are more impacted by the moon than the werewolves #honestly i like that i have any post where i get to use these two images together #all the care guide says is 'biomass'

[evarcana]

Ev’s Homeland Lore

Trivia

Zadith - the country’s name might be a reference to Egyptian alchemist known in Latin as Senior Zadith. [tumblr likes to delete my external links but it’s on wiki]

Language - Zadithi, but demonym and adjective - Zadithian. No, I don’t know why

Cyrenice - the city’s name is created by combining names of two Ancient Greek and later Roman cities located in North Africa- Cyrene (modern day eastern Libya) and Berenice (modern day Egypt).

Some visuals are here.

Zadith

Zadith is a relatively large country bordered by the vast mountain ranges from the north to south-east and the sea on another side. It includes a dozen of islands (most of which are too small to be marked on the map below) off its south-western coast.

The population seems to concentrate in the western and southern areas, with the rest of the country’s territory being covered by Fenekh Desert and difficult terrain of highlands where human settlements are very sparse. Although the conditions there are harsh and not suitable for agriculture (except few oases), the area is rich in natural resources: with salt lakes and rich deposits of ores, such as gold, iron, copper, silver, as well as gems, limestone and marble.

Most of the south-west of the country benefits from the mild meditarenian climate with hot, dry summers and short and rainy winters. Wild olive trees are abundant, and large areas of oak and cyprus savanna provide pasture to the flocks and herds of the local farmers. Various fruit trees, almonds, grapes, wheat and barley are historically grown in the region.

The country has five main cities which also function as capitals of the provinces:

Zoar - the official capital of the country and its political centre which lies in a lush river valley;

Cyrenice - ancient seaside city and port known as academic and cultural centre;

Admah - remote mystic city on the step of the Clouded Mountains;

El-Kochab - eight angled star-shaped city hidden behind tall stone walls, home to the largest market in the country;

Tarut - capital of the island Thera and the biggest port on Zadithian islands.

Although it is not as multicultural as Vesuvia, Zadith was formed by the union of the formerly independent countries and later expanded further absorbing other city states and tribes, all being quite diverse culturally and ethnically. (Ev’s and Asra’s families have completely different backgrounds). The administrative regions of the country seem to broadly reflect those differences.

Zadithi is a common and official language, however the secondary native languages are still widely used in informal settings in certain areas.

The country is ruled by two equal Viziers (monarchs coming from two unrelated dynasties), each holding a veto over the other’s actions. The powers of Viziers are held in check by Ephors (form of parliament with 5 representatives of 5 provinces, the way those representatives are chosen varies by province). Each province is ruled by local governor and Zadithian history knows many instances in which the governors acted independently, and even in opposition to the rulers.

Zadith is considered a technologically advanced nation: there are complex irrigation and water supply systems, firearms are available to elite military, medicine is well developed, great strides have been made in the fields of chemistry and metallurgy. Due to the local conditions and farming not being predominant, the country is unable to export much of its agricultural produce (with exception to oil, cotton, linen). Zadith is most known for its luxury goods and crafts, such as fine fabrics, clocks, ceramics, spices, glassware, iron, jewelry and raw precious metals and gems. In many countries the word Zadithian is synonymous with innovative design and intricate craftsmanship. Zadith is also a well known place for headhunting when foreign nobility or royalty require teachers, scholars or any other skilled professionals.

Magic and mysticism are very common in Zadith: almost every household’s door has a protective charm on it and magical rituals are an essential part of the country’s festivals and celebrations. Magical creatures such as genies and phoenixes still live in the rural areas and some of them serve the most powerful magicians coming from Fenekh Desert and Clouded Mountains.

Both magic and science are highly respected in Zadith, but ‘intellectuals’ as a class still stand below nobility, religious leaders, who hold the political power in the country, and are not as wealthy as most of the merchants and landowners. Although knowledge and education is highly praised in Zadith, academic institutions are not that well developed. Most people study through private home tuition and apprenticeships. Popular and well developed academic disciplines as mathematics, physics, chemistry, geography, history and languages.

Zadith has complex currency and measurement systems, public holidays and customs vary by province which does not make trade with the country very straightforward. It is also known for not the most effective administration and tedious bureaucracy: if a foreigner wants to open business or pay taxes in Zadith, they are most inevitable going to go through at least 5 officials, fill in 15 forms and wait long time because the office that they need is either closed for the afternoon break (it’s hot country, they have siesta) or all the right people are off work celebrating something in their hometowns.

Cyrenice

Pronounced as Ki-re-nay-is in Zadithi.

One of the oldest cities in Zadith, sometimes called the city of thousand statues: all built from the light coloured stone with a large commercial harbor overlooked by a walled tower. The city’s heart is the central district known as Agora which is the area of markets, public squares and plazas, where the people can formally assemble or gather for festivals, religious temples and shrines and the location of the main municipal buildings. Much smaller artistic and academic districts are also part of Agora. Residential districts are wrapped around the city centre from the north to south east. It looks like there is not much vegetation in the city with most of the gardens being hidden ininternal courtyards.

Cyrenice is known for holding many of the country’s artistic treasures and its vast ancient libraries which are open to the public. Throughout history those libraries attracted many scholars and academics, which allowed Cyrene to contribute to the intellectual life of the Zadithians, mostly through its famous historians, philosophers and mathematicians. One of the city’s attractions is the annual festival when the scholars finally leave the walls of the libraries and their faculties and compete in sports.

Alchemy

The concept of transmutation of base materials into noble metals is not central in Zadithian alchemy - they have plenty of gold without it. Alchemy is not focused on any particular type of science or magic, it is rather broad concept of combining both in various proportions: there are alchemists focused on medicine, physics, mechanics, chemistry, geology and astronomy and so on. Various enhanced crafting like creating magical items for practical use, also sometimes being considered as part of the alchemy.

It is not a new concept is Zadith and there is an ongoing debate on how it originated. Some say that alchemy was developed out of the practical necessity with magicians applying scientific principles to enhance their spells and scientists using magic to achieve faster results, some say it was purely academic discipline which found its practical application.

Much like scientists, alchemists are very proud and protective of their work. They use secret languages and codes to protect their research and notes and some are in the fierce competition with each other.

Alchemy is generally considered to be niche and complex discipline and there are way less alchemists than magicians.

#now the big question is why did I do write all of these #and how do I tag it #the arcana #evpanopolis #the arcana worldbuilding #fan apprentice #worldbuilding #disclaimer: this is intentionally vague and is not supposed to be a representation of any place or culture in the real world

[friendlylocalwriter]

Chapter 2 of The Quiet Stranger

Pairing(s): Geralt of Rivia x fem!reader

Warnings: None

Requested: No

Prompt: You live a quiet life in the forest with your mother after the fall of Cintra, selling grains and produce to keep enough coins for survival. When your mother leaves for a long journey to the market, you're surprised to meet a white-haired stranger in dire need of help, and even more surprised by how you feel about him.

Word Count: 2916

Chapter: 2/?

Previous Chapters : Chapter 1

A/N: Hi guys! I had so much fun writing this chapter, and I’ve already started planning the next one which’ll be much longer and spicier ;) I have a Superman request that I will hopefully be filling next week, and I want to write a Mando fic while we get tortured wait for the s2 trailer to release! As always, reblog + comments are so welcome, and this is posted on my AO3 @/violettaren. Love you guys <33

Geralt slept for the entire day and through the night. 

You weren’t surprised, though. You assume that whatever fight he had gotten into, which he seems intent on not telling you about, must’ve been intense if they were able to get that good of a gash on him. So you let him rest. And, you weren’t averse to stealing a few glances of his bare chest rising while he slept on your cot. You spent the first day of his arrival tending to the garden and trying to ignore how your mother would feel about you housing a stranger in your shack. The guilt only increased when you slept on your mother’s cot, tossing and turning in your sleep as you remember all your mother told you about not letting anyone in. 

You woke up the next morning before him, and rushed to change out of your nightgown. You chose a linen white skirt that hit just above the knee and a long sleeve off the shoulder black sweater that was a bit too thin for the humid Spring weather, but you’d make do. As you take your hair out of your ponytail and attempt to tame it, you wonder why you’re putting so much effort into your appearance, since he’ll be gone tonight anyway. As you pass by his sleeping body, your eyes focus on the gray pendant around his neck and creep forward to try and get a better view. 

A wolf. Interesting.  

You jump when he shifts slightly and immediately move away, not looking to be caught in such a compromising position. As you clean through the cot, you try and rack your brain to see if you remember ever seeing that necklace when you were in Cintra. But, like most things, you simply cannot recall much of anything from your childhood. 

Maybe it’s in the books.

After you glance over to make sure Geralt is still sound asleep, you tip-toe to the back of your shack where a large, old locked box resides. Your fingers toy with the lock and you make sure to get it just in that right position to…

You sigh in relief when you hear the quiet click of the lock opening. You lift the lid and remove the many tablecloths to find what you were looking for - the mangled brown leather journal with your father’s initials inscribed on the bottom of it. Your father, a sorcerer, compiled an anthology of all the monsters and non-humans that he came across, and it was the only thing of his that you and your mother still had. You trace the indentations with your finger, ignoring the heavy pull in your chest. You lock the box again and make your way to the main table, making sure to sit with your back to Geralt. 

It only takes a few moments of you thumbing through the yellowed pages of your father’s anthology to find that same design that’s on Geralt’s pendant, and the words above it scream at you. 

WITCHER . 

Of course. The secrecy, the wound, the swords, the hair . You read through the paragraphs on the page that describe the process of becoming a Witcher, and the effects of it. You can’t tear your eyes off of the underlined portion at the bottom, describing how Witcher’s no longer feel emotions after they consume the mutagenic compounds and complete their grueling training. It doesn’t take a scientist to understand why your father wrote that. He thought Witcher’s were evil.

“What are you doing?”

You immediately shut the notebook and launch out of your seat to see Geralt standing in front of you, his right eyebrow raised and his arms pressing folded over his chest, his biceps bulging underneath the pressure. 

“God, Geralt, you scared me,” you place your hand over your heart as you try and catch the breath that was shocked out of you. “I thought you were still asleep.”

“I wasn’t. What are you doing?” he repeats, unrelenting.

You quickly run through the possible outcomes of what could happen if you tell Geralt that you know he’s a Witcher. Surely, he wouldn’t wear his pendant if he was that intent on hiding his identity, right? But, then again, he could easily kill you if you try and be more invasive than you already have been. I mean, you just read about how Witcher’s are soulless monsters who only exist to take lives. 

You try to think of something, but you remember that you couldn’t lie to save your damn life. With a sigh, you pick up the notebook from the table and thumb through to find the page about Witchers. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you are a Witcher, Geralt?” you shove the notebook in front of you, and Geralt takes it from you, scanning the pages. You fumble with your hands, hoping Geralt didn’t notice how fake the confidence in your voice was. 

“I assumed you already knew. Is it not quite obvious?”

You scoff, surprised at how easy Geralt’s few words made you feel so naive and stupid. You snatch the notebook from his hand and brush past him, walking back towards the box. 

“You could’ve at least told me,” you close the lock with more force than you mean to, eliciting a loud bang as it comes in contact with the aged wood. 

“Why are you so upset?” he asks, and the simpleness of his question makes you even more pissed for some reason. 

“I’m not,” you retort, standing up and away from the chest. “I just wish you told me.”

“Would you have not treated me? Had you known I was a Witcher?”

You turn around sharply and don’t attempt to hide the confusion on your face. Geralt’s face was tight, the same it always was, but his voice was strained and his eyes were narrowed, the bright amber of his irises much more intimidating than they once were. 

“What? No, that’s not - that’s not what I meant. Geralt!” you call him after he walks away from you, grabbing his bag of weapons. He nearly makes it out of the shack completely until you yell his name again and he stops in his tracks. You flinch when he turns around to face you with one of the venomous expressions you’ve ever seen, his golden eyes boring into you. 

“What?” he spits, his mouth in a snarl. “You read that book. That’s what you all think of me, right?” 

You can’t help the tears that begin to pool in your eyes at the venom in his words. No one has ever yelled at you - even when your mother scolds you, she never raises her voice even slightly. You hated that Geralt was so upset at you for something you didn’t even mean. 

“Geralt, I promise you, that isn’t what I meant. I’m sorry,” you drop your head, sniffling. If he was going to leave, you wanted him to know you didn’t think anything lesser of him. You would never do anything like that.

You hear the clink of the bag of metal hitting the floor and an exhale come from the man in front of you.

“Stop crying. Please,” he folds his arms over his chest, and you can’t tell if the statement comes from guilt or annoyance.

“Of course I still would’ve treated you, Geralt,” you whisper, breaking the silence that had fallen. “I- I know what that feels like - to not be liked for something you can’t change. I’d never wish that feeling on my worst enemy.”

Geralt says nothing, his eyes locked on yours. 

“If you wish to leave, I won’t stop you,” you empty your chest, trying to convince yourself that you’re okay with that. “But I want you to leave knowing that. I was just scared, I guess. I have not seen anyone in ages, let alone someone like you - but that isn’t a bad thing. Not to me.”

Geralt still doesn’t speak, but he tears his eyes off of you to sit down on your bed.

“Are you upset with me?”

“No,” he murmurs, wincing as he tries to move without tearing the stitches. “I’m not.”

“Good,” you move forward and crouch in front of him, picking up the bottom of his shirt so you can take a look at the stitches. You look up at him to make sure he’s okay with it, and you take his stoic expression as a yes. You see that the stitches are healing quite nicely, but you also notice the dirt and grime that has gathered around it and on the rest of his stomach.

“When was the last time you bathed, Geralt?” you graze your fingers across his abdomen, cringing at the dirt that gathers under them.

“Bathing is a luxury for me. I do it when I can.”

You kiss your teeth and stand up, shaking your head. “A luxury? Nonsense, it is integral. A basic human right.”

“Well, I’m not exactly human am I?” Geralt counters, and you furrow your brows in confusion.

“If you are implying, Geralt of Rivia, that you do not need to bathe simply because you are a Witcher,” you pause to dramatically sniff him and make a sour face, “Then you are terribly, terribly mistaken.”

“Alright, enough.” he waves you off as you snicker proudly at your joke. “There’s no bath in here anyway.

 “I know a place.”

••••••

 You focus on the crunching of your feet on the leaves as you lead Geralt towards the river that you use to bathe. The moist dirt tickles your bare feet and you move the tall green weeds out of the way as you breathe in the fresh air, letting it fill your chest.

“The air is so clean because of all the trees. I love going back here.”

“Hmm,” is the only response you get from the man behind you. You briefly look back at Geralt with a smile.

“Such a man of few words,” you say after a few moments, your voice low. You’ve begun to not let the lack of detail from Geralt sting, since it seems that he won’t be opening up to you with his life story any time soon. In fact, you found an odd bit of comfort in his presence - somebody who doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with empty talk. So you accept it and make your way to the river with the quietude heavy between you.  

Even though you’ve been to this river so many times, it never fails to take your breath away. The water is a remarkable pale blue color, and it’s so clean that the light reflecting off of it is almost blinding. Old, decaying logs are littered throughout the bank of the river, spotted with green moss. As you get to the end of the worn trail where the rocks leading to the body water begin, you look up at the blush pink early morning sky and bask in the soft hum of various insects. 

“It is nice.”

Realizing that Geralt talked to you of his own volition and not just because you spoke to him., you feign surprise and look at Geralt with an exaggerated face of shock. “Wow, he speaks!”

Geralt rolls his eyes but you catch the smile on his face when he drops his head. A grin involuntarily makes its way onto your face, and you gesture towards the beautiful river.

“Well, here it is. I’ll go back to the garden and come get you later, alright?”

“You’re not going to bathe?”

Your cheeks and chest immediately get hot as you think of the idea of being so close to Geralt in such an intimate position with no clothes on, imagining the water droplets trailing down his chest and onto his-

You clear your throat and try to remember how words work.

“I was, um, just going to bathe after you were finished. So, uh, yeah.”

“Wouldn’t it just be quicker to bathe together? Wastes less time,” Geralt shrugs, placing his bag with his sword on the ground and reaching to pull off his shirt. “And I’m not sure of this road. Wouldn’t want to get lost.”

Huh. I guess that makes sense.  

“Well, only if you’re okay with it.”

“I proposed it, why wouldn’t I be?”

Not knowing what to say, you nod in agreement and watch him peel off the rest of his clothing. When he looks back at you, you don’t have a chance to explain why you were staring before he asks why you aren’t undressed.

“Uh, close your eyes, please,” you ask, toying with the waistband of your skirt.

Geralt laughs, like really fucking laughs, after you say that, but you can’t seem to find the humor in what you said.

“Geralt. I’m serious.”

“Fine,” he says with a chuckle, making his way towards the river and, after testing the temperature with his foot, glides in with his back facing you. Relieved, you take off your top and skirt, deciding against removing your undergarments, which included your underwear and a light tank top. You’re suddenly very conscious of your body and the way that it looks - no one has ever seen you like this. You force the anxiety out of your head and join Geralt in the river, giving him permission to turn around once you’re submerged up until your shoulders.

“Have you still got a shirt on?” he gestures towards the white strap that is peeking out from the water. “Is that not uncomfortable?”

“No,” you shut down any attempt at continuing that conversation, running your hands over your forearms to scrub off any potential gunk. The two of you naturally fell into another silence, enjoying the cool water as the sun started to rise, glaring down onto the river. The silence permeates for God knows how long until Geralt asks you a question.

 “What did you mean earlier?”

“Hm?” you turn at the sound of Geralt’s voice. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you know what it feels like. To be judged.” Geralt moves closer to you, causing ripples in the water. 

“Oh,” you sigh, mentally preparing yourself to tell a story you’ve never spoken about with anyone after it was relayed to you.

“My father,” you start after some moments, “He was a sorcerer - he was born with magic inside of him and had no proper training, but he was still incredible at his craft. Instead of working for the royal family, he decided to help the impoverished who lived near our home. He would heal them, mentally and physically, for quite little money. He took a few jobs under Queen Calanthe that granted him the coins to feed us, but that wasn’t where his heart was. He wasn’t interested in pointless politics,” your voice starts to break as you blink rapidly, attempting to keep it together. You notice Geralt’s expression soften, his jaw releasing from the clench it always seems to be in.

“And when Nilfgaard attacked, he didn’t fight. He stayed in burning buildings and ashy rubble, looking for anyone who needed help that wasn’t a priority to Cintra. And when he was found, he was trying to help a young girl whose leg had been caught under steel. He didn’t even flinch when he was struck, he just kept trying. He never stopped, never - it wasn’t in his blood,” your mouth opens to continue but nothing comes out except for a sob that racks your whole body. Your head falls in your hand and you cry and cry, forgetting that Geralt is standing in the water in front of you until you feel two large arms wrap around yours, enveloping you in a tight embrace. You stiffen instinctively at his tight grip, but let yourself melt into his arms and the water, grasping at his biceps. 

“He sounds like he was a good man, Y/N. You should be proud,” he reassured you, releasing his tight grip and lazily running his hands up and down your forearms. You nodded, not wanting to remove your face from the crevice in Geralt’s neck

“I understand the - the pain of loss,” Geralt says quietly, and you look up, expecting to hear more. Yet you see Geralt staring out straight in front of him, his expression unreadable, and you know that’s all you can squeeze out of him. You're okay with that, though. 

"I feel like I've cried more in the last few days than I have in years, Christ," you laugh, trying to wipe the tears off of your face but realizing the effort is futile as your soaked hands make your face even damper. 

Geralt says nothing but he brushes his thumbs across on your arm, and you register that he's still so close to you. You tilt your head up to look at his face and your eyes fall on the red scar on his cheek, the skin around it slightly raised from the inflammation of the cut. You slowly bring your hand up to his face using your index finger to lightly ghost over the cut, tracing the shape. Geralt closes his eyes as you continue running your finger over the left side of his face until the pad of your finger gets to his jawline, and you pull your finger away to point the pad of your finger in Geralt’s face.

“See?” you prompt with a smile, waiting for him to open his eyes. “All clean.”

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia fanfic #geralt x you #the witcher fandom #geralt reader insert #geralt fluff #geralt of rivia smut #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #the witcher fanfic #cute fic

[littleeyesofpallas]

BLEACH - Resurrección

Baraggan Louisenbarn’s resurrección is,

 髑髏大帝 [アロガンテ]: Arrogante

The katakana アロガンテ is pronounced “A-ro-ga-n’-te” a nice direct transliteration of the Spanish, Arrogante, obviously meaning “Arrogant.”   The Kanji however is basically totally unrelated, 髑髏大帝 meaning 髑髏: “Skull” (esp. weatherbeaten, used as symbol of death) or ”death's head,” and 大帝: “Great Emperor.”

His release call is 朽ちろ “Kuchiro” meaning, “to rot“/“to decay” or “to die in obscurity.“  It’s actually the same word that the family name Kuchiki uses to mean “Rotting/Rotted Tree.”  When you put them all together the imagery does kind of have a unifying theme, but it’s a little nebulous, and if even one of those words isn’t properly explored or conveyed the whole things is lost.  “Decay, Arrogant: Skull Emperor!“ doesn’t really communicate anything sensible, but “Die in obscurity, Arrogant:Old/worn-out skull emperor!“ pulls together better.

Abirama Redder’s resurrección is,

空戦鷲 [アギラ]: Águila

pronounced “A-gi-ra,” approximating the Spanish for "Eagle."  The kanji 空戦鷲 reads 空戦:"Air Battle” as in a “Dog fight” between airplanes and 鷲 :“Eagle."

The release call, 頂を削れ: “Itadaki o kezure" is interestingly handled. Viz uses "Scrape the summit!" which is in fact a pretty literal interpretation of the subject  頂: “summit”/”peak”/”crown (of the head)” and  削れ: “shave”/”sharpen”/”scrape.”  The more liberal interpretation used by some other translators has been “Scalp!” as in to cut the skin(and hair) from the top of someone’s skull.

Both actually seem to fit the theme surprisingly well, and if taken to be a reference to “Scalping” it may be a riff off of Abirama’s general design having vaguely native american aesthetics.

Perhaps my all time favorite case of Kubo’s dissonant naming is Charlotte Chuhlhorne’s resurrección,

宮廷薔薇園ノ美女王 [レイーナ・デ・ロサス]: Reina de Rosas

I think you can tell just by looking that there’s no way these two are direct translations between Japanese and Spanish.  The katakana レイーナ・デ・ロサス is pronounced “Re-ii-na de Ro-sa-su” approximating the Spanish for "Queen of Roses”  which is what Viz wrote as the translation: "Queen of the Roses."  But the kanji actually reads, 宮廷: “Imperial Court,” 薔薇園ノ:Rose Garden’s, 美: “Beautiful” 女王: “Queen;” so his sword’s full meaning is really, “Beautiful Queen of the Royal Court Rose Garden.”  Very different from just “Queen of the Roses.”

The release call 煌めけ: "kirameke" however was actually handled correctly, Viz used "Glitter" which is fairly literal.  “Sparkle” or “Twinkle” would also have been appropriate.  “Kirameke” is also the root of the sound effect, “kirakira” which is supposed to be the sound of sparkling/twinkling/glittering.  Japanese has a curious affinity for onomatopoeia for things that don’t actually make a noise, and it’s used mostly in manga as sound effects.  “Kirakira” is often used not just for the literal reflection of light but for a kind of metaphorical sparkle like energetic or bright attitudes, frequently relating to characters like pop idols; thus the association with Charlotte’s flamboyance.

Next up is Findorr Calius’s

蟄刀流断 [ピンサグーダ]: Pinza Aguda

The katakana ピンサグーダ is pronounced “Pi-n’-sa-guu-da”: Pinza Aguda, Spanish for "Claw, Sharp."  Once again Viz translated the Spanish, not the Japanese, as “Sharp Pincer.”  The kanji  reads 蟄: “Hibernation* (specifically of insects),” 刀流 : “Sword Style,” and 断: “Judgement.” 

*okay so scientifically speaking what crabs do in cold weather isn’t actually called “hibernating” (and neither is what insects do; that’s “torpor.”) at least not in English, but Japanese doesn’t have different distinct terms for all of those so the “hibernating” here is referring to when crabs go dormant, referencing Findorr’s ability to suppress his own power with his mask.

The release call, 水面に刻め: “Minamo ni Kizame” was translated by Viz as "Carve upon the water" which is more or less accurate.  But he specific word,  水面: “Minamo” is a compound of the kanji for “water” and “face” meaning literally, “surface of the water.”  Also, the verb  刻め: “kizame” has a few implications as to its use; it can mean “engrave” or “carve” but also “nick” or in other words a “fine cut.”  The idea is that it specifies a small or shallow mark, so rather than a grand motion of smashing or slashing into the water, the battle call reads more like “break the water’s surface” like emerging thru the surface of the water.  (i.e. a long sleeping crab rising up from the still water.)

and the last of the 4 Dragons, from the Dragons -vs- Ants battles, Choe Neng Poww’s

巨腕鯨 [カルデロン]: Calderón

The katakana カルデロン: “Ka-ru-de-ro-n’" approximates the Spanish Calderon which is both a common name for the "Pilot Whale" as well as a “Cauldron.”  The kanji is largely unrelated and reads, 巨腕鯨 “Gigantic Arm Whale,” which Viz took the liberty of just calling "Great Whale."

His release call, 気吹け: “ibuke” was translated as “Breathe” which isn’t exactly wrong, but the obvious interpretation that was meant here was “Blow” as in from a whale’s blowhole.

In the final stretch here, I know Baraggan’s got too many goons...  Ggio Vega’s resurrección is

虎牙迅風 [ティグレストーク]: Tigre Estoque

The katakana reads ティグレストーク: “Ti-gu-re-Su-too-ku” which is a little clunky but meant to be the Spanish Tigre Estoque, meaning "Tiger Rapier."  The kanji reads 虎牙迅風: "Tiger Fang Swift Wind."  Viz of course translated the Spanish, not the Japanese when they did this.

The release call, 食い千切れ: “kuichigire” means  食い: “Bite” and 千切れ: “Tear off”/”rip to shreds.”  Which doesn’t come across super succinctly in English, but the idea being the command to “rip to pieces with you teeth!”  Viz translated this as “Bite off“ which again is not technically incorrect, but also doesn’t functionally communicate the intended meaning.

and finally...

巨象兵 [マムート]: Mamut

Katakana, マムート: “Ma-muu-to” from Spanish “Mamut” meaning "Mammoth."  All super straight forward.  The kanji just reads  巨象兵:"Gigantic Elephant Soldier.  You can kind of tell Kubo threw this one together without a lot of thought.

The release call is 踏み潰せ: “fumitsubuse." Viz called it "Stomp Down" which is kind of weird considering the phrase pretty commonly can just be translated as “Trample” or “Crush under foot.”

One thing of note, these last two didn’t show up when Baraggan first appeared and only got added into the background as the first 4 fights went on.  They share the feature of being prehistoric animals (a sabertooth tiger and a woolly mammoth) which is actually a play on Baraggan’s own gimmick being age.  But the timing of their addition and the lack of a theme in the first 4 fraccion suggests heavily that Kubo didn’t have a theme in mind until right around the time Ggio and Nirgge showed up.

I’ve got more of these Resurreccion posts btw: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

#Bleach #arrancar #resurreccion #Baraggan Louisenbairn #abirama redder #charlotte chuhlhourne #findorr calius #choe neng poww #ggio vega #nirgge parduoc

[fallinnflower]

second life

jeonghan   joshua   woozi   dk   seungkwan

seungkwan x reader (fluff, angst, royalty!au)

“even in our next life / even at that time, I’ll go to you"

WARNING: implied major character death?

Honesty is a rare commodity in the life you live. Nobody dares tell you if the dress you’re wearing, seated beside the Queen Mother before the Court, is ugly. Everyone in your company praises you, even if you don’t deserve it. 

Perhaps that’s why you value Seungkwan so much. Because he’s the only person here who’s consistently honest with you — has been since you were children — despite the differences in your stations. You’d made a vow to one another when you were too young to understand your class differences to always be the others truest confidante. 

Boo Seungkwan’s loyalty was another of his great qualities. You imagine it’s what makes him such a good knight. 

It was Seungkwan’s father who was your most trusted guardian as a child, and it was Seungkwan himself who took up the mantle once he reached of age. Now, it was he who was stationed outside your door at all hours, who accompanied you on long trips. When your father offered you a different knight, you outright refused; selfishly, you wanted to keep Seungkwan near to you. 

Seungkwan is not only a good knight, but a good friend. You felt you could talk to Seungkwan, though you had always been made of a softer substance than the quick-witted boy. 

You aren’t an important princess at all, really. The youngest of five royal children, you are far from being the spare — you are the absolute last resort. The best you can offer your family is a good alliance via marriage, and as a result you had very few lessons to attend to past the age of thirteen. Your routine hinges solely on visits to or from other royal families with eligible bachelors, and so more often than not you’re left to your own devices. 

And left with you, always at your side, is Seungkwan. 

“What about this one?” You ask, exiting the large closet that constituted as your dressing room. Seungkwan steps away from the doorway to look at you, cocking his head to the side. You stand up straighter, smoothing the blush pink skirt down. 

“It looks like a cherry blossom.” You raise your eyebrows, trying to nudge him to continue.

“Fine,” he groans. “The sleeves look like a bunch of shrimps.” You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping. 

“This is the fifth one!” You cry, and Seungkwan only shrugs, smirking playfully at you. 

“It isn’t my fault that the designers have awful ideas—”

“Seungkwan!” You hiss, though you can’t help but laugh. He holds up his hands in mock defense, but the light nature of the situation slips away as you watch his eyes rake over you once more. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, watching the way his gaze traces over your visible curves. It gives you a chance to admire him, the way his eyes seem to burn over you just the same as yours burn over him. When his gaze meets yours again, you notice that the smile on his face is more genuine, more tender. 

“Try something blue,” he suggests, voice soft. “Blue suits you.” You playfully roll your eyes. 

“As if you know anything about fashion. Really, I don’t know why I’m asking you,” you tease. And yet, you go back into the closet and pull out the first blue dress you find. When you see Seungkwan’s dark eyes focused solely on you, you start to think that maybe blue really is your color. 

The visiting prince insists on going horseback riding. You are not very good at horseback riding — but who could be, in all the layers of skirts you have to wear. You love horses, visit the stables regularly with Seungkwan by your side when you don’t have anything else to do, but you’re bad at riding them. 

The prince who asks you to go for a ride doesn’t know this, but Seungkwan does. He gives you a knowing look the second you accept, and you give it right back. The thing is, you’re in no position to say no — you’re meant to be courting him. 

Seungkwan follows at a distance as you attempt to make smalltalk with the prince. Really, it’s mostly the prince talking and you nodding and trying not to fall off the horse as the two of you begin an uphill trek. 

You don’t catch what the prince says, but suddenly he’s decided to get his horse into a run. His horse suddenly cuts off yours, and you brace yourself as the mare beneath you rears back—

Rather than hitting the ground, a pair of arms carefully catch you. You’re met with the familiar, musky smell you associate with Seungkwan before you even open your eyes. 

“I always have your back, Your Highness,” he says. “You know that.” You tilt your head back to meet his gaze. For a long moment, the two of you just hold each other’s gazes. Being in Seungkwan’s arms feels undeniably right, and feeling his warm breath fanning across your face makes your heart race. 

“Don’t go falling for me, Princess,” he murmurs. You feel your heart skip a beat, and you bite down hard on the inside of your cheek—

Suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats returns, and Seungkwan raises you to your feet. The mare that had thrown you toes the ground, but otherwise appears calm; nonetheless, he takes hold of the reins and steps away from you, though you still feel the heat from his touch lingering on your skin. 

You tell the prince you feel too shaken to continue riding, and so instead the three of you ride back to the palace, where you are allowed to rest for the afternoon. But all you do is lie in bed and recall the way Seungkwan’s eyes burned into yours, the sensation of his hands upon your waist, and wish this stupid prince you’re meant to be courting was the knight you’ve known all your life. 

You wander out into the garden on the first true day of spring, Seungkwan following at a respectful distance. In the center of the garden is a fountain with little fish which has just been replenished, and you take a seat on a bench around its circumference. Your friend comes to a stop behind the bench, and you let out a sigh as you watch the fish dart about. Soon they’ll become fat and lazy, like the ones before them — only to disappear before the first freeze of winter. You can’t help but pity them, pretty as they are. 

“Seungkwan,” you say, and he hums in acknowledgement. “What did you think of that Prince that was here this winter? The one we went riding with.” You turn to look at him, finding his nose scrunched slightly in concentration. The sun turns strands of his black hair to gold, and you allow yourself to admire him. After all, your question isn’t unfounded—

“Too thin,” he says, finally. “You shouldn’t trust a man who doesn’t eat.” You can’t help but snort at Seungkwan’s statement, even if it’s unbecoming of you. It’s less of a reaction than Seungkwan expects, however, so he ventures closer to you so that he can see the expression on your face. You keep your gaze trained downward. 

“You’ll hear about it regardless, but I want to tell you myself,” you begin, voice low. “My parents have arranged for me to visit him this month. I really… I really think they want him to be my husband.” You can’t hide how the corners of your mouth curl in distaste at the words, but Seungkwan merely looks at you with a strange sort of stoicism. He doesn’t say a word, but he takes hold of your hand, lifting it to his lips; he presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles. It takes everything in you not to burst into spontaneous tears at that very moment. You look back at the fish as he rises to his feet, and pass the afternoon in silence. 

Your journey was doomed from the start, you should have known. Poor weather began almost immediately, unrelenting rain and chill for which you were neither dressed nor prepared. But the change in weather is only the beginning of your troubles, a rather trivial thing — because the next to come are the bandits. 

The moment they appear, Seungkwan slips into the carriage compartment unnoticed and drags you to the floor with him, pressing a finger to his lips. You grasp tightly onto his hands, afraid, your knuckles starkly white against his calloused hands. Seungkwan watches you with unwavering eyes, as though he’s trying to memorize your face; you find yourself doing the same. 

You can hear the commotion outside — the horses are in a panic, and the few men that had accompanied you have begun to clash swords with the bandits. Seungkwan’s gaze shifts to the door, one hand reaching for his blade—

“When I say run, you have to run, Y/N.” His voice is deathly serious. You’ve never heard him this way before, and it makes your blood run cold. 

“I’m afraid,” you whisper, barely above a breath, squeezing the hand you still hold in both your own. “Please— Seunkgwan, I’m afraid.”

He halts in his movements and turns back to you, the line of his mouth softened into a smile. 

“Y/N,” he murmurs, drawing closer to you. “I’ll come back. I’ll find you when this is over.” 

You can’t let go. You just can’t, and he must see the way you tremble all over. He sights softly and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, letting his hand linger. 

“No matter what. Even in our next life — even at that time, I’ll go to you. That’s a promise, Y/N,” he says, resolutely. “Do you trust me?” With your cheek pressed against his work-worn palm, you can’t help but nod. You’ve never trusted anyone as much as you trust Seungkwan, probably never will. You want to tell him this and more, tell him everything, tell him you love him; but you can barely breathe, so all you do is nod. He smiles at you, then leans in and presses a gentle, warm kiss to your forehead. When he pulls away, you finally manage to let go of his hands. He pushes you behind his back,

“Whatever you do, don’t stop,” he intones, his hand on the hilt of his blade. You swallow thickly, feeling the tears pool in your eyes as you watch all the muscles in his arms and back tighten—

“Run.”

#seungkwan scenarios #seungkwan texts #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen texts #kpop fanfiction #kpop texts #kpop writing #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #My writing

[thosequeenboys]

Love Is Love Is Love - Chapter 4 (Ben Hardy x Joe Mazzello)

Summary:  Ben, Joe and Alex prepare for Ben’s departure to film a movie in London, with all related emotions.

A/N: The next chapter will be cheerier, I promise, as the boys reunite - with some London surprises! Thanks to: @jessahmewren​ for your recent encouraging words that helped me reunite with my muse and work through this intense chapter!  You’re the Bee’s Knees! Thanks also to: @heybuddy-drabbles​ for ongoing support and listening to me kvetch while writing this chapter.  You’re the Cat’s Pajamas!

Warning:  This chapter has smut. I mean, the guys are about to be separated! It has an 18+ Only warning and a fire emoji on my Masterlist.  Some cursing too.

Tag List: @warriorteam1924​ @cardyandy​ @watercolouredreams​ @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​ @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​ @queensilveryrog​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @marianaletosnape​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @honeymazzello​ @igotsuckedintothevoid​ @oniriquex​ @roger-hardy-taylor​ @doctorqueensanatomy​ @chocolatekisses8​

June was the best month because summer was just starting, and it stretched out carefree before them. The spring perennials had dried into brown stalks and were now replaced with hearty hydrangeas in blue and pink hues.  The neighborhood’s evening rituals prolonged the seemingly endless days:  tonguing ice cream cones before they dripped from the evening heat, racing scooters on the sidewalk, chalk drawing on the pavement, telling jokes on the stoop.  The fragrant rose bushes arched over the iron fences that framed the small front-yard gardens.  The evening activities extended into the darkness.  Finally in bed, Alex found it hard to unwind despite Ben’s patient efforts.  Lots of chatter and three books later, he finally fell asleep.

This June would be remembered for preparations surrounding the inevitable separation. While Ben put Alex to bed, Joe ventured upstairs to the ‘extra room’ where infant clothes in plastic bins and baby paraphernalia were scattered among items they seldom used. Walking through the maze of random possessions, Joe found and hefted a large suitcase and duffle bag on wheels and carried them down the steps into their bedroom.

Ben was stretched on their bed reading a script, his long legs crossed at the ankles.  He raised his eyes at Joe’s entrance.

“I kept wishing these would magically appear, but….” Joe said, easing the luggage onto the racks he had set out.

Ben nodded and resumed reading.  

“Ben, Baby, you have to talk to him.  Start preparing him. It won’t really sink in until you’re close to leaving, but… You need to get him ready to separate from you.”  Joe said.

The phrase ‘get him ready to separate from you’ made Ben feel like he was punched in the stomach. Finally, Ben spoke. “I’ve been putting it off….I didn’t want to think about it. Just focusing on the script.  Compartmentalizing. I never thought the travel, being away, would have negative implications.  It seemed par for the course and even glamorous.  An Actor’s Life. I wasn’t thinking of a family. Now, it’s tearing me up to think of being away from him…and you.” Saying it made it real.   Images of his upcoming destiny started to come into focus: he pictured being on the outskirts of the city, working on set for grueling hours every day and then alone in his London flat at night, managing the basics-meals, laundry – under a fog of exhaustion.  It was as if he had to picture it to make himself accept it. Denial can only take you so far.

Joe climbed on the bed next to him. He could tell Ben was off in another place, anticipating the trip as he hadn’t until now. “Hey,” Joe said. “Don’t think about it tonight. Be here with me.”

Joe took the script tenderly, moving the Post-it stuck on the back to the open page.  He leaned over Ben and placed it on the side table, then opened the drawer to retrieve the lube. He kneeled in front of him, tossing the lube next to them.  He slid Ben’s t-shirt up, and with a combination of mouth and hands covered every inch starting at the waist band, pushing the garment upward to access more of that delicious, toned body.  Ben raised his arms and the t-shirt was removed and tossed as Joe straddled Ben, gliding his hands softly now over the smooth, bare chest.  “Joe…” Ben said, “Just…I want to feel you in me.” Joe pulled off his own t-shirt and removed his bottoms.  Next, Ben’s sweatpants and boxers were eased off and tossed.  Sitting back on his knees between Ben’s open legs, Joe’s strong torso arched back slightly.  It exuded a perfect combination of intensity and softness, confidence and vulnerability, as would their lovemaking.   The two naked partners eyed each other. Joe grazed Ben’s thighs, easing them apart, and the blonde closed his eyes, releasing an anticipatory moan, as Joe moved his hand to his husband’s hardening manhood. He worked it a bit as Ben gasped and thrusted to Joe’s rhythmic pulls.   Joe moved his other hand tenderly along Ben’s jawline which caused his lover’s eyes to flutter.  “Look at me, Baby.” Joe said. “I want to imprint your look – your passion and lust and love for me - into my brain.” He flipped the cap of the lube open, and Ben bent and spread his knees wider to allow full access. 

Joe rolled next to Ben and started to ease his dripping fingers into him, one at a time, feeling the resistance and grasp, followed by the release, allowing him to enter deeper.  Finally, Ben whispered, “Joe… God, feels so good.  I’m ready.”

Joe kneeled in front of Ben and pulled him toward his own hardness, which he lubricated generously.  He entered Ben slowly, propping himself on an arm, his other hand on Ben’s thigh easing it wider.  They moved so right, so easily as one, each advance joining them, sealing their love deeply.  Joe resumed stroking Ben, now fully erect, as their rhythmic thrusts quickened.  “I love you, Ben,” Joe panted.  “Love you,” Ben said.  They both moaned as they released, their smooth movements becoming jerky.  They disconnected, Joe rolling next to Ben, as they faced each other and kissed passionately.

The next morning, upon waking, Joe ran his fingers through his hair, last night a glimmer and reality looming harshly. “I need to get the apartment ready for Mariel. She’ll be here in a week.”  With Ben’s extended absence, single parenting would be challenging for Joe, especially with his Netflix consultation requiring monthly trips to LA.  The baby’s eventual arrival would add a layer of complexity. They hired Mariel, an au pair from Peru eager to come to NY, who planned to eventually study graphic design.  Her references boasted that she was a warm, loving and responsible caregiver.  While Ben knew this was a necessity, he was unsettled that their triad was vanishing. Sands would be shifting over the next year as a new normal emerged-a desired and exciting new normal, indeed. They would have to carve out a new family life with the arrival of the baby. The guys decided to hold off telling Alex about the baby until they reunited in London, figuring he could only process one big change at a time, the most imminent one needing to be addressed first.

After breakfast, Ben called Alex over and hoisted him onto his lap as Joe cleared the table, his eyes trained on the two of them.

“Hey, Buddy,  I’m going to be leaving for London in a few weeks for work.  I’ll be gone over the summer, but you and Papa will visit me in the middle, so it won’t seem like that long.  And we’ll FaceTime in between, so you can tell me all about your summer.  Alex listened.  “And, the exciting thing is you’ll have someone special to keep you company-a woman named Mariel.  She’s super nice and she can’t wait to meet you.  She’ll live in the apartment downstairs. She’ll take you to gymnastics and music, and she…”  

“ I don’t want ‘she.’” Alex said matter-of-factly.  Why would he? “I go to Lon-down. Papa too.”

“I know you don’t want someone else.  But, Papa has to work and go to LA sometimes.  I’ll be working so much and wouldn’t be able to spend time with you if you lived with me in London. So, Mariel will help take care of you.  It will take some getting used to, but I know you’ll like her.” Ben encouraged.   Alex had said his piece and didn’t see a need to prolong the discussion.  In his child-like fashion, he quickly scrambled to higher, more familiar ground. “Gymnastics.” he said, sliding off of Ben and proceeding to the foyer where he sat on the bench and waited for help with his sneakers.

“That went rather well,” Ben said eyeing Joe, not trying to cover his sarcasm. He knew this was the first of many discussions, and as the day of his departure approached, there would be more emotions all around.  For now, he packed a water bottle and some snacks and joined Alex to prepare to leave.  At the kids’ gym, Ben peered through the window in the parents’ waiting area. He gave himself permission to bask in Alex’s unrelenting joy as he raised and lowered the parachute with his mates, and ran into it when it was his turn, retreating to his spot before it fell upon him, his feet moving in time to his giggles.  Ben hoped the reality of their imminent family changes would land just as gently upon him as the parachute would have, had he not escaped its billowing descent in time.

So, it went like that leading up to the separation.  They’d mention it, Alex would listen and then deflect.  Joe, meanwhile, dealt with his own onslaught of emotions by pouring his energies into helping Mariel acclimate to their routines and home, the details of which he documented copiously.  She joined their excursions and began to get comfortable with them and dote on Alex.  Ben showed Alex images of London:  double decker buses, the London Eye, Big Ben (not named for Daddy), The Princess Diana Memorial Playground-hoping to build his enthusiasm for their reunion, while reinforcing that Ben would be in another place. Alex gradually registered the images and the impending reality.  He couldn’t ignore the clues that Ben’s departure was lurking: Ben’s sudden shopping trips to pick up last-minute items and Joe throwing items into the suitcase, packing and repacking.  Then there was the vocabulary associated with travel and separation.  The worst word, Alex decided, was ‘gone.’ It was concept he couldn’t fully wrap his head around, but it had a finality and a sadness.  He knew it meant that Daddy wouldn’t be with him.

Four days before Ben’s departure, Ben and Joe woke suddenly to loud wails. “OHMYGOD,” Ben bolted out of bed in his boxer briefs and tore down the hall to Alex’s room, where he found him sitting up in bed, tears falling off his face. “Alex, are you sick??”  Ben practically dove onto the bed and wrapped him in a hug.   Joe appeared at the doorway.  “You left and didn’t say bye-bye,” Alex said through tears.

“You had a bad dream! Of course, I’ll say good-bye and I’ll hug you…..I won’t leave without saying bye-bye. I promise,” Ben reassured.

The day before his departure, Ben brought Alex to the couch.  He took two small blue microfiber pouches from his backpack.  “I got us some things to help us look forward to seeing each other and remember our times together when we’re apart.  Want to see what I got?”  Alex nodded enthusiastically.  Ben handed him a pouch and helped him loosen the strings and open it.   Alex reached in and took out a puzzle piece.  Ben retrieved a puzzle piece from his own pouch, which he inserted into Alex’s, forming an octopus.  “When we see each other, our pieces will join.  But meanwhile, each piece is waiting for the other, just like we are waiting to see each other.”  Alex nodded. He reached into the pouch and took out a little whale statue.  Ben took out a sea turtle statue.  “We both have a sea animal.” Ben noted.  “When you come to London, we’ll go to the Aquarium!” Alex smiled.  Next up were a pair of small model airplanes. “When you visit me, you’ll get to fly on an airplane, and this one,” Ben said, retrieving his own, “will bring me home to you.”  Finally, Alex reached in and pulled out a glittery firm heart.  Ben took his out too.  “These hearts remind us that even though we’re not with each other walking or talking or laughing or playing or reading, we’re still together -- in each other’s hearts.”  Ben lined his red heart up on Alex’s chest, while he eased Alex’s hand that clutched his red heart against his own chest. They smiled.  Then, Ben put the items into their respective pouches. He leaned over and kissed Alex, who wrapped his slender arms tightly around Ben’s neck. That feeling was the most important thing he wished he could stuff into his pouch.

The final morning Joe’s eyes opened at 5:45.  They had 15 minutes before Alex usually woke up and a little over an hour until Ben’s departure. He rolled over and draped his arm over Ben, who was curled up on his side facing away from him.  Joe’s other hand stroked his blonde hair.  “Hey, pretty boy, how about a treat to start the day right,” Joe cooed in his ear.   Ben rolled toward Joe onto his back and Joe’s hands followed, draping one over his chest and the other on his forehead, fingering the blonde tresses.   He moved on top of Ben, letting his weight press into him.  Ben beamed up at him, wanting to take that feeling - the heaviness, the warmth, the familiar, perfect fit - with him.  They moved together urgently, clothed in boxer briefs, kissing as soft moans escaped.   Joe latched onto Ben’s neck, sucking him slowly, leaving fresh marks, the ones from the prior night had started to fade. Ben’s mouth found its way to Joe’s neck, leaving marks as well. Time of the essence, Joe slithered down Ben, taking Ben’s boxers with him.  

“Hey,” Ben crunched his abs with a raised head.

“Are you protesting?” Joe asked.  

“No, I mean, What time is it?? Alex will be getting up….” Ben glanced sideways at the clock.  

“I’ll make it quick. Lie back. I want you to leave you with a memory of me, showing you that I love you.”  Joe took in Ben eagerly, with focus and passion.

“Oh. God. Fuck. Joe.” Ben’s voice was low, and steady, his hips rising slightly in time to his quickening heartbeat.  “Yeah, like that. Fuck. Harder,” he directed. His clipped exhales were punctuated with a rhythmic chant, “Joe. God. Harder. Joe…” Ben felt himself so close to release, his hands tugging on Joe’s auburn locks, when the unmistakable voice called out.

“Daddy? Are you leaving?” It was a sad question, with a known answer.

Joe detached himself from a heavily panting and pink Ben, who held his breath to stop making any noise, his heart beating into his throat, his stomach in a tight curl. After a deep breath, Joe uttered firmly, “Alex, we need a few minutes to get up. Go downstairs and play.  We’ll meet you soon..”

“Ok,” the soft voice padded away.

Joe glanced at Ben eager to finish him.  “I can’t, he needs me….I won’t be able to…” Ben said breathlessly, his head raised.

“You can and you will, if I have anything to do with it.” Joe said.  He wanted to please Ben and have a few more moments of intimacy, delaying the inevitable. Joe knew it was time to pull out the big guns. “I want you to come for me, with my lips wrapped around you…sucking you hard, taking all of you in.  I’ll look up at you as you thrust into me, and release into me, looking so beautiful. Can you do that for me?” He didn’t wait for an answer. Ben crashed his head into the pillow, aroused again, and Joe resumed his skillful pleasuring.  He added a gentle massage of Ben’s balls, causing Ben to resume his chant between moans. Ben came, Joe’s name on his tongue as the gestures slowed, and a final kiss was granted.

“Mission accomplished.” Joe smirked, easing next to his husband.

“God, you’re amazing.” Ben said panting. Then turning to Joe, he asked, “Do you think he heard? You know, when he was outside the door?”

“Heard you cursing?  Moaning? Telling me how to get you off? Chanting my name?  Probably. Look, he’s good in math.  Eventually he’ll figure out that you cursing PLUS you moaning my name over and over TIMES you sounding slightly bossy EQUALS you having an extra spring in your step.” Joe smiled, very proud of the audible results of his handiwork.

Ben looked horrified.

Joe winked. “Don’t worry-at this age, Nah.”  He switched gears.  “I’ll duck into the bathroom quickly and then go downstairs.”  

“Joe,”  Ben said.  “I can…”

“You don’t have to….I have last night as my go-to.” A vision of their prior evening’s passion that started in the shower and ended in bed flashed before Joe’s eyes. “I wanted to give you something special to remember me when you’re away.” Joe whispered.  

“You’re imprinted in me.  All of you.  I love you so mu…” Ben stopped, overcome with emotion.  He swallowed. “We better get moving. I’ll take a quick shower.”

Joe’s hand reached for Ben’s jaw and a kiss enveloped his beautiful full lips.

There wasn’t much talking over breakfast, each of them consumed by their own emotions.  Alex ran a small car back and forth on the table, the movement distracting and soothing him.  Ben kissed his head before he made a final trip upstairs to finish his ablutions and pack a few final things.  He returned with a backpack slung over his shoulder, maneuvering the heavy suitcase. “I better call the Uber,” he said, moving the luggage to join the full duffle bag, already by the door.  Joe wiped the counter with a sponge, yet again, trying to distract himself from his own emotional onslaught.

Ben went over to Alex and sat down.  “Hey, Buddy, come here.” he tapped his knee.  Alex came over and Ben picked him up under his arms. He brought him back against his chest and wrapped his arms around him.  “I have my blue pouch in my backpack, so I’ll always have it close by. You have yours on your bedside table, yeah?”  Alex nodded; his distress evident.  

“Good.  I’ll miss you and I’ll think of you every day.  We’ll FaceTime…”  Ben’s phone lit up.  The Uber was two minutes away.

Joe sidled behind Ben’s chair and rubbed his back as he stood up, easing Alex off his lap. They walked to the entry foyer and Joe took the suitcase down the stoop.  Ben grasped the backpack and duffle bag and Alex’s hand. The car pulled up just as they arrived on the sidewalk.  The driver loaded the luggage and opened the passenger door.  The three boys hugged.  

“Text me when you land,” Joe said.  

Ben nodded and then kneeled bringing Alex in for a final hug and “I love you.” Rising he brought Joe into a hug and kiss. They both uttered “I love you,” at the same time. They chuckled, and Ben peeled away.  He eased into the car and shut the door.  Joe and Alex waved to Ben who turned around and waved out the back window. 

Joe stood behind Alex and placed his arms on his shoulders. “C’mon, Babe. Let’s get ready for playgroup.  Now we’ll start counting the days until we see Dad again in London.”  Alex nodded.  He placed his hand on his chest, soothing the emotions that collected there, causing a metaphorical ache.  He didn’t need any words or pictures.  He now understood the meaning of ‘gone.’

#ben hardy #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy fan fiction #ben hardy smut #joe mazzello #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello fan fic #hardzzello #hardzello #joe mazzello fan fiction #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bohemian rhapsody fan fic #6 underground #lgbtq #lgbt love #eugene sledge #gay marriage #gay love #gay family #love is love is love #family drama #gay fanfiction #queen fanfiction #borhap boys #joe mazzello smut

[basaltbutch]

Solarpunk Week Plans

So. First off. I'm starting my week out on the 5th instead of the 8th bc me and my dad are heading on a trip together! I'm really excited, we don't spend a lot of time together and it's space camp so. Lots of opportunities to learn new things.

Of course that means I have only 4 days to prepare now :/ At least I already have tons of supplies lined up and ready to go.

I doubt I'll do everything, but I’d rather have all my ideas written down and saved than forget them all completely. My goal is to finish (or make a lot of progress) a different project for each day of the week.

I really need to make some kind of fence for my garden. I’ll probably recycle one of the wood pallets I have to make posts, then staple/nail chicken wire to it. My dogs have trampled/dug up 4 sunflower seedlings, a tulip, eight of my onion plants, and have knocked over countless pots. It’s getting ridiculous. They refuse to stop. I’m losing my mind.

Work some more on my quilt. 68 out of 1,000 patches have been cut out (so I still have 932 to go) Then I need to sew patches together, stuff them all, then sew them all together. 

Work more on my wip vest. Still have to finish the embroidery on the back, then add designs to the front in fabric, and resew the buttons. 

Start my other vest idea. I want to reuse some old jeans to make a punk vest that I can mess up & paint on & add patches and pins.

Bind a grimoire to trade for some fancy bamboo knitting needles.

Use the second wood pallet to try my hand at making out a bench. Eventually I want to make some to give away/put in public places, but I want to see if I can actually make them first lmao

Seedlings! Garden! I live in a very sunny & warm environment, so spring’s already here. I’ve got two old wood drawers that I’ll probably repaint and drain holes into to use as planters, plus an old shoe organizer I’d like to try planting in. I’ll probably plant lots of sunflowers too, since I’ve got tons of seeds.

I’d also like to make another batch of seed bombs. Make them smaller this time, add less clay to the batch. I’ll probably throw them in urban areas & give them away to friends.

Start figuring out what I want to put in my giveaway bags. There’s a very large homeless population near me, and I’d like to give them something to help. Rn on my list are socks, toothpaste, toothbrushes, dry shampoo, free meal vouchers, and maybe something soft and nice? Like stuffed animals. I’m very much taking suggestions on this, just want to do something for the community.

Some other, smaller, less important things;

I want to try making bioplastic? If possible. I’ve located a very large specimen of prickly pear a 7-8 minute run from my house, and I’ve been snatching any fallen segments that look decent. (Unrelated, but if the fruits ripen soon I might try making some dye.)

Try and figure out a good way to weave things on-the-go.

Make some nice recycled things, either to sell or to hang up around my garden.

#solarpunk