#Home Frit Home

[zazter-den]

Foul-Mouthed Frit | Stained Glass Circumstances Ch. 1

Series: Snippet #1, Snippet #2, Current

Synopsis- All stained glass begins as frit, but you're not as frit of the warrior in front of you as you probably should be.(Main Scene: Bakugou, Aftercare: Kirishima).

Warnings- Coerced NonCon, Oral Knotting, CumVom, Choking, Clothes Tearing, Degradation, Overstim, Org Denial, Slap(giving), Forced Bond, King/Consort Dynamic, Alt A/B/O, Yandere Bakugou.

Tags- Fantasy AU, BarbarianKing!Bakugou, Dragon!Kirishima, KingConsort!Reader, Black Haired Reader, Isekai, Creampie, Chin Grab, Excessive Seed, Aftercare.

Word Count- 7700, Chapter 1

Your heart thumped against your ribs, unease and curiosity battling it out, as you stood before the imposing blond warrior. On a good day, you couldn't help but feel out of place in the simple hand-me-down dress, a one of few mercies you received from the cold villagers when you arrived. Standing here in front of the decorated barbarian within the confines of the grandiose war tent, you felt dressed in little more than rags. Was this man here to finish the villager's sad attempt at uprising? Surely non-lethal injuries to a handful of soldiers, even if severe, didn't warrant a general's (or whoever's) presence.

Why am I here? I wasn't even involved.

The bodice of the scratchy dress felt nearly too tight to breathe, a physical pressure to match the growing weight of dread settling in your bones. It had been a month since your watery arrival to this world, but it hadn't taken long to miss your modern clothes, modern stressors, and the familiarity of home. A pang of longing shot through you like a static shock, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the intimidating figure ahead.

A shiver ran down your spine as you met the blond's piercing blood red gaze. His throne, made from the bones of fallen beasts long dead and a patterned patchwork of leather, only amplified the imposing aura surrounding him. With each passing moment, you couldn't help but feel like a small, insignificant creature in the presence of a predator.

"Pint-sized for a dragon, aren't ya?" the barbarian growled, his gruff voice boomed in the tense silence, tone heavy with amused disdain. A predatory smirk adorned his face, highlighting his intimidating yet undeniably attractive features. "You're quite the fuckin' anomaly."

Your eyes widened at his words, and for a moment you forgot your unease. You had become so used to the weight by this point that you honestly almost forgot. A hand instinctively went to touch the base of the draconic crystal horns that jutted back from your hairline, a bizzarre feature you had woken to on the lake shore, a side effect of the magic that had forced your entry to this unfamiliar world.

All of the lakeside villagers were human, but you had learned enough about this world's inhabitants to know that that you weren't a true dragon like the ones the citizens of this realm were familiar with—those with wings, a tail, and true dragon features. You are, at your core, still human, and really the horns were the only evidence to suggest otherwise. The asshole wasn't entirely wrong in calling you a mystery.

"Can tell you're no real dragon, some sorta bastard maybe" he remarked, rumbly voice smug. "Though I admit, those crystal horns of yours are intriguing 'nough. You'll pass as an addition to my collection."

You blinked once, twice, as you struggled for a mere second to process the words coming out of the pompous man's mouth before time seemed to resume again.

Should you have been scared? Probably.

But you weren't.

Your eyes narrowed to near slits with incredulity as you peered up at him. White hot anger filled your veins, fear of the undoubtedly dangerous strange warrior forgotten. Being a newcomer to the realm, you couldn't quite comprehend the gravity of the situation in standing before the man in front of you. Being an outsider to the village and their rebellion, also meant you weren't aware yet just how low cowards will sink to save their own skin.

" 'Collection'? " You repeated, scoffing loudly at his arrogance. The gall of him had your nerves shot and common sense short circuiting. All pretenses of appearing as a polite peasant were now firmly out the window, all bets were off. After a month of biting your tongue to rude villagers as you struggled to adjust to your new life, it felt amazing to spit exactly what you were thinking. "Who the fuck do you think you are, blondie?”

The fair haired barbarian's grin only widened at your boldness, relishing the rare occurance. It wasn't often someone had a big enough death wish to challenge him face to face.

"O, sweetheart, not just any 'blondie'," he sneered, weighing the weight his words had on you. "I'm yer fuckin' king." Enjoying the way shock washed over your face, anger clearly forgotten, overshadowed by the realization that you were standing before the most dangerous man in the kingdom.

King Bakugou's amusement was evident as he leaned forward in his seat, his eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction at your dumbstruck face. "D'ya wanna know why you're standin' in front of me?" he asked, his tone dripping with condescension. "They offered ya to me, little anomaly," the barbaric royal continued, the corners of his lips curling into a cruel smile. "A barter for their miserable lives after a pitiful 'scuse of a rebellion."

You were shocked, your eyes meeting his with furious disbelief. "So, people I barely know, GAVE me to you to spare themselves?" your words were laced with anger and a sense of betrayal, unable to comprehend the depths of their craven desperation. Sure, they were cold to strangers, but to sacrifice you for their own lives wasn't something you had thought was even a possibility. Had it really been so foolish to want to believe they were finally warming up to you?

The barbarian king's expression hardened as he replied, his voice laced with a sharp edge. "Ya should feel honored," he snapped, his blood red eyes narrowing. Rising from his intimidating throne of giant bone and beast hide, he closed the distance between them with a purposeful stride. The sound of his heavy boots thudded against the packed ground within the war tent until he loomed over you.

“I rarely take consorts,” King Bakugou's hand shot out and firmly grasped your chin, tilting your head up to meet his piercing gaze. His touch was harsh, a firm reminder of the physical might that Bakugou wielded when he so chose. Your heart pounding in your chest as his fingernails dug into your jawline. Leaning in close, his face mere inches away from yours, his voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble as he continued speaking. “especially not runt freaks like you." The disdain in the cold blooded king's tone sent a chill down your spine.

Your heart dropped, The weight of the revelation pressed heavy against your chest. Mind racing with anger and betrayal as you grappled with the harsh reality of your situation. You had only been in this unfamiliar realm for barely a few weeks and now you stood before the formidable barbarian king, a man who held the power of life and death over countless warriors and civilians alike.

It didn't take years of education, or really much common sense, to know the dangerous consequences of defying a medieval tyrant. You knew you had to keep your anger in check, to try to bite your tongue and submit. At least for now.

Your fate was sealed the moment you stepped into that fucking tent, and survival was now officially the priority.

King Bakugou's sadistic enjoyment of the situation was plain as he ruthlessly analyzed your appearance, his gaze lingering on the translucent crystal horns with an almost dismissive glance. "Yer horns are clear, nothin' special," he remarked, his voice dripping with annoyance. It was clear that your unique crystalline features held little significance in his opinion. However, as his eyes roamed down your body, a more sinister gleam sparked within them.

"Body, on the other hand, is fine enough for a concubine," the blond added with a twisted smirk, his grip on your chin tightening slightly. The shift of the dress' neckline sent a shiver down your spine, baring your shoulder to his inspection. Your heart beat faster as King Bakugou's piercing eyes bore into you, his actions invasive and dehumanizing. Your throat constricted in response to the humiliating position you found yourself in. Even having to resist the urge to pull your chin away from his grasp, knowing that defiance would only lead to suffering of some variety.

His eyes swept over your neck and shoulder, searching for any sign of a scar, any indication that you already belonged to another. You kept your gaze to the side, unnerved by the intensity of his bloody stare, a shiver rippled down your spine as his touch almost seemed to burn your skin.

"Good," he declared, a twisted smile tugging at his lips as his hot breath ghosting over the exposed skin. "No claim."

King Bakugou wasted no time in closing the remaining distance. Swiftly leaning down, he sank his canines into the smooth flesh with a forceful bite. However, unlike true mating, the barbaric blond did not release the necessary venom that would solidify an actual bond between souls.

The lack of numbing venom caused a sharp hiss to escape your lips, a mix of agony and indignation flooding your system. You might not have been here long and you certainly were no expert, but you knew the basics of mating marks, this world's lifelong courtship. It was a deliberate move, a clear reinforcement that he had no intentions of making you his equal partner in this arrangement. After all, you were merely a plaything, to be toyed with. You should be thankful not to be bound to the barbarian's soul, and yet you couldn't ignore the obvious insult. Or the pain.

The unexpected stabbing pain of fang sinking into flesh triggered a reflexive response, causing you to shove and slap Bakugou's face in a desperate attempt to free yourself from his grasp. The crack of your palm connecting with his cheek seemed to echo in the massive war tent, leaving a bright red handprint in its wake and a streak of crimson trailing down the king's chin.

The barbarian's eyes glowed with fierce delight, his feral nature taking enjoyment in the defiance of his new concubine. Despite the stinging pain in his cheek and the split in the corner of his upper lip from the strike, a low chuckle escaped King Bakugou's lips. "You've got guts, shitty horns, I'll give ya that much" he growled, his voice laced with a dark amusement as his tongue flicked over his split lip.

If you thought your heart was racing before, it certainly paled to the drumbeat it was pounding now.

You had dared to challenge the king, to strike him in a moment of instinct. If the tyrant himself marched to this village over a few maimed soldiers, what exactly was your punishment going to be? A part of you regretted the impulsive action, aware that it would only fuel the bestial nature of the tyrant and likely add to your own suffering...But another part of you couldn't suppress the thrill that surged through you when you slapped the shit out of him. You might be trapped in this new situation but you refused to be completely meek, cowering at his feet.

You would submit. But only as much as you had to.

As King Bakugou's wicked chuckle echoed in the confines of the tent, he swiped away the droplets of blood that trickled down his split lip, relishing in the taste. "Spirited whore, ha?" he continued with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You'll learn. 'Til then, I'm gonna enjoy breaking that attitude of yours."

Your breathing grew shallow as you just stared at the king, mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. You knew full well that true defiance would only bring more challenges, but still a small ember of resistance burned. You would not surrender completely, no matter the threat. And even bolstered with the courage of the dissociative haze that emotionally numbed you to the consequences of your actions, you still knew the danger was very real.

The red glistening imprint of his bite marked your delicate skin, a reminder of his sadistic tendencies and the cruel pleasure he derived from such acts. Your body trembled in frustration, mind grappling with the complex storm of emotions that threatened to take over reason. You may have to play the role forced on you but you would bide your time, until the opportunity presented itself.

And so began the balancing act.

"Your position, in this territory," the warrior king continued, his voice dripping with gruff superiority, "is t'be at my beck and call. You exist to serve my needs now, like any other fuckin' whore. An' rest assured, you will serve me well." With those words, he spun you around and pressed your abdomen hard against the tent's solid wood table, his hands gripping your hips possessively.

"Lemme show you your new role," Bakugou sneered, voice filled with dark promise. With one swift motion, he pulled the rough dress up to rest on your hips, baring your body to his gaze. His eyes hungrily took in your curves, his fingers ran up the exposed skin of your thighs and hips. Feeling his rough fingers trail over the sensitive areas of your thighs, you could feel yourself getting lost in the intensity of the touch.

The sound of fabric tearing filled the air as King Bakugou ripped apart the too-tight bodice, buttons popping off as your breasts spilled free from the barely reinforced fabric. His knees pressed painfully firm against the back of yours, effortlessly spreading your shaky legs apart. The motion trapped your hips against the edge of the table and exposed your pussy to to his gaze. Breath hitched as you felt the large tip of his hardened cock pressing against your slick entrance. Every inch of your body tensed. Judging from the thickness of his head alone, the lean warrior was larger than you expected him to be. Bakugou's girth tested your cunt's limits, forced to stretch wide. Initial entry was rough, inch by inch, as your pussy's tight walls struggled to accommodate the impressive length of the barbaric king's dick. The pleasurable ache making you fight to maintain composure.

Leaning forward on your forearms for support, your chest squished against the cold surface of the table. Fingernails dug into the smooth wood, your knuckles turning white with each of Bakugou's punishing thrusts. An unexpected surge of arousal coursed through your veins, and you decided to embrace the inevitable pleasure that his pace promised to bring.

Despite your feelings on the turn of events, your body responded to his coarse treatment, for the distracting orgasm and mind-numbing hormones that lay tantalizingly within reach. Determined to find some semblance of pleasure within your new prison, you forced yourself to shift your perspective. If you were going to be forced to be an object of desire, you may as well revel in the physical gratification it offered and claw back any benefit you could until you made your move.

As the table rocked against the packed dirt floor of the tent with each forceful thrust, the warrior royal couldn't resist mocking you. His voice was filled sadistic amusement. "Where'd all that fire go?" he taunted, amused by the contrast between your previous defiance and your current submissive state. "Don't tell me I already fucked it out of ya."

Your aching walls had struggled to accommodate his girth initially, causing you to tense up. You had to focus on consciously relaxing your body, allowing him to fuck you with more ease. The mixture of discomfort and increasing pleasure sent waves of heat coursing through your body, intensifying your arousal. At this point, you couldn't tell whether the fact that rough sex made your cunt leak like a faucet was a pro or a con.

You really couldn't help but snap back, voice loaded with a defiant edge. "You really like the sound of your own voice, huh, 'Your Highness'?" you quipped harshly, rolling your eyes knowing he would be unable to see, as you were swept up by the overwhelming pleasure of being fucked against the table.

Undeterred by your attempt at disrespect, Bakugou leaned forward over your bare back, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. The warrior king's voice dripped with amusement as he addressed your lack of fear. "You're really not scared of me, are ya?" the blond chuckled sharply, the feeling of his hot breath against your skin sending shivers down your spine. "Give it time," he sneered, his grip on your erect nipples tightening as he pinched and pulled. With a choked moan, your body arched instinctively in response, a symphony of conflicting sensations flooding your body.

Your black curls bounced with each punishing thrust, your body pressed against the dull edge of the table, the hard surface digging into your hips with a force that promised to leave bruised reminders of your afternoon in the days to come. The brutal intensity behind Bakugou's movements overwhelmed you, leaving you breathless and at his mercy.

Just when you thought you had found a rhythm, just when you though you were getting close to finally cumming- the royal bastard abruptly withdrew, his cock's sizeable head dragging along the walls of your dripping passage. A soft indignant gasp escaped your lips as the sudden emptiness left you yearning for release. Inner walls involuntarily clenched in a futile attempt to hold onto the fleeting pleasure, not that you would ever admit it out loud.

He took a moment to enjoy your needy frustration before thrusting back inside with renewed intensity. Each powerful movement caused your body to arch and quiver in response, teetering on the razor's edge between ecstasy and torment. Despite the lingering defiance in your heart, your cunt betrayed you, subconsciously craving the pleasure that Bakugou pounded into you. The aching bite at the junction of your neck felt hot, as your nipples squeezed between his vice-like fingers.

Your walls eagerly embraced the renewed pounding, tightening around him in a desperate attempt to hold onto the pleasure he provided. The overwhelming mixture of pain and pleasure sent shockwaves through your body, sparking sensations that threatened to consume entirely. As the table creaked under the combined weight, your gasps and moans filled the air, merging with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh and groaning wood. The intensity of the king's pace, each thrust pushing you closer to cumming around the thick cock slamming in and out of your needy hole.

As your body neared the peak of pleasure, King Bakugou enjoyed the control he had over you, keeping that orgasm just out of reach. Each time you felt the pleasure building within you reach that breaking point, he would cruelly withdraw, denying you much needed relief. The frustration reached a boiling point,as your walls involuntarily clenched desperately around the thick ridge of his cockhead in a feeble attempt to keep it inside.

"Stop fucking teasing me!" you shot over your shoulder in irritation. The pleasure that coursed through your veins was distracting, clouding your mind and amplifying your need to cum. The denial of your orgasm left you on the edge in what felt like a perpetual state of yearning, body aching for the release that the feral blond held in his cruel grasp.

As King Bakugou repositioned himself, angling his thrusts to target your most sensitive spots, and the pleasurable torment of denial continued. The conflicting sensations pushed you further towards either heaven or hell. With how your legs trembled with both the overstimulation of your poor pussy's stretched walls and the unbearable need to cum, you weren't sure which you were closer to.

"Ha? Think ya forgot who serves who here," bloody eyes narrowing as he sneered, his arrogant tone held an unrestrained hunger. A wicked grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he drank in your frustration. He took great sadistic pleasure in this game. Knowing that, despite your protests, he had the power to bring you to the edge of cumming and keep. You. Trapped. There.

As the twisted dance between pleasure and denial continued, your body reacted eagerly to every movement, cunt walls fluttering near constantly in desperate need of fulfillment. Each time King Bakugou withdrew, your inner muscles clenched around the massive disappearing tip, another futile attempt to hold onto the pleasure that slipped through your grasp.

Wet, squelching sounds filled the air as he pounded back into your gushing pussy. The table beneath you was sticky with your juices, and his blood red gaze spotted a string of viscous slick suspended mid-air between the edge of the table and the packed dirt floor below.

With each turn of Bakugou's cruel cycle, a symphony of profanity spilled from your parted lips. Your body shook with the weight of unfulfilled lust, aching for the relief that seemed cruelly just out of reach. The rise and fall of your emotions danced in harmony with the motion of their bodies, humiliating frustration fueling your foul mouthed whimpers.

"'N fact," Bakugou laughed, gruff voice filled with sadistic glee, "I think that tongue o' yours has earned ya a punishment."

The barbarian's fingers curled around your quartz horns, his grip possessive and firm. As his grip tightened, you barely felt the dull ache spreading from the base of your horns through the haze of pleasure and overstimulation. The strain on your neck was evident, your head tilted back to reveal the garnet red bite print marring your exposed skin.

With a deliberate slowness, King Bakugou pulled back on your crystalline horns, his hold firmly guiding you until your upper body was no longer supported by the table's wooden surface. Weakened by the cruel cycle of ecstasy and denial imposed on you, your legs trembled with the effort to remain upright. The shift in position caused a head rush as you fought to remain standing upright. Turns out, you wouldn't need to fight that battle for long.

Using your horns as a guide, Bakugou yanked you down to kneel before him. Obediently following his command, your weakened knees sunk against the hard packed dirt beneath you. The shift in posture brought about a new level of submission, body now positioned at his feet, ready to fulfill the king's desires.

Bakugou's massive member hung heavy above you, his imposing figure towering over as he peered down with cruel superiority. "Ever get your mouth washed out with soap?" he sneered, a wicked grin stretching across his face.

With a snarky retort already forming on the tip of your tongue, you opened your mouth to deliver a biting response. However, in that moment of distraction, the massive cock head shoved past your lips, the sudden intrusion catching you off-guard. A muffled gag sound escaped your throat, eyes widening in surprise as King Bakugou claimed your mouth with little mercy. Musk filled your senses, the unexpected violation left you momentarily stunned. Your eyes watered as you struggled to accommodate his size, jaw stretched to its limits while King Bakugou hissed in pleasure at the feel of your hot tongue against his dick.

A gasp of surprise escaped your lips, muffled by Bakugou's large cock as he took advantage of the opening you unwittingly provided and began to thrust. The rough motion caused your tongue to press against the underside of the massive member, tasting both of you. The initial shock gave way to a mix of conflicting sensations - humiliation, arousal, and a begrudging surrender.

Your throat constricted around the tip of his dick as you fought against your body's instinctive gag reflex. The taste of your combined arousal filled your mouth, the combination of his precum and your own slick coating your tongue with every thrust. With each attempt, guided by the iron grip he held on your crystalline horns, you managed to swallow a little more of his length, throat stretching in an attempt to accommodate his girth. The barbaric king's control remained unyielding. He roughly guided your movements with an unwavering grip on your horns, forcing the pace at which you took him deeper. The sight of your struggle only made him grip you tighter, setting a faster pace.

You looked good, all fuckdrunk at his feet, submitting to his desires without question.

With each inch you took down your throat, your breathing became increasingly labored. Your eyes flitted upwards as much as possible, trying to meet his gaze as you continued to obey his every command. Teary eyes pleaded for mercy, yearning for the release that was just out of reach, as you continued to let King Bakugou's thrust into your throat. Bakugou locked gazes with you. It wasn't that he ignored your pitiful puppy eyes, all watery and unfocused, but it didn't certainly have the outcome you were begging for. His pace sped up, his thrusts becoming more urgent as he approached his climax.

Your eyes narrowed in confusion and as you felt a new ridge near the base of his cock begin to swell. It took you by surprise, lips forced to start to form an O-shape as you struggled to comprehend what was happening. You mumbled uselessly around the resulting barrier, only managing to press your tongue harder against the enlarged gland.

"Never seen an alpha before?" King Bakugou asked incredulously, the tone of his voice heavy with pompous amusement. "Ya really are a fuckin' freak, this'll be fun" he added, sadistically excited for the surprise in store for you.

The swelling knot created a tight seal against your teeth, effectively trapping your tongue in a frenzy of desperate, frantic movements. As his lust hit a peak, Bakugou looked down at you with dark satisfaction, the intensity of his gaze piercing into your very being. His words cut through the pounding of blood in your ears, his mean grin widening.

"Y're gonna want to breathe through your nose when ya can," he instructed as his hips started to stutter, cruel grin never faltering. "For the next ten minutes at least." He took great joy in the power he held over you, knowing full well the challenge he was about to present. His groans of pleasure were the only warning of his orgasm that you got besides the pulse of his knot, before waves of warm cum were cascading down your throat. You fought against the rising panic, you just needed to relax you told yourself. The taste of his seed flooded the back of your throat, your lips stretched around his swollen knot, as you braced yourself to endure the minutes to come.

Your breathing grew ragged as you tried to comply with the barbaric king's instruction, the pressure of his spurts down your throat sending your body into a state of sensory overload. Each surge of his cum filled the back of your mouth, forcing you to swallow to make room for more, so you wouldn't be overwhelmed. Nose pressed against the coarse, orange wires of his pubic hair, your breaths coming in short gasps as you struggled to find enough air.

Your sore throat bobbed with each gulp, lips sealed tightly around Bakugou's pulsing knot. You followed his instructions, taking quick breaths through flared nostrils whenever his spurts allowed a moment of respite. As you continued to swallow the seemingly never-ending load, your eyes watered and throat contracted around the royal's throbbing cock. Bakugou ran his thumb over your neck, tracing over the ridge his twitching cockhead made in your throat, causing you to choke and sputter, your reflexive gag wrapped around his dick.

The primal sounds of you gagging and swallowing seemed to fuel Bakugou, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he reveled in your struggle to regain control of your reflexes. He found the cruel game fun, knowing that you had to drink every single drop or be overwhelmed by the seed that filled your mouth. As the barbaric king rolled his hips, his cock milked one last time by your tight walls, the deflating knot slipped past your teeth with a squelching pop. You felt each inch slowly withdraw from your pained throat, eliciting a mix of both relief and a weird sense of emptiness. Your jaw ached from the strain, throat raw and bruised from the rough treatment. Cum dripped from your swollen lips, a shiny string dripping towards the ground between your knees.

You leaned back against the leg of the heavy table, body boneless and weak from the intense sex. Your chest heaved with each ragged breath, senses still reeling from the experience. The taste of his cum still lingered in your mouth, a reminder of of just how well you had performed your role.

His cruel grin twisted with satisfaction as he held your weak chin with his thumb and pointer finger, tilting your glassy gaze to meet his blood red eyes. The arrogance in his voice was evident as he spoke, his words laced with a mocking tone.

"You did well, little whore," King Bakugou taunted, "Maybe you'll last longer than the others." His words cut through you like a knife, a reminder of your place and his complete control over the situation.

And it only got worse.

Your stomach churned, the fullness from consuming the sheer volume of cum you did, mixed with the exhaustion and strain on your body. It was rapidly becoming too much to bear. The taste of his bitter seed lingered in your mouth, adding to the increasing waves of nausea that welled up. With shaky legs, you bolted towards the clean bucket next to the table, a hand clamped over your mouth. Face contorted in anguish as you reached it just in time, hunching over and emptying the viscous contents of your stomach into the wood container, a curtain of dark curls obscuring the action.

Wave after wave of white, thick cum splashed into the bucket. Your throat burned even more from the forceful expulsion, tears streaming down your face as you tried to catch your breath between stomach spasms and hiccups.

Meanwhile, Bakugou simply rolled his crimson eyes in annoyance. He watched with a scowl as you succumbed to the ill effects of being orally knotted for first time, his own sense of satisfaction completely unaffected. The king redressed himself in his leather breeches, his muscular chest displayed proudly. He made no move to help or console you, instead commenting with a disdainful tone

"Y're gonna have to get better at that," he sneered, his dissatisfaction with the newest addition to his collection clear as day. Without a backward glance, he exited the tent, leaving you seething with roiling resentment.

As you continued to glare daggers at his retreating back over the rim of the bucket, an unbreakable determination burned in your eyes. The interaction had further solidified your disdain for the barbarian king. One way or another, you swore to yourself, you were going to find a way to make that man miserable.

Bakugou made his way through the field, his strides thudding quickly across the field. His blood red eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in the lush greenery and wind rustling through the grass and leaves. In the distance, he spotted Captain Kirishima, his towering figure standing tall on a hill overlooking the lake.

The captain of the king's guard, tall and muscular, wore his signature dark grey uniform adorned with a crimson cloak denoting his station. His mane of long, vibrant red hair cascaded down his back, and his curved ruby horns glinted in the late afternoon light. Nearing a staggering seven feet, Kirishima towered over most humans and dragons alike. With a languid stretch of his wings and tail, he looked every bit the formidable dragon he was. Even though his stature was imposing- off the battlefield, there was a softness to his facial features, a warmth in his scarlet eyes that contradicted his formidable appearance.

Stretching his wings and tail with a contented yawn, Kirishima paused mid-spread as he noticed his long time friend approaching. His scarlet eyes widened in alarmed confusion as he caught sight of the split upper lip on the king's face.

"What happened to your lip?" Kirishima asked baffled, his tail and wings still unintentionally frozen extended as he waited.

Bakugou's grin widened, his blood-red eyes shining with a mischievous glint. He licked his split upper lip, savoring the sting that still lingered from your bold and unexpected slap. The memory of the defiance brought a twisted satisfaction to the king.

"Hah! The village's 'peace offering' turned out fiesty" he responded, a hint of admiration laced within his tone. The fact that you had the audacity to strike him, the mighty Murder King Bakugou, had caught the barbarian off guard at the time, but it definitely made you more interesting.

Kirishima's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, his tail flicking. "They attacked you?" he asked taken aback, “Are they still breathing?” The captain knew that the barbaric ruler was not one to tolerate defiance easily, let alone physical attempts to challenge his authority. Kirishima's mind flooded with questions, but he kept them to himself as he awaited further explanation from his commanding king.

Bakugou's smug grin widened even further, his blood red eyes sparkling with perverse delight. "Oh, they're alive," he responded, his voice dripping with a sadistic satisfaction, "Just paying for their little outburst, that's all."

The words hung in the air, the implication clear. The king's tone hinted at the punishment the new consort was enduring in the privacy of the tent.

Although he hadn't yet met the new concubine, Kirishima couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy towards them. Having grown up with the royal, he knew firsthand the levels of wrath Bakugou could reach. Despite these conflicting emotions, Kirishima's primary concern was ensuring the well-being of those in the king's care, even if it meant treading carefully in the sea of Bakugou's own volatile temper. It often fell to the loyal captain to keep the king from committing actions he would regret later. Well, less regret and more inconvenience him.

"'n fact, you're on babysitting duty while I deal with the village," Bakugou said, the murderous glint in his bloody eyes betraying his enjoyment of the situation. The king's command echoed in Kirishima's ears, causing his ruby scaled tail to stiffen and his broad shoulders to tense.

Kirishima let out a silent exhale, disappointment etched across his face as he processed the news. In truth, he had hoped that Bakugou would choose to spare the villagers and seek a peaceful resolution instead of resorting to violence. The captain believed that the actions of a few rebels should not warrant bloodshed on such a scale. After all, the villagers had made multiple peace offerings to appease the barbaric king, it felt like a breach of honor for Bakugou to now go back on that agreement.

However, Kirishima knew better than to openly challenge his friend's authority. He respected the position Bakugou held and understood the consequences of rebellion. Biting his tongue, Kirishima buried his disappointment and gave a casual bow to his commanding ruler, before making his way towards the tent on the hilltop.

Kirishima stepped into the large tent, his unfurled wings brushing against the side as he entered. His wings, magnificent and majestic, spanned wide, their vibrant ruby scales shimmering under the soft glow of the tent's filtered light. The ruby scales continued down the length of his long, sinuous tail, adding a touch of elegance to his formidable presence.

As his fiery ruby eyes landed on you, Kirishima's first thought was one of surprise. The person who had struck King Bakugou looked a lot less imposing than he had anticipated. You, unlike the powerful and intimidating dragons Kirishima was used to, stood before him at a mere average human stature. If that. The only discernible dragon feature you possessed were the crystal dragon horns that adorned your head, gleaming subtly in the low lit tent. His scaled tail swayed slightly, displaying a mix of curiosity and caution.

Your eyes widened as they met Kirishima's for the first time, and your body tensed instinctively. You had been thoroughly exhausted, both physically and emotionally, by your round with Bakugou. Your throat was raw and voice gone, leaving you unable to deliver the defiant expletives you desperately wanted to snarl at the imposing dragon that had just entered the tent. But your voice failed you, leaving you with only one avenue of expression.

With a fierce hiss, you expelled every ounce of ferocity you had left buried within. Your body tensed, lips curling back in a display of bare teeth. The hiss reverberated within the confines of the tent, a desperate attempt to communicate defiance to Kirishima, to convey that you would not be dominated or humiliated any further today.

The captain took a step back, scarlet eyes swept over your form, they couldn't help but notice the torn remnants of your bodice on the floor and the ripped dress clinging to your body. The rips and tears spoke volumes of the intense encounter you had undergone at the hands of King Bakugou. His gaze then landed on the mark that marred the delicate skin of your neck—an unmistakable claim.

Kirishima's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his mind reeling with the implications.

As a dragon, Kirishima understood the significance of such a bite - it bound two souls together, sealing their connection as life partners in a way that couldn't be severed. When done correctly.

Marking a consort with a claim without fully mating them was not unheard of, but it was generally met with extreme judgment. Claims in terms of mating were typically reserved for life partners, a commitment that extended beyond physical desire. Nobles, known for their fickle nature and ever-shifting loyalties, often chose to mark their consorts with more temporary symbols, such as collars.

The ornate collars allowed the royals to easily discard their concubines when they grew bored. The nobility were notorious for their fickleness and often left their consorts behind as they moved on to fresh pursuits. By marking a consort with a bite with no intention of making you an equal, Bakugou had not only defied what little merciful convention held by the upper class but also inflicted a cruel fate upon you in Kirishima's eyes. The mark would make it near impossible for you to find a true mate, forever branded as the king's property.

Kirishima couldn't help but feel a stab of disappointment towards his lifelong friend. While he knew the barbarian ruler's tendencies on the battlefield, he hadn't thought Bakugou would exhibit such cruelty towards a consort, knowing you would likely be discarded at some point. Kirishima's own sense of honor and loyalty clashed with the conflicting emotions he felt, itching at the back of his mind as he observed the vulnerable state you found yourself in.

The captain's gaze lingered on your throat, noticing the subtle signs of strain and discomfort. The realization for the hissing aggression struck Kirishima like a bolt of lightning. You had lost your voice, and it wasn't due to natural causes or illness. No, it became clear to him that it was likely a result of your first tryst with King Bakugou, an experience that he could only imagine had been rough and brutal, throat rubbed raw from the repetitive acts demanded of you.

Feeling a surge of empathy, Captain Kirishima decided to ease the intimidating aura he unintentionally projected. He understood that his imposing stature must be overwhelming to you, given the turn of events. He folded his wings against his back, their vibrant red membranes pressed tightly together, confining their expansive span. The act served to minimize his physical presence, making him appear less threatening. He slouched slightly, adopting a more relaxed stance, and kept his hands visible, showing that he meant no harm. It was a deliberate display of non-aggression, aimed at putting you at ease, or at least as much at ease as one could be in such circumstances.

The red dragon's eyes softened as he noticed the weary look on your face. He could see the exhaustion etched into every line, body still trembling from the recent ordeals you had endured. Determined to offer some solace in this tumultuous situation, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

With slow deliberate steps, Kirishima moved away from you and towards a pile of chests near the entrance of the war tent. These chests contained spoils from the village, items meant to appease the king after their attack on his soldiers. Kirishima knew that among them, there was a chest filled with garments. Opening one of the chests, he carefully sifted through the contents until he found a fine yet simple dress that roughly matched your size.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Kirishima's lips as he gently tossed the dress onto the table, positioning it between the tow of you. Its delicate fabric fluttering in the air before settling down over the wood. It was a small gesture, but meant to convey that he harbored no ill intentions.

It was a silent message that you deserved respect and dignity, even in this tumultuous situation.

Sensing that you needed some space to collect yourself and change, Kirishima took a much smaller chest from the pile. He left the tent, giving you room to breathe and reckon with the pent-up emotions that surely swirled like storm clouds.

As the cool mountain breeze blew through his hair, Kirishima found a suitable spot a few paces from the tent, overlooking the serene lake in the warm hues of late afternoon light. With deftness and precision, he constructed a small firepit, arranging the rocks in a circle. As the dragon exhaled softly, a gentle stream of fire escaped his lips, the light glinting off his curved ruby horns. The flickering flames danced and crackled, casting a comforting glow over the hilltop.

As the captain patiently waited for the water to heat, he glanced back towards the war tent, briefly catching sparkle of your horns through the opening. His heart went out to you. Though he understood the gravity of Bakugou's actions, Kirishima couldn't help but feel a creeping sense of responsibility in making sure you felt as comfortable as possible, despite the circumstances.

Just as the water in the kettle neared boiling, Kirishima activated his innate talent. His hands hardened, gaining an impressive durability that allowed him to handle the intense heat without harm. With a swift motion, he reached for the kettle, hands possessing the resilience of a dragon's scales. His grip was confident and steady as he effortlessly removed the kettle from the fire, preventing the water from boiling. He gently tossed the healing tea leaves into the kettle, watching as they swirled and danced in the near-boiling water. The soothing aroma of the tea began to waft through the air, carrying with it hints of delicate flowers and calming herbs.

With a careful hand, Kirishima reached into the tea chest, procuring a magnificent stained glass teacup that shimmered in hues of red and amber. Draconic stained glass was a rarity, prized for its strength and ethereal beauty. The light of the late sun cascaded through the vibrant colors, casting an enchanting glow on his hands.

Unwrapping the glass bottles, the captain uncorked the crystallized honey and yuzu peel. He slowly poured a generous amount of honey into the teacup, its golden texture illuminated by the sunlight. Next, he added a pinch of the fragrant dried yuzu peel, allowing its subtly sweet and citrusy scent to infuse the air. These ingredients held healing properties, meant to soothe and restore vitality to worn souls. The captain took extra care, ensuring that the precise balance of ingredients was met, creating a concoction that he hoped would bring some measure of comfort to your weary spirit.

With a quiet exhale, Kirishima patiently awaited the completion of the tea's steeping process. He hoped that the healing properties of the tea, combined with the warmth and tranquility of their surroundings, would provide a much-needed respite for your body and mind. In this moment of quiet reflection, he couldn't help but hope that this small act of kindness would bring some solace amidst the chaos that was now your new life in royal confines.

As the tantalizing fragrance of the healing tea filled the air, it didn't take long for you to emerge from the confines of the tent, eyes cautiously studying Kirishima's every move. Clad in the simple yet elegant dress he had provided you, features betraying a mix of cautious curiosity, before you fully exited the tent.

Scarlet eyes met yours as he poured the infused brew into the stained-glass teacup, the colors of the evening sun casting a mesmerizing glow through its amber and red hues. With a delicate touch, he extended the teacup towards you, his gentle gesture offering a sense of peace and comfort amongst the chaos.

Your gaze flickered between the beautiful teacup in Kirishima's hands and his eyes, wariness slowly giving way to a glimmer of trust. You lowered yourself onto the cushion placed by the fire, its warmth seeping through the fabric and into your tired body. Settling in, you positioned yourself to face the serene vista of the lake, where the calm waters mirrored the vibrant shades of the setting sun.

Kirishima, mindful of your nervous vigilance, kept his movements steady and reassuring. His hand extended further, confidently offering you the teacup of healing brew. The crimson colored light filtering through the stained glass seemed to dance and flicker as if carrying with it a promise of respite.

A soft smile tugged at Kirishima's lips as he spoke, his voice gentle yet filled with earnest sincerity. "Can we start over? I'm Captain Kirishima." In that simple statement, he hoped to convey that he was not just a guard but someone who, at their heart, genuinely cared. Someone who would listen and support you, should you choose to share your burdens.

He waited patiently, the teacup held delicately between the two of you, awaiting your response. In this moment, amidst the tranquil beauty of the lake and the tender offering of healing tea, he hoped that they could find a glimmer of solace and a fresh beginning.

IRL Safety Disclaimer: Never Pull A Partner Up By Their Hair Off of a Surface. You Will Injure Someone.

Taglist: @themythicaldisaster

Comments and Reblogs carry me through the week!

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Zephrit coffee shop AU ??? Anyone ???

"New costumer for you, 'Frit."

Ifrit looks up from the coffee he's making, shooting Ivy a suspicious look.

"Why aren't you taking their order ?"

Ivy holds out a pack of cigarette, waving it in the air as he unties his apron. His smirk immediately makes the hair at the back of Ifrit's neck stand.

"Smoke break. I'll be back soon, don't miss me too much !"

"Since when do you smoke-"

Too late, Ivy already disappeared behind the "employees only" door with an omnious cackle. Sighing as dread fills his nervous system, Ifrit straightens up, calls out the name scrawled in Ivy's barely legible handwritting on the cup, wincing when the girl who takes the latte from his hands corrects his pronounciation.

She visibly softens and waves it off the second she catches sight of his apologetic smile. Ivy calls it "their best publicity", that sparkling grin that never leaves people indifferent.

Once that's done, Ifrit saunters back toward the counter.

"Hi, what can I get you-"

He falters, blood rushing to his cheeks in an instant, words dying in his throat. There, leaning on a cane covered in stickers, hair held back in intricated braids tied together, wearing black slacks and a dress shirt to match it, is a familiar face, grey eyes widening in amused surprise when they meet Ifrit's.

The sight of this person makes phantom hands roam all over Ifrit's body, and oh, what a mistake it is to throw a quick glance at their lips - now Ifrit can recall their taste, the feeling of them on his. Fuck fuck fuck. Ifrit knows this person.

"Ifrit," they chuckle, and the man in question has no idea if they just read his nametag or remember the short, hurried conversation they had before getting each other off in a bar's dingy bathroom. Last night. Because Ifrit has the worst karma ever known to mankind.

Though he certainly hasn't forgotten the person's name.

"...Zephyr."

They hum, tilting their head, eyes crinkling in the corner. The first two buttons of their shirt are open, their sleeves rolled up to accomodate the pleasant weather, and Ifrit has to advert his eyes lest his thought take a lustful turn.

"Fancy seeing you here," Zephyr lilts, voice wrapping around Ifrit's brain just like it did last night, except today he doesn't even have the booze to blame for the way his knees immediately go a little weak at that.

"I...well, I work here," Ifrit blurts out, wincing the second the words are out of his mouth. Great. Where is his easy charm when he needs it ? Just like yesterday night, all of it vanishes once faced by Zephyr.

Leaning their forearms against the counter and lowering their voice to a teasing croon, smirk tucked in the corner of their mouth, they chuckle.

"I trust you got home safely last night then."

Oh Ifrit was not ready for such an easy acknowledgement of what happened the night before. In such a smooth voice too, shit Ifrit already misses feeling their skin on his. He's so fucked.

"Uh- I- yeah, Ivy drove me home."

Ivy. The little shit was there yesterday too, saw Ifrit excuse himself at Zephyr's arm...well, his newly developped smoking habits make sense now, at least.

Zephyr is smiling, but it's not mocking, more like endeared. Ifrit clears his throat, running a hand through his hair.

"I- uhm. Your order ?"

Stringing words together in a coeherent sentence has never been more difficult.

"Caramel macchiato, please. And, I suppose, your number would be nice, since I forgot to ask yesterday."

Ifrit resists the sudden urge to run around and jump with excitement. He's sure his smile threatens to rip his face in half with how wide it has become.

"That I can do. Be right back."

He rushes toward the back room under Zephyr's amused stare, letting the door fall shut behind him before he let out a strangled little noise of pure delight and allows himself to jump once or twice. Then he grabs a pen - there were some near the cups on the counter, but Ifrit really needed a moment to collect himself - and saunters back out, scribbling his number on an old receipe while starting the coffee machine. He checks twice to ensure he hasn't made any mistakes and the numbers are all neatly written, before handing it to Zephyr with a cheeky grin.

Their fingers overlap, purposefully if Zephyr's smirk is anything to go by, Ifrit's heart skipping a bit.

"Something on my face ?" they tease at Ifrit's blatant staring.

"Hard to keep my eyes in check with the outrageous knowledge that your forearms are bare," he hums in answer, pointedly checking Zephyr out. "Formal clothes suit you,"

They raise an eyebrow, cheeks tinged pink too, now.

"That so ? Should have known you'd like it. You have a thing for authority, don't you ?"

Ifrit nearly chokes on air, the memory of that same voice curling around the words "good boy" right in his ear making him feel dizzy.

He remembers the coffee just in time, using it as an excuse to turn away, hopefully hidding the worse of his blush. And if he draws a little heart while drizzling caramel in the cup, well, that's his problem.

Zephyr swipes their thumb across the back of Ifrit's hand when they take the cup handed to them, which has him holding back a honest-to-god squeal.

"Thank you, Ifrit. Expect a text from me, I'm not busy today," Zephyr smiles as they take their order to a nearby table.

Ifrit needs to scream, and is also wondering how he'll go through his shift feeling those grey eyes weight on his back.

"What the fuck are you doing, man ?"

Ivy's voice interrupts Ifrit's musing ; apparently he's been back from his break for a little while, now staring at Ifrit like he just said something incredibly stupid.

"What ?"

Ivy rolls his eyes, grabs Ifrit by the shoulders, and shakes him none-too-gently.

"They just told you they weren't busy, dumbass. Go sit with them ! Pebble came in early, he's in the back room, he'll cover for you, go !"

Ifrit catches a glimpse of a purple bruise on Ivy's neck then, half-hidden by his hair, which makes him snort.

"Came in early, mmh ? You ran into him during your...smoke break, V ?"

Ivy glares at him, pratically shoving him toward Zephyr's table.

"Shut up you cunt, go get 'em instead of pestering me."

Ifrit's still laughing when he drops in the seat facing Zephyr, stomach flipping under their intense stare.

He's never felt more alive.

[random-brushstrokes]

Frits Thaulow - Timber Haulers returning Home (1892)

[rederiswrites]

I absolutely love making reproductions, don't get me wrong. But when my miscellaneous dig bins got wiped out at Pennsic, I was actually quite excited to get home and start goofing around aimlessly and using up accumulated stringers and twisties, so that I can feed the bins again. To fuck around and find out.

Twistie wraps are always a winner, but I'm really enjoying these frit beads. I just took a failed red, white, and blue murrine with big clear globs on the ends, crushed the whole thing up in the mighty frit crusher Jacob made me, and then used it. No filtering and grading for size, just everything from the dust to the 1mm chunks. Two coats of frit for extra depth, applied over white, clear, and light blue. Honestly I think I like the light blue best. Which is awkward since I seem to have one rod of it left.

[pigs-in-art]

Karsten, Ludvig (1876-1926) - 1924 Pork (Private Collection) by Milton Sonn Via Flickr: Oil on canvas. Ludvig Karsten was a Norwegian painter. He was a neo-impressionist influenced by Edvard Munch, Henri Matisse and the contemporary French painting. He first participated at the Autumn exhibition in Kristiania in 1901, and had his first separate exhibition in 1904. He is represented at museums in many Scandinavian cities, and with several paintings at the National Gallery of Norway. Karsten was known for his bohemian lifestyle and pending temper. Karsten grew up in a wealthy home in Christiania. He started taking drawing lessons 13 years old. In 1893 he made a study tour to Telemark, where he made landscape sketches and portraits, and also joined painter Halfdan Egedius. After graduating from secondary school in 1895, he travelled to Rome, and later to Firenze and Munich. In 1896 he travelled in Spain, and settled for a while in Madrid. He left Spain in 1898, and was enrolled in the military services at Gardermoen for some months. He then travelled to Munich, where he painted En mann og en kvinne, also called Adam and Eve, which has later been located at the Stenersen Museum. He visited Paris in autumn 1900, where he trained on models. In 1901 he was in Åsgårdstrand, where he painted Two Men and Three Boys, which were both shown at his first appearance at the Autumn exhibition in Kristiania in 1901. Karsten returned to Paris, where he spent several years. He was known for his boozing and temperament. After a fight with the poet Nils Collett Vogt he was temporarily expelled from the circle of Norwegian artists residing in Paris. He visited the museum Louvre, where he paraphrased Ribera's painting of the burial of Christ. The painting was bought by Frits Thaulow, and came to be Karsten's the first important sale. It was resold to the National Gallery in Oslo in 1909, after Thaulow's death. Karsten's first separate exhibition, at Blomqvist in Kristiania in September and October 1904, received mixed critic in the newspapers. In 1905 he visited Edvard Munch at Åsgårdstrand, where Munch made a large portrait of him. After a night of heavy drinking, possibly on Midsummer Eve, it came to quarrel which led to a violent fight between Munch and Karsten. Munch later made an etching of his version of the incident. From 1910 Karsten lived mostly in Copenhagen, where he married in 1913. He bought a house in Skagen in 1920. Karsten is represented at the National Gallery of Norway with several paintings, including Kristi gravleggelse from 1904, Vårkveld i Ula from 1905, Tæring from 1907, Det blå kjøkken (English: The blue Kitchen) from 1913, Det røde kjøkken (English: The red Kitchen) from 1913, and Flukten fra Egypt from 1922. He is represented at the Bergen Museum (with Søsken, and Batseba), at Nationalmuseum in Stockholm (with the painting Den lyse og mørke akt), at Statens Museum for Kunst in Copenhagen (with Golgata from 1923), and at the Stenersen Museum in Oslo (with the paintings Adam og Eva and Gobelin). Karsten was also well known for his paraphrases of works by elder painters, including 16th century artist Jacopo Bassano and 17th century artists Jusepe de Ribera and Rembrandt. His last painting was a portrait of his daughter Alise, when she visited him in Paris in 1926. He died in Paris in 1926, after having fallen down a steep staircase.

[tadbitfooled]

some thoughts on how could someone have met any of my muses prior to the events of the game

Tadpoled Crew

Briza - good luck you probably wouldn't have unless you were around Cormanthor. Briza's mainly been around those forests her entire life, working as a bit of a guard/ranger for her House. Maybe when she was a kid before they were exiled from Menzoberranzan.

Durante - He's from northern Faerun, near the wilds. I might stick him near Neverwinter, but a small village where that's the nearest city. He was in an orphanage run by Ilmatari so if you too were an orphan and need an orphan buddy! But also he worked in the north under an established sculptor who used Durante's abilities as he got older and claimed Durante's work as his own to make works.

Frits - He went to Blackstaff, you could be peers. His family owns a flower shop in Waterdeep, that could be another way. Perhaps on one of his little research adventures he was oft to go on!

Gwenifar - As a cleric of Ilmater, she's often where she's most needed. EG, I have this old wishlist post involving a Gale background meeting possibility, but she's also been to battlefields and other areas of illness. Around Baldur's Gate, she's also helped with fundraising for the Open Hand Temple due to her decent charisma, especially with the city's well off.

Talilah - She's traveled all around Faerun with a base area of around Baldur's Gate with her mother's troupe. She's stolen from corrupt nobles with the troupe like robin hood scenario. She's probably had her own little adventures, she is 136.

Tavinkas - he's a Durge so there's a bit there, but he did travel around Faerun killing people for a time. But he was skilled in disguise self spells, like I mentioned here, so it may be difficult or not. I'll pay you ten imaginary dollars to have him have killed your not as long lived character's parents.

Camp Followers

Anatol - this man wants to play hero so bad. So he's definitely been on some daring dos to do that, but like. Someone babysit him please. He is a dumb golden retriever.

Kyrirthlila - she's 349. She's been doing her Robin Hood troupe for over 200 years. She's had her fair share of adventures and other travels. It's very easy to have people she's met before.

Background/Side

Aella - real easy if you're a Gale. But also she's a bard who travels around with a band to perform so there's some possibility there.

Arakhivaen - he's been doing the Elf Isolation thing for about 130 years so a little more difficult, but if your muse has ties to Evereska or the elven nobility, definitely easier to set up possible prior meetings.

Arzan - make second gen characters. Let's be problem children together.

Chiela - once again a little difficult due to having moved to Evermeet, but there was still around I think...40 or so years she was in BG. But also easy for Astar.ions.

Klaudius - really easy for any dead three followers tbh, since Lovia.tar is Bane's wife and a minor goddess of his realm. But also Klaudius is from a decently well off family of BG (not patriars, but ranked up there) and he does at times will hold the guise of the 'proper society' to do his psychological manipulation tactics.

Perun - once again easy if you're a Gale. But also he works as an (successful) adventurer, so he's traveling Faerun as well when he's not home.

[nosferatu-png]

asks you about zephrit and their baby (PLEASE infodump anything you want to share about it here that you havent gotten to, i truely adore them)

RAHH

I think Zephyr was really worried up until she arrived. They had a really hard summoning and weren't sure how a kit would react to being born (afterall it's not really a common thing). Especially since she was carried through a surrogate. They cried for DAYS when they finally got to hold her just in awe.

And Ifrit was insanely protective of her and always will be. She got a lot of her energy from him and it shows. Just very excited by the world around her, and Frit would do ANYTHING to keep her so passionate about life.

Their little home is just so full of love and laughter it makes me ILL /pos

[iantimony]

last may tuesdaypost?!

i am going to Terf Island (uk) for the last two weeks of may!! i am very excited! i won't even brush my teeth on the plane and get ill this time! (plane water is not potable! don't ask how i know this!) therefore this is likely going to be the last roundup til june 4, i doubt i will have the time/energy/inclination to be Posting while abroad. might treat it like a vacation from the internet as well, that could be good for me.

listening: i am now halfway through partizan episode 42. i listened to like...four episodes straight on my drive home? i unsurprisingly got stuck in [city] traffic because i did not anticipate mothers day being like, a holiday people would travel for. like a fool. so it took me 2 hours to drive 40 miles. yay. so i will not finish partizan + palisade before the palisade finale (that was always a pipe dream) but such is life. i bet i can finish partizan before the palisade finale though! so that's the goal. also have listened to a shitload of well there's your problem; hyperloop, electric vehicles, howard street tunnel fire, camp fire, among others

reading:"the end of the mrbeast era": i have never been a mrbeast guy. i am baffled by who he seems to be as a person. how miserable. ms-demeanor's new personal wiki: yayyyy posts

watching: dungeon meshi and asobi asobase again BUT WITH MY BOYF IN PERSON THIS TIME .... delightful.

playing: truly fallow. no tabletop, no board or card games, definitely no vidya, just vibes.

making: picked up these last few things from the kiln on my way out of town! the texture bowl came out good!! i made an insane google sheets chart to be able to see all the possible layering combos with the amaco glaze that is floating around in the pottery studio so i could choose the Best Layering for the texture alsfkjldkf. i landed on deep speckle olive over albany slip brown on the inside, and a brown-olive-brown sandwich on the outside. i do not think this made a noticeable difference but i like the general color variation!

little dish that i did some underglaze painting on also came out ... technically from its second glaze firing, the first time 'round it had a bit of frit embedded in it, so i filed it off, dabbed a bit more clear on, and put it back on the shelf.

it got a new bit of frit embedded in it. pain dot jpeg. painting came out cute at least. cherry blossoms!!

eating: went out to eat last night with the boyf to a german pub type restaurant by his place, it was good! schnitzeling for sure. made the brussel sprouts-tofu-hoisin and tahini sauce sheet pan meal for my mom and brother tonight.

misc: i am in Women Be Shoppin mode looking for bridesmaid dress ....... i am very close to just buying a simple floor-length slip pattern and some nice fabric im ngl. on one hand im too fuckin picky and my soul wants to not buy a dress that will only get worn once and being able to make it myself will make it easier to rewear .... on the other, most of these dresses are really reasonably priced ............. i have time to think about it, maybe even try sewing a mockup, so we'll see.

[alittlecatastrophe]

"Soon, Woolf establishes a pattern. First, she notes the weather, and her walk—to the post, or to fetch the milk, or up onto the Downs. There, she takes down the number of mushrooms she finds—“almost a record find,” or “enough for a dish”—and of the insects she has seen: “3 perfect peacock butterflies, 1 silver washed frit; besides innumerable blues feeding on dung.” She notices butterflies in particular: painted ladies, clouded yellows, fritillaries, blues. She is blasé in her records of nature’s more gruesome sights—“the spine & red legs of a bird, just devoured by a hawk,” or a “chicken in a parcel, found dead in the nettles, head wrung off.” There is human violence, too. From the tops of the Downs, she listens to the guns as they sound from France, and watches German prisoners at work in the fields, who use “a great brown jug for their tea.” Home again, and she reports any visitors, or whether she has done gardening or reading or sewing. Lastly, she makes a note about rationing, taking stock of the larder: “eggs 2/9 doz. From Mrs Attfield,” or “sausages here come in.”

[...]

In the writing about Woolf’s life, the wartime summers at Asheham tend to be disregarded. They are quickly overtaken by her time in London, the emergence of the Hogarth Press, and the radical new direction she took in her work, when her first novels—awkward set-pieces of Edwardian realism—would give way to the experimentalism of Jacob’s Room and Mrs. Dalloway. And yet during these summers, Woolf was at a threshold in her life and work. Her small diary is the most detailed account we have of her days during the summers of 1917 and 1918, when she was walking, reading, recovering, looking. It is a bridge between two periods in her work and also between illness and health, writing and not writing, looking and feeling. Unpacking each entry, we can see the richness of her daily life, the quiet repetition of her activities and pleasures. There is no shortage of drama: a puncture to her bicycle, a biting dog, the question of whether there will be enough sugar for jam. She rarely uses the unruly “I,” although occasionally we glimpse her, planting a bulb or leaving her mackintosh in a hedge. Mostly she records things she can see or hear or touch. Having been ill, she is nurturing a convalescent quality of attention, using her diary’s economical form, its domestic subject matter, to tether herself to the world. “Happiness is,” she writes later, in 1925, “to have a little string onto which things will attach themselves.” At Asheham, she strings one paragraph after another; a way of watching the days accrue. And as she recovers, things attach themselves: bicycles, rubber boots, dahlias, eggs."

-- "Virginia Woolf's Forgotten Diary," by Harriet Baker for The Paris Review

[siriannatan]

Buried in the Sand - SausagePix

I hope you guys like Dragon Sausage since here's more. This time with Pix.

This was supposed to be fast purely political visit to Pixandria. Talk trade for a short time and be back in his castle by dinner time. Sausage was not expected to be stuck in his ex lover's palace as sand storm practically buried the whole town in damn sand.

He could of course fly home. Being a half-dragon he was strong enough flyer to not be in too much danger. But...

Sand and scales did not mix well.

So, on Pix's insistence he was in the Pixandrian royal library. Pretending to read to kill time but instead staring at Pix. He was still as annoyingly pretty as the day they broke things up over salmon and cod. And even though the conflict has ended their relationship did not get any better. Unlike fWhip's with Jimmy and Scott... Damn his vampire brother mad his now apparently boyfriends.

"I can feel you staring," Pix sighed, shutting his book very loudly. "You don't have to stay with me all the time it takes for the storm to pass," he added, a bit softer, as he pulled the next time of his stack. Damn him and his workaholism.

"Not much else to do around here," Sausage shrugged and stared back at his book. It was a collection of old Pixandrian fairy tales. Stories of dashing rogues and sand bandits.

Pix hummed in very 'suit yourself then' manner and refocused on his work. Sausage wanted to scream at his indifference. But what else could he expect. Pixandrians loved to be vague and distant. Believing everything had its fated path.

Sausage wanted Pix to be mad at him. Scream at him. Punch him for being an idiot. Demand an apology. Chase him away into the sands. Not this cold distance.

With a sigh and not another word Sausage marched out to the kitchens. Just to have something to do he told himself.

The kitchen staff was as always a bit scared of him but more than eager to give him food. But why did he ask for snack for Pix and his favourite juice? He kept wondering as he carried the two plates of fruit, two glasses and big bottle of that damn juice.

Pix blinked up at him, once then twice and just as Sausage was expecting some proper reaction he just said, 'thank you' and returned to his dumb books.

"I was just bored, and the Sheep know you'd starve yourself over these damn books," Sausage grumbled but got no reaction.

With even more sour mood Sausage ate his fruits, making as much noise as possible while ignoring the juice.

"You should drink something," Pix finally looked away from his books without Sausage directly provoking him. And dared to smile as the half-dragon looked at him. One hand supporting his head, his coat sliding off one shoulder, exposing lack of sleeves of his next layer.

Sausage just hummed. Unwilling to acknowledge the damn juice.

"I can have something else brought here if you'd like," Pix offered, even further infuriating Sausage. The jerk had to knew what he was doing. "Is my little dragon angry he's not getting his attention?" Pix hummed an suddenly there was a finger on Sausage's chin, making him look up at Pix's pretty face. "Were you expecting I'd fall to my knees and beg you to come back? Or that'd I'd demand an apology? That'd I'd jump into your arms?" Pix carried on talking, not giving Sausage a chance to complain. "Were you angry I did nothing?" Pix smiled his most infuriating smirk.

"Do you do know you're annoying?" Sausage huffed but didn't dare move a muscle. Not with Pix almost in his lap. One hand on his face, other dangerously close to his horns. Unfortunately Pic knew all his weak points and was more than willing to use them against Sausage.

"Would you beg me to take you back if I asked?" Pix wondered, both his hands now in Sausage's hair. Teasingly close to his horns.

"You..." Sausage groaned as Pix's cost fell even lower, exposing more of his arms. He had to frit his teeth and ball his hands into fist's to not do something stupid. He was not going to beg Pix for nothing.

"So you wouldn't go to bed with me if I asked? Just admit you're mine and mine alone and you can have me back," Pix grinned, kis fingers barely grazing the base of the half-dragon's horns. Making him shudder.

"All yours..." Sausage huffed. Technically he was not begging. Just admitting an obvious fact. Pix always had him wrapped around his little finger.

"Good job, Sausage, we can go to bed now," Pix chuckled, thoroughly amused. Sausage wasted no time on regretting admitting it so easily. Instead he swept Pix up and carried him to his bedchambers. Glaring and borderline growling at anyone who got to close. Wings hanging low and tail lashing. They had some catching up to do...

Pix just grumbled something about Sausage being the worst before calling in the guards to send them to get him food. He really hoped they didn't hear too much...

"Sausage... You absolute animal," Pix groaned as he tried to get up to order someone to bring their breakfast to his bed. The sandstorm was long gone but the half-dragon it forced to stay in his palace was still there. In Pix's bed. Visibly happy with how ruined Pic both looked and sounded.

"How did you expect poking a dragon would end?" Sausage grinned, lazy and full of teeth marks of which were all over Pix. "And don't lie, you liked it."

[weaversweek]

Fear of Music: "Take me (to church|out)"

Part of the #FearOfMu21c project, for the greatest singles of the 21st century. Here's an index post.

"Take me to church" - Hozier

Earnest and serious, Hozier's big breakthrough came with this masterpiece from late 2013.

Our interlocutor talks about love, using the language of catholicism. "Worship like a dog in the shrine of your lies" is such an evocative phrase, and the closing motif "a-men a-men" rams the point home.

It's a song about human sexuality, and those who would pretend it's somehow sinful. File alongside "Hallelujah", file alongside "Je t'aime… moi non plus". It's a political song. Of course it is, all good art is political; the mere act of living is political.

"Take me to church" has had a massive cultural impact. Hozier's become a hero in Ireland - "one of the nicest guys around" said disgraced Late Late Show host Ryan Tubridy. The very pro-queer video was evoked on the Eurovision stage a few years later. This blog's friend @partywithponies made the song her very own.

Hozier has ridden on the song's coat-tails in the decade since; it's his pension plan, it's going to be played from here to the heat death of the universe.

Too many blokes think that the key to success is to over-emote in a gravelly voice like Hozier does. None of them are right (glares hard at you, Lewis Capaldi). No, the key to success is to be honest, to say something worth hearing, to say something you believe.

"Take me out" - Franz Ferdinand

"Take me out" boasts the greatest opening minute of any song on this list. A low-pitched, menacing, guitar throb. Ominous, already we're bracing for bad news. Then in comes a low-pitched, growling Scottish voice.

"So if you're lonely," intones the voice: not quite monotonous, not quite singing. "I'm just a shot, then we can die," he continues. Not messing about, with a clear threat. "I know I won't be leaving here with you."

And then the drums kick in, the guitar turns into a perky rhythm, and the moment is broken. The song remains full of tension: Alex, the singer, is too frit to talk to his crush, and is challenging them to make the running and talk to him.

The 2004 song borrows its metaphor from "Enemy at the Gates", a film about Russian and German snipers trying to eliminate each other during the Stalingrad battle.

Jonas Odell's video married live-action footage of the band with animated drawings - it's not dissimilar to the state of the art video from about 1988.

[miraitsukidigitalart]

Will Michael Afton return in the next games?

Security breach secret room

Code:

"Break and mend, I built the breath. They hunt now, drawn to life. Not Real, still keen. And Frit and Fraught with thought and zest and gest no blunt woes. Dodge, duck, flash, shoot, crawl, run, crush the vile band. Cry not, try not, do not hold out, hope no. Your life, your aim will save those with soul."

In the game file, the secret room is named "Charlie's room" and is the exact replica of SL.

This room is connected with Charlie, Michael and Henry.

Probably Michael lived in Henry's home for some time. Makes sense.

In fnaf books reveals who built the Mimic.

I like the theory that Henry is a parallel to David's father.

So who wrote the code?

Probably Henry and it was intended for Michael to beat the Mimic.

Because in the fire Henry said:

"And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you.

Although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that's not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well, I am nearby."

Maybe Henry had other plans for Michael and it could be connected with Mega pizzaplex. There could be more hidden clues left behind by Henry and hopefully Ruin reveals more.

So will Michael Afton return in the next games? I hope so.

[bosspigeon]

saw this on the character design prompt list but

“stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?”

for your oc’s?

Gonna do my TCM boys since they're my newest ones in need of some developing!

Jude plays with his hair a lot! tugs it, twists it around his fingers, runs his fingers through it. he's always got one curl hanging in his face bc he's always messing with it. he tries not to fidget so much otherwise, bc he's a big guy and when someone his size fidgets, people notice. and, yeah! clothing plays a big part in it! he prefers loose, kind of shapeless stuff, and likes to be As Covered As Possible, weather permitting, he's usually wearing multiple layers and long pants, though he will wear tanks and things in the summer if it's too hot. not too fond of restrictive, form-fitting stuff, mostly bc it's hard to find formal/semi-formal/business clothes that are his size that fit him well, so there's always too much tension in like the waist/shoulders 😩

Larimar ALSO plays with his hair a lot. they also resist the urge to bite their nails by spending like an hour on fancy acrylics. he also fidgets with his phone or a compact mirror a lot, kind of constantly checks their reflection, adjust hair/makeup. ofc gotta have that like... tinted lip balm, so they have an excuse to constantly reapply. and YEAH clothes absolutely affect how he holds himself, bc Larimar's appearance is Everything to them, so what he's wearing is something he puts a ton of thought into. helps w their confidence to Look Good, standing as tall as they're capable of (platforms help), typically posed in a Very Deliberate way! when he's at home, tho, it's time for comfy shorts, no makeup, and relaxation, and god help you if you try to come over during chill time

Frits Is A Pen Clicker. he's usually pretty still when he's resting, but his hands usually aren't! drums his fingers, clicks a pen, taps it against surfaces. if he's really antsy, his leg jiggles. when he's working on something particularly focused, it's just Constant Pen Clicking good lord. it's a good thing he mostly works from home, bc he is INSUFFERABLE if you've got to be near him and you also want to get work done. he's at least able to be fairly relaxed no matter what he's wearing! takes a lot to ruffle him. he's also the type that NEEDS to get up and get dressed like he's going somewhere even if he's working from home. keeps his brain in the zone. and the second he's Off The Clock, it's Time For Sweatpants

Lux is actually like... Eerily serene? If he's relaxed, he's basically perfectly still, though he's very observant and likes to people watch, so he's usually looking around himself! if he needs to fidget, he's usually on his phone, maybe playing a puzzle game, or reading! And like Fritz, he's fairly comfortable no matter what he's wearing, but his bearing does change if it's like... more casual wear or his "work" attire (ie lingerie or leather >:3c) bc Lux off the clock is a very sweet, friendly person, and Work Lux is still fairly gentle, but stern and focused

Koli is literally NEVER still or quiet. Humming, mumbling to himself, tongue clicking/popping, foot tapping, fingers drumming or snapping. if he's trying to keep still, he is mauling his nails or chewing the inside of his cheeks or lips raw. If he's really nervous, he's got a bit of an issue with skin-picking, too. He also tends to wear As Little Clothing as he can get away with, and when he's gotta be fully dressed in Normal clothes he gets more fidgety than ever. He likes flexible, comfortable, and soft clothes, and scratchy/stiff fabrics drive him insane, and make it so he can't really focus on anything around him

[techandinvcom]

The History of Ceramics

Ceramics have played a key role in architecture throughout the world. They are used in various applications, including tiles, bricks, pots, and pipes. They are also used for creating refrigerator magnets. They are very durable and are often used in industrial facilities. In addition, they can be resistant to stains and wear, making them ideal for high-traffic areas. They are also very affordable.

In the past, ceramics were associated with coldness, however, technological advancements have led to a more diverse definition of the material. Today, it can be found in a variety of colors, finishes, and styles. It can also be used to imitate fabrics, leather, wood, and more. Whether you choose a natural stone look, a classic pattern, or a contemporary design, ceramics can add a sense of style and sophistication to your home.

The earliest examples of ceramics date back to the 17th century. These tiles were used to cover the walls of buildings. They could be in the form of free-form pieces, or they could be cut into small, rectangular shapes. The Timurid Empire of Persia used the moraq technique, which consisted of plaster between tiles to create panels for wall coverings. The technique was also used to cover the interior surfaces of domes. The color schemes used in these tiles ranged from purplish dark brown to dark blue.

The minai technique was introduced in Iran in the 12th-13th centuries, and was used for producing miniature-sized tiles. This technique uses a layer of colored slip or glaze, which is applied over a secondary glaze to achieve a wider palette of colors. It was used for decorative wares in the early Ottoman period.

The سيراميك industry in Kutahya had suffered a significant downturn in the first half of the 19th century, but it slowly began to recover. Tiles from this period were decorated on late-Ottoman buildings and in private collections in Turkey. This period was characterized by the use of blue-and-white wares. The tile on the tomb of Sultan Mehmed Resad V in Eyup is an example. It was made by Hafiz Emin Usta, a Kutahya potter.

While the tiles of the late Ottoman period were based on the traditional techniques of the Seljuks, they also began to use the cuerda seca technique, which involves carving a design into the surface. This prevents the glazes from running into one another. In addition, the technique was less expensive than lead-glaze ware, and allowed the potter to paint directly on the frit body.

The tiles of the Emirate-period, on the other hand, are generally a continuation of the Seljuk techniques. They were used for decorating domestic houses, churches, and other buildings. These wares were also decorated with sgraffito and slip-decorated techniques. These types of wares continued the folk art and tastes of the Seljuks.

The demand for these tiles has increased over the years due to the rise of residential and commercial buildings. Increasing industrialization has led to a booming construction industry. The growth of this industry is expected to continue in the coming years.

[kaolinclaysupplier]

Why Frits Manufacturers Prefer China Clay Over Other Raw Materials

In the ceramic industry, the raw materials used in production have a significant impact on the quality, durability, and appearance of the final products. Among the various raw materials, china clay has emerged as a preferred choice for many frits manufacturers, particularly those involved in the production of sanitaryware, tiles, and other ceramic products. This article explores why frits manufacturers prefer china clay over other raw materials, highlighting the advantages it offers in terms of quality, cost, and the production process. We will also take a closer look at the role of clay mining companies, the demand for china clay manufacturers in India, and its pivotal role in the sanitaryware production process.

1. Understanding Frits and Their Role in Ceramic Manufacturing

Before delving into why china clay is preferred by frits manufacturers, it's important to understand what frits are and how they are used in the ceramic industry. Frits are essentially a type of glass that is melted, ground, and then added to ceramics as an important component in the glaze. Frits play a key role in improving the quality of ceramic tiles, pottery, and sanitaryware by enhancing the surface properties such as gloss, smoothness, and color retention.

The production of frits requires high-quality raw materials, and china clay is a critical ingredient in this process. Known for its unique chemical composition and fine particle size, china clay imparts the necessary properties to frits that make them ideal for use in the ceramic industry.

2. What is China Clay and Why is it Important?

China clay, also known as kaolin, is a type of fine, white clay that is rich in the mineral kaolinite. It is primarily used in ceramics, paper, rubber, and paint production. The primary reason china clay is favored in the production of frits and other ceramic materials lies in its excellent properties, such as:

Purity: China clay is highly pure and contains minimal impurities like iron, which makes it ideal for producing high-quality white ceramics.

Plasticity: It exhibits good plasticity, which is essential during shaping and molding processes in ceramics.

Fineness: The finely ground nature of china clay makes it perfect for frit production, allowing it to mix well with other ingredients and ensuring a smooth finish.

In addition to its chemical composition, china clay has a high resistance to heat and is capable of withstanding high temperatures without deforming. These qualities make it indispensable in the sanitaryware production process, where heat resistance and durability are critical.

3. The Role of Clay Mining Companies in China Clay Production

The supply chain for china clay begins with mining, and clay mining companies play a vital role in sourcing high-quality clay that meets the standards required for frit production. These companies are responsible for the extraction and processing of china clay, ensuring that it meets the necessary specifications for industrial use.

Clay mining companies often operate in areas where the mineral deposits of china clay are abundant, such as in regions of India, the UK, and parts of China. In India, for instance, the china clay manufacturers in India are well-regarded for their ability to supply large quantities of high-quality clay suitable for various industrial applications.

In India, the clay mining industry is an essential part of the country's economic landscape, with large deposits of china clay found in states such as Kerala, Rajasthan, and Himachal Pradesh. These areas are home to many of the leading china clay manufacturers in India, who have the capability to process and supply high-quality china clay to international markets.

4. Advantages of Using China Clay for Frits Manufacturing

There are several compelling reasons why frits manufacturers prefer china clay over other raw materials. Let’s look at these reasons in more detail:

4.1 Purity and Consistency

One of the primary reasons frits manufacturers prefer china clay is its purity. China clay contains a high percentage of kaolinite, which is a white, fine-grained clay mineral. This high degree of purity makes it easier to achieve consistent and uniform results in the manufacturing of frits, glazes, and other ceramic products. Since china clay is free from impurities such as iron or aluminum, it helps in producing frits with the desired aesthetic properties, such as a bright white color or translucency, without any undesirable discoloration.

4.2 High Plasticity and Molding Properties

The plasticity of china clay is another crucial factor that makes it highly desirable for frits manufacturers. During the frit production process, china clay is mixed with other raw materials and melted at high temperatures. Its excellent molding properties allow it to be easily shaped and molded into the desired form, which is essential for producing high-quality frits that will later be applied to ceramic products.

In addition to this, the plasticity of china clay also plays an important role in the sanitaryware production process. Sanitaryware products such as toilets, sinks, and bathtubs require precise shaping, and china clay facilitates this process, ensuring that the final product is smooth and free of defects.

4.3 Cost-Effectiveness

For frits manufacturers, cost is always a significant consideration when choosing raw materials. China clay is not only abundant in many regions, but it is also cost-effective compared to other raw materials. The widespread availability of china clay, particularly in countries like India, allows manufacturers to access it at competitive prices, reducing production costs.

Moreover, the china clay manufacturers in India are able to offer high-quality clay at lower costs due to the country’s well-established mining and processing infrastructure. This cost advantage enables frits manufacturers to keep their production costs low, which can be a key factor in maintaining competitive prices in the global market.

4.4 High Durability and Heat Resistance

The inherent heat resistance of china clay makes it an ideal material for the production of frits, which must withstand high temperatures during firing. This property is also essential in the sanitaryware production process, where products are exposed to extreme heat during firing. The high melting point of china clay ensures that frits made from it will remain stable and durable, even under high thermal stress.

In sanitaryware production, durability is paramount, as products must endure regular use and exposure to varying environmental conditions. China clay contributes to the creation of robust ceramic products that can withstand everyday wear and tear, ensuring that sanitaryware retains its aesthetic appeal and functionality over time.

5. The Sanitaryware Production Process and the Role of China Clay

The sanitaryware production process is a multi-step procedure that involves the shaping, glazing, and firing of ceramic materials. China clay plays an important role at various stages of the process:

Shaping: In the initial stages of sanitaryware production, china clay is mixed with other raw materials to form a smooth and workable paste. The plasticity of china clay ensures that it can be easily molded into the desired shapes, such as sinks, bathtubs, and toilets.

Glazing: After the initial shaping, the products are coated with a glaze made from frits. The frits, which contain china clay, provide a smooth and glossy finish to the sanitaryware products. This glaze also improves the products’ resistance to stains, scratches, and other forms of wear.

Firing: During the firing process, the china clay helps to maintain the shape and integrity of the sanitaryware. Its ability to withstand high temperatures ensures that the final product remains stable and retains its structural integrity even under thermal stress.

6. China Clay Manufacturers in India: Key Players in the Global Market

India has emerged as one of the leading suppliers of china clay in the global market, thanks to its rich deposits of high-quality china clay and well-established manufacturing capabilities. China clay manufacturers in India are renowned for their ability to produce large quantities of clay with consistent quality, making India a key player in the global supply chain for frits and ceramics.

Indian china clay manufacturers also have access to advanced processing technologies that allow them to refine and grade the clay to meet the specific requirements of frits manufacturers. This ensures that china clay produced in India is highly competitive in terms of both quality and price.

7. Conclusion

The preference of frits manufacturers for china clay is driven by several key factors, including its purity, plasticity, cost-effectiveness, and heat resistance. China clay is an essential raw material in the production of frits and plays a crucial role in the sanitaryware production process by contributing to the durability, appearance, and functionality of ceramic products. The role of clay mining companies and china clay manufacturers in India in ensuring a consistent and high-quality supply of china clay has further solidified its position as the raw material of choice for the ceramic industry. As demand for high-quality ceramic products continues to grow, china clay will undoubtedly remain an indispensable component in the production of frits and other ceramic materials.

[tadbitfooled]

I wrote a post a few weeks ago about ways your muse could've met one of mine before the game BUT I have no idea where it went so we'll make a new, more organized post.

Tadpoled

Briza Jaelre

If you're a surface drow, it would be easier to have met her prior. She's the oldest child of the Jaelre family of her generation and has some good political standing due to that.

Also if your muse has been around the forest of Cormanthor, where the exiled House Jaelre has set up their home, your muse may have run into her while she's been patrolling. Or even have done trade with her house if your muse is from that area.

Also I could see some parties or something happening where it's forging alliances with the surfacers and showing the house Jaelre isn't as cutthroat as the Lolth sworn drow. (But they aren't afraid to get their hands messy.)

Durante Faust

He's been an apprentice to a sculptor since he was a teenager. He easily could've tagged along when his master was doing a commission.

Then there's also the fact he'd also eventually start getting his own commissions, especially because he does have an almost unnatural skill in his work. (It is really life like, and no not due to magic, just talent.)

He is the most likely person your muse could've had a random one night stand with at one point. So there's also fun in that. Or he could have wooed and ran, that is also a possibility.

Frits Farehill

He is 35 and attended Blackstaff; he could easily be someone's former classmate/peer.

I accidentally made him really good as a possibly bg person for Ga.le just because his parents also own a flower shop in Waterdeep and the prior bullet point.

Frits has 11 siblings so maybe your muse may know him through a sibling

Frits does a lot of traveling for his research with his partner, so it's very easy to have crossed paths with him before, even just for a short while.

Gwenifar van Hol

Gwenifar's been around with her duties as a cleric. From dealing with plagues and illnesses to helping tend to people in battle. She's quite adept at her healing and making healing potions and salves, so she's been requested to travel to quite a few places in Faerun.

Beyond that, in recent years, she's helped raise funds for the Open Hand Temple by attending various get togethers of the well-to-do, having gained a bit of charisma as she's gotten older. So she does often interact with Baldur's Gate's elite, as well as tend to those in need in the city.

Talilah Bluethorn

She has traveled all around Faerun, helping her mother steal from the rich and give to the poor. She's also been on a few adventures besides that, so there's some options there.

Your muse, if they're a high elf from Evereska, might even not know her but know her father, who she has a strong resemblance to. Which could be fun.

Also if your muse is rich, maybe she and her fellows stole from them that'd be a great dynamic.

Tavinkas

He's a durge so like. He's traveled around Faerun but to kill people. What if he killed someone your muse cared about. what if.

Also other cultists and that who would work with Bhaalists, that's another way to have met him prior to the game.

Camp Followers

Anatol Byron

Look, this guy has been looking to create a heroic name for himself, being the third son of a noble family. He feels it's his destiny to do something heroic, he's got a good heart but uh. Sometimes not so bright.

Also as being the third son of a noble family, there are options of arranged marriage plots, meeting at revelries, or other type settings.

Kyrirthlila Bluethorn

Like with her daughter, she's been stealing from well-to-do for about 250 years. So that's a way to have met her prior. Also has had her own adventures and that, so that's something to consider too.

Background

Aella Dekarios

You might know her if your muse is from Waterdeep. She's part of a traveling minstrel group and they tour all around Faerun too. She's had her adventure here and there.

Also you're more than welcome to want to be her wife with two kids, I left it vague just in case anyone wants to be Ga.le's in-law.

Arakhivaen Saliriador

One of the harder muses. His mother is on the royal council of Evermeet, and he's a guard in Evereska. But if your muse is a high elf noble, then that would be the easiest way to have met him before, considering there's The Retreat that happened and it's only in recent years high elves are coming back to the mainland.

If you do have an older muse, though, Arakhivaen might have had more to do with interacting with wider Faerun before The Retreat (about 150 ish years ago).

Arzan Ancunin

He's a second gen, so there's no meeting him prior to the game, unless there's some wild time travel set up. But there's still options to pre-establish a relationship for interactions. Considering he's a dhampir looking for a cure for vampirism for his father, something beyond the options available that can do a mass cure. OR you go the ascended route and he's trying to stop his father.

Chiela Ancunin

Another difficult one due to The Retreat, but she was around Baldur's Gate prior to it. Tended to her brother's grave and all that. Not to mention I hc their parents were very much ladder climbing lower noble/upper middle class, so there's something to play with as well.

Obviously wildly easier if your muse is a high elf who can go to Evereska/Evermeet.

Ingeleif Maerklos

Went to Blackstaff, is 36. 100% is an arrogant piece of work.

if your muse is from Waterdeep, they should know the Maerklos family. As a noble, he's probably had his interactions at parties and get togethers. Maybe even arranged marriage discussions before he became a Chosen of Mystra.

As a Chosen of Mystra, he has had to go in search of ways to strengthen the Weave after the events in recent history. So your muse could've met him on a quest.

Klaudius Sarrick

He's a wealthy man leading a double life in Baldur's Gate. He's very used to interacting with high society in balls and that sort of thing.

But also other cultists who would work with a Loviat.an.

Perun Dekarios

He works as adventurer; probably if your muse is an adventurer, could've met him. Also he's very social and very charming, easily could've charmed his way into a well-to-do party (although the Dekarios family is a decently well off clan in my opinion.)

Also left his wife and three kids vague in case anyone wants to be Ga.le's in-law