#Memory Preservation Techniques

[wisdomandroyalty]

Your Guide to Capturing Memories Through Scrapbooking

🎨 Dive into the world of #Scrapbooking! Preserve memories with a creative twist. Uncover unique styles, embrace your creative personality, and craft stunning memory albums. Discover the magic here. ✨ #Scrapbooking #CreativeExpression #WizBlog #Art

Oh, the beautiful world of scrapbooking! There are so many definitions out there, and you might even have your own unique take on it. But let me tell you, amidst all the different meanings, there’s one thing that remains constant – the magical art of preserving memories. It’s like having your very own time capsule filled with precious moments that’ll always bring a smile to your face! Oh, how I…

[muzansfangs]

Mojito + Douma & Kokushibo

Devotion.

Starring: Douma x f!reader; Kokushibo x f!reader; Douma x f!reader x Kokushibo; mention to Gyokko and Muzan;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, threesome, public sex, dom!Kokushibo, dom!Douma, sub!reader, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, anal penetration, double penetration, bitemarks, hair pulling, reader is a demon, manhandling, blood drinking, violence in battle, consuming humans, dispicable use of blood as a cosmetic, kind of sacrilegious scenary (sex in the shrine area);

Plot: As one of Douma’s most loyal followers, you had some privileges. One of those was being turned into a demon and trained to climb the ranks of the Upper Moons. When Gyokko died, Muzan chose you to take his place. In the middle of a training session with the leader of the Eternal Paradise Cult and the Upper Moon One, you accidentally hit them with your blood demon technique: aphrodisiac blood. Pinned down by your comrades, you were demanded to show them your devotion.

Drink chosen: MOJITO (double!penetration, threesome, anal sex, vaginal sex, marking the partner);

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT | RULES FOR THE EVENT

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The Moon glowed solitary in a starless dark sky. Under the pale light provided by the satellite, you were sitting on the cold stairs of an ancient shrine, forgotten by the neglectful humans who had built it centuries ago to probably appease the divine wrath of their god. Ivy and dirt blanketed the abandoned building, now deemed a pit of demons and curses by the local folklore. Pitiful. It was nothing but pitiful. You grimaced at the thought of the typical human inconsistency and stupidity.

Still, not long ago, you were a human too. Some memories from your past life still flashed in your mind. Who were you before you turned into a blood-thirsted creature? You were a devoted young girl, living in a Temple in which people disappeared mysteriously from their beds in the dead of the night. It was a ritual, or this is what the Leader of the Cult wanted his followers to believe. Those humans were doomed. Their naivety and faith were their downfall. However, while he deliberately manipulated the whining mass of people seeking protection and blessings from him, he had never tried to hide his identity, his nature, to you. Loyal to him, you had always stood by his side, not manifesting horrified expressions, when he devoured people in front of you. Your fingers were usually threading through his silky platinum blond hair, whilst he fed. Humming sweet melodies for him, helping him to bathe, you had gradually become his life companion, or something close to it. Along with the favors and attentions he required, he did not abstain from asking you to indulge into the bed with him.

Satisfying your Lord, though, did not feel unpleasant. There was something enthralling about the way he broke you down and built you up.

To show you his gratitude, Douma had therefore turned you into a demon to preserve your beauty. It was amusing how you had inheridated some of his characteristic. Your nails, pointy and lilac, were among them. Your devotion intensified. By the time you had trained enough to be capable of not shaking in front of Muzan Kibutsuji, Douma had suggested him to make you one of the Twelve Kitsuki. You felt on top of the world, the glory of finally standing at the top ensnared your senses and you gladly complied to the King of demons’s order to show your loyalty to him.

Standing up now, you detected the subtle attack coming from your left. Dodging it was easy, the golden tessen aiming at your neck cut a mere strand of your hair. You smirked, kneeling a few feet away from your opponent. Pearly fangs shining under the moonlight, Douma waved his hand at you casually.

“Ah, you’ve become so agile, Y/N-chan!” Douma stated, as you casually approached him with a soft smile on your red-painted lips. He, only he or another demon could say what it was smeared over your mouth.

His hand gripping your hair and straining your neck made you wince. His tongue darted out of his mouth, lapping at the dried blood you used to decorate your lips. Your clawed hand gripped his cheek, nails digging onto the smooth flesh enough to pierce his flesh and draw blood. You had become so much rougher with each other since you had become the new Upper Rank Five. Your animalistic and savage nature had kicked in, surprising your carefree friend to some extents.

“And you are perpetually needy” you whispered, lips hovering over his, before you ungraciously shoved him off of you and caused him to tumble onto the ground.

Douma was fascinated, watching as you rested your bare foot on top of his broad chest and bit down onto your wrist. Oh, how much he loved feeding from you. The sight of your crimson blood dribbling down your skin and splattering onto his face made his cock throb into his pants. The need to be inside of you was unbearable. The Upper Moon Two diligently opened his mouth, tongue welcoming the drops of blood you were so generously letting drip from your wound. Once again, you were subservient, indulgent.

His hand slided up your naked calf, squeezing it suggestively, rainbow-colored eyes locking with yours as you sighed and decided to cruelly deprive him of your proximity, of your intoxicating blood.

Douma groaned, pushing himself up on his elbows as your skin regenerated quickly “Ah, come on, what did I say to piss you off now?” he asked you, but he did not receive an answer from you, because the air around the shrine suddenly became asphyxiating. Your eyes grew round, your knees almost buckling under the pressure, upon ascertaining the Upper Moon One had joined you two. You were expecting him to come; whenever Muzan gave orders, he was the only one who never failed his expectations.

Bowing your head respectfully at the highest rank of what remained of the Twelve Kizuki, you greeted him “Kokushibo-dono, it’s a joy to welcome you here. We were just waiting for you to begin” you cooed, breaking the eeare silence enveloping the area.

You knew nothing about him, beside his sense of honor and an incommensurable admiration for the progenitor of your specimen. A rational, taciturn man who hardly ever barged into the unimportant squabbles taking place among those below him. What mattered to that man was the impertubable balance of powers.

An high-pitched gasp from behind you, caught your attention and, in a blink of an eye, Douma was standing right next to you “Ah, Kokushibo-dono, it’s been so long! You have declined all of my invitations to visit my residence… It’s a shame, really! Recently, I’ve taken in a couple of lovely girls. I looked forward to share them with you” the Upper Moon Two ranted, that fake overjoyed smile curving the angles of his lips upwards, while he sneakily swung his arm around your waist, yanking you against his side.

You sighed, a pout on your lips, before you searched for Kokushibo’s gaze to begin your training session. While you were more than capable of taking down a Pillar on your own, you still had some troubles in controlling your blood demon technique and, with the incoming war, Muzan wanted you to be extremely proficient, impeccable. Letting you train along the two strongest demons alive was the best way to improve your skills.

The former Demon Slayer sized you up, hand resting onto the hilt of his katana out of habit “Y/N. — he greeted you, his six bloodshot eyes then darting on the tall man at your left — Hard times require total concentration. There is absolutely no time to slack off and indulge into sordid, deplorable activities. Get in position” he sternly said, causing the younger demon to sneer and plant a kiss on your cheek before distancing himself from you leisurely.

You had no idea of the specific schedule he had chosen for you, yet the moment your nose was pierced by the fragrance of human blood, and your ears heard heavy footsteps rapidly consuming the road leading from the woods to the shrine, you put the pieces together. You looked at Kokushibo, not surprised by his lack of an explanation. Slayers. Those humans running straight to their death were Slayers the Upper Moon One had purposefully conducted to you.

“Oh, is that food? Please, tell me pretty girls in black uniforms are coming for us…” Douma chimed, his smile broadening as he tried to take a step towards the dark forest.

Kokushibo’s gesture of the hand, though, was enough to stop him from doing anything more than watching the scene unfold before his dreamy eyes.

Being the center of the attention had never been more difficult than now. Your eyes scrutinized the area, your nails ready to rip to shreds whomever had the audacity to attempt to slice your head off of your shoulders. A few seconds passed by before you spotted the group of young Slayers running towards you. Ready for battle, glaring at you, they unsheathed their blades. Six humans, not exactly weaklings, craved your head. But before you could just charge at them, Kokushibo spoke out again.

“Use your technique. Focus solely on it”.

His deep voice, for some reason, sent shivers down your spine. Probably, you were just enthralled by the massacre about to take place in the holy territory underneath your feet. Or maybe you were already losing control. Nevertheless, you quickly switched your attention back on the youngs group of humans in front of you.

“Good evening” you cooed, smiling faintly at the now shaking people looking at you and your frightening friends in horror.

“Upper ranks… We’re dead. Tell the crows to send a Pillar” a female Slayer blurted out, sweat beading her forehead as she frantically looked at both her sides in search for possible ways out of this situation.

“A Pillar? Are you fucking blind? We need more than a Pillar here!” her comrade said, eyes not leaving your frame as you sighed and shook your head. It was pointless. What could three Pillars do anyway against three upper ranks? Nothing.

Your eyes glinted, your hand caressing the cheek of the female slayer who had suggested to call a Pillar. You heard them gasp, when they realized you were standing practically among them, not fearing their deadly blades at all. You were blatantly challenging them, awaiting for the right moment to devour them. You giggled, before you disappeared from the small circle around you, holding the young fighter in your arms before you speaking again. Back in your original spot, you were running your fingers through the silky black hair of the girl, her body writhing under your touch as you leaned your face down to your let your lips graze her earlobe. It was time to satisfy your whims and you did not hesitate to activate your technique.

“Blood demon art: the human puppet” you whispered, the white sclera of your eyes fading into black.

Before your victim could even register what was happening, blood threds connected to her joints and she naturally dropped to her knees in front of you. Adoration in her eyes, she hugged your legs, the effects of your aphrodisiac blood driving her nuts.

“What’s happening? What did she do to her?” the head of the group snapped, trying to assess your reactions to figure out what your power could do.

Honestly, you were having fun. There was no pressure of ending things quickly for once. You had all the time in world to enjoy your minutes of glory and you did. You smiled at the girl at your feet, clasping your hands together as you listened to her words.

“How can I serve you?” she meekly asked you, cheeks flushing up as you hummed and gestured at her friends at her back, hunger for blood making your mouth salivate, albeit you tried to get a grip of yourself.

“Those people have offended me. Why don’t you kill them for me?” you asked, watching in glee as she hastily picked her sword back up and sprinted towards them. Ready to defend themselves, the slayers cursed your name as the group had apparently decided to split. You watched in interest three of them charging at you, homicidal instinct in their eyes, while the rest of them sparred with their comrade.

All the while, you had felt Douma and Kokushibo’s eyes on you, studying your moves, contemplating your choices and strategies. They had not bothered helping you out and they did not seem interested in it anyway, at least, until a disaster happened. Trusting blindly in your abilities, you had waited too long before activating your technique. The moment you did, you were forced to block the slash of a slayer with your forearm. The impact was powerful enough to cause your blood to spill, accidentally splattering on your two colleagues faces, staining their lips and inhebriating them.

Faltering, you had no time to apologize that a katana sliced through your opponent’s head. The thud of his body colliding onto the ground was followed by the screams of terror and agony of the others. Soon enough, you were surroundered by bunch of dismembered corpses, no more sounds echoing in the calm forest, if not… Heavy breaths, grunts of frustration. Affected by your technique, the upper moon One and Two were staring right into your eyes, their fangs protruding from their gums, ferally hissing to fight the primal urges of dominating the weakest prey in front of them. It was your fault. The second form of your blood demon technique was literally called ‘primal lust of the hunter’.

Taking a few impish steps back, you tried to comfort them “I promise the side effects are going to wear off in a few—”.

“How long?” Kokushibo growled, planting his sword onto the ground. You had never seen him like that.

“Kokushibo-dono, I… I—”.

A sudden grip on your forearm, yanking you towards them, made you gasp in sheer embarrassment. That look in their eyes, that way of staring you down in hunger promised nothing less than a long night of submission ahead of you.

“How long?” the Upper moon One hissed on your face, his grip on your forearm intensifying, until you confessed the truth.

“Until you reach the peak of your ecstasy” you blurted out, earning an hysterical laughter from Douma, who grasped a fistful of your hair and encircled your waist with a hand. His abs glued to your back, he rotated his hips against your rear, the clothed bulge underneath the layers he wore poking at you with unbridled hunger.

You shuddered, closing your eyes “I can help you! I can help you both!” you fretted, body on fire as their hands began to undress you with urgency.

Probably, this was the biggest mistake of your life, but the famous thing that happened once ever in a lifetime too. Lips devoured yours instantly, the guttural groan escaping Kokushibo lips made your disclose your lips automatically to let his tongue invade your mouth. Your hands threaded your the former Slayer’s hair, tugging at his ponytail to squash his body against yours. Fangs sank onto the crook of your neck, your whimper swallowed by Koksuhibo, as Douma hand slipped underneath your ripped kimono and masterly cupped your sex.

How many times had he done that to you? So many nights, so many nights but not a single one of them could compare to what he was making you feel right now. Douma always took his sweet time in tearing you apart, but his thumb did not indulge much on your throbbing clitoris.

You whined in protest, only for him to take a step back and unbuckle the belt of his pants “Sorry, Y/N-chan, but I feel… Oh, my sweet gods, I feel like I could burst into my own pants, if I don’t fuck that pretty hole of yours. Not much prep today, okay?” he rasped out, sweat running down the valley of your breasts along with the blood still dribbling down your collarbone in irregular crimson lines from his harsh bite onto your neck.

When the Upper Moon One pulled away, his hands discarding his robes onto the ground, finally granting you the celestial sight of his chiseled body, you struggled to keep your composure: the body of a warrior, the body of a divinity. The body of a man who had trained for centuries, in the desperate chase to proclaim himself the strongest slayer alive.

“Her womb is mine” he declared firmly, causing your knees to buckle, when he grasped your hips and made you straddle him easily. Douma surprisingly did not retaliate, kneeling right behind you instead as his hand slipped down between your thighs to collect some of your juices.

He growled, the pads of his fingers collecting the result of your wanton before smearing them onto the entrance of your puckered hole. You writhed, glancing at him from above your shoulder, before pulling him into a sloppy kiss “You better worship the ground I walk on after this” you whispered, only for a pathetic whimper to leave your lips as Kokushibo’s calloused band grasped your jaw unceremoniously and turned your head towards him once again.

“He’s your superior, but I personally don’t see the number one etched in his eyes” the man darkly said, pushing his hips against yours and witnessing to the way you came to realize his hakama were now loosely hanging down his hips. His cock, standing as a ramrod, was probbing at your entrance with arrogance, his free hand angling your hips to favor the penetration.

“I apologize, Kokushibo-dono. — you breathed out, arching your back as he lined the bulbous tip on you clenching hole — Douma and I are familiar with this kind of entertainment” you explained, breath hitching in your throat when the blond man at your back began to slide a finger into your backside to stretch you out a little. He was seething in anger, frustration of not having the chance to paint the welcoming walls of your pussy in white, as he always did.

The Upper Moon Two smirked “That’s right! I think Kokushibo-dono will absolutely love to hear how much of a slut you are when you are stuffed so full of cum that you twitch like a fish dying on the shore” he remarked, your eyes screwed shut as you felt your tight walls swallowing his fingers into your most private parts.

Were you going to be able to walk after this? If they actually injured you, was your demonic regeneration going to heal your wounds?

“Enough talk” Kokushibo flatly said, unsympathetically pinching your right nipple to hear you squirm under his ministrations as well.

And, gosh, you did. What made him groan out in pleasure, his stolid mask slipping, was the way your pussy squeezed him up perfectly when he entered you. Hands planted onto your hipbones, Kokushibo guided you up and down onto his length. The girth had almost made you regret your choice of taking care of their impellent needs, but the way he occasionally let the head of his cock kiss your cervix made you cry out loudly, shamelessly, your head lolling back on Douma’s shoulder as he also began to slide into you.

You had no idea how you had managed to, how your body had adapted to that tempo, to the way they were manhandly you, but when Douma had filled you up to the brim, his pelvis slapping against your arses, you knew you had showed your devotion to them.

“Fuck! I— O my God… — you whimpered out, vision blurry as tears ran down your cheeks copiously — K-Koku, Koku, I can’t” you inhaled sharply, only for him to snort at your face, a powerful thrust causing your whole body to collapse against his.

“It’s Lord Kokushibo to you”.

His words, vivid in your mind, were the only thing you remembered hearing from him after they were done with you. Panting, a mass of sweat and fluids, you were sandwitched between them. Kokushibo came deep into you, arms almost possessively keeping you in place, his gestures so cold and methodical. You wondered, you wondered if a long time ago he had been married, if he had fucked her with the only intention of impregnating her because you were damned if he had not given you that impression.

Douma was breathing heavily, tongue lapping at the umpteenth wound he had left onto your neck, as he softened into you. He had not pulled out as well, you could feel his sperm oozing out from your abused hole as you barely had the energy to nuzzle your head into Kokushibo’s chest.

He did not caress you, neither said a word, but he allowed you to rest like that for a little while. Your training had just begun.

AUTHOR NOTE.

A big thank you to the anon who had submitted this request! I said it once and I’ll say it again: writing threesomes is amusing! Also… I might have a thing for Douma, that’s pretty evident by now. Thank you for your support and see you in the next work!

Likes, comments and re-posts are greatly appreciated!

x o x o

Dt: @doumadono @mrskokushibo my angels✨❤️

TAGS: @axesfordays @flakeygod @tomatoeshater @areyouflying @bakugosgirl01 @crystal-freak24 @the-nex @squ4respace @akazas-left-tatted-butt-cheek @wooyugta @ilubplants @the-faceless-bride

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

I was going to post a different au idea tonight, but this idea caught me in a death-grip and would not let me go, so enjoy!

Note: You can find the translations for the old English at the end!

EDIT: You can find part two of this au here, and part three here!

In this au, Merlin dies at Camlann instead of Arthur, and his magic was diffused into the king and kingdom he so loved upon his death, making everyone in Camelot immortal. After a few centuries of thriving though, Merlin's magic starts to fade, and everyone falls into an almost comatose state. It keeps them all alive and protected the kingdom from intruders, but it could not keep them awake. However, the people of Camelot did not worry about this. Both the druids and the dragon had proclaimed that Merlin would return to the world of the living again one day. So, they were content to sleep peacefully and await the day of their friend's return. Slowly, the earth rose up to swallow Camelot, and the sleeping kingdom was buried underneath the earth.

Fast forward to modern day, and Merlin's been reincarnated without any of his memories or his magic. He winds up as an archeologist, and eventually is sent out to a promising dig site on the border between England and Wales. There, his team unearths a window into an old fortress. Their sonar equipment has revealed a full castle underneath their feet, and they have everything prepped for a preliminary excavation! They've already found coins and a few blades on the site, dating back to the 6th century!

Now, stories of the "immortal kingdom of Camelot" and its undying and legendary king Arthur were commonplace, and Merlin quite enjoyed those stories as a child. However, historians doubted if Camelot was ever a real kingdom at all, and no one past the age of six believed in an immortal kingdom! Merlin, deep down, was hoping that the dig site was indeed the historical kingdom Camelot itself, as much of the kingdom's history had been lost and buried under ridiculous myths about magic and dragons.

However, the issue is that the window that they discovered is pretty small. Merlin, as the skinniest out of all of them, would probably be the only one who could fit through it. Excitedly, Merlin puts on his safety harness and hard hat and descends through the window and into the castle.

Merlin explores for a bit, constantly telling the team on the surface all about the amazingly preserved artifacts in the castle. There's tapestries, suits of armor, furniture, even clothing still in wardrobes all in perfect condition! The entire team is besides themselves with excitement! They've just made the most important discovery of their careers!

Merlin spends a few more days exploring the castle by himself. Eventually, he comes to a rather impressive and ornately decorated door and decides to find out what's behind it. It must be something pretty important to warrant such an impressive door! Perhaps the throne room?

As he opens the door though, he lets out a loud gasp, shocked by two things in the room. First, the large round table in the middle of the room. He knew that he was near the supposed site of the lost kingdom of Camelot, but this confirmed it! All of the legends spoke about king Arthur's round table, and here it was before him, confirming the legends!

However, Merlin's elation was dashed by the second thing he noticed: bodies. There were bodies occupying the seats around the table, all of them slumped over or slouching in their seats with their eyes closed, but they were not skeletal remains that should have been there, seeing as how no one had set foot in those room for hundreds of years. No, these people looked like they had only been there for a day, with no signs of decay on them.

As Merlin's fear began to rise, he tried to reason with himself. Maybe this kingdom had surprisingly advanced embalming techniques and had unusual burial rituals? What other explanation could there possibly be?

As Merlin reported the bodies to his colleagues on the surface, they warned him to be careful is something didn't feel right, which it certainly didn't. Something about these bodies creeped Merlin out in a way that no other human remains had ever done. However, Merlin's unease lessened somewhat as he described the bodies to his colleagues, his excitement at such a well-preserved find started eclipsing his fear.

There were in total five male bodies and one female body, with four of the male bodies being clad in chainmail, surcoats, trousers, and long bright red capes with an insignia of a golden dragon sown into it. The other male body was similarly clad in chainmail and a cape, but wore a golden crown on his head. Lastly, the lone female body, who was sitting to the left of the crowned male body, was a dark-skinned woman wearing an ornate and richly decorated dress along with a small silver crown on her head.

Merlin's heart stuttered in his chest as he came to the natural conclusion of these observations: he had just found the perfectly-preserved bodies of a king, queen, and four knights. Forget making his career, Merlin was going to be put in the history books for this discovery! Quickly, he called his colleagues (who had finally found a way to safely widen the entrance at the window) to follow the line of his harness and join him in the room he had just found. They needed to see this!

Finally turning away from the bodies, Merlin let his gaze wander around the room. He takes note of the impressively high ceilings for the time period, the repetition of the dragon crest on decorations around the room, and the designs carved into the wood of the round table. However, one of the most intriguing elements of the room, was the lone empty chair sitting next to the king.

The fact that there was only one empty chair was strange enough, but there were a few even stranger elements to the chair. The chair was directly to the right of the king, presumably reserved for the king's right hand, his chief advisor. Why would such an important figure be missing here? Another puzzling feature of the chair was the scrap of red cloth that was tied around one of the arms of the chair.

Stepping closer to examine the little piece of cloth, he could see at first glance that the cloth was old, battered, and made with cheap material, unlike the richer cloth that made up the knights' and kings' capes. What was this random piece of cloth doing tied around the arm of this chair, which presumedly belonged to a powerful figure in the kingdom?

A sudden piercing shriek caused Merlin to jump into the air. He looked up and across the table, relieved to see that it was just four of his colleagues who had just entered the room. They must've been freaked out by the well-preserved bodies too! Merlin certainly couldn't blame them for such a reaction.

Merlin chuckled a bit and spoke to his frightened coworkers. "Well, what did I tell you? This is going to shock the world! We've just made the discovery of a lifetime!"

However, his colleagues were only getting paler by the second, not even looking at him, instead looking... past him? Merlin frowned a bit and turned to look over his left shoulder, at the body of the king, which was where his coworkers were staring. What could possibly...

His eyes were open. His eyes were definitely not open before.

As soon as his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing, Merlin let out a panicked shriek and flung himself backwards, away from the king who he swore was dead just a second ago what the fuck was happening?!

Unfortunately, Merlin desperate attempt to get away from the maybe-undead king sent him sprawling to the ground, having tripped over the empty chair, and his shriek had jolted his colleagues into action. The four of them ran forwards and grabbed ahold of Merlin, dragging him back towards the entrance to the room while never taking their eyes off of the maybe-undead king.

As they made their way back to the entrance though, something truly horrifying happened. The king moved. He blinked and moved his neck to track their movements.

Oh god, that thing was awake and aware that they were here! They needed to get out of there!

Together, the group turned and ran as quickly as they could back towards the entrance. Horrifyingly, as soon as they were out of sight of the king, they could hear the screeching sound of a chair sliding against the stone floor. Each one of them could feel their hearts pounding with fear as they all realized at once: the king, whatever he was, was going to chase after them.

They nearly all have heart attacks when they hear a voice roaring after them, "Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin!"

After a tense few minutes of running with the terrifying echo of boots chasing after them ringing in their ears, they finally reached the hallway connecting to their window entrance. They could see the light outside! They were almost free!

Fear gripped all of their chests, however, when a group of what should have been corpses blocked their path, cutting them off from the sight of the daylight. For a second, Merlin thought about making a break for it and attempts to run through them, but then the probably-undead knights unsheathed their swords (which were still somehow sharp and pristine after 1500 years, this was getting ridiculous!)

The group quickly turned around, hoping to run back and perhaps find another path towards their freedom, only to have their hopes dashed by the sight of the undead king storming towards them with his sword (why was it golden?) unsheathed and rage in his eyes.

Looking between them, the closest thing that they had to a weapon were a couple hard hats. They were doomed, and they could see their death marching towards them.

Getting closer, the king furiously shouted at them again with unfamiliar words. "Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis!"

The group of five archeologists are shaking in their boots at this point, fearing for their lives. Each of them had reached the only logical conclusion about their ludicrous and possibly deadly situation: they must have woken the king and his knights from their eternal rest, and they were now angry at the archeologists for disturbing their final resting place.

As the knights close in on them and grab ahold of each of them, they're all prepared for the worst. As the king barks commands at the knights, all of the archeologists are prepared to be meet with some horrible death.

"Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð."

At the king's commands, the knights nodded, and while Merlin was led down the hallway to the right, the others were led back down the dark hallway from which they had fled. Merlin tried to call out to his colleagues and to shove his way out of the knight's grip, but the knight responded by picking Merlin up and slinging him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, eliminating Merlin's ability to fight back.

Merlin tried to calm his mind and to avoid thoughts of what horrible fate would be in store for him at his destination. His treacherous mind spun up terrible theories as to why he had been separated from his group, each one more horrifying than the last.

Finally, the knight seemed to have arrived at his destination. As the knight pushed the door open, Merlin tried to brace himself for what horrible instruments of torture were surely inside.

However, there were no torture instruments at all. There were only sheets of paper strewn about, some herb bundles here and there, lots of little vials and pots scattered around, and an old man slowly walking towards them.

The old man blinked in what looked like surprise, followed by tears seeming to brim in his eyes. What the hell was going on?! The man spoke softly, "Is hit sōþlīce hē? Āh, mīn cniht, þū eart eft tō ūs āgēan cuman! Hēr, Hlāford Gwaine, sete hine dūn on þæt cot and hæbbe hine his scyrte āweg þæt ic mæg gesēon gif his wund is ēac þǣr."

The knight deposited Merlin gently on a nearby small bed and gave him some sort of smirk before speaking to him in a surprisingly gentle, almost teasing, voice, "Þu gehyrde þone wer, Myrddin! Of mid þinum scyrte nu. Ic wat þu maegst beon sceamful be þan, ac þises sio tid is swiðe aðele."

When Merlin could do nothing but stare at the knight, more bewildered than he's ever been in his life, the knight seemed to take offense to his inaction and began tugging at the bottom of Merlin's shirt, trying to pull it over his head. After a brief struggle, the knight emerged victorious, holding Merlin's shirt in his hands and grinning like a loon. Why on earth had the knight wanted his shirt of all things? What was he about to be subjected to?!

After a tense few minutes, the old man pottered over to where Merlin was sitting, bringing a small bag along with him. The man then began looking over Merlin's torso, paying particular attention to a certain to a spot underneath Merlin's ribs, prodding it repeatedly.

Merlin was quite uncomfortable being examined like this, but with an undead knight in the room still armed with a sword, there wasn't much Merlin could do to without risking getting stabbed. Well, at least the old man wasn't hurting him, so he supposed that he could look on the bright side and be grateful for that.

Eventually, the old man seemed satisfied with his examination of Merlin and addressed the knight again. "Hwæt, he þinceð tō bēon on sīðfæt hāl! Þū mæġst secgan Ārthūre þæt ic blīðe eom tō secgenne þæt ic ne mihte findan nān tācn his ǣrran lȳtlunge."

The knight nodded at the old man, looking pleased at whatever he had just been told. Then, the old man turned to him and handed him the small bag. "Min cniht, ic eom swiðe blīð tō gesēon þē eft. Þū eart swīðe þearle gewilnod! Hēr, wē hæfdon sume þīnra reafa gehealdene for þē! Ic trowe þæt þū þē beteran gefēlan wille þonne þū sum þing gelīclicre gescēawian."

Merlin gently took the bag from the old man and tentatively opened it and pulled out its contents. Inside the bag were a scratchy red tunic, a pair of old trousers, a brown jacket, a thin leather belt, and a scrap of blue cloth. Merlin looked up at the knight and the old man, unsure of what to make of these clothes.

The knight just rolled his eyes, snatched the tunic out of Merlin's hands, and started pulling the tunic over Merlin's head. Did they... did they want Merlin to put on the clothes? That seemed like the correct answer, as they looked happy when Merlin complied and put on the tunic, and they pushed Merlin towards a small room in the back of the chambers with the clothing still in his hands.

Alright, Merlin thought to himself, he would change clothes in this odd little broom closet if that kept him from being stabbed.

(And he did not acknowledge the part of his mind that swore that he knew this room, that this room was his. That was ridiculous, he had never seen this place before in his life!)

After putting on the trousers, belt, and jacket, all Merlin was left with was the scrap of blue cloth. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? Should he keep it in his pocket or something?

However, it seemed like his hands moved before his mind had a chance to catch up, as his hands, seemingly of their own accord, wrapped the blue cloth around his neck a couple time before typing it in the front. Huh, that was strange. Merlin normally didn't wear scarves, why did he know that this piece of cloth was a scarf?

It was... strange. However, there were more pressing matters at hand, namely not getting killed by undead medieval knights. After taking a deep, calming breath, Merlin opened the door and stepped back out into the main room, where the old man and the knight were waiting for him.

They both smiled at the sight of him, and the knight quickly slung an arm over Merlin's shoulders, said what was presumably a goodbye to the old man, and started leading Merlin back out they way they came.

At this point, Merlin started struggling again. If he could just escape from this knight, he could get back to the surface and gather a rescue team to save the others! But the knight's grip of him was tight, and after a certain amount of Merlin's struggling, the knight just sighed and threw Merlin over his shoulder again. Damn it!

Merlin tried to reference places that he had already seen as the knight dragged him deeper into the castle. An escape route would be essential if he was going to make it out of here alive. However, Merlin's hope was quickly running dry as he was carried further and further away from the only exit to this godforsaken castle and further away from any area that he had explored so far.

What's worse was that, as they went, Merlin could see more and more undead (maybe undead? what else could they be?) people throughout the castle. And it wasn't just knights either: there were guards, servants, and even what looked like noblemen and noblewomen running around the castle. What made all of this truly eerie for Merlin though, is that all of them would stop and stare as soon as they saw him. Even though he was dressed like one of them, they could still somehow tell that he was an outsider, not one of their number.

After what felt like an eternity, the knight finally stopped in front of a large door and put Merlin down. Merlin's dread skyrocketed as the guards opened the doors and the knight dragged him inside.

The room itself was richly decorated, with a dining table, a study, and a plush canopy bed. If looked like a room fit for... a king.

Oh no.

As if summoned by Merlin's thoughts, the king rounded a corner and appeared before them, thankfully looking less angry than before, but still sending Merlin's fear into overdrive. Merlin jumped at the sound of doors slamming shut behind him, leaving him trapped with the king.

Merlin was sure that he was shaking terribly, but he managed force his joint to work and took a step backwards as the king began to approach him. Merlin continued to back away from the king until his back met the cold, unyielding wood of the door. Slowly, the king stepped towards Merlin, his eyes never leaving Merlin's form.

In what was entirely too short of a time period in Merlin's opinion, the king had closed the distance between them and was within an arm's reach of Merlin. Merlin's eyes desperately darted around for a weapon, anything he could possibly use the defend himself with, but there was nothing that he could reach.

As the king took one last step closer to Merlin, Merlin closed his eyes and braced himself for pain, even death. However, to his shock, no pain came. Instead, the felt the king's warm hands on his shoulders, and without warning, he was roughly pulled into a hug. What the actual fuck?!

Through the king's ragged breathing, he could hear more of those unfamiliar words, this time spoken tenderly.

"Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon?"

TRANSLATIONS:

Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin! = Catch them! They're trying to take Merlin!

Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis! = How dare you try to take him from me! I have waited over a thousand years for this moment, and you've attempted to steal him from me! You must pay for this!

Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð. = Take the intruders to the dungeon cells, we can deal with them later. Gwaine, take Merlin to his chambers and have Gaius look over him. And be gentle, he must have just come back from Avalon and could still be in pain from his wounds! Report back to me with Gaius's findings when he's done.

Is hit sōþlīce hē? Āh, mīn cniht, þū eart eft tō ūs āgēan cuman! Hēr, Hlāford Gwaine, sete hine dūn on þæt cot and hæbbe hine his scyrte āweg þæt ic mæg gesēon gif his wund is ēac þǣr. = Is it really him? Oh, my boy, you've returned to us! Here, Sir Gwaine, set him down on the cot and have him take his shirt off so I can see if his wound is still there.

Þu gehyrde þone wer, Myrddin! Of mid þinum scyrte nu. Ic wat þu maegst beon sceamful be þan, ac þises sio tid is swiðe aðele. = You heard the man, Merlin! Off with your shirt now. I know you can be shy about it, but this time it's pretty important.

Hwæt, he þinceð tō bēon on sīðfæt hāl! Þū mæġst secgan Ārthūre þæt ic blīðe eom tō secgenne þæt ic ne mihte findan nān tācn his ǣrran lȳtlunge. = Well, he seems to be in perfect health! You can tell Arthur that I am pleased to report that I could find no sign of his previous injury.

Min cniht, ic eom swiðe blīð tō gesēon þē eft. Þū eart swīðe þearle gewilnod! Hēr, wē hæfdon sume þīnra reafa gehealdene for þē! Ic trowe þæt þū þē beteran gefēlan wille þonne þū sum þing gelīclicre gescēawian. = My boy, I am so deeply glad to see you again. You have been dearly missed! Here, we've saved some of your clothes for you! I'm sure that you'll feel better wearing something familiar again.

Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon = Oh Merlin, where have you been?

Well, I hope you guys liked this au! What I originally planned to be a short little prompt turned into this beast of a post! I probably won't be able to post on Friday (since I'm planning on adding a new chapter to my fic on ao3 on Friday or Saturday), so hopefully this will tide you all over until the weekend!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

(And please let me know if you'd like a continuation of this au!)

EDIT: You can find a continuation of this au here!

[synqiri]

THE SCULPTOR'S MUSE.

in which you make an artist out of him.

PAIRING: veritas ratio x gn!reader

WARNINGS: none

WORDCOUNT: 0.9K || CONTENT: reader wears a “headpiece” (you can imagine anything), a little sappy

NOTES: some ratio writing practice :3

for all his genius, veritas ratio finds himself at a loss.

it is completely unlike him to produce something so tremendously… unsatisfactory. he studies the marble sculpture before him critically. there is no doubt that his technique is flawless, and loath is he to admit it, his grasp on your facial proportions is not the issue either. 

moreover, it is a simple piece of art he is not unused to creating. after all, he has made dozens upon dozens of sculptures of himself. he had planned on doing the very same today. yet the moment he began to chisel, he found himself sculpting you.

in his mind’s eye, you are grinning, and it shows in your laugh lines and crows’ feet. sunlight spills across your figure, and under its warmth, your skin glimmers. your head is ever so slightly tilted as you turn back to look at him, your shoulders relaxed and your headpiece askew.

and therein lies the problem — try as he might, the cold marble in his hands cannot encapsulate all the radiance that is you. 

he sighs unwittingly, pinching the bridge of his nose. perhaps he should have taken up painting instead. 

the door to his studio swings open then. he hears you before he sees you — in the chirpy hum that dances under your breath, and in the careless pitter-patter of your footsteps. besides, only you would be as fearless as to interrupt him in the middle of his work. or are you the only person he’d allow to do so? that seemed like an important distinction.

“veritas!” you call, by way of greeting. your gaze finds the marble head in his hands before flickering up to meet his eyes. “i went to your office to see you just now, but your assistant said i’d find you here. admiring yourself again?”

“unfortunately not, i’m afraid,” he tells you loftily, setting the marble down its podium.

he falls silent as you shuffle up to him from behind, curiously surveying his work of art. even without looking, he can feel you tense, and you draw a soft, sharp breath.

“that’s… me,” you say, tentatively. your hand reaches for the marble for a fraction of a second, only for you to catch yourself, withdrawing. “aw, you sculpted me?”

“if it isn’t already obvious enough,” he drawls. “then yes, i did.”

you huff, petting the marble head. “it’s gorgeous. damn, you should make me one of those alabaster heads and i can start wearing that around instead.”

“don’t be stupid,” he replies. no sculpture would ever be able to outshine you. he rolls his eyes, but he cannot deny the fondness that seeps into his smile.

you wrinkle your nose at him, sticking out a tongue. “geez, i was just asking. politely! whatever. anyway, i'm touched. i can't believe you like me enough to sculpt me so prettily — artists only make art of the people they love. and when they’re paid — but whatever, that’s not the point.”

he glances down at the sculpture he had made of you, then thinks of your brilliance mere stone cannot capture. the words leave his lips before his mind has time to catch up with him.

“i am no artist.”

you raise an eyebrow, confusion flickering across your face. “why not? i mean, you do sculpt, and sculptors are artists too.”

he stills, eyes narrowing. you are practically insinuating that he… has feelings for you. 

for all the wit he usually has, veritas ratio doesn’t quite know what to say to you. it’s painfully awkward, see, to have been caught in the midst of the most intimate of acts. he had gently, carefully, meticulously etched his memory of you onto stone, to be preserved, admired, remembered. he supposes that in itself could be called nothing but a profession of love.

it is an illogical, incomprehensible thing, one he barely understands himself. yet even then, it didn’t make it any less true.

"i don’t know how you do it," you say softly. your gaze is fixed on the sculpture in your hands, and you laugh humorlessly. "i can't paint you, did you know that? believe me, i've tried — but they always turn out not looking right. it’s like the paint itself can’t express everything i wanna express about you.”

you trace the shell of your marble ear gently. “but look at this. you’ve even got the shape of my ear perfect.”

“that sculpture can hardly be considered perfect,” he finds himself saying. a small, hidden part of him in the recesses of his heart is gratified you’ve experienced the same. “it’s missing the most crucial piece — for no marble can emulate a soul.”

“ugh, i hate how you’re always right,” you grumble, shooting him a dark glare, but your growing smile betrays you. you grin, smacking his shoulder.

he meets your gaze easily, and that’s when the realisation hits. traits like your crows’ feet and your laugh lines and your crooked grin were no challenge for him to replicate — yet no amount of skill in the universe would ever enable him to sculpt the glimmer in your eyes or the radiance in your smile. 

that thought settles in him like a tender thing. he would have time all the time in the world to reflect on it later. 

now, veritas ratio only gives you a smug, self-satisfied look. “of course. when am i ever wrong?” 

[handweavers]

"The relationship of textiles to writing is especially significant, not only for the cuneiform-like qualities of many patterns (preserved in a Hungarian term irásos, meaning 'written'), but also for the parallels between ink on papyrus and pigment on bark cloth. There is, in fact, little difference between the two. Such connections are implied in many textile terms. For example, the Indian full-colour painted and printed 'kalamkari' are so named from the Persian for pen, kalam; the wax for Indonesian batiks is delivered by a copper-bowled tulis, also meaning pen. The European term for hand-colouring of details on cloth is 'pencilling'. The Islamic term tiraz, originally denoting embroideries, came to encompass all textiles within this culture that carried inscriptions. And the patterns woven into the silks of Madagascar are acknowledged as a language: the Malagasy vocabulary for writing and preparing the loom are synonymous, while the finest stripes are zanatsoratra, literally children of the writing, or vowels. The study of textiles is, in fact, a branch of palaeography, in which deciphering and dating reveals the stories encapsulated in cloth 'handwriting'. 

With or without inscriptions, textiles convey all kinds of 'texts': allegiances are expressed, promises are made (as in today's bank notes, whose value is purely conceptual), memories are preserved, new ideas are proposed. Records were kept in quipu (khipu) a method of knotting string used by the Incas and other ancient Andean cultures to keep accounts and communicate information, the oldest of which is some 4,600 years old. Many anthropological and ethnographical studies of textiles aim at teaching us how to read these cloth languages anew. The 'plot' is provided by the socially meaningful elements; the 'syntax' is the construction, often only revealed by the application of archaeological and conservation analyses. Equally, the most creative textiles of today exploit a vocabulary of fibres, dyes and techniques. Textiles can be prose or poetry, instructive or the most demanding of texts. The ways in which they are used - and reused - add more layers of meaning, all significant indicators of sensitivities that can be traced back to the Stone Age."

— Mary Schoeser, World Textiles

[thegayphagenda]

To people with memory problems who have m&g and are worried they will forget it afterwards -

Yes, ask someone to film/take pictures, but if you want to preserve your actual memory of meeting them here is my advice.

Do your best to be present for the moment, take deep breaths and do grounding exercises while you wait (this one works well for me), the more present you are the better your brain can store the memory. While you are meeting them let yourself be there with them.

If you have something you want to say to them you can practise it ahead of time or write down short notes as a reference. They are incredibly kind and patient, they want to meet you and hear what you have to say.

Afterwards, if you have an interaction you really want to remember, as soon as you leave the m&g pull out your phone and write it down in as much detail as possible.

Then, revisit the memory. Especially right after and over the next few days, recall what happened, using your notes and any photos/videos to help. Write about it online, tell your friends about it, remember what it felt like. This will help secure the memory, making it easier to recall each time. Talking to other people who were there will also help to affirm your experience.

And most importantly, be gentle with yourself. It's incredibly normal to forget intense emotional experiences, even for people without underlying conditions that lead to memory loss. Even if you can't perfectly recall it, you did meet them and you did have a good time.

I've been developing this process of mine since I met them at TATINOF and completely forgot the entire evening. I was devastated but determined that it would not happen again. By grounding beforehand and writing the interaction down afterwards I managed to create a very solid memory of meeting Christopher Eccleston at Comic Con last fall, even without any photos or videos of our interaction for reference. I really hope this technique can help other people.

Most importantly: HAVE FUN! I hope everyone going to TIT has the best night ever and I can't wait to see people at the Toronto show!

[victusinveritas]

"A mindblowing 1900 year old Roman hologram effect ring.

The bust is a gold microfusion made upon a wax model, using the cera persa (lost wax) technique covered by a quartz crystal rendering the hologram effect. It shows the sophisticated craftsmanship of ancient jewellers. And also the function of jewellery as a precious keepsake.

The young man depicted in the ring is

Carvilius Gemmulus, who died at 18. His femur was fractured in 2 places, also a high percentage of arsenic was found in his hair. The ring was found in the nearby grave of his mother Aebutia Quarta who died some years later.

The luminous effect of the crystal lense gives a mysterious effect to the image of the beloved son. His mother had the ring made to keep his memory alive.

Both well-kept mummies at the Grottaferrata necropolis near Rome, were elaborately covered with garlands of flowers. He was wrapped in a shroud and completely covered with flowers. Large garlands in good condition covered the upper half of his body, one was placed around his head.

She wore a vegetal mantle made up of hundreds of garlands. On her head was placed a well-preserved wig wrapped in a net woven with fine gold thread ending in a braid.

The ring is on display at the Museo Archeologica Nazionale di Palestrina.

From: the Archeology News Network and other sources. (So if there are spelling or historical errors, they aren't mine.)

[canary3d-obsessed]

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed, Episode 41 part one

(Masterpost) (Pinboard)  (whole thing on AO3)

Warning! Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Empathy

We start off with Wei Wuxian, paper edition, flinging himself onto the surprisingly well-preserved face of Nie Mingjue.

Back in their room, Lan Wangji immediately recognizes that Wei Wuxian is doing empathy, even though it's an advanced technique that Lan Wangji hasn't seen him use before, as far as I can recall. Maybe the wind from nowhere that kicks up as soon as the empathy session starts is an indicator he's been trained to recognize.

Lan Wangji: Where's my fan?

Watercooler Gossip

We head into an extended flashback from Nie Mingjue's memories.

Dead-Nie-Mingjue spends a surprising amount of time thinking about how sexy and imposing he used to be, as well as remembering things he wasn't actually there to witness. The whole sequence is presented in usual close-third-person narrative POV. Maybe when we die, we switch to third-person camera view. *shrug*

Nie Mingjue finishes off a couple of Zombies without wiping his sabre, which would make Aslan very unhappy if we were in Narnia.

Then he glares angrily at his crew of cheerful disciples and their unbloodied swords, for reasons that are unclear. He's an angry guy.

(More behind the cut!)

He says to call the dude who was "the last one to stay guard last time." When they say it's Meng Yao he looks shocked. I don't know why he's shocked because I don't know what he actually means by "the last one to stay guard last time." On Netflix this is translated as the dude who "stayed the latest last time," which I guess means that Meng Yao works harder than everyone else? But apparently the result is that he is required to carry water for the rest of the group, so maybe it means he's a slacker? Without seeing the duty roster I can't really tell what the deal is here.

Next we see Meng Yao walking up with a whole bunch of water bottles on a hill above the CDrama River of Questionable Life Choices, where we have previously seen Wei Wuxian, Wen Kexing, A-Qing, and maybe those Lotus Casebook guys.

He approaches the mouth of a (incredibly beautiful) cave, where he can hear people talking shit about him inside.

Instead of going inside and telling them to shut their collective pie hole, he goes and sits by a tree to have lunch by himself. With…all the water? They should have waited to insult him until AFTER the water delivery. Jeez, these guys are dumb.

While he chows down on his bread, he keeps glancing wistfully at the cave where the dudes are, but somehow fails to notice Nie Mingjue walking up to him until he's 2 feet away.

Nie Mingjue asks why Meng Yao isn't in the cave with the others. Meng Yao makes a face at the cave and Nie Mingjue strides over there, eager for an opportunity to be pissed off about something.

They walk into the cave together and the dudes are STILL talking shit about him. I get that gossip is fun, but there are only 3 things to know about Meng Yao. 1. Mom was a sex worker 2. dad is reknowned creep Jin Guangshan 3. got kicked down the stairs at Jinlintai. That's it.

Anyone who enjoys gossip knows that the conversation would have shifted by now, to one of the following topics: 1. who else's mom is a sex worker? Yours, no yours! 2. the further creep adventures of Jin Guangshan 3. every over-long staircase that anyone in the group has ever heard of, and everyone who either climbed up it or fell down it.

Instead, the conversation has stayed resolutely on the topic of Meng Yao, and Nie Mingjue just stands there with him behind a rock wall, listening while his guys lay out all of the embarrasing detail, along with their big opinions.

One guy says that Meng Yao has accepted his fate and has to run and get water for them, but another guy says he hasn't accepted it, that he's diligent & working hard all the time so he can gain fame and get his father to acknowledge him. This is the only guy who has said anything positive about him, and this is the speech Nie Mingjue decides to interrupt, rather than the speech about how many men Meng Yao's mom has fucked. What the hell, Nie Mingjue? Nie Minjue clearly has no interest in saving Meng Yao embarrassment.

Nie Mingjue yells at everyone and tells Meng Yao that the more that these assholes talk shit about him, the more he has to achieve to make sure there's nothing they can say. Which is…pretty decent advice, sadly.

While Nie Mingjue delivers his lecture, Meng Yao mentally counts up how many guys he's going to be murdering later. Then Nie Mingjue pointedly promotes him to be his deputy General. Meng Yao thanks him formally and apparently sincerely.

Before we jump ahead to what happens next, let's talk about how this scene sets up the relationship between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao. I think it's a super toxic relationship right from the get-go.

When I first watched this scene it played like a leader seeing the value in his subordinate, defending him from his peers, and elevating him as a reward for his hard work. But I think that's not really what we're seeing. Nie Mingjue's focus throughout this encounter is on the rest of his men; specifically on their unvirtuous behavior and his rage about it. He's using Meng Yao to teach them a lesson, and it seems like he elevates him above them not as a reward for himself, but as a punishment for them.

On the flip side, Meng Yao's lunchtime pity party seems a lot less spontaneous to me, now that I've seen so many other Wuxia & Xianxia dramas, than it did when I first fell into this CDrama rabbit hole. His meek, butthurt reaction to people talking shit about him is inappropriate for a cultivator or any fighter in the Jianghu. It's an entire culture based around fighting and responding to challenges. He definitely doesn't lack courage, so I think his meekness in this situation is crafted for its effect on Nie Mingjue.

Cloud Recesses Revisited

Let's have a flashback of our own, so we can compare this meeting with Meng Yao's first meeting with Lan Xichen, back in Episode 4.

When Meng Yao is presented, some Jiang sect douchebags in the back lay out his whole backstory in loud stage whispers. Lan Qiren quickly silences them -- without losing his temper, notably.

Even though he's a grumpy SOB who doesn't normally hesitate to yell at Wei Wuxian students, he does not embarrass Meng Yao by making a big deal of the situation; not even to say Gossip is Forbidden.

Lan Xichen then steps up and, smooth king that he is, drops the piece of gossip HE has heard about Meng Yao: "I've heard that Clan Leader Nie has a helpful assistant." Then he compliments the elegance of his speech, saying that he matches up to his expectations.

Then he strokes his fingers while he praises the gift he's brought. Then he grabs him and kisses him passionately in front of everyone Ahem. Pardon me.

Where Nie Mingjue's reaction to malicious gossip is to listen to every word of it and then make a big show of criticizing the people speaking, Lan Xichen moves to counteract it with praise, subtly shaming the gossipers in a way that genuinely uplifts Meng Yao. And he does it just because he's a nice guy who finds Meng Yao pleasing, not because he requires anything from him. Whereas Nie Mingjue appears to require quite a lot from Meng Yao.

Nie Mingjue's goal seems to be to improve Meng Yao in a fundamental way; to educate him and sort of force him onto the path of virtue. He also wants to use him to force his men onto the path of virtue...a path he himself does not, actually, walk.

Murder Will Out

Next we jump ahead to Meng Yao shanking the guard captain.

I think Nie Mingjue needs to overhaul his hiring practices because this dude is very easy to stab and perhaps should not be in charge of anything relating to combat. Maybe the "block" button on his game controller broke.

Note that Meng Yao picks up a saber to do this - not a Wen sword, but a Nie saber, which might be a props error, since later Nie Mingjue accuses him of deliberately using a Wen sword to disguise his actions.

We've seen these events before, back in episode 10, but the editing adds some things in the current episode, and removes others. Let's look at the differences.

1. Drunk Guard Captain

The night before this fight, there's a banquet and Meng Yao spends most of it making out with guarding Xue Yang. He does this by checking on him a bunch, which doesn't seem like it should be necessary in a fortress with a proper dungeon, but whatevs.

In Episode 10, we see Meng Yao briefly encounter the drunken, hostile guard captain, who shoulder-checks him and calls him son of a [sex worker], but otherwise we don't see any of their conversation.

In Episode 41, Nie Mingjue's head remembers a longer version of the encounter, with bonus vomiting. The captain tells Meng Yao he saw him talking to someone, asks what he's up to, accuses him of lying, and Meng Yao tells the captain's sidekick to put his drunk ass to bed.

This whole scene is HILARIOUS when you consider that this is Nie Mingjue's mental account of events, which means the Captain must have put everything we see in his report to the boss.

"Well, sir, I was incredibly drunk and vomiting in public near the Lan guest quarters when that twink that you like was seen talking to someone, so I roughed him up a bit and insulted his mother before I went to pass out from drunkenness. I hope you will reprimand him for his bad behavior."

That scene, in Episode 41, ends with Meng Yao all alone, straightening and brushing off his clothes and making his "I'm plotting your death" face.

Nie Mingjue sure does remember a lot of stuff he wasn't actually around to see. Maybe he's filling in gaps with everything he's heard during all the times Meng Yao has stood in front of his head-shelf and gloated out loud about stuff.

2. Wens Attack

In episode 10, Wen Chao and Wen Zhuliu bring some guys to attack the Unclean Realm. Meng Yao goes and stabs the guard captain while Nie Mingjue is in a melee 1-on-1 with Wen Zhuliu, which requires all of his focus and spinning.

Nie Mingjue glances to the side in a moment of respite and sees Meng Yao stabbing the guard captain; he promptly forgets about fighting Wen Zhuliu in order to go shout at Meng Yao.

Meng Yao pulls on a tee shirt that says "commmit to the bit" and proceeds to say "it wasn't me" over and over despite having been caught red-handed.

This distraction enables Wen Zhuliu to almost stab Nie Mingjue, but he's saved by Meng Yao throwing himself in the way of the blade. These people should learn to block with something besides their torsos.

In Episode 41, Nie Mingjue's head has forgotten that Wen Zhuliu was ever there, and doesn't focus on the other Wen dudes right in his eye line. He notices Meng Yao acting a tiny bit squirrely and stops fighting in order to go follow him. Like. Stops fighting to defend his fortress, seat of his power, family home, etc., because he doesn't trust his subordinate.

Did I mention the need to overhaul Nie Clan hiring practices? Also some management training wouldn't be out of place.

Nie Mingjue's head also remembers that Meng Yao smirked evilly while doing the stabbing.

It's cool that he had time to notice this and be shocked and appalled rather than, you know, moving quickly to intercept the blow or otherwise help his captain out.

Side note: Meng Yao doesn't wipe his saber when he's done with it. Aslan is sad now.

3. You're Fired

After the battle is resolved, we go to Nie Mingjue's office. In episode 10 we jump in with Meng Yao groveling on the floor while Nie Mingjue yells at him. In Episode 41, we learn that he's on the floor not because he put himself there, but because Nie Mingjue apparently kicked him and his recent chest wound across the room.

In Episode 10, Meng Yao makes it makes it clear that he killed the guard captain on purpose, and gives a pretty good list of reasons for killing him.

you promoted me to vice general, but he always looked down on me

insulting, beating, and humiliating me

taking credit for my achievements

he let Xue Yang go

Meng Yao says that he could tolerate the first two problems, but he 100% will not tolerate #3. It's not about personal pride, for him, it's about ambition.

There's always gonna be another mountain I'm always gonna wanna make it move Always gonna be an uphill battle Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose Ain't about how fast I get there Ain't about what's waiting on the other side It's the climb

The part about Xue Yang is bullshit, of course, but the rest seem like pretty okay reasons for killing the guy. I mean, in the world of the show, where justice is mostly determined by stabbing.

Nie Mingjue doesn't think pride in your own achievements is a good enough reason, and banishes him.

In Episode 41, Nie Mingjue remembers things differently; this time Meng Yao's justification is:

He let Xue Yang go

He wanted to kill me

He insulted my mother

This time, Nie Mingjue feels like it would be ok to kill the captain in a sudden moment of anger, but if that was how it went down, you wouldn't have an evil smirk on your face. Also, why pretend that Xue Yang did it and why use a Wen Sword? [it was clearly a Nie saber, bruh]

Nie Mingjue thinks he's been planning this for a long time, because the guard captain told him that Meng Yao was colluding with Xue Yang. Nie Mingjue has ALMOST figured out what's going on here, but his anger is making him stupid.

Instead of following through to the logical conclusion that Meng Yao is getting up to some shenanigans with Xue Yang, he focuses on his own hurt feelings, suspecting that Meng Yao was manipulating him from the beginning. Which, of course, he was, but Nie Mingjue was using Meng Yao, too. Red flags all around.

He wonders if Meng Yao would have killed the caveful of bullies if Nie Mingjue hadn't come to help him out. Which is ridiculous since Meng Yao was just sitting and having his lunch when NMJ showed up; if he felt like killing those guys it would be pretty simple to poison the water they were making him carry for them.

Nie Mingjue proceeds to banish Meng Yao not precisely for killing a guy without permission, but for having the wrong priorities and values. So he really shouldn't be surprised when Meng Yao goes to work for Wen Ruohan.

Soundtrack: The Climb, Alan Cumming version

[jewishcissiekj]

ugh one of the most tragic things about Order 66 and the Jedi Purge is the erasure of all that history by the Empire and by time. More than just history, it's the erasure of culture, the purposeful cleansing of the Jedi ways and people from the Galaxy. All these stories and people were lost, not to time, but by the intentional extinction of everything they ever were. In Crimson Reign #3, The Archivist (written by Charles Soule) puts it in a way that genuinely struck me when I was reading it.

You don't have to read all that, but I feel like it drives the point across wonderfully. The Jedi Order not only died because of Order 66 and the Purge, but the very idea of it was also made into a death sentence. Each Jedi's life, before the Empire, was preserved through the seemingly eternal memory of the Order, the Jedi Archives, or their lineage, and those who took their path. The Empire erased any trace of that memory, collapsing the tradition of millennia. As a Jedi, you are almost ensured to be remembered, and your actions are certain to have echoes throughout the ages. The Empire, and more specifically Palpatine I should probably say, did everything to take it away. What's left of The High Republic? What's left of the heroics of generations of Jedi? What's left of their life stories? Their meditation or lightsaber techniques? It's the tragedy of the Jedi order, and it goes so much deeper than the awful loss of about 10,000 Jedi during Order 66 and the purge (not that that should be underestimated).

[bawdyknocker]

A long rant justifying one minor parallel of dialogue in Gideon the Ninth...

[GtN, Harrow sees the end, maybe the entire, duel between Gideon and Naberius Tern... After the Response trial, she says a very important thing, imo.] At the end of that fight, when Gideon gets the move on Babs and punches him, pulling back and getting ready to fight again, and Babs bitches about her, Naberius calls Gideon out saying she thinks “she’s some Nonius come-again,” and says she’s more of a brawler than a *real* fighter, like him. The Third’s technique is impeccable. Perfect. Pristine. Clean… preserved… stale… so maybe he’s upset that he lost to someone who was creative while at a handicap. Gideon could’ve taken off her glasses and her cloak. Hell, she could’ve USED the cloak like a net, which would indeed fit with a style of fighting consistent with the Cohort in a real fight, you use everything you’ve got. You stick the other bastard before they can stick you, or else yer dead. (thank you @chuusyfucker for positing the idea of the cloak itself as a weapon that went unused in that duel) and yet, after the trial in Response, when Harrow is babbling gayly about how impressive and incredible it was to see Gideon fight, *through* her own eyes, she makes special mention that Gideon is, indeed, “like Nonius come-again” There is no way she did not hear Naberius Tern make that shit-ass remark at her cav. There is no way she didn’t remember that statement and specifically draw a comparison in the moment she did, explicitly to tell Gideon, “no, for real tho, you *do* fight like Matthias Nonius (no really, you can trust me on this, I have idetic memory, and I have the horrid misfortune of knowing every verse of Ortus’ Noniad… if anybody would know and recognize [who is alive and here today], it may well be me)” I honestly just love how defensive she gets for her here. it's super sweet, and also marks a serious inflection point in their relationship and the overall narrative of GtN long rant summed; Harrow, gone fan-girl post Response, tells Gideon she very well *could* be Matthias Nonius come-again, is super gay for her in ways, and is super fucking proud of her cav

[jellyfish-on-the-staircase]

Warp Trotters are very suspicious creatures in Honkai Star Rail.

Description :

"An interdimensional creature lost in the stars. Docile in nature. Sweet in taste. Inedible. Spends most of its life feeding and fleeing. Travelers who encounter these creatures see them as good omens."

Trotters are described as "interdimensional creatures" and "trans-latitudinal organisms". They are lost creatures that are always scared and try to flee when facing a fight. They can teleport by murmuring equations related to black holes like the Schwarzschild radius. They can basically move between dimensions.

In the Interstellar Travel (phenomenon) entry, it's stated that only beings that can manipulate the Imaginary Tree's energy such as Aeons or Emanators can travel through space. What the Trotters do is no ordinary feat.

Normal (golden) Warp Trotters have physical, quantum and imaginary weakness.

Don't you think it's weird that Trotters are literally everywhere, even in dreams (Penacony) ? Trotters can travel to the Memory Zone without using a Dreampool. In the Radiant Feldspar, some Trotters have been attracted to the floral scent of the swimming pool.

Even weirder, there is a Trotter in A Child's Dream, a realm created by Mikhail's memories.

In the Where Are You, Mystery Trotter mini-event, Trotters can shapeshift into inanimate objects like vending machines, but they can also disguise themselves as humans and imitate human speech to a certain extent. (Although they don't seem to understand it, the Trotter in the event was just repeating the same things over and over again)

Acheron is an Emanator of Nihility and her technique literally one-shots enemies in the overworld, except Elites and Trotters. Trotters > Acheron

In the Simulated Universe, Trotters have special abilities related to the Abundance, Preservation or Destruction. This could imply that Trotters can become Pathstriders or, since the power of the Aeons stems from Imaginary energy, that they borrow the energy as well.

The Trotter in the Aetherium Wars (Pokemon event) is an unique Aether Spirit with a mind of their own.

If you interact with the Trotter in the Astral Express as Hanu, this shows up :

If Trotters are lost, what are they looking for ? Their home ? What are Trotters ?

My theory is that Trotters are either Leviathans or their descendants. (like how chickens are descendants of dinosaurs)

Leviathans are ancient lifeforms that were in the Galaxy before the Aeons were born. It's possible that they could have Aeon-like abilities. Most of them have been wiped out by the Dusk Wars and their corpses are used by the Antimatter Legion to create Tramplers and the Doomsday Beast. There aren't any known Leviathans except Oroboros who is both an Aeon and a Leviathan.

After the Dusk Wars, the Trotters (the Leviathans' legacy) have been forced to wander across the universe. They are trying to find the Leviathans' homeworld, unaware if it has been destroyed or not.

A controversial theory in the Species of the Galaxy : Wubbaboo readable explains that remnants of the Leviathans became Astral Spirits (Heliobi). It suggests that they could have taken another form.

Trotter are the only enemies (excluding the Trashcans) that drop Stellar Jades when defeated.

"A fleeting gleam", "Catch it before it's gone"

The Oneiric Shard can be exchanged to Stellar Jades. The description coincidentally mentions Leviathans.

In that case, it's easy to make an association between Trotters and Leviathan.

In the Planar Infinity event (where the geniuses mess with the SU), Stephen Lloyd tries to attract Leviathans by using the Shattered Star Bait and ended up attracting Trotters. If the theory is correct, Stephen has unknowingly succeeded.

Note how Leviathans are attracted by an "unique aroma of cosmic dust"

What about Numby ?

Numby is a smart Trotter that can write mails and do actuarial sciences. Could every Trotter do the same ? If not, could Numby be special (like a Trotter King) ? How has Topaz tamed a Trotter if they always try to escape ? Topaz and Numby might be the Xiangling and Guoba of HSR

[sludgevomit]

SludgeVomit’s Goretober Exhibition: Day 1

Embalming

Your body lays on the cold cement ground, unwilling to move. Eyes swollen shut, orbital sockets destroyed by repetitive fists of malice. Glimpses of light pierces sensitive nerves as you are barely able to make out the images in front of your face. Other senses work overtime to piece together what is occurring around you. The crackles of flames bring memories of familiar bonfires and outings from your past to the forefront of your mind. An acidic stench pulls you away from these fading scenes, mixing with the plumes of smoke that collects. The back of a finger meets the curve of your nose; a domestic touch that soothes your soul. “Your time has come. The delectably repulsive oblivion is here to take you.” Your capturer gathers your hands into his own, a hint of melancholic pride on his tongue. “A body to be preserved through ancient techniques. Boiled in botanicals. Innards removed. Core salted. Exactly how living cattle should be honored.”

[animeshotsh]

Choso and Yuuji with a OP lil sister HCs

Notes: Completly random fic. Just brainrot moments. AU. Gojo its your adoptive Dad! We dont follow the plotline because we want to be happy. SFW. OP lil sis because I say so. PLATONIC.

You are probably one of the many Kenjaku kids they had in their lifetime. Having human features but a big curse energy that envolves all your body and scares away the curses.

However, since that cursed energy showed itself late Kenjaku was sure you were a failure and left you.

You meet Yuuji first and he is confused about you being his lil sister till he sees you punch off a second grade curse giving him the most confused look when he runs to get you in his arms because you are so little and small? And you could have died? And poor Yuuji has lose too many people.

"But Gojo-sensei says im strong" add Gojo at the side nodding.

Under no reason you should be at Shibuya but you go because you have no sense of self preservation.

You also started to miss Yuuji and no one was back at the school to check on you.

Takes you few seconds to find Yuuji appearing behind him and staring to heal him. (So OP you know reverse curse technique Gojo is jealous).

"Big bro dont die! You promised we could go to the Park with Gumi-San (Megumi) and Kugi-san (Nobara)

Nobara its alive! You actually passed to say Hi to Yaga (who was pissed but no suprised to see you there). On your way to Yuuji and helped Shoko heal her.

When Choso hears "big bro" he turns to you and once you two make eye contact a flash of memories go into Choso's mind. You two being together since you were a few months old and how he would help you eat and walk.

Choso its in shock but if Itadori its his lil bro then you are his lil sis. No problem, he is happy he has a New family member.

And Kenjaku its pissed because how did such a perfect toll scape their sight?

Does not matter! Cause Yuuji and Choso are in big bro protective mode!!

Till you snap your fingers and Kenjaku brain explotes leaving behind Geto Suguru's Body and...a box?

A box you soon take cause its look strange and you are curious.

"....are these Gojo-sensei eyes?"

And somehow you end opening the box?

Last thing Gojo expected to see once out was you looking up to him confused (you look so cute he wants to hug you forever) and his best friends body (he needs theraphy).

Lets do a big time skip.

Choso is slowly adapting to the life in the school, he is so lucky to have Yuuji and You to help him!

Oh, and Yuuji grounded you because you went to Shibuya when he told you not to. But that same night you two slept together because he had nightmares.

Choso has so much big bro love towards you. He likes to chase you around and loves to let you do his hair. He is also amazed and scared of your powers. Would have loved if you had met his other brothers and sometimes cries because you are them when they were young.

Yuuji knows you longer than Choso does, he knows how Gojo raised you with Megumi, he has accepted that Megumi its your other big bro. But Choso cant seem to do it. The first time he saw you on Megumi's shoulders he went to his room and cried because he was not a good brother. (You never asked him to carry you on his shoulders so he feels bad).

But you are also a sneaky kid!! Since Gojo raised you, you got his sense of humor and ego so of course you go and scare both of them from time to time. Appearing at random times. Choso almost hitted you the first time and you almost broke his arm in self defense (amazing bonding).

He actually tells you, you can attack him if he tries to attack you first.

Missions are still happening and both Yuuji and Choso are so against you going out, even when Maki points out you are probably the next Gojo sussesor along side Yuuta.

-Its Yuuta another one I need to worry about?-

Choso thoughts because he is now worried you may have another big bro. (Who may be better than him and he cant risk it).

But no, you let him know only Megumi its your non biological big bro.

"And im your dad!" Gojo.

Anyway, Yuuji and Choso only let you go on missions if they can go with you. And most times they wont even let you fight.

So you are just there 🙍‍♀️ basically getting money from the missions by being a stand by.

One time a curse scaped Choso attack and decided you were its Next target.

It did not end well for the curse and Choso almost has a crisis because you ended covered in curse's blood.

Yuuji has to tell him the same happened while he was fightning a curse along side you to calm him down.

Somehow he gets stronger after it so no curse can Escape him. He PROTECTS.

Choso once decided to stay still all night because he could not bring himself to wake you up. Yuuji tried to tell him he could move but Choso insisted on not moving.

MOVIE NIGHTS. The three of you do lots of movie nights. During most of them you end sleeping in the middle of the movie on top of one of your big bros.

First time it happened to Yuuji he felt asleep too and Gojo took pics because you two looked so cute!!

Turns out you only wake up if you feel danger around you so now they can freely move you after you end sleeping again. (They end knowing this because you once feel asleep during a mission Gojo took you with him and when the curse got too close you woke up and vanished the curse). (Gojo was so proud of course he told everyone and got hate from Choso and Yuuji for putting you at risk).

Also, if Gojo spoiled you then your brothers now have a personal competition against him to spoil you more. You will be getting lots of gifts and treats!

[harry-on-broadway]

Snapshot

Word Count: 3.4K || Rating: M

A/N: This is my super late entry into the SweetandSpicyFicChallenge I hosted with @hslllot​ and @harrysblackcoat​. It’s a sweet little blurb (with a hint of spice) inspired by the coziest photo of Harry to exist. Enjoy! 

***

2017

“Stop!”

You put your hand in front of your face, hoping to block Harry’s advances.

“Just one more,” he said, laughing.

“That’s what you said five minutes ago.”

“It’s not my fault you’re this beautiful.”

Click.

You heard the camera shutter and put your hand down, figuring you were safe for a minute. Harry’s head was bent over the device. He frowned as he looked at the back of the camera.

“I think it’s out of film.”

“Are you sad you can’t use your new toy anymore?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “The lighting is almost perfect and I just wanted one good photo of you.”

You bit back your sarcastic reply upon hearing the earnestness in his voice. The film camera had been a recent vacation purchase, with Harry justifying it by saying he’d been looking for a new hobby and always planned on learning photography. In the days that followed, he’d started practicing, taking pictures of the view from your Paris hotel room, the flowers you saw at the market, and to your displeasure, you. You knew you should be flattered by his admiration and dedication to preserving you for eternity on film, but being hounded by a camera when you just wanted to relax was no fun. Harry of all people should know that.

“Harry, we can pick up more film tomorrow. Let’s just go to dinner now.”

He pouted. “Do you promise? You’re not just saying that? Because I know how you feel about the camera.”

“Yes, Harry, I promise we can get more film tomorrow. But I’m getting hangry and need to eat. Food. Now.”

He placed the camera on his nightstand. “Alright then, let’s go since someone needs to be fed.” He slung his arm around you, pulling you close before you all headed out into the Parisian night.

***

2018

“Right then, we have to get it on this try. There are no second chances.” He looked at you to make sure you understood.

“Yes sir,” you said, getting into position.

“Sir?” He arched his brow.

“Oh you liked that?”

“Yeah, but we’ll get into that later.” He placed his hands on your hips and positioned you how he wanted, back to the lake where the sun was rising. “OK, when I say cheese, we’re smiling.”

“Harry, I know. I’ve taken a picture before.”

In the year since he bought his camera, he’d graduated from taking pictures of you and his surroundings, and had started incorporating what he described as “self-portraits” of the two of you in the mix, an interesting technique for someone who despised selfies any other time.

He took his place beside you, resting his left arm across your shoulders and using his right to position the camera in front of your faces.

“One, two, three, cheese!” he said as his finger pressed down on the shutter, the flash momentarily blinding both of you. “That’s going to be a great one, I just know it.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” you asked as he put the camera back in the case. “Not knowing how it looks until later? Like what if it doesn’t turn out? You can’t recreate the moment.”

“It’s a game of chance but it’s kind of fun.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “We might not be able to recreate the moment, but we’ll always have the memory.”

“So when I look at that overexposed picture of me on the beach, I’ll always remember how annoying you were when I was trying to sleep.”

He kissed you. “Yes, and when we get this roll back and I’ve invariably misjudged how to frame both of us, we’ll always remember how overconfident I was that time at the lake.”

“In more ways than one,” you grimaced, remembering how the canoe you all had rented the day before had tipped after Harry insisted he knew how to steer.

“I heard that!”

“That was my intention!”

***

2019

“Please? I promise I’ll be careful.”

“Since when have you been interested in film photography?”

You and Harry were seated outside of a cafe in Tokyo, bundled up against the cold temperatures as you waited for your tea. He’d been in the city working on his new album and after a few weeks of settling in, he’d invited you to come out and spend some time with him. You could tell he loved Japan. There was an extra pep in his step and he lit up whenever he was able to take you to one of his favorite spots.

“I just want to learn. You’re like an expert now and maybe I want to be able to take a turn.”

“I sense an ulterior motive.”

“You’re right, Harry. It’s my evil plan to get payback for you harassing me with the camera for years.”

“I knew it!” His eyes crinkled as his face scrunched with delight. “We can stop by the apartment and pick it up after this. Get some practice in while we do some sightseeing?”

“That’s perfect.”

You spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around Tokyo with the man you were certain was the love of your life. While he knew how to press your buttons and often enjoyed riling you up, he was unbelievably patient with you that day. He coached you through it all, helping you capture snapshots of buildings and dogs and even your dinner, offering gentle corrections whenever you went wrong.

That night, when you returned to the apartment you were calling home for the duration of your stay, you were still messing around with the camera and had started to see why Harry enjoyed it so much.

“Are you almost done?” Harry asked from the couch. The long day showed on his face and you knew that while he’d never admit it, he was tired and desperately ready for bed.

“Just one more,” you murmured, placing the camera in front of your eye and lining up Harry in the viewfinder. In the small square you could see him, curled up on the couch, head resting on his hand as he scrolled through his phone. You held your breath, not wanting to disturb him in this near perfect moment. As your finger pressed down on the shutter, he looked up, almost as if he had sixth sense.

“Another one?” he asked, a tired smile on his face.

“What? I learned from the best!”

You had no clue if the picture had turned out or not, but if you’d somehow managed to not fuck it up, you knew it would be your favorite.

***

2020

“Tell me what it is!”

“No!”

Harry pouted. “Please. Please tell me. I’m getting desperate here.”

You doused the package that had just arrived in Lysol, hoping that would be enough to fight off whatever was lurking on the cardboard. “If you keep whining, you’re not going to find out.”

“Fine. Should I start lunch?”

“Sure. I left some carrots and tomatoes on the cutting board if you want to throw those in a salad? I’m going to run this upstairs and then I can help.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question you any further. You scurried up the stairs and when you reached the bedroom, you looked behind you one more time to make sure that you were in fact alone. Confident that you were, you tore the tape off of the package and dumped its contents onto the bed.

Boredom was starting to set in after three weeks locked in the house, and with no end in sight, you’d decided to order a little entertainment for the both of you. Lingerie in a variety of colors and styles covered the bed. You sorted through the pieces, making sure the sizes were correct before hiding them in the drawer you thought Harry would be least likely to look in and heading back to meet him in the kitchen.

The two of you spent the afternoon just as you’d spent all the afternoons before, lounging by the pool, swimming laps, and planning your next meal. You put thoughts of your plan out of your head until just before dinner when you slipped on a lacy bra and panties underneath your shirt and shorts.

Dinner was essentially a repeat of the last 21 nights you’d spent together, though you didn’t mind the repetition, savoring the mundane moments with Harry after so many years of chaos. When you saw him rise from the table and head to the sink to start washing up, you put your plan into motion.

You crept up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face between his shoulder blades.

“Hello there,” Harry said with a chuckle. “Can I help you?”

“I didn’t think we were done,” you purred in your best attempt at a seductive whisper.

“Did you want dessert? I think there’s some ice cream in the freezer. There might be some of the pound cake left too.”

“That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“Oh.”

Harry turned around to face you. “I’m in the mood for something a little spicier,” you said, pulling him towards you and planting an open-mouth kiss on him.

“Bedroom?” he asked, breathing heavily.

“Yes, and don’t forget your camera.”

By the time Harry had made it upstairs, panting as though he’d sprinted a mile, you’d shed your clothes and had reclined on the bed in the little red number you’d unpacked earlier that day.

“I’m ready for my close up,” you said, a hint of shyness creeping up on you. While phone and FaceTime sex was nothing unfamiliar, there was something strangely intimate about exposing yourself in a way that would be captured permanently.

“Fuck,” Harry whispered, slowly lifting the camera up. Click. Click. Click. “You look incredible, baby,” he said, pulling his eye away from the viewfinder to gaze at you in full. “Now how about you take that off.”

***

2021

“Big night, huh?” Nervous energy had been pulsing through the Vegas hotel room you were sharing with Harry, who was presently ignoring you. “Not even a smile, H? Come on!”

He looked up from his phone and pressed his lips together in an expression that might have resembled a smile if you had been standing across the room, squinting at him.

“Baby, don’t be nervous. You’ve been waiting so long for this, just like everyone else. It’s going to be amazing.”

“What if I’ve lost it?” His question caught you off guard.

“Your…talent?”

“Yeah. It’s been awhile. I’m kind of rusty.”

“That’s true you haven’t performed for anyone except me in 18 months.”

“And those shows are just for you.” His lips curled into a cheeky grin. “Can’t give the goods away to everyone.”

“I’d hope not.”

You reached across the sofa and squeezed his arm. “Seriously though, you could just stand on stage doing nothing and they’d love you. Everyone’s just so happy to be able to be together again.”

“I know, I know. It just feels like a big responsibility, performing, keeping people healthy, showing that we can do it all safely.”

“And there’s no one more prepared than you.” You pressed your lips against the back of his hand. “I’m going to shower. Are you going to head out?”

He glanced at the time on his phone. “Yeah, I probably should. Start getting ready.” Like clockwork there was a knock at the door, summoning him to the venue. He sighed. “I’ll see you there?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He gave you a quick kiss, and you smiled at the casual display of affection. In the early days of your relationship every hug, kiss, cuddle, and fuck had been a production, with both of you giving it everything you had since you didn’t know when you’d see each other next. But after a year and a half together, knowing that Harry was only a room away, you didn’t feel the need to rush everything, a luxury you never thought you’d be afforded.

You arrived at the venue a couple hours later and made your way backstage. Your goal was always to stay out of sight, though Harry had a habit of bringing you into the fray. As you milled about the edge of the crowd that surrounded him, you managed to catch his eye. He was listening to the crew member that was walking him through something, but his gaze was locked on you the entire time. Though his mouth was covered, you could tell he was smiling based on the way the corners of his eyes crinkled. You were about to approach him when the crew began to pile around him, helping him climb into the box that would transport him under the stage. You quickly blew him a kiss, which he caught and slipped into his pants pocket.

With Harry ready to go, you followed Jeff out into the arena, feeling the butterflies swirl in your stomach as the show’s intro began. The crowd’s energy was contagious and you could feel your heart thudding as Harry ascended to the stage. You knew this was coming, having watched him rehearse it several times before and your phone was in your hand, ready to capture the moment.

You didn’t get a chance to look at the image until later that night when Harry was snoring beside you in bed. It wasn’t the perfect picture – the way your phone camera caught the light caused a bit of a lens flare, slightly obscuring Harry’s body, but his face was clear, the joy and happiness he felt evident by the huge smile on his face.

You never wanted to forget that moment.

You immediately set it as your lock screen.

***

2022

“You are worse than my mum!”

“I know you mean that as an insult, but your mother is an amazing woman, so I’ll take it as a compliment.”

“Well, I don’t think we need to capture the car ride to the Today show.”

“She said she wanted updates on everything. And who am I to deny her that?” You positioned your phone in front of Harry’s face and snapped a quick picture. His disgruntled scowl filled your screen and you laughed. “The least you could do is smile.”

“What will it take for you to leave me alone? Ten dollars? Fifteen?”

“That’s all you have to offer me? A fifteen dollar bribe?”

“Hmm.” He drummed his index finger against his lip. “I’ll throw in a kiss.”

You pretended to ponder the offer before dropping your phone in your lap. “You drive a hard bargain.”

He laughed lightly, reaching across the center seat to interlace his fingers with yours. “I know it’s a big week and that everyone wants to cheer me on every moment, but I also just kind of want things to be normal, you know. Just five minutes where it’s not all about me. To balance it all out.”

“Well then, I guess now would be the perfect time for me to bring up the fact that you left your socks and underwear on the floor of the bathroom for the third day in a row. How hard is it to pick up after yourself? Just because you have an album coming out doesn’t mean you’re off the hook when it comes to chores.” He was smiling at you now, the scowl from earlier long gone.

“Oh! Also, I need your advice on a couple of things. First, I’m getting my nails done tomorrow and I need to decide which shape I should do, and the color. I’m feeling like maybe a glitter? And then I wanted to try this new coffee. And the Instagram I saw it on said it’s best with almond milk. But I don’t like almond milk. So do you think it would work with oat milk?”

Harry nodded thoughtfully. “First, my sincerest apologies about the underwear. It won’t happen again.”

“Famous last words.”

He squeezed your hand. “Second, you should absolutely do a glitter and maybe whatever the pointy shape is?”

“Why?”

“Feels nice when you have long nails and scratch at my hair and…other things.” You shot him a surprised glance as he flushed. “Anyways,” he continued, clearing his throat. “I don’t think the milk matters. You won’t be able to taste it with all the flavoring.”

The car came to a stop and you could hear the screams from the crowd, even with the windows shut. Harry took a deep breath and you scratched at his arm.

“I have some serious questions for you about what dog breed I most resemble, but we can get into that whenever you're done with this thing.” You gestured out the window.

Harry smiled, the first true authentic one to grace his lips that morning. “Thank you,” he said.

You knew exactly what he meant. “Anytime, baby.” You picked your phone up again. “But just one more for the road.”

***

2023

“One more step. And another one.”

Harry’s voice was low in your ear, his hands were over your eyes as he guided you into the living room of your London home. You all walked awkwardly, you standing in front of him as he nudged you, one step at a time, further into the room.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just blindfold me?” you huffed as he stepped on the back of your heel for the third time.

“So you’re not enjoying this?” You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“You stepping on me? No, not particularly.” Your shin made contact with what you assumed was the coffee table and you yelped. “Harry, for the love of God just tell me what’s going on.”

“Calm down, don’t get yourself all worked up. But keep your eyes closed” He moved his hands down to your shoulders and spun you around so you were facing the opposite direction. Opposite of what you didn’t know, but you could feel Harry wrap his arms around your waist. “OK, you can open them.”

When you opened your eyes, you blinked several times adjusting to the dim light that surrounded you, and once your vision had been restored, your jaw dropped.

The painting that usually hung on the wall in your living room had been removed, and a clothesline had been strung in its place, zig-zagging across the wall. “Is that-?” You turned to look at Harry.

“Why don’t you go see?”

You stepped forward out of his grasp and determined that your first impression was right. Small photographs had been hung on the line with clothespins. Photographs from every stage of your relationship with Harry.

Group shots from those early outings when you were both too scared to make a move, instead settling for the buffer of mutual friends. Photographs from the first vacation you took with one another, the fateful trip when he’d bought his first film camera. Pictures from every family gathering, big and small. Selfies snapped at concerts, goofy Snapchats with every filter imaginable, and even a portrait your mother had taken of you at your graduation – you were smiling wide, looking straight at the camera while Harry beamed at you, his pride evident.

You felt the tears involuntarily well in your eyes as you were overcome by the realization of just how much Harry loved you and how much you loved him. “H, this is incredible but what’s this all for?” You turned around to face him, and you couldn’t tell if it was your own blurry vision, but it looked like Harry was crying too.

“We’ve been through so much and have so many snapshots of our lives. But I want a whole fucking album with you.” Time moved in slow motion as he reached into his pocket and sank down onto one knee. He held a film canister in his hand and when he opened it, a ring fell out. “What do you say, love? Do you want to keep me in the picture forever?”

You laughed, cheeks wet, as you nodded. “Of course.”

Harry rose from the floor, slipping the ring onto your finger before he kissed you with a passion you’d never felt before. You looked up at him when you all broke apart, frowning when you saw him fishing around in his pockets again.

“H, I don’t think anything can beat this surprise.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and holding you close as he lifted his phone. “I just want to capture this moment.”  

***

talk to me!

[pointyfruit]

A ramble about COTL gods and how I think they handle their culture.

**I think Forneus has more cat-like mannerisms compared to Narinder**

Forneus is very "speak from your heart"-y so it makes sense to me that she would express herself more. She purrs a lot. Lotta cat stuff. The game leans into her being a cat a lot more while Narinder is subtle.

Narinder does god things while having to put on a mask and all. I think he became a little out of touch. As a matter of fact, I think all the bishops became detached from animal-like mannerisms specific to their species. Maybe to be proper and appeal to a wider crowd. Don't wanna alienate them.

**The Lamb is different**

Post indoctrinating all the bishops and healing, I think they would make a huge effort to preserve their culture and sheep things. Maybe they would hold festivals that sheepkind used to do and incorporate a few sheep (or hoove/horn-having animal) activities:

Hooves make some cool sounds. Maybe they have a dance that is all about making sounds with your hooves. (Yes, I am indirectly saying sheepkind used to have a tap dance of sorts.)

Maybe they have sheep artistry and hold contests on who can make the best items out of their wool. BEAUTIFUL quilts and robes! You won't find anything else quite like it with their ancient sheep techniques. Creatures from every side of the world came to witness and buy it before Shamura made their order.

Oor maybe they had beauty shops with jewlery made specifically for horns and dies made specifically for their wools. I bet some sheep dyed their wool! Some braided their's. They had conditioners and special ways to keep their wool healthy and fabulous.

Whatever sheep ways The Lamb can pull out of the back of their mind are cherished and preserved. Aside from The Lamb themself, it is all that really remains of sheepkind, memories.

[andi-rigby]

Alright, y'all. Poll time. Synopses of your choices are under the cut, if you want them. I can't decide between my upcoming original stories (I'm gonna write them all eventually), so I'm inviting y'all to choose for me.

On a related note, if I hit 15 followers before this poll expires, I'll do a follower lottery and the lottery winner will get to name a character in the winning story! (More details on that also under the cut.)

Synopses

Adventures in the Gaywild, a queer contemporary portal fantasy with an ensemble cast of queer & disabled adults just trying to live their lives, but who have said lives interrupted regularly by their hometown’s proximity to the fey realm. Beronsgate is a cute little coastal town with a major problem: sometimes the door you open doesn’t lead where you wanted it to. Monster-of-the-week episodic sitcom installments with an overarching denial-of-destiny arc. (If this wins, the "winning story" will be the first installment of the series.)

The Death of Santa, a sapphic Christmas adventure with a transgender Mrs. Claus who’s unhappy in her role as the token female holiday persona, and escapes the North Pole only to find herself in a strange land of eternal winter. Kristina takes shelter in a fortress built over a gate, and finds deadly traps, warped Christmas monsters, and the woman she married 900 years ago. Transgender themes, trans joy/power, and mistaken identity feature heavily in this high-action novelette that tries not to take itself or Christmas too seriously.

Liberty, a gay cowboy friends-to-lovers between a cattle baron’s heir and a gifted horse trainer. Aaron and James have kept their romance a secret for almost a year. When Aaron’s mother makes a big stink about him turning down yet another farm princess, he’s got a tough choice to make: follow the herd, or follow his heart. Forget coming-of-age—let’s talk coming-out, love and support from unexpected avenues, and being true to yourself.

Double Tide, a seaside low fantasy adventure about a dockworker and the inquisitive merrow they met in the local tidepools, who become fast friends despite language barriers and local taboo. When a new fishing technique threatens the local merrow population, they discover whether a lone dockworker and a social pariah can really make a difference. Try this gender-agnostic, hopeful Romeo and Juliet (without the tragedy) that explores the meaning of love and friendship.

The Siege of Helen, an exploration of neurodivergence and (mis)communication in a romantic relationship. Helen’s new pregnancy has made her mood a thousand times more volatile, and her husband is spending more and more time at the office. Hephaestus, already overstimulated and dysregulated from trying to provide for his now-growing family, realizes in the nick of time that there’s only one way not to lose the woman he loves: he’s going to have to talk to her. About his feelings. Short story companion to my novel-in-progress, By Any Other Name, following Ambrose’s parents as they try desperately to keep their marriage from falling to pieces.

The Library, a heartwarming zombie survivor tale about a weary now-single dad and his last remaining foster teen who fight to preserve the ruins of a great library against those who would destroy it for their own short-term survival. Take refuge in the Charles J. LaRose Memorial Library, and let Kaylen tell you about the time they fought off zombies and men with guns to make a safe place for travelers like you to rest and recuperate in the desolate hellscape of the zombie apocalypse.

Lottery Info

Lottery will happen if the total follower count (less myself) on this blog reaches 15 before the poll in this post expires. I'll choose via random selection & contact the winner via Tumblr to confirm you want to participate. If you don't, or I can't contact you via Tumblr because your messages are closed, or if I don't get a response to my initial message within ~24 hours, then I'll choose a different winner by the same process. And so on until someone bites.

Lottery winner will receive a short bio of the relevant aspects of their character (appearance, mannerisms, and plot role), and the name they choose will be used for the described character. I will not accept names that are offensive or that would be considered offensive in the context of the story or character, and I retain the right to ask the winner for a different name if the chosen name is, for some reason, really really not going to work in the context of the story.