#Outlandish Landscapes

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn pt 13

Ship: Sauron/Halbrand x Reader

Plot: It's all for his Sweet one.

Word count: 2.5k

Tags: vomiting, manipulation, alludes to executions, sauron is a weird dude

Notes: this isn't super heavily edited bc im lazy. I wanted to write this part because ofc angst but I wanted to do the reveal before I fucked around with annatar and s2 stuff. I'll go back and forth now between before reveal and after.

Leave a tip if you want.

Halbrand sat on the bed you shared, water dripping from his hair and picking at the skin of his palms. It was a habit he had picked up from you. The moment you walked into the room, you could tell there was something on his mind. You waited for him to speak first, knowing that he would tell you his thoughts without you bothering him with questions. You didn't want to overwhelm him, after all. You simply waited for a few moments before he spoke.

“Have you seen Galadriel?” He asked, his voice was different than usual. Deeper. Almost darker. He didn't look at you, his eyes focused intently on a place on the floor.

“I have not.” You shook your head and approached him. “My love, what is bothering you so?”

Halbrand wet his lips, “Galadrel has discovered my secret.” He must have suspected your confusion, for he continued. “I am not who she thinks. I am not who you think. I am no King of the Southlands.”

You sat next to him on the bed, your brow furrowed in confusion, but you took his hand and held it in yours, lacing your fingers with his. His thumb fidgeted with the ring on your finger, a subtle way of showing you he was there.

“You do not have to be anything you do not wish to be. You know I will be by your side, whatever path you travel.”

He closed his eyes, shaking his head, “Sweet one, you misunderstand.”

It seemed that he was trying to find words, but they would not come. You waited for him to speak, but a gnawing had begun in your stomach, an anxiety that started to become overwhelming. You squeezed his hand to remind him you were there, to remind him you cared but also to release the tension that was building inside of you.

“I am not the descendant of a king. I am not a man called Halbrand. I am not even a man.”

You furrowed your brow further as your mind swarmed with the possibilities of what he was saying. Unfortunately, none of your most outlandish thoughts could even scratch the surface of the revelation that was to come.

“Who are you then?”

“I've had many names,” He still could not bring himself to look at you. His palm was red at where he had been picking his skin. His voice changed again, to the most vulnerable you'd ever heard from him.

“My first was Mairon. The Admirable. But the one you know me by, that all know me by, is Sauron.”

The world stopped for you in that instance. Your ears started to ring, and you felt sick. Everything your father had told you, every story you'd heard from the elves, or read in the books filled your mind all at once. Sauron the Deceiver, your father had called him the Deliverer as he would bring swift and violent justice to the elves and bring peace. The stories talked of his face changing. Of his ability to be whatever the person he was deceiving needed most. You could still see the handiwork of him and his master scared into the landscape of your home. You'd read of scores of elves and men and all forms of life that he had willfully murdered in pursuit of power.

That wasn't Halbrand.

Not your Halbrand.

You shook your head and scoffed, letting go of his hand. “This isn't funny, Halbrand.”

He finally looked towards you, reaching for your hand once more and frowning when you pulled it away. “That is not my name. You know it to be true. Search your soul.”

“No, you're Halbrand. You are not him. You're not the great deciver. You are my Halbrand.” You rubbed your hands against your knees, trying to rationalize what he was saying.

Perhaps he was sick. Perhaps the fumes of the forge were affecting him. Or his wound wasn't fully healed, and the enemy poison was altering his mind.

“You are not entirely wrong, my dear. I am yours and I have never decived you. Not like I have others. I have never lied to you, not about more than my name. I just omitted certain truths.”

You felt bile rise from your stomach to your throat, “No. No, you said your father was a blacksmith.”

“Aule, yes. Though he wasn't a father in the way that you think of a father.”

You swallowed thickly as your mind reeled with all the things he'd said of his family and past. His falling out with his ‘father’ and his uncle. If he was Sauron, truly, there was only one being that could be.

“Then your uncle….are saying your uncle was…” the name wasn't able to pass your lips.

“Morgoth. Again, not exactly the truth but as close as you could understand,” He spoke for you, and you're startled up and off the bed, pacing and shaking your head.

This was not possible. You could not believe this.This was your Halbrand. The man you loved. The man who had just a week prior made his intentions of marrying you known. You were to be married. You were absentmindedly fidgeting with the ring he had given you, spining it around your finger as you paced.

“You cannot be he, he is dead. The uruk, Adar, said he killed him. There have been no signs of him for an age.”

He sighed, watching your pacing form. He seemed distraught almost. He could not feel anything like that if he was truly who he said he was. Sauron would not despair at the thought of your turmoil. Sauron would have no purpose in manipulating you. You could bring him nothing of gain.

Unless this was a reward for your fathers deeds. That small voice crept into your mind, and you did your best to push it the back. He was ill, that's why he was making this claim.

“He left me for dead, and I stayed in that place for many lifetimes. I was neither dead nor alive, simply there. As dead as a being such as I can be. I wasted and waited, and suddenly, I felt solid. I could sense my surroundings. I could move, if only barely. It was a mystery. By all accounts, I should have remained in that purgatory forever.”

His fingers grasped yours, and the room around you disappeared, changing until it was a village. Or what was left of a village. Homes were burning, and the sounds or screams filled the air.

“No.” You shook your head, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes. You clamped them shut and clasped your hands over your ears to drown the sound of the screams, but the smell of smoke and burning flesh filled your senses. You shook your head over and over. You wished the sight and sounds to be gone. You could not deny it now. No man could cause travel such as this.

He'd transported you to the night your family slaughtered the elves.

The night he'd regained just a semblance of his power.

Suddenly, you could sense light behind your eyes, and you were back on the raft at sea. Upon opening your eyes, his appearance had changed to the dirty rags he'd worn when you were stranded.

“It felt like days, compared to the millenia I spent as nothing, but I have recently found out it was years. Years of gathering my strength to take on this form. 15 years, to be exact.”

Your lip tremebed, shaking your head. “No. No, that's not true. That's not…no.” You were despretatley looking for an answer. “My father did not…no…”

“He did. I am indebted to him and his sacrifice. Not just for bringing me back but for you.” He approached you, the raft shaking under you with his movements.

You backed away from him, the bile rising in your stomach, and suddenly, you were retching. Your body bent in half as you vomited into the sea. You could feel him inside you. His love felt like sludge, weighing down your soul and moving through your veins. This could not be real, but you knew it was. He was too good to be true. He was exactly what you needed when he landed in your life. You were not worthy of the love of a king.

But it all made sense now.

There was nothing special about you. Not truly. He wanted his domination and control and power. You were inconsequential to that. He simply chose you because he knew who you were. This was some reward for your father. Tears pricked at your eyes.

You thought you were special. You thought this was love..

“Is it really so bad?” He spoke, placing a hand on your back. You hated how it felt. It was heavy and hot, and you wanted it off. You felt violated.

“I guess it is.” He answered his own question, his fingers wrapped around your chin and forced you to look at him.

“I did not deceive you. I love you. You are the only thing I have ever loved. I told the elf I would place a crown on her head, and that is true, but only because it would assist my true goal. To give the peoples of Middle Earth peace. To give you peace and safety, and stability. Your safety is more precious than any crown or title. All I do is for you. You are precious to me.” his fingers caressed your cheeks, and he smiled softly.

His smile made you sick.

“You mean to enslave my people.”

“Enslave? No. I will free them from the binds of poverty and war and famine.”

“By what means will you free them? It is not freedom if it is force.”

“Are you not listening?!” He boomed, lightning crashed behind him, and thunder boomed. The waves crashed over the raft. You yelped and flinched, closing your eyes tight again.

Once again, the world around you shifted. You were back in your room. Your lip trembled as you looked at him, tears falling from your eyes.

“Sweet one, I'm sorry. Please. You need not fear me, sweet one. The world should fear but not you. Never you.”

You kept backing away from him. You did not know what to think. He was the villain of your history, og all the free people's history. He was evil. He was darkness. He was plauge and death and deciet. He could only destroy.

“It was all fake.”

“No! No. Don't you see, the only good in me is you.” He followed you until you were backed into a corner, your fingers splayed over the cold material of the wall. This is a reminder that this room was real.

You watched him for a moment, your mind replaying through every memory, but they were distorted now, as if you were watching a play. Your mind was reeling. Just hours early, you'd been in this room with him, talking of your wedding and cuddled into his chest.

“You do this all for me, but you must now I can never be by your side as long as you intend to destroy.” You spoke with a sense of courage you had only just began to develop. Your heart was breaking, but you would not break in front of him. If he were to kill you…..

“Kill you? Do you think I mean to kill you? I could never kill you. In fact, I seek the opposite. I need you. If you can't be by my side, I must know you exist in this world, or I will be driven into madness!”

“How do you read my thoughts?” Your voice was quiet, terrified.

“Because you trust me. I trust you. I respect you. I never look into your mind unless I must. It is not so much reading your thoughts as it is being able to feel it.”

You shook your head, eyes closed tight.

“Do you truly insist on staying with the elves? Do you truly think they will not suspect you to have a hand in all this? That they won't do to you what they did to your family."

As he spoke, the room changed once more.

You were in an elven courtyard. Three men stood at the center. You could see where a little girl stood and watched confused and alone. You could hear Elronds pleas that this was abhorrent to make you watch, that he could not stay silent.

The memory froze. Your eyes looked upon your father for the first time in years. Tears dripped down your cheeks.

“You never saw it. Elrond, ever the soft hearted, took you away, but you could hear it. The sound of your brother screaming. The crunch of their bones as they fell. How they had to take a sword to your uncle because he wouldn't die. Do you think you will be saved from their fate?”

You stayed silent, your jaw tight as you looked ahead and away from him.

“Look at me! Do not ignore me! I am trying to save you!” Lighting cracked again. His voice took a terrible tone as if he spoke from the depths of the abyss.

You shook your head, tears pouring from your eyes now. “We were supposed to have a family.”

~

Your words were soft, quiet, and broken. It was enough that the fire inside of him calmed. The scene around you changed once more, and he simply looked at you.

His sweet one.

You were beautiful. He always had loved beauty and perfection, and you were both. And now you were scared, and he was the cause. He was never to be the cause, only to protect. It had frustrated him at first, infuriated that he could not seem to wish you harm, and if he ever did hurt you, he would apologize and feel guilt. He had hated it, but now, it was part of him.

He had two parts now, it seemed. The darkness and what little light he had left. The light was dying. He knew it. He could not stop the pursuit of these rings of control and power to bring peace and prosperity. He had to remake the world for you as well for his own selfish ambition. But the pursuit of these rings would make him truly unredeemable. It would destroy that last thread of good.

It was worth it. To protect you,anything was worth it. He would keep you safe, no matter the cost, no matter the loss of life. But that small part of him that was still a semblance of good, the part of him that you had resurrected, told him he could not force you with him. He could not clip your wings and force you in a cage. You had to come because you wanted to, you had to join him of your own will.

And you would, after the prosperity and peace, you would see it all to be worth it.

“I will never force you with me. I have never forced anything upon you. You will make that choice when you see the results.” He pressed a kiss to your head. “And when that happens, we will have our family.”

“I will fight against you.”

“You will lose, but you wouldn't be the woman I love if you didnt fight at first” Another kiss, and then he looked over your features as if committing every one of them to memory.

“This is all for you, sweet one. Do not forget it.”

[peggyao3]

Preyd

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x f!reader (reads like an ambiguous OC)

SUMMARY: Feyd calls his pet to his chambers for a monthly feast.

WORD COUNT: 2,259

TAGS: 18+, smut, graphic depiction of violence, she/her reader, AFAB reader, dubious consent, ambiguous relationship status, oral (f receiving), period oral ❗, period sex, blood play, knife “play”, blood kink, BITING, pain kink, vaginal sex, violence, sadomasochism, attempted murder, aftercare-ish (love that tag right after attempted murder)

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Cool air streams into Feyd’s chamber when the door opens at his command. The servants who bring the struggling woman don't need to knock. The increasing volume of her irate pleading out on the hallway has been caressing his ears for the past minute. He regards it as foreplay.

The woman's toes scrape over the stone tiles as she is delivered to him like a meal, but without a platter because a good meal is best devoured on the floor, with dirty teeth and fingers.

She is shoved into the room by rough hands which hastily retreat, bending and bowing to the Na-Baron who sits with his hands on his knees, a black smile already forming on his alabaster skull.

She stands on shaky legs, clutching the robes that still cloak her frame. Warm wetness already runs down her inner thigh. Red, not black.

“You left me waiting.”

“I can't exactly control when I start,” she snaps. The irate edge to her tone doesn't fool him. “My Lord,” she adds in a much more timid voice, head lowered so the hood of her cloak hides her trembling lips.

“I expected you two days ago.”

“Tssk. Forgive me.” Feyd's head tilts to the side and he stands up, striding over to the cloaked woman.

“You know I could keep you in a prison cell instead?” The calm control of his voice is a farce. In truth he is quaking with excitement, yearning to get under her skin.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“So, be a little more grateful.”

The Harkonnen heir's hand shoots forward and grasps her chin. He yanks her head up. The ferocious tug makes her hood fall off, revealing a head full of hair and glossy eyes that never stopped smoldering with a sliver of reckless defiance. 

Feyd squeezes her chin, squishing delicate flesh against easy to break bones. His fingers leave bruises as he slides his black tongue over her mouth, along the side of her nose, into the apple of her eye until she winces and forces the black appendage out by shutting her lids. His tongue wriggles through her lashes instead, wetting them with saliva that clings to the fine hair like inky tears.

Ruthlessly, he shoves her backwards with a force that could snap a neck. She stumbles and falls, landing hard on the bed. Feyd-Rautha leaps after her like she's a felled enemy in the ring and he is one stab away from victory. Strong hands half push up her robes, their warmth a stark contrast to their snow white hue, devoid of color like they are devoid or mercy.

She tries to push at his chest to hoist him off, but he catches her foot and bites her toe until she lets out a shrill scream. The robes fall over her bent thighs and pool around her hips. She is bare underneath, except for the blood that glistens on her center.

Inky eyes light up with nauseating joy as he admires the crimson landscape between her thighs. His outlandish pet is so colorful and full of life… Pale hands wrap around her thighs to part them. Her muscles flex, as if she could ever stop him from taking what he wants.

“Let me eat. I've been starving.”

“You are sickening.”

Feyd-Rautha's mouth descends between the woman's forcefully spread thighs and his tongue hotly slips through her folds, parting them effectively to get to the source of her heady lifeblood. She shivers, spine arching despite the revulsion she feels for him. Her fingers dig into the sheets - white, to mark the occasion. They will be stained red all over by the time her period is over.

Stubbornly, she stares at the ceiling, though in the long run her gaze can’t resist the twitching silhouette of pale, lithe muscles that shape Feyd’s shoulders and back. He produces sounds like a sloppy eater, like a panting beast whose teeth are tearing through a carcass, except that her flesh is lively and, unlike the carcass, highly receptive to both pleasure and pain.

She knows this is only the beginning. The easy part. When Feyd’s dark eyes lift to monitor her expression, she knows what he is about to do, yet he catches her by surprise. His teeth close around her clit and nip, forcing a squeak out of her mouth and a hand to shoot down and push against his skull.

Feyd feels virtually invigorated and laps at the swollen bud like a salivating dog until her body spasms and her nails dig into his scalp. Each clench of her walls offers him more sanguine fluid to drink.

His tongue returns to her slit while he stares at her disheveled face, eyes like black, bottomless pits, insatiable. She knows nothing she can give will ever be enough.

One might think a wet tongue on a bleeding center would make the area in question cleaner, but Feyd somehow makes a mess like a child with no table manners, smearing blood over her thighs and venus mound. It is almost like slaughtering his outlandish pet, but without the commitment. It makes his cock hard.

-

The treatment continues until the sheets are drenched in sweat and blood, until the woman’s thighs quake violently in the na-Baron’s wicked hold. She feels lightheaded and every touch to her overstimulated center burns almost like a whiplash. 

Feyd however is far from being done. He relishes how her flesh feels now that it’s hot and swollen and covered in bite marks all around her cunt. He is unable to tell if the blood that spills comes from her center or the searing wounds he’s caused with his voracious teeth.

Nails dig into his skull, leaving marks that bleed. A thin rivulet of black runs down his brow bone and seamlessly disappears in the corner of his eye. He only grins, bites harder where many old scars already adorn her flesh. His cock strains against the fabric of his trousers and his pelvis grinds against the mattress, dry-humping it, spurred by the taste of blood like a beast by the scent of pheromones. 

“Stop!” She pleads. “You greedy monster, stop stop stop!” But he doesn't listen.

He pretends not to see the way her hand slips into the pocket of her robe, producing a blade of shiny silver that finds a new home in Feyd-Rautha’s neck. Sweet pain radiates through his flesh and a moan comes out of his blood-smeared mouth.

His pet snarls and strains, fighting against the hand around her wrist that had stopped the lethal attack at the last second. The knife’s tip trembles in the na-Baron’s throat but then her fingers go slack, acknowledging defeat. Feyd takes hold of the blade and gingerly pulls it free, exhaling a soft moan.

Fascinated, he regards the black blood that decorates the tip of the blade. Rapt as he is, he has finally stopped assaulting her center with his greedy mouth. He is almost proud of her for the attempt, even if it was a pitiful one. His neck throbs where the blade had kissed his jugular.

“I didn’t mean to, I swear!” The pitiful would-be assassin hiccups, tears slipping down her temples. She clutches her robes to her heaving chest as if that could protect her fragile life.

“I should split your tongue.” Feyd-Rautha rises to his knees between her parted legs. Blood and slick have left a sanguine pattern on his face. Pensively, he twists the blade in the air so it catches the light. “Or maybe you should split mine? So I can make twice the mess of your cunt.”

“You are insane.”

“You brought the tool.” He laughs and offers the blade to her mouth. Panicky, she shakes her head, twisting it away and into the sheets with squinted eyes. “I want you to lick it. Taste my blood, pet.”

She refuses until he nudges the tip between her lips, drawing a droplet of blood. Quickly, she surrenders, opening her mouth like he wants though her brows remain pinched with fear. Feyd languidly slides the flat side of the blade over her pink tongue, sullying it with black.

“Swallow. And tell me how it tastes.”

She swallows, cringes and hesitates. “P-Potent, my Lord.”

Feyd-Rautha laughs and his free hand drops to his pelvis, unfastening the black fabric that has kept his manhood covered. Panic rises to her eyes, bigger panic than when she had feared she might die by his knife.

“Wait, n-no!”  He has never done this to her before.

“You’ve impressed me.”

The fabric is pushed down to his mid thighs. She has always feared his length and girth would be daunting, but the sight before her is as monstrous as the monster he is in flesh and in spirit. He lowers himself, hand wrapped around his shaft to nudge the thick head to her swollen entrance.

She raises her feet and plants them against his abdomen, pressing against adamantine flesh with all her strength but she doesn’t stand a chance. Feyd watches all hope go out in her eyes as her feet slip to the side and her knees fall against her cloaked chest.

A cage of white, wiry flesh leans over her. She smells her own heady blood on his face and cringes. It almost distracts her from the velvety flesh that presses against her cunt, still sopping wet with her own slick and blood and the na-Baron’s black saliva.

He breaches her, stretching her obscenely as inch after inch carves into her cunt. Black teeth are parted for a near-maniac grin as his virile length is massaged by snug, bloody walls.

She winces, shifting her hips to accommodate to the intrusion. It actually hurts less because he hasn’t marked her from the inside yet, so she is almost grateful for it. This way the sore marks on her inner thighs can rest.

Feyd shoves the final half of his cock inside with the force of a gut punch, knocking the air out her lungs with a pathetic yelp. He rolls his hips, grinning, getting comfortable inside her body. After only a few moments, he is comfortable enough and slams his pelvis down, grinding into her with short, hard thrusts that batter her cervix. Blood squelches wetly with every move.

She pushes at his chest but avoids his face, knowing her fingers would only end up between his teeth, bitten and bruised. A ferocious slam of Feyd’s hips makes her howl like a wolf. Reflexively, her hands shoot up to his pale throat, squashing his Adam’s apple under her palms. One fingernail digs into the wound on the side. A strangulated moan escapes the man’s throat, hips stuttering, lids fluttering.

The hand that isn’t busy supporting his weight offers the knife to her. “A second chance,” he rasps, eyes alight with madness. A thread of black drool dribbles off his lower lip and lands on her chin.

Shuddering, she accepts the offered weapon, holding it with a weak grip. Her worn-out body struggles to muster the strength, but she brings her arms around Feyd’s back, a wicked embrace. Aimlessly, the tip of the blade scrapes over his muscles as she tries to find two ribs between which to slot it.

“Higher. Or you’ll never hit the heart.”

“Why don’t you kill yourself then, if you’re so keen on it!” Furiously, she lashes out, but the blade only slips off a rib, leaving only a shallow cut on wiry flesh. Still, it stings beautifully and a small groan escapes him.

“A third chance, because I’m so generous.”

“Now you’re j-just being greedy.” She grits her teeth, tears wobbling on her waterline. His cock makes her sore from the inside and his hip bones dig into the marks on her inner thighs.

“I’m not greedy. I get everything I want. Again!”

A merciless thrust makes her cry out and it’s not very hard to lift the blade again and slam it down. This time, it finds its target, slipping beautifully between two ribs. The Harkonnen-heir roars out, black spittle spraying over her face as his features scrunch up and his hips slam down and stutter, nearly knocking her unconscious with his force.

Her hand weakly slips off the blade handle. She already knows she has missed any vital organs, or he would have stopped her.

His seed paints her cervix and even as his length begins to soften, it still feels like too much.

She doesn’t cum around his cock, but that’s alright. After half a dozen on his tongue, her body has nothing left to give except weak tremors and tears of relief when he finally pulls out. Black seed oozes out of her, mixing with red. She buries her face in her hands and rolls on her side, curling up. Fatigue makes her dizzy. The servants are going to have to carry her back to her chambers, she fears. Her shaky legs are incapacitated.

The wet sound of the knife being slipped out of his flesh nearly makes her retch, but even for that her body is too weak.

In awe, Feyd swipes black blood off the blade. The bed dips when he sits next to his astonishing pet. A throaty hum is all it takes to convince her to crawl into his lap, still curled up and shivering. He brings his bloodied fingers to her face, stroking it softly as she presses against his body for warmth.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she mumbles, on the brink of passing out. “Next time I’ll kill you better.”

A/N: If you had fun reading this, consider leaving a comment! ❤️ It would make me very happy!

[withoutyouimsaskia]

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

​GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dream manipulation. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Plot related cigarette use. Dubious consent.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: So I know I initially billed this as a two shot but the story has run away with me in the most lovely way. Part 3 will be coming soon. Thank you for all your kind responses to part 1, it honestly means so much to me. Hope you enjoy this one too. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

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

The veil of sleep comes down upon your weary body with a feather-light touch, trying to coax your mind back into the world of dreams.

Dreamscapes have been a whole new experience for you in the past month of your life. Before, you would wake with no recollection of what had played out. Not even the slightest inkling. Now, you remember everything.

They are staggering; bursting with details and ideas beyond your most outlandish daytime imaginings. The emotions that are conjured by them, both when asleep and also awake are just as bold.

And even though it's been 23 nights since it started you are still finding them predominantly jarring and disorientating. You are baffled by how other people cope with the sheer vividness. The unpredictability. Maybe they have become desensitised. You can only hope that the same will happen for you in time.

One thing you tell yourself with each sunrise:

Thank goodness they weren't nightmares.

At least, you don't think they are. There's no resemblance between yours and what you have heard others describe over the years, nor to those outlined in a dream decoding book you had checked out of the library last week. There's no obvious threat or fear. No re-living of traumatic events. Just weird subtext.

The first dream found you standing barefoot on a beach. A mirage distorted the particulars of the scene making it impossible to see further than half a meter in front of you. The temperature of the sand under your soles was verging on painful and as such, it forced you to walk into the unknown before you.

A groaning wind started to brew and lifted the sand into sparkling flurries. You shielded your eyes from the abrasive particles.

The sun was at its apex when you heard the ear splitting bangs. Unmistakably gun shots; you didn't last much longer in the dream and woke with a start.

For the next week, your dreams had been like a series of video clips edited into a supercut.

Raven wings. Black cats. Hellfire. Ruby red glow. Sprawling library shelves. Landscapes hewn by earthquake fissures. Hotel corridors. A handsome, blond haired man wearing sunglasses, holding a blood covered knife.

If you didn't know any better, you would begin to suspect that your new box of tea bags had been laced with a psychedelic. Alas, no. Your hypothesis was unequivocally disproved when you friends had been completely unaffected after stopping by for a Sunday afternoon catch up.

This quick fire of snapshots eventually stopped, transforming into lucid long form dreams. You often think back to the first one where it happened.

Standing in the the empty room, and the appearance of the figure dressed in black. The colour that had flashed in their midnight eyes had the quality of liquid silver. Sometimes you wonder if you see the same image in other dreams, standing in amongst a crowd.

From that point on, regardless of what dream you are in, you cannot shake the intuitive prickle down your spine that tells you someone is watching you.

You reason that it is nothing to be concerned about. Humans dream, and you cannot deny that some of them - swimming in a sea of clouds, re-visiting childhood haunts, trying out superpowers - have been quite fun.

You roll over on to your left side and close your eyes.

You dream.

The room you see is expansive in breadth and depth. Impressive windows bring brilliant light into the space which bounces off the ivory stone of the floors and walls. There are statues positioned at equidistant intervals, implying that the chamber is a gallery of sorts.

One effigy, fashioned from bronze, and rich in colour draws your attention. The lines and curves of its form intrigue you, despite not knowing the creature it was portraying.

You are about to move on when the feeling of being watched sparks through your skeleton.

Everything changes.

Clarity gives way to haze. Sun is swapped for moon.

You see a man across the room. He stands with a perfect posture. Graceful, powerful. His elbows are bent, fingers interlaced, palms facing upwards. Sheer black fabric floats around his frame. It moves languidly, giving glimpses of his bare body beneath.

The man's face is imperceptible. The distance between you too great but somehow you know you are the focus of his attention.

His robes fall to the floor with a gossamer sigh. The pale, unmarked skin of his slight form glows beautifully in the moonlight. You look down in embarrassment as arousal flushes through you, and you see that you are suddenly as naked as he is.

You gasp, and snap your gaze back up.

The sight you see is rather unexpected. The man is intimately touching himself.

You feel compelled to mirror him. You immediately reach between your legs. The man groans as you make contact.

All it takes is a little bit of attention on your clit before you are ready to slide two fingers into your core. The noise you make at the feeling of the stretch is salacious. The man echoes you with a sound that is just as dirty.

It spurs you on and you burrow deeper.

You curl your fingers until your legs are weak and quivering. You long to sink to your knees so you can finish in a more comfortable position yet you can't. An invisible force is preventing you.

It keeps you on display.

Just like the statues to your left.

You wonder if it is for the man's benefit.

You try to focus on him but it is impossible to do so through the trembling glaze over your eyes. All you are able to sense from him now is the sound of the rhythmic pump of his palm around his cock and his panting breaths.

Desperate whines escape your lips. You are teetering on the edge of an orgasm but you can't seem to lose your balance and fall into the abyss. The unsteadiness in your legs is too much of a distraction. You rub at your clit again in the hope that it will bring the satisfaction you need.

It does nothing.

You are so frustrated by your body's disobedience that it is almost painful.

"Please. Please. Please," you mutter under your breath.

A voice suddenly speaks next to you ear. A velvet voice with the timbre of a thunder rumble. It pours like a soothing syrup into your brain and commands you to do exactly as it bids.

"Let go."

You climax intensely, crying out in relief, squirting all over your fingers and onto your hand as you legs finally give way.

The fall jolts you back into consciousness and you wake with a barely contained scream of pleasure in your throat and adrenaline lighting up your nervous system.

Daylight is peeking through a little gap in the curtains. You take a deep, grounding breath.

That was obscene.

The context, the actions, the sounds. That sultry voice at the end. From the throbbing in your vulva and the twitching of your legs it seems like you didn't just finish in the dream.

There is really no point in looking it up in the dream decoding book.

You were clearly horny on a subconscious level. Or craving attention, hence the exhibitionist behaviour. The latter is not usually in your nature to seek out but if it is the reason, you might not have to wait long before the desire is fulfilled. There is a work event happening this evening that may require you to accept an award and address the crowd.

You love this time of year where community projects get recognition; a nomination alone is a sure-fire way of garnering publicity which in turn helps the charity's outreach.

But first, a normal day at the office. You throw back the covers and go straight to the bathroom to rinse off the evidence of your wet dream.

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

Your right hand connects with the metal push plate of the function space's front door. The heels of your boots click and clack as you cross the threshold, moving from floor board to paving slab.

It's fortuitous that you brought a long, thick coat with you this evening for the wind is wintery and unforgiving. You stay close to the wall of the building to try and shelter from it as much as possible.

The pavements are slick with recent precipitation, streetlamps bouncing off of the water with caustic white light.

Then you see him; a figure cut from shadow.

He's breathing in such a laboured way that you wonder if he is sick.

Your phone is still inside the venue, currently being guarded by a colleague along with your bag but it wouldn't take long to retrieve it and call for medical assistance.

"You okay?" Concern colours the simple question.

His reply comes quickly and assertively, "I am well, thank you."

You nod, not entirely convinced for the stranger's response was as stiff as his posture, and reach inside the pocket of your coat for the box of cigarettes and lighter stashed within.

You settle one of the sticks between your lips and use your thumb to bring forth a flame. The crackle of smouldering paper and tobacco perforates the damp air and you take a needy drag. The nicotine taints and tantalises in equal measure, filling you with guilt and relief. You've been trying to give up but the little voice inside your head had won this evening. You close your eyes and focus on the pleasure it brings before flicking some ash into the tray mounted to the wall.

Your attention now back on your surroundings, the stranger steps into the scope of the streetlight. The angles of his cheekbones, jaw and nose are accentuated to an incredible extent in the gleam. His dark hair is being buffeted about the wind, locks of it very close to falling in the blue eyes that are unwaveringly trained on you. He begins to talk again, showcasing his deep baritone.

"I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you just now. It is not how I envisaged our first interaction transpiring. I hope that you can forgive me for my deception."

You laugh nervously and take another quick drag. "It makes no difference if you're honest with me or not. I don't know you."

"You are correct. You don't know me. Not yet -"

"Oh," you cut in quickly. "I'm not looking for a hook up."

While you cannot deny that he is arrestingly beautiful, you are technically working and have never been one for one-night stands.

"You mistake my meaning. I have been searching for you for so long. I oftentimes doubted your existence however I was wrong and I find myself humbled to be in your presence at last."

The grandiose declaration is one of the stranger things you have heard in your life and you used to deal with drunken patrons when you worked at a university bar. Maybe he was intoxicated; it would explain a lot.

"Look, this might work on other people but I just came out here to have a cigarette -"

It is his turn to interrupt you now. "You will have no need of those going forward. Your addiction to them will be replaced by me."

"Excuse me?"

You are trying to sound incredulous, however, inside you are rather frightened by the turn the conversation has taken. His gaze is not helping either.

The crystalline eyes are embodying every part of the descriptor; a hard, chill inducing blue. Ash drops from the smouldering cigarette as a tremble of fear rattles through you. The man sees this and the ice suddenly melts to a warmer hue.

His tone turns soft and gentle. "We are supposed to be together. Our union is fated."

He's staring at you expectantly even after your two attempts at rejection. You swiftly stub out the part-finished cigarette and take ownership in ending the interaction.

"I've had enough of this. I'm going back inside now. If you try and follow me, I will speak to the venue's management. If you are still here when I leave later, I will call the police."

You turn towards the door.

He calls your name. Your full name. Middle name too.

Despite your brain chanting at you to go inside, you can't stop yourself from looking back at him. "H-how do you know my full name?"

The profound rumble of his voice resonates deep in your ears. "I know everything about you, Y/N."

He's right in front of you now. His posture is bordering between desperate and predatory. Like he can't quite decide if he is seeking comfort from you, or if he wants to consume you.

You are fumbling behind you to find the door handle. "Please get away from me," you say hoarsely.

He reaches for your hand.

You jump back and struggle to get out of his grip but his strength is inhumanly strong. His skin of his palm is glacial against yours and yet somehow, the touch makes heat snake up your arm and settle in your chest.

You become aware of an internal feeling that you've always had, like that of chapped lips. Low level but something that constantly nags. Something that existed every minute of your life until the moment he touched you.

You grip his hand and look up at his face in astonishment.

"Good. That's it. Look into my eyes. See what you know is there."

You do as he says, totally stunned by the depths that seem to reside within them. It's as if there are universes suspended inside. Maybe there are. Perhaps you could float among the celestial bodies if you asked him to show you how.

You feel so alive and overstimulated that you welcome the delirious thoughts taking over your mind.

You welcome him.

It's like there is a cord connected between your heart and his that is shortening in length. The intensity scares you.

"Give into the pull," he urges darkly, sensing your anxiety.

You obey, feet moving of their own accord and then you are standing before him, just centimetres apart.

He smiles triumphantly and presses you flush against his body.

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. More heat sears through you from the additional skin-on-skin contact.

Your peripheral vision closes tighter and tighter with every passing moment. The outside world is gone.

He leans in further and you wonder hazily if he is going to kiss you or break your neck. Both options are equally viable given the behaviour he has exhibited. You keep staring at him regardless.

His irises flash silver as he intones his next sentence. "Y/N, I claim you as my soulmate."

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

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt

"Am I your dream girl? You think of me in bed. But you could never hold me. You like me better in your head."

[galaxysupreme17]

Movie Marathon Night

Y/n = Your Name

AgathaRio x daughter!reader

The house was bathed in the golden warmth of late evening as Y/n carried an armful of blankets and snacks into the living room, piling them onto the couch with a bright grin. It had taken serious persuasion, but she had finally managed to get her moms on board for a proper movie marathon-each of them choosing a film to add to the night's lineup. And tonight, there would be no interruptions, missions, or distractions.

"Alright!" Y/n called, trying to hide her excitement. "Blankets, snacks... we're all set!"

Agatha drifted in from the kitchen, balancing a tray with drinks, a gentle smile lighting her face. "You really planned this out, didn't you, darling?"

Y/n laughed, giving an exaggerated shrug. "You know, just a little."

Rio appeared behind her, an amused smirk playing on her lips as she caught sight of the mountain of snacks and blankets. "Not sure we're prepared for your idea of a 'perfect' movie night, but we'll see."

Y/n grinned back, taking the remote. "Trust me, you'll love it."

With a mischievous glint in her eye, she pressed play, and the opening scenes of Twilight flickered onto the screen in moody shades of blue. Rio's eyebrow shot up while Agatha's lips quirked in a bemused smile.

"Wait, we're watching Twilight?" Rio asked, feigning horror. "Are you kidding me?"

"It's a classic!" Y/n replied, barely containing her laughter. "Trust me, it's worth it."

As Bella and Edward's peculiar romance unfolded, Rio and Agatha exchanged glances-baffled but entertained. With a smirk, Rio draped her arm around Agatha's shoulders, pulling her close. Agatha settled comfortably against her side, relaxing into the warmth of Rio's embrace, a soft smile tugging at her lips as they took in the absurdity on the screen.

"Oh, no..." Rio muttered when Edward started to sparkle. "This is... this is just too much."

Y/n laughed, clutching her stomach as she pointed to the screen. "See? Classic."

Agatha chuckled softly, her head nestled against Rio's shoulder. "I'll admit, it's definitely memorable..."

Despite the melodrama and odd dialogue, they all laughed together at the outlandish moments and over-the-top angst. Every now and then, Rio would lean over to whisper her observations, which only made Y/n laugh harder.

"Look at him," Rio scoffed, pointing at Edward's brooding expression. "Do you think he's actually in pain or just forgot how to smile?"

As the movie continued, Rio would gently kiss Agatha's temple or give her hand a reassuring squeeze, her laugh soft and warm. By the time Twilight ended, Y/n was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

"Okay, okay, I admit it," she said, catching her breath. "It was ridiculous, but you both loved it."

Agatha shook her head with a chuckle. "An interesting start, I'll give you that. But now..." She straightened up, holding the remote. "It's time for something truly classic."

She clicked play, and soon, the opening scenes of Pride and Prejudice filled the screen. Soft music swelled as misty landscapes appeared, and Y/n barely managed to suppress a groan, sinking back into the cushions.

"Oh no..." she murmured.

But Agatha just smiled. "This is what you call a real romance, darling."

Rio leaned back, her arm still draped around Agatha, unable to resist leaning in and whispering to Y/n. "Buckle up. This one has all the grand gestures."

The story unfolded in sweeping scenes of countryside estates and lingering stares, with Agatha lost in the romance of it all. Y/n was doing her best not to cringe through the intense declarations of love while Rio-fully enjoying herself-whispered her playful commentary, especially every time Mr. Darcy brooded.

"So... is he allergic to smiling?" she whispered, making Y/n cover her mouth to muffle her laughter.

"Shh," Agatha replied, mock-scolding them both, though she was clearly amused. She turned her attention back to the screen, nestled even closer to Rio, her hand resting comfortably over hers.

As Mr. Darcy confessed his love, Y/n threw Agatha a look. "People actually talk like this?"

Agatha smiled, her eyes bright. "In certain contexts... perhaps. But it's the sentiment, darling. Pure, timeless love."

Y/n rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help but smile, grateful for the moment. As Pride and Prejudice ended, she let out a dramatic sigh, barely holding back her laughter. "Okay," she declared, "we've done a romance, and... whatever Twilight was. So now, Mom's turn."

Rio grinned, taking over the remote. "Prepare yourselves, ladies."

The screen went dark, and when the opening notes of The Conjuring played, Y/n's eyes widened. "Wait... this is your pick?"

"Oh, it's a classic," Rio grinned wickedly.

Y/n's brows knitted together, a mixture of curiosity and dread on her face. But she didn't have much time to protest, as Rio had already hit play, and the eerie setting of the haunted farmhouse began to fill the screen.

With each creak, flicker of light, and unsettling whisper, Y/n felt her nerves tingling, and before long, she was squirming in her seat. A particularly intense scene made her jump, and she immediately moved to sit between her moms, instinctively seeking out comfort.

"There, now you'll be safe," Agatha whispered, wrapping her arm around Y/n's shoulders.

Y/n nestled closer to Agatha, keeping her eyes locked on the screen but clearly shaken. Each time something particularly frightening happened, she hid her face in Agatha's shoulder, clutching her mom's arm.

Rio smirked, giving Y/n a playful nudge. "Come on, kiddo. It's just a movie."

"It's The Conjuring," Y/n whispered, barely looking up. "And you're way too calm right now."

Rio chuckled softly. "Well, one of us has to be brave."

Agatha gently rubbed Y/n's back, leaning close to whisper, "We're right here, love. Just pretend it's fiction."

Y/n nodded slightly, but her grip on Agatha's arm didn't loosen. Her face was buried against her mama's shoulder with every jump scare, and she only dared to look when the scene shifted to something safer. She'd peek at the screen every now and then, only to jump and bury herself in Agatha's side again, making Rio chuckle.

By the time the end credits rolled, Y/n was practically clinging to Agatha, her heart racing. She finally breathed a sigh of relief and looked up, shooting Rio an exasperated look. "Okay, Mom, never again."

Rio couldn't hold back her laughter. "Oh, come on. It wasn't that bad."

Y/n let out an exaggerated sigh. "You laughed through the whole thing, and I think I just lost ten years off my life!"

Agatha gave her a reassuring hug and gently stroked her hair. "Well, I think you were brave, darling."

"Oh, really?" Y/n asked, relieved to hear it.

"Absolutely," Agatha replied, exchanging a look with Rio. "And next time, you get first pick-no horror allowed."

Rio chuckled, leaning over to give Y/n a playful nudge. "But admit it-you'll never forget it, right?"

Y/n managed a small smile, finally relaxing. "I guess not... but maybe a comedy marathon next time."

Settling back into the blankets, Y/n laughed as she thought about the absurd variety of movies they'd just gone through. Despite the frights, the laughter, and the poking fun, this was exactly what she'd wanted-a night of just being together, sharing in each other's company.

She snuggled deeper between her moms, feeling their warmth and strength around her. "Best movie night ever," she whispered, closing her eyes and savoring the love surrounding her.

[sid-the-sandwich]

Ok, so feeling a little underwhelmed by the new lesson teaser, and besides the Simeon FNAF jumpscare at the end, it was basically what we already knew, I thought it may have been like the first mini-lesson or something (not the whole chapter, just one book part)

I wanted to write what I think might happen in the next set of lessons, based on what we saw in the teaser but like... there's nothing much to expand upon. (Go girl give us nothing)

So what I am going to do, is I am going to write a plot for season 3 that I think would be the most outlandish thing ever and that would never happen, based on the little summary we got from the description of the video! so here it is (I'll put a TLDR at the end):

Season 3: False Hope

Returning to the Devildom is hard for MC after the events they just went through, all they want to do now is put their feet up, rest and hang out with their favs

Everything is the best its ever been, despite MC only disappearing for mere minutes in their time, it felt like an eternity and more had passed by them.

The characters' are all constantly happy, everything is bright, warm, exciting, and everyone is in high spirits; even Raphael and Mephistopheles, who once seemed to hate each other, getting along like long-lost best friends.

The characters dote on MC, anything they could have ever wanted is given to them:

MC wants to go out? Mammon and Asmo would happily spend all their money just for them.

MC wants food? Beel happily hands his food to MC.

everything is just... odd

But at first, its nothing notable, sure, the brothers are acting weird, but that's because they are practically family and MC did technically disappear for a while so it fits.

But then... things kept being too convenient, random good luck, people where being nice, very nice; everyone, even Solomon was smiling like nothing happened,

MC is seriously doubting the few months they spent in the past since no one has brought it up since that initial return

its something MC cant shake, everything feels too surface-level, too sweet... too fake,

but the most damning piece of evidence... Simeon was an Angel again. and when asked about it, Simeon avoids the question, suddenly being whisked away by Luke or Raphael very conveniently.

Solomon can now cook good...

MC deduces something is definitely wrong, this isn't the present they left,

MC starts noticing weird oddities, but not with our characters, but rather the landscape around them, whenever MC tries to venture too far out the Devidom, they are brought back to the main city as if the world is wrapping around this city.

MC tries telling the characters that something is wrong, but none listen to them, dismissing MC for having an 'overactive imagination'

it goes so far that the brothers lock us in our room once we are more adamant and threaten to find out the truth by ourself, the brothers saying we just 'need some alone time'.

The brothers periodically check in on MC, seeing if they have 'calmed down' and each time MC badgers on about the same point.

Eventually, MC manages to steal the keys of the bedroom from one of the boys and escapes the House of Lamentation in the middle of the night

MC tries to run, somewhere, anywhere they can think; The demons lord castle? Purgatory Hall? Damn, even Thirteen's cave!

But while running through the woods someone grabs MC rather strongly, covering MC's mouth, its... Solomon?

Solomon shushes MC, signaling MC to the sounds of rustling and voices of other characters looking for MC.

Despite how weird Solomon's been acting since they got back, this time Solomon felt warm, comforting and familiar.

MC crawls, following Solomon's instructions, only to be met by... ANOTHER SOLOMON?

The two Solomon's Brawl using Magic and honestly MC is just confused, because what is even happening?

MC recites a magic spell they know and threatens to shoot one of the Solomon's

Both Solomon's freeze and each say something to plead their case, one Solomon expresses Love for MC while the other says the same thing He said when he first met MC in Nightbringer. MC shoots the first,

Solomon explains how this world is an illusion created by Nightbringer to keep MC away from the present,

With the illusion broken, The world becomes grey and devoid of colour

Hastily, Solomon drags MC back to where the portal in the sky that brought them their, With all the 'fake characters' chasing them, Solomon repeats a very strong spell alongside MC so get transported back

Now they are actually back to the right timeline... or are they?

(Side Note: Originally, the character helping Mc was different, but Solomon made the most sense)

TLDR: MC goes back to the present but it is actually an illusion created by Nightbringer to prevent MC from returning

[justanotherbirdbrain-blog]

What's your favorite kind of rock, and what's the worst depiction of it (or lack of depiction in an environment that should have it) that you've seen in media?

I have taken... several days to think about this. Unfortunately, I feel this question would be better asked to someone who might study igneous or sedimentary rocks. So if anyone else in either of these fields or otherwise has some topics to touch on, please give your Ted Talk. Until then, I will do my best to answer!

First things first, I study metamorphic rocks, which are rocks that used to be other rocks, but then were exposed to heat and pressure until they became something fundamentally different.

That's vague though! Specifically, I study rocks that formed in an ancient subduction zone and have come back up to the surface to tell the tale. My favorite kind of rock to look at is a blueschist, but I think the coolest rock around is eclogite (and also rodingites, but they are unrelated to the rest of this).

A blueschist

an eclogite

Both of these are formed in subduction zones, just at different depths.

Now how does this become problematic... well... these are all formed very deep in the ground, so I can't really be made at media for not depicting them, let alone depicting them incorrectly.

That said...I have so much ranting I can and will do about geology in general, because it is not mentioned enough in media in any capacity.

Trying to find good geology documentaries is a struggle in a sea of nature and space docs. Even while watching a documentary about space the other day, they had phrased something in such a way that it wasn't "wrong" but if uninformed it would cause an EXTREME misunderstanding just because of poor wording.

I had to pause the video and call my significant other in for him to witness it as well, and this is a DOCUMENTARY for goodness sake. I am not even talking about the conspiracy leaning documentaries they show on the science channel.

Which I serious hate those! Why can nature documentaries get all these shows where they are just telling a story about the beauty of nature and geology documentaries always have to 'draw people in' by suggesting there is a blackhole in the Bermuda triangle or something outlandish. You have to wade through 40 minutes of crazy ass ideas to get to 10 minutes of actual science.

My ideal geology documentary would be them going to a region and taking you out in the field, showing beautiful scenery of today, and then looking at the rocks, talking about what they mean and taking you 'back in time' to see what that might have looked like when those rocks were formed.

You could make so many of those!!! some with every rock type, where people do actual science, and you still get to look at beautiful landscapes, but you also get to LEARN.

Anyway, documentaries aren't the only problem, I love fantasy. I love it. However, what makes fantasy incredibly good is when major plots are rooted in some general idea of truth. And that is true for a couple reasons!

If your idea is founded in some kind of truth, it takes less time to have to explain and people viewing don't have to take time to 'make it make sense' another reason its helpful to have some fleshed out idea built on real life principles is because it helps the person who is making it, as in, if you aren't sure of what this should look like or 'what would happen if you did this to that' you have something similar to look up and find out.

Now not everything has to 'make sense' but at least some things should.

You should not be finding coal right next to gemstones, it isn't realistic, and it pisses me off.

Also, of course I hate movies with unrealistic natural disasters... its not even necessary to depict unrealistic things. There have been super crazy things that have ACTUALLY happened in earth's history that in modern day would have devastating effects.

Anyway, apologies I couldn't grant you the rant you may have wanted, but it did feel good to get some things off my chest!

[youhavehitawall]

ask game i invented right now: 1 random fact about each of your ocs >:3 ?? funny/sad/disturbing/badass you choose... 🥺

Ohh hell yeah! literally could not do all of them because it would be a million words long but here are some . i went mostly with mid-style headcanons because italk about the outlandish stuff a lot more than the normal everyday things.

Austin's personality takes after his mother more than his father. His dad was always very calm and pacifistic. His mother was a proper firecracker and quick-witted with a sharp tongue. He still hates this fact.

Firestorm is prone to overheating when he's in a high emotional state. He's known for spitting flame or catching himself on fire in an intense situation. (wink.) He fixes the damage himself.

Rundown learnt to play piano as a child in England, and is still quite good at it. He picks it up again when one of Firestorm's kids wants to learn.

Myles loves hiking!! Her early memories are of going hiking with her folks. She drags everyone else along whenever she can. Her other hobbies include prawning and fly-fishing.

Manuel is a lot more artistic-minded and enjoys painting. Before meeting the crew she was very reclusive and only painted from the imagination. Now she lets herself be dragged off on hikes but carries supplies with her. While Myles is setting up the picnic, Manuel has her easel out, she makes almost cubist depictions of the landscape.

Michael always secretly looked up to the road trains and wanted to be one when he grew up. Being convoy for the military was the closest he ever got.

Cass grew up in the Snowy Mountain region. She was a drover for her grandpa's farm and helped her cousins with crops as well. She only moved to Queensland in her later years, when Joyeuse Sr. was suffering arthritis from the cold. She used to shoot rabbits and roos and still has a shotgun, and she never wastes a bullet.

Dusk is from VIC and his first job was in a wrecking yard. He now works helping analyse car genomes and determine successful lineages, as well as predict 'recall' flaws in model groups. He also consults couples to determine if they can successfully hybridise. He sparks occasional controversy with his peers for having such an outlandish model for a partner.

Dusk and Cass have been together thirty-six years and are not married. I think theyre the only cishet relationship in the entire series?

Artemis is a big fan of the stars and has a bunch of glow-in-the-dark stickers on his ceiling in the pattern of actual night skies. He also joined the school boxing team without his parents knowing and is one of their most feared fighters now.

Joy Jr. is continually being pressured to race by her peers and teachers. She wants to be a firefighter! She wants to be a firefighter. She does volunteer work with the local station but she can see in their eyes they don't believe her.

Basil learnt to weld from a random old bloke she met at work while doing her apprenticeship for medicine training. The old man mentored her for seven years. She's one of the best welders in the country and has extensive practise because she has to fix and jury-rig Reg every time he breaks, which is often.

Reg got a creative streak the rest of his family seem to lack. He makes things for whimsy as well as practicality. He's been painting the walls and adding flower-shaped stained glass to the windows since he was a baby.

Aggie is the oldest running road train in the registrar and basically is connected to her trailers permanently now. She can move a lot like a snake, even whipping around like a twenty-tonne taipan. Like all road trains, she idles along the road even when sleeping, and will often wander off in the night without even realising.

It's common to hear screaming if certain lights go out in the opal fields. Johnny's experience in a cave-in haunts his young mind. He can't handle darkness. His mama can't run a generator all night, but he has battery-powered fairylights. If they go out he can't help it; he wails and roars until someone can calm him down. Reg is the one that pulled him out of that dark hellhole the first time, and he's often the only one that can bring Johnny back to the present now. There's good reason Reg is so strict about mining safety in the BWD region.

[x-heesy]

MEATWRECK / selected

Los Angeles-based creative studio Meatwreck is a collaboration between artist couple Mitra Saburi and Derek Paul Boyle. The duo creates outlandish images every day, creating a disturbing yet intriguing visual language.

#photography #photooftheday #photo #photographer #photoshoot #nature #picoftheday #love #naturephotography #travel #photographylovers #beautiful #travelphotography #art #landscape #godsowncountry #portrait #photos #portraitphotography

What Was Her Name (feat. Chicks on Speed) by Dave Clarke 🎧

[eggymf-archived]

of paper planes and wildflowers; 03

ft. ominis gaunt with f!reader (series)

chapter warnings: not proofread, unedited

chapter summary: an unexpected idea, an unexpected duel with equally unexpected outcomes, and an unexpected reconnection between two fools thanks to a wingman with wings. how... unexpected.

word count: 3.5k

a/n: this is where it all starts! also, no smut until probably pt. 6 btw. just putting this out there since i'd rather not disappoint anyone who stays tuned for the spicy parts. :D

main masterlist || series masterlist || AO3

Roaming Hogwarts during early hours was quite the experience —there was something alluring about the school being in a state of serenity. The sight of the castle grounds this morning was similar to a beautiful painting: the verdant landscape was covered in a light blanket of fog, and the light of daybreak was peeking through the fluffy clouds. The air was crisp and refreshing, and it was pleasantly silent aside from the adorable little trills and hoots from the owls around you.

You were currently in the owlery with Garreth, each of you intending to send letters before heading to the library to review some notes before classes start. This, by far, was undoubtedly one of the most random (and arguably pointless) idea to have ever popped inside your kooky little head: you and Garreth were planning to send a random letter to a random person, and the both of you will let your owls do the picking.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Garreth mumbled, letting out a sleepy yawn while wiping the stray drops of drowsy tears from his eyes.

"It's better than nothing though! You've been a miserable little boy eversince you found out Samantha was dating a 6th year a week ago," you reminded as he gave his owl an envelope before it flew off.

"Well- I can't say I disagree but this is rather outlandish, to be painfully honest," he shrugged.

You had no arguments with what he said — this was something you've decided to do out of the blue without much thought, after all. However, you didn't let Garreth's rare display of pessimism deter you.

"Doesn't rule out the fact that it might help us gain a new companion!" you chirped happily. "The mystery sort of adds to the appeal, in my opinion."

"I'll just hope that my letter comes back unopened instead of falling to the wrong hands," he sighed.

A familiar deep-sounding hoot was heard from above, followed by the strong flapping of wings. A great horned owl perches on the railings right in front of you, and you promptly gave its striped, dark brown feathers an affectionate stroke.

"Huh. Russ seems to be getting fluffier lately, isn't he?" Garreth asked. You stared at your owl, who tilted his head to the side slightly.

"Oh? Perhaps someone else has been spoiling him," you mused while he hooted rather enthusiastically, flapping his wings lightly. You giggled at your larger-than-usual feathery friend, reaching for the inner pocket of your robes. You grabbed a sealed envelope containing a letter with no address.

"Just give this letter to anyone you want. Preferably a student though," you instructed the owl. Russ blinked quizzically before narrowing its eyes in suspicion. Garreth snorted in amusement at the owl's reaction.

"Come on now, Russ. No need to be a spoilsport," you chided, giving him several owl pellets as an offering for his cooperation. Russ complied, consuming the treats happily. You placed the envelope at his dark-colored beak before he flew off.

The hallways of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower was more crowded than usual especially during afternoons: students were either making their ways to their classrooms, lounging about at the cushy seats near the portraits, or loitering with their fellow learners at the sides of the corridor. The variety of students began to part slightly as a familiar blinking red light emitting from a wand tip was in their line of sight, navigating its owner through the hallways. Several eyes glanced at the wand's owner, either out of intimidation, admiration, or curiosity of varying degrees.

To the observant eyes, Ominis Gaunt was quite a sight indeed: not a single stray of blonde hair out of place, pale pink lips, skin that nearly rivals that of a Veela, beauty marks that appears similar to constellations, a rather prominent jawline despite the very slight rounding of his cheeks, high cheekbones, and a tall, lithe frame. His best feature, despite his disability, was his eyes that resembles twin blue moons. However, as ethereal as the young Gaunt seems, his reputation was in the far end of the spectrum.

The House of Gaunt — an infamous pureblood family; the direct descendants of the ancient families of Slytherin and Peverell. It was a known fact that they were quite a nasty lot of magical folks, having produced many dark witches and wizards throughout their long family history. Oftentimes they took their ideology of pureblood supremacy to insensible extremes: inbreeding, torturing poor muggles for sport, and many more incriminating activities that were most likely concealed no thanks to their wealth.

The infamy of the family had unfortunately stunted poor Ominis' chances when it comes to establishing a wider circle of friends (or anything beyond, really) — after all, bearing the Gaunt surname itself was a blight to one's reputation.

He was nothing like the Gaunts especially in terms of heart. Just like any typical young lad, he had his moments of mischief, rebelliousness, foolishness, longings, glee, and triumphs. In fact, it was rather ironic that Ominis longs for a simple, normal life of peace and righteousness despite being branded as someone who seemingly has "everything" due to the status of his blood. No matter how far he runs from all that's related to his family, the disadvantages will trail him no matter where he was. At the end of the day, the Gaunts are bound by the invisible chains of insanity — something that Ominis hopes to completely break free from one day.

Presently, Ominis has many problems that are normally not shown out in public. However, he never would've even fathomed that girl problems would be thrown in the mix. It's been a month eversince you had any form of interaction with him, so he should be in repose for now, right? He got what he wanted, after all.

Wrong.

He never expected the outcome of his decisions to completely backfire against him. Staying away from you was the most rational choice he needed to make for the sake of self-preservation. However, it was clear as day that you were completely avoiding him to the best of your ability — he sometimes overhears Garreth Weasley asking you about your unusual actions of hiding from a blind man, which resulted in you poorly deflecting the questions from the young chap. As much as he should feel a sense of relief that you're voluntarily steering clear from him, he was strangely more upset than satisfied with the thought.

Behind his stoic mask, his head had been a warzone of crippling bemusement for the past few weeks. All he thought of, aside from the occasional responsibilities as a student, was you: the typical overachieving Ravenclaw he never even liked since first year, yet here he was getting uncharacteristically angsty deep down with the lack of attention he was receiving from you. It's rather funny how the tides change so easily when it comes to matters of the heart.

Was it because he still felt guilty about how he loses control of himself whenever he's alone with you? Was it his repressed toxic traits attempting to egg him to claim you for his own satisfaction? Or worse, was he beginning to form some sort of genuine interest towards you?

Whatever the answers were, it most certainly gave the poor young man a headache. He despised this turmoil, especially if it involved some form of dehumanization like having this burning urge of claiming you for himself like you were some kind of object. It felt as if he's equally as morally fucked in the head as his other family members, and he'd much rather get eaten by a basilisk than to be like them.

Ominis climbed the flight of stairs while he was buried deep within his thoughts. Unbeknownst to him, a pair of suspicion-ridden eyes kept itself fixated on his form as he entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, head peering out from behind a certain 5th year Gryffindor student with wavy red locks who had his arms crossed. He deadpanned at his best friend's antics.

"You do know that he can't see you at all, right?" Garreth pointed out while Natsai crossed her arms, smirking lightly with one brow raised in amusement.

It was usually a rare sight to see: you, the epitome of intellectual pride, being all demure and fidgety. But lately, you've been acting horrendously out of character whenever a certain blonde-haired Slytherin student was within the vicinity. You've battled more dangerous enemies in your life yet here you were hiding from Ominis Gaunt out of all people. Embarrassed at your painfully obvious skittishness, you straightened your back, clearing your throat.

"Alright, off we go! We'll be late for class!" you spoke in a slightly panicked manner, scurrying off to the same classroom with both of your companions tailing after you. Unfortunately, you three arrived the last to the classroom: the only remaining seats left were the ones right beside Ominis Gaunt, Everett Clopton, and Imelda Reyes. You glanced at Garreth and Natsai, who each had a dangerously mischievous glint in their eyes.

Oh no.

The two of your so-called friends bolted towards the seats beside Everett and Imelda, leaving you with the one right beside Ominis. You shot them both a seething glare, begrudgingly making your way towards the seat beside the blonde-haired male. The rather playful interaction with your friends caught the attention of Sebastian Sallow. He took a quick glance at you sitting at the last remaining seat beside his best friend, and then right at Ominis himself, who subtly gulped and loosened his tie a little with a slight pink twinging his normally pale cheeks after subtly catching a whiff of your perfume. Needless to say, Sebastian was flabbergasted with Ominis' unusual display of bashfulness.

The door of Professor Hecat's class swung open, indicating the start of the class. In all honesty, you didn't really expect much would happen during today's lesson: Defense Against the Dark Arts classes mostly comprised of a lecture prior to practical lessons where everyone practices on training dummies.

This time, surprisingly, the whole class seems to have grasped the Everte Statum spell easily. As a result, a rather pleased-looking Professor Hecat decided to host a friendly duel amongst the class since everyone had finished the practical exercises rather quickly with lots of time to spare, much to a certain Slytherin student's delight. The whole class gathered around a certain bag containing several charmed papers, taking turns to grab a piece within it.

"A total of three pairs will be chosen to partake in the duel, and whoever gets the the same color are opponents. No jinxes, hexes or curses allowed - only charms and basic cast!" Professor Hecat instructed sternly as the furniture within the classroom arranged themselves while a long and elevated platform was conjured right at the center of the room

You opened your hand, finding a blue-colored paper on your palm, much to your surprise.

"Oh you finally got one! This will be interesting," Garreth commented with an excited grin. You scanned around, searching for the same blue paper. Your eyes finally spotted the other, and it was held by Skylar Evans, the new 5th year.

"Oh, this will definitely be a show!" Garreth laughed while you audibly exhaled in both anxiousness and curiosity.

Miraculously, you've never been picked in Hecat's classroom duels in the last three years — you wouldn't be surprised if the new 5th year were to end the round within ten seconds despite your battle experience. Rumor has it that they are well-capable of taking down trolls and Ashwinders, after all. You silently hoped that the strategy you were currently forming in your head would suffice in at least putting up a good fight.

"Merlin, I'm nervous," you muttered, while Natsai patted your shoulder reassuringly before heading up the platform with Sebastian.

Time breezed right through as everyone watched the first two duels. The whole class was immensely energized by displays of mettle and raw talent by their own peers as they hurled multiple spells towards each other. The match between Sebastian and Natsai was quite thrilling since the both of them are known to be skilled with their spellcasting. Their match ended with Sebastian being the winner, but only barely. Poppy Sweeting surprisingly won against Leander Prewett despite his usual aggressive approach.

The class murmured amongst themselves as you and Skylar stood atop the wooden, carpeted platform.

"I feel sorry for her," Leander mumbled. "Evans is quite brutal in duels."

"I'd say. Even Sebastian lost to Skylar during our first day this year," Everett replied. Garreth, however, was rather confident with your abilities.

"Oi Sebastian!" he whisper-called towards the brunette beside him, who leaned sideways to the redhead.

"One sickle. I'm betting on my best friend, of course. You game?"

"Oh, you're on," Sebastian replied confidently while smirking. Ominis scoffed in response at the two, trying his best in ignoring the bubbling worry deep within his gut.

You steeled your nerves, taking deep breaths while gripping your wand firmly.

"3... 2... 1... Go!"

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

The jet of red light ricocheted away from you as a thin spherical shell encased you, which was followed by a shot of white light firing from the tip of your wand. Skylar dodged the spell, continuing their onslaught of firing casts and verbal spells towards you. Various surges of colorful lights were cast in succession as the both of you exchanged blows of magic, the sounds of spells rebounding against magical shields filling the classroom. This pacing went on for a while, with each of Skylar's attacks getting more frantic while you maintained a stable defensive stance for yourself the longer the duel lasted.

Skylar quickly felt exhaustion creeping up to them during mid-battle, while you wordlessly countered and blocked every spell they flung towards you. A jet of blue light shot towards them, prompting them to quickly activate a shield. The spell never came, much to their confusion.

"Everte Statum!" you cried as soon as Skylar's shield was gone. The spell hit Skylar square on the chest, throwing them off the stage, causing them to land on the stone floor unceremoniously with a thud. Everyone's mouth was hanging ajar as Skylar shook their dizziness off — it felt as if they were hit right on the head with an iron skillet. Meanwhile, Professor Hecat was smiling quite proudly at the display of spellcasting prowess between her students.

"Alright, Sallow. Cough it up," Garreth smugly said while the said male gave him the silver coin with no complaints. In fact, Sebastian wasn't upset in the slightest despite losing his bet with Garreth — it was probably one of the most brilliant duels he'd ever seen so far between two students. Ominis on the other hand, felt a wave of relief quell the bubbling pit of worry within him.

"Points to Ravenclaw for applying today's lesson in that duel," Professor Hecat announced, rearranging the classroom back to how it was. She turned to you, lowering the volume of her voice.

"I must say, I'm quite impressed with that rather unusual use of the illusion charm at the end. Glad to know that Lawrence has successfully trained a formidable Auror-in-the-making," she said, giving you a wink. Your ears perked up at the mention of your uncle, a smile gracing your lips as you accepted the hard-earned compliments.

"Class dismissed!"

"Are you sure you didn't go easy on her?" Sebastian asked Skylar, still finding the outcome of the duel rather unbelievable.

"I'm sure of it. And she doesn't seem to be saying incantations almost throughout the whole duel. Is that normal?" Skylar asked with genuine curiosity.

"Only from 6th year onwards. And she seemed so well-versed with it too," Sebastian mused. "Either way, I'd like to duel her myself someday."

"You barely won your duel against Onai, Sebastian. Perhaps you should tone your excitement down for now?" Ominis suggested, raising an eyebrow. Sebastian crossed his arms in response while Skylar's lips curled into a teasing smirk towards the now sheepish brunette. The three of them enjoyed the light breeze and relaxing silence within the Transfiguration Courtyard while flipping either through several pieces of parchment containing written notes or books. However, both Sebastian and Skylar had to leave Ominis a bit earlier to go to their other classes for the day, leaving him to his books.

A certain great horned owl swooped down towards the alabaster-skinned male with an envelope held by its beak, landing beside him quite gracefully. Ominis heard the ruffling of feathers right beside him, causing a faint smile to curl on his lips. He reached out to the familiar owl, petting its fluffy feathers fondly. It handed the letter towards the Ominis, much to his astonishment.

"Is this for me?" he softly asked, and the clever owl hooted enthusiastically in response. Ominis pried the wax seal open, dragging the piece of parchment out of the envelope. Using his wand, he pointed at the piece of paper and muttered a spell. Bumps started to emboss itself from the parchment's surface, and he gently dragged his fingertips across the bumps to read the letter.

Hello, stranger! If you're reading this right now, I'm assuming that Russ has taken quite a liking to you in some way. I've entrusted him to deliver this letter to his person of choice, after all. As to the reason why I would let my owl do the picking, unfortunately there's none. This was merely a random idea that I thought of while I was taking a quick shower after an exhausting day. Though as unconventional as it may seem, I think this might be a great way to start making friends with new people — the safety of anonymity gives the voiceless a chance to communicate their thoughts more freely without judgment. So what say you? Are you interested in maintaining correspondence with this little stranger? Sincerely, Lucie P.S. If Russ refuses to cooperate, just give him a few owl pellets. He gets quite testy sometimes but he's fairly easy to bribe. P.P.S. Lucie isn't my real name.

"So Russ is your name huh," Ominis muttered, running his fingers through the owl's striped plumage. Russ blinked owlishly, tilting his head in curiosity as the male as he conjured up a self-inking quill, a small roll of parchment, an envelope, and a small wooden board to put his parchment on. Ominis then began scribbling his reply to the letter while the owl stared at the misty-eyed male, occasionally turning his head around to look at random students passing by while waiting for him.

After several minutes, Ominis neatly folds the letter, tucking it into the envelope and sealing it after. He waved his wand towards Russ, summoning several pellets. The owl hooted in appreciation, feasting on the little treats.

"Deliver this for me to your owner, would you?" he gently said as Russ hooted before grabbing onto the envelope with its beak. The great horned owl flapped its large wings, flying away.

For the rest of the day, nothing much had transpired aside from being holed up in the library alongside your fellow housemates. The study session was absolutely exhausting — so exhausting that you couldn't even bother going to the Great Hall for dinner that evening. Frankly, it has put you in a rather irritable mood, which was evident with a tired frown on your normally serene-looking face. You wanted nothing more than to have a quick shower and doze off for the night.

Thankfully, the Ravenclaw knocker didn't give a particularly difficult question this evening, and you were able to enter the common room with no additional obstacles. The sound of heels clacking on wood echoed throughout the empty stairwell leading to the girl's dormitory rooms as you trudged up the stairs, eating the treacle tarts that Samantha had given you earlier that evening.

Upon entering your room, your eyes immediately caught a sight of an envelope laying atop your navy blue bedsheets. Your eyes widened in realization as you ran towards your bed, grabbing the item. Excitedly, you unsealed the letter to read its contents.

Dear Lucie, I must say, you have quite the eccentric mind for coming up with this idea of anonymous correspondence, but I do agree with your train of thought regarding its advantages. In fact, I would love to keep in touch. How about we get to know more about each other a bit more? As a young gentleman myself, I shall start the ball rolling. You may call me Vesper or any of the like, and I'm currently studying in at least my 5th year here in Hogwarts. As you might've probably wondered, Russ has been accompanying me for quite a while now. He gets rather gluttonous whenever he's presented with owl treats, so I apologize if he has put on a bit of weight. You've got quite a charmingly clever owl in your care, and I simply couldn't resist his adorable little mannerisms. On that note, I should probably buy more treats for him the next time I go to Hogsmeade. Looking forward to your next letter, Vesper

< chapter 2: what a mess! 🔞

chapter 4: an adventurer's whims >

[mamadoc]

Here’s my favorite snippet from the chapter of my Chenford fanfiction story that I just posted. Enjoy!

When she arrived at Tim’s place 20 minutes later, the house looked exactly as she expected it would. The lawn was neatly cut and trimmed with minimal landscaping. The house was moderate in size, nothing outlandish nor miniscule. She took a deep breath and started walking up the sidewalk. For a moment she considered traversing the lawn, but Tim seemed like a bit of a stickler for rules, so she opted for the sidewalk instead.

As she approached the door, she heard a loud crash followed by an even louder series of curse words coming from inside.

“Tim?” she called out. There wasn’t an answer for a moment, so she took the five remaining steps to the door and rang the doorbell. There was still no answer, so she called out his name again.

Suddenly, the door flung open and revealed a shirtless Tim. He was trying to play it cool as he leaned his hand against the door a little, but he was clearly off kilter. Shocked, Lucy stood there staring at him.

“Hi,” he greeted, a bit embarrassed. “Um… Do you want to come in?”

Lucy nodded, her mouth slightly agape as she took a few steps inside and removed her shoes and purse, never taking her eyes off of Tim. Well, never taking her eyes off of the naked part of Tim. She tried to force herself to look at his face, but her eyes refused go that high. Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton, but she tried to get some words to form. “Ummm… I guess you were serious when you said, ‘You can wear as much or as little as you’d like’ in your text” she said. She was trying to smile, to make a joke, but she was still very focused on the chiseled torso in front of her, the one that she had only felt through clothing so far, the one that kept popping up in her daydreams.

“Uh… Yeah… Sorry about that.” He closed the door behind her and followed her a couple steps into the living room. “I was getting the chicken out of the marinade when my security system’s motion detector went off letting me know that you were here… which is fine!” he clarified a little too loudly, trying to say the right things, but not saying them very smoothly. “It’s good that you’re here. It just… It startled me; I suppose I’m a little nervous. And I spilled all of the extra marinade down my shirt and onto the floor. I was just trying to clean up quickly before you saw it. But then you were already at the door, and…” He huffed, raised his eyebrows, pointed at her, and took a deep breath. “And now I’m going to get a new shirt,” he said, disappearing down a hallway that likely led to his bedroom.

Once she wasn’t distracted by his physique, she was able to shake away the shock of what had happened. “It’s a good thing it didn’t get on your pants, too!” she hollered, trying to make a joke. I’m not sure I could have stayed standing up if he answered the door in just his boxers, she said to herself.

Tim reappeared with a short-sleeve, grey Henley on a minute later, and they greeted each other again.

“Sorry about that again,” Tim said, clearly embarrassed and feeling awkward.

“No need to apologize. I was the one that said I wanted dessert first,” she said with a smirk. “I just didn’t expect you to go along with it,” she chuckled. “It was like having a delicious Belgian chocolate stuffed in my mouth the moment the door opened. I loved it. I just wasn’t prepared for it.”

Read the rest here!

[lowpolynpixelated]

The Great Divide

What is an Indie game? Is it the literal definition? A game developed and distributed by an independent developer and/or publisher. Is it a connotation of style? Pixel or simplistic graphics, cozy vibes, outlandish mechanics. Is it a representational title? Small development teams, smaller experiences, cheaper games. It is, in a way, all and none of these things. During what I would call the “true bloom” of the Video Game Landscape in the late 90s and early 2000s, such a term was seldom common nomenclature. No in those days it was “enthusiast titles” or “hobbyist” releases. Nothing like the Indie-Directs we see now. So what happened? And why does there seem to be such a clear divide in people’s minds between what’s Indie and what’s Triple A, and why can’t they explain it very well?

Part One: Where did it start?

To say that it started in the early 2000s would be incorrect. Ever since video games began being made people have taken it upon themselves to let their creativity flow through their digital catalyst of choice. The interactive medium was, and still is, unlike anything that came before. Video games are far more than “movies you can play in” they’re art pieces. Statements. An entirely unique way to engage with and experience a work of art, music, writing, and digital wizardry all packaged onto something that fits in the palm of your hand. Video games are magic. And so its no wonder that people wanted to make them. Look at such a famous game like DOOM. Ids smash hit originally had its first level freely distributed via mail-in receipts or at electronic stores, and was sold by Id itself before it took off to a nationwide scale. Developed and distributed by just a few people in an office. Sure there’s always more logistics to it than that, but doesn’t that fit a few of the definitions already? The 80s and 90s were truly the “Wild West” of video games. Because of the market’s fresh growth and upwards trend it took very little to get your game onto a console. Just look at all the titles on the original NES/Famicom systems. Before the advent of the term “Shovelware” it was quite common for such experiences to flood a library. Though this fell out of fashion more in the 90s during the SNES/Genesis era of things in favour of more well tuned and marketable competitive experiences. Such varied scales of polish and concept were doubly so if you look at the Computer Game community from the time. Developing your own games was a passtime. A trick to learn on new fangled devices. So what happened after? During the 3D revolutionary period in the 5th generation of consoles there were more standards. Sure, there were still some more shallow experiences around, but if you wanted to be known in the mainstream world video games you needed to be on a console. And so this is where I think began the true form of what most modern standards would call an “Indie game”.

My favourite examples of such titles include games like “Katamari Damacy” and “Okami”. Both games were developed by either a much smaller studio or in Katamari’s case, just a few select people. They were indeed published by established names, Namco and Capcom respectively, but they have much more in common with the Indie titles of today in that regard as well. In this era it was quite common to find games made by smaller studios, or even sometimes smaller teams within larger studios, given a run on the most popular hardware because the idea was fun. Or for perhaps a more clinical point of view, the idea could be sold. So I ask again, what happened? If you could find such games on consoles for six entire generations of video game consoles, why is there now this “Great Divide” between the Indie and the Triple A? Let’s go back to PC gaming during this time for a bit more information.

In 2003 something very important to this conundrum happened. This event would forever change the way digital distribution of video games would happen, and eventually, in my opinion, lead to where we are now. In 2003 Valve Software launched Steam as a software client meant to manage and deliver updates to their catalog of games. In 2005, only 2 years after its launch and the same year as the launch of the 7th generation of games consoles, they began using the client as a digital storefront to sell and distribute 3rd party software. Before Steam digital distribution of games was spread quite thin due to its relatively new nature. The early 2000s saw internet speeds both fast and stable enough to properly facilitate said distribution, and Valve were hardly the only ones to try and jump on the train as it began to speed up. Storefronts like Stardock stand as earlier examples of attempts to sell games over the web. Steam would be the one to not only take off, but to stick the landing as well.

In the year before Steam’s foray into offering 3rd party software, the 6th generation of consoles had an early adopter of this online storefront model. In 2004 the Xbox Live Arcade as launched on the original XBOX. This allowed owners of the console to purchase additional titles directly to their console, granted they had Xbox Live and the hard drive space to spare. These two factors, Xbox Live Arcade and Steam, would become the catalyst for the explosion of digital purchasing as well as ground zero for when The Great Divide would begin to form. When Xbox Live Arcade was in its prime it was offering games more frequently and successfully than any other console at the time. The Wii’s Wii Shop did a decent job keeping up and was a delightful experience in purchasing old Nintendo Software, and the PlayStation Store was no slouch either. Xbox, however, had an edge. As a part of many of their events such as “Summer of Xbox Live” it would offer alongside many well known console titles, smaller titles made by small and often independent developers. Games such as Castle Crashers, Super Meat Boy, The Binding of Isaac, Splosion man, and many others joined the ranks as “Xbox 360 experiences”. Meanwhile on the other side of the coin, Steam was offering these independently made games as a part of its online marketplace. But of course, as we discussed, it was common to find these in the PC space.

So why was Xbox a big deal? Because suddenly, offering these “Indie” games for smaller price tags was wildly successful. It had precedent, certainly. In it’s infancy the Xbox Live Arcade offered games at smaller price tags, anywhere from 4.99-9.99. It wasn’t just a way for smaller games to get recognition on consoles. On the other side of the coin, it was a marketing tactic. “Indies” were hot ticket items all of a sudden. Bolstering your library with indie games meant that the Xbox was the place to go for smaller developers who wanted a life on console, it meant that Xbox was supporting the wider gaming community, it meant that Xbox had video games at bargain prices. I’m sure the executives had dollar signs in their eyes the whole time, and perhaps that is a bit of a cynical way to view it, but it worked out that way. The ramifications of this tactic would continue on and its consequences felt for years to come. Some good, some bad, all very frustrating to categorize.

Part Two: The divide widens

After the massive uptick in the marketing of “indie games” via the pushing of the label in the late 2000s and early 2010s, the gap between what people considered “Triple A” and what was considered “Indie” only got wider. Indie games were small, quaint, not to be judged on the same rubric as those big budget releases that sold consoles. Criticism towards these titles was usually relegated to things like length and price. People were more forgiving to games made by two person teams on aspects like music, gameplay, and graphics. But if you dared to think that your game was worth 30$? Now you’re pushing it. Criticism levied at independently made video games grew more and more harsh in these realms. Why is your 6 hour game 25$? Why does a game with graphics like this cost more than 5$? Pixel art is easier and cheaper, right? This type of criticism was the bread and butter of judging the value of an indie title. If you packed in all the polish and fun of a “triple A” release and sold it for 15$, you were perfect. If it was your first title that you worked on for 5 years straight and DARED to think it was worth 20$, or even 30$, you weren’t experienced enough to ask for that. Every rough edge, every bug, every glitch was now ammunition to say how your game was a “flawed masterpiece that just costs too much” or “A surprisingly fun hidden gem held back by a few things”. The softer “fun little game” approach wore off quickly, and what was left in its place was criticism and judgment just as vicious as those reserved for big name releases.

This was also the time in which some of the more glaring flaws of the “triple A” sphere began to rear their heads higher into the light. The mid 2010s saw the data size of big name releases double or sometimes triple in size demanding more and more storage space for consoles. Some of the time the responsibility was put on the owners of the consoles, with external hard drives being common for the ps4 and Xbox One even more so than they were with the PS3 and Xbox360. A big reason for this was that larger games were steadily getting worse quality wise. Rushed development cycles, overbearing crunch time for developers, and corner cutting development practices encouraged by executives were making AAA games into buggy messes that didn’t go down in price and needed day one patches. Criticism did keep up with these factors, but not in a very popular light. Voices in the gaming landscape who had been advocating for people to pay more attention and demand better from larger companies with resources to do better (a prime example is Stephanie Sterling, who is a longtime video game journalist and extremely vocal about the myriad issues plaguing the industry), and were often ignored in favour of hype and “just wanting to enjoy things”.

All of this amounted to a market with a clear divide. Indie games were small and shouldn’t be judged as the bigger stuff is, but the bigger stuff is also getting worse and deserves more criticism. Indie games were their own genre by this point. Anything that could be called cheaper or less impressive than a standard console release was an indie game. Anything that could be called WORSE than a standard console game was compared to an indie game. They became both a standard that triple A games should outdo, and an insult to be hurled when the game didn’t. The passion, skill, and artistry of hundreds upon hundreds of developers and artists became nothing more than what the Nintendo Switch was using to boast “hundreds of new games every day!”, with most of said games being shovelware and phone apps being hocked onto the console at inflated prices. Still, with how games had come to be categorized, Hollow Knight and Calculator App 412 are worth the same.

Part Three: What does it mean?

So what relation does this have to indie games? Well, the issue with the way criticism was being levied against big name releases was that the criticism effecting independent releases stayed the same. The late 2010s and early 2020s saw some of the worst triple A launches in gaming history, but when a game made by a few people sold for 15$ does all the supposed highest level of the industry can and sometimes more it’s only “surprisingly polished for an indie game”. I ask you, reader, what are we comparing these games to? When most so called “triple A” releases are half finished, rushed to release, or just barely functional, how are games that meet their own goals or even surpass them still a surprise? My argument here is that the terms “triple A” and “indie” no longer apply as much as they used to. In more recent years (I’m writing this in 2024) a middle step has been gaining traction among popular gaming news and review sites, the AA game. “Double A” games, as they’re being called, are supposedly indie games with much higher levels of polish, but not enough to reach the supposed heights of “triple A” games. A more apt description of how the term is being used though, is a way to justify big name releases, floods of half-baked remakes/remasters, and substandard work being pushed by the heads of the industry. Saying a modern big name release is “about as polished as a double A game”, is less inflammatory than saying “it only plays like an indie game” but is no less insulting.

What even IS a double A game? A previous example, Hollow Knight, has often had this new classification applied to it due to its level of polish and apparent higher value than other independently made games. All this label has done is create yet another step for independent games to never achieve unless they get popular enough. There is no inherent value to a video game. The circumstances of its development and skill of its developers do not make it worth more or less than another. So without labels like indie, double A, and triple A, what do we call video games? The answer lies in the question, Video Games. This isn’t to say you can’t judge the quality of a video game. That quality, however, will vary wildly from person to person. Call of Duty Modern Warfare is a classic masterpiece to some, and a boring military shooter to others. The same can be applied to all “classic masterpieces”, and all modern works as well. Horizon Zero Dawn and Hollow Knight exist on different levels of developer and artist intent. They exist in different genres, in different dimensions of art, in different modes of gameplay, but they’re both video games available for the PlayStation 4 and will have their fans and detractors just the same. Hollow Knight was priced as its creators thought they could value it, but price is not quality. Quality in art cannot be discerned as fact. Art does not exist in such cut and dry terms and circumstances. What is inspiring to one might be mundane to another.

There ARE inherent things on which to judge a video game. To exist within the art medium certain factors MUST be up to snuff with what the developer wants the game to be. Core mechanics and gameplay, graphics reading well for what they represent, audio functioning correctly within the expectations set by the game. A game must be playable to be enjoyed, after all. But this is a baseline. You can’t call a calculator app a video game. That just isn’t what its meant to be. It doesn’t meet the base of what a video game is as an interactive experience. What you actually judge and criticize within a video game is the developer’s skill to make it what it says it is. Its price, and more often than not its length, do not determine that. Neither does an arbitrary category created to split the market into “standard and premium” video game experiences. You, the player, do.

Part Four: Thanks and future thoughts

Hello, and thank you for reading my article. The Great Divide is a theory and thought process I’ve held about the gaming landscape as a whole for quite a while, and it feels good to put those thoughts to digital paper. I do have more thoughts on the subject, but am electing to leave this here for now and return to it later in the form of another article, or perhaps an extension or video companion piece to this one. This piece is an opinion, and though it states true facts about video game history I do not offer the whole as fact. These are the ways I feel, and I hope that if you read them you might feel the same. Thank you for reading.

[thisisnotmeta]

Million Dollar Man

Chapter 2

-

The train journey to London unfolded with a continuous hum, a rhythmic repetition of tracks beneath its carriage wheels. I leaned against the window, gazing into the passing landscape that morphed into its own mosaic of fleeting images. The city sprawling out before me, a canvas painted with the subtle hues of the afternoon.

Ben messaged me a couple of days ago inviting me to Jack Hatton’s (lead of streaming at Dirty Hit) leaving party in London - I made a mental note of the fact that he was leaving to move to Australia with his girlfriend - incase I needed a conversation topic… just for my socially anxious brain. As much as I was excited to meet more of the team and potentially the artists, my enthusiasm mingled with a thick layer of apprehension.

The city lights flickered in the distance, casting shadows on my skin as I considered the people I could potentially encounter there - industry insiders, artists of the label, potentially new… friends? The invitation felt like a pass into a realm where my burgeoning career could intertwine with the established echelons of the music industry and it made me feel slightly sick, especially since I was going in alone.

Stepping onto London’s turf, I deliberately chose a hotel in Canary Wharf, paid for by yours truly - this choice being highlighted by my newfound but still modest monthly income courtesy of Dirty Hit. With a sense of fiscal responsibility guiding me, I made a conscious decision to specifically allocate these earnings towards my career and music in general (ie. Travel, hotels, instruments) - the frivolous expenditures can be done by my part time job at home, I thought.

Unpacking with ease, I had some time to kill before needing to get ready. The hotel, strategically positioned just a 15-minute walk from the venue, became my new hub. The TV emitted a soft glow, casting an ephemeral light on the hotel room. Mindless reruns of “Victorious” played in the background, their laughter and scripted drama a distant hum. Perched on the edge of the bed, I idly observed the characters on the screen. At just 23, I couldn’t shake the subtle unease about the most definite generation gap I would be encountering at the party.

What am I getting into? I mused, scrutinising my own reflection in the TV’s muted light.

The likely attendees loomed in my mind. I always strive to never care about how I will be perceived in times like this but it gets the better of me here. Would they see me as a songwriter? Or just another one trying to get by as an amateur artist like every other angsty young adult. Am I truly just crashing a party beyond my years? Do I sound like an absolute idiot right now?

My apprehension found a bit of refuge in the idea that there’s a few youthful signings to Dirty Hit in the recent years - hopefully they don’t cancel like I was contemplating to do a few minutes ago.

In the lingering hours leading up to the event, I settle into a quiet rhythm, my fingers dancing across the strings of my guitar. Quietly strumming to not upset anyone next door, the melodies echoed through the room. Jotting down anything that resonated with me on my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles notebook, I sought solace in the familiar embrace of my instrument, using it as my own vessel to get out the jumble of nerves and excitement within me.

My upcoming encounter with Matty Healy on the ‘songwriting getaway’ loomed large in my mind. He has a profound reputation for his creative mind, occasionally flirting with pretentiousness, but an intricate and enviable mind nonetheless. Would he see the potential in my songwriting?

The weight of his potential judgement fuelled my determination to impress him with the depth of my ideas. A fangirl moment interrupted my thoughts as the realisation struck - Matty might be at the party. It wasn’t even an outlandish notion either; after all, he was apart of the label, a big part at that. The mere possibility that the entirely of The 1975 might grace the event sent a shiver down my spine. Amid the brief reverie, I needed to refocus.

I want to show him good work.

A few more minutes of brainstorming and writing down ideas pass. “We all look for heaven, and we put love first,” was a phrase born from the introspective haze of my disassociation. I wrote down a few more ideas to pair with it - I liked it, it was earnest and real… hopefully others would think the same.

Glancing at my phone, the numbers told me there were still two and a half hours left. I nudged myself off of the bed and started the practical task of getting ready for the night. The shower became a sanctuary, the hot water cascading over me, it was a welcoming embrace after the lingering residue of travelling. As steam filled the bathroom, I closed my eyes, letting the warmth wash away not just the physical grime but the lingering nerves that clung to my skin.

Turning off the shower, I stood before the mirror, my damp hair awaiting transformation - fingers crossed. After drying, I curled and weaved strands into pin curls, a skill passed down from my mum. The familiarity of the routine was comforting. Makeup followed, the unfamiliar intensity of liner, mascara and slightly over-lined lips were a subtle nod at my newfound insecurity in my maturity. It made me look a little more mature, I guess. My hold-all offered a few choices of different outfits. I selected an off-the-shoulder black lace top, low-waisted jeans that hugged my hips and point-heeled boots to complete the ensemble. I surveyed myself in the mirror, definitely passable for the evening. With fourty-five precious minutes ticking down, I unraveled the pin curls, each strand dropping down into place showing a nice ‘blowout’ style. The air filled with the sweet embrace of my perfume, a final touch to my persona tonight.

Turning to my phone, I couldn’t resist the urge to take a couple selfies before heading out - I’m Gen Z, give me a break. Downstairs, the bar beckoned with the confident offering of liquid courage. I approached, I definitely need something strong. Ordering a double vodka, lemonade and a splash of blackcurrant, I winced as the contactless reader slapped me with a hefty £12.00 charge. Ah, London prices. The glass in my hand became my talisman, my elixir to bolster my resolve. As I sipped the time away, nerves tingled beneath my skin.

The party was likely in full swing by now, but my strategic calculations told me that arriving 30 minutes later meant most would be deep into their second drink, too dizzy to give me more than a fleeting thought. I nursed my drink, eyeing the clock, unwilling to dish out another £12 when a free bar awaited me at the venue. As I contemplated moving to a more comfortable spot a few feet away from the bar, my phone lit up with a message from Ben.

Eta?

Pre drinking alone at the bar haha. My university student brain is fried at London prices.

Nice lol, thought you weren’t coming for a sec. See you later.

Finishing the remnants of my drink, I relished the familiar burn as the liquid slid down. The hum of conversation and clinking glasses around me formed an antithetical soundtrack to the city’s docile pulse outside, excluding the occasional taxi driving past. I found a comfortable refuge in the short time i’d sat here, not really finding it in my feet to leave yet. The dim lighting cast a warm glow, creating their own little pockets of intimacy. A plush, but old-fashioned patterned carpet absorbed people’s footsteps, and the scent of aged wood and polished brass lingered in the air.

Pulling up the venue’s address on my phone, I looked at the walking journey on my screen. Google maps being my sacred guide through the labyrinth that is London streets - and oh, what I would do without it. And I know what you’re thinking: Camille, why the fuck are you planning on walking the streets of London at night alone? That is, my angels, because I am a cheap bitch and I refuse to spend £5 for a 3 minute car journey - I will just take my chances.

With a final glance at my phone, I examined the reflection staring back at me - not bad. I absolutely didn’t look like I was overcompensating for being an absolute nobody/foetus at this party.

Popping off the high bar chair, I smoothed down my top, my fingers brushing against the lace. As I reached the exit, the city’s climate bared itself to me, pinchingly cold air wafted onto me. The initial opening of the door was bad, but once I was outside, I was able to absorb most of the coolness. The glow of the streetlights guiding my way, casting a golden hue on the pavement.

At the end of my very safe -actually- walk, I was greeted by the bright LED sign that boldly announced the bar venue - ‘Pergola On The Wharf’. The glowing letters ambient against the night sky, like a beacon to draw people in. I could hear the muffled laughter and music through the refined brick walls. Stepping underneath the halo of the sign, I took a moment to myself, letting the good vibes and energy seep onto me. I made a mental commitment to let go of any lingering anxiety and embrace what could be a really fun night ahead. Maybe I’ll find Ben or I could introduce myself to other producers, or maybe even talk to Holly or Jamie.

Putting everything behind me, I stepped through the door of the bustling nexus of a bar. Unfolding everything before me, it was flooded with an array of unfamiliar faces, each one adorned with a concoction of some type of alcohol in their hand, laughter bubbling from every corner.

Groups of people, all talking together to make a harmonious cacophony, were scattered across the contemporary styled and what looked like plant-filled botanical bar. Lush ferns, vines, and vibrant flora adorned every corner and ceiling pane, creating a natural abundance of decoration. The vast glass window at the back offered a panoramic view of the dock outside, hinting that this bar probably had an inundation of bright, natural light during the daytime - which was a stark contrast to the glowing, candle-lit evening tonight. The aroma through the air was an intoxicating blend of florals and oud. A faint hint of cigarettes clung to people’s knitwear and thick clothing, adding a touch of ease to the ambiance.

Navigating through the basically sea of people, I looked around for any familiar faces. Some people danced energetically on the makeshift dance floor, lost in the rhythmic allure of the older club classics spun by the DJ in the corner, whilst others gathered in clusters, sat and stood all around. Amidst the crowd, I saw someone at the bar that caught my eye - a girl, roughly my age, who I knew just recently signed a deal with Dirty Hit, just a couple of months before me. She was engaged in a conversation with an unfamiliar face as they were paying for their drinks.

Seizing the opportunity to make some new friends, I made my way over, introducing myself with a smile. “Hey, hope I’m not interrupting, but I don’t really know anyone here. I’m Camille, I just signed with Dirty Hit a couple of months ago.”

“Hey! No, you’re totally fine,” her thick Scottish accent welcomed me warmly, the girl next to her turning also with a friendly grin. “I’m Isla and this is Sorcha. I was signed a few months ago as well so I don’t really know anyone here, so I thought I’d bring a plus one.”

“I didn’t even realise you could bring someone,” I laughed. “I wish I brought someone from home because honestly, an hour ago I was debating not even coming.”

“Oh, there was no plus ones allowed,” Isla replied in a hush, leaning in closer. “I just hope they think Sorcha’s one of the interns!”

Isla, a girl with unmistakable Scottish charm, stood out with her gorgeous, curly, ginger hair that tumbled in a cascade of vibrant, thick waves. Her fair skin bore the artistry of delicately placed freckles, and a bright smile that creased her eyes. Next to her, Sorcha was a striking contrast with her tanned complexion. Her long straight black hair flowed with a sleek elegance, framing her face and adding a touch of shine. Sorcha’s features were chiseled, embodying a blend of modernity but classic allure at the same time. They both were gorgeous and looked like a dynamic duo only seen in movies.

We found a comfortable spot at the bar, and talked about what we were working on in our early days being signed at our label. Sorcha was still in University, studying media and radio in hopes to have her own radio show one day. Isla was found via TikTok and had amassed an impressive following of 70k for her covers before she was scouted. She had been working with one of Dirty Hit’s partner producers in Scotland to save the constant trips, and is looking at releasing her first single in the next few weeks, which is so exciting.

“It’s called ‘Do I Have Your Attention?’, it’s basically a slow, acoustic song about my relationship with my family. I’m really proud of it,” she beams, circling her finger around the glass top of her cocktail.

“Honestly, that’s so exciting,” I smile at her. “I’ll keep an eye out for it when it’s out!”

“Aw, yeah, you should give me a text and let me know what you think about it!” Isla replies as she grabs her phone out of her pocket and slides it over to me. “Put your number in, always good to stay in touch with each other!”

Whilst putting my number in her phone, it seemed like a perfect time to grab a drink. I perused the menu, green circular stickers next to certain drinks indicated what was and wasn’t apart of the included drinks tab tonight. Opting for a French martini, I joined the conversation again, mentally wiping the sweat off my forehead for finding people I could talk to.

“What are you working on right now?” Sorcha shifted the spotlight onto me.

“I’ve had a few sessions with a few producers to establish what sound I want to make, I think I’ve found my voice with one of them, so I’m excited to work with him again,” I say, thanking the bartender as he brought over my freshly made French Martini. “I actually got a call a week or so ago about if I was interested in going on a work getaway for a few days to make new music, so all I’m doing right now is just writing down anything I like or anything I think I could use in a song. The idea of showing off my ideas to them is so nerve wracking.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Isla chimed in with understanding, acknowledging the pressure in the industry. “Everyone has so much experience and is so creative, that it’s actually really anxiety inducing to show them what you’ve been working on, honestly I’m completely in the same boat. But everyone here is just so lovely.”

Her reassurance carried the weight of our shared anxiety, and I found comfort in her words. As we moved away from the bustling bar, standing amidst the lively crowd, Isla's curiosity veered toward the details of my upcoming musical getaway. I shared the scant information I had – a countryside location, collaboration with Ben, and the unexpected mention of Matty from The 1975 expressing interest in working with me, for some unknown reason.

"Matty Healy?" Sorcha's eyes widened, leaning in with genuine awe. Isla, equally surprised, exchanged glances with her friend. "Are you friends with him?"

I chuckled at Sorcha's enthusiasm and Isla's teasing nudges into her friend’s arm. The playful banter lightened the mood as I clarified that I wasn't friends with Matty, but rather, the prospect of collaborating with him was a part of the upcoming getaway.

Sorcha, in her unabashed love for Matty Healy, couldn't help but gush over the luck tied to the opportunity. Her cheeky question, a typical Love Island-esque move, drew an amused look from Isla. I navigated the topic, acknowledging Matty's attractiveness and creative prowess while trying to gracefully sidestep the "do you fancy him?" inquiry.

"I mean, he's definitely attractive," I replied with a hint of laughter, unsure how to navigate the question diplomatically. Admitting my admiration while surrounded by his friends and colleagues required a delicate balance of honesty and discretion. "I saw him at Leeds once, and, well, he was quite a sight."

Sorcha’s unabashed admiration for Matty echoed through the buzzing atmosphere of the party, her eyes scanning the room as if expecting the man of the hour to materialise. She turned back to face me, a mix of awe and envy painted on her face.

“I think he’s fucking stunning,” she declared, her gaze still darting around the venue in search of, to her, the elusive rock god. “I’m gonna be honest; I am so, so jealous of you right now. I’m absolutely in love with that man.”

“I know, it’s so surrea-“ I begin to share my thoughts with her, only to be abruptly cut off by Sorcha’s relentless proclamation of undying love for Matty Healy. Isla, seated beside her, sank slightly into her wooden chair, glancing between the two of us with a mixture of amusement, embarrassment and concern.

“The fact that he could even be in this room right now is driving me insane,” Sorcha continued, fervently expressing her infatuation and getting her point across (very much so) to me.

“I know it’s—“ I attempted to respond, but Sorcha’s enthusiasm overpowered any chance of a cohesive conversation.

“When you’re on your ‘getaway’ with him, you need to FaceTime me or something, she exclaimed, her excitement escalating as she fumbled for something in her purse. Suddenly, her phone emerged in her hand like a prized possession, and the conversation took a turn that left me feeling a bit uncomfortable, if I wasn’t already. “Then you can be like, ‘oh, this is my friend; I think you guys would get on well’ - something like that. Here, let me get your number!”

With the commotion, Isla sprang from her seat, nearly toppling over a woman in a black fur coat trying to navigate past her. The two exchanged hurried apologies before Isla seized Sorcha’s hand, pulling her away from the table.

“One sec, come with me to the toilet really quickly,” Isla instructed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sorcha replied, following Isla’s lead. Before disappearing into the crowd, she turned back, flashing a wide smile my way. “I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Yeah, of course!” I shoot her a polite closed mouth smile back at her, my attention then shifting to Isla. She mouthed a guilt-ridden ‘sorry’ before vanishing into the sea of people. Well, that was interesting. I couldn’t help but think that maybe avoiding Sorcha for the rest of the night might be a good idea, as endearing as her enthusiasm was.

Amidst that wild chaos of an interaction, I rose from my seat, scanning the crowded room for any familiar faces. At least I already filled an hour or so of being here.

Before I began walking around aimlessly, a familiar voice cut through the hum of the crowd, and I turned to see Ben waving from the back of the bar near the windows.

“Camille!” he called out, his thick curly hair falling just before his shoulders. His tanned skin was complimented by wearing a white button up and fitted dress trousers. I weaved through the pulsating mass of people, relieved to have found a familiar anchor in this place.

“How’s things?” Ben asked, taking me in a brief hug, careful not to spill his pint of cider in his hand. “Thought you were gonna bail.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “No, no, couldn’t miss out on a free bar, don’t be silly.”

“I know, think I’ve saved sixty pound already tonight,” he chucked, bringing his glass into the air, causing some of it to spill over the top. For someone who’s probably had 8/9 pints of cider now, he wasn’t overly drunk, just on a good wavelength I would say.

We caught up for a while, talking about what we’ve been doing since we last saw each other, which wasn’t long at all. Ben talked about the new audio interface that he’s just bought for the studio and how he’s excited to try it out with me. A lot of our conversation was about our upcoming getaway, touching on topics like our favourite takeaways and how we are actually going to the Cotswolds for a week to write, which was exciting as I’d heard that that place was one of the most beautiful places in the country!

“Do you smoke weed?” Ben asked casually, his gaze fixed on his now-empty pint of cider with a frown. “Totally fine if not, just I know Matty and I probably will be bringing some down with us… if you’re fine with it?”

“God, don’t even be silly, of course you can,” I reply with a laugh, fanning away his slight concern with my hand. I didn’t smoke a lot, but when I did, it would usually make my throat hurt the morning after, so I tend to stay away from it but edibles are another story. The amount of times me and my flatmates at university used up the last of our change in our pockets to buy laced Haribos after a long week of studying, I couldn’t count on my fingers. Those were the best times. “I’m not much into smoking, but I’ll fetch some gummies or brownies down as well, what do you think?”

“Honestly, that’s perfect,” he smiled at my offer, and we sealed our agreement with the clink of our empty glasses. “Think it really gets your mind going to places you can’t explore otherwise, great for writing, plus it just gets you chilled out, doesn’t it?”

I was about to reply when a hand was firmly placed on Ben’s shoulder, a black nicely fitting long sleeve and washed out blue jeans was the first glance I got of him. He excluded the smell of thick smoke and some sort of expensive alluring fragrance, he must’ve been outside for a cigarette and then reapplied his cologne just a couple minutes ago - that or the cologne was just that strong.

“Going to the bar, mate. You wanting the same again?” Matty asked raising his eyebrows, holding his empty glass and pointing at Ben’s with the same hand. His eyes briefly flickered to mine before doing a very obviously double take at me. “Oh hi, Darling, I should’ve introduced myself sooner. I’m Matty.”

“No, you’re fine!” I say quickly before I’m engulfed in a hug from him, his smell being even more intoxicating this close. Yeah, I get what Sorcha was saying now. “I’m Camille, how are you?”

“I know exactly who you are, I’ve been listening to your work with Ben for a bit,” he says, beaming between the two of us in front of him, clearly a lot more gone than Ben. “I’m great though, what are you drinking? I’ll fetch you back something.”

Before I could reply, Ben intervened by taking both mine and Matty’s glasses from our hands. “You’ve went and got my last two, Matty. I’ll get this next one. Same again?”

“Yeah, please, mate. Love you, mate, thank you,” he replied slightly slurring his words as he had both hands on Ben’s shoulders giving him an affectionate shake.

As Ben made his way towards the bar, it left us momentarily alone together in this hectic room of a party. I found myself just stood beside Matty, a subtle tension lingering in the air as if waiting for each other to speak first.

A sly grin crept across Matty’s face and I couldn’t help but return it.

[sachermorte]

Honestly would love a little daily "what's Bundeskanzler Roland Sachermorte saying today" bit on the Nachrichten and it's just stuff like "Heute ist's wieder arschkalt, ich geh ins Café." or "Steht mir dieser Mantel? Stimmen Sie jetzt ab: Ja, Selbstverständlich, Roland, sei unser Kaiser, Demokratie ist überbewertet"

Completely unserious about it but like. What's new in Austrian politics. Just 24/7 news cycle about the outlandish shit I'm getting up to. I called an FPÖler a fetznschädel to his face and may or may not have gotten caught kissing some mildly homophobic Politiker who everyone knew was secretly gay anyway. He's probably going to quit his entire job. Turtlenecks and checked trousers are in because I won't stop wearing them. I go on ORF just to talk about my new thrift finds. I keep making people kiss my rings. Total pandemonium. The political landscape is the best it's been in years.

[cinephilereverie]

Argylle (2024)

3.5 out of 5 Stars

If you like fun, non-serious, unrealistic spy movies, then this is a great watch. It's absurd, hilarious, and there's intrigue and plot twists at every corner. It is one of the least serious, over-the-top movies I've seen recently. During the last big fight scene, I couldn't contain my laughter. I actually couldn't believe what I was watching. However, the scene was shot quite well and it's very interesting from a cinematography perspective. Most of the movie was very beautiful. Elly Conway's lake house landscape is gorgeous. However, I have to mention in one of the flashbacks the special effects look kind of awful. I don't know if that was by choice because the flashbacks are all fairly stylized or not. It didn't feel purposeful but the effects later in the movie of the exact same thing look really good. There were so many plot twists in this movie it felt like every fifteen minutes we were discovering something new. Most of these plot twists did have distinct setups or callbacks that weren't too obvious but you thought back to them as soon as it was revealed. The twists were also fairly easy to follow and not too convoluted. A huge part of this movie's success is the full commitment of the main cast to the outlandish actions and stories of the characters. I was already a fan of Bryce Dallas Howard but she really sold her role. She portrayed every version of her character convincingly. She and her stunt double did an amazing job with all of the action scenes. For negatives, I didn't like how they did the dialogue switching between the character and the writer at the beginning of the movie. The execution of switching between multiple characters saying the same dialogue was executed much better later in the movie. But overall I really enjoyed the movie and I'm excited to watch the coming prequel!

Side note the cat is so cute.

PS: there aren't too many flashing lights but there is a lot of blinking POV shots. So you'll see what's happening, there'll be a brief moment of a black screen from the blink and then back to the scene. This happens several times repeatedly. It did make my head hurt a bit, so people who are prone to headaches like me be warned.

[k00325904]

ARTIST RESEARCH : DEVON RUE

Devon rue is an artist who works primarily on map and signage design for fantasy settings normally based in the live action role-play show known as Critical Role. She has a background in landscape design but found her passion for map making from her severe visual impairment which makes her sense of depth prescription to be very poor. She loved the sense of wonder that a map can create and found that her impairment didn’t hinder her and instead caused her to have a unique perspective of depicting things in a 2-D world. Her fascination with earth science from her childhood caused her to think very carefully about how these seemingly outlandish natural structures that exist in fantasy worlds would be depicted in something essential to a many in that setting a map. I personally am a huge fan of her work and her career where she has found a niche where she can do what she loves for something that has been a major part of her life which is table top role playing games.

[netherfeildren]

do you have a writing process? like do you make outlines or anything or do you throw caution to the wind? also how did you develop your writing style cause it’s beautiful (signed someone who loves writing and is attempting to write a fic but struggling because I compare my writing to everyone else’s and then think it’s garbage and get utterly discouraged and unmotivated)

I usually plot for a really long time from inception of idea to actual words in a document, like months. but my "plotting" is literally just bullet points of structure to dialogue to small details in one hugely disorganized note until I feel ready to write. I guess my only tip is to write down all your ideas in the moment no matter how small or contrived they might seem, body movements, words, things you see in your day to day. that's what makes writing come to life.

I think the struggle is normal and worth it, especially if you're enjoying what you're doing and having fun while doing it. and even if it's bad, who cares, with more practice you'll get better and then you can always come back to it and make it better with your bigger stronger writer muscles. it's one of my favorite things about writing fic, like the space it gives you to grow and get better and be as outlandish or insane as you want to be in your writing. and then I you don't like it months later, you can always come back and edit or change. there are no rules except the ones you set for yourself. but I can definitely understand playing the comparison game which is something I can fall into pretty badly as well. my only cure for that and I think the real trick to being a writer in the fandom landscape the way it is now, such a numbers game nay popularity contest, bleh, is to find your people, your friends who are always supportive of your work and write for yourself and write for them. if you're enjoying it and they're enjoying it the comparison becomes less sabotaging.