#and its got less varying length

[signedeclipse]

Ooh, i found your page, and i saw your prompt post about the Multiple/All hashira have feelings for the reader who is the best swordsmith and all want their swords done by her, I think it be funny to also add Hotaru Haganezuka to the mix and him also being like "im not sharing my fellow Smith back off!" :D

I think all would be funny with all hashira, but anyone underage it's like I admire you and you are now my older sibling/parent now.

Giyuu | Gyomei | Mitsuri | Muichiro | Obanai | Sanemi | Shinobu [X Reader]

In which you are the best swordsmith, and the hashira you're assigned to adore you.

Giyuu

He never deserved any kind of special blade, special treatment, or anything above what the average person got

At least, thats how Giyuu thought about things

Recently, his swordsmith had retired, and while he had stated he didn't care who got the job, there was still pressure for him to pick since it was considered some kind of honour

During his visit to the village, he met you at an izakaya, where you were talking with the owner about your proposal for the 'hashira in town'

He felt bad for walking in, knowing you didn't intend for him to hear anything, so he immediately tried to hide in the corner and finish his food sooner

Unfortunately, the owner immediately pointed him out, and asked him to come over to talk to you

Both of you were red with embarrassment, and Giyuu had to insist you stop apologizing

You were nervous about talking about the design, but eventually he caught the gist that you wanted to repurpose another sword into his since older steel was more valuable

You'd clearly done your research because you knew of him and Sabito, and you offered to use Sabito's left-over ore to add to his for some more sentimental value

Giyuu was really keen about the idea, and before the choosing ceremony could occur, he presented himself to Lord Tecchin to request you become his permanent swordsmith

Gyomei

Nichirin blades were the most common weapon used by demon slayers

Gyomei had started with one, but he quickly found his attacks were focused on the impact, and less on the perfect point of precision

He needed something different, but he wasn't sure what

Being a bother was something he hated doing, but he took it upon himself to visit the swordsmith village so he could meet with Lord Tecchin

Even Tecchin was unsure, until one of his guards spoke about you, a budding swordsmith with a less traditional outlook on weapons

Gyomei was willing to try, and he was glad he did

You were a natural creative, he could hear your charcoal sketching along parchment even as it was hidden below melancholic humming

You were interested in his assessment of his inability to use nichirin to its best potential, and after considering several forms of weapons, you both landed on something that could act at various ranges

The flail was a deadly weapon on a stick, but you proposed keeping it on a chain would help him control it, since he could vary how much length he gave the flail to move

"It'll be heavy, though, and hard to know where it's going. How much can you lift?"

"Several thousand kilograms."

"Ah."

You were at a loss for words, but you took him seriously and began working

Gyomei actually had a hand in helping make them, because you could barely carry the flail moulds, let alone the finished product

You instructed his hands on how to feel the weapon, gave him suggestions on use, and described its appearance so he could adjust the colours as he liked

Your patience was appreciated, and Gyomei took it upon himself to make sure you were treated extremely well after the week of gruelling work

Mitsuri

Mitsuri had a very special blade

It needed to be thin enough to bend, but thick enough to remain still when not moving

The only person who had ever managed this perfect precision was Lord Tecchin, but as he grew older, the task became harder

So, there was a contest for a replacement; anyone who wanted to could join

You were intrigued by the idea, but you'd had trouble in the past with your experimental blades, so much so that some friends of yours suggested you leave yourself out

But you wanted to give it a try, besides, you'd heard great things about the love Hashira, and you were sure she wouldn't be mean about it if it didn't meet her standards

Your best idea was to use something other than the scarlet ore to give it further reinforcement, so you created an alluminium-steel alloy that could be coated in scarlet ore by melting the scarlet crimson Iron Sand, which was more flexible than the ore

It resulted in a long, thin, and sturdy blade that could handle nearly triple the force of its original, though it wasn't as flexible as before

On the day of the contest, Mitsuri was extremely interested in your process, and you got to see your creation in its moving form for the first time

Mitsuri was extremely talented, and she had no problem bending the sword with her whipped movements

As it turns out, she had to be careful with her previous swords because she had gotten too strong for them and they got too loose

You easily won, and Mitsuri was beyond joyed to know her swordsmith was not only talented, but also extremely pretty!

She's always sketching herself with her sword on the letters she sends to you and often inviting you out to eat

Expect a lot of recipes sent your way, and a lot of sweet messages detailing how excited she is to see you again

Muichiro

Swords were the least of his concerns when it came to slaying demons

They should always be perfect, always kill without getting in his way; he shouldn't have to ever think about it

But after his run-in with Tanjiro and his previous swordsmith passing away, the concerns bubbled up

He didn't have time to spend waiting on some smith to make something comparable to what he wielded, he needed something just as good, if not better

So the search began, and of course, your name popped up a lot when he'd ask who was 'the best'

You were young, close to his age, and you were hard at work when he found you

Muichiro ignores every craftsman sword hung upon your wall, disregards every talent, and demands you take him on

But stubborn meets stubborn, and when you say no, hes taken back

What do you mean 'no'? Do you have any idea how much of a speck you are compared to him?

The challenge you present nags at him, and he decides youre not worth it; he can always ask someone else

But the idea of anything less than perfect, the annoyance of you denying him, it manages to peer through the mind fog several times to the point of annoyance

Fine, he'll say please and apologize, because your craftsmanship is worth it

When he does get his sword, he's even more irked that it never so much as scratches, and works extremely hard to try and break it just so he can tell everyone you aren't as good as they say

It never happens

Obanai

No one could get his concept right

A lot of people thought he wanted what Mitsuri had, which he thought was extremely well crafted, but it wasn't exactly what he needed

Mitsuri had the arm strength to handle a weapon that long and precise, but he needed something smaller, more sturdy, but with 'joints' of weakness

His concept was rejected by many, and his frustration was beginning to boil

When you came up to him, requesting to make it, he had already given up and mentioned he was leaving soon, and not to bother him

Even after leaving the village and resigning into using the typical blade, he was surprised when you found your way all the way out to his mission point just to deliver him a weapon he never asked for

He didn't like that someone had intruded on his mission, but when you were both attacked and he had a chance to use it, he had a hard time being mad

The weak points of the weapon started far apart and got closer together near the top, giving the blade a wave-like appearance that certainly looked odd

But when moved with enough force and velocity, the joints could be bent further to reach around corners in odd ways, following his movements with a latency that let him fit it through impossible holes and bends

It was everything he was looking for and more, considering he only proposed two joints and you'd delivered nearly twenty in a blade as short as seventy centimetres

Hes impressed, but hes still mad you made this journey and put yourself in danger, so of course he is going to take you all the way back to the village

Personally

With no one else

And listen to you talk the whole time

Yea

Sanemi

Sure, swords were important, but he didn't give them much thought

He was always getting new ones because his always chipped, snapped, and scratched with all the force he was putting on them

The blades were built for flesh, but he didn't care, he practiced cutting rocks and throwing the blade like it was some kind of toy

Eventually, his destructive tendancy drove his swordsmith to quitting, as many others had, and he was once again called into the village to find another

The choosing ceremony was skipped with him, since it often ended up with him insulting everyone and picking the person who cried the least

So now he just went from workshop to workshop, looking at what people could offer

Your workshop looked the newest, with freshly varnished wood and some construction materials still left on the side of the den you worked out of

It was just you in the workshop, with new bulletin boards already covered in sketches and schematics, and a shelf of ores labelled by size, strength, and purity

Sanemi figured since you were new, you'd take longer to break and give up, so he resigned to Lord Tecchin whom he had picked and challenged you to have it done by the next day

It was an impossible challenge, but that was the point

Even so, the next day you were at his door by the crack of dawn, not one, but two identicle blades ready for him to retrieve

They were perfect, left matte instead of shining, and sharp enough to cut a perfect lien through the most delicate and loose fabric

Sanemi hated to admit it, but he appreciated that you'd at least already prepared him a replacement

When he tried them out for the first time, he finds they last a lot longer, and it takes him several months for a chip to occur in it

Even then, he has a second one, so for the first time in years, he's been away from the village for more than six months

You're not perfect, but you're certainly good, and he's thrilled to see what more you can do with a few more years of practice

Shinobu

When Shinobu first started toying with the idea of wisteria poison as an effective killing method, the hardest part was figuring out how to apply it to a blade

Injection was most effective, but needles were chunky and harder to get into demons campared to something broad like a nichirin blade

So she was reffered to you, and you drafted up several ideas that you felt she might enjoy

Other swordmen felt it was an insult to the dark, to remove the central half of the blade, but it was the easiest way for her to have something light without shortening the blade or thinning it out and risking it snapping

The planning resulted in a very unique blade but an even more unique sheath

Shinobu hadn't asked, but you lined it with a spongy fabric so that she could fill it with the poison and automatically apply itself along the blade

It had a drain, anti-microbial and anti-rusting additions, and a beautiful handpainted pattern along its outside.

The amount of thought you put into it really astonished her, and while she never had issues with the design, Shinobu made sure to have a bi-annual trip to visit you

Along with the many letters she would send with news and treats from the butterfly mansion

Being able to share her experiences with you with other hashira or corps members gives her a sense of pride, especially when she gets to show off something she used to view as a sign of weakness

Authors Note - I have wanted to write this prompt for SO LONG!! Its a lot of characters, so I apologize but I left out Uzio, Kyojuro, and Haganezuka to focus on those I had the most ideas for!

Thank you for requesting, anon!

[dduane]

Hi! I'd love to hear ur take on the whole Spirk Canon discussion going on right now as someone who's written licensed Trek books. Like besides the whole "did Unification 765874 make spirk canon" thing, is it even fair to talk about spirk being canon or not? What would it take for spirk to "be canon"? It strikes me as a very fandom-y (positive) way to interact with media, which is funny since k/s invented fandom culture. But at the same time ur Supernatural comparison was right on the money and paramount has been VERY weird about addressing their relationship in nutrek. What are ur thoughts??

First of all: Despite the excitement of any given moment, people need to be careful about mistaking anything I reblog without further-amplifying comment, on any subject, as necessarily implying agreement or approval. Lots of times I reblog things just to direct attention to them (and sometimes because I think they're funny).

"ur Supernatural comparison" was not mine. It was somebody else's. I reblogged it to direct attention to it. (And maybe I thought it was funny.)

...Also, wut iz dis "nutrek" u speak of? When you've been working in this universe for long enough, with the necessary perspective to look up and down the length of it without idiosyncratically-added heat... then all Trek is Trek. The spectrum along which its varying species all coexist is ever more complexly and interestingly braided than it once was, sure. But that's all. I've got enough on my plate at the moment not to have time to waste trying to force different aspects of Trek into cage fights with each other.

And: "Paramount"? Who is that, exactly? At the pointy end, all corporations are made up of people. Which ones are we talking about? Which production entities? Which creative teams? Which execs, working under whose supervising auspices, and when? Working with whose (character/worldview/policy) decisions, and for how long?

None of this stuff is simple to work out, and it's not helpful to try to come at it as if it's necessarily going to be easy to tease out who's doing what to whom. Briefly: it's normal for it to look weird. But don’t mistake a Big Corporate Monolith for something actually monolithic.

Also, for the moment, ffs, let's all just step away from the business of defining what K/S and/or Spirk actually involves. Enough ink and electrons have been spilled over this whole spectrum of character relationship since the 1960s, and frankly, life's too short. Definitely too short to be trying to resolve it all in terms of something that dropped...when? About this time last night, or the night before? :) Jeeeez, people. Take a breath or three and let things settle.

So I don't think anybody needs to be hearing my deep cogitations about the new short film right now... because there aren't any. No question, Unification's beautiful to look at—and I've told Dave Blass he did nice work, about which i don't think there can be any possible doubt. (Not to mention the high-end technical aspects dealt with so seamlessly in such a small tight package, which have left my jaw on the floor.) The Giacchino score's also quite lovely, but that also is more or less a given.

As for everything else: I decline to spew opinion all over the joint until I've had a chance to assimilate what I've seen, and actually acquire a useful opinion from somewhere or other. Meanwhile, y'all just keep doing what you're all doing, and I'll go make some more tea. :)

[1-800-deactivatednearu]

click to see the first image at full size!

[image description: two digital drawings. first is of scout's ma as a drag queen. she is posed like the engraving on the side of the ambassador, standing with one leg bent slightly and a smug smile. she holds one open fan in front of her thigh and the other behind her head, both blue and with "Bang!" written in white cursive. the front fan is slightly bloodstained. she wears a navy pinstripe sheath dress that buttons up the front and a detached shirt collar and bow tie. the collar is square, with lapels like a suit jacket. she has blue eye shadow, red lipstick, and sharply contoured cheekbones.

second drawing is of spy sitting at her feet as she lights his cigarette, holding his jaw in her hand. scout's ma wears a lighter blue dress with long sleeves and a back cutout, striped with yellow and dark blue. spy is a drag king is a large black furry coat with light brown trim, a straw hat, pink pants, and a leather harness. /end description.]

shes mama but she also responds to mommy ;)

(she/her pronouns for mama, he/him pronouns for james bondage (drag king spy)!)

the thought process talk got a little long, see more under the cut!

the main inspiration was honestly her beehive and the hand fans in the ambassador engraving and then i ran with it :) was looking at her and thinking that her design is so distinct its fairly easy to keep recognizable (for anyone curious, its the beehive, headband, mod dress, square neckline, belt)

the first design is based off spy films! the ambassador was an incredibly strong influence . i would not call this a masc look by any stretch of the imagination but i was aiming for relatively more masc . i was somewhat inspired by james bond i think? but its not too unique of a look . it can be any spy . it could even be tf2 spy! which is why she has a matching belt and watch

a bit of a relic of the past (as in ideas on the cutting room floor) is that her sleeves are so puffy because i was considering having her dress be made of a shiny material and i like how light looks on scrunchy shiny material :)

the fans say bang because i think it would be incredibly funny to snap them open . dont worry about the blood . i was planning for her to have a gun strapped to her leg but theres no space for it, unfortunately :(

the second is the result of challenging myself to vary her dress a little more while keeping the same silhouette . its not too exciting in changes construction wise! but the back cutout is because i love rendering skin and if the angle permits it then... i was leaning more into the mod dress look with the patterning this time around, its a lot lighter this time around in colors because i deserve more fun coloring this time around! tossed in yellow as the popular accent color of choice .

james bondage is far less inspired whoops . the plan was more or less "i want to make him look like an expensive cat" . the leather harness was realizing i have got to capitalize off the bondage part . i do not know how to feel about the wearing it over a jacket that big

with james bondage i went pose first, then clothes, then clothes on the pose. which is to say, this outfit is probably more exciting without the jacket . whoops!

[image description: digital sketch of spy's full outfit from the drawing of him with scout's ma. obscured details: his black gloves are at opera length with belts attached, the straw hat has a ribbon that match his pants, the pants have two buttons as opposed to one for the fly, and he is wearing ankle length boots with stilettos and red soles. end description.]

[petvampire]

The original drabble I was working on that started this whole Cluedo prompt thing into motion. 🤣 A little gift for @anything-thats-rock-and-roll who pointed out that I somehow haven’t written Cat King x Edwin x Monty together yet! (What are we calling these three as a ship, anyway?)

So here we have them, in the library, with the rope. 💖

NSFW

~

Walking in on Monty tied up is not exactly how the Cat King envisioned his day going, but he’s certainly not complaining.

He’s rounded the corner into the expanded library of the Dead Boy Detectives’ office - with the influx of new volumes to their collection, the ghosts needed more space for their books. So the office has undergone some changes, a few mundane, a few magical. They occupy the whole top floor of the building now, and the library is its own room, to Edwin’s eternal delight. The change is recent enough that the ghost is often still found here just wandering, touching shelves and books with a proprietary sort of contentment. He’s very much in his element here, whether curled up to read in one of the heavy wingback chairs he picked out, or poring over the varied volumes to do research for a case.

Right now, he’s not doing either, but he’s still perfectly in his element. A length of silk rope dyed a stormy grey is held in his hands, half of it already wrapped around the crow in an elaborate web of knots. He’s frowning down at an open book laid out on the low table next to him, one with a diagram that he is presumably studying, trying to replicate.

Monty looks utterly calm and unruffled, even with his arms bound behind his back in a way that looks faintly uncomfortable. He’s still fully dressed, both of them are, which makes the scene a little less fun for Thomas - but then, it’s fairly clear at first glance that this isn’t some heated interlude he’s interrupting, but a bit of hands-on practice.

Still, both of them look surprised and just a hint flustered when he clears his throat, drawing their attention to him. Evidently they weren’t expecting anyone to walk in on this bit of… research.

“I’m guessing this isn’t for a case,” he drawls, amusement lacing his tone. A hint of pink crawls across Monty’s cheeks, but Edwin just raises a brow; he’s become much better at maintaining his composure.

“And how can you be certain of that?” His voice is as cool and crisp as ever, though there’s a hint of a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Perhaps I’m attempting to find new ways to subdue potential threats.”

The shapeshifter’s eyes scan over the complex series of loops and knots, more decorative than functional, and he smirks. “Sweetheart, if you start tying up your clients, you’re going to end up with more business than you can handle.” He paces closer, trailing fingertips along the rope where it loops around Monty’s arms. The crow tilts his head, flashes him a teasing little smile, and Thomas can’t resist the urge to brush a quick kiss against his mouth.

He’s too fascinated by the rope to be distracted for long, though. Edwin has certainly got a knack for this sort of thing, those elegant hands deft with the elaborate ties. Thomas is more than a little amused to see that he’s been researching, practicing, since the first use of this particular skill set. He peers over the other’s shoulder to look at the diagram he seems to be trying to replicate, and grins.

“Looks like you’re only about halfway done,” he says almost conversationally to Edwin, running his fingertip up Monty’s spine, the back of his neck, feeling his crow shiver. “Want a hand?” He’s not offering to help with the rope, not really. There are more entertaining things to do than fuss over perfect knots, since he’s here.

The ghost presses his lips together, suppressing a laugh. Thomas is insatiable; he’s not the faintest bit surprised that the other wants to make what was simply a bit of an exercise in improving his skills into something more… salacious. “I suppose Monty is owed a reward for allowing me to practice on him.”

“Lucky me,” the crow murmurs with a smirk. He’s baiting the Cat King, all three of them know it, but the man rises to the occasion with pleasure.

He may not be as adept with rope as Edwin is, but he knows very well how to work with it once it’s on somebody. A tug on the ladder of strands lacing Monty’s arms behind his back forces him to arch, making a small sound low in his throat. “Maybe one of these days you’ll learn not to mouth off when someone’s being nice to you,” he drawls, but there’s no real reprimand in the words. They’re just an excuse to tease, to play.

A little more pressure in just the right places, and Monty is sinking to his knees, spine still arched, head tilted back. Edwin eyes him like an artist surveying a canvas, and kneels down beside him with the rest of the rope. It seems to take him little time to draw more loops and knots around the other’s limbs, wrists bound to ankles by another series of elaborate coils, forcing him to stay in that bent-back position. It would certainly be uncomfortable to remain in for too much time, but neither of them intends to keep him that way for long.

The crow’s eyes are slightly glazed now in a way they weren’t before, when Edwin was approaching the ropework in a far more clinical manner. The long, pale column of his neck is on display in this pose, and Thomas can’t help but take advantage. His mouth wanders lazily over that soft skin, biting and sucking sharp red marks here and there. Monty swallows any sound he might have made, but his pulse is rapid, the scent of arousal far too obvious to the shapeshifter to hide. Not that any of them are trying.

Edwin has pulled back after finishing the last tie, just… watching, but there’s a quiet hunger in his eyes. Thomas meets them and grins again, nuzzling against Monty’s throat. “You know, this really would look better on him naked,” he purrs.

“I was hoping to make sure I could execute this tie perfectly before using it properly,” the ghost shoots back, tart as ever. “But since you’ve decided to move up the timetable, perhaps you could oblige me.”

It’s all he has to say; Thomas flicks a hand, and Monty’s clothes have dissolved into nothing, the crow making a softly startled little noise. The ropes have just a little more slack without the barrier of fabric in the way, but not enough for him to so much as relax. No, he’s still well and truly bound, and now the center of both men’s focus.

The deep grey of the rope looks lovely against his skin, the forced arch of his back emphasizing the lean line of his body. Thomas slides away from him to stand and consider the view from all angles, before slipping an arm around Edwin’s waist. “Looks pretty perfect to me,” he murmurs teasingly into the ghost’s ear.

“You’re a bit biased.”

“Even so.” The teasing exchange cuts off as his mouth settles over Edwin’s, the kiss slow and heated. Thomas deliberately draws it out, knowing Monty is watching - knowing he can’t do anything but watch at the moment.

He can’t help but enjoy every opportunity he gets to tease one of his lovers with another, to play their desires off each other. It’s doubly delectable with Monty bound and practically helpless at their feet, though the hunger in his gaze is nearly palpable. Thomas can feel the heat of it like a hand brushing over his skin as he lazily unbuttons Edwin’s shirt, unknots his bow tie.

He hears Monty’s soft little groan when he finally gets the ghost at least partly undressed, the glimpses of skin beneath all those layers fanning the flames of desire. Thomas’ hands run up Edwin’s chest, and he laughs against his mouth, finally drawing back from the kiss, glancing at his crow.

“Of course, the problem is, he’s no damn use down there.” It elicits a dry laugh from the ghost, his gaze sliding over Monty in that slow, appreciative way.

“Perhaps not. He is rather fetching like this, though.” He bends, and now it’s his lips skimming over the crow’s neck, almost delicately kissing over the marks Thomas left behind as his hands are busy with the ropes. This time Monty moans in earnest, arching into the other even as the ropes go slack, urging more contact.

That, they’re both quite happy to give.

It takes a bit of maneuvering, since Edwin has left Monty’s arms as they are, firmly bound behind his back. But they get the crow back on his feet, then across the room to one of those fancy chairs the ghost likes so much. It takes more time than it should, largely because they’re distracted by touches, kisses, by shedding bits of clothing along the way. Still, since they eventually end up with Thomas settled in the chair, Monty in his lap, Edwin kneeling in front of him, no one is complaining in the slightest.

No one is doing anything resembling speaking anymore, in fact. Thomas is too busy devouring his crow’s mouth as Monty bounces on his cock, whimpering and groaning messily into the kiss. Edwin is too busy with Monty’s dick halfway down his throat, fingers digging into the other’s thighs when his movements grow too quick, too erratic. He’s as slow and methodical as he was with the rope, keeping the other on the edge but not letting him come.

At least, not until Thomas has, spilling himself into Monty’s ass with a guttural groan. Only then does Edwin apply himself fully, bringing the crow to orgasm in what certainly feels like record time.

He sits back on his heels with a smirk, primly wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. He’s still hard, but doesn’t seem to be paying attention to that fact at the moment as his eyes find Thomas’ again. The Cat King looks smug and pleased, but nowhere near sated - par for the course for him, really.

“Now, is that sufficient to keep you from distracting me from my practice for a little while?” Monty raises his head with a start, apparently surprised that Edwin is right back to business, but Thomas just laughs at the faint note of teasing in his ghost’s voice.

“Just how many diagrams did you find that you were going to talk Monty into letting you try out?”

Edwin’s smile is nowhere near innocent. “One hundred and seven.”

Both of them blink at him, astonished, and then Thomas bursts out laughing. Monty rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. “When were you going to spring that on me?”

The ghost doesn’t reply, just smirks, and Thomas shakes his head. “Well, I think we’re going to be here for a while, then.”

[chickenparm]

Thorough (Wriothesley/afab!Reader)

happy halloween, we're suckin' and fuckin' in a graveyard.

---

AO3 Link

Wriothesley/afab!Reader (female anatomy, no pronouns)

3,212 Words - NSFW

(mild consensual non-con, handjob, handcuffs, use of anal plug, power dynamics, fingering, cavity search, pre-established relationship, i wasn't kidding it's in a graveyard)

---

It’s a good hiding spot, you think. No escaped prisoner would be brazen enough to hunker down in a place like this. Maybe it’s a little cliche, and if you were any less than you are, you’d be worried about something spooky. But under the moon it’s just mausoleums, rows of tombstones in varied states of care, you, and the loose clothing hanging off your frame. The least they could do is get you some standard-issue prisoner’s clothes in a size that’s appropriate. 

A shiver runs through you, just from the cold. Not that it’s a little unsettling being here at night. But it’s just so quiet, only the sound of the wind rustling through the trees, a slight dryness to it thanks to the changing of the seasons. The air even smells a little different, a little more crisp as you inhale deeply and get a move on. 

Among the tombstones, you feel too exposed. It allows you to see around yourself to make sure no one is tailing you closely - and they are tailing you - but it also means that the vision will go both ways. No matter who you are, being in a cemetery at night isn’t normal behavior. As the larger constructs of mausoleums and tombs grow closer, you pickup the pace, pulling the collar of your shirt back up from where it sags on your shoulder.

They’re close together, with enough space to walk single-file between them. Fontaine has a long history, shown in the rows of noble-blooded family resting sites, one after another after another. You feel a little safer, less exposed when it’s you and the marble on each side of you, your fingers running across the chilled stone. Not even your own footsteps echo - the leaves haven’t blown far enough to fall here.

Maybe it’s best to just settle here for the night. To wait until your pursuers lose hope that you’re nearby, and you’ll have a little more wiggle room to plan your next moves. Leaving the country for sure; you’ve heard good things about Natlan and its hot springs. Warmth sounds really nice right about now, a little shiver bringing goosebumps along your skin as you turn down a different row. 

It’s darker here, the moon at just the right angle to cast everything in shadow. It calms you a little, lets you slow down and take a deeper breath, another shudder as your lungs fill with cold air. God, why couldn’t you have committed a felony in the summertime?

That cold air in your lungs is swiftly forced out, your cheek smacking against the marble as a weight pushes in against you from behind. There’s that warmth you were thinking of, pressed against the length of your back, breezing across your face as you look over your shoulder and your stomach drops. 

“Almost got me good, you know,” his voice rolls across your skin as surely as his breath. “I thought, surely you wouldn’t be brave enough to hide out in a place like this.”

And then he laughs, low and from the bottom of his chest, yet it still makes your spine vibrate with its proximity, “But you were brave enough to run from the authorities. Brave, or stupid. Maybe a little of both; I’ll be generous.”

And in response, you say nothing at all. What is there to do but plead for your freedom, spout apologies, spit insults back at him? None of that would change the fact that he’s got you in custody again, and the latter would certainly make all of this worse. So you pull your lower lip between your teeth and try not to shake as he makes a little tsk noise with his teeth. “Right to remain silent, of course. Unfortunately, there are no attorneys around to represent you, so you’ll just have to trust I’m doing it right, hm?”

Wriothesley’s hands, palms pressed into your shoulder blades to hold you still, start to run down your sides, fingers dipping into every little space they can reach. “Now, you were out of my sight for a little while, so I’ll just have to conduct a search to make sure you didn’t pick up any contraband.”

You shake your head - of course you don’t have anything, you didn’t have time. But he continues on, sliding his hands along your arms, then back to your shoulders to feel around your too-loose collar. Nothing there either, of course. 

Unthwarted, his fingers slide down your spine once more before easing along your waist toward the front, feeling at your waistline for anything tucked there. Unable to help yourself, you stammer, “I didn’t pick up anything, I-I swear-”

“Stuttering? Are you nervous?” Wriothesley’s hands pause for a moment, pressing into your lower stomach with light pressure, his pinky just beneath the band of your pants. “You have nothing to be nervous about… unless you have something to hide.”

And with that, his hands rise, dipping beneath your shirt to skin along your skin. There’s no way he doesn’t feel the goosebumps, or the way your breath catches as his fingers skim at the bottom of your ribs. Wriothesley must be able to feel your racing heart as one hand slips up the center of your chest to your sternum, fingers splaying out across your collarbones. “Hm. Nothing so far.”

Your eyes shut tighter, a shuddering breath leaves you as his hand moves to the side, sliding across the curve of your breast before he stops to squeeze, the heel of his palm dragging against your nipple - hardened from the cold, not from this. At least, you try to tell yourself that as he cock his head to the side curiously and his fingers tug to draw a little hiss from between your teeth. 

“That was something, but not what I was looking for. We’ll come back to that.”

Your cheek presses hard against the marble of the mausoleum he has you pinned against, the cold seeping through your cheek enough to make your molars hurt with the change in temperature. Parting your lips, you suck in a lungful of that same chilly air as he releases your breast and travels further down. 

The tip of his pinky beneath the cheap elastic of your pants has been humming at the back of your mind throughout this exchange, demanding attention enough for you to remember it’s there. You don’t forget, especially now that one finger has turned to five, then ten as his hands slip beneath. One holds you steady at the hip while the other brazenly cups you, the tip of his middle finger dipping in just so. 

Your thighs clench together, a reflex born from the unexpected suddenness of it all. Like you didn’t know this would happen the moment you saw his expression over your shoulder when you slipped away from him and the Gardes in Vasari Passage. 

Wriothesley notes your instinct, the way you close your legs tighter as if to keep him out - or keep him close. A little cooing sound leaves him, as if he finds your reactions impossibly amusing, “Aw, did I not say this was a cavity search?”

Dumbly - because you feel dumb - you shake your head, and he leans in to laugh against the shell of your ear, his breath warm enough against the cold skin that you feel it condensating. 

“Oops.”

That teasing fingertip presses harder, curling up through your undeniable wetness until it strokes against your clit once, then again when he decides he likes the way your hips rock at the sensation. Your spine curls, arching against the wall in a way that you’d feel shame for in just a moment. But for now, your mind is whirling and his finger is dragging wet little circles that make your nails scratch uselessly against the perfect, polished stone. 

There’s nothing for you to grab on to, nothing to brace yourself with as he toys with you.

“Wri-”

“Your Grace,” Wriothesley corrects you, pressing hard against your clit to push the line of pain. The motion steals your words, and he only makes a little sound that sounds awfully close to, “Oh well.”

With a drag, his hand releases your pussy, smearing wetness up and over your hip as both pull free of your clothing. A bit of relief flows through you, barely noticeable from the frustration of his little game. You didn’t think the Duke was one to be cruel, but you had broken the law. It should’ve been expected. 

Roughly, he snatches your hands from where they’re flat against the marble, tugging them behind your back with an ominous rapid-fire clicking of his cuffs. They’re frigid against your skin as he binds them at your lower back, something he should have done when they first picked you up. But you’d been so well behaved, he’d remarked when you went so willingly into custody. 

Fear has a way of shaking things up, and now that you’re completely at his mercy, it’s potent in your throat with its incessant squeezing. Patiently you lean against the wall, waiting and waiting for him to start to drag you away. Yet all you hear is the shifting of fabric, the jingle of something that sounds like a belt buckle, and then something hot is pressed into your hand behind your back. 

“Just… hold ‘em right there. Where I-... mmh… can see ‘em.”

Wriothesley’s hips roll forward, his cock thrusting into your curled fingers, abundant arousal catching on your palm and easing his way as he does it again and again. With a slap that startles you into squeezing your hand around him tighter, his palm smacks against the wall next to your face to brace himself against the movements of his own hips. 

Heat burns at your cheeks, creeps down your neck, makes your thighs press together as he uses you to get himself off with slow, languid rocking. Like he has all the time in the world. In truth, he does, because who else would come looking for the two of you in a graveyard? No one is coming to find you, no one will see the Duke of Meropide rutting himself against your cuffed hands. 

Each push forward comes with a little groan in your ear, his knuckles bleeding whiter as his fingertips press and press against the mausoleum wall. You’re entranced by them, your eyes watching as his grip starts to slip with the sweating of his palms. Zoned out, eyes glazed over, your mind takes in the hotness against your palm, the weight of his cock as your fingers close a little tighter. 

The sound of his quiet appreciative moan in your ear. 

It makes your jaw tick, your eyes refocus on the moment, just in time for Wriothesley to pull back and leave your hand wet with pre cum that chills rapidly in the autumn air. He hadn’t finished - denied himself of it, it seems. Wriothesley doesn’t lean on you for support, instead using the wall over your shoulder with both hands, just for a moment to catch his barely-lost breath. 

And then both hands leave your vision, curling around the band of your pants again. Anticipation floods your veins, making you tense as he snaps it against your skin once. “Got a little distracted, sorry about that. Back to business - we’re not done with the cavity search.”

Your knee jerks, smacking painfully against the wall as you instinctively try to stop him, but his chest presses you flat against the surface with a quiet sound of sympathy to placate you, “I’ll be quick, just relax. Maybe next time you’ll think twice about running from me, hm?”

Not running from the authorities, or from the Gardes, but from Wriothesley.

The curve of your ass is revealed as he tugs your pants down enough to get at what he needs. Closing your eyes, holding your breath, you wait on the precipice as his fingers squeeze against your cheeks, then pull apart to scrutinize your ass. 

And then laughter, disbelieving and a bit more elated than you expected. “You little liar. And to think I almost trusted you when you said you didn’t have anything to hide.”

His hand on the right shifts, his thumb pressing forward, pushing on the flared base of the plug to force it a little deeper, making you whimper breathlessly. The same fingers that pinched at your breast, toyed with your cunt, find purchase on the plug and tug on it a little, just enough for the flare to pull out a little, to test the tight ring of your hole before letting go. You can feel his interested gaze as it goes back in, the base sitting snugly against you once more. 

“Spread your legs. Looks like I’ll have to be more thorough in prior places. You understand, right?”

You weakly nod, spreading as much as you’re able with your pants still caught on your mid-thigh. It’s good enough, you think, because he adjusts his position and he presses his cock against your cunt with very little preamble. Just a single moment for you to take a breath, to reconcile all of this, to say you don’t understand. 

But you don’t, and you take that breath, and look at him over your shoulder with eyes that plead for him to do it. And he does, with one long, slow stroke that makes you feel every inch of him. Everything feeling is magnified, your breath turning into a low moan as both of your holes are filled, each feeling tighter together than they would have alone. 

“Your Grace…”

“Don’t cum,” Wriothesley orders, hand curled around your hip, squeezing in emphasis of his warning, “little liars have to face their punishment.”

“Please-”

“Hush, or the sentence is just going to be worse.” You don’t doubt it, and you keep your mouth shut even around your moans as he crowds you further against the wall, your arms shifting uncomfortably with the cuffs at your wrists. “Take what you’re given. Be grateful that it is what it is. Nothing more, nothing less.”

It doesn’t even sound like it’s affecting him, but you know it is. You can feel the way his pace picks up when he shifts and his cock drags perfectly inside you. The plug in your ass makes it all the better for him, but it doesn’t seem to be quite enough. Lost in your own haze of pleasure and a desperation not to succumb to it, you don’t notice his wandering fingers until they’re already tugging on the plug again. 

The sudden shift, the slight stretch as he pulls on it, makes you tense and tighten and bear down on his cock in a way that makes him laugh through his pleased groan. “Nice, just like that… knew you could be amenable.”

It rankles at you, and your fists tighten. One of them is sticky, the remnants of his use before he abandoned that for elsewhere on your body. And yet you can do nothing but bite your tongue and taste the blood that blooms faintly in your mouth, hoping the pain will distract you from the way his cock nudges insistently against something inside that makes you want to scream loud enough to wake every one of the remains in this graveyard. 

But beyond disturbing the dead, it would also likely bring someone curious. Some caretaker or passerby that can’t leave well enough alone. As much as you want this to end differently, you don’t particularly want to end it prematurely. So you keep your mouth shut and let your eyes roll behind closed lids as he fucks you against the wall of some mausoleum that belongs to a family you’d never heard of before.

Meeting his demand is a near impossible task. You think you’re going to fail with how he pulls and twists at your contraband, how his free hand curls around your shoulder to pull you back onto each thrust. But then he snaps first, his grip turning from the pads of his fingers to nails digging into the loose fabric and the skin beneath. 

The length of him pushes as deep as he can, pressing his entire body against you, up against the wall until your toes barely reach the gravel below. It’s like he can’t drive himself far enough in, even as he throbs inside with each rope of his cum you’re given. 

With a little slide, he pulls back and you barely catch yourself on your wobbling feet. You did as he asked, you didn’t disobey for fear of a longer sentence. You were well behaved - willing. But you’re still surprised when he fixes his clothing in a deft move then takes a knee behind you. 

Craning your neck to try and look back and down at him, you cry out as you’re given no warning when two of his fingers slide inside and hook. His thumb finds your clit with clumsy, rough circles that still do a hell of a job making you writhe as he works you over quickly. It’s torture, one that you can’t endure for long, and you plead, “Please, Wriothesley-”

“Oh, yeah, no you’re good. Cum hard, push it all out.” A brush of his lips against the swell of your ass that turns into the feeling of his teeth in a little grin. “Wonder if I could make you do it hard enough to push your little toy out, too.”

Really, you’d love to have this conversation later, but he’s got all the time in the world to chat away as you writhe on his fingers and feel the remnants of his release drip down the inside of your left thigh. “I’ll be honest, that was a nice surprise. You hadn’t mentioned you were gonna do that.”

“Wriothesley, please-”

“Yeah, you’ve been saying that a lot. Alright, anything for you.”

The words are like an invisible tripwire, one that sends you tumbling end over end as your shoulders roll forward and you arch in on yourself under the weight of your orgasm. Wriothesley is relentless, watching with an attentive gaze as you leak down your thighs, along his fingers, into the fabric of his wrappings. And you’ll never see him use the same ones again, unaware of what he does with them. 

That thought doesn’t get to live in your mind long as it peters out into some strange white noise that could be a short circuit, or just your blood rushing in your ears. Vaguely you feel him cleaning you up with a square of fabric from his pocket, his hands working quickly to fix your clothes and then wrap you tight in the very jacket he’d been wearing. 

It’s warm. It smells like him, comfortable and familiar, tea and whatever brand of aftershave he’s been fond of lately. Against your ear, he asks if your legs work or if you need to hitch a ride, then doesn’t wait for an answer as he scoops you into his arms. 

You’d like to apologize to whatever resting place you just desecrated, but as you look over Wriothesley’s shoulder, you honestly couldn’t pick out which one it was from this distance. 

Hopefully they’ll understand. 

[jewishrat420]

Eddie Munson doesn't know what he looks like.

Sure, when he looks in the mirror, he sees a guy with shoulder-length brown hair and brown eyes to match. He sees two arms and two legs and a scar-crooked smile.

He sees all the parts that he has, all the parts that he knows he's supposed to have.

And he's capable of recognizing that they belong to him. It's not like he thinks he's inhuman, some beast of otherworldly nature.

(At least, not on good days.)

It's just... well.

Sometimes, when Eddie looks in the mirror, all he can really see is his face.

Like, sure, he can see the rest of his body. He knows his face is attached to the arms and legs that he's capable of recognizing in some separate, distant sense at some separate, distant time.

But when he tries looking at himself as a whole (after buying himself a full-body mirror to hang on the back of his door), it's like his face alone is magnified a hundred times over.

Like all he can see are the hollowed-out sockets where his eyes sit, the heavy flush of his cheeks, how stark it is against the rest of his pale skin.

It's like he zoomed in too far and got stuck there, unable to refocus and look at the picture as a whole.

All he can see is each individual pore that travels like a lightning rod through his skin. All he can see is the curve of his nose and how big it looks when his brain doesn't recognize its place on the rest of his face.

It's like he sees each feature individually. His eyes are miles away from his lips, his chin and forehead a stretch farther than that of the sun to the moon. Hopelessly revolving around each other in the desperate attempt to cross paths, understanding the inevitable and fighting against gravity to change it.

He recognizes that he has a face. That his eyes and nose and mouth and cheekbones and pores all belong in the same place, on the same body, to the same person.

But it's like there was a wire cut somewhere in his head. Like the connection that reminds him that all those separate parts actually go together was severed. That reminds him he's more photograph than Picasso, less alphabet soup and more a well-structured sentence.

It's worse when he looks at his body.

Because there's so much more to it than to his face. There are so many parts, so many varied pieces that somehow fit together and make him the gangly, skeletal, off-center human he knows himself to be. The sack of bones and blood that moves when he tells it to.

He looks in the mirror and sees his arms, how they hang and where they fall. And then it seems like they keep going, and rather than focusing on where they end (just above the jutting curve of his waist), all he can see is how little space there is from the tips of his fingers to his feet.

And then his arms look ten feet tall, stretched out to fit the entire length of his body, and when he turns away from the mirror, he swears his nails are going to drag along the carpet.

He doesn't know why he feels like this, but he knows he's been this way since he was a kid. He didn't know it was any different than how everyone else felt, assumed in that childlike way that he was just like all the other humans on this planet.

And then, one day, Wayne told him he should probably trim his hair. Said it was getting real long.

And Eddie had looked at him, confused, because his hair hadn't really grown for as long as he could remember. Kind of just stayed the same length, always at the same place on his body.

So Wayne led him to the tiny, clouded mirror in the yellowed bathroom of the place he'd learn to call home, his calloused hands big on Eddie's shoulders. He'd trailed a path with his finger from Eddie's scalp all the way down to the middle of his back, drawing a horizontal line where his hair ended.

"See, Eds? S'all the way down your back."

And Eddie remembers seeing this, even today. Remembers how confused he felt trying to connect what he saw in the mirror with the image his brain was showing him. Fighting reality with his own imagination— a battle he would soon learn cannot be won.

Because his hair did fall halfway down his back, objectively.

But it was also three feet off the ground, too, and that's pretty high up.

So it must not have been too long after all.

Because it still didn't look long, not to Eddie, not until years later when he and his uncle would bring out one of the scrapbooks and he'd finally see what the rest of the world did, if only for a moment.

It was then that Eddie learned he'd never quite see the world the same as everyone else. The way it was meant to be seen, by people who were meant to see it.

He'll see what's really there, eventually, but only after that version of him is no more than a fleeting memory. Only after he's adjusted to the way he looks in the present, to the vision his distorted eyes show him when he enters the hallway of mirrors.

It gets worse with the scars.

Because now his brain has something else to play with. Something else that convinces him that the thing whose limbs move around when Eddie tells them to isn't actually the person he calls "himself."

That they're actually three separate entities:

Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson's body, and the Thing That Calls Itself Eddie Munson's Body.

Three separate things, none of which have ever existed in the same world, let alone in the same person.

It doesn't bother him. Not always.

He doesn't need to know what he looks like, as a whole, the way other people see him. That's not for him.

No, Eddie Munson's Body is for the people that turn away when they see it in the grocery store. For the people who will peer upon its pale face in an open casket and mourn the thing that was inside it. The thing that Eddie knows to be himself, the thing that's begging to be seen for what it is.

But there's not much that can be done about it.

And most of the people in Eddie's life are there for him, for his brain, for the thing that floats inside Eddie Munson's Body. They don't care about what it looks like, only that He's in there.

Still, sometimes when Eddie looks in the mirror, he thinks he sees it. Him.

Eddie inside Eddie Munson's Body, hidden behind the Thing That Calls Itself Eddie Munson's Body.

He thinks he sees it, him, buried somewhere deep. Small, naked, crouched in the corner. Shaking with its hands clasped in front of its chest like it's praying.

He wishes he could do something. Wishes he could reach in and grab it, hold it in the palm of his hand (the one that really belongs to him, the one that he can see) and nurture it until it's bigger than the Thing, bigger than the Body, bigger than the whole world.

Big enough to be seen.

But every time he tries, it disappears like sand between his fingers.

So he gives up.

He drags his nails on the carpet and cuts his hair when Wayne tells him to.

He fills the Thing That Calls Itself Eddie Munson's Body and plasters a smile on the face he thinks is his.

x

original post

[mjrtaurus]

Monkey D Urpi headcanons (source: Oda shared it with me in a dream)

- She’s gotta be atleast 6 or 7 feet tall for logistic reasons yes but also because Tall Women ❤️

- Idrk how face claims work but I imagine her to look something like Simone Ashley

- As all other members of the Monkey family do, she’s got a scar on the left side of her face

- A tattoo that wraps around her wrist, almost like a bracelet

- Her and Garp are 2-3 years apart in age (they’re beating the weird age gap grandparents allegations fr)

- Hips length hair. At least 25% of Garp's paycheck gets put into hair care, hair ties, combs/brushes and lint rollers, he'd never ask his family to change but god does it get EVERYWHERE.

- She was the one to make the first move officially (had asked Garp to accompany to a cafe she had gotten a flyer to, face turned away to hide the flush settling on.)

- Big reader, mostly on the varying plants and ecosystems of the different islands on the Grandline and occasionally dips into the mythology of the Blue Sea (just to see what else they got wrong)

- Do not bring up Noland the Liar around her, whatever’s in her hand will shatter and she’ll begin to mutter very quickly under her breathe

- Skilled fighter but actively hates having to fight. It’s less about being scared for and more perpetuating a cycle, violence will only bred more violence. It has its uses but she’d rather not use it at all

- Garp made the mistake of asking her to join the Marines exactly once. The look she gave him was so venomous the topic of enlisting wasn’t brought up again until Dragon was born.

- Has possessed Mantra/Observation Haki from incredibly an early age and developed Armament Haki through training with Garp

- Instantly goes into mother mode around younger people. Physically cannot help it. She just has to dote on them. Definitely takes it up a notch when she’s grandmother age

- Would certainly approve of the ASL's dreams of being pirates/revolutionaries. Who is she to stand in the way of their search for Freedom?

- She and Crocodile get along swimmingly! They discuss mushroom foraging and she shows him all the best for it on Elbaf!

- Consistently refers to Kuzan as her ‘second born’ before someone (usually Sengoku) reminds her that she did not in fact birth him. She would agree and then do the same thing the very next day.

- Big fan of the newspaper since it keeps her up to date on the happenings of her family. Keeps all issues they are mentioned in pristine condition and chronological order.

- Gets intense waves of guilt for ‘leaving her people behind’ and would often wonder if she deserves that happiness she found here.

- Has no inherent ill feelings towards Gan Fall anymore but definitely didn’t like him back then. She’s still a little taken aback when Luffy mentions what a help he was during his time in Skypiea

- Is relentless in her pride of Dragon and everything he has accomplished. She had watched him grow from a sweet little boy who cried when a Den Den Mushi had to be decommissioned to a man who was out to save the world. He is her every wildest wish come true.

Taking down these notes because I might just have to put her on a canvas at some point.

Some additions I would also like to add!

- her surprising proficiency for Mantra/Observation Haki was inherited by Dragon, and she helped him train it.

- When Dragon found her on Elbaf (and let’s say after the WG falls to hell where it belongs) he makes time to take her and Garp to Shandora to hear the Bell that their grandson reclaimed.

- While up there, she reunites with her little sister Nina, and meets her grandnephew Wyper.

- she always had mixed feelings about Dragon joining the marines, but she understood his heart was in the right place. Shame the rest of the Navy couldn’t say the same.

- Dragon’s desertion was a hard time for everyone, but they all knew it was inevitable. Her boy would climb higher and higher in the ranks, and his eyes would have less and less of their warmth. By the time he attained the rank of Admiral, there was hardly anything of her sweet, gentle soul of a son left. It tore her and Garp’s heart to shreds.

- Dragon’s desertion was a planned thing. He had been stationed at Ohara to oversee an expedition, and he had seen the archaeologists be given bounties for the sin of doing their job. He showed up on his parent’s doorstep in the dead of night to tell them he was going to have to be on the run from now on. Urpi gave him her earrings. They are the only thing she had left that had survived her fall from Skypiea and her journey across the seas. They would go with him now on his journey.

- The bounty posters that had been released of Nico Robin following Ohara’s destruction gave her pause. Dragon had mentioned working with a Nico Olvia during this expedition, this child certainly looked like her mother if you looked at the bounty posters side by side but… her complexion, the coloration of her hair… a quick tally of the dates and she can’t help but wonder if she inherited her father’s wings, too.

- when she saw Dragon again after so long, she hugged his neck. His eyes were warm again. He had his hope again. It was tempered with Nika knew how many trials, but he was still the loving little boy with the downy wings that she sang to sleep every night so many years ago…

- she was intrigued by Crocodile. She had heard these “devil fruits” could do wonderful things, but to change a body to match the soul within it… it was incredible. To know her son had helped set this man on that path to change made her wings fluff up with pride. She wishes she could have met Olvia, too.

- after coming to Elbaf, she NEVER covers her wings. She cuts holes in the backs of her clothes for them to fit through, sews clothes using patterns and stitches she knows by heart… as much as she lover Garp, Goa had been stifling. Upon seeing the cuts and mends in the backs of Dragons shirts when he visits, she can tell he suffered the same.

[tj-dragonblade]

Pleasure Little Treasure sounds like something I might be interested in 👀

Mmyes, possibly you might recall this one from almost a year ago on the server, the panties-and-piercings-and-jewelry pwp. I've settled on Pleasure Little Treasure as the title, after a Depeche Mode song, and I'm debating (or, Call Me a Pirate the Way I'm Plundering That Booty) as a parenthetical add-on. It fits, but it also implies more comedy than this entails. It's just 100% unfiltered staight-up smut. It's been back-burnered forever but blowing the dust off for this ask has been very productive; here's the freshly-drafted opening:

"Dream! Hello—oh. Oh, sweet christ I. Oh. Hi—" Hob is sat at his kitchen table and extremely grateful for it, because the combination of misfiring synapses and blood rushing south has his knees giving out as he tries to rise. He falls back to his seat, staring. "Hello, Hob." Dream sways closer on designer heels, wearing so much and yet so little, and Hob feels a bit light-headed taking it all in. The tiara is good, a good place to start. It's silver and intricate and delicate, like sparkling lace in the untamed wilds of his hair, rubies and black diamonds encrusting its swooping filigree whorls. His ears are decked in matching studs and little black metal loops scattered along the outer edge, teardrop rubies dangling from silver-set black pearls adorning either lobe. He's got makeup on, smoky silvery-black eyeshadow, black liner, black lipstick; he's fucking gorgeous, and he knows it, but that's just the beginning. His arms are sleeved from bicep to wrist in black lace that keeps going across the backs of his hands to hook over his middle fingers. There are rings on some of his fingers as well, tasteful silver-wrought and burnished black things with rubies set in low profile; his nails are slightly longer than usual, perfectly shaped and polished a glossy glittery black. Four or five necklaces of varying length hang over his chest—a string of black pearls, bright and dark silver chains with rubies and black diamonds scattered along their length, a black lace-and-velvet choker above them all with a sizeable teardrop ruby dangling from it to nestle in the hollow of his throat. His nipples are pierced.

His navel is, too; Hob can't see all the details quite yet but there are teardrop rubies at all three points, and he can't wait to get a closer look. Dream turns, smiling over his shoulder, giving Hob a view of his pale naked back and inevitably drawing Hob's attention to his arse. It's wrapped in black lace cheeky panties, the lower curves left beautifully, teasingly exposed, the shape perfectly enhanced by the height of his heels. He completes the turn with a switch of his hips that accentuates the bulge of his cock beneath the lace, sashays closer; Hob takes in the long lines of his legs in their jewel-and-lace-topped sheer silk stockings (black, of course), the elegant glossy black heels with the red soles and zippers down the back—he's no fashionista, can't remember designer names for anything but he's seen enough to know these are high-end haute couture, and he honestly expects nothing less from Dream. The whole ensemble is a feast for the eyes, and his mouth is watering as Dream straddles his lap and settles himself comfortably, arms draped over Hob's shoulders. Hob is struggling for words, honestly. "Hi," he manages, repeating himself. "What's this, then?"

Here are Dream's shoes, for the record, except his are shiny patent leather glossy:

And if you've made it through all that detailed description? You deserve a bit of the actual smut too, also freshly drafted. (Did I mention I've been productive on this?) Please imagine: Hob is sitting in a chair like this one and Dream's kneeling on the armrests so he's splayed open over Hob's lap:

"Hob—Hob—!" He is sobbing the name, trembling above Hob, shaking with need; Hob kisses the drool from his slack and quivering ebony lip, fingers his prostate at the same lovingly measured pace he's used for the past thirty minutes. "Shh, dove, I've got you. I've got you. Just let yourself feel—" he presses expertly, rubs a slow firm circle and Dream chokes out a gasping cry, more pre-come dripping slowly from around the piercing, through the lace of his panties "—and I promise, I'll get you there." He's so beautiful, like this, coming apart on Hob's fingers, trusting Hob with his pleasure, allowing Hob this time-honored vulnerability and Hob loves him, fiercely. He drags his lips up the line of Dream's throat past the velvet choker, guides Dream's head until he can claim the wet black-and-pink of his mouth, plunder it ardently with his tongue while steadying the play of his fingertips against Dream's prostate. He draws it out another five minutes, utterly enthralled and helplessly addicted to having Dream quaking on the edge above him like this. It is heady and intoxicating; he twists his fingers just so, a sweet caress, and shivers at the sound Dream makes. "Hob—please—" His narrow chest is heaving under the glittering strings of jewels that adorn him; his eyes are wet with the intensity of his pleasure, makeup smudging at their corners. His fingers with their glossy black nails clench and unclench in the shoulders of Hob's shirt and his ebony mouth trembles as he tries to speak. "Please—I cannot—this body, you drive me to madness—Hob, please—!" And Hob. He loves this, yes, but he will not push it to the point of cruelty and so finally, finally, he drives his fingers harder against that beautiful spot within his beautiful Dream, moves them faster; he watches, mesmerized, as Dream is swept into the swiftly-rising tide of orgasm. Dream warbles a keening moan as it begins to overtake him, his lace-clad arms braced stiff on Hob's shoulders, hips squirming low in the space above Hob's lap, greedy for the deep press of Hob's fingers. He's panting breathless sobs with each quickening stroke, bearing down on Hob's hand, trembling all over; Hob reaches up, tugs gently at the teardrop ruby dangling prettily from one stiff rosy nipple, and that's it.

(You can find a few little bits more to this in the wip tag if interested)

[meddwlyngymraeg]

Thing with Duolingo and stuff (TTS essentially) is there's no way you're going to pick up accents. It's often not about the way words themselves are pronounced: in Welsh for example, penultimate syllable is stressed. But the length of that stress can vary depending on where in the sentence the word is placed, I think.

E.g. just saying 'hoffi' usually places a short stress on the first syllable: /'ho-ffi/. But if it has followed a few other words with only minimal emphasis, some of which regularly occur before 'hoffi' in certain kinds of sentences, then I hear that change a bit.

'Pa un wyt ti'n hoffi?' 'Wyt' has a fairly short stress, and 'hoffi' is near the end of the sentence too, so in some accents, I've heard that manifest as a much longer 'ho' in 'hoffi', along with the raised pitch coming down to its lowest pitch before going back up on the final syllable. How long the stress is does feel like an accent-dependent variation, though a TTS like Duolingo's can't pick that up at all. I think their text-to-speech is AI that was trained somewhat on real people's speech, but I think there's definitely a larger volume of data available to it in more widely available languages like English, French, Spanish, German, etc. The data is also, likely, less rich in variety. So a TTS can't pick up all the nuances of an accent.

I know that the Duolingo moderator team used to make an effort to go behind the scenes and hardcode exceptions to the pronunciation, like when the TTS used to get stuck on words like eisiau, and they did their best, but now Duolingo has heavily cut back on what the volunteers that built those courses (for free) are allowed to change. Apparently they aren't allowed to improve the courses anymore, I imagine so that the company doesn't have to maintain a team to update the course. So other things, like the pronunciation of gyda, which has been wrong on the new TTS for ages, cannot be changed. It's a shame that despite the best efforts of volunteers who basically donated their time to a community resource, their final work must be enshittified like this, but that's a discussion for another time.

I just suppose this is why you can't just rely on an app like that to learn a language. You've got to hear real people speaking, you've got to turn on your radio, check out learner-oriented channels like Dysgu Cymraeg, watch telly, talk to people n all. You won't pick up nuances like that just by knowing the words.

[randomtable]

I've got a request for a random table - d20 fantasy body modifications (tattoos, piercings, etc.) for a character / NPC to have. I'm talking things like elf-ear piercings, horn caps, living tattoos... stuff like that!

1d20 Fantasy Body Modifications

“Fairy Ladder” Piercings - a set of three or more industrial piercings for Elves and other long-eared folks

Claw Enhancements - popular among folks without natural claws, and those who want to strengthen or emphasize their natural claws. Minor transmutations can be used to add claws, and to harden, sharpen, and even re-color or re-shape existing claws.

Tattoo Pets - living tattoos of animals that run and play around the bearer’s skin.

Tooth Alteration - folks with sharp teeth want blunt teeth, folks with blunt teeth want sharp teeth. The decision to have one’s teeth magically altered can be influenced by dietary choices, sexual preferences, medical needs, and aesthetics.

Horn Caps and Cuffs - made of precious metals, sometimes set with stones or connected by lengths of chain.

Portal Gauges - jewelry for stretched earlobe piercings which form a pair of teleportation portals. Passing tiny objects from one side of your head to the other is rarely more than a party trick, but is pretty cool.

Almanac Tattoos - calendars, moon phases, weather, etc, these magical tracking tattoos are popular among mages, farmers, and more.

Tail Tip Piercings, which are all the rage among folks with tails these days.

Horn/Tusk/Antler carvings - tattoo-like carvings on the horns, tusks, or antlers of those who have them. Patterns and images are usually carved in rings.

Gills of Amphibious Breathing - having a pair of gills on one’s neck is both visually striking and incredibly useful for long swims. The transmutation ritual for permanent gills is quite costly, so temporary gills are popular for beach days and pool parties.

Tattoo Gardens - the growth and blooming of these plant images can be attuned to anything from the bearer’s mood, to actual weather and natural surroundings.

Illuminated Hair - why stop at regular hair dye when you could have hair that literally glows in the dark? Illuminated hair potions are applied in a similar manner to regular hair dyes, with similar longevity and similar risks of staining the bathtub if you aren’t careful.

Mithril Earrings - Mithril jewelry doesn’t come cheap, but it is prized for its striking blue-silver appearance and for being lighter weight than most other metals but still extremely durable. It is especially popular for creating large dangly earrings that would otherwise be excessively heavy.

Warding Tattoos - protective sigils can be tattooed in magical inks to ward against just about anything, from general protection to shielding against highly specific curses. Their effectiveness depends both on the potency of the ink and the skill of the tattoo mage who applies them.

Tongue Ring of Tongues - a tongue piercing which grants the wearer the ability to speak any language.

Third Eye - generally cosmetic, although a cunning seer might be able to leverage their third eye for more credibility among less magically-inclined folks.

Warlock’s Brand - sometimes called a “mark of eternal servitude”, their appearance varies depending upon to whom the bearer has sold their soul. Anything goes, really, from always-smoldering singe marks to patches of skin replaced by iridescent crystal.

Hair Snakes - usually all of a person’s hair is polymorphed into snakes, though some might choose to keep most of their hair and only have one to three snakes.

Feather/Scale Patterning - a magical alternative to tattoos for birdfolk, half-dragons, and other feathered or scaled people. Each scale/feather in a chosen area is dyed to create an image or pattern.

Tattoos of Warning - any individual bearing one of these magical tattoos can send a signal to the others who bear an identical mark. The signal is typically a feeling such as warmth or tingling on the location of the tattoo. More complex versions are available that allow the bearers to establish multiple signals represented by different sensations.

[zapperman26]

Player's 8-Step Guide to Character Creation and Roleplaying

Being a player in any Tabletop role-playing game (TTRRG) comes with an immediate hurdle: making your character! Choosing your character options and rolling up stats is easy; Deciding on the type of person, attitude, goals, backstory, etc., and how all that will play out when role-playing is more challenging. Coming up with a unique character in which you intend to roleplay, most likely for extended durations, is never easy and can leave one wondering where to start. To help new and old role-playing game players, here is a ten-step guide to help craft your characters into purposeful, meaningful, and enjoyable additions to any campaign!

Step 1: Understand What Kind of Game You Are Playing

An excellent place to start is understanding the game and campaign you are making a character (or Importing an existing one) about!

At the most basic level, understanding and reading up on the TTRPG system you will be playing should be your starting point. It allows you to understand the options to craft your character(s) and grasp how the game will be viewed and played.

 For example, Dungeons and Dragons, even in campaigns where combat is less the focus, is constructed with it in mind down to its very bones; every class features extensive combat abilities and utilities  (even the most support-focused like Bard or Artificer), and that, naturally, would steer players to design their characters with that expectation in mind: battle. 

In contrast, Call of Cthulhu, a horror RPG system based on the HP Lovecraft Mythos, is built around social interaction, research, and the player's insignificance in the face of the unknown. Most player options are more specific and modern, with skills like accounting, psychology, and occultism that point more towards a game of investigation, attempting to outwit, outrun, and outlive the Lovecraftian horrors, with combat only as a last resort. 

A character made for one system, like D&D, will, most likely, be very different than a character created in another, like CoC, due to what said systems focus on as a game, one being more combat-focused and the other more roleplaying-focused. 

That is not to say a person can’t make a character that goes against or actively breaks the mold of the system present, but intentionality is vital. To intentionally break the rules in a way that works requires a firm understanding of what got broken in the first place. Such as playing a Warlock in D&D with Intelligence as their casting ability instead of Charisma or having Cthulhu Mythos skill points at a starting level in Call of Cthulhu. With all that in mind, establishing a firm grasp of the system you intend to play allows the character(s) you make to have the most options available and provides a better experience of how it fits (or breaks) within the game’s system. 

Once you know how to play the game(s), what the Game Master (GM) intends for you in the campaign comes next!

Step 2: Collaborate with Your Game Master and Players

Knowing the system of the game you are playing is the first hurdle; after that, knowing what kind of campaign your Game Master has in mind for you all and how your fellow players intend to interact with it is what you should learn next.

A campaign, in its length, in-house rules, setting, themes, worldbuilding, etc., is as essential to consider when constructing your character as the system rules. Every GM will have varying levels of customized elements for their campaign, no matter how inflexible the game system is. They could use a custom gameplay mechanic, setting, or even rules, so getting a good grasp of those changes and the base game (as discussed earlier) is the recipe for success when making your character at the most foundational level. It also never hurts to allow your GM to give feedback on your character to help fit into the campaign as best you can.

The relationship between GM and player(s) should always be open and receptive to what all parties can get from the games they play together. An excellent way to make that happen is collaborating with the GM during the process of coming up with and creating your character. You can make sure your ideas are both acceptable and fit in with the campaign, but also give your GM feedback on story ideas for your character and try to weave your backstory into the narrative they plan. Whatever a GM decides to help you with during character creation, your working together should ideally enhance your involvement in the campaign with your fellow players. Players whom you should also work alongside when making your characters.

Your fellow players are undoubtedly in the same boat as you, trying to develop a fun character as best they can, so why not work together? Your mileage will vary on how far you can take potential collaboration: it can be as simple as all mutually choosing unique character options and roles for a more balanced group of PCs or go as far as all to create backstories that feature each other somehow! In any case, working with your fellow players can offer much extra value for your mutual enjoyment of the game!

Naturally, this step works best for a campaign with friends or family who are easy to approach and collaborate with. Plenty of campaigns you might play will be with total strangers, but that should not stop you from trying to understand the GM's expectations (and how to meet them) going in or even trying to bounce an idea or two off a fellow player(s). 

Where do you go from here, now that you know the rules and have insights from the GM and fellow Players? It is finally time to roll your character up! 

Step 3: Roll Up Your Character!

Past all those rules, collaborations, and planning, it's time to roll up the stats and write down your character's abilities!

When and how you go about this will vary depending on how your GM wants it done. Sometimes, it's okay to roll up your character independently; some prefer to do it in a Session Zero or even a private  one-on-one, but you need to roll up your character to play!

It might seem like a know-brainer step that does not require a guide to tell, which is not wrong, but what choices and options you take should be done with seriousness. At its core, it is a game, and you should always pick what you want to play, but it is also the basis of your character. 

The stats, skills, powers, etc., you give your character will be the basis on which you interact with the game and express your PC. The following steps will go over not just how to make the best of your choices when you first roll them up but also how to make the best of what you don’t have available to you and when it's best to leave intentional gaps in your character. 

The first place to start is to see how your stats and skills can inform how you write and express your character in roleplaying. 

Step 4: Play Into Your Strengths, Embrace Your Weaknesses

Most Tabletop roleplaying games come with a collection of statistics, abilities, and skills (be they random or actively decided on), and those choices will make up the foundation of your characters in some way or another, so lean into it during roleplay.

 A typical example of character statistics is the classic six RPG attributes: Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Wisdom, Intelligence, and Charisma, with one or more thrown in depending on the game (if not the names changed around), but these are relatively ubiquitous and easy to translate into your character’s backstory and how they roleplay. 

For example, suppose you're playing a Fighter in D&D who leans heavily into physical attributes (Strength, Dexterity, Constitution) but lacks the remaining mental attributes. In that case, you can easily write them and roleplay them as a “brain over brown” dullard with little going on in their heads. The inverse of that example, the stat block could be a Wizard, a scrawny intellectual with a big personality, but could get knocked over by a hamster if they got in a fistfight. These are two examples on the extreme ends of the spectrum, but they represent how you can express yourself by how your character’s stats ended up. 

Your stats (and how you play them in roleplaying) also roll into the class/profession/role(s) you pick for your character, be them fantasy classics (wizard, paladin, bard), more modern professions (investigator, artist, athlete), or futuristic roles (starship pilot, mad scientist, cyborg), you can then add your stats into the equation to make something exceptional!

 You could make a good-natured musician with little brains but a charismatic presence and strong body, an anti-social investigator with a sharp mind and mean right hook, or a brilliant mad scientist with incredible stage presence but little athletic talent. The statistics and the class you pick go hand in hand, so make something fun with them!

There also exist plenty of systems that don’t use the attributes mentioned above or express them way differently (EX: Slayers, Shadowrun, Cyberpunk Red, etc.), but depending on how the statistics and player options operate, the above advice should still be just as applicable despite the differences. 

In short, using the statistics and skills you are best and worst at to their fullest, in conjunction with The type of character role you are playing, is a surefire way to make a unique and fun character! 

Of course, when coming up with something “unique,” it never hurts to get inspired, especially from your favorite media!

Step 5: Don’t Be Afraid To Be Inspired

Nothing is 100% original, and you should not place the expectation on yourself that your character(s) have to be either! A crucial part of the creative process is taking what you like most from other art/media and slowly evolving it into something that fits your style, and your characters should also be something like that. 

Do you have a favorite protagonist in a fantasy series, like Harry Potter or Geralt of Rivia, that you like and want to try and make your spin on for your character in D&D? Go for it! Make a wizard who is the chosen one of a prophecy from a wizard school or a blood hunter with sorted affairs with sorceresses! Do you want a tragic backstory where your father is secretly the evil enforcer of an evil space empire, like Star Wars? Go for it! It might seem like stealing or unoriginal, but realistically, none of these character ideas or story beats will be 100% replicable and change almost immediately when put into practice. No matter how derivative, these concepts you place upon your character(s) will get filtered through your tastes, roleplaying sensibilities, and the campaign setting, then swiftly morph into something wholly new and, ideally, you as a result!

Inspiration is always the starting point for any great idea. Never feel bad or fake for trying to make something just because it resembles something that came before. You can always do whatever you can to make the details that matter, big and small, something different until it becomes something new. 

You do not need to fill in every little detail or use every possible change at the onset; sometimes, it is better to leave some gaps open so you and your character can grow as you play the game. 

Step 6: Allow For Improv and Intentionality in Roleplaying

Improv is one of the core elements of all roleplaying games, so lean into it! Any player can relate to having to come up with some stray character detail, quirk, or backstory element on the fly, and, quite frankly, it is something you should aim for when making your character(s). 

A roleplaying character is not the same as a main character in a novel; it does not require complete intentionality of actions and a slew of backstories to back that up. What matters most is enough details to make your roleplaying meaningful and engaging in the campaign. 

The amount of detail can range from (contradicting what was said above) a long-winded backstory you put countless hours into or half a page of bullet points you fill in the blanks for as you play. It varies from person to person what they feel constitutes a backstory worth using for proper roleplay, and there is no wrong answer, but what matters is the ability to be flexible with it and allow for improvisation. No backstory, no matter how well thought out and intricate, will have covered everything that might come up (EX: You wrote a 30-page backstory for your warrior where his family died and he was drafted to be a child soldier but did not write down what his favorite kind of pastry was when you encounter a baker who asks), and that is okay! Make it up! Live in the moment of roleplaying!! That is exactly how these games are meant to be played and, quite often, allow for organic expansions on the characters, making them even more fun to play!

Conversely, having details thought up for your character that you actively seek to use with intentionality never hurts. A character that is, frankly, just a pile of statistics and items with no backstory that you play with at the whims of what is directly in front of you is not a roleplaying character. That description would be the best fit for an storyless avatar in a video game like World of Warcraft, tacitly involved in an overarching narrative but not truly a participant in a meaningful capacity. Stats are not enough. It takes some measure of personal connection, stakes, and investment in the conflict(s), world, and NPCs to make a roleplaying character something that is both real and active in the campaign. 

Circling back to “just write the exact amount of backstory you feel is most comfortable,” at least some elements you can navigate your character would be the play. The backstory elements can be as simple as, for example, when a mad scientist character got their start in their profession, some friends and enemies they have (described in single sentence blurbs), and an assortment of topics they are interested in and have opinions on which they prattle on when prompted. That is not a lot, but it is enough to have some connection to how the campaign unfolds, as the GM, ideally, can either use those details to make the character feel involved in the plot or at least collaborate with you to make it work for how the campaign is unfolding.

Improvisation and intentionality, as it pertains to a Roleplaying character in a TTRPG, is a tightrope walk. You need to keep a good balance on just enough details to make the path more meaningful and structured but enough slack to have fun with it as you move forward. 

You are, ultimately, playing someone you want to keep moving forward and have fun with matters most for your character. So, make a character you want to play above all else!

Step 7: Make A Character You Want to Play and Be Played With

In a game, you, shocker, want to play something you enjoy! It is the same for a TTRPG character, in their gameplay elements, story, and how you interact with fellow players and vice versa. You should always be conscious of that fact from the moment you roll up a character to the end of a campaign.

At the most basic level, selecting your character’s classes/professions/skills, whatever the game may allow you to choose, you should go for something you would personally enjoy. You might not know if the choices you made to play with were a good fit, so try to change them if you can! Any good GM will allow some wiggle room to change or even replace your character if given a good enough reason. Do not be afraid to communicate your needs in the gameplay of a TTRPG. The gameplay is half the battle; the story is the next, and you can also have some say. 

No matter what sort of system or campaign you are in, you (as your character) still engage with it and should steer things in the direction you enjoy most. It is not uncommon for a campaign to go in a direction or two you might not like, for example, an NPC from your character’s backstory represented in a way you don’t like or NSFW elements becoming more commonplace, and in those instances do not be afraid to speak up! Talk with your GM and fellow players and either make sure the game going forward steers clear of the things you might not have been okay with or at least tone it down to help your overall enjoyment. Roleplaying games are a group activity, and everyone’s thoughts and opinions should have weight when deciding how things play out. A fact that you should also be cognizant of with how you play.

While championing sticking up for what you enjoy and avoiding what you don’t, the above paragraph is not a license to disregard what your fellow players and GM like. Remember, it is a group game, and EVERYONE has a valid voice in the proceedings; ergo, you must consider how you present yourself through your actions. Suppose you are roleplaying or making decisions actively detracting from everyone else's fun or bringing forth elements (like the ones in the previous example). In that case, you should be open to hearing them out and changing your approach to playing, just like how you’d want them to do the same.

In short, TTRPGs are about having fun, and you must do what you can to facilitate that and not hinder your fellow player’s fun in the process. 

Step 8: Have Fun!

As we just went over, playing a TTRPG is all about fun, and, for a player, that starts with the character you play. These steps and tricks aim to make creating a player character and roleplaying them much more straightforward and ( ideally) fun by giving you some good tips and tricks to clarify the process.

Conceiving a roleplaying character, one you intend to put your heart and soul into, takes time and effort. It requires a firm grasp of the rules you intend to play and some help from your GM and fellow players. You also need to embrace what you have and make the best of what you don’t, using what you are passionate about to give it life and being sure to behave like you’d want your fellow players to act. All of which, while daunting, can be done after using this guide!

Ideally, by reading this guide, the creation and execution of your roleplaying game characters will be all the more manageable, and your TTRPG experiences will be all the more memorable for it!

[twistedtummies2]

Top 6 Edgar Allan "Poe-ms"

In my previous list for Halloween-time, I discussed my favorite short stories by the great Edgar Allan Poe: my all-time favorite author. Poe’s work with short stories was vast and varied, covering all sorts of genres; he wrote plenty of horror tales, of course, but also works of humor and simple mystery. But of course, these were not the extent of his output: Poe was also a gifted “Poe-t.” And as we all know, “Poe’s Poems Pwn Posers.” (Bravo if you got that reference.) But seriously, Edgar Allan “Poe-try” (I’m sorry, these are much too easy) was rarer than his narrative output, but no less intriguing. His poems, like his stories, ranged in length, style, and tone, from dark and eerie, to multiple kinds of romance, both tragic and surprisingly heartfelt. Some of them even mingled elements of tone together, making for particularly unique pieces in the annals of literature. I figured that it was best to give his poems a separate, albeit shorter, spotlight from the short stories he wrote. So, without further ado, here are my Top 6 Edgar Allan “Poe-ms.”

Also, I promise that’s the last Poe and poetry pun I make. Intentionally. XD

6. The Haunted Palace.

This is one of two poems on the list that was initially written on its own terms, but then later - interestingly - was incorporated into one of his short stories. “The Haunted Palace” appears in the short story “Fall of the House of Usher,” where it serves an allegorical purpose, as the poem is a (none-too-subtle) analogy to the exact happenings in the story up to that point. Taking it out of context from the story, however, it’s still a very powerful and, as its title indicates, haunting piece of poetry. The poem tells the story of a beautiful palace, fairy-tale like, which was once a radiant and happy place…then goes on to describe the decline of this once gilded hall, as it falls to ruin, haunted by the ghosts of its fabled past - perhaps literally, perhaps metaphorically, perhaps even both. Many of Poe’s pieces reflected upon time, mortality, and the idea of something once beautiful being corrupted by both; a sort of constant theme of “innocence lost” permeates, honestly, almost every single poem on this very list. It seemed to be an idea that haunted Poe himself: perhaps in his own mind’s palace, he forever felt himself haunted by the idea that time marches on, and all good things must come to an end.

5. The Bells.

“The Bells” is one of Poe’s more…ambiguous poems. It’s a little harder to tell what it means, if it even means anything specific. Told over the course of four separate verses, this poem describes different kinds of bells, and the emotions they seem to instill. It starts off cheerily enough with silver bells, describing imagery and emotions that frankly sound like something of a Christmas song. It then moves on to wedding bells, which are equally happy, but somewhat more solemn in nature. Then things take a very sharp and horrific turn, as the poem describes next brazen alarm bells, which fill one’s soul with terror and dread…and finally, as you may perhaps expect, “moaning and groaning” funeral bells, signifying the end of a life and all that comes with that idea. It’s not clear if this progression is meant, like the Haunted Palace, to represent the passage of time, or if it’s simply a poem that uses the bells as an analogy for all kinds of different statuses in life: how the same kind of sound and item can mean so many different things, both good and bad, to so many people. This is one of several poems on this list written very, VERY late in Poe’s life, and - like two others still to come - it was not actually published till after his death. Perhaps it was Poe’s way of reflecting on the different turns his life had taken over the years…and the fear he had for his soon-to-be-short-lived future.

4. The Conqueror Worm.

Just like “The Haunted Palace,” this poem was first published separately as its own individual piece, but was later incorporated into one of Poe’s stories. Namely, it was made into part of the tale “Ligeia;” in that story, the titular character writes the poem as a way of expressing her own horror at her terminal state, as she is dying slowly from tuberculosis - a disease which ravaged Poe’s life at practically every turn. The poem is probably one of the most unsettling of the writer’s entire life (and given all the others on this list, that’s saying a lot). It tells the story of an audience of angels, watching a pantomime show, in which a collection of clowns fruitlessly try to capture a wayward phantom. The phantom escapes, and without warning, a hideous beast - a blood red creature described as “the Conqueror Worm” - rises up from nowhere, and devours the performers. Once all of them have been eaten, the pantomime comes to a close, while the angels weep. The titular Conqueror Worm is meant to be an allegory for tuberculosis in Ligeia’s story, but in its own universe, the Worm is actually meant to represent death, in general. The poem is one of the most harrowing and disturbingly frenzied in Poe’s collection, as it acts as a parable for life itself: a mad race that has seemingly no purpose, and ends in something unspeakably nasty. It’s a cynical and deeply troubling piece of work, but that’s what makes it so intriguing, like so many other dark poems by the author. While the Worm in the poem itself is purely an allegorical creation, and it’s likely that Poe’s mental image was closer to a “Wyrm” of mythology or fantasy, the kinds of images illustrators since have come up with for the idea of a huge red worm that devours everything in its path has led to some really nasty and yet creative stuff. Perhaps Edgar Allan Poe invented “Tremors” alongside the modern detective story; who’duh thunk it? :P

3. Eldorado.

This relatively short and simple poem was one of the last works of Poe’s life. Like many of his poems and stories in his later years, it was a reflection of the desolate situation he found himself in, emotionally. The poem tells of a brave knight, who goes on a gallant quest to find the mystic, mythical city of gold, Eldorado. (Which should really be spelled “El Dorado,” but I’m going to call it “Eldorado” for the sake of literary accuracy here.) After years of searching, however, the knight grows old and weak seeking this magical fantasyland. Finally, he encounters a “Phantom Shadow” - implied to be Death itself - who offers him directions, indicating Eldorado to be Paradise. While only a few stanzas long, the sentiment of this dark little fairy-tale is powerful and strangely ambiguous: unlike others here, there is a sort of warmth to it, despite the sorrow imbued in its syllables. You can read into it as a sort of heartwarmingly bittersweet piece, or as a condemnation on the futility of life’s struggles. You can see Eldorado as something you can only imagine in your dreams, or only find peacefully in the afterlife, or even as something you will never actually locate. Short and not exactly sweet, but also not entirely bitter…however you read into it, “Eldorado” remains a poignant reminder that some fantasies just cannot be reality…at least, not in this lifetime.

2. Annabel Lee.

“Annabel Lee” might be the single saddest of all of Poe’s poetry pieces, largely because of its context. Much like “Eldorado” and “The Bells”, it was among the very last poems Poe wrote in his lifetime. In fact, like the latter, it was not even published till after his death, and was written only months before his (rather mysterious) passing. The poem tells the story of a distraught narrator, who describes how his beloved bride - Annabel Lee, whom he has loved since childhood - was so beautiful, and their love for each other so pure, that even the angels felt envious. So envious, in fact, that they killed her. Now, the Narrator makes frequent visits to her grave, and sleeps there in her tomb, near a kingdom by the sea. The poem seems to be a metaphor for the emotions and turmoils Poe went through after the death of his own wife, Virginia: many passages seem similar to the biographical information about the couple, and Poe’s reactions to her tragic departure. However, others have been offered as possible inspirations for the fictional lady described in the poem. Whoever the true Annabel Lee was, the poem’s tragic content is only made more heartbreaking when you realize this hymn of long-lost love was the last thing Poe had to give to the world, before he, himself, was felled under baffling circumstances. The verses were the inspiration for the novel “Lolita,” and there is even an English standard song called “Kingdom By the Sea,” which is a musical adaptation of the poem, along with many other song-styled renditions. As one of Poe’s last great creations, this poem has cemented his legacy perhaps above all other works he ever made before.

1. The Raven.

Almost without a doubt Poe’s most lauded piece of work, “The Raven” is his undisputed masterpiece in the world of poetry. The poem focuses on the plight of a once again unnamed narrator, who is mourning the recent loss of his wife, Lenore. He is visited one night by a mysterious Raven, which repeatedly croaks the word “Nevermore” like a parrot. As the poem goes on, the Narrator comes to believe the Raven is some supernatural being, as its croaking seems to answer every question and demand he makes. It is unclear exactly what happens to the Narrator at the end of the story, but he marks with fear that the Raven is still sitting in his room, watching over him. “And [his] soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, shall be lifted…nevermore.” While not directly autobiographical, it is probably not a coincidence that Poe wrote this poem at the exact same time his aforementeioned wife, Virginia, was effectively on her deathbed. One can easily see this as Poe already anticipating his own grief, the fears and sorrows of the storyteller matching his own harrowing circumstances in an exaggerated and Gothic manner. However you interpret things in this verse-told tale, it is, without a doubt, one of the most famous and celebrated pieces of poetry in the entire world. It is also my personal favorite poem of all time. Not just mine, either! Many famous people, such as Stan Lee, have named this as their favorite poem, and even more have done readings of it, from Christopher Lee to James Earl Jones to Vincent Price and more. There’s even a professional American football team inspired by the poem. No joke! Look it up! While the poem did not make Poe much money in his lifetime, it has, beyond all his other works, become the piece he is remembered for best.

HONORABLE MENTIONS INCLUDE…

To One in Paradise.

The City in the Sea.

A Dream Within a Dream.

[ambyandony]

its melone

heres monster au melone & some of the concept sketches for his sigil. yes he actually looks like this .

this was supposed to be short and a quick summary but then i started saying things so... monster au loredump!! with a couple of visuals!!

hes a cambion (so half-human and half-demon) and for some reason people seem to think its his fault he is the kid of a demon as if he had a fuckin say in that?

hes actually not as bad as hes generally made out to be (he kinda wishes people would jump to conclusions a little less often when they hear hes a cambion because it's pretty annoying). I mean he's pretty strange and likes to weird people out but . He's not actually as bad as people assume.

I'd say most likely hes also got some real stress from his whole situation and some shit thats happened to him (almost definitely some of it is thanks to him being the kid of a demon). Whatever background / general circumstances he has, it's given him either some kind of trauma or some other various psychological-emotional issues that he probably tries to mask by his habit of being offputting just to mess with people. not totally sure what specifically is up with him but theres definitely a lot going on there that he would prefer not to discuss

but hes still a little bastard and i still want to hit him with a rolled up newspaper. di molto THIS, bitch *smacks him upside the head*

anyways,

physiology

Melone is actually the most unique in terms of known infernals in monster au insofar; unlike trish, diavolo, and abbacchio (kinda), Melone falls under the category of 'head-horned' and 'pencil-tailed' (or 'wire-tailed').

Most infernals seen in the Monster AU sorta resemble D&D style tieflings; Trish, Diavolo and Abbacchio are all considered face-horned and slope-tailed and are also wingless. Though Abbacchio is 'smooth-tailed' and Trish and Diavolo are 'fur-tailed', their construction is essentially the same.

Melone has a semblance to the more simplified / stylised pop media depictions of demons, yknow, like the little devil on the shoulder guy, little horns on the top of the head, thin pointy tail, tiny wings, etc. These kinds of demons do exist, but they are actually incredibly rare, on account of their physiological construction being pretty uhhh... not the best . (IM NOT CALLING YOU 'GOOD BOY' THIS BODY STRUCTURE IS SHIT!!!!!)

the wings are exclusively aesthetic, (yes they are actually they (unsurprisingly) can't actually even remotely support his weight (nature takes pity on these fuckers and usually these demons are able to semi-innately use minor levitation instead) and he can barely move them either, since they're barely connected to him if at all.

The horn placement doesn't really have an evolutionary bearing (face-horned infernals seem to be more common for some reason or another, but head-horned infernals aren't too rare); it's more just that the size of the horns that are seen on his specific breed/species are pretty much useless and seemingly have little to no function other than making hats hard to wear and getting in the way when they're trying to brush their hair.

his ears are pointed but short; whether this has to do with his hybridism or not isn't entirely clear, but they're observed to have a limited range of independent motion (he can move them somewhat). Demons with longer ears can also often achieve some level of independent motion; how much can vary, but generally, it ranges between only being able to twitch them to having either up-and-down motion or outward-inward motion, but never both. Which type of ear movement a demon has is often based on the natural position of the ears or the 'function' that the specific demon has.

Melone's ears, however, despite being shorter, have the same quality of hearing and a much wider range of motion, having both up-down and forward-backwards movement, likely owing to the muscles and cartilage that would have contributed to ear length—instead being structured to facilitate the expanded range of motion. or some shit

the construction of a pencil-tailed demon's tail is frail and lacks power, yet seems to be important for the flow of magic through their bodies. Unfortunately for them, though the tails can be somewhat prehensile, they are pretty easily chopped off due to the bones inside them being light and fragile and the tails themselves being very thin. Slope-tailed infernals, on the other hand, have much sturdier construction, thicker and stronger bones, more flesh to protect the bones, and some species also have tough scales.

magic

Melone has access to a range of magic as an infernal cryptian; almost every demon in human society has access to illusory magic out of necessity. His illusory magic is by default active on himself, but through magic development and practice, he can also use it beyond himself, though his illusory magic seems unusually (unusual for demons in general, anyway... not necessarily unusual for his kind) limited to only working on living things, people specifically.

He mostly keeps it confined to himself, but also often extends it to Ghiaccio since Ghiaccio isn't a magic user and has trouble with his partial transformations happening near-constantly (in reaction to his emotional states and sometimes just randomly). The auxiliary magic is pretty much the thing that best helps Ghiaccio with human passing. He hates his ailuranthropy and hates exhibiting it, so aside from just keeping Ghiaccio safe in general through helping with human-passing, it also makes the poor bastard feel a bit better since his ailuranthropy isn't showing.

Melone may push his luck and test Ghiaccio's (and Risotto's) patience with the use of a cheap laser pointer but at least he still cares. (the laser pointer 'prank' perpetuated by Melone and Formaggio irritates Risotto to the point where (to quote myself, from an earlier post:) the members of the team are explicitly told, sternly, by risotto, not to carry and/or use laser pointers around the hideout anymore, because the laser pointers’ literal only use is making Ghiaccio accidentally break the furniture and they frankly can’t afford it (risotto vc) "i do not care how fucking funny you think it is we don’t have the funds for the potential collateral")

As mentioned, Melone also has use of levitative abilities. which he naturally over-uses because it's fun and awesome to be able to freely float around with the exertion of little to no physical effort. he frequently hovers a bit and has a tendency to like. recline mid-air you know the sort. Every so often, if he's particularly tired, he can, somehow, fall asleep in mid-air.

in particular, due to his species / breed plus his demihumanity, he can't really use offensive magic—or things such as aurafire or flares—aside from using very weak projections in desperate situations but it tends to drain him quickly and doesn't do much damage.

regarding his concentration of mana / magic and its flow through him;

Like many inherently-magical creatures, Melone needs to have a proper manaflow for the sake of his own health.

mana and mana exhaustion monster au lore side tangent

For creatures that are magical in nature—I'm gonna call those magicrypts (magic cryptians) to make this a bit quicker—they rely on manaflow to live just as much as bloodflow and airflow—assuming they even need either of those. Actually, the reason that it's often hard to kill demons and magicrypt in general without utilising their weaknesses is that if they start suffering blood loss (asphyxiation, too, sometimes), they can supplement it with their manaflow, which keeps them alive despite exsanguination ( / asphyxiation ). Stand Users are also supernaturally vigorous which may have some relation to the flow of mana even for non-mage humans.

They are always, or almost always, circulating mana, and they must be able to replenish their supply of it so they don't run out. Most beings do not naturally produce it on their own, though, and instead gain it through mana absorption which has various methods / types. Often, creatures that need mana to survive have a way to stockpile / store it for later use, which facilitates the use of 'actual magic'—magic is kinda a synonym of mana, but can also mean magic that's 'used', castmagic (I don't like the term 'spell', it's too specific).

A magicrypt without mana storing capacity (very rare) has a lesser capacity for castmagic, unless they draw the mana for the casting directly from their environment which is incredibly hard to do, especially in such a short amount of time—and especially when the mana is converted directly into castmagic without pre-conversion in the body, wherein a magicrypt's manaflow naturally converts the inbound mana into the most efficient, practical, or usable form—so, casting magic like this has a high risk of backfire.

As a little piece of trivia, because it's a radiation of magical energy, if a magic-reliant monster suddenly loses too much and they can't replenish, they will drain their own aura into mana just to prolong their own survival for just a little while longer.

Melone has a typical construction that facilitates storing mana and building up an extra supply of it for use without disrupting his vital primary manaflow. If he ever were to run out of mana completely, Melone would most likely fall severely ill, and eventually die soon after his aura starts fading, if somehow he wasn't able to restore his manaflow before then.

It also should be noted—there is a minor caveat for someone such as Melone when it comes to mana exhaustion:

... as a Stand User, his soul's energy (which is, for all intents and purposes, a form of mana) is manifested as an entity—a Stand—and, consequently, Baby Face is essentially a mass of concentrated energy. If the body exhausts all mana, isn't replenishing, and has already drained its aura's mana as a last-ditch substitute... well, obviously, the body is gonna start pretty much straight-up metabolising the Stand into magical energy, which is incredibly hard to recover from, assuming the person even manages to survive after that point.

Popular to contrary belief, most demons probably have souls. Also all Stand Users have souls (unless in a very specific kind of special case) because their Stands 'are' their souls.

While having proper blood and oxygen flow/supply seems like it should mean he would be fine just surviving off of that, especially given his half-humanity—which does allow him to do this for a while—Melone still cannot survive without mana... at least, certainly not without likely feeling he'd rather be dead instead, because any survival past mana exhaustion is pretty agonising; and also... as stated, after total loss of manaflow and exhaustion of a Stand User's aura, the, like... magic 'respiratory system' instinctively starts absorbing the Stand and using it as mana, which... kind of destroys the psyche? like, that's basically the body obliterating its own soul. after that point youre just. fucked. but—basically, it's unlikely for anyone to survive mana exhaustion once it gets to the point of magically cannibalising their Stand (kinda like how you're fucked once rabies becomes symptomatic), and if they do, there's a strong chance they will never recover anyway.

Circumstances differ, but the conversion of the Stand into mana cannot be undone. Not really, anyway, but if a piece of the Stand remains in its original form, there's a slim chance it could be restored, though this would be hard; and most notably of all, the loss of the Stand is like the loss of the Soul, and a loss of the Soul, especially in this way, directly damages the psyche, which leaves the sufferer as basically a 'shell of their former selves'. While they may be able to function and live, their personality will be vastly different, if they have a detectable personality left at all.

back to talking about melone

For demons, or at least demons of Melone's type, their tails are (essentially) organs for mana intake of various sorts, and also sort of contain a mana 'artery' of sorts as all or most manaflow is "attached" to it. So if a demon of that sort were to lose their tail, they might be unable to replenish their manaflow, and would probably start 'bleeding' magic likely to the point of quick mana exhaustion and eventual death (as above).

Melone's tail, though it tends to mainly move either expressively or absentmindedly (like with most tailed monsters), often is seen pointed towards the ground or resting against it, which he claims is because that's how he collects magical energy.

It's actually not the most effective way of magic absorption for him, because of his species type. His demon half is most likely 'animasugent' (or maybe manasugent I haven't decided yet); so would primarily use 'sugent' absorption, or 'sapping'—basically, he's meant to drain energies from others and then convert them into his own manaflow—rather than the environmental absorption he claims to do. Sugent absorption is presumably what he (the demon part of him, rather) is cryptophysiologically 'designed' to perform. But he's honestly—despite what others' assumptions would likely have you believe—not a big fan of the 'traditional' method even when sugent absorption would be quicker and more effective for him, so he relies mostly on the environmental absorption and just does it more often to compensate.

Alternatively, he can also do lunar absorption—collecting magical energy from the moon, which is known to be a major source of magical energy for Earth as a whole. This pretty much just entails going outside at night and having access to the moonlight.

There's a very small problem to this method, and it's that Melone is one of the unfortunate (few? many? hard to say) who are susceptible to moonsickness. Effectively every cryptian and/or mage has a particular threshold for mana exposure tolerance. Moonsickness is, to put it simply, what happens when that threshold is passed in regards to the moon. It's a bit awkward because it's a very general term that could also refer to a few specific things, but generally, moonsickness is a 'magical' illness that occurs with overexposure to the moon and/or its magical energy.

It's because the moon and moonlight are arguably the most powerful sources of magical energy on Earth (it's something about the moon itself that makes the sunlight suddenly become magical upon being reflected off its surface—sunlight is not inherently magical in most ways that aren't related to Hamon) and have their own 'kind' of magical energy, lunar mana, and some people can have different tolerances for terrestrial mana vs lunar mana, which is why moonsickness is so prevalent. So a being who can use magic just fine, such as Melone, can still be pretty sensitive to the moon's energy.

The exact symptoms of moonsickness are kind of dependent, there seem to be different 'kinds' of moonsickness, or it affects people differently based on certain factors. It can affect the same person in different ways if the conditions are 'right'.

Some sufferers of moonsickness suffer it like an actual physical illness, usually experiencing nausea, terrible headaches, fever, congestion, etc. like, sometimes people just get the fucking flu from the moon.

Some sufferers have a sort of overflow upon being hypercharged from the moon's energy, and despite being too full of energy, they display the exact opposite; they suddenly become weak and fatigued, lose all their strength, and oftentimes, they briefly faint or collapse.

Some sufferers are afflicted with magical malfunction—either their abilities don't work, don't work properly, backfire, or just straight-up go haywire (this is common in children with magical inclinations).

Finally, some moonsick individuals slip into lunacy, a violent and/or incoherent state where the sufferer is likely to endanger themselves and others. Lunacy is most often seen in zooanthropes, but other cryptians can also suffer from it.

Melone's symptoms vary on the day. He can do lunar absorption if he's careful or finds a balance, but he generally stays out of moonlight. At my current concept, on the Full Moon, I figure he loses all magic ability (and the loss of power lingers into the following morning, probably, like a magic hangover) but Melone probably spends a good portion of the night making sure Ghiaccio isn't about to go insane anyway (the full moon seems to be the one time that he fully transforms, so he's usually in a lot of pain which naturally pisses him off) . not 100% on that tho

alright ill shut up now hope you enjoyed the side tangent ciao <3

[legacygirlingreen]

Christmas With the Sallow Family: Chapter 5 - A Locket & A Promise || Sebastian Sallow X Reader

This is a continuation of a series, Masterlist found here: https://www.tumblr.com/legacygirlingreen/713709759369560064/part-1-becoming-a-proper-gentlemen?source=share

Author’s Note:

Hey I am back! Graduation took up some of my time, but I thought I’d give those still reading an update! This is mostly just fluff and filler so I apologize. I also didn’t spend as much time editing since I wanted to make up for the lack of posting. Next chapter should have more content… Anyway’s peace and love as always!

Word Count: 6,000 +

Warnings: Brief mention of NSFW content, mild angst (if you squint), mostly tooth rotting fluff.

A soft snore against the nape of her neck slowly lulled her from sleep. As she eased into consciousness, the weight against her waist from the freckled arm resting there, and his gentle breathing helped a smile stretch upon her lips. It felt heavenly to be held in such a way, by someone she loved so dearly.

Even in the man’s unaware state, his body seemed to recognize her presence, as her slight movements made him nuzzle in closer to her side while his quiet snores continued. The slight chill of the room made her sink further into his warmth. Sebastian truly was a furnace.

Ever so carefully she turned from her side onto her back without waking him, before turning to her other side so she could face him as he slept. The sight alone made her heart flutter.

An important thing to know about the young man, was that Sebastian almost always bore strong indications of his emotions upon his handsome face: frustration, elation, confusion, sadness, and the most common: mischief. They were always there, in the crease of his brows, crinkles around his eyes, dimples in his cheeks, depths of his chocolate orbs and in the smirk upon his full lips. However as he slept, she recognized a rare moment where she got to see him completely at peace.

The slight flaring of his nostrils as he inhaled gently with its slight rumble, before air softly came out of his parted lips. She had always loved his slightly broad button nose, and how it always seemed to scrunch right across the bridge as he laughed. His long, dark eyelashes that laid upon his freckled cheeks slightly danced as his eyes ever so carefully moved under his closed eyelids.

As he had slept his hair had become a birds nest, strands of varying lengths sticking up in almost every direction. The same forelock that she always loved to move off his face, falling into its natural resting place. His curtains of fringe falling more around his hairline instead of the way he’d been pushing it over his ears since he’d gotten it cut short. She noted the way his sideburns were already starting to curl into his face again, as well as the hair near his nape, despite having them cut short not long ago. She almost laughed, stifling it to a small puff of air, thinking about how difficult it must have been for him to maintain his hair given how fast it appeared to grow, especially with its thickness and unruly nature.

She hadn’t even realized she had been brushing her fingers through his hair until his eyes snapped open, meeting hers. The look in his chocolate orbs looked startled at first, resulting from the still new feeling of waking up next to someone. When his mind recognized the playful expression she wore, his lips stretched into a toothy grin as he nuzzled into her hand that was buried in his bed head. His eyes closed again, as the final signs of alarm faded, and he fell into a content sigh as he awoke next to the girl of his dreams, who was admiring him no less.

“What’s so funny” he asked, voice slightly horse from sleep as her fingers continued to dance along his scalp.

“Oh its nothing really, just an observation” she said watching as his left eye opened just to judge her expression before he stretched his body within the confines of the thick wool blanket. Once he finished waking his sleeping limbs, he rolled over, propping himself up to lean over her.

“What observation?” he asked, mischief finally working its way back to his face after sleep. Sebastian loved the way her cheeks broke out in a light blush at his questioning.

She sighed as she continued running her hands through his hair, trying to tame it, to seemingly no avail. “Your hair is an absolute mess Seb… how have you possibly maintained it for so long? How does it not annoy you?” She playful retorted while she carefully untangled a small knot along the back of his crown without pulling too hard on the strands.

“Oh trust me, I often find it quite frustrating to deal with. Having it cut has actually been more convenient than you could imagine” he said, raising a hand to help her attempt to brush down the cowlicks.

“That’s baffling considering it is still so chaotic” she laughed as she gestured to his head. He rolled his eyes at her antics.

“Perhaps I should just march in the house, and request my uncle shorn it down even further to prevent such chaos then” he joked. Never in a million years did he think, that after years of torment around the whole ordeal, would he be in bed with a half naked woman, making light of his childhood trauma.

“Absolutely not.” She deadpanned, almost nervous at even the suggestion.

“You would allow such trivial things like the length of my hair lessen your affections for me?” He let out a small gasp, clutching his collarbones as he continued to playfully taunt her.

“You are being ridiculous.” She feigned annoyance.

“A tad, I will admit. I will say, I am thankful you never had to see me sporting a Solomon Special as Ominis used to call it attempting to get a rise out of me over it” he truly did thank Merlin. He was certain with the lack of the usual giddy whispers from his female classmates around the time it was freshly cut, that his hair did not look good that way. He hated how much it struck his confidence, especially given how he knew it to be one of his better features despite its wild and untamed nature.

“That bad huh?” She laughed, trying to imagine him slightly younger, with chubbier cheeks and short hair.

He lifted his hands, pushing his hair off his face, covering most of it, in an attempt to recreate the look for her. “Dreadful.” He replied, allowing her to examine this face in full view.

“You’d still look incredible handsome” she said, pulling him down into a chaste kiss. When his hands moved from his head to her waist, however, the kiss deepened. He pushed his way in between her legs, arms drawing her closer. He suddenly became aware of how the only thing she wore to bed was his sleep shirt, while her lower half remained bare. He remembered the night before, and how wonderful her innermost being tasted upon his lips, as the only thing that mattered, was him bringing her pleasure.

Sebastian couldn’t wait until the moment where once again he could feel her tremble under his fingers. Or when he could gaze upon her naked body, tracing her womanly figure with his lips. Maybe even enter her with his manhood and make good on his promise to one day give her children.

Their lips seemingly picking up speed as his mind wandered. Their kisses becoming more needy as she ground herself against his clothed thigh. When her hands lifted into his hair, pulling in the way he’d come to love, he couldn’t help but moan out. She pulled away after a few moments, breathless. “Please just keep it long enough for me to muse it” she said, fingers mirroring her words.

Sebastian sighed, realizing that her denial of letting things progress to be wise. He didn’t want to loose his virginity in a tent also occupied by his friend and his sister. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he wanted to make sure they were on the same page after the previous night, before they progressed further.

“I imagine the next time I need a trim it’ll be your job, so that is entirely your call my love. You are the one who has to look at it, so whatever you desire. I trust you.” He said, nose bumping into hers gently. She stared at him wide eyed, shocked he would admit to trusting her with such a task.

“That sounds utterly domestic” she replied and he laughed at her words.

“Is there a problem with wanting to build a home with you?” He questioned rhetorically.

“Absolutely not. It endears me to know you wish for such things” she spoke, carefully caressing his cheek as she stared at the small patches of stubble on his face.

“You know, I do have a gift I could give you now, if you’d like. I am realizing it to be quite domestic the more I think about it.” She said, eyes looking back up into his own.

“Honestly, the more I think about it, I would prefer to share mine in private as well. I hate the thoughts of Solomon, or even Anne and Ominis, lingering whist I give you what I have.” He replied.

She smiled at his suggestion, leaping from the bed and rummaging through her small trunk. He stood, realizing he’d have to sneak over into his room to retrieve it. Carefully slipping over into the other half of the tent in the very early hours of the morning. Somehow he managed to find clothes for the day along with her gift in the near darkness without waking Anne and Ominis. The pair were curled up in the middle of the two beds, which they at some point pushed together. Anne’s head laid upon the boys chest, his arms wrapped around her shoulders as they slept. Sebastian smiled. A large part of him loved seeing his sister so cared for, a sense of normalcy for her, as well as his friend finally relaxing into physical comfort with another. Not wanting to spy on them further he slipped back out.

When he returned he was disappointed to find her no longer in his sleep shirt, instead sporting a slip, pulling the waistband of a petticoat up her thighs and around her waist. Laying on the freshly made bed he saw a few linen dresses, before a simple red one caught his eye. He turned around in time to see her finishing the strings of her corset. Carefully pulling it from the bed, and walking towards her, he gestured for her to lift her arms. When she saw the material in his hands she relented, allowing him to slide the dress over her layers.

The dress allowed her open collarbones to be on display, and she smiled, realizing he had somehow found the perfect blend of looking nice without being too overdone. Ever since Anne forced her into a dress she’d really taken a liking to the way Sebastian constantly smiled at her. Although he tended to do that anyway…

He stood next to her, still without a shirt, and only now wearing a pair of trousers. She grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the bed as she tossed the remaining clothing back into the trunk.

“Could at least wait till I’m dressed love” he said with a laugh towards her impatience.

“I prefer you this way” she said, cheeky grin adorning her face.

“It appears I have corrupted you my darling” he said, pulling her hand closer to him.

“Close your eyes” she demanded, and he closed them. She delicately placed something into his hands. The box sat in his outstretched hand for a moment before he opened his eyes. Her expectant glance followed him as he opened the small package.

Immediately upon seeing the contents he laughed, pulling out the small razor. “I have to say, this seems more like a gift for you than for me” he said remembering how she had begged him to rid himself of the sparse facial hair he’d grown.

“I believe it can serve my needs and yours” she shrugged. He admired its shinny silver handle, with an ornate design. Figures replicating Roman marble statues were incorporated throughout. Near the bottom he saw a small engraving: “S. Sallow” in cursive. For such a practical item it did appear quite beautiful.

He understood what she meant when she said it was more domestic than she intended. Sebastian slid the blade out, admiring the way it caught the light. It felt like such an adult gift. His uncle had continually ignored his transitioning from boyhood to man, by denying his request for better fitting shoes or longer pants. It hadn’t been until recently he had actually started addressing him as such, however still avoiding assisting in a graceful transition. This made him feel so grown up, receiving a gift that would be used daily, becoming a reminder of her every time he would see it.

“It’s beautiful, thank you” he said setting it back in the box, beckoning her closer. She obliged him, setting her fingers along his jaw.

“Of course. My family has always tried to gift each other something practical as well as something homemade… so I figured this might be a good idea as you had need for one, or at least a better one” she said and he laughed.

“I love it.” He said, as a wonderful image flashed in his mind. Him leaning on the vanity of a small home, much like what he had in feldcroft, while her careful hands scraped the blade over his cheek. At some point he’d pull her in for a kiss, the lather getting all over her face to her dismay, and he’d laugh at her before aiding her in wiping it away. Maybe at some point he’d pretend she had nicked him, just to momentarily startle her, before allowing his mischievous laugh to fill the air. More than likely she’d scold him, lightly slap his shoulder, before continuing anyway. When she would finish he’d pull her in for a deep kiss, to thank her for the not so difficult labor. The more he thought about it, these domestic tasks like grooming being in her hands instead of his own made them exciting, endearing, alluring.

“Good, because I hope you’ll get use out of it” she said, rising to finish dressing when his hands pulled her backwards onto his lap.

“I still haven’t given you anything sweetheart” he purred along the column of her neck. From behind he carefully set the small box in her lap. She lifted it somewhat apprehensively. The small size and shape of the box didn’t leave many options for what it could contain, beyond perhaps a fountain pen or pair of spectacles.

Nestled inside soft velvet laid a small golden locket. The front depicted a simple curved S, made of many sparkling green stones. As she lifted it from the box’s soft interior the gems caught the light brilliantly. Whether the letter was to represent their house, or one of his names she didn’t know, nor did she care. She didn’t realize her lack of a comment on the item was causing Sebastian to shift awkwardly, worried she didn’t like his gift. He was even more concerned at what her thoughts would be when she opened it…

“It’s okay if you don’t like it, I wasn’t sur-“ he started but she interrupted him by turning towards him, flinging her arms around his neck.

“I love it.” She whispered close to his ear and he couldn’t contain the smile that erupted upon his face knowing he was able to make her happy.

When he pulled back he saw the awestruck look on her face as her index finger traced over the initial on the front. “And the S is for….” She asked, a small smirk working its way on her face.

Sebastian blushed at the realization of its implications. He still told her the intent nonetheless. “I suppose it could be whatever you wish for it to mean. I had hoped it you wouldn’t mind it being a connection back to me, for Sallow or perhaps Sebastian. My mother had a similar one that my father gifted her soon after we were born. She had wanted to be able to display something on the inside for Anne and I.” He explained.

“What did she put inside if you don’t mind me asking?” She questioned, understanding if he’d be apprehensive, but driven by curiosity she asked anyway.

Instead of replying he gestured towards the locket in her own hand, signaling to open it. She obliged his request, falling silent when she realized what laid in one side of the locket. He left one half empty, presumably for whatever she deemed important enough to place there herself. In the other side, a small lock of brown hair held together by a tiny thread, laid behind a thin clear cover.

Even encased she immediately knew that he had gifted her something that, in muggle tradition, was highly sought after. The kind of gift exchanged between those who were wed, or at the very least set to be wed. Maybe the same applied in wizarding culture she thought. Either way, her eyes watered when she realized he wanted to share such an intimate part of himself with her.

His lovely brown locks in a way had become a symbol for their utter devotion to one another. He had given up his normal appearance for her to be here with him, as difficult as it had been for him. He had trusted her with the knowledge of how Solomon had abused him in such a manor. She knew how important the task of grooming him had been a strong bond between him and Mrs. Sallow before she passed. How much she enjoyed slipping off to the room of requirement together at the end of the day to hold him close, allowing him to relax as she brushed through his hair. Even now he mentioned passing the torch of cutting his hair onto her, showing his trust in their future, as they both looked forward to the domestic tasks of life together.

“I know that where you come from it has such strong implications but… I couldn’t help it. Nothing seemed grand enough a gift when I thought about it. I wanted you to know, that I am deeply committed to you, and a life with you. When I think back upon the exact moment in which I fell madly in love with you, a large part of me recalls that day in the Undercroft, when you held me in ways no one else had.” He explained, his own hands toying with his hair.

“Put it on me?” She asked, voice thick with emotion and he nodded. She closed the locket again, handing the necklace to him before lifting her hair off her shoulder to avoid getting caught in the clasp. Sebastian carefully laid it along her collarbones before fastening it around the back of her neck. He laid a gentle kiss along the nape of her neck before wrapping his arms around her from behind.

“This is so thoughtful, I truly don’t know what to say other than thank you..” she explained, hand wounding around the locket resting around her neck.

“After all you continue to do for me… I still feel its not enough. A part of me wishes we could both just skip to the part where we are done with school and able to be whatever we choose. A locket seems dull in comparison to such promises now.” He told her as she turned around to face him.

“I want those things, but that does not diminish how lovely this is. It must have set you back quite a bit. Not to mention… when did you get a lock of hair for this?” She asked playfully.

“Yesterday. I had Madam Snelling help me trim and tie off a section when you all were in honeydukes. You can somewhat see it -“ he trailed off, lifting part of his forelock and upon close inspection she could see where part of his iconic hair strand had been sheared a bit. She blushed realizing he had gifted her something so close to his identity.

“Would it be too much for me to ask for a photograph or portrait to keep in the other side?” She inquired, loving the way his lips stretched into a proud smile at her request.

“Of course not. I will admit, I do not have any recent photographs, but I am certain we can work something out if that is what you desire”. He expressed.

“I would love that.” She replied, beaming at his acceptance of her request. “I do have something else for you as well…” she explained and he was reminded how she told him about her muggle traditions.

“Well lets see it.” He tried to reassure her. He had always been a little concerned their differing backgrounds when it came to magic would make her self conscious. He did not believe an ounce of the pure blood nonsense that people like Ominis’s family boasted of. His mother had much respect and regard for muggles, often finding their customs to be utterly fascinating. She had taught history of magic along with continuing to infuse it with elements of muggle studies. He hoped that she would never feel less for her non magical upbringing.

She shifted around before producing a small round container, smaller than the palm of his hand. Gently she passed it off to him, allowing him to do with it as he pleased. What Sebastian couldn’t see was the soft blue glow coming off the box. She knew that only herself, and those with her gifts, would be able to see its connection to ancient magic. However, she hoped that in giving him something, that at its core was made of the magic that flowed through her, to be a strong show of herself as a gift.

It took a moment for Sebastian to recognize what exactly he was looking at. The small round shape imitating earrings or something of the nature, but when he lifted one from the container he realized it they were a set of cufflinks. The small oval shaped cufflinks depicted coiled snakes on each side, mirroring each other.

“I uh… asked the Keepers about using ancient magic to conjure and create items. I realize you actually have no way of knowing they were made with my magic, however, I can assure you it took several attempts before I mastered conjugation with ancient magic. They don’t exactly sell spellcrafts for forms of magic long forgotten. In fact, I am not sure many items like this even exist.” She rambled in an attempt to explain the possible let down of her gift.

“You made these?” He asked her, still surprised at her magical talents and abilities. Knowing that she had taken the time to learn more about her unique abilities in order to gift him something so trivial made his heart flutter.

She nodded, watching as his eyes softened.

“They are incredible. Thank you. I shall wear them every day.” He told her, drawing her closer, intending to feel her warmth. They remained in a soft embrace for a while, enjoying the way their bodies relaxed into one another.

“Thank you again for the locket, I absolutely adore it.” She spoke quietly into his neck as he held her.

“I will admit, I am looking forward to seeing you walking about the castle with it.” He replied smugly.

She pulled back slightly, “Was that your attempts at branding me” she asked with an obviously put on gasp.

“Well you are my little heifer…” he joked and she smacked his shoulder as he begun to laugh.

“I believe I told you never to call me that” she whined

“Oh you did, but we both know I am not particularly good at following rules” he replied and she hummed, returning to the comfort of his warm skin. Her fingers grazed across his still naked chest, traveling up to cup his jaw.

“This is true.” She replied.

Sebastian lifted his hand, feeling around on the other side of his jaw. Looking back at the small razor he realized he didn’t actually know how to use one. He had been barely scraping by with the occasional usage of the safety razor he borrowed from Ominis, but a straight razor was somewhat intimidating. Perhaps Solomon would actually be of assistance if he asked nicely.

“Why don’t we finish getting dressed, and I will see if Solomon can actually help me learn how to use one of these properly.” He gestured towards her gift and she nodded before rising from his lap.

She stepped towards a mirror, brushing her own hair while he slowly finished dressing himself. Once the last of his buttons was fastened, he attached the cufflinks she had gifted him, before coming to stand behind her with the tie he had snagged from his trunk. When she lifted her hands to begin braiding her hair he gently removed them before dropping her locks over one side of her shoulder, leaving the other bare.

“Please leave it down” he murmured into her shoulder as he gently pressed kisses to her soft skin. He felt her nod as she set the brush down, turning to face him. Removing the tie from his hands, she wound the fabric around his neck, slowly making work of creating the knot. Once she was satisfied she gently brushed a hand over the length of the tie, flattening it against his abdomen.

“Fastening my tie, yet another domestic task that I would much appreciate falling to you in the future” Sebastian winked as he carefully leaned down to peck her lips before moving to collect his waistcoat, sliding his arms through the holes and doing its few buttons as well.

“So allow me to recap. I am to help you shave, cut your hair and fasten your tie. Anything else Mr. Sallow, or are you incapable of doing anything on your own” she teased and he laughed at her notion he was helpless. She came to stand next to him as he finished pulling his arms through the sleeves of his blazer. She adjusted the lapel pin that had shifted when he’d tossed the jacket to the floor the night before.

“Not really, I am utterly helpless without you, future Mrs. Sallow.” At his words her fingers stalled, her eyes lifting to his own as his hand stretched out to trace the locket resting near the valley of her breasts.

“Don’t act as if you don’t like it when I call you that” he said in a low tone.

“I never said I didn’t”. She replied

“Good.”

The two of them stared at one another for a while before finally he lifted a hand, beckoning her to grab it. Sliding the box containing the straight razor into his jacket’s pocket, he helped her lift the few miscellaneous boxes she had brought containing gifts for his family into one of the enchanted bags she often carried. Helping lift it over her shoulder, he sought out of the tent, holding her hand.

The cool air had intensified overnight, and the light was barely touching the edges of the sky. Very few people moved about the hamlet as they made their way to the main house. Sebastian let go of her hand when they approached the door, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek, before stepping inside to make sure his uncle wasn’t still asleep. When he confirmed Solomon was awake and moving in the kitchen to start the kettle, he stepped back through the door to retrieve her.

Once inside the warmth of the house, she brushed the few pieces of fallen snow off her hair and arms. “Good morning Mr. Sallow.” She said as she wandered over to the pantry to aid in starting breakfast. Sebastian followed behind her, standing close by as his Uncle turned around to acknowledge the pair.

“Mornin you two. Sebastian, are your sister and Gaunt still asleep?” Solomon asked and he nodded in reply.

“Best to let Anne sleep as long as she can.” He replied, moving back to the now boiling kettle.

Sebastian watched as she carefully folded the dough she had quickly crafted into the shape of what he imagined would be scones without any hesitation and precision from years of doing it nonmagically. Seeing her so comfortable in their family’s kitchen brought back the stirring he continued to feel at seeing them both engaging in domestic tasks. That reminded him of the conversation he’d been meaning to have with Solomon. This was as good a time as any.

“Uncle Solomon, might I have a word.” He spoke, turning back towards the man who was setting the table. At his question, the man dropped one of the napkins he’d been holding. Turning back towards his nephew, seeing the way he shifted weight from foot to foot, he began to panic. He’d heard that tone before, and suffice to say, when his brother often used it on their parents the outcomes were not pretty. Solomon glanced over at the girl, knowing she had heard Sebastian’s request but did not look worried. Seeing her more calm reaction made him sigh as he realized Sebastian was not addressing that as a concern.

Sebastian stepped back through the door once his uncle nodded and the pair made their way around to the right side of the house. Unsure how to bring up the topic, he led us guardian over to the top of the watch tower before leaning over the railing.

“What’s happened?” Solomon asked him, worried of all the horrible responses Sebastian could give him.

Sebastian on the other hand couldn’t entirely fault him for assuming the worst. Instead of turning Solomon’s wrong assumption into an argument he simply shook his head.

“I have been thinking about what you said the other day, when she came back on the brink of death with Professor Fig.” Sebastian told his Uncle, still trying to find a way to articulate himself in an appropriate manor that would be taken seriously.

“I already apologized for my actions, why can’t it be left at that?” Solomon said, wrongfully assuming Sebastian was airing out more of their dirty laundry so to speak.

“I am not looking for an apology. I admit, I was partially in the wrong as well.” Sebastian replied, finally looking from Rookwood castle back to his Uncle, who still bore a confused expression.

“Then what is this about Sebastian? Have you-“ Solomon began but Sebastian immediately responded by shaking his head, making the older man’s words die upon his lips.

“I have not disgraced her if that is what you are inquiring. I meant what I said, about caring for her. I make no attempt at hiding or denying my affections. To do so would be futile at this point.” He replied, a sigh leaving his lips as his fingers probed his temple. Solomon and him had never been close, and to have a conversation like this with him was proving difficult.

Sensing the struggle coming from his nephew, the ex Auror softened. He recognized the young man was attempting to open up to him, not seeing him as the enemy.

“She’s a remarkable young witch. Eleazar spoke highly of her talent. Hard to believe she only learned of magic recently. What she did for the man was selfless. The way she is with your sister, Gaunt, everyone… I can see why you care for her.” Solomon spoke as gently as he could, still finding the words foreign on his tongue.

“I feel undeserving of her affections if I’m honest.” Sebastian said, looking back down at the house. He knew a small part of his Uncle would agree with him, but that still didn’t stop him from uttering the words. Solomon truly wasn’t sure how to respond, knowing the young man would most likely not believe any attempts to disagree so he remained silent for a moment.

“The way she looks at you reminds me of how your mother looked at your father as if he had hung the moon himself.” The man spoke, gesturing towards Sebastian. “You may feel undeserving, however at the end of the day, her affections are hers alone to give. If she has chosen you, count it as luck, and do your best to avoid loosing it.”

Solomon pondered his life of failed relationships, how he dug his heels in at every woman’s attempts of loving him. He did not want his nephew falling into the same state. Even though the teenagers endearments were at time worrisome with possible undesired consequences, he truly enjoyed having the girl in his home. He enjoyed how much more mature his nephew had been as a result of her affections. At the end of the day he knew this strange girl, with her strange gifts, were the only thing that would snap Sebastian out of this dark road he’d slowly been going down since Anne was cursed.

“That’s what I need help with. I don’t want to lose her. I’m not sure how much Professor Fig shared of her responsibilities, but knowing every time she leaves the castle could be her last, it terrifies me. Knowing Anne may not be there to see us -“ Sebastian paused, eyes glassing over at remembering the words his sister had spoken to Ominis last night. Solomon gently placed a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him.

Eventually Sebastian was able to rope in his emotions to continue. “If I was to write to her father, how would I go about that? What exactly… what should I say? What do I offer? I understand that there’s a difference in how Muggles handle these arrangements, but how would I initiate…”

When Solomon realized what his nephew was asking his eyes unintentionally went wide, acknowledging the young man was serious.

“Sebastian, when I said that the other night it was out of anger, I do not expect you to-“ he started but was interrupted.

“I am asking because it is what I want. I did tell you when I finally got around to it, I wanted it to be my decision. The last two days have showed me a great deal of what I desire.” Sebastian replied.

“And what is it you want exactly?” His uncle asked, still fully unsure what he had planned.

“I would like to ask her father for her hand. I was able to read a tome in Hogsmeade and apparently the average muggle engagement lasts at the very least 1-2 years, often times longer. If I were to ask now, it would allow time over the next summer for me to construct somewhere for us to live, and once we are both 18 and have left Hogwarts we may do as we please. And, if Anne does take a turn for the worse, we can hasten that plan to at least allow her to see vows or something of that nature, since it is important to me that she be there.” Sebastian began to ramble of the loose plans he had been constructing while lying in bed last night. Once he finished he turned, expecting a mirage of different responses: possibly anger, frustration, annoyance, humor. He was not expecting Solomon to be nodding his head along with his words.

“Are you sure Sebastian?” He asked, attempting to gage the seriousness of the young man.

“Positive. You know, ha” Sebastian started, cutting off to chuckle before continuing as he pulled the razor from his pocket, passing it to his uncle. “She gave me this and the only thought I had was standing in a home of our own in the morning before work while she attempted to make the tea. That picture of spending our lives together has been the only thing keeping me from going insane for a while now. I - I can’t imagine coming home to anyone else.” He finished his train of thought.

“I suppose it is time I teach you how to use one of these” Solomon responded the small box back to him. His lighthearted comment eased Sebastian, as he was not sure what his guardian’s response would be to the request.

“So you’ll help with what to send to her father?” Sebastian asked.

“How about we head back and knock it out while your sister and her finish breakfast? Then we’ll tackle that peachfuzz.” Solomon offered with a small laugh and an outstretched hand.

“While I take offense to that later half, I would love that.” Sebastian responded, accepting the handshake.

[autolenaphilia]

I finally finished Black Mesa, the 2020 remake of the original Half-life from 1998.

It really is an impressive achievement. It started as a fan-lead project to remake the original Half-Life in the Source engine used in Half-life 2. Valve had their own source engine port of the game in 2004, but it was a basic port that didn’t take advantage of the engine and pretty much made the game worse, due to adding bugs. So fans decided that year to do what Valve did not, and do a proper remake. The result was Black Mesa. The first release was as a free mod in 2012, which contained a remake of all the chapters actually set in Black Mesa. The developers Crowbar Collective got official blessing from to release it on Steam as a commercial product, which happened in 2015, still without the Xen chapters of the original, so it was an early access title. But after several years of development, the Xen chapters was added as a beta in 2019, and the game finally fully released in 2020, after about 16 years of development. It’s an incredible story alone.

It also got a native linux version, which is nice.

And the end result is a very slick, professional product. It’s far more than a graphical update, but often redesigns both the story and the level design.

It’s remarkably faithful at times, the game plays pretty much the same as the original, there are no modern fps mechanics. And I was surprised at the first-person platforming, a controversial part of the original game, is not only there in Black Mesa, but expanded upon. There is a lot of silly platforming design in Half-Life, like the crates hanging over a bottomless pit, the rivers of radioactive green goo, the ridiculous waste processing plant in the chapter Residue Processing, that is still there in Black Mesa. Xen was a platforming extravaganza in the original, and it is in Black Mesa too, and it’s even longer and more involved. And honestly I kinda liked the platforming more than the original. There are some quality of life changes, like simplified long jump controls and automated crouch jumping as an option, and some solid redesign to make it less frustrating.

Still there are major changes, and I was most impressed by the changes in how the story is conveyed. There is so much added to the story to make it more detailed and vivid. So many details are added, big and small. There is lots more npc dialogue, often specific to various situations. There is an incentive to keep guards and scientists alive, they will reward you with special dialogue for doing so. You can catch emergency radio broadcasts on radios that give you a picture of how the invasion is proceeding outside the Black Mesa research facility, something the original doesn’t give you a picture of. And in Xen, the situation of the vortigaunts being enslaved and forced to fight, hinted at in the original and explained in the sequel, is expanded upon and shown more vividly. There is even a new combat mechanic, where the alien controllers from the original now literally control the vortigaunts forcing them to attack you. Human intrusion into Xen is expanded upon as well, including hev suit-wearing headcrab zombies.

I really like the story changes, and I do think they meaningfully add to the story without making it a different one. The general idea is to make Half-life’s story more in-tune with Half-life 2 and its episodes, and it succeeds at that.

The level design varies in fidelity to the original. Sometimes it’s remarkably faithful, recreating large parts of the original levels, sometimes it’s radically different, bearing only similarity to the original at certain points. It’s most obvious in “On a Rail” which has been cut down and rearranged, and in the Xen chapters of the game. Xen has been much expanded upon, and radically redesigned. It’s the length of a full game, and took me about six hours to beat. It’s probably a bit over-long, the three levels seem to meander forever sometimes, but it’s good.

The revamped level design often takes inspiration from HL2 and its episodes, which makes it feel more coherent with the franchise. There are cable puzzles inspired by the episodes, for example.

The graphical update honestly was the bit that least impressed me. Don’t get me wrong, it’s impressive as a technical achivement, and Black Mesa can often be a very pretty game. It pushes the Source engine farther than its creators ever did. It does however demand more of the hardware than Valve’s Source games do, the system requirements are way higher than for Half-life 2 or the Portal games. And due to the game it is remaking it has to spend most of all that graphical firepower on rendering rather plain corridors, tunnels and offices. In the original Half-life, Black Mesa the facility is deliberately a drab place, with lots of quotidian details like coffee cups and office chairs to convey a sense of realism in spite of the graphical limitations and the sometimes outlandish level design.

And now Black Mesa can render its namesake facility in realistic detail, you can pick up the chairs and coffee cups now and throw them, because we now have physics. But that’s the problem with “more realistic” graphics, what is realistic is often not very visually interesting. It’s the story and level design changes that justify Black Mesa more so than the graphical update.

It’s illustrative that Black Mesa gets most visually interesting, can most justify its graphical hardware requirements, is when it abandons realism and the art design of the original game for the “Xen” chapter. Xen in Half-life was a very drab place as well, barren rocks floating in space. In Black Mesa, Xen is reimagined as this lush, surreal Roger-Deaneque Alien world, teeming with vegetation, water and wildlife. It has great art design and it is beautiful to look at. It is a welcome break from both the sterile human-made artificial environment that precedes it and the H.R Gigeresque alien factory environments that follow.

I have to talk about the music too, because Black Mesa’s composer follows a different philosophy from the original. Kelly Bailey’s music for the original game is very low-key, it’s quiet and ambient. In fact, any kind of conventional music is mostly absent for long stretches, replaced by quiet or sound ambience. The stretches of silence are still there in Black Mesa, but composer Joel Nielsen’s music is not quiet at all. In fact it’s outright bombastic at times, setting big firefight setpieces to rock guitar to convey how badass things are. Xen has Nielsen conveying the eerie beauty of the place with wailing woman vocals similar to Lisa Gerrard’s work on the Gladiator (2000) soundtrack. It’s well-done, but it establishes a very different musical idiom for Black Mesa than the original. It's more in tune with Bailey's more bombastic musical moments from later HL games like the hospital fight from HL2: EP1.

So while Black Mesa often remains remarkably faithful to its source material, I don’t think it replaces it. It’s a different game, a remake than a remaster. The differences do often help it rather than hinder it, and justify its existence when we already have Half-life.

But it’s no drop-in replacement for the original classic. The system requirements alone make it less accessible than the original Half-life. And Half-life is an objectively important game for its influence on other games, that Black Mesa can’t hope to replicate, and it’s a classic that you can still play with full enjoyment even today. Still Black Mesa does keep the core of what made Half-life so good to begin with. Intelligent, immersive and subtle storytelling mixed with engaging action and intuitive level design. Black Mesa is in that regard an excellent remake.

[stageplaymlp]

Hi I wanna start Trigun and you're the person in my feed who mentions it most, should I start with the manga, the old anime or Stampede?

Honestly? You can start wherever. The main three versions of Trigun (1998 anime, the manga, Stampede) are all incredibly varied and you'll get different things out of them. It's a "pick your poison" type deal. I'll give you a quick run down of the different versions so you can choose which is best for you, anon

It's also worth noting that my personal journey with Trigun went: '98 -> Stampede -> TriMax -> BLR

(Oh yeah, there's also a movie called Badlands Rumble. We'll get to it)

'Trigun' / 'Trigun: Maximum' manga: I think it'd be best to start this discussion with the source material. If you're looking for the most complete and rounded story of Trigun, this is it, mainly because it ran the for the longest out of all versions, and is a finished work (Stampede is ongoing). It's also worth noting that this is the darkest version of Trigun so far and goes into some very heavy subject matter (gore, (mostly offscreen) SA, suicidal ideation, etc.) There's a tumblr post listing the various trigger warnings that I'll link at the end of this section. That said, it is definitely my favourite version of Trigun narratively and BOY is it an emotional roller coaster. It's what gave me the brain worms. It's got a good mix of the silly and the sad, while also going BUCKWILD near the end. It's great. Highly reccomend

Oh, yeah, the manga is also split into Trigun and TriMax because the magazine it was published in got canned. Trigun was then picked up again by a new publisher with an added subtitle. Trigun is 2 volumes while TriMax is 14. The manga as a whole ran from 1995-2008. It's all one continous story so don't worry, with the events of TriMax picking up two years after the events of Trigun in-universe

Here's the post btw: https://www.tumblr.com/blackblockconsortia/719247451003977728/and-now-for-trimax-general-warnings-for-trimax

'Trigun' 1998 anime: Ah, the OG, for me at least. Watched this back in 2018 and started me on this ride. It should be worth noting that at the time of 98's creation, only the two volumes of Trigun and the first two volumes of TriMax were out at the time. Due to this, the 98 anime is about 60% filler (as in, anime original content) and it has its own ending, too. I consider it its own story compared to the manga, despite directly adapting a number of its storylines. 98 is only 26 episodes and leans very heavily into the comedic, episodic element in the first half of the story. The manga has this too, but 98 commits to the bit more. Then the second half rolls around and punches you square in the gut. It's great. Not nearly as dark as the manga or Stampede, but 14 y/o me was DEVASTATED by the end of it. Absolutely iconic. Also, while the ending is different to the manga with how things shake out, it's satisfying in its own way

'Trigun: Stampede' 2023 anime: This here is what reignited my love for this series. Now, Stampede is a VERY DIFFERENT BEAST to the 98 anime, which I think is part of why people were hesitant about it on reveal (including me). Stampede is a lot more serious in tone and less episodic, keeping to a consistent plot episode-to-episode (for the most part). It's also only 12 episodes in length as of season 1. The anime is also 3D, but the animation is BEAUTIFUL. Studio Orange know what the fuck they're doing. I also need to mention that Stampede is a reimagining of the manga, not a direct adaptation. It takes the same concepts, lore, characters and themes and moulds them into something new (kind of like the different versions of TMNT). If you watch 98 or read the manga before this one, you will have to go in with an open mind and heart. It's good, though, I promise. What's fun about Stampede is that it came out after the manga was finished, so characters and backstory elements that never got adapted into 98 (because they didn’t exist at the time) finally get animated. I'd say it's more faithful to the story and tone of the manga than 98, but with its own flavour mixed in. It was clearly made with a lot of love for the franchise, too

'Badlands Rumble' movie: BLR came out in 2010 and treats itself like an extra episode of the 98 anime for the most part. It's its own self-contained story, and plays off of the dynamics and characterisation of 98 than other versions, with a number of nods to the anime mixed in. Hell, a new version of the 98 anime opening 'H.T.' even shows up in the soundtrack. It doesn't tie into the wider story of any version of Trigun, but if you want another silly adventure with some killer action scenes, then I'd reccomend it. I'd suggest watching 98 before this, though, but it won't ruin the movie if you don't. You can know fuck all about Trigun and enjoy this. Although, warning for Vash being a bit of a weirdo to the leading lady. He needs to calm down

There was also a tie-in manga for the release of the movie called 'Trigun: Multiple Bullets'. The first two chapters directly follow the events of BLR, while the rest of the chapters are an anthology made by guest artists. Warning, though, most of the other chapters take place after the events of TriMax and can contain spoilers. In terms of quality, the chapters are... Okay. I like some more than others. Boichi (mangaka of Dr. Stone) drew a Very Manly Vash and he scares me. Also, I should mention the storyline about the side-character, Rei-Dei the Blade, has offscreen SA and CSA. It took me off guard because I didn't know it was in there, and it's pretty messed up. I'd still recommend MB if you want some extra Trigun, and some of the chapters are genuinely funny and heart warming, but I wanted to give the heads up

Now, with all this considered, there are two places I'd reccomend starting Trigun: the 98 anime or Stampede

The 98 anime is more lighthearted and keeps a lot of answers to the lore close to its chest. I found discovering more about the world through other versions to be narratively satisfying, like one big unravelling mystery. TriMax and Stampede also greatly expand and improve upon concepts in 98 as well. It's a good way to ease you in to the world of Trigun while making you want more. You fall in love with the characters, and THEN the plot whacks you upside the head with a frying pan. I like the slow burn

Stampede is the opposite. You get right into the action out the gate. It offers answers to questions far quicker than 98 ever did. The ball is rolling and it rolls FAST. You want the meat and potatoes of Trigun shoved in your face? Stampede is for you. It's also better if you prefer serious, story-driven media. Although, Stampede isn't complete yet, so you will have to wait for 'Trigun: Stargaze' to come out for the full narrative to resolve

AND THAT'S WHERE THE MANGA COMES IN BABYYYYYYY!!!!! It has the humour and slow build of 98 AND the complex story and tone of Stampede. It's the best of both worlds. You get all the answers, you get that satisfying resolution, and you get to cry on the side of your bed from the amazing writing (like I did). You won't even get that spoiled for what will come after Stampede, because who knows how much of it Studio Orange will take from and how. All roads lead to the manga. That is my advice

Also all the OSTs for Trigun (98, BLR and Stampede) are AMAZING. Go listen to them. They're all on Spotify, if that helps

I wrote this at 3am. I hope this is coherent