#except it stops them metamorphosing

[underthehedge]

#WHY is she not a frog yet#what went wrong

So like, the metamorphosis process in amphibians is a whole complex thing but its initiation and progress is pretty straightforwardly reliant on two hormones, thyroxin and prolactin; the first pushing metamorphosis and the second opposing it. As the relative levels change through the tadpole stage, different tissues are affected, hence why tadpoles develop limbs etc. in a specific order.

Anyway, the upshot of this is that if a tadpole has a thyroid hormone deficiency (can be genetic, environmental or a result of physical injury), its body never gets the signal to do things like "grow legs" or "turn into a whole frog". One of the scientists who studied it noted that it's developmental level is basically as if it'd hatched very recently, except that it's huge, so basically it got just past the external gills phase and then just...stopped changing (except in size).

Sadly, Goliath died in 2019 but was still growing at the time of its death. As far as I know they don't know why it died, but it's possible that it was just a matter of it being Too Big for its physiology, that never having been made to support a tadpole that size.

Next viral tumblr blorbo: giant old as fuck tadpole

“LIKE” to vote for Old As Fuck Tadpole

[bontenten]

METAMORPHOSES 03 || An Heir

Pairings: Zenin Naoya x f!reader, Gojo Satoru x f!reader (unrequited) WC: 3.9k Series Genre/Warnings: smut, noncon/dubcon, emotional/physical abuse, yandere, Naoya, misogyny, arranged marriage, pregnancy, miscarriage, birth, lactation, manga spoilers, more dead doves

A/N: oh i veryy much enjoyed writing this chapter, ty for patience since last updates! 

Series Masterlist

“My lady, your condition can be considered stable now. Since this is your first pregnancy, there are still many things your body is not used to. The young master’s energy is also dense, causing your body to become frail. It’s paramount that you meditate everyday to keep your energies in balance for the developing child. I will write a prescription for a tonic which you should take three times daily. Rest and keep a stress-free, open mind until your delivery date.” 

The Zenin physician placed his tools back into his chest. He flipped open his notebook and began to scribble a list of ingredients. The tense atmosphere in the room settled down. 

“You will be the one responsible for bringing the medicine. Should anything happen, you will answer with your life in the disciplinary pit.” Naoya threatened. 

“Y-Yes, Young Master Naoya, of course. I will do everything in my power to take care of the lady.” 

You squeezed Naoya’s hand and tried to comfort the doctor currently scared out of his wits. “Thank you, Doctor. You may go now, I’m a bit tired.”

The earlier spasms of pain and vertigo had everyone in a panic. It came so suddenly, you were unprepared and before you knew it, you woke to Naoya’s immense killing intent burying the room.

To say that this pregnancy was difficult was an understatement.

--

After that incident, Naoya forbade you from having any form of excursion and threatened servants left and right to take care of menial tasks. You had to tell him to stop yelling so much lest he scared the baby in your belly. Only then would he quiet down a bit and mutter, "My son isn’t that useless."

“You know…we could have a girl too.” You waited for a response.

Naoya wrapped his arms around you, a hand resting over your belly. “I will have no weakling girl.” 

Then the two of you, along with the one growing inside of you, fell into slumber.

--

Akiko, having gone through the process of pregnancy and childbirth, often checked in on you and answered any questions you had. She was very strict about the pregnancy meditation exercises. Under her watch, there wasn’t a single day you could slack. The medicine tasted awful, but Akiko insisted you finish the whole bowl. Often, she watched you finish everything, with a piece of candy waiting to wash the bitter taste away. In many ways, she was the mother figure in your life.

Mai and Maki stopped spending time with you after they began their lessons. You wondered if you made the right choice in sending them to training, but ultimately, in this clan, you knew they had no choice. You knew they were talented, in ways that you could never amount to. Strength meant everything.

--

One evening, while Naoya was still at a clan meeting and Akiko was away, you decided to charge your old phone. You weren’t allowed anywhere near it during your pregnancy, not that you had much need for it. It was bad for the baby, was what they told you. But the device was still something for you to fiddle with, the size felt like it just belonged in the hand. You flipped it open. To your surprise, you had gotten a number of missed calls from someone you would never have imagined—Gojo Satoru. You hesitated, but dialed back, wondering what could have happened.

The sound of his voicemail was playing in your head already. Except he picked up.

“Finally, it’s been ages. When will your clan ever embrace new tech?”

“Satoru,” you greeted. “What a surprise, I didn’t think you would have anything come to me about.”

He chuckled. “Can’t I call if I missed you?” 

“I’m married now, if you need to be reminded.” You looked down at your midsection. “And very pregnant.”

“Oh, I know you’re knocked up.” The breathy voice seemed to tickle your ear. Gojo was probably laying down, on a couch or a bed. “A main branch Zenin spawn is probably pretty difficult I assume? How are you still doing?”

“Pampered suffocation.”

“Good, good. It’s probably best you’re relaxed, take a seat. How is the Zenin young master?”

“Naoya…yes, he treats me well.” You smiled at the memory of him during lunch. He had personally sliced and plated fruit for you.

“Honestly, I didn’t even think that his spouse would end up being you. Glad to hear it though. And have you talked with your father at all recently?”

No. 

“They’re busy,” you explained.

“Too busy to even visit or inquire about their daughter?”

Gojo’s question stumped you. The question that you had wondered about ever since the first day was finally spoken out loud. Even for a clan as strict as the Zen’in, surely if you couldn’t visit home, they could’ve paid you a visit? A phone call?

“I figured. What wonderful parents you have.” Gojo’s lighthearted voice switched to a serious tone. “I suppose you still deserve to know the truth.”

He explained that he’s been working on a perplexing phenomenon of curses in a few districts. There was typically some sort of pattern to where they appeared, their type, and their strength. The data was odd and Gojo had studied each of the cases in detail. But it didn’t make sense to you. 

“Satoru,” you interrupted him. “I’m not really following?”

“Did you not understand? I just explained—”

“Yes, but why,” you exasperated. Images of your clansmen, covered in a white cloth, being brought back from the streets flooded your mind. Blood-soaked bandages and screams while the clan physician strained himself to attend to all the wounded. The nights your mother stayed up late waiting for your father’s team to return. The visceral chaos and stench of death loomed over everyone you loved. "You know what happened. The cursed spirits had been growing in power and they were overrunning the clan's wards. If Naoya hadn't helped, more the sorcerers would've—"

A dry laugh cut you off. "Would've been just fine if not for the youngest son of Naobito trying to win you over. Helped your clan? Who even told you that? Was it your father when the Zenin proposed? And you really just believed them? You're more stupid than I had thought. Were you a shy, bashful bride eager to be a little plaything for your clan’s hero? You never even wondered why it was only your clan's ward that was badly affected? Time to wake up, princess. Why would anyone from your family want to speak to the sacrificial lamb and reason for all their suffering?"

Hang-up, your mind screamed at you. How dare he point the blame at you. Where were you when I was in trouble Satoru?

“And why should I believe you?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to. A bastard and a dimwit make a lovely pair.”

You swallowed as your head grew dizzy and began breathing heavily in an attempt to intake more oxygen.

Gojo realized his harsh tone and sighed. “Are you still there? Listen, I know there wasn’t much you could’ve done anyway. I’m just telling you this because I suppose we were acquainted in our youth.”

Acquainted. Just acquainted. But more importantly, all that you have known, all that you believed for the past years were being torn apart and rearranged in the span of fifteen minutes.

“Yes. Thank you, Satoru,” you managed to whisper.

“I realize this is probably a surprise, but I also want to assure—” He was cut off by the sound of a woman calling his name in the background.

“I’m needed elsewhere; take care.” 

You set the phone down after Satoru hung up and sat in silence trying to piece together the information that was just dumped onto you. You fell back onto the mattress, a hand over your belly. A heaviness weighed down your chest. It was madness to believe the words of the man on the other side of the phone. What was he to you now? No one. Your father and mother explained everything to you. Who was he to tell you what was the truth?

The relief when everyone saw the Zenin clan symbol on the guest’s hakama couldn’t have been fabricated. The hope in people’s faces wasn’t a lie. Even though you were hiding behind the screen doors at the time, the sincerity in his voice when he asked your father for your hand had to be true. That man saved the whole clan. Serve him well. If Naoya was the hero, why were those the parting words from your family on the day of your wedding?

A quiet knock pulled you out of your thoughts. “My lady, I have brought your tonic.”

The room was completely dark already. Who knows how long you’ve laid there trying to make sense of everything? 

You dragged yourself to the door and found a young girl holding a wooden serving tray with a bowl of bitter, black liquid. “Lady Akiko is currently away. She tasked me to bring this to your ladyship.”

You picked up the bowl and quickly downed the contents. It didn’t taste quite as foul as you had remembered. “Is the meeting over?” 

“It should be ending around this time. Should I escort you to the main hall?”

“No...I can go by myself,” you said, dismissing her. 

You had to hear it from Naoya himself. He was your husband.

Every week, the main branch had a formal meeting. As you got closer to the main hall, you could hear the footsteps shuffling as the men in the room were wrapping up. Quite murmurs and grumbles over the meetings slipped through the cracks. The first person to exit the sliding door was Naoya. He had a scowl on his face, no doubt, the meeting took a turn for the worse as well, but it faded into a relaxed grin when he saw you, coming over.

“What a change to see you here waiting for me. I am starving—”

He was about to check on you when he noticed your blank expression and puffy eyes. You got straight to the point, spoiling the atmosphere in an instant.

"Naoya…”

Naoya’s eyes lost their initial glimmer. He noticed a few other clansmen looking your way.

“If there’s anything to discuss, you may bring it up later in our room,” he said firmly. He didn’t know the reason for your unsettling expression, but whatever it was that was on your mind, he did not want a scene.

Naoya thought back to the irritating meeting and the currently disintegrating relationship with the Gojo clan. The Gojos were being extremely selfish, trying to take control of the Jujutsu Sorcerer Committee's favor. All of them were envious of the Zenins, trying to push the clan off its pedestal. Naoya fumed at the thought of the six-eyed Satoru who had always been treated as the pride and hope of the jujutsu society. They were close in age, and despite the two never meeting often, Naoya heard more than enough about society's adulation of the infamous sorcerer.

He couldn’t hear what you were mumbling under your breath, but the few words he caught and the name of his nemesis told him that it was definitely not going to be a pleasant conversation. He easily scooped you up despite your protests and pounding fists on his shoulders. With a few long strides, entered the hallway near your quarters. Only then, away from prying eyes, did he set you down.

 “Is it true?”

Naoya heard it clearly this time.

He eyed you for a moment and scoffed, looking away in disdain. "Woman, what are you rambling on about right now? Can't you tell I'm not in a good mood? I said, let's go back."

“No.” Your irritation struck a nerve. “Tell me right now. Is it true that you were the one responsible for planting  those high-level curses into my clan's ward?"

Ignoring the squeeze on your arm, you continued, “Satoru told me everything.”

Naoya felt a vein throb in his temple when he heard the name slip from your mouth.

“How you plotted and controlled the curses to attack our sorcerers right after a battle. Those curses, they were all picked from the disciplinary room right? Special Zenin locked curses. You would let my people get hurt till they were close to death before showing up. Satoru told me everything, what more do you have to say?"

"Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. Do you just blindly believe anything he tells you?"

"Who am I supposed to believe, you?” you snapped back. “Satoru told me how you threatened my family, that's why they never said anything to me up until now.” Maybe you would still be at home, with family and loved ones.

You glared at Naoya in shock as the sting on your face settled into a sharp burn. He took a step back and pointed at you, confused and disoriented. “You. You forced me.” 

 This was the first time he actually struck you in this way. 

"What are you going to do Naoya? Kill your own wife and child? Is that how you solve all of your problems? With your oh-so-powerful, inherited Zenin techniques?" You turned and began to walk away. "You're fucking pathetic."

"Don't you dare turn your back on me!" he roared after you. "Stop right there!"

There was no room for fear while fury lit your eyes. You ignored the rest of Naoya's threats and stormed back to your room. Naoya was responsible for everything. He lied to you. He manipulated everyone and oppressed your clan. And you believed all of his sweet words, and enjoyed his kisses and touches. Your numb cheek taunted you.

You slid the door open, but your feet couldn’t budget. You gasped and felt excruciating pain stabbing in your belly. You clutched your midsection as cold sweat ran down your back. The last thing you heard was someone frantically calling your name.

–

“Do something!” 

“Young Master, t-there’s no response.” 

“I don’t fucking care, do something!”

“W-We’ll have to induce labor…and—”

Naoya glared.

“Yes! Yes understood!”

--

The lights in the room were so bright. In just a couple of weeks, a life could have filled this space. It would have been a boy, just as everyone had hoped. Now only silence accompanies you and your breasts that ached painfully. You never even got to see him. Did he look like you or his father? 

You sat in the empty nursery room that you had spent the last few months pouring your time and feelings into. As if the loss of your unborn child hadn’t been difficult enough, the hushed whispers of the clan had been torturous. You had felt eyes from members of the main branch to the attendants, all hundred pairs of eyes surveying you whenever you had walked down the hall, scrutinizing the woman who was incapable of carrying the Zenin heir to full term.

You lost track of how long you sat in mourning. Time ticked by slowly, but eventually, a day became two days. A week passed by and to your horror, your breasts full and swollen with milk, finally had to empty its contents. Milk leaked out your nipples uncontrollably.

Perhaps it was the presence of the milk and no child in your arms to feed the liquid to. Reality finally hit you while you poured another cup of milk down the sink.

The door slid open. It was Akiko bringing your meal. She knelt down next to you and pulled you into her arms. Her steady hand ran over your shoulders as she quietly said, "If you want to cry, then just let it out. There's no one else here."

You felt your nose prickle as the familiar sensation of tears spilled from your eyes. They soaked through Akiko's kimono, but she did not seem to mind, only resting her hand on your back while you wailed. You blamed everything on the father of your unborn child. It was Naoya who was responsible, you were sure of it. He took the child from you with his temper and violence. You cried for yourself and your unborn child.

Mai and Maki had once confided in you that their mother gave up on them. They had told you that their mother never stood up for them in front of their father and that you had been the only one who tried to give them care and love. And here you were crying in their mother's arms as a failure. Akiko may not have been able to do everything for her girls, but you couldn't even protect your child's life. 

–

You just finished a bath and were about to go to sleep in the nursery again. It was the only place you had some privacy and peace. Except, the room wasn’t empty at all.

“What are you doing here?” you asked coldly, arms folded.

Naoya saw you enter, and placed the decorative toy back on its shelf. He crossed over languidly, arm resting on the frame right over your head. His presence made you dizzy, but you refused to yield a single step. He also recently bathed, a bitter herbal scent clung to skin.

“Did you think that you could avoid me forever?” he murmured next to your ear.

Your eyes met with his. At this distance, you could make out the details of his irises. Naoya’s eyes were undeniably beautiful and intoxicating. “One day at a time, I’ll get there eventually.” You made a move to push him away.

“Foolish woman,” he chuckled and took your hands. “It’s time to go back to normal.”

Naoya pressed his lips on your palm. “I missed you. I need you,” he crooned. 

“Naoya, we can never be the same anymore. Not after—” You gestured to the room. “This.”

“We’ll have another. Once you’re with another, the clan will naturally stop talking.” 

“Don’t touch me. As if I’m some breeding cattle.” Naoya didn’t seem the least bit fazed by your attempts to break out of his grasp. His silence taunted you, daring you to challenge his authority. 

“I’ll never forgive you,” you snarled. All you could do was glare at him. “It’s all your fucking fault.”

Naoya tilted your face towards him. Fingers traveled down your neck and tightly squeezed. Your cheeks burned.

The air thickened as Naoya’s cursed energy began to fill the space. “In this lifetime, you belong to me. Accept your fate.”

Lips roughly closed over yours. The pressure around your neck made your head spin. Your fists hammered his chest in a futile attempt. 

Naoya yanked your robe open. Your nipples were heavy and swollen. Wet. He cupped your breast and squeezed the soft flesh, completely fixated on the spray of white milk spurting out. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment, but the relief you felt from the release felt so good.

“Did that feel good?” he sneered before tugging and pressing on your breast some more. The front of his robes was covered by wet splatters. 

 “N-No,” you rasp, feeling Naoya’s hand travel towards your navel, tugging the waist-tie that was barely circled around your waist. He lifted one of your thighs to expose your dripping entrance. Cold air brushed against your thighs. “Not in here. Not in this room,” you begged, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Troublesome woman,” Naoya muttered and set you down. He clasped his palms together and began to draw an immense amount of cursed energy. “Domain Expansion: Time Cell Moon Palace.”

The nursery melted away as the space transformed into a dark void. This was the first time you’ve been taken into a domain, and it made you feel both weak and nauseous. A giant eye stared down at you, iris dilated, prying, and peering into your existence.

“No complaints here, right? Don’t even think about escaping.” 

Everything happened so quickly. You felt your back sink into a fleshy substance, legs folded and knees pressed up against your face.

“Wait, Nao—” And he was in you. You gripped Naoya’s biceps to stabilize yourself, nails imprinted deeply. A shudder escaped your lips after the initial jolt of pain. By reflex, you clamped tightly around him.

“Fuck,” he growled. “How are you still so tight?”

The dull ache remained from the recent trauma remained with every thrust Naoya made. Pleasure and pain are tightly bonded together. Disgust at the moan that slipped from your throat that earned a predatory smile. It drove him to pound you harder. His rough hand squeezed your breasts, spraying your overflowing milk supply. It splashed onto his face dripping down his jawline onto your face and lips. This was perhaps the first and only time you could imagine tasting your own milk. Naoya wiped his face and licked the opaque fluid off his fingers.

“It’s sweet,” he remarked, surprised by the taste. And almost feral, as though he had discovered something rare and precious, he dipped his head down to lap up the tiny puddles on the contours of your body. His tongue traced your enlarged and pert nipples, sucking on the sensitive bud to encourage more milk flow. You arched your back towards him, grinding your hips desperately in tears as you reached your climax.

Naoya grunted, feeling close. He held onto your hips and increased his pace until he came in you, filling your womb with a load of hot, white seed.

The darkness that surrounded you began to falter under Naoya’s distraction. The momentary weakness that came with the sexual release was like a pinhole in a balloon. Darkness melted away. The voyeuring eye disappeared, replaced in your vision by a mobile with soft plushies hung on a cotton rope. Nausea washed away the lingering, twitching pleasure.

“Get out,” you hoarsely whispered.

Still drunk on hormones, Naoya felt dizzy and confused. “What did you say?” 

Milk and semen stuck to your skin. Mustering all the energy remaining in you, you repeated. "Get out. Get out. Get out."

The demand-plea came out in constricted wheezes as your body convulsed and shook.

"Tch. "A scowl replaced Naoya's drunken expression. Completely fed up, he left you laying among the stained blankets. "You make me sick, woman," he spat at you. 

The room was finally empty. You laid there unmoving and naked, staring blankly at the ceiling.

[fastcardotmp3]

happy wednesday old and new followers alike, it's time for a METAMORPHOSES sneak peek because the chapter is gonna take a little longer 🐍💚

There’s something unrelentingly attractive about Steve Harrington working on cars. 

It’s like, maybe the most erotic thing Eddie has ever witnessed, and sure he’s a small town boy but he’s seen some shit, so that’s kind of saying something.

The coveralls and the grease on his hands and the work of those forearms and the bandana he stole from Eddie and now wears around his head to keep his hair out of his face because he kept trying to push it aside with dirty hands and getting smears of oil on his forehead— it’s a lot. 

It’s a lot for Eddie and he is also very much not complaining about it, except maybe he does sometimes to most anyone who will listen because he’s getting off with relative regularity these days, but he’s also impatient with his own progress in that regard and he wants Steve unrestrained and sweaty and giving him everything he’s got. 

There is no doubt in Eddie’s mind that Steve, without any lines or boundaries, could be a complete animal if he wants to be and Eddie really isn’t sure why his libido is so goddamn all over the place but he likes to watch Steve work. 

That’s what’s going on, at the end of the day, is Eddie really likes to stop by the shop when he can and just. Get a quick look. 

Drop off lunch or a coffee or say I was running an errand, thought I’d say hi, and all the guys over at the shop love Eddie because Eddie brought the cookies Claudia sent in a care package for them that one time, so no one’s even weird about Steve’s roommate dropping by to shoot the shit for ten minutes and then fucking off again. 

(He feels kind of bad for lying to Claudia about what her cookies got used for, but really the greatest care she could have offered was giving him an excuse to go gawk at Steve’s biceps while he dug around in a car’s guts the way Eddie wishes he’d reach in and dig around in his guts—)

“Hey, you got anything good for us today, Einstein?”

Einstein, because they found out he works at a museum, no matter that it’s an art museum, or that he works in the gift shop. Einstein.

“Nah, Earl, sorry,” Eddie chuckles as he steps into the open garage, pulling his helmet off as he goes and tucking it under his arm. “Just gotta check with your rookie about the spare key he lost.” 

This is a lie. Who gives a shit.

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 242

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 Go Go! 43 - “Terrifying! Eternal's Director!" Date watched: 14 April 2024 Original air date: 14 December 2008 Screenshots Precure Metamorphose Gallery 1  Gallery 2 | Sky Rose Translate Gallery Project info and master list of posts

face/off

The moment has arrived! Eternal’s Director finally steps out of his office and reveals himself to Nozomi and the Precures for the first time! Are they ready for this encounter? Let’s find out!

The Plot

Eternal’s Director dreams about his first visit to the Cure Rose Garden, where Flora rejected him and locked him out because he wanted to take control of it. Knowing that Flora has given Nozomi the access he was denied, he decides to finally see her for himself.

All the girls except for Nozomi are hanging out at Natts House, doing homework and studying for an upcoming exam. Nozomi has chosen to study at the library instead, so she doesn’t end up relying on her friends too much. She struggles and they miss her, but they let her do her thing.

When Nozomi finally leaves, she notices it’s very gusty outside. She stops to ponder a large tree, and is joined by Otaka the principal/lunch lady, who tells her it used to be small and weak, but it withstood and grew big and strong (this is a metaphor). Nozomi then realizes she forgot something and rushes back to the classroom, where she stops at the teacher’s desk and acts like she’s presenting a class. Coco shows up to give her some encouragement, but they keep getting interrupted by more wind. Suddenly they detect a powerful presence like they’ve never felt before, and rush outside.

In the school’s courtyard is none other than the Director of Eternal, in all his masked giant chair glory. He interrogates Nozomi, asking why she wants to go to the Cure Rose Garden, and she says it’s because Flora invited her to do so. Coco tries to defend her honor, but is attacked, and so Nozomi transforms into Cure Dream.

The Director uses shadows to blow holes underneath Dream and Coco. Dream attempts to punch him, but he blocks her with an energy field and strikes her with his shadowy wings. He makes a speech about how everything in the world can be classified as either something of value, or of no value, before destroying Otaka’s tree, and then the entire school and surrounding forest, leaving nothing but a giant crater in the ground.

Cure Dream is in shock, and the director declares her to have no value, but just then the other Cures and Milky Rose appear to back her up. The Director turns his shadow wings into five Hoshiina orbs that plant themselves in the shadows of everyone aside from Dream, spawning color-coded Hoshiinas shaped like demons. The girls use their special attacks, but the Hoshiinas absorb them, distort them, and return fire, leaving everyone strewn about. Dream steps forward, giving an inspirational speech that all the items and places he erased were things that could have grown to become much greater, and that he does not get to universally decide the worth of anything, especially them.

Coco gives them power and the Cures all perform Rainbow Rose Explosion on the Director. He turns the Hoshiinas into a dark rose to counter their attack, and it seems that he can repel the attack, but Mint turns to Dream and reminds her, via the metaphor of the tree, to hold to her beliefs so she can grow and support her friends and teammates. This is the encouragement she needs to push through the Director’s defense. He is overwhelmed, and moves out of the way of the attack. He stands up, weakly, but before he can try to attack again, Anacondy shows up and teleports him back to Eternal. As he reflects on what just happened, he thinks to himself that maybe the cures do have some value after all.

Over at Natts House, everyone is looking at the still sleeping King Montblanc and worried about the future….. Except Nozomi, who reiterates that she can grow and become unshakeable for the team, while eating a special pancake that everyone made for her earlier. Everyone is cheered up by her positivity and that ends the episode.

The Analysis

What I Liked

As we near the endgame, things are starting to escalate. The Precure have faced many formidable threats so far, but this first taste of the danger posed by the Director is different. His absolutist attitude towards things of value is fearsome and his only desire is to impose his will and control everything.This is of course why Flora denied him entry into the Cure Rose Garden, but he believes he has the strength to impose his will. While he doesn’t wipe the floor with the heroines like we’ve seen evil leaders do before, he is able to match their energy without great effort.

Feeding into his ideology, the Director fights mostly by erasing things and copying or reflecting things. He removes things he perceives to have no value, and doesn’t have the creativity or desire to use his own attacks so he just copies the cures’ abilities. He doesn’t even see them as having value enough to destroy, so he just wants to remove them as an obstacle.

I admire Nozomi’s drive. She recognizes she has been a bit lackadaisical in her studies previously, so now she’s overcorrecting by trying to do it alone. She struggles a lot with it, but dang it she’s trying. Otaka’s speech to her is also positive encouragement, and builds into the lesson of the episode: lay the foundation today so you can grow strong in the future. This is going to be the push that she needs to make it as a student and a future educator herself, and it’s enough to give her the confidence to overpower the Director during Rainbow Rose Explosion.

On a lighter note, there are several clever scene transitions in this episode, one that stands out is during the Rainbow Rose Explosion, the Director sees a vision of Flora, which turns into Cure Dream. There’s also a cute one where one of Syrup’s pancakes transitions into the sun.

What I Didn’t Like

Nothing.

Miscellaneous

I think I speculated earlier in the show that the mysterious relationship between Flora and the Director was romantic. This certainly seems to squash that theory. As I’ve said before, I did watch this show once before, but that was over a decade ago at this point and I binged it while working on a craft project so I clearly didn’t retain many of the finer details.

At first it looks like we’re getting a new Dark Precure 5, but it’s actually a group of Hoshiinas that absorb each cure’s abilities and warp and reflect them back. Interesting footnote on the list of copy and evil cures.

Milk does not appear in her fairy form in this episode.

King Montblanc is still asleep.

Conclusion

This is a thrilling episode, the transition point between the bulk of the show and the endgame (with a bit of a pause for the Christmas episode in between). We finally get our clearest look at the mindset of the Director and he makes himself known to the heroines. Unknown to him, they have been given the necessary tool and encouragement to overcome his destructive, isolating nature. The two sides will come to a head very shortly. But first…

Next time on Precure Daily: Santa Claus is coming to town! Look forward to it!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 0 Kettei

[mask131]

Ségurant, the Knight of the Dragon (3/4)

Last time we stopped as the documentary was about to go look at Siegfried’s northern ancestor, Sigurd.

This part of the documentary is basically a reminder of the Sigurd myth and other basic things. The oldest traces of Sigurd are from the 8th century, but they are not in books, no: they are on runic stones, those enormous stones covered in inscriptions and drawings (often monuments to the dead). The documentary reminds us that between the 4th and the 12th century more than three thousand runic stones were created throughout all of Scandinavia. The documentary shows us a very emblematic runic stone found near Eskilstuna in Sweden, which has the full depiction (in drawing form) of the legend of Sigurd and the dragon. How Sigurd’s adoptive father, Regin, brought Sigurd and his horse Grani to where the dragon Fafnir lived, how Sigurd dug a pit to hide and when the dragon passed over him, he plunged his sword within the dragon’s body ; how Sigurd cut out the dragon’s heart, placed it on the fire, and after burning his thumb on it, drank accidentally the dragon’s blood ; how Sigurd suddenly gained the ability to understand birds and heard some of them talking about how Regin wanted to kill him ; how Sigurd beheaded his adoptive father as a result ; and finally how Sigurd took his horse and Fafnir’s treasure and left.

There is also a very brief explanation of dragons and “great snakes” in the Viking world – how they are a well-known symbol sculpted on ships and objects, how they can mean at the same time good and evil, order and chaos… The expert that talks at this point (I didn’t catch his name) explains that in the myth of Sigurd, the slaying of the dragon is a sort of ultimate trial that acts as a “rite of passage”, proving Sigurd’s heroism, virility and maturity.

And, more importantly, there lies the difference between Sigurd and Ségurant. Sigurd kills his dragon, plunges his sword within Fafnir’s body, because the dragon is real, a being of flesh and bones. He is actually someone metamorphosed into a dragon, but it’s still a real dragon. But Ségurant? Ségurant was bewitched by Morgane, who condemned him to follow a dragon that cannot be killed, since it is merely the spirit of a dragon – an imaginary dragon if you will. This, unlike Sigurd, Ségurant cannot slay his dragon, his locked in an endless battle that is ultimately pointless and fruitless, since what he hunts is a mere illusion.

The documentary then gives us the next piece of Ségurant’s story: after the dragon’s arrival and Ségurant’s departure, Morgane, “the wicked fairy”, arrives at the Winchester tournament and presents herself to king Arthur. She immediately tells him that waiting for Ségurant’s return is madness because – according to her – it is all some sort of vile spell. She claims that the dragon, just like Ségurant, were some sort of magical projections, living illusions. And she works so well that she ends up convincing everybody at the tournament that Ségurant, just like the dragon, never existed in the first place… She convinces all except one person. A young Irish man by the name of Golistan, who still believes in him, to the point of makes the solemn oath that he will only be knighted by the Knight of the Dragon, and no one else.

As we return to Arioli we are hit with a big twist… The manuscript he reads Ségurant’s story from? It abruptly ends in the middle of the sentence. There is no follow-up to the episode above. Ségurant hunts the dragon, Golistan searches for Ségurant, everybody at Arthur’s court goes away as if nothing happened… and that’s it. Why? Because this book was obviously part of a greater whole and has a sequel somewhere. (For example the manuscript containing the unfinished story has a whole set of illustrations, proving that it wasn’t simply a work-in-progress that never got finished). As the documentary returns to Paris, we learn that the writing style and shape of the letters prove that the manuscript was composed somewhere between the end of the 14th century and the beginning of the 15th. However, the language and some specific sentence structures show that the text itself dates from the 13th century (the same era the Prophécies themselves started going around). And given medieval manuscripts were often copies of copies, it makes sense that one story would end up being fragmented as the centuries went on… So a “Suite des prophécies de Merlin” must exist somewhere with Ségurant’s second part of the story in it… But where? That’s the question. Arioli looked into all the manuscripts that were linked, directly or indirectly, to Merlin, hundreds and hundreds of books… Without finding anything. For a very long time he went searching for a sequel that simply seemed to not exist, and all he could go on with was all he had discovered until now. That Ségurant was not a Celtic character like Arthur or Merlin ; that he was not a protagonist of Chrétien de Troyes like Lancelot or Perceval ; that he was a knight invented by an author of Northern Italy who wrote in French ; and that his inventor took inspiration from Siegfried/Sigurd, taking from their legend various elements. A dragon that must be killed, a wall of fire that the hero crosses, a fabulous treasure (in the shape of Ségurant’s shining gem)… But with the key removal of the hero actually slaying the dragon.

UNTIL FINALLY Arioli found the sequel. He found back “Ségurant le grand” (Segurant the Great, or Ségurant the Tall) in an unnamed manuscript that mixed Merlin’s Prophecies with other adventures related to the quest of the Grail – it was kept in Genova, at the Bodmer Foundation. And here was where Ségurant’s story picked up:

Ségurant, exhausted by his hunt of the dragon, rests within an inn. A young man enters and presents himself as “Golistan, son of an Irish noble”, adding that he is looking for the Knight of the Dragon, by whom he wants to be knighted. Ségurant then reveals his identity to Golistan (Young man, you have the Knight of the Dragon before you), and, as Golistan kneels before him, he agrees to make him his squire.  Later in the story, we learn that the Lady of the Lake herself appears within the plot: indeed, somehow Ségurant meets the Lady of the Lake, who takes him by the hand and bluntly tells him he was bewitched. Ségurant asks “Lady of the Lake, since so many good is told about you, help me if you can.” And her answer? “Only the Grail can set you free, you will need to cross the sea to find it.” And thus Ségurant’s story becomes part of the quest for the Grail…

We are back with Michel Zink, who gives a brief explanation about the Grail. It first appears within the last roman of Chrétien de Troyes: “Le conte du Graal, ou Roman de Perceval » (The tale of the Grail, or Roman of Perceval). It tells the story of a young, naïve, foolish boy who is so ignorant he doesn’t even know his name. Perceval lives his widow of a mother in the depths the lonely forest they inhabit, and one night is welcomed within a mysterious castle that appears out of nowhere, as by magic. During the evening meal, there is a strange procession before him, in which a young girl carries “an uncovered grail” (“uncovered” as in “not covered by anything”). It is not THE Grail, but “a” grail. Perceval wants to asks questions about his host about the strange sight, but he ultimately decides it is best to stay silent. And the roman, that was never finished, leaves us with the mystery… And it is the fact that the solution to the grail was never given that made this roman such an enormous success. A few years afterward, Robert of Boron took the subject of the Grail and gave a very religious interpretation to Chrétien de Troyes’ story. In his writings, he describes it as a cup that the Christ used and that Joseph of Arimathea took after the Christ’s arrest – before placing within it the blood flowing from the side of the crucified Christ. This Grail, as a result, was the most sacred of all relics, and the reign of king Arthur leads to the destined quest of the Grail.

As such, to continue his investigation, Arioli looked at all the manuscripts related to the Saint Grail – but several years of travels and library researches led to absolutely nothing. Until he changed his strategy, and decided to “look at the manuscripts nobody had looked at”…

ADDENDUM:

A few additional precisions and elements coming from the French Wikipedia article for Ségurant: The oldest version of the roman was determined to have been written in French, in Italy, between 1240 and 1273. Before several sequels or rewrites appeared, between the end of the 13th century and the end of the 15th century. They were mostly created in France, in Italy and in the Flanders, but were spread and shared throughout these countries, with Great-Britain and Spain on top.

The roman of Ségurant was clearly influenced and inspired by the Prose Lancelot and the Prose Tristan.

The article specifies why Morgane summons a dragon to get rid of Ségurant: apparently Morgane, upon seeing all the talents and the greatness of Ségurant, fears that if he stays at Camelot he will prevent her from taking over the kingdom of Logres. This is why she sent Ségurant on a bewitched hunt… While the documentary explicitly tells us that Morgane came into person before Arthur to tell him of how Ségurant was “not real” – implying that in this version she is a close counsellor or a trusted part of Arthur’s  court – the Wikipedia article rather says that Morgane sends a woman to Arthur’s court to convince everyone that Ségurant and the dragon were just a mirage. Not only that, but the woman actually claims openly that this mirage was created by both Morgane herself and by an enchantress called Sibylle (a variation of the character of Sebile).

Later, according to Wikipedia, the people of the Non Sachant island actually organized a man-hunt to find back Ségurant, and Arthur heard of their party coming near Camelot (two hundred knights in total). But a new girl sent by Morgane manages again to convince Arthur of “All’s an illusion”, by claiming they are not knights, but magicians, and convincing Arthur it would be a bad idea to join them in their quest.

[legend-collection]

Kulshedra

The kulshedra or kuçedra is a water, storm, fire and chthonic demon in Albanian mythology and folklore, usually described as a huge multi-headed female serpentine dragon. The kulshedra is believed to spit fire, cause drought, storms, flooding, earthquakes and other natural disasters against mankind. In Albanian mythology she is usually fought and defeated by a drangue, a semi-human winged divine hero and protector of mankind. Heavy thunderstorms are thought to be the result of their battles.

Pic by Adrian Veenje

In northern beliefs, the kulshedra can take possession of the sun and moon. In southern beliefs, she is described as an enormous female serpent who surrounds the world. According to this version, if she were ever to touch her tail with her mouth, she could destroy the whole world. It is said that she requires human sacrifices for accepting to postpone the natural disasters and catastrophes.

According to folk beliefs, the kulshedra's earlier stage is the bolla, which has the appearance of a water and chthonic demonic serpent. The bolla's eyes remain shut for the whole year except on Saint George's Day, when it gazes the world and will devour any human on sight. The bolla will eventually morph into kulshedra if it lives many years without being seen by a human. The bollar and errshaja are considered intermediate forms of this serpent as it goes through a series of metamorphoses. These terms also signify serpents; the term bullar merely being a synonym for bolla in Southern Albania. In some regions the kulshedra is depicted like a female eel, turtle, frog, lizard or salamander.

The kulshedra can also appear in the guise of a woman, who keeps her true nature hidden. As a semi-human divine figure she holds also positive qualities that emerge indirectly from Albanian folk tales, beliefs and rituals. It is said that the village where the kulshedra lives has great prosperity in agriculture and livestock. Indeed she absorbs by her breath foodstuffs from everywhere, and her village thrives, while the affected villages become poor and do not prosper. According to folk beliefs people used to practice sacrifices to her so she could bring them good and stop any harmful action.

The term bolla is etymologically related to Greek Φάλη, Φάλαινα 'monster, whale' (although the relationship is not certain).

Kulshedra or kuçedër derives from the Latin chersydrus, roughly meaning an "amphibious snake".

The term bullar is given as a Southern Albanian variant by some sources.

The legendary battle of a heroic deity associated with thunder and weather, like drangue, who fights and slays a huge multi-headed serpent associated with water and storms, like kulshedra, has been preserved from a common motif of Indo-European mythology. Similar characters with different names but same motifs representing the dichotomy of "good and evil" – mainly reflected by the protection of the community from storms – are found also in the folklore of other Balkan peoples.

The bolla is said to remain closed-eyed until Saint George's Day, where it peers into the world, and will devour any human that approaches it. It is explained in folklore that Saint George had cursed the beast to be forever blind except on his feast day.

Kulshedra is generally considered to be a female dragon, like a multi-headed serpent form, but it is known to have pendulous drooping breasts touching the ground, thus some German commentators have stated she might be also regarded as a hag. Kulshedra is furthermore said to be covered in wooly red hair, have a long tail, and have seven to twelve heads. It is also said to spit fire. Kulshedra's milk and urine are both considered poisonous. Kulshedra can also appear in the guise of a human female; its appearance in an ordinary woman's guise known locally for example in Dukagjini, Kosovo. It may also appear in the form of a female lizard, turtle, frog, or salamander.

At the same time, kulshedra is widely considered to be a storm demon. Kulshedra is believed to cause drought and other water-related issues for humanity such as torrents, tempests, water shortages, big storms, flooding, or other natural disasters. Often to placate it, a human sacrifice must be made, as witnessed in the tale of the hero Qerosi ("Scurfhead").

In southern beliefs, she is described as an enormous female serpent who surrounds the world. According to this version, if she were ever to touch her tail with her mouth, she could destroy the whole world. In northern beliefs, the kulshedra can take possession of the sun and moon. To frighten the evil demon, the Albanian tribesmen used to shoot in the sky or provoke great noise with metal objects, even by ringing the church bells.

"The male form, called Kulshedër, acts as a devil".

According to folk belief, a snake after living a certain number of years will metamorphosize into a bolla and eventually become the monstrous kulshedra. The belief that an ancient snake becomes a dragon is not unique to Albanian culture, and similar beliefs can be found for example in Hungary and Romania, as pointed out by Robert Elsie.

In the Kosova town of Prishtina, the kulshedra begins life as a being invisible to mankind for the first twelve years of its life, after which it turns into a bolla ("a kind of serpent"), and afterwards it sprouts wings, becomes hairy, and begins to combat the drangue (dragúa). But the folklore of Malësia and the Northern Mountain Range in Albania provides a more complex life cycle: when the serpent manages to live fifty years without being noticed by anyone, it becomes a bullar, a reptile that feeds milk to snakes, from which these snake derive their venom. If it lives another fifty years without being seen, it becomes an ershaj which coils around its human victim's neck, punctures his chest and eats the heart. When an ershaj (er̄šaj) lives for another century unseen, it finally becomes a kulshedra.

In Tirana, kulshedra was said to begin life as a being hiding in a dark hole which became a snake after six months; the snake must grow an additional six months before it exhibited the behavior for which it could be properly called a kulshedra. Among the Albanian Kastrati tribe, it was believed that a snake sighted by a wren lost its ability to transform into a kulshedra.

Dragùa, sometimes called drangue or drangoni, is the male conqueror of the female monster kulshedra, whom he must fight to the death in collective beliefs. Their prime aim in life is to combat and slay Kulshedras. They thus spend much of their youth exercising and running around, so as to learn how to avoid kulshedra's urine and milk. When they sense a Kulshedra approaching, dragùas "go completely berserk and their souls depart from their bodies in preparation for the coming battle". When a human is attacked the dragùa will "fly to their assistance and slay kulshedra by pelting it with cudgels, ploughs, yokes, lances and stones, and even with uprooted trees and houses. Such attacks are seen by humans as lightning". Heavy thunderstorms are thought to be the result of the battle.

The dragùas, even as infants, use the cradle to shield themselves from kulshedra's attacks, which consist of her urine and poisonous milk from her breasts. They also use this cradle as weapons.

In the Northern Albania, the two are envisioned as battling perpetually in the bend of the Drani River in the Northern Mountain Range. But some folklore speaks of the dragùa accomplishing kulshedra's destruction by drowning, and in Central Albania, the hero is said to have drowned her, knocking her unconscious by throwing trees and boulders at her, and afterwards drowning her in Shkumbin, a river in central Albania.

Dragùas are not the only beings said to have defeated Kulshedra. There are multiple folktales in which saints and folktale heroes not identified as dragùa have defeated Kulshedra.

Saint George and Saint Elias (originally the Old Testament prophet Elijah) both have stories in which they fight (and defeat) a Bolla/Kulshedra. Saint Elias, in particular, is identified in some regions with the Dragùa and is also a weather god and provides protection against storms and fire.

[truly-sincerely]

Dark Star Falling (8 of 9)

The room has marble walls with bronze embellishments lined with disorganized scroll racks. It is an unusual shape, not quite a trapezoid. Enver Gortash has never seen architecture quite like this. His best guess is Dwarvish.

“--I’m running along the outer ledge, trying to line up a shot on the Emperor when suddenly I am just horny as all get out.” He can hear Darling’s voice from the hallway outside, but all he can see in that direction is a sickly teal light.

A triangular table-like outcropping extends from the shortest wall and on it sits an embroidered cushion, and on top of that, a skull with all of the teeth removed except the very long, very pointed canines.

“Right that minute, in the middle of the fucking apocalypse, Haarlep is going at it in my body.”

Gortash looks down at himself and sees unfamiliar clothing but otherwise he seems to be fully intact. Of course the netherstone is gone.

“I’m sorry, darling,” that lilting, upper city voice replies.

“No, this is a funny story. I know you’ve got autonomy issues but it’s not as bad as that. I can still do things, it’s just kind of distracting. I get inappropriately horny in lots of situations unrelated to incubi.”

“I suppose that’s true. You are a freak,” he laughs.

Gortash sits up and immediately regrets it, but keeps going, swinging his legs over the side of the stone bed and overturning a metal tray with goblets and such.

“Anyway, that was when Gale hit him with a fireball and he went up like woomf, so–” Darling stops mid-sentence at the clatter.

“Have a nice chat, love.”

“Right. Yeah. You sure you don’t want to stick around?” Gortash doesn’t hear a response but Darling appears in the doorway alone. They don’t say anything as they walk to the table, pick up the skull, sit down on the pillow, and let the skull sit in their lap. Gortash feels lightheaded and nauseated, still trying to get his bearings.

“Where am I?” he croaks.

“The Tourmaline Depths, underneath the Szarr Palace,” Darling says, looking at him with an amount of concern that makes him deeply uncomfortable. They pick up a goblet from somewhere he can’t see, wiping it out with the hem of their shirt. “It’s been… about a day and a half.”

That’s right, he’d been in his office at Wyrm’s Rock Fortress. Darling had walked in the door with Minthara, a wizard with a Waterdhavian accent, and the high elf that had attended the coronation with them. The elf didn’t say anything during the meeting, but Gortash was confident that he was the owner of the upper city accent.

– – –

“It’s time I take matters into my own hands. We could have–”

Darling cuts in, “I’m gonna stop you right there. You need to hear this. I believe it’s too late to regain control of the brain.”

“Why in Bane’s name would I listen to anything you have to say? You destroyed my Steel Watch,” he’s trying to hide how much this hurts him personally, but the facade is cracking.

“They were controlled by tadpoles. When the brain breaks free it would’ve taken them with it. I couldn’t let that happen,” Darling pleads. They try not to sound like they’re pleading, but they aren’t sure if it’s working. Gortash starts to interrupt and Darling barrels over him, “I’m acting on your hypothesis, Enver. You voiced a concern to Ketheric that the energy of the Crown would cause the elder brain to metamorphose into something more difficult to control.”

“You couldn’t possibly know about that,” he says with uncertainty.

“Good ol’ Ketheric hid his private thoughts in the floorboards next to his thrice damned bed. When he wasn’t leaving them lying around for anyone to read, that is. He concluded that the solution was to consolidate the netherstones in a single wielder. You came to the same conclusion, tho your offer to share the stones with me was...” they trail off with a shrug.

“That’s precisely why I put the brain under the upper city.”

“Yes, I read your journal too. Something, something perfectly formed to concentrate the psionic force of the netherstones? And if we lose control it’ll be perfectly formed to concentrate the psionic force of a metamorphosed brain against us,” they pause, and glance back at their wizard. “I spoke to the brain at Moonrise. It knew my name. It called me kingmaker-returns-pawn (which would be a really good title for a ballad about me).”

“You’re not a pawn,” Gortash says, briefly forgetting that he’s furious with Darling.

“That’s not the point. It also said I made it–that I gave it everything. It’s blowing smoke up my skirt. I don’t like it. You should be deeply concerned that it has the will to screw with me. I didn’t ‘crawl back from my bloody disgrace’ by frolicking into traps (I’m usually the one who sets them) and I’m telling you that it’s hiding something.”

An awkward silence follows. Darling reaches towards him, but pauses and puts their hand back down at their side. His eyes dart around as he works the problem in his head. The wizard whispers something about trustworthiness in Darling’s ear.

“Faithful, to me,” Gortash commits to the decision, and the faithful all start advancing on Darling’s troupe. “I think I will hang your corpse in the Wide–the Archduke’s would-be assassin. The people will celebrate your fall, and my part in it. Your bones will be a souvenir of–”

– – –

And then nothing.

“That’s when Astarion shot you full of drow poison, Gale put you in a resilient sphere, we killed all of your guards, fed you a bunch of potions of sleep, Minthara (reluctantly) carried you, and we all jumped off the tower to a skiff we had waiting for us on the beach by Wyll’s old fishing spot,” Darling says, petting the skull in their lap as tho it’s a cat.

“So the brain has been destroyed,” he posits. “Or else you’re hiding in this moldering ruin from an army of mindflayers.”

“The first one, tho not before it turned all the tadpoles, so there are likely still hundreds of mindflayers wandering around the sword coast, but that’s not why we’re down here.”

“And you were right about its treachery?”

“About it being up to something? It gave me a whole monologue about sending you dreams so you’d put the astral prism into play which would give it the opportunity to rebel and there’s nothing I could do to stop it, et cetera, et cetera.”

Gortash puts his head in his hands. He was so sure he had covered all the angles but Darling being correct meant he’d failed months ago and had been digging a deeper and deeper hole for himself ever since. He can feel Bane’s disapproval like a fist clutching his heart and knows that if he died now he would be tortured for eternity for his failure. His cult is surely scattered, his holdings seized or destroyed, and his reputation obliterated. Darling could have killed him in Wyrm’s Rock. Should have killed him. He deserved death for such a complete and utter failure. What use is he to his god like this? Did he already know he had lost when he sic’d his guards on Darling?

Finally, looking up at Darling, he asks, “So what is this? What do you expect to happen here?”

Darling’s mouth shifts to the side and they say, “I was thinking we’d have a conversation that’ll become a fight that’ll become a fuck that’ll become an ultimatum.”

“I accept your premise but tell me the ultimatum now and I’ll answer it at the end,” he counter-offers with all the gravity of discussing lunch plans. 

“You have to renounce Bane,” Darling pauses, thinking. An ultimatum needs to come with consequences. Gortash waits for the rest, trying not to have an emotion about the beginning. “We can be whatever you want, but not in the name of a god, any god. If you insist on remaining with His cult then I’m going to turn you over to the Flaming Fist or the Watch–whatever’s left upstairs.”

“Whatever I want?”

Darling hesitates, realizing they’ve maybe left that clause a little too open-ended for someone who's spent as much time as Gortash has among devils. “I could add ‘within reason’, but what I’m hoping for is that, if you want to be with me, you’ll want something that’s compatible with what I want.”

He opens his mouth and then closes it again, frowns, and looks away thoughtfully. “I assume the tadpole is gone already and you have your elf… I don’t know what you want beyond that. I suppose that’s what the conversation is meant to be about.”

Darling is taken aback that he remembered what they had said on their first (no, second) visit almost a tenday ago. He always gives the impression that he’s only barely listening for what he wants to hear. But still, he’s so subdued. He had tried to kill them. Maybe destroying the steel watch really was too much of a betrayal. “Assuming you even want me, that is," Darling says, hesitantly.

First - Previous - Next

[somehowmags]

HAHA i guess i haven't seen enough bad takes from the fandom about leona (albeit i definitely have seen some) so i get the impression that vil is mischaracterized more often on average. regardless, ive also seen a lot of fanfic characterizing vil as this emotionally constipated and constantly nagging narcissist who is incapable of showing affection and it makes me [rat clenches fist of rage]. im aware angst often draw out the worst part of a character for the feels, which in this case is vil's strict scrutiny BUT PLELALSLELADE IM SCREAMING MY TEARS ARE ON THE FLOOR.... how are you gonna ignore the scene in chapter 6 where vil literally moves past his stern housewarden persona in order to be vil schoenheit. not the actor, not the model, not the housewarden countless students look towards as a leader-- but vil schoenheit, friend of yours and ally. all to give epel, rook, and yoy; his beloved poison apple, his beloved hunter, and his beloved prefect, a hug and kiss.?? like. kuekd emfusjbfe.??? when he literally squeals for joy after getting his youth back from malleus? when he weeps as an old man? vil schoenheit IS an emotional person! he's an actor with responsibilities on his back, he's not gonna let others see him be anything but strict when the time isn't right! but the point is that he knows when to be soft and loving ESPECIALLY after his overblot!!! 3!&!$!!$!#! he cares so deeply for each and everyone of his pomefiore students and especially those closest to him-- his method of expressing his affection isn't just limited to the occasional praise or hug and kiss, he genuinely wants the best for you when he cares and he'll support you/offer help in achieving your best self! it's not just a byproduct of his need for perfection, but to love is to grow and change and metamorphosize from the flower to the succulent apple and he can see your potential. for the man who knows what it's like to never be enough, he knows you're more than. if only you try. if only you grasped your dreams with your bare hands because god does he dream of it for you. my point is that vil is genuinely one of the most loving characters, even if his ways aren't the most conventional or he may seem harsh. he's not heartless-- though im aware his reaction towards epels moment of emotional vulnerability in the vdc rehearsal gives off said impression, he's grown and changed. i doubt current vil would be so uncaring and stern still if you expressed hurt or discomfort over an austere sentiment he's said or done. if he knows it's what you need, he probably would take a softer and kinder approach. the same water that hardens the egg, softens the potato. he can learn, or perhaps he already understands that some people reach their potential differently-- especially as someone who has lived in the entertainment industry his whole lived, he may be accustomed to the unforgiving nature of its expectations BUT HES NOT ANYMORE!!! and he knows others lead a normal life outside of it, so the same approach taken to him likely wouldn't be suited for them! he won't ever stop trying to suggest betterments for your health, appearance, and outfits but if you express different sentiments he wouldn't take to forcing them onto you!! he just wants you to live your best life, because from what he knows, it brings you gratification and he WANTS you to succeed and be satisfied! im sorry i have a lot to feel about him, i just really despise seeing people overlook the caring trait of his in favor of cheap angst. for someone who has rook as his favorite i really cannot shut my zest fest mouth up about vil <|:-( love his ass

- same anon raving about vil from earlier pt.2 except im more insane

god yeah this is so true....i think about him cheering and crying after malleus restored his youth literally every day of my life he sounds so happy and relieved!!!! had to replay the scene of him kissing rook and epel and yuu like twice to process everything bc i was so !!! at him showing emotion it was so. and like him crying as an old man is mostly played for laughs but it's also so. holy shit. (also the fact that he isn't crying because he's "ugly" but because he wanted more time to play young roles before he started doing older ones.) he's so much more open and emotional in book 6 it's like he's realized he can stop being "the fairest of them all" and just start being vil. like the ice has melted!!! he's so endearing i have gotta hit him with a 2003 toyota corolla

also no this is in character for someone whose fave is rook. this is rook behavior alksjddfhalksjfhlkasdfh he would definitely be on magicam defending vil with his LIFE

[ritwik-gaur]

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One advantage of working with these designers is their extensive knowledge and experience. They understand design principles, spatial dynamics, and material selections, enabling them to tackle complex challenges and deliver outstanding results. Whether you’re dealing with a small apartment or a large villa, these designers have the creativity to bring your vision to life. Giving you a wide variety of designs like storage and wardrobe, crockery unit, tv unit, wallpaper, movable furniture, foyer and more for your bedroom, living room or kitchen.

Moreover, these designers act as trusted partners throughout the process, offering guidance and transparency at every step. Their dedication to client satisfaction ensures that your home exceeds expectations, resulting in a space that is both functional and beautiful. Overall, collaborating with interior designers in Bangalore turns the design process into an enjoyable adventure, filled with creativity and inspiration.

List of Top 15+ Best Interior Designers & Decorators in Bangalore 2024

As we promised, here is a list of top 15+ best interior designers & decorators in Bangalore 2024:

1. Decorpot

Decorpot, building dream home interiors in Bangalore since 2015. With over 6250+ homes delivered, 400+ experienced design experts have helped build dream homes across 8 different cities in India. With a team of the best interior designers in Bangalore, this company gives end-to-end home interior solutions.

Offers home interiors with a 10-year warranty, on-time delivery and customer centric approach.

The three most important factors that this company believes in are transparency, best price, and quality. As we are aware that finding the best interior designers in Bangalore becomes very difficult, Decorpot is the one-stop-shop for all your needs.

2. DesignCafe

DesignCafe, also known as one of the top interior designers in Bangalore, understands the customer’s vision and translating the vision into reality. This company has a well established team of home interior designers in bangalore, great understanding of what the customers actually want and they take the execution of the process from the start till the end very precisely.

From chic living rooms to serene bedrooms, DesignCafe curates environments that are as practical as they are enchanting. Get ready to indulge in a world of beauty and relaxation with DesignCafe as your guide.

3. Carafina

Carafina, with their great designs and unwavering commitment to excellence and an amazing team of interior designers in Bangalore, they redefine the meaning of living like royalty. From lavish furnishings to exquisite detailing, Carafina crafts spaces that exude sophistication and grandeur. They have been changing the lives of people with homes they want to change according to their needs and wants.

Their motto is simple, excellence, quality, honesty, transparency and lets not forget amazing home interiors. Prepare to immerse yourself in a world of luxury and elegance with Carafina as your trusted companion.

4. The Karighars

Timeless elegance takes center stage with The Karighars, 12+ years of experience and 3000+ homes clients, where every design is a masterpiece of exquisite craftsmanship. One of the top interior designers in Bangalore, With a dedication to preserving the art of traditional design, they infuse each project with a sense of grace and refinement.

Open communications, honesty and timely handovers, The Karighars bring to every space they touch.

5. Homelane

With a blend of tech-savvy innovation, a team of the best interior designers in Bangalore and effortless style, Homelane makes interior design feel like a breeze. More than 600+ design experts all across India, They’re not just about creating beautiful spaces; they’re about enhancing your lifestyle through intelligent design solutions.

From smart storage solutions to sleek modular kitchens, Homelane transforms your home into a haven of functionality and elegance. Prepare to explore amazing designs and transform your environment.

6. Bonito Designs

Ordinary is not in their vocabulary, Bonito Designs is all about creating extraordinary spaces that leave a lasting impression. They’re the best home interior designers in Bangalore, effortlessly turning even the most mundane spaces into works of art. Personalized to your taste, 0 Tax benefit, redefine interiors, 10 years warranty and with maximized savings.

With their bold creativity and innovative approach, Bonito Designs pushes the boundaries of design to new heights.

7. Livspace

Determined to fix the most important problem of fair price and quality faced by many, Livspace offers unique and one-of-a-kind services, being the best interior designers in Bangalore. They understand that no two homes are alike, which is why they specialize in creating customized designs that reflect your individuality.

From concept to execution, Livspace is your partner in turning your dreams into reality. Get ready to embark on a design journey that’s as unique as you are with Livspace by your side.

8. Asense Interiors

Modern, unique and exquisite, Asense Interiors is known to be one of the best home interior designers in Bangalore. They have interior design solutions for all kinds of properties with versatility and a wide range of offerings. Quality and attention to detail are the hallmarks of Asense Interiors.

With a keen eye for perfection and a commitment to excellence, they ensure that every aspect of your home is designed to perfection..

9. Dlife Interiors

Dlife Interiors, been in the business since 2004, is all about creating spaces that speak to your heart. Holistic, inspiring and experienced interior designers in Bangalore understand that a home is more than just a place to live, it’s a sanctuary where memories are made. Their dedication to delivering outstanding service to the clients is unwavering. With 25 experience centers strategically positioned throughout India, they guarantee easy accessibility for customers from diverse regions.

Recognizing the significance of accessibility in ensuring a seamless customer journey, their widespread network of experience centers empowers us to effectively cater to clients nationwide. With their thoughtful design approach and emphasis on creating harmonious environments, Dlife Interiors transforms houses into homes that nourish the soul.

10. Wea Design

When it comes to crafting interiors that stand the test of time, Wea Design is in a league of its own and is known to be one of the most consistent home interior designers in Bangalore. They believe that beauty lies in the details, and it’s this philosophy that sets them apart.

With a meticulous attention to detail and a commitment to excellence, Wea Design ensures that every aspect of your home is thoughtfully curated to perfection. Get ready to experience design excellence like never before with Wea Design.

11. Simply Interiors

Warm, welcoming, and full of charm, Simply Interiors infuses your space with personality and style. With over 1500+ success stories, 100 years of experience in the industry and aesthetic designs, Simply Interiors is one of the top interior designers in Bangalore. They understand that a home should reflect the essence of its inhabitants, which is why they prioritize creating spaces that feel like an extension of you.

With their friendly approach and knack for creating inviting environments, Simply Interiors transforms houses into homes that radiate warmth and hospitality.

12. Magnon Interiors

Eco-friendly and stylish? You better believe it! Magnon Interiors is leading the charge in sustainable design, proving that you don’t have to sacrifice style for sustainability. Standing out as the eco friendly interior designers in Bangalore. They believe to play a vital role in transforming the functionality, aesthetics, and overall appeal of any property.

With their innovative approach and commitment to environmental responsibility, Magnon Interiors creates spaces that are as eco-conscious as they are chic. Get ready to go green in style with Magnon Interiors by your side.

13. Fontech Interiors

Innovation is the name of the game at Fontech Interiors, where creativity knows no bounds. Founded in 2000 known as the most trusted interior designers in Bangalore, they’re not afraid to push the envelope and challenge the status quo, resulting in spaces that are as captivating as they are creative. With their bold ideas and cutting-edge designs, Fontech Interiors transforms ordinary spaces into extraordinary works of art.

Brace yourself for a design journey filled with excitement and innovation with Fontech Interiors leading the way.

14. Scaleinch Interiors

Scaleinch Interiors is the name to trust. Rated as one of the best interior designers in Bangalore when it comes to bespoke solutions tailored just for you. They understand that every individual is unique, which is why they specialize in creating personalized designs that reflect your lifestyle and preferences.

With their attention to detail and commitment to craftsmanship, Scaleinch Interiors ensures that every aspect of your home is designed with you in mind. Get ready to experience luxury like never before with Scaleinch Interiors.

15. Cee Bee Design Studio

Versatile, detail-oriented, and masters of blending functionality with aesthetics, Cee Bee Design Studio is your go-to destination for all things design. Being the best home interior designers in Bangalore, they understand that beauty lies in the details, which is why they pay meticulous attention to every aspect of your space.

From concept to execution, Cee Bee Design Studio ensures that every element is thoughtfully curated to perfection. Get ready to experience design excellence like never before with Cee Bee Design Studio by your side.

What is the estimated cost of Home Interiors in Bangalore?

Estimating the cost of home interiors in Bangalore is multifaceted, influenced by factors like property size, design complexity, and material quality. From modest 1 BHK apartments to luxurious 3BHK villas, each project presents unique considerations that impact overall expenses.

Additionally, the choice of interior designer and their pricing structure further affects costs. To provide clarity amidst this complexity, firms like Decorpot offer tools such as price calculator. These resources consider various project parameters to deliver tailored cost estimates, aiding homeowners in budget planning. While the final cost varies based on individual preferences and project specifications, leveraging such tools enables informed decision-making and ensures that homeowners embark on their design journey with confidence.

How to Select the Perfect Home Interior Design Company in Bangalore?

Now, onto the next part, picking the best interior designer in Bangalore for your dream home. It’s like choosing your squad for a design adventure. Check out their portfolios, keep a close eye on the client testimonials. Schedule consultations with a few designers, talk about your vision, budget, and timeline, and pick the one that feels like the perfect match and the one who can portray your thoughts and vision from your creative mind.

Get ready to watch your space transform before your very eyes. With their expertise and creativity, all these 15+ designers are all set to sprinkle a little magic into your life in 2024 and beyond. Get ready to live your best design life!

We hope and believe that we solved someone’s problem of finding the best interior designers in Bangalore. Thank you for letting us guide you, it’s been a pleasure.

[cyborg-hydra-girl-thing]

Worldbuilding ideas for my game I’m jotting down before the ol noodler eats them

Setting is far future where humans have finished colonizing the solar system and have many colonies in orbit around the sun, which has a Dyson sphere built around it

The past few decades humanity has started to outgrow the limits of power that can be produced with materials in our solar system, and so the science colonies around Saturn started experimenting with several different programs

The Aether project - experimenting with rare and unstable Aether (that can be occasionally found in microscopic quantities on asteroids) to try and harvest energy from its rapid isotope decay

Except they realize that their tools can’t detect Aether radiation, the scientists can physically observe the Aether particles and watch them degrade, but the peak of human science tools all say it doesn’t exist. When they weigh it, even the most fine tuned scales say that the Aether is weightless, despite (in later trials with large quantities) when put on an analog scale (⚖️ (< like that)) it seems to have nearly the same density as jello.

After a few years they figure out you can stabilize the Aether and prevent it from dissipating away to nothing by slathering it onto organic matter like a salve, and that it’ll be absorbed into plants and animals.

Animal experimentation with aether began with 4 rats and a couple drops of aether jelly. Rats entered a catatonic state for 8-12 hours, and afterward had far greater cognition, and 24 hours after first administered it was observed that their bodies had started metamorphosing, their fingers began growing longer and one began to shift to be an opposable thumb. A week later the Aether-rats were nearly unrecognizable as having once been ordinary lab rats, each was far larger, close to the size of a small cat, weighing 5-6 lbs, and had shed much of their fur, so they looked patchy, and had thicker fur running down their spine and on their arms and legs. They had also developed webbing between the inside of their arm and the sides of their body like a flying squirrel. Testing revealed the aether-rats to be able to actually fly by flapping their wings, despite the wing to body ratio seemingly prohibiting flight. It was theorized that the aether was somehow lightening the rats body somehow. A month after aether was applied the rats eyes began emitting a soft glow, almost like they were backlit. 3 months after application the rats managed to escape from their containment room using several scraps of wire and pieces of pens that they had stolen and hidden in the folds of their retracted wings. The escape attempt ended when the rats acquired scalpels and started attacking humans that tried to stop them as they made their way towards the ship docks. 17 humans died in the Aether-rat escape attempt, including 8 security personnel, and 5 scientists directly involved with the rats from the beginning. It was unknown how the aether rats knew the layout of the colony ship, as well as whether they would have been capable of flying a ship had they managed to board one. The fact that the aether rats had taken nearly a full security platoon with repeating particle railguns to put down, and had still killed 8 made further experimentation on live animals something no one was willing to explore

Plants that were given Aether grew rapidly and had vastly improved disease resistance and tougher fibers, making them much more dense and durable. Further tests revealed that the plants connected to an electrical circuit produce vast amounts of power, seemingly from nothing, as they were growing in regular soil, the only difference being the Aether applied to them as seedlings

Decades after the discovery of its power production, Aether became a staple of human colonies, despite its rarity. Two centuries after its discovery the Church of Aether is founded by the Saturn colonies, at the urging of the current governing body of the science colonies as a way to start to create a governing body to oversee safe implementation and integration of Arboreal-Aether to the wider human population, and establish new research to explore acquisition of Aether in industrial quantities. Up until this point humanity’s total Aether in use is around 20lbs, with each Aether redwood being given about a 1/4 oz of Aether jelly, and going on to grow large and produce power equivalent to a nuclear reactor when fully grown

The beginning of the end : The Aether Portal experiment

The Aether church begins exploring using raw aether jelly on humans. Adults (20+) given aether are noted to experience an intense euphoria, loss of fine motor control, increased saliva production for several hours after administerstion, followed by rapid mental deterioration and massive atrophy of muscle tissue, resulting in death within 72 hours of administrating.

After all adult volunteers for the program failed to survive even the smallest dose of aether the aether church publicly proclaimed that it would be starting an orphanage, to house any children who needed a home, right there onboard the Aether colony, the most advanced colony ship that had ever been built. Truly a generous offer, though the church leadership has far more sinister plans in mind. The less morally inclined among the Aether church science division knew what the truth was, they were being given a flock of subjects. There was a rule they were given though. Unless they could prove the human genome could sustain Aether, they could not experiment on the children. Cloning vats were developed, and over the next century hundreds of clones were made from the children cycling through the orphanage, each clones genetics an exact match to their counterpart, and thus the Aether church was able to isolate which genes were amenable to aether modification.

Thus when the first clone survived administration and continued to grow, with no complications, aside from glowing eyes, they knew they had cracked it, and would be able to test humans for compatibility in the Aether portal experiment.

The first 2 humans to be found compatible from the adult volunteers were given a few drops of aether to see what would happen, and after it didn’t kill them, they began to report feeling an “other presence” nearby, just observing, just out of sight, but they could sense it with the aether. After a month they reported that they could feel some kind of “pulling” sensation. “Like something has grabbed hold of my soul and is dragging me by the feet”. Further observation with full spectrum cameras continued to not detect anything.

A month sfter the first pulling sensation was reported the two had high fives after a success, and the scientists who had run the experiment reported:

“they had leaped for joy? And turned and high fives each other, really hard, they’ve been trying to get this for days and they finally did it, and they high fived, and then there was this terrible ripping sound, except it wasn’t a sound? But I could hear it, in my bones, in my soul, inside of me I heard this awful sound, like a million sheets of paper being torn at once, like someone had grabbed me, from the inside, and was twisting things around, and there was this blinding flash, and I couldn’t see anything for moments, like I stared into the sun? Except there wasn’t a flash! I checked the recordings three times! They just high fived, and then they weren’t there anymore!” Recorder notes that scientist spoke in a mad babble, barely a breath to get air to say more words. They rocked uncontrollably in their chair during the whole debrief.

The first clone who had survived the aether (who at this time was approaching 12 years of age) was asked whether they had felt any of the sensations the adults. The clone replied that the entity wasn’t malicious and they didn’t need to worry, the aether-touched adults would be okay

Further questioning proved to be fruitless, as the clone was prone to long periods of being mute.

Further testing with adult subjects always ended the same. Within 6 months the host would arubtly vanish from reality, usually when experiencing an emotional high of some sort. All observers who were not aether-touched when they vanish “crack”

Their mind seems to do the same that those who are aether-touched do, they describe the pulling sensation, the feeling of an “other” presence watching them constantly, except they develop a paranoid mania, convinced they’re being hunted, something the aether-touched never described.

Later, it’s discovered that the aether given to genetically predisposed clones in their growing vats causes them to develop a secondary brain near their heart, under the sternum. It was also noted during scans that when the clones were removed from the growth vats their body had removed many redundancies, the appendix for example, disappeared, and their nervous system and circulatory system was identical, in every clone, from every gene donor. Perfect, more perfect than even human science could grow. The aether affected the children in many subtle, and yet significant ways like this. Their eyes glowed from within from the moment they are removed from their growth vats, and they’re all nearly mute. Rarely cried during the first few years of life and then until their teens only responded to direct blunt questions , if they responded at all.

Caretakers of the children note they seem to share a low level telepathic field, even when in different wings of the facility they’re observed signing back and forth. It’s unknown if the signing is required to talk or if it’s a focus tool.

When the cloned children reached 16 they talked amongst themselves about “going beyond” and “heeding the call”

They would not answer any questions seeking details.

On their 17th birthday, as a group they gathered together in the mess hall, and tore open a portal in the floor. A portal outside of this reality, to Beyond, to the Aether. The Aether wasn’t just a seemingly magical power source, it’s the Source of Everything.

The Aether church rejoiced, for their goals had been accomplished. They had an infinite supply of Aether, and all they had to do was send in the Aetherborn children to harvest it and bring it back. Sending in cracked humans, or regular humans, even when in the most advanced PPE developed, all burned away into raw Aether whenever they tried to enter the portal, but the Aetherborn children are able to move freely between the Universe and the Aether realm.

The children cease speaking entirely after returning from their first trip through the portal.

Clone production is ramped up and over the next few decades the Church expands their power and influence throughout the colonies.

The Aetherborn, able to travel freely between dimensions, are also able to bring things with them, and they describe the Aether as a place that isn’t a place, full to the brim, and empty of everything, at once. When traveling through the portal they’re deposited in an endless field of stone. As they move they see behind them that the solar system, and the universe itself is a beach ball, bouncing like a tumbleweed through this endless domain of death and life, and that it’s not alone, there are universes here, as many as stars in the sky, some are tiny marbles, full of heat and fire, and others are massive, gigantic huge spheres, that radiate a cold that fills you through to your very core. By gathering enough Aether they’re able to build more portals, bridges, to other universes. Much to the dismay of the Aether Church only the Aetherborn are able to traverse the World Bridges

[pep-the-artemis]

 on route, I would pass my fathers study, most days he was in meeting at this time so I dare not bother him with a greeting like before; within the library halls, I was consigned to retrieve a scholarly book for my studies; I was after to detour down a flight of stairs, avoiding the bar where were Beatrice convened with a glass of wine and any guests not invited to fathers meetings; the library shelves, brightly illuminated by the sun passing through the ceilings stained windows overhead, embraced me in a warm butterfly of delights—in which I pull out ’Metamorphoses’; enraptured, I was to walk back to my desk and be seated as my Mistress uploaded the relevant information; I would read the requested tales as she scribed a series of open questions; working together, I’d interpret and be examined on the tales for the next ninety minutes; finished, I was to return the book before returning to my bed chambers to begin awaiting my Mistress who was walking over to the library in search of a curriculum book for my studies (today she picked a book on Ancient Victorian History); while my Mistress uploaded the relevant information (scribing a set of open questions alongside), I would read the requested chapter; we’d then discuss the notions of the common Victorian, of which ultimately led there barbaric yet revolutionary developments—much to (I imagine) there protest, they still partook in slavery as we do today except they did it in subtle methods while we today forge slave in steel and call it justified; gratified, I was to return the book to the library but not before stopping in front of fathers study and asking through the door if he wished to join me on afternoon tea—to which I would leave receiving no response; after, I was to be groomed and dressed; on days which permitted it, I was to enjoy afternoon tea on the balcony else I would sit at my desk as the servants brought the sandwiches, cakes, and scones; I was not to dine alone, my Mistress sat beside and we’d practise etiquette while I dined on the treats; at the end, I was to excuse myself to the restroom to clean myself of any smears and mentally prepare for the task of embroidery—an awful activity; granted the end product is a delight, I cannot find any mild enjoyment of the process, resulting in my productivity being slow and end products uninspired; fortunately, embroidery was specifically a mondays activity and barely lasts a full hour so gave ample time for the discussion of poetry in the interim after; my Mistress always made the point to display my most recent embroidery up on my wall after we finished—there was never anything noteworthy about them though, the little droplets of blood from my mistakes hid well in the bushel of flowers; on occasions my mistress wished to pose me a challenge, she would send me down to the libraries balcony to recreate a segment of the paned artistry; Revelation 12:7–10, a grandiose battle between the vain and wise angels, as God hid in his tower; if not already present, I was to walk over to the library too pick up any literary book for my practise (today I picked ‘The Modern Prometheus’); my return was to be met by my expensive set of quills, laid out neatly, ready for my lesson in calligraphic penmanship; you, the reader, can see clearly—these lessons did me little good; unlike my father, I never had the steadiness of hand to curate beauty; even if gifted with the work of an impoverished mind, he could make it read like a sonnet; I was just born unfortunate enough to be gifted my mothers penmanship; this task of scribing the novel would often last an hour though, on many days, last longer—being delayed by the snapping of a nib or spilling of ink; on completion, my Mistress would call for a servant, “bring along a bowl of warm water and cloth so that she can wash away the black mess, smeared across her hands”; “Dulcis puella, atramentum habes in torquem tunicam—ne mater tua videre”;

My Entry into the One Sentence Challenge.

this shall be posted in four parts as it is too long to fit in a single post, the first three shall be the sentence and the fourth shall be an explanation of its existence and creation.

This is an extract from one of my fan fictions but it can easily be read in isolation.

Extract from AutoMemoriam

On monday's, I am too be awoken at nine, groomed then dressed—sitting at my desk ready for breakfast: two slices of sourdough, butter, figs, apricots, honey, and a square of dark chocolate, served with a glass of almond milk; when I finish, a servant is to come to clear away my plate while I was to wash my face and hands (using the large copper bowl provided) before I was assisted in putting on my shoes—I was to journey to the library; passing my fathers study I would: greet him a good morning through the door, pause, then continue walking—not hearing a reply; further along my way, I am too pass by (but not enter) the bar where the tender stood contentedly polishing the glasses, freshly cleaned from the night before; within the library halls, I was consigned to retrieve a scholarly book for my studies; the ill lit shelves encased me in a dark damp chrysalis of information, in which I eventually pull out a book of astronomy; starry eyed, I was to walk back to my desk and be seated as my Mistress uploaded the relevant information; I would read the requested pages as she scribed a series of open questions; working together, I’d examine and be challenge on the text for the next two hours; I was free to ask for support and was given ample, allowing me to feel satisfied when I am sent to take the book and return it, seeing my mother (Beatrice) along the journey whom I’d pay no greeting instead passing by ready to practise my violin;; to aid in the back problems which emerged from my sitting at the desk for extended periods, I was permitted the luxury of sitting on the floor through all stages of practise which included the preparatory work of wiping down, cleaning, and tuning my violin; ready, I would request a song (classical only as to not to disturb the ears of my parents and/or guests) and my Mistress would display the specific notes in time and I’d performed in tandem, occasionally stopping to take advice and instruction; I’d continue playing, upwards of an hour or until my fingers bled—disabling me (over time I have mastered a certain flicking action to initiate bleeding on command which came in very useful); if I was to finish music early as so often I did, I was permitted to discuss, perform, and write poetry while downstairs the preparations for lunch were well underway; marking the end of the frivolities, my Mistress would stand aside as I cleaned my bed chambers; I was to be groomed then redressed, sitting at my desk ready for lunch: soup (chicken and potato) with two bread rolls, a knob of butter and a square of dark chocolate; when I finish, a servant is to come to clear away my plate while I was to wash my face and hands using the large copper bowl provided, drying myself with a flannel cloth; on certain days, if the weather permitted, I would instead (after being groomed and redressed, this time adored with sturdier shoes) walk over through manor down the front staircase; in passing my fathers study, I would greet him through the door in passing; at the bottom of the staircase I was to take a box wrapped in satin cloth from an awaiting servant—from there, I was to enter the garden; I was not permitted to play sports or climb trees; I was permitted only to: walk along the designated path, observe the flower gardens, smell the flowers, and if permitted—paint the flowers; at the precipice lay a bench too which I was to sit and eat my lunch in the satin wrapped box; finished, I was to wipe my hands and face on the satin cloth before returning back to my room, greeting my father in passing through the door once more; in my room, I’d place the box neatly down on my desk and sit in silence until a servant was to clear away my plate while I was assisted in changing my shoes—I was to journey to the library;

[nymphiria]

♱ ∿ SCARA BOSS MAKES MY HEAD SPIN

☰ cw: yes we fuck the robot. fem!reader, monsterfucking?, dubcon, humping, power imbalance, mean dom!scara, some degradation, fear play

THE BALLADEER knows how tiny he makes you feel under the gaze of his divine form. it’s normal, he says, for a human like you to feel intimidated by the mechanical body that encases his once smaller frame. his power to you was always a mystery, an unknown ability that has never been tangible. but now? scaramouche radiates divinity and authority — power oozes from every facet of his being.

it’s enthralling being in his presence, the very same one that you never thought yourself interested in before your venture to sumeru. your purpose was to merely accompany him and the doctor for plans unbeknownst to you. what a shock it was to see your superior, your lord, metamorphosing into a god made by human hands. years of being at his service and yet only now do you feel that he truly commands respect — the kind of respect that puts the feeble on their knees and the strong in their graves.

“does it frighten you? staring at the embodiment of godliness?”

you feel like a small mouse as you sit in the palm of his enormous mechanical hand. the once familiar voice of your lord is now distorted, almost monstrous as he prods you with his questions. he must’ve seen how your legs were shaking as you first took in what would soon be his new vessel. he likes seeing you tremble, the adrenaline makes his head spin as he soaks up your reaction. scaramouche was never one for blatant teasing, instead settling for routine chastising of your work effort. perhaps he’ll make an exception to his character just this once.

“my lord, p-please i implore you to put me back to the floor. i am not one for heights,” you tearily plead your case hoping for leave. if you stayed in his presence any longer you might just faint. being so high up and under the scrutiny of a harbinger are not a good combination for consciousness.

how dare you.

he gives you the opportunity and honor of witnessing him before his ascension and this is how you repay him? with excuses and disrespect? that wouldn’t do. you seem to have forgotten your position under him, your role as his servant. respect and praise are what he should be receiving from you, but instead he’s only been given the disposition of a mouse escaping a feline.

now, that’s no way to treat your god now is it?

cold. he’s so cold. the palm you rest on is already freezing enough, another is just cruelty. but that’s all the balladeer is: cruel. he flaunts it like a wealthy woman would with her new set of jewelry. traitors to the fatui receive it on a massive scale compared to the rotten attitude he gives you for small mistakes. you thank celestia sometimes for sparing you from most of his wrath and pray that it stays that way.

celestia never listens.

the icy robotic fingers glide across your skin; the clothing you once wore now reduced to nothing on the ground far below you. it’s impressive, really, how he hasn’t crushed you under the weight of the metal appendages he’s fondling you with. it just serves to remind you that if he wanted to, he could very well end your life. but he chooses not to. he’s choosing to be gentle with you. maybe he cares about hurting you? or maybe he just doesn’t want to hire another lackey to pick up the papers he throws off of his desk in a rage. you can’t tell which you would prefer more.

as frightening as the situation is, it’s feels… good. the cold material sends shockwaves up your spine each time it makes contact with your bare pussy. each time the metal rubs against your clit, your back arches unwillingly at the pleasure. it’s unknown how many times you’ve cum against his fingers and soaked them with your juices but it’s far too many to be decent. he just doesn’t stop. no matter how much you beg and plead, he won’t let up it til he’s had his fill of you.

is he getting off on this? you can’t see his face so it’s hard to tell. chances are, though, he’s wearing that signature sinister grin that he’s oh-so known for. he hasn’t said much since he shredded your clothing and pressed you onto your back. you pray that he lets you go soon — maybe you’ll pray even harder for your poor legs to work after this.

“that’s more like it. beg for me, beg for the pleasure of your god. if you’re good enough, maybe i’ll extend my mercy to you and keep you as a pet.”

[shihlun]

“Le Dépays“(1982) by Chris Marker, English Translation (2/3)

The following text is the English translation of Chris Marker’s 1982 photobook “Le Dépays”. The translation is transcribed from the 1997 “Immemory” CD-Rom with minor correction. Here’s the second part “You called that one...”

The Disorient

by Chris Marker

1. Insomnia of the Tokyo dawn… 2. You called that one… 3. It’s not just…

2. You called that one la Derelitto. Despite the stubborn legend, the Tokyo trains are not always packed, they don’t always need the white-gloved people-pushers that the films never spare us. One can spend entire days navigating from train to metro, underground to sky-rail, without being jostled any more than in Paris or New York (and more courteously in any case, even if they don’t fool around when it comes to grabbing seats). Plus there are plenty of long empty stretches allowing one to choose a strategic angle or a face-to-face position. Then begins the hunt for the sleepers. They fascinate you. You take the tube to see them, you forget your appointments, you neglect to change trains, just to remain a few more minutes before the absolute short, the ideal close-up of a sleeper’s face. Their slumber frees up a range of expressions that social standing and a concern for appearances hold back in the waking state, and on their dozing faces you can read entire life histories, smiles and stress, nodding and ecstasy. How many scenarios did you invent in those moments — that woman, for example, between Kobe and Osaka, for an hour you tracked all her seasons, the sudden jumps, confusing like the airport departure board where the name of each city scrambles into the next. For an hour you scrutinized her metamorphoses with (almost) as much demanding attention as you would watch the upsurge of pleasure on a loved one’s face. Don’t look for her, she isn’t in these pages. There are a hundred pictures of her, but publishing them would be a betrayal.

You’re returning from Hong Kong, oyster of hundred thousand pearls, and from the very first train (the ones that takes you straight from Narita airport to your beloved Yamanote Line, short-circuiting the interminable trip by road) your heart is stolen by Japanese kindness. Who will find the proper note to sing the praises of xenophobic hospitality? It’s because there is something really tragic, an irremediable flaw in the misfortune of not being born Japanese, that one must show all possible consideration for the foreigners (as for the Cat). You mount the staircase to the train station, and suddenly your bag hangs less heavily from your arm. A robust country-dweller has taken hold of the other strap, and will accompany you like that to the platform, where you will exchange thanks and little bows. A man circles around you: you recognize him, he’s the one you asked, in gibberish, for the number of the platform. It’s not his train, he has nothing to do here, he’ll leave in an instant after this new exchange of formalities: he has simply come to make sure you understood correctly, that you don’t risk ending up in Yamagata, in Aomori, cursing him. In the train, you inquire as to the number of stations before you must change (you could look on the map, but it’s so much more amusing to play Passepartout). A young guy starts counting on his fingers, like a nursery rhyme. Obviously he got lost somewhere, because the girls in his group start laughing, their mouths half-hidden by a cupped hand, as Japanese girls do (the surest way to flush out the cross-dressers is to trick them into laughing). Another one steps in, gets confused as well, and now the whole carriage is cracking up. The sketch continues all the way to the right stop, where naturally you’ll be guided by a confident hand. You crossed Japan that way from Hokkaido to Okinawa, with almost no linguistic baggage except the indispensable excuses and thank-yous, along with various combinations of the word neko, and from each stop you’ve kept the memory of the merchant who left his shop to lead you to the foot of the building you were looking for, the guardian of the cat cemetery (neko dera) in Osaka who escorted you for twenty minutes, absolutely undeterred by the limited nature of your vocabulary, plying you with all kinds of intimate observations to leave you on a major street traversed by buses (which also means of course that you, stupid foreigner, would never have been able to find it all alone — but since courteous condescension is so much more pleasant that hostile equality…). This kind of interchange also takes far stranger forms. In one of those charming little trains in Hokkaido, all dark wood and green velvet (Larbaud would have loved them), you keep sneaking glances at the magazine being read by your neighbor, as you’ve seen an illustrated article on takenoko(竹の子族), the little Sunday dancers in Yoyogi park, and you think you recognize one of the young girls you also photographed. Without having expressed your intention in the slightest sign, you mentally form the project of politely borrowing her magazine when she finishes reading. At which point, still reading, she slips off to sleep. I’ll wait till she awakens, you think. A few minutes later she does, and immediately she hands you the magazine. Clear enough. Harmony has struck again.

You’re always afraid of seeming to tell more than you know, so you’ll refrain from any babble about hyoshi (the “integration of tempos” — Kenji Tokitsu 時津賢児). But what your head isn’t sure it can put into words, you’ve felt with your skin several times. When one speaks about harmony with respect to Japan, people immediately think of the famous social consensus, and the Right swoons, the Left goes into convulsions. You think of something else, of the fuzzy network of rites, signs, and offerings that everyone claims not to believe in, or just a little, but that so often unseats the arrogance of pragmatism and efficiency, and that so graciously fills the void remaining between human enterprise and the vast abyss of nature. As though on the horizon of every event, of every action, there were not a beyond — that would be too metaphysical — but rather an in-between, which might not be so far from Jankélévitch’s je-ne-sais-quoi. As though, when the hymn to the machine has been heartily sung, and the social screws locked tight (God knows they are), a space still remained to be filled, a surplus value of the spirit. No one knows exactly what to do with this in-between, this twilight zone, this nameless realm shared between the eight hundred and eight gods who watch over the flock of dreams, no one knows how to address it, but at least one can be polite. Hence the politeness toward ancestors, hence the politeness toward animals (those innumerable festivals of reconciliation with the birds, when the Awa Odori (阿波踊り) dancers of Koenji (高円寺) call them politely by their names, and with the fish, when the men of Morosaki (師崎) south of Nagoya beg them to let themselves be politely fished), hence, in the heart of this society which is as pitiless as any, a respect for others that can peacefully coexist with the rat-race. The materialistic civilization of Japan may ultimately be obsessed by the spirit in the same way Christian civilization was by the flesh. Through its ancestors, its gods, its animals, its multiplicity of spirits (the back side of the decor, so perfectly arranged that one inevitably ends up wondering what’s in back of this back side), it may finally be spirit itself, that spiritualist abomination so justly denounced by all of modern thought, that is really present and that grounds everything. One Japan can hide another. In the legendary age of Maozedong thought, a devotee formulated a proposition whose pataphysical depth has never ceased to amaze you: it was about the famous struggle between the two lines, where one “had the characteristic of always passing itself off for the other.” (Reread it if you’re not sure you’ve misunderstood.) Should we ask which Japan passes itself off for the other? Whatever you do, don’t ask a Japanese that. Nothing exacerbates and horrifies him so much as such clear-cut Western questions: yes, no, one, the other, the excluded middle, Aristotle and Humpty-Dumpty. Don’t tender him the reptile of certainty: his entire being is revolted by the idea of touching it. Leave him to his tranquil schizophrenia, his own way of seeing in everything its contrary, and the more vibrantly the thing is felt, the more imperatively he convokes its contrary, which rushes to meet him like the shadow of King Kong on the asphalt of Manhattan. Look at him instead when he is disguised as his ancestor, when he plays a bit-part for Shohei Imamura in the film Eijanaika, a meticulous reconstruction of the Edo period, pushing all the way to a full-fledged reconstruction of the famous curving bridge of Ryogoku (両国), the one on the wood-block prints. Banish the façade of modernity, peel of the thin film of Americanization whereby he protects himself by imitating his environment, just as certain animal species do, and before you stands a Japanese of the Middle Ages, unchanged and perhaps unchangeable. Except that the younger generation…Yes, perhaps the younger generation. That’s what the fathers of today’s fathers said, when the younger generation was them. You don’t believe in it, in the American Japan, you think that the Japanese is a warrior who has made a shield with a mirror. And that the “real Japan,” as the magazines say, appears only inadvertently, in the in-between once again, when a woman being interviewed on TV answers the question “What do you wish?” with this answer that leaves far behind all the Stoic phrases heaped on our youth: “That my death should disturb as little as possible.”

[precuredaily]

Precure Day 214

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 Go Go! 16 - “Karen and Komachi’s Candy House” Date watched: 22 June 2021 Original air date: 18 May 2008 Screenshots Precure Metamorphose Gallery | Sky Rose Translate Gallery Project info and master list of posts

We’re gonna beat this monster! Believe it!

Last episode, Komachi and Karen were left out of the fight, so this week, they get to take the focus as they get sucked into the world of Hansel and Gretel. Let’s dig in!

The Plot

The girls are having lunch at school when Rin walks up, looking utterly exhausted. She’s been in charge of the Rose Pact and Queen Bavarois has been talking her ear off all day. She begs someone else to take her while she goes to her futsal club practice, but everyone has an excuse except Nozomi.

In Eternal, anacondy and Shibiretta butt heads over her previous mission, with Shibiretta ultimately being given another chance. Makes you wonder what Nebatakos is up to.

Komachi and Karen are leaving school when Nozomi catches up to them, begging for help with the motormouth monarch. They remind her of a Palmin they caught recently that can put the monarchs to sleep, and it works, but as Nozomi walks out the door, she gets sucked into another storybook world. Typical.

Komachi and Karen chase after her as the portal closes but they wind up in separate areas of the world. The upperclassmen make their way through the woods and try to figure out what story they’re in this time. They decide to leave behind a trail of snacks they had on hand so that Nozomi can follow them, and go on their way. When they spot a candy house, they deduce that they are in Hansel and Gretel.

The duo remember that a witch tries to cook Hansel and Gretel alive, and Shibiretta shows up, captures them, and tries to do just that. However, they don’t have the Rose Pact, so she assumes Nozomi has it. K&K are happy this means she hasn’t been caught, and they trick Shibiretta into going to look for her.

While Shibiretta is out, Nozomi has found the snacks and made her way to the candy house. She tries to free her friends, but the house comes to life and attacks her. K&K manage to free themselves and they all dart out, confronted by Shibiretta, who fully awakens the candy house as a Hoshiina.

The three girls transform into Precure, but the Hoshiina is using a giant wrapped candy as a wheel and charges them, and whips them with its candy cane/licorice rope arms. Mint laments that they can’t even block it when they’re short on members, and Dream wishes they could stop it from moving. Mint and Aqua get an idea and the team relocates. Mint uses Emerald Saucer to fell some trees and block the advancing Hoshiina, while Aqua uses Sapphire Arrow to imprison it. Dream performs Shooting Star to finish it off, and the world disappears while the trio find themselves back at school.

Everyone else had been looking for them and realized what happened, so they’re relieved to find the three girls. Nozomi compliments Karen and Komachi’s wordless teamwork, they say it’s the same bond she has with Rin and they were only able to do it because she found them. Nozomi shows everyone the bag she filled with their snacks, a bunch of mame daifuku and Celeb Dou chocolates. They explain they were going to give them as a gift to the workers at a factory they visited as first years, it’s become their personal tradition to send this gift and a tradition for the first years to visit this factory. Urara mentions her trip there is coming up soon.

Just then, Queen Bavarois wakes up and begins chattering about how lovely this all is and launches into a story about how she always thanks people for the smallest things. Rin, Urara, Kurumi, and the fairies all beat a hasty retreat and Komachi and Karen dart off to run their errand, with Nozomi chasing after them begging for help with the babbling bird. The episode ends on a still frame of this.

The Analysis

What I liked

Pretty much everything

Shibiretta and Anacondy’s scene was funny because of the thinly veiled malice between them. Shibiretta acknowledges her failure from the previous episode and tries to get Anacondy to describe how she’d attack them, but Anacondy refuses to give her any ideas and says it’s not her job. She also has a great death glare.

Karen and Komachi have a fun dynamic. It's different from Nozomi and Rin's, as they're older and a little more mature. They keep cool heads when they get transported to the storybook world and quickly devise a way to lead Nozomi to their position in case they don't find her first, which doubles as a way to retrace their own steps if need be. Yes it's taken straight from the story, but it's also a reasonable solution for their circumstance.

The callback to the origin of Komachi and Karen's friendship surprised me, in a good way. Maybe it's partly because I last watched it two years ago (whereas it would have been about 9 months for the target audience) but it was an unexpected reference that fits into the plot well, and the tradition they started deepens the relationships of the characters. Giving gifts to the employees of a factory you visited two years prior as thanks for their generosity speaks to the compassion of these two, as well as a window into Japanese gratitude culture.

As annoying as Queen Bavarois is, the effect she has on people is funny. She talks nonstop and quickly exhausts even the most patient people. As much as there’s comedy in misery, the faces people make and their reactions are comedy gold.

same

The way that Komachi and Karen trick Shibiretta into leaving is clever, if a bit mean-spirited: they tell her Nozomi has no sense of direction and is extremely clumsy, so there’s no way she’d be able to find them. Later the witch quotes this back to them in front of Nozomi and they act like they were Shibiretta’s own words, and she’s being rude. Nozomi makes a great indignant face when she hears this.

The way they defeat the Hoshiina is creative and I want to see more creative use of powers like this. Using Sapphire Arrow to create a cage to trap the opponent is a novel approach. 

What I didn’t like:

Queen Bavarois….. Doesn’t have a character. Unlike King Donuts before her, it's going to be harder to make inroads with her because she's treated as a nuisance and doesn’t give any particular insight. Her nonstop chatter is relegated to the background while characters ignore and talk over her. I assume this gets better in later episodes, even though I’ve watched ahead I don’t really remember much happening with her.

Cure Mint complaining about being unable to block the Hoshiina’s attacks. HER SPECIALTY IS SHIELDS AND DEFENSE. We’ve already seen her use Emerald Saucer as a shield before, in episode 11, so there’s precedent.

same character

The rest of that fight is really kind of unexciting. The monster being able to speed forward like on a motorized unicycle was neat but aside from a few passes, nothing was done with the idea, and the girls didn’t use any physical attacks. It’s not the worst thing but it feels like unrealized potential.

Nitpicking, but as this episode reuses some footage from Y528, it also includes the animation error where first year Komachi and Karen’s emblems were the wrong color.

More nitpicking, Komachi and Karen should be in high school by now. I’m not going to let that go. I guess they’re doing a rolling timeline so all their adventures from the last show just kinda happened in an indeterminate amount of time and they’re still in their second/third year of middle school, but still.

Also it is kind of mean for Komachi and Karen to deny what they said about Nozomi. They could at least tell a white lie and say they said what they had to to get her to leave.

The girls arrive in a deep forest and do not immediately begin singing the second Inuyasha ending, Deep Forest, becuse they are uncultured.

Bokutachi waaaaaaaaaaaaaa ikiru hodo ni

Miscellaneous:

The story of Hansel and Gretel is about two siblings who are taken into the woods by their mother/stepmother (tellings differ) and abandoned. They lay a trail of breadcrumbs on the way, with the intention of following them back home, but birds eat them and they get lost. They find a house made of candy, and begin to eat it. The house’s occupant, a witch, intends to fatten them up and boil them in her stew. They manage to trick her into burning herself alive instead and escape home.

Komachi and Karen’s first year field trip to the factory, and the planning that went into it that led to their friendship, was first mentioned in Yes 5 episode 28.

There weren’t any physical attacks levied against the Hoshiina. It threw them around a little but Dream’s Shooting Star is the only thing that hit it back.

Nozomi and Komachi are in their same outfits from the Pinocchio episode. Karen is now in a button-down shirt, a blue vest, and high-waisted blue pants. They are meant to represent Hansel (Karen) and Gretel (Komachi). Nozomi also fulfills the role of Hansel/Gretel in the story by following the trail of snacks. As usual, the writer uses the story as a framework, rather than following it exactly.

Komachi’s dress has pockets. Blessed be.

The girls do a Naruto Run before it was cool. (was it ever cool?)

Inasmuch as she’s barely in this one, Milk does not appear in her fairy form in this episode. (In fact, none of the mascots do.)

I just noticed that there are a number of foreign names in the credits. They appear to be animators, they follow after a series of Japanese names with the same heading. The names are: Francis Kaneda, Paul Año-Nuevo , Aries Nario, Alfred Reyes, Noel Año-Nuevo, Victor Baranon, Reggie Manabatt, and Rem Valencia. ANN tells me they’ve all worked on multiple episodes, and there’s a studio called Toei Animation Philippines credited for Background and In-Between animation.

Conclusion

I really like this episode! It plays with Hansel and Gretel in a fun way, Shibiretta and Anacondy, while they may only have a moment together, make me cackle with their rivalry. Queen Bavarois makes for excellent comedy, and the callback to last season was surprising but welcome. The fight scene could have used a bit more to it but overall it was a good ride.

Next time, we have a rather inappropriate guest star, in the first instance of a real world comedian playing themselves on the show. Unfortunately it will not be the last. Don’t look forward to it.

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 0 Kettei!

[wevegottogetaway]

The one where it turns sweeter (part2)

TW: smut

So... this is my first time writing smut. I just hope that I did the piece justice and that you’ll like it. Tell me if that’s something you’d want more or also if you have any feedback/criticism/idea/request, I would love to hear your lovely thoughts. Please don’t be shy xx

Part 1

"Just shut up and come kiss your dork." 

Y/n certainly doesn’t need more incentive to comply; the sweet taste of his lips seeping through hers is plenty enough as it is. Her mind is a nerve-ending away from losing any semblance of a grasp on reality. This feels too much like a dream: fuzzy mind, sensitive skin and a desperate plea not to be awakened yet.

Except, all her senses are on overdrive, buzzing with more fervency with every new inch of her that Harry explores. And no matter how dreamlike it all seem, the thrills are much too intense to be sleep-induced and the details much too accurate to be conjured up by a deceiving mind. The way chills spiral up her spine as they follow the roaming of his hands underneath her shirt; the way her skin erupts in tiny goose bumps where his lips leave wet spots after careful ministrations. Starting at the corner of her month, as if reluctant to retire from their twin set, all across her left cheek to finally tease the area right below her ear and mischievously graze his teeth around the earlobe. 

Definitely real. 

"Fuck. I’ve been wai’in." He almost whimpers the extent of his relief, the rasp of his voice triggering a new wave of shivers across y/n’s straddling body. "Been waiting so long, love." 

"No more waiting now." She quickly answers with a pointed shake of her head.

Her hands also have a mind of their own, not wasting a second more to finally tread the land that had been forbidden to her until tonight. Now his neck was hers to scratch and his wondrous locks hers to grasp and to pull in taunting fashion. Now the grunts coming out of his mouth still tending to her ear, were hers to revel in and to swallow in a searing kiss. Now she was his to hold, to touch and to undo like the final tug to a bow on a wrapped present. Now the pleasure was theirs to share. 

"Off, take it off" Y/n breathlessly inquires after pausing their kiss long enough to voice her request. Her fingers have already made their way to the bottom of Harry’s jumper, slipping underneath the heavy material only to be met by more fabric. She pouts as she realizes there was more work than expected, but as soon as the first layer has been discarded and she takes in his disheveled hair and flushed cheeks, the disappointment melts right off her lips. Her hands cups at his face as she bits a growing smile and her eyes dive into the green gems already focused on her. "Flustered, are we?" She teases before rearranging his hair back in one brushing gesture and sealing their lips back together.

"Mhm, got me all hot an’ bothered, darlin’" he quips back as he rids her of her top, successfully leaving her in a simple black laced bra. Damn, she didn’t have the same multi-layer luxury he had apparently. The special endearment is also not lost on her, its appearance quite new between them, but in retrospect it can just be added to the list of ‘new’ things their relationship now entails. 

Harry takes in the sight of her exposed cleavage, one hand swiping the strings of hair still resting upon her right collarbone, before finally dropping kisses down her neck and across the top of her breasts. One soft grip at her waist, his other hand crawls back to press against the area between her shoulder blades in a desperate attempt to get her that bit closer than she ever was.

"You’ve got one more." Y/n reminds him, her head slightly tilted upward as to avoid a mouthful of Harry’s mane. At her words, he slowly leans back to take in her own flustered state.

"This not enough fo’ you?" He asks knowing full well she was just as antsy for skin-to-skin contact as he was.

"Not even close" she proudly responds while taking the matter into her own hands. In a swift and not too clumsy motion, she’s got his undershirt in a bowl that she hastily throws behind them.

"Better?" He smirks at her. 

"Halfway there" is all she retorts and goes back for a much needed kiss, hands finally embracing the smooth expanse of his bare back. She can feel his own smile spreading so wide he can barely follow the kiss’ dynamic. "What?" She finally asks him in suspicious banter, keeping her face an inch away from him, a finger swiping across the corner of his bottom lip.

"Nothin’" He murmurs along her jaw, before elaborating. "Just…livin’ on a prayer."

Y/n can’t help but laugh at the Bon Jovi reference, the moment is so Harry-like. A few words were always enough to make random songs pop into his head, and then the temptation is too hard for him to pass up the opportunity to make a pun about it. That’s just how he’s brain works and y/n has always loved this quirk of his. He is a music enthusiast after all, and the passion he’s derived from is what made him such a force to be reckoned with, so really, y/n doesn’t mind.

"Care to clue me in on that prayer of yours?" She says instead, before she suggestively takes a bite of his lip. The statement earns her a chuckle as Harry goes back to flowering her neck his tender pecks. 

"Don’t worry darlin’, you’ll be singing them in no time." He chirps back seductively, bringing his hands to grasp at y/n thighs still straddling his lap. Then in one swoop, he lifts her and lowers her back until she’s laying on the ground. Quickly his tattooed torso follows suit as he comes resting above her figure and reunites their lips in an unprecedentedly passionate kiss. 

This time around, y/n’s hand concentrate on the inked work adorning his front, fingers tracing each of the artist’s lines. It mesmerizes her how the art seems to be such an intrinsic element of his skin now. Like all the graphics and doodles had been embedding the tissue since birth. Swallows flying across is chest as he learnt how to walk; laurels flourishing along his pelvis as he became less boy and more man; butterfly metamorphosing some every day he grew closer into the amazing being he is now. 

So y/n may have lost it a little, but in her defense, Harry has always been her weakness and now he’s kissing his way down her chest and playfully nipping at her belly button…so she’s officially relinquished any sovereignty she may have once possessed over her body. Harry softly pecks the palm of her hand when she brings it to his cheek, her gaze already clouded in euphoria. After sharing a knowing look like two accomplices on the brink of mischief, he mutters a soft "can I?" as his fingers tease at the waistband of her jeans. 

A hazy ‘please’ is all he needs to work her zipper down and button off, all the whilst sporting a smug corner smile. The task gets a bit more tedious when it comes to peeling the fabric from her legs but it’s not Harry’s first skintight jeans’ rodeo. Plus, the sight he is privy to once they’ve joined his long forgotten undershirt and jumper somewhere behind the couch, is quite unparalleled in comparison. Smooth legs that take his head for a spin with how elegant yet how strong they look; cotton panties, still matching in color, covering wonders he has yet to experienced; so much flesh and skin ready for the taking and calling out for his touch. 

A soft groan escapes him as he lowers himself back to place a wantsome kiss on her timid smile. "Fuck, look a’ you, love." More kisses. "So pretty…so delicious." He utters against her throat, nose tenderly rubbing against the skin. 

His lips retell the same stories as they travel down y/n’s body once again, this time making a longer halt as they gloss over her breast, blindingly enclosing themselves around y/n’s nipple though the garment’s lace. She swears she can feel him smiling against her boob as the small bud hardens from pleasure, and when he adds in a quick graze of his teeth once he’s satisfied with his work, y/n’s hand flies out to the one making its way up to her other nipple. 

The gesture isn’t meant as a restraint so much as an encouragement which Harry happily embraces. His thumb starts circling the areola in a slow and teasing manner, every now and then applying increasing pressure in its center. Y/n’s hand is still wrapped around his wrist, as if afraid he would suddenly stop, while the other slides down his back to squeeze at his bum. 

"Touch me" she breathes out.

"I am."

"Touch me more." Her insisting words have him lift his head from her skin to process her demand: at this point, his mind might be fuzzier than hers. 

"My girl wants somethin’ more? Just have to ask, darlin, I’ll give it straight t’you." 

His hand starts moving underneath hers, and once she’s pleased with the path it’s taking, she lets go of it. Just as her hand settles back on his shoulder, her fingers dig in the flesh in retaliation to the dragging caress Harry is delivering underneath her panties. He is being awfully slow at it, collecting wetness all around and bringing it back to slick up her neglected clit. He has readjusted his body back to her level, not wanting to miss the slightest manifestation of her pleasure on her face.

As his movements around the bud speed up, her legs fidget more and more in between his, until the pressure starts building strong in her lower belly and her mind is once again pleading to get him closer to her. Untangling their lower limbs to wrap hers around his waist, his response comes in a feverish kiss and his ministrations moving from her tingly clit to her wet opening. They resume their circling motion, index teasing its way in but never quite making an entrance; the patience game he seems to be playing not to y/n’s liking as she groans against his lips.

"Flustered, are we?" He has the audacity to use her own words against her but somehow it turns her on even more. Makes her all the more curious to discover just how sassy he can be when he’s got her in a puddle at his fingers. Quite literally. 

"Don’t be mean." Y/n pouts before laying open mouth kisses along his neck. Maybe that’ll motivate him.

"Sorry, love. You’re just so drippy down there, it’s driving me crazy. Is it all fo’ me?" He kisses her forehead in a vain attempt to make up for all the riling up he’s doing. 

He forgets he can be as easily riled up though, when y/n susurrate at his ear "You know it is." 

The admittance has him pushing his hips against her, effectively pressing his fingers harder on her pussy. They both moan in unison at the friction, heightened pleasure coursing through their bloodstream, saturating their veins. It’s then they realize there’s so much more to come, like the moment ticked something off in their brains, and now they can’t get naked fast enough. Frantic hands pulling at the remaining clothing articles left of their bodies while their lips are caught in an equally raging war. A war they’re battling on the same side as they fight for the same thing: intimacy, passion, closeness. 

Once they’re both left bare to the other’s eyes, they take a second to revel in the moment. It took all the patience and abnegation in the world to get them to this point. Days of yearning stifled in silent admonition and nights of supposedly wishful thinking that left them wanting more at every new sunrise. So much anguish turned into so much elation as the truth prevailed though. That’s a lot pleasure warranted to make up for lost time. 

"Been dyin’ to taste you, darlin’. What d’ya say?" He asks in between kisses. Their naked bodies are so untangled they can’t tell beginning from end, but Harry is all too willing to unweave himself form y/n’s loving limbs if it means he gets to have her on his tastebuds. And apparently so is she, if the high-pitched ‘please’ breathing past her lips is any indication.

The smugness returns on his face as he once again undertakes the delightful descent to her sensitivity. There is no material stopping him this time though, just more skin begging to be brought to life. And when his lips finally surf across her mound, the goose pumps blooming in their wake just prove him right. Her breathy noises only spur him on, tongue finally taking a long swipe across her lips, like a secret weapon kept under wrap for the most opportune time. 

Y/n’s hands are quick to grab onto something, and the absence of linens underneath her only hastens her reach for him: one hand buried deep in his headful of curls, the other resting on his own hand at her hip. She feels his thumb rubbing soothingly at her skin there and she loves how tender he can be, even while simultaneously devouring her in greedy licks. The contrast as her vision blurring and no matter how much she wants to watch him have the meal of his life, her body is too riddled by pleasure to keep herself focused enough. 

The feeling only keeps intensifying as Harry properly delves into her, tongue first, his other hand eventually coming to hold her thigh down as it keeps clamping back shut at every new wave of ecstasy rushing over her. "So good, Harry. Feels so good." She keeps chanting in delirium, and Harry’s own excitement is starting to grow unbearable. There’s no way he can’t let go of her to relieve himself for a second though, he’ll just have to wait for her unravelling.

"Taste so sweet, love. Come on, please cum fo’ me. Need it real bad." He pleads for her undoing as though Time was about to rip her away from him before he got to properly have her.

Deciding the moment calls for a change in tactic, he brings two fingers to her wet hole and swiftly slides them inside of her. Rejoicing when he is met with no resistance, he quickly brings his lips back to her sensitive bud, alternating between hard sucks and pacifying licks.  

It doesn’t take much longer for the knot inside of her to come undone and her orgasm to take over every parcel and every atom of her. And Harry can’t get enough. She’s everywhere: all around his tongue as he keeps fucking into her in earnest strokes; up to his nose while the angle has him brushing against her clit; down his ears with songs of uncontrollable bliss; underneath his hands as he can feel every spasms seizing her body. 

He tends to her sensitivity until she’s too overwhelmed to bear it, and complies when she gives a small tug at his hair. Their lips immediately find each other even though they were both rendered breathless by y/n’s climax. She can taste it on his lips so vividly, it makes her moan at how utterly crazy he’d gone at it. She tenderly swipes away the wetness on his chin while their tongues waltz together, and brings him closer to her with a koala move. Soon they are both made acutely aware of Harry’s excitement as his hard member is trapped between their heated bodies. 

"You’re incredible." Y/n finally voices with a look of unadulterated love and pure wonder. Her smile only emphasizes her confession and Harry’s heart swells so hard, he wonders if the butterfly on his stomach feels it too. He mirrors her beam with one of his own before lowering his forehead against hers. His muscles are starting to feel sore from the tension that has yet to be liberating from his body, and it takes all he’s got, not to drop the support his arms provide as they lay on each side of y/n’s face.

"Got me so hard, love. Feels like imma bout to explode." He admits while sliding his cock back and forth along her sweetness. He feels like a ticking bomb, winded so tight from years of nerve-wracking suspense, that have never felt more like foreplay than right at this moment, as y/n reaches out to him. Her hand confidently wraps around his shaft to deliver long strokes that have him shudder in pleasure. 

"Gonna do something about it?" She murmurs tauntingly at him.

"Mhm" is all he can respond before taking her hand from his cock and holding it down above her head in an interlocking grip. Taking a hold of his hard member, he then proceeds to gently tap her clit with his sensitive tip, in retribution for a teasing behavior. "Do we need a rubber?" He remembers to ask in between her moans.

"Not on my account." She answers truthfully, and Harry exults in knowing there will be nothing but warm smooth walls enveloping his dick once he finally has her.

"Yeah? Gonna let me just slide in? Take me all the way an’ keep me there forever?" The words have a clear purpose to wind her up further, but Harry thinks he might have screwed himself over with that one, as he finds himself equally aroused at the idea. Precome is already leaking from his reddened and swollen tip, only adding to the mess they’ve made together.

She answers him with a gentle kiss and her free hand comes to hold his jaw, thumb caressing his cheek in light motion. Their lips part for a shaky breath as Harry slowly pushes himself inside of her. They both sigh when his hips meet hers, every tensed molecule in their body uncoiling at the delicious friction. 

As he starts rocking into her, Harry’s hand grabs at y/n’s thigh to keep it close around hip. His other hand is still interweaved with hers by her head and he doesn’t think he’ll ever let got of it.

He’s movement starts to speed up, as the pleasure becomes stronger and the change in pace has y/n arching into him. He takes the opportunity to slide his hand up her back, when his fingers come in contact with a tiny item on the floor. In confusion, he takes it out from under her, and brings it up between them. Puzzled faces relax in recognition as they take in a square shape piece of their long forgotten game, the letter G carefully painted on its surface. 

"Guess I found it, huh." He jokes before tossing the piece away, and they both burst in laughter at the silly pun, Harry’s face buried in her chest. How can one have still so much wit even when balls deep in their secret-not-so-secret-anymore crush for the first time? Y/n loves it, though. It makes all the rapture even more delectable to know the one giving it to her is the same old Harry who almost gave her a heart attack once from how hard she was laughing. 

Laughters quickly merge into gasps of pleasure at the pressure of y/n’s walls tightening around Harry’s cock. Just like that, the playful interlude is over, letting lust conquer all. Powerful thrusts resume their pounding motion as y/n once again dissolves into colorful moans, and Harry takes his hand back up her spine until he’s holding onto the back of her neck. Kisses are trailed down her throat as he tilts her head slightly to the side. "Squeezin’ me so hard, love. Must be doin’ somethin’ right," He says against her skin, as he pounds into her. He can feel her walls clenching again, body twitching around him and he knows she’s close to her peak.

Removing his hand from underneath her, all the whilst not relenting from his earnest fucking, he brings two fingers to her lips, caressing the soft flesh before dipping past them. "Come on darlin’, make ‘em wet for me." He commands and the mere word have her throbbing from anticipation. Obediently, she accepts the digits in her month and starts wrapping her tongue around them like she would his cock. As she indulges in a soft suction, Harry’s hips snap even harder, making her wheeze in response. 

Fingers free from the confine of her warm mouth, he fits them down where their body meet and starts rubbing at her clit. "About to cum, aren’t you? Can feel it too, you know," he starts rambling to distract him from his own impending climax, "Gonna give it to me good, yeah? Wanna feel it all around, makin’ a mess o’ me, alright?"   

"Yes, Harry. ‘M so close," y/n answers before giving a sharp tug at his hair, "fuck me harder, please." It takes all his might not to nut right then and there, but the prospect of sharing the sweetest high of all with her, gives him enough resolve to hold back. Instead, he endeavors to make good on her request by delivering hard and vigorous thrusts that has her bucking against him. Wet noises start feeling the space around them, arousal coating their joined bits as well as Harry’s busy fingers. "That’s it, that’s it, almost there" he keeps muttering like prayers whispered to the Almighty. And it seems like the heavens are responsive tonight as a couple of hard calculated shoves is all it takes for y/n’s orgasm to rupture and send her spiraling. 

"Harry," his name on her lips at this very moment might just be the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. "Feels so good." Bliss and ecstasy are written all over her face, and the visual coupled with the sensation of her pussy still hugging tight onto his shaft, send him to a euphoric release of his own. Goose pumps pave their way across his skin as he gives a few more rolls of his hips to accompany the ribbons of cum spurting out of his cock. Y/n’s name is the only thought consuming his hazy mind, the only sound leaving his mouth against the tender skin of her throat where he’s buried his face. Slowly he then removes himself from her - not without a whine at the newfound emptiness greeting them both - and plops down by her side.

The living room is filled with an eery silence for a minute, as both y/n and Harry process everything that just transpired and give their body and chance to recuperate. Their sides are still touching, sticky from sweat, their breathing slowly regulating back to an even level. Harry carefully slides his hand into hers and they both share a look of affection.

"That was amazing." Y/n breaks the silence first in a hushed voice, and her confession makes Harry smile in pride.

"Fuck, com ’ere." He says although he’s the one lifting himself up on one elbow to give her a languid kiss. As he settles next to her, yet another Scrabble piece makes an appearance, this time stuck to the skin on the side of his shoulder before it falls off in a soft thud on the floor. He must have laid down on it in post-orgasmic bliss and the sweat made it stick there for a second.

Y/n picks it back up with a beaming smile as she inspect the little token. "Damn, for once I was actually kicking your ass at Scrabble. Kinda screwed myself over, didn’t I." She laughs at how she’d been so intent on winning the game, yet had been the one to throw the game board  along with caution to the wind.

"Actually love, I believe I was the one you screwed." Harry playfully retort, earning him a small slap to the stomach. The gesture only makes him laugh some more as he engulfs her in a crushing embrace. 

➪ Masterlist

[local-ground-apple]

Could i request headcanons on the process/how malleus & vil fall in love with their fem! s/o~ Would it be love and first sight or perhaps a slower process before the feeling and declaration arises?

yess, Vil request!!

also I have no clue why both are rather long

💚 rather than love at first sight, more likely it would be infatuation at first sight, For Malleus you’re quite an endearing and fascinating human,

💚 feelings develop rather slowly. You attracted his attention mainly because you weren’t intimidated by him, bah, you were fascinated and rather inquisitive and Malleus found that trait of yours exquisite,

💚 they say curiosity killed the cat, right? Maybe not in your case,

💚  you asked him a lot of questions, always making sure whether he’s comfortable with answering them and assuring him that he absolutely doesn’t need to if he doesn’t want to. You were just curious about his kind, land, magical abilities and mostly his horns,

💚 Lilia found it absolutely amusing how you were so eager to touch Malleus’s horns,

 ,,Can I touch them? Will you like feel something if I do that? Or are they hard just like a rock? OH, or are they scales? Can you hang upside down like Lilia too? Or no, no, CAN YOU USE YOUR HORNS TO HANG UPSIDE DOWN?” “Excuse-you, child of human, perhaps, if you could pick one question then maybe I would grant your wish of answering it”

💚 everyone notices his affection for you, well, except for him. From gentle pats on the head, night strolls, your frequent visits to Diasomnia’s dorm much to Sebek’s displeasure, gentle, brief touches and how his attention is always on you, literally whole school can see it,

💚 yet Malleus is oblivious. He didn’t realise how serious and deep were his feelings for you as he never really expected that he would develop feelings for human, yet alone one who’s not even from his word,

💚 eventually it was Lilia who pointed out his affection for you and then shamelessly told Malleus about your secret crush on him (pro-tip, never, EVER confide in Mr. Vanrouge),

💚 you would have to wait a bit for a declaration of Malleus’s feelings. Despite many assurances from Lilia, Silver and even Sebek who barely spit it out that your feelings were requited, you weren’t courageous enough to confess first. 

💚  Fear not children, Diasomnia’s old man and self-proclaimed father will take care of all your problems and bring those oblivious souls together,

💚  Lilia almost started war when he briefly mentioned in passing that Silver was madly in love and was going to confess. Ancient fae cooed how cute those two humans would look as a couple and how he could be a grandfather in the future, “Oh my, my, how kids grow up so soon, ufufufu~~~”

💚 of course, it was a wretched lie and Lilia certainly enjoyed watching Malleus’s confusion. If only dragon fae didn’t lost his nerves of steel, he would quickly deduced that there was no way that Silver could fall for you (mostly because you both spoke like three or four words to each other), 

💚  but yes, Malleus finally made a declaration of his love to you and then proceeded to ask your stunned but overjoyed self whether he was faster than Silver,

,,Sorry I beg you pardon?” “Let me rephrase it, dear. Was I perhaps faster than Silver with my declaration of affection for you?” “Silver has feelings for me??! We never really spoke to each other…” “Lilia Vanrouge, did you perhaps lie to your king?” “Well, a wrong name might have slipped through my lips, I’m not really sure”

💜 Vil is not sure whether he is capable of loving anyone beside himself, after all is it possible to find someone who’s worthy of Dorm Leader of Pomefiore? 

💜 definitely wasn’t enamored by the mere sight of you,

💜 you were just another potato, right? Vil would never guessed that soon you would level up to a “special potato”, just so eventually you could flourish into “precious apple”, with his invaluable help, of course,

💜 Vil didn’t even spend 5 minutes in your presence and he had already judged your whole appearance, pinpointed every tiniest imperfection, noted things that needed to be changed and made his own opinion concerning your character (it doesn’t matter that he hadn’t give himself the chance to meet your personality). In conclusion you were, well, a POTATO,

💜 hair? yikes. color of your nail polish? yikes. skin? yikes, clearly in need for his special products. your uniform? disheveled and covered in grimm’s fur, yikes. Well, maybe the only thing good about was your bright and endearing smile that wasn’t fake in the slightest. Great, one thing Vil wouldn’t have to change in you, 

💜 at first, Vil didn’t notice you at all, After all, he doesn’t have time for ordinary mortals, right? But you caught the eyes of Epel and you quickly became one of his closest friends. You weren’t from this world, so you kind of understood his feelings of not wanting to be in Pomefiore, you sympathized with him. You were extremely kind, always ready to listen to him ranting about Vil’s absurd beauty standards and you both were often seen running away from Rook,

💜 so naturally sooner or later you caught Vil’s attention. It was Rook who mentioned that you were that one person with whom Epel was sneaking out, so Vil suggested that he should fetch you too next time,

💜 let’s say that your disheveled appearance, small leaves in your tangled hair and creased uniform after a bold run through the forest didn’t please his eyes at all, but there was a potential in you, for sure

💜 Vil wouldn’t admit, but your unrelenting efforts to escape Rook, stubbornness to keep on meeting with Epel, that fire in your eyes who were burning with fierceness and passion made him interested, and they would soon doom you,

💜 when he was about to scold you both starting with Epel, you bluntly told him right in his face what you think about his treatment of your dear friend. Vil was taken aback, but soon composed himself

💜 his delicate fingers captured your chin, gently lifting it up, so you could see his violet eyes. Vil chuckled seeing how your confidence is slowly fading away. His height and closeness was enough to intimidate you,

💜 you didn’t return to Ramshackle Dorm that day. You spend whole night and next day in Vil’s chamber. With the assistance of Rook, they were tending to your beauty, rather forcefully. He intended on giving you the metamorphose you were worthy of.

💜 Vil covers your every imperfection and polishes your beauty, even though for most of the metamorphose you were immobilized with a rather harmless poison. Don’t worry when Vil is done with you, he will kindly give you cure, if you behaves like a lady,

💜 he will alter your appearance and shape you to his liking, Your opinion and will is generally irrelevant to him. Vil doesn’t care whether you reciprocate his feelings or not. 

💜 if not, one bite of an apple or few drops of love potion would be enough to do the trick, right?

💜 after all, the fairest of them all always get what they truly desire,

I really need to stop making him yandere each time I write for him🙃😶