#naturalist queen

[theambermycophile]

We did an Apivar treatment today, and checked to see where we stand, heading into the heat of the summer. We located Queen Victoria in Hive 1! 👑🐝

The second hive was MAD that we were looking at their honey stores though, and they were literally pelting us, and I pulled a few stingers out of my gloves. I have only duct tape covering some holes in my veil, so it was a bit stressful. 😆

[mistresskayla-blog1]

Queen of the Forest

Characters: Richard Armitage x Cara Ambrose

Chapter 2

Warnings: Smut, intrigue, pining, angst, love, p in v, voyeurism, masturbation,

Word Count: 2.5k

Chapter 2: His Likeness (April 30th)

Cara stood over the balcony, like Juliet in the laze of the midday. Ajay looked up to the master suite towering over the workspace right at that moment, and his jaw dropped. He had heard about the mistress but had yet to see her. Joshua and Theo had kept him very busy, gathering wood for the feast and tending to other matters for them as he trained. He’d been in the encampment about 2 weeks before he spied his eyes on her and was instantly besotted. The way her smile curved on her mouth, and the way her eyes darted in joy, watching everyone below her. He wanted to be closer to that creature that lived on high like that. Taste the sweetness of divinity. The sun caught her golden locks and it shone like a hallow on her round face. She turned away from him, and a large figure approached her, his dark features matched Ajay’s and an idea crept into his head suddenly. Watching Richard take her in his arms and kiss her warmly. Cara wrapped her arms about Richard’s neck and he kissed her hand, letting it rest on his cheek. Ajay couldn’t hear what they said, but it seemed warm and genuine. He wanted to be that man, he wanted to be with her. He would be with her. His face set strongly as Theo came up to him, his eyes tracking in the direction of Ajay’s.

Theo, “Yeah they are cute aren’t they.  A long journey for both of them, but they make it work. Its something to have love like that” Theo grunts as he sets down a bag of sand. Ajay looks down at him, “I must have her”. Theo, “Yeah right man, are you serious, bed the Queen? Get real man. Go find someone else. She is very much off limits”. Theo mused, shaking his head.

---

Cara looked down at a young man below her, as he conversed with Theo and stared up at her. She smiled and then notably blinked, not knowing how she was looking at what she was looking at. Richard approached her from behind, and she turned and smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him as he leaned in. Richard took Cara’s arm and brought her hand to his lips, brushing his chin. Cara kissed him again, and turned to face the courtyard, “Look my love, your likeness”, Cara mused. Richard looked down towards where she was pointing, and chuckled, amused, then he felt unease in his belly. Richard kissed Cara’s shoulder and his husky voice said, “Watch out for him, my dear. I have to go away for a few days. I know how wild you get at festival”. Cara looked up at him, “Me? Wild? (chuckles) Hardly. I just want to dance.”  Richard kisses her again on her shoulder, and she shivers warmly. “Just be cautious, I am not here to protect you”, Richard said, keeping his gaze relaxed on the boy. Cara stepped away and moved into the suite. From past him he could hear her say, “But I have Josh and William don’t I?” Richard nodded in response. And moved towards her into the suite.

---

Ajay looked at Theo seriousness on his brow, “I will have her, she will be mine”. As he looked back up at Cara, she smiled down at him, a realization set on her face, as she pointed out to him, and then stepped back from the railing. Ajay beamed, being noticed. Theo, pushed into him with a ruck sack. “Were trudging for morels today, so let’s get to it”. Ajay shifted his gaze, “what?” Theo, “Morels, it’s the season for them, moon waxing and the season warmer, we must gather for the feast in two days”.

Ajay, darted after him, lugging his rucksack and placing it on his back, “Will they, be there?” indicating Richard and Cara. Theo grunted up an embankment on the edge of the camp, “Yes of course, “ pauses, “He might be gone, but she leads the festival, its Beltaine after all, and she is the May Queen”.

Ajay looked back a second, “So I would have a chance then, to get closer to her?”  Theo huffed and chuckled. “You’d have a better time catching a rabbit in the wild my dear boy. That women, is off limits. I promise you that, has guards when he is away. And that big lad too. Theo eyes Jed who is pulling vegetables from the garden, a giant of a man, doing delicate work. Kendra’s arm resting on his huge bicep as they both wave in smiles at Theo and Ajay. “I see,” he says calculating things in his mind. They continue into the woods, looking for fallen ash and oak. The further they trudge into the woods, the more Ajay’s head was grinding at how to get to Cara.

---

Ajay gathered morels as he found them, and stooped as Theo was busy to pull some nightshade from the ground as well, snapping off the ripe berries. A wild grin on his face, he had a plan now, and it would only take a few days to get it ready. Ajay took the red berries in his palm and laid them in a cloth he kept in his pocket, watching not to crush them.

---

As the night gathered around the village, a large fire was kept in the courtyard, but business was retired for the day. Only a few straggling folks left, tending to the fire, some were visiting over blankets and grog. Ajay moved cautiously threw the encampment, staying to the shadows as he crept up the ladders to the master Suite. The Moon has already risen in the sky, and flecks of light splashed across the wooded planks of the walkway, as his feet softened on them, slowly moving to the glass doors of the master suite. Ajay peaked inside.. and saw what he could only have imagined.

---

Richard and Cara laid together, in bed, Cara’s arm laid lazily over Richard’s sinewy pecs, and taut belly. She sighed as he kissed her languidly and gently. He began to lower his mouth to her breast, and she moaned softly, her breath catching as his teeth met nipple, he pulled at it gently, beading in his mouth. A low groan escaped his nostrils as his mouth was full of her sweet skin. He pulled his mouth off, pinching the nipple then between his thumb and forefinger, Cara’s back arched to meet his touch, and her hands grabbed him into a kiss. There lips met, wet, wanting and warm. Richard’s hands explored her everywhere.

The sheets dropping lower and lower as Ajay stared through the window at them both.

Richard kissed lower and lower down Cara’s body, grazing her soft belly, and hollows, before reaching her furry mound, and naked slit. His lips made little dewy trails down her skin, and it made her shiver warmly. Cara’s hands moved into his hair, as his tongue began to part her folds gently. Cara cried out in anticipation, and Richard chuckled huskily at her clit, “Do you want something?”

Cara, panted, “I want you to taste me, my King”. Richard licked at her clit and Cara bucked a bit on the bed.. his tongue delved deeper and into her pussy.. easing in and out slowly. Cara squirted into his mouth, and he groaned in appreciation. Her moans growing even louder in the quiet room.

Ajay kept watching, becoming noticeably aroused, at hearing her moans through the open windows beside him.

Richard gulped down her nectar as it flowed from her. The deeper and more exploring his tongue delved into her pussy, the more she flowed. Her pussy tasted like honey, and her nectar quenched his thirst like nothing else on earth. She was his favorite meal, and he happily lapped her up, as she moaned and cried out his name in pleasure. Richard quickened his tongue and Cara dug her hands in his hair, “Please Richard.. don’t make this cum this way,” she begged, “I want you inside me”. Richard was not done quenching his thirst and hunger, so he continued to lap at her cunt, until she shuddered and clenched, gripping his tongue in release. Her body tensing, and a low groan of a moan escaping her lips.. panting as she sat up and pulled his face up by his ears to kiss the taste of her out of his mouth. Richard smiled as they kissed hard, tongues twisting in arching pleasure, they played in each other’s mouths. Richard sat up, his shorts falling to the floor, as he moved over Cara, her legs spread wide to receive him. He propped himself above her on his forearms, and slid his long and thick cock into her slickness… smoothly and deep in one slow motion. Cara pulled at his ass, pulling him into her. Richard smirked and pulled out. Cara looked frustrated, pushed him in, with her strong calves. Richard relented and caught his breath as he sunk in deep and pushed against her soft cervix. Cara, looked at him again, and he dropped his hands to his elbows, cradling her face, as they kissed again. Their mouths just as joined as their sex, in a beautiful flow of energy. Richard made lazy thrusts as Cara moaned into his mouth. Pulling out slow and then pushing in hard, making her cervix throb and ache.

Cara’s moans shifted and got stronger, and Ajay took out his cock and started stroking, paying no attention to getting caught, enthralled with what he was watching. His cock, thick, and veiny and short, untucked from his britches, the tip was bubbling precum, and he used it to slick his shaft, and stroke it as he liked it.

Richard, panted, “God, I love you” as he quickened his pace a bit, going a bit harder and deeper. Cara, cried out as her orgasm built into a crescendo, “More.. deeper, please my King” she gasped, turning her face away from him, her eyes shut in pleasure and intensity. The bundle of nerves inside her cunt were fluttering and clenching and she felt the veins of his cock against her walls, and the way the cap hit her sensitive spot. She let it build and build, taking her fingers and rubbing at her clit in eagerness. Richard saw her grab for her clit and pulled it away, “No my Queen, you will take this without help..” he mused. And pinned her hand above her head, gently but firmly. Richard began to thrust harder, and Cara could feel her clit swell more, and her walls start to clench as she shattered around him, screaming out his name “Oh Richard” She screamed, and he grinned in acceptance of this praise. She shuddered and writhed beneath him. Her cunt squeezing him full inside her, he resisted his urge to release. Richard  started rocking into her faster, moving her legs, to rest at his shoulders, he sucked her toe and looked down at her with such sweetness, a tear rolled down her cheek as she tried to calm her pulsating cunt. But each stroke of his cock inside her, just raised her again, building yet another orgasm from within her, her body tingling all over.

As Cara came, Ajay started stroking faster as well, watching intently as Richard fucked her, Ajay was getting close to his finish, but Richard did not seem close at all.

Richard was relentless, he fucked her again and again, building his own release, Cara came again. Richard moved her, rolling her onto her stomach and pressing her down into the bed. His long cock, having no trouble sliding between her juicy ass and into her aching cunt. Richard laid against her, burying himself deep inside her, and moving slow. His hand gripping her neck, wrapping his fingers around the front of throat. Cara gasped as he squeezed slightly and her cunt fluttered on his cock. Richard chuckled, “That’s my queen” he drowled, as he started to go faster and faster. Richard sat up, barely changing his depth, and smacked her ass and Cara giggled. Cara moaned as he squeezed her throat a little more, pulling her towards him, her pussy squeezing against his cock. Richard felt it swell more, and he huffed out, “Oh, god my Queen.. I feel it coming”. Cara panted and moaned and whimpered as he moved even faster and harder against her. Finding his finish and spilling his hot seed into her cunt, feeling it wash up against himself, as it coated her walls and teased her cervix. He roared into the night, “Cara!”.

Ajay felt that same sensation building inside himself, he had paused, not stroking himself, as he watched all the ways that Richard moved Cara around and was marveled by it. As he heard the roar of Richard’s release and Caras’ cries, he rocked into his palm again faster and faster until his own release spilled from his fist and onto the pane of the window, Ajay leaned his head against it. Neither of them noticed.

Cara burst into tears of joy as Richard finished inside her. He laid against her back, and kissed her shoulder… He wanted to move, but he also wanted to stay inside her, just bask in that sensation of utter comfort and warmth surrounding his member. It settled down, and softens, slowly. Richard pulled out, and laid beside Cara, they kiss, facing each other, limbs entangled in an eternal embrace. He looked at Cara and deep love resonated from his heart. Cara reflected the same pulse of love and acceptance. He scooped her legs up over his hip, “Best to keep your legs up, they say”.

Cara giggles, “Oh, have you been talking to Kia again about breeding”.

Richard, “Its important isn’t it. And it was Jed actually. We agreed, once this place was put together, we could start a family, right?” 

Cara nods, “We did, and it’s the spring festival, and I’m, ovulating. (smiles)”

Richard places, his hand on her abdomen, and rubs it warmly, “Good luck guys”.

Cara let out a boisterous laugh. “Did you just ‘good luck guys’?” she giggled.

Richard looked at her, “Yeah to my swimmers,”

She kissed him again, “Your adorable” she mused. He chuckled and looked at her warmly.

They kissed again, gently and sweetly. “It’s a perfect time for us to start something new”, Cara said. She settled against him, and closed her eyes, Richard rubbed her legs and pulled a coverlet over her to keep her warm. Cara smiled, “I’m not asleep you know, just tired”.

Richard kissed her forehead, “I know my love, just taking care of you”. Holding her to him.

Ajay retreated, rubbing his hand on the glass to clean up his spunk that would give him away. He slipped away unnoticed and back to his tent. Once back at his tent he pressed the berries in the cloth, letting it drip into a glass jar he stole from the kitchens that afternoon. The dark liquid dripped slowly through the cheese cloth. Ajay smiled and closed his eyes on his pillow.

Taglist:

@sweetestgbye @middleearthpixie @legolasbadass @riepu10 @richardarmitageshands @richardarmitagefanpage @evenstaredits @littlesweetdressmaker @lathalea @scariusaquarius @enchantzz

want to be tagged PM me. Thanks.

[chase-solidago]

In England Have My Bones [T.H.] White wrote one of the saddest sentences I have ever read: ‘Falling in love is a desolating experience, but not when it is with a countryside.’ He could not imagine a human love returned. He had to displace his desires onto the landscape, that great, blank green field that cannot love you back, but cannot hurt you either. [...] But the countryside wasn’t just something that was safe for White to love: it was a love that was safe to write about.

"It took me a long time to realise how many of our classic books on animals were by gay writers who wrote of their relationships with animals in lieu of human loves of which they could not speak."

Gavin Maxwell’s Ring of Bright Water, for example: the tale of a lonely man on the Scottish coast with an Iraqi otter on his sofa. Or the books of the BBC radio naturalist Maxwell Knight, former MI5 spymaster and closet queen. Doubly disallowed to speak openly of his allegiances, Knight wrote a book about hand-rearing a cuckoo called Goo. His obsession with this small, greedy, feathery, parasitic bird is terribly moving; it was a species made of all the hidden elements of Knight’s life: subterfuge, deceit, passing oneself off as something one is not. [...]

[T.H. White] kept [grass snakes] because ‘it was impossible to impose upon them, or steal their affections’. He loved them because they were misunderstood, maligned, and ‘inevitably themselves.’

----------- Chapter 4, H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald (2014)

Does anyone know other sources that talk about the intersections between queer writers and nature writing? As a queer lady who does exactly that, this passage has always stuck with me.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

ETA: I wrote up a guide on clues that a foraging book was written by AI here!

[Original Tweet source here.]

[RANT AHEAD]

Okay, yeah. This is a very, very, very bad idea. I understand that there is a certain flavor of techbro who has ABSOLUTELY zero problem with this because "AI is the future, bro", and we're supposed to be reading their articles on how to use AI for side hustles and all that.

I get that ID apps have played into people's tendency to want quick and easy answers to everything (I'm not totally opposed to apps, but please read about how an app does not a Master Naturalist make.) But nature identification is serious stuff, ESPECIALLY when you are trying to identify whether something is safe to eat, handle, etc. You have to be absolutely, completely, 100000% sure of your ID, and then you ALSO have to absolutely verify that it is safely handled and consumed by humans.

As a foraging instructor, I cannot emphasize this enough. My classes, which are intended for a general audience, are very heavy on identification skills for this very reason. I have had (a small subsection of) students complain that I wasn't just spending 2-3 hours listing off bunches of edible plants and fungi, and honestly? They can complain all they want. I am doing MY due diligence to make very sure that the people who take my classes are prepared to go out and start identifying species and then figure out their edibility or lack thereof.

Because it isn't enough to be able to say "Oh, that's a dandelion, and I think this might be an oyster mushroom." It's also not enough to say "Well, such-and-such app says this is Queen Anne's lace and not poison hemlock." You HAVE to have incredibly keen observational skills. You HAVE to be patient enough to take thorough observations and run them through multiple forms of verification (field guides, websites, apps, other foragers/naturalists) to make sure you have a rock-solid identification. And then you ALSO have to be willing to read through multiple sources (NOT just Wikipedia) to determine whether that species is safely consumed by humans, and if so if it needs to be prepared in a particular way or if there are inedible/toxic parts that need to be removed.

AND--this phenomenon of AI-generated crapola emphasizes the fact that in addition to all of the above, you HAVE to have critical thinking skills when it comes to assessing your sources. Just because something is printed on a page doesn't mean it's true. You need to look at the quality of the information being presented. You need to look at the author's sources. You need to compare what this person is saying to other books and resources out there, and make sure there's a consensus.

You also need to look at the author themselves and make absolutely sure they are a real person. Find their website. Find their bio. Find their social media. Find any other manners in which they interact with the world, ESPECIALLY outside of the internet. Contact them. Ask questions. Don't be a jerk about it, because we're just people, but do at least make sure that a book you're interested in buying is by a real person. I guarantee you those of us who are serious about teaching this stuff and who are internet-savvy are going to make it very easy to find who we are (within reason), what we're doing, and why.

Because the OP in that Tweet is absolutely right--people are going to get seriously ill or dead if they try using AI-generated field guides. We have such a wealth of information, both on paper/pixels and in the brains of active, experienced foragers, that we can easily learn from the mistakes of people in the past who got poisoned, and avoid their fate. But it does mean that you MUST have the will and ability to be impeccably thorough in your research--and when in doubt, throw it out.

My inbox is always open. I'm easier caught via email than here, but I will answer. You can always ask me stuff about foraging, about nature identification, etc. And if there's a foraging instructor/author/etc. with a website, chances are they're also going to be more than willing to answer questions. I am happy to direct you to online groups on Facebook and elsewhere where you have a whole slew of people to compare notes with. I want people's foraging to be SAFE and FUN. And AI-generated books aren't the way to make that happen.

[theincognitomoth]

Wild Side

Pairing: Mr. Wolf x Fem!Reader (Stablished relationship)

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 5731

Warnings: Rough sex, mild language, bitting, scratch,ing knotting, praise kink, male!dom, fem!sub, first person POV.

Sinopsys: During a mission gone wrong, Mr. Wolf goes on a wild frenzy and ends up hurting his girlfriend. Out of guilt, he isolates himself in a dirty apartment, all the while his sweetheart is determined to prove he has nothing to feel Sorry for.

Since the Night Howlers' incident, Wolf refused to come out of his room. He also refused to let anyone else in, except for Snake, and he refused, above all else, to see me- And that stung far more than the bite mark shaped like his teeth in my forearm as I applied the flower scented infection cream.

Three months ago Diane came with a mission for us. It was simple at first: find a couple of missing citizens. But soon the conspiracy web spiraled so further down that mind controlled guinea pigs and a butt shaped meteorite sounded sane in the same sentence. 

Those people were targets of a cult- The Naturalists, they called themselves. They believed that the root of suffering came from the modern world. A normal group with this belief might have organized a hike or camping trip but, crazy bastards that they were, thought themselves justified to take people off the streets and inject them with a brain altering drug: The Night Howlers.

That cursed little purple capsule was the reason my boyfriend refused to see me, even after two weeks of the case closed.

During a chase he was shot with the substance. Even now my stomach ran cold when I remembered the look in his eyes- Desperate at first, and then feral mindlessness. He chased me prey, my heart pounded in my ears, all my blood going to my legs telling me to run, run, run. It was still a blurry memory, the way his fangs buried on my skin. It was sheer luck that saved me that day, and I dreaded imagining the other outcome. But whatever horrors my mind came up with, I knew Wolf's was much worse, leaving him to rot in his little den of misery. 

With a heavy sigh, I put on my clothes and marched out of the apartment, standing in front of Wolf's door yet again.

“Moe?” I knocked and waited for a response that never came.

This everlasting silence would drive me mad.

“I know you can't- won't see me right now, but could you at least say something so I know you're not dead and rotting on the other side of that damn door?” 

My words were harsh, I knew, and the corridor echoes made sure to slap me in the face with them. For his sake I kept those words in. I knew he was suffering, I tried to be patient, but the sting with each day of deathly silence left a bitter taste in my mouth and I had to let it out before it made me sick.

“I'm getting tired of this- I know you feel bad for what happened, but I swear, I'd rather get bitten again than for you to play dead. Please…”

I was certain my plea would fall on deaf ears until the door locks creaked. My heart was beating in my ears like drums, my eyes burnt from not blinking. The door opened to reveal a dark room, cold and smelling like an old pantry. Snake stood on the other side, looking at me with a frown deeper than normal. He was much better at hiding  his worry than me. 

“Go easy on him,” He said, slipping out of the door and holding it open.

“Is it too bad?” I whispered.

“Would be easier if he wasn't such a drama queen.” 

I forced out a chuckle.

“Thanks.”

“Don't mention it, just… Get him out of that damn apartment.”

A difficult mission, one I didn't know if I was up to, yet had to grab this precious small chance.

I walked into Wolf's apartment and closed the door behind me.

Some people prefer winter nights over nice summer days, but the state of his apartment was absurd. I adjusted my sleeves to cover my hands as the AC turned a city apart into a tundra, its blue glowing numbers being the only light source letting me see broad shapes. Wolf sat in the corner of the couch, wrapped around an old blanket with his face hidden in it. How much time did he spent day after day like this?

One of many food packages scrunching under my foot as I made my way towards him. His ears perked up for a second before laying flat against his head again.

“Moe…” He flinched.

I sat on the couch, arms length from him.

“Can you look at me?” The knots in my chest tightened further as the seconds stretched without a response. “... I miss you.”

Finally, thank Heavens, finally he looked up at me, those big sad eyes resembling an abandoned puppy. He stared for a short while, before sifting his focus to my forearm, covered by the long sleeve.

“Does it still hurt?” He asked, voice quiet.

“No.”

“Did you get an infection?”

“I didn't.”

“Scar?” 

“None.”

“Good.” He let out a shaky breath. “I've missed you too.”

There was a glimmer of the ‘him’ from before the incident when he smiled at me- My old Moe. But I blinked and it was gone. I reached for his hands into the blanket cocoon, but he winched away, covering it up with a chuckle.

“I haven't trimmed my claws in a while.”

“Since when do you trim them?”

“I- uh, started recently.”

“Moe…”

He shook his head, leaning further away from me with a frown.

“Stop. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

He struggled to find words. I knew that angry look, but it wasn't aimed at anyone.

“Like you're the one who hurt me and not the other way around.”

When he stood up, so did I, keeping a distance as I followed him to the kitchen, littered with full trash bags that didn’t smell, for they were full of plastic packages and cans instead of real food.

“Come on, it wasn't your fault.”

“Yeah, there are blood stains on my shirt that say otherwise.”

He grabbed a kettle and put it on the stove to boil and took one cup of instant noodles from the almost empty cabinet. Shrimp flavored, Moe's least favorite.

“You weren't in control, they shot you with a Night Howler.”

“And I went after you instead of the cultist, how do you explain that?”

Over the weeks, that question plagued me too and I came up with a few theories. Maybe he chose to chase something that smelled familiar, or his animal brain saw me as easier prey, since the cultist was bigger. Whichever reason, not a part of me believed he acted from malice.

“Look, you don't need to try and justify or rationalize what happened there. I don't blame you one bit.”

“You should.” He spoke through gritted teeth.

I tried to remain level headed, but I didn't know what else to say to make him see reason.

“Why? Why the hell are you so angry with yourself when it was the crazy cultist that drugged you?”

“Because I liked it!”

The kettle whistle was the only sound in the room as I was left speechless, mouth agape and dry. I only realized how tense my shoulders were when they dropped heavy on my sides.

“...What?”

Wolf let out a deep sigh, turning off the stove and leaning against the counter. He wasn't looking at me.

“I liked it- not hurting you, not ever. But when that guy shot me with the Night Howler…” He rubbed the spot on his neck where the drug hit him. “It was like- like I had been wearing a tie squeezing my neck the whole time and the Night Howler cut it loose.”

His eyes sparkled with something familiar, that same shine from when he went through a heist plan or talked about a new driving maneuver he pulled. But as soon as that spark came, he met my eyes and it was gone.

“You can't be serious,” I shook my head. “Did you actually buy into that naturalist looney's idea?”

“It's not- look, I'm not saying I want to run around like a rabies crazed dog.”

“I sure hope so.”

It wasn’t the answer he hoped for, I knew, but it wasn’t what I expected him to say either. Something about those eyes begged for me to understand. For all that it’s worth it, I tried.

Wolf took a moment, pouring the hot water on his noodles.

“Wish I could explain it better. I haven't been able to sleep right after what I did to you, but at the same time, when I close my eyes and remember the way it felt to run around without a thought in my head, it was… free, and real and…”

“Wild?” 

He opened the lid of his instant noodles with a small chuckle, poking at the shrimp pieces with a plastic fork.

“Yeah, wild.” He took a sniff of the thing, face twisting in disgust, then put it down on the sink. 

Silence weighed on the apartment while I tried to make sense of his words. The way he spoke wasn't much different from those cultists and I couldn't use the excuse of indoctrination on him. The great leaders didn't talk Moe into buying their idea, he felt it on his skin, so much so that even the bite incident didn't stop him from missing that brief moment of brain off wildness.

Maybe the naturalists weren't so off. 

“Would you do it again?”

“The night howler? Nah, too risky.”

“But you miss the feeling.”

It wasn't a question, and the way he lowered his ears showed he knew it. I tried to relate in a way, imagining what it would be like if I could never again eat my favorite food, run in the rain or go downhill on a bike. What would be like if I had a snippet of the highest high of my life only to know I could never experience it again? What would it be like if I had a tie squeezing around my neck, only loose enough to suck in shallow breaths?

Miserable, that's what it would be like.

“Moe…” My heels clicked on the silent apartment as I approached and touched his shoulder. “I can't in my right mind say you should do drugs,” I said with a straight face and he chuckled. “But I don't want you to feel like you're suffocated either. Maybe we can find a middle ground, loosening the tie without ripping it off.”

His ears perked up a little and he looked at me with those puppy eyes that got my heart in a claw-like grip.

“Really? After what I did, would you still want to help?”

“Of course I do. What happened wasn't your fault, and I don't want you to feel suffocated.” I reached for the fluff on his cheek and Moe leaned against my hand. “I love you.”

I barely finished my sentence and his arms wrapped around me, squeezing my waist, firm and gentle, even if I wouldn’t mind having the air squeezed out of me. His head rested against my shoulder and his tail wagged fast.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

The familiar weight of his head on my shoulder melted the tension I walked with for the past weeks. I missed the way his fur tickled my cheek and the way his tail brushed against my legs. If helping him tap into a semi-wild state was what it took to keep this, then becoming a goddamn adrenaline chaser suddenly climbed its way up my list of priorities.

Minutes passed in our much needed embrace before I gathered the willpower to pull away, earning a small whine from him.

“Okay, Moe. If I'm going to help you, we are doing this right.” I walked up to his fridge where a little white board with a couple of markers was glued to the door and picked the red one, writing ‘Mr. Wolf's wild list’ on the top. “Let's start with the ideas.”

Wolf crossed his arms and leaned against the counter with a smirk.

“Not wasting any time, I see.”

“The sooner we figure out what can help you, the sooner we can implement it. So come on, ideas.”

He closed his eyes with a hum, scratching his chin.

“Pulling out a stunt with the car always gets me going.”

“Dangerous driving, then?”

“It's only dangerous if you don't know what you're doing, sweetheart.”

I stared at him, unamused for a good three seconds before sighing.

“Fine.” Against better judgment, I wrote ‘crazy driving’ on the board. “But only on empty roads.”

“Fair enough.”

“What about hiking? It's in nature.”

“Eh, I don't know. Not really a nature guy myself.”

“Really, Moe? No nature in the wild list?”

Wolf chuckled, shaking his head.

“Well, when you put it like that… Maybe I can give running around the mud and get eaten by mosquitos a go.”

“What a lovely way to put it, babe.” I wrote 'touching grass’ on the list with a green marker, drawing a little mosquito beside it.

“Okay, what else?”

Doodling a couple of stars, I waited for new ideas. When he told me nothing for a good thirty seconds, I turned my full attention to him; his tail wagged a little bit, but hung low, the clawed finger tapped against the counter in steady clicks.

 “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, I know the room is pretty dark but I'm not blind.” I placed my hands over his bouncing leg and tapping finger, the movement stopping. “You can tell me.”

He took his sweet time with it, eyes running through the corners of the room and looking away after the split moments he met mine.

“Promise you won't get mad.”

“Okay… I won't get mad.”

“And promise you'll say no if you're not absolute, one hundred percent sure of it.”

“You’re making it sound like you want to commit a crime.”

“Not far off my alley. But no, it's not a crime, it's… Not gonna lie, it's pretty damn embarrassing.”

Embarrassing. This was the man who played the suave thief like second nature, so when he looked at me like a punny teenager about to ask the cheerleader to the dance, scared of my rejection, what else could I do other than swoon?

“I never knew you had shame buried under that white suit of yours.”

I waited for his smart little remark so I could answer with a comeback heating up on the tip of my tongue. It felt nice, familiar, our back and forth.

“Yeah, that's what you do to me.”

My witty come answer turned to ash in my mouth, leaving my tongue heavy; And while my head scrambled for coherence and my knees for composure, Wolf chuckled and put his hands on my hips,thumbs running up and down sending a wave up my back and making my hairs prickle.

“I want you,” He whispered. “When you walked in, your smell almost made me forget why I hid away to begin with.”

The Moe I knew was a flirt, yes, but in a way which felt like he practiced his lines in front of a mirror. A great actor, no doubt, but still an actor. This was different, it was raw. He spoke without a filter and it made my back arch. I squeezed his shoulder, crumpling the fabric of his messy shirt.

“I want you too,” I leaned closer, breath fanning over the little furs on his muzzle. “I missed you, Moe. I missed you way too much.”

Harsher than what I was used to, his hands squeezed the flesh of my hips, and I could feel the tip of his sharp claws through my jeans.

“Sweetheart, I need you to be real with me now and only say yes if you really mean it.” A gentle hand tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I want you to be part of my little list.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I want to try something different, a little more… loose.”

The only thing stopping the heat that ran up my spine from getting to my head was the ever present suspicion.

“Loose?”

“Yeah, you said I should loosen the tie,” His grip on my waist tightened and he pulled me close enough to feel his hot breath brushing my nose. “And I want to loosen it with you.”

Little impressions I had from the time we spent entangled in the sheets suddenly became much clearer. The way he held me by the waist, kissed me, touched me- Aside from being fantastic and melting the tension from every muscle, left me with this itch in the back of my mind. Be it a scowl on his brow or hands that squeezed me too tight just to let go two seconds after, what he did to me never felt complete. Now I had the confirmation to my suspicions: He held back every time.

Morbid curiosity allied with the growing fire in my stomach, making me wonder how much I could take if he didn't.

“I want to try that out too.”

“Really?” His smile widened and he gave my hips a small squeeze. “It's not just because of me, right? Because if it is-”

I cut his rambling by the root with a peck to the lips.

“I'm a big girl, Moe. I know what I want and I mean what I'm saying. And what I want is for you to take off that leash and burn it-”

In a blink, he had me on top of the balcony, body pressed flushed together as he invaded my mouth in a kiss that left me light headed.

He took his lips away from mine and before I fully made sense of what was happening, began kissing my neck.

“Just tell me to stop and I will,” he said between little kisses and small nibbles. “And if I hurt you, punch me in the throat.”

“Hm, yeah, I can… I can manage that.” 

Pushing words out became quite the task when he was making me gasp and sending  shivers through my nerves. I held onto his head, looking down as he worked his magic on my skin, tucking my shirt's collar down to give the same treatment as my neck. While Wolf busied himself with that, I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling a hardening volume against my inner thigh.

“Already?” I smiled, scratching behind his ear.

“Hm, just missed you so much.”

His hands moved from my hips to my thighs, squeezing them like stress toys while leaving an open mouth kiss on my cleavage. I tugged at his head, and when a breathy moan left my lips, he growled against my skin.

“How much do you like this shirt?”

The sudden question snapped my attention back to him. He looked at my long sleeve shirt as if it was his worst enemy.

“What?”

He squeezed my thighs a little harder, claws poking my flesh.

“The shirt. Is it a favorite of yours?” 

“Why- no, not really.”

“Good.”

The fire that ran through my blood when he tore up the shirt with his teeth and claws was enough to make my face melt off. My mouth hung open with no words uttered as he kissed between my breasts, before pulling away to stare at my lace bra.

“Hm… Not this one.” Much gentler, nimble fingers unclasped the hooks behind me, letting the bra slide through my shoulders while he looked me in the eye with a cheeky grin. “This one I like.”

“...I'll keep that in mind.”

“But I like these even more.”

His attention focused on my breasts. He took one in his hand and kneaded it gently, before making me groan with a harsh squeeze. His grip loosened the same moment and he kissed the finger prints on my skin.

“Too much?”

“No, no, just a little sensitive. It’s been a while.”

“It sure has,” Another gentle kiss traced the reddish marks, trailing up to my pulse. “We can do it the nicer way, you know.”

There he went, offering me an out again when my desires were set in forgetting all restraint. In response my eager hands worked around his shirt, soft fabric hiding even softer fur beneath it. Maybe I was the wild animal between us.

The rumbling of his laugh vibrated against my neck.

“Or not.”

His hands returned to my tender breasts, previous gentleness gone as he squeezed one while feeling the other’s weight in his palm. The pain didn’t phase me. Sure, there was a sharp moment of agony, but in less than a second it became laced with strange pleasure, before fully dissolving into it, like a cold shower after a full day walking in the sun. 

My own hands stayed occupied, tracing my fingers over his spine, glazing my nails against his skin, and fully sunk into him when Moe took one of my nipples into his mouth, threatening to bite it down. He didn’t, I knew he wouldn’t go that far, but the possibility was enough to get me shivering.

He nibbled, sucked and played with my hardened buds until I was pulling at the hairs on his neck with enough strength to rip them, and by the end even the breeze from the air conditioner made me whine. He moved back a little, a gleam of smugness in his eyes as he looked over his work of turning my flesh into a personal canvas with purple and red marks. Those eyes that never looked more dangerous met mine and I almost came undone right then and here.

“Awn sweetheart, you’re crying?”

Overwhelmed tears stung my eyes, my entire body, especially my face, feverish.

“N-No. I’m tearing up, it’s different.”

“Well, un-lucky for you, you’re way too pretty like this.” He held my chin a little too forceful, making me stare at the predatory gaze of his. “Now I wonder what’s like if I do make you cry.”

My gasp got cut short when Wolf threw me over his shoulder like a fat shack of dollar bills and walked towards his bedroom, making me yelp when he squeezed my butt followed by a less than gentle bite.

I tried to look at his face while balancing myself.

“When did you get this strong?” 

“Always have been, just needed the right motivation.”

The bedroom was as dark as the rest of the apartment, his familiar scent all around when he threw me in the bed, right in the center of a nest-like pile of blankets and kissing down my lips.

“Comfortable?”

“Yeah, I could fall asleep right now.”

He let out a breathy chuckle, one finger pulling my pants.

“You can try, don’t think you’ll be able to. But if you get close to falling asleep…” With a swift movement, he lowered my pants to my thighs. “I’ll just have to get you on the edge again.” He slid my pants down all the way and kissed under my belly button. “...And again…” His lips stopped at the hem of my panties, fingers coming up to touch the soaked spot between my legs. “... And again.”

Threat or promise, he already left unable to catch my breath. My watery eyes admired the sight as much as the blurriness allowed it, my hips buckling against his fingers while the bastard grinned.

“Hell, Moe. You want me to beg?”

“I wasn’t thinking about it, but now that you offered…”

Leaning back on the pillows with one arm over my face, I groaned.

“You’re such a jerk.”

“Hey, don’t be mad. I’m just messing with ya, beautiful.” 

“Oh, aren’t you a jokester? This is torture-”

A jolt went up my spine when he dragged his fingers along my slick, teasing me through the panties’ fabric. Wolf’s breath hovered over my over sensitive clit before he gave it the much needed attention with an open mouth kiss that if on the lips would leave anyone drenched. I held myself back from locking his head with my legs when he moved away to slice my panties off, my fully nude form barely affected by the cold room because of how he made me burn.

Moe kissed me, the softer and passionate approach meeting the pace of his fingers teasing my entrance and smearing my clit with my own wetness. For a moment he got me thinking he had given up on our little experiment, but horny little me simply walked into a trap, only noticing when he grabbed my hips and flipped me into my stomach. I tried to use my elbows for support, but Moe pushed me back down and lifted my hips, leaning over my body, pressing himself flushed against me and whispering.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to have you like this, bent over letting me see everything. And you look so pretty. Always so, so pretty for me, sweetheart.” 

His husky whisper tickled the back of my ear and I couldn’t blame myself from the moan he dragged out of me. I needed him now, before this drove me to wild madness. And maybe that’s what Wolf was trying to do- To turn me into a crazed and unleashed beast. By the way I pressed myself against him, without a single rational thought, he more than succeeded.

“Just fuck me,” I demanded.

Growling, he dug his hands into my hips, grinding the rock hard cock against me, staining his pants with my slick.

“Last chance to back down.” The sound of his voice was followed by the unzipping of his pants.

“I think I’ll combust if I do.”

Wolf chuckled, one of his hands spreading my lips for him while the other guided his thick length to my entrance and made me gasp and grab at the sheets. It took a total of three slower thrusts before he picked up a crushing, brain melting pace and made me forget the time of the day, the place and my name. He held me by the back of the neck, and by the stings of pain coming from my back and shoulder, I could guess how many marks I would have by the end of this- and God, I didn’t care. If anything, it ripped more unrestrained whimpers and cries from my throat.

“You sound almost as amazing as you feel,” he said, voice breathless against the back of my ear, his arms wrapping around my waist and holding me like a vice. “Damn, sweetheart, so pretty, so good for me, my good girl.”

“N-Not fair, that’s my- Oh, God!- that’s my line.”

The unforgiving pace grew even more savage, cutting out my moans with each thrust.

“But you like it too, don’t you? Screaming so much my ears are ringing.”

“Sorry-”

“Don’t be.”

Although he reached so, so fucking deep into me, that wasn’t the end of it. No, not with Moe like this, not with the swollen base as a delicious reminder, slapping against me everytime he moved.

His groans grew more fanatic, he barely pulled out, rutting against me right before his knot slipped inside in a stretch that might be painful if I wasn’t soaking wet.

Hissing, Moe held me flushed against his chest and my hands held onto his forearms for any semblance of structure. He could only rut against my heat and I could only moan at the over stimulation, so close from being a mess in his arms.

“Mine,” He groaned, nibbling my ear. “My perfect girl, taking me so well.”

“M-Moe…” My body twitched, tears rolled down my eyes into the sweat stained sheets. 

Wolf licked a red mark on the crook of my neck.

“Hm, I knew you would look even more beautiful crying for me.” His voice came out in huff and puffs of hot air on my already burning skin. His rutting became relentless, the tip of his cock bullying my cervix, trying to invade everything, tear me apart, merge into me, and by God, I would let him.

It didn’t take long for me to feel the familiar euphoria rush through my veins and tie knots- how ironic- around my stomach. Barely mustering the strength to moan and cry, pitiful wails echoed back to me, and my unleashed lover didn’t trail much better, his own voice hoarse and desperate.

My climax didn’t knock at the door- no, no, no, it came bursting through it, making a mess and all around as I clawed at Wolf’s forearms like a beast and was left shaking and gasping for air amidst low whines. He kept his pace, mindlessly chasing his own high, making my overstimulation all the more wrecking.

Two more minutes of harsh slapping sounds went by before the sights of his orgasm finally appeared to relieve my shaking body. Claws dug in my hips with a possessive grip, his jaw was so tense I could hear the sharp teeth grind against each other and for a moment it seemed he wanted to merge into me before his grip loosed and I felt the familiar warmth floating my walls and leaving no empty creeks.

Fast movements died down, his head resting on my shoulder followed by a heavy and content sigh .I could finally catch my breath.

“Are you okay?” Wolf asked, kissing the marking on the back of my neck.

In my head I answered ‘yes, fantastic’, but babbles left my mouth instead of words- At least he found it funny. 

Gently, he flipped me on my back and laid me down, kissing my temple and pulling my putty self closer.

“Fantastic as always, sweetheart. I didn’t think you could get any better and you still impressed me.”

I met his eyes, a smile playing on my lips. His fur never looked more messy, inviting me to pet and try to even it out. I did so, and Moe leaned against my hand, but that sweet, blissed out smile died the moment he laid eyes on the bite mark on my forearm. My heart squeezed for him as he took my arm like it was made of glass and stared at the red teeth scars.

“Moe, it’s not-” 

“I know.” He kissed the bite mark, lips lighter than butterfly wings. “But I’m still so sorry. Even after this, you’re still doing so much for me, I don’t know how to make it up to you.”

My hand scratched behind his flat ear.

“Well, if you’re so keen about it, I would love it if you finally got out of the apartment.”

He scoffed, but I kept going.

“I’m serious. I know you feel guilty, but locking yourself up as if you committed a crime is not doing any good to anyone. Hell, if I was the one who went crazy and bit you, it wouldn’t be an issue. You might even be laughing about it.”

Proving my point, he let out a breathy chuckle.

“See?” Despite the wobbly limbs, I shifted on the bed, bringing his head to my chest and placing one leg over his waist. “You’re not bad, Wolf.”

Hesitant hands moved up my back, holding me closer, and my worries were eased once I heard his tail wagging against the bed.

“Thank you, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Of course you’re right.” He nuzzled my neck and I could feel his smile. “And you’re right about leaving the apartment too. My nose is starting to itch and I would rather eat cardboard than those shrimp flavored noodles again.” 

“How about we go for a walk and get a salad after?”

He looked at me like a little kid who got told no at the toy store.

“Fine, a walk and ice cream. But after that we're deep cleaning this place.”

“Hmm, yes. You’re definitely too good for me.”

Wagging his tail, he leaned in and kissed the purple bruise on my neck. I knew his self blame wasn’t gone, hope as I might, it might never fully be, but we would take it one step at a time. And besides, exploring this new, unrestrained side of him- of us- wasn’t bad at all.

TAGLIST: @freeholeformuzan @xxladysquishyxx

[thesiltverses]

Are there any poems that inspired TSV? I know I asked a similar question about plays, and I really loved the ones listen!

Well, there's a huge amount of Seamus Heaney in the landscape and vibes of TSV (particularly the bog-sacrifice poems for obvious reasons, the early Death of a Naturalist work trying to make sense of his childhood and parents, and his Buile Suibhne translations), and generally speaking we're sort of riffing off symbolist knight-errant narratives which includes poems like Faerie Queene.

They're almost too obvious and famous to be called influences, but I don't think you can write anything about religious and apocalyptic dread without feeling the looming shadow of The Waste Land, The Hollow Men and The Second Coming, and I think there's a lot of buried Rime of the Ancient Mariner homages in Carpenter's story (like one who on a lonesome road, etc) and Kubla Khan in Faulkner's.

[thecreaturecodex]

Great Old One, Mormo

Image © @chimeride, accessed at his tumblr here

[Monster Number 1900! And, in honor of that milestone, I am finally, finally, posting the statistics for Mormo, Goddess of Predators. She's been haunting this blog for about a year now, being one of the prime movers and shakers in the Age of Monsters campaign seed I sewed back last May, and have been teasing with NPCs and articles. She was intended to have been posted as a capstone to the "Monster Girl Summer" theme last year, but life got in the way.

She is also written in tribute to @abominationimperatrix. Of all of the people who I have met through my writing, she is the one who is most dear to me, and the Age of Monsters was inspired by us going from friends and confidants to lovers and soulmates last April. The Age of Monsters is intended to be a campaign that ties into our shared love of thinking with monsters, about deep ecology, weird creatures and world mythology, and of the importance of love and trust in a time of global chaos and destruction. I love you, Goddess, my Dearest Friend.]

Mormo CR 28 N Outsider This titan is a reptilian humanoid the size of a giant. She has a nest of writhing serpents for hair and six arms, each ending in long sickle claws. She is a serpent from the waist down, although a mass of scar tissue reveals she once had two tails that grew like legs from a pair of hips. Her remaining tail ends in a bushel of thorny spines. A pair of wings like those of a primeval reptile grow from her back.

Mormo The First Medusa, Goddess of Predators N Great Old One of ecology, reptiles and terror Domains Knowledge, Scalykind, Strength, Trickery Subdomains Competition, Fear*, Thought, Venom Worshipers druids, goblins, gnolls, naturalists Minions monsters of all kinds (especially hybrids) Holy Symbol a medusa’s head in profile Favored Weapon claw (or sickle) *clerics of Mormo can use the Fear subdomain to modify the Trickery domain

Mormo is the Goddess of Predators. She was born from the fear felt by the first animal with enough imagination to see a shadow and think it a predator. For millions of years, she was bestial, primordial, little more than a serpentine shadow, but as sapience developed and the gods began to take interest in souls, her mind sharpened, and she became as dangerous for her strategies as her teeth and claws. Mormo views the natural world as one to be studied in order to best determine what to hunt and how to hunt it, with the unblinking patience of a snake. Her hunts, and those of her followers, are focused to maintain the active equilibrium of ecological balance—reducing overpopulated species, controlling trophic cascades, and taking out species that consume more than their fair share of resources.

Mormo was once called the Mother of Monsters, and many species of monster found throughout the planes are her descendants. Mormo’s descendants tend to be creatures that combine mammalian and reptilian or avian features; griffons, medusae, chimeras and dragonnes are among her creations. In the past, she had many lovers and created new species with their lineages. The most notorious of these collaborators was Typhon, a Lord of Hell and former asura rana, created from the divine mistake of allowing dragons to proliferate. Despite his evil nature, Typhon truly loved Mormo, and spread cults of her under the alias “Echidna”. Mormo cared little for her humanoid followers, preferring the worship of the powerful individual monsters who hunted by her side. But Mormo also had enemies. And she was gazed upon with hungry eyes by Lamashtu, then a demon of infanticide who sought to become the Lord of Beasts and Queen of Demons. And Mother of Monsters.

Lamashtu ambushed Mormo, and was victorious after a battle that lasted for a full day. Lamashtu ripped the baby from Mormo’s womb and raised him as her own; this is Typhon’s last son, Abraxas. Lamashtu tore off one of Mormo’s twin tails, which regenerated into a cancerous creature on its own right. This was the origin of Geryon, who spread treacherous lies suggesting that Typhon and Lamashtu were lovers. This got Typhon demoted and murdered by Asmodeus; Geryon took Typhon’s place as a Lord of Hell and spent millennia erasing his predecessor from history. The blood that spilled from both combatant’s wounds grew into creatures with serpentine and humanoid traits; Mormo’s blood became the first nagas, and Lamashtu’s the first mariliths. And Mormo was slain, reborn as a mundane snake to regenerate in the First World for centuries, and maintaining her cosmic sulk for millennia more

But now Mormo stirs in her slumber. And she is ready to take her revenge.

As befits a Goddess of Predators, Mormo is a terror in combat. Millennia of dormancy and a closer tie to the natural world than other Great Old Ones has stripped her of an unnatural presence, but her fourfould gaze can petrify, paralyze, terrorize or merely strike enemies dead. She is extremely venomous, and those that have survived her venom report, chillingly, that it induces euphoria even as it breaks down tissue into a bloody mess. She uses her fangs (both in her own mouth and those in her serpentine hair) and claws in melee, and can fire the spines from her tail like arrows. One of Mormo’s most recently developed talents is witchcraft. She has made an arcane bond with the phouka Gigi, and Gigi treats Mormo as a patron even as Mormo treats Gigi as a familiar for storing spells. Gigi spends most of her days separate from Mormo on the Material Plane, and so Mormo usually maintains a small spell selection through Spell Mastery. If she is encountered with Gigi, Mormo has access to a much wider variety of spells (all witch spells from the Core Rulebook at least).

The cult of Mormo is small and scattered, but the First Medusa pays it much more heed than she did in her youth. Religious rituals include studying nature and monsters (either through texts or in the field), hunting for food, and mock chases and hunts among the congregation. Supplicants often use makeup, costumes, and illusion and transmutation magic to appear as different types of predators and prey for these hunts. Once someone is “caught”, the result is play fighting, sex or both instead of actual killing or consumption. Mormo’s worshippers value diversity of all kinds, and are often allies of other divinities with portfolios involving nature, scholarship and hedonism. As goblin and gnoll societies break free of Lamashtu’s influence, they often find Mormo, and her cult is growing fastest among these two species.

Mormo CR 28 XP 4,915,200 N Huge outsider (Great Old One) Init +22; Senses all-around vision, darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception +42, scent

Defense AC 45, touch 26, flat-footed 37 (-2 size, +8 Dex, +10 insight, +19 natural) hp 688 (32d10+512); fast healing 20 Fort +26, Ref +26, Will +27 DR 20/epic; Immune ability damage, ability drain, aging, cold, death effects, disease, energy drain, flanking, mind-influencing effects, paralysis, petrification; Resist acid 30, electricity 30, fire 30; SR 39 Defensive Abilities freedom of movement, immortality, insanity (DC 38), otherworldly insight

Offense Speed 30 ft., climb 30 ft., swim 30 ft. fly 60 ft. (average) Melee 2 bites +44 (2d6+14 plus poison), 6 claws +44 (1d12+14/19-20), tail slap +39 (3d8+21 plus grab) Ranged 6 spines +38 (1d8+14) Space 15 ft.; Reach 15 ft. Special Attacks constrict (2d8+21),devolutionary nightmare, favored enemy (+6, +4, +4, +2, +2), fourfold gaze, poison, powerful blows (tail slap), rend (2 claws, 1d12+21) Spell-like Abilities CL 28th, concentration +40 Constant—freedom of movement, true seeing At will—cloudkill (DC 27), dream, fear (DC 26), greater animal aspect, greater scrying (DC 26), greater teleport (self plus 50 lbs objects only), nightmare (DC 27), pernicious poison 3/day—quickened baleful polymorph (DC 27), quickened bloody claws, finger of death (DC 29), polymorph any object (DC 30), reincarnate, stone to flesh 1/day—discern location, maze, moment of prescience, plane shift (DC 29), shapechange

Spells CL 20th, concentration +32 9th—quickened cure critical wounds (x2, DC 27), dominate monster (DC 31), shapechange (x2) 8th—quickened divine power (x2), quickened enervation, horrid wilting (x2, DC 30), mind blank 7th—extended greater heroism, heal (DC 29, x2), quickened vampiric touch (x2), waves of ecstasy (DC 29) 6th—quickened bull’s strength, greater dispel magic (x3), greater heroism (x2) 5th—cure critical wounds (DC 27, x2), extended divine power, feeblemind (DC 27, x2), quickened mage armor 4th—extended arcane sight, divine power (x2), enervation (x3), neutralize poison (DC 26) 3rd—arcane sight, ray of exhaustion (x3, DC 25), vampiric touch (x2) 2nd—bull’s strength (x2), cure moderate wounds (DC 24, x3), perceive cues (x2) 1st—comprehend languages (x3), divine favor (x3), mage armor 0th—detect magic, read magic

Statistics Str 39, Dex 27, Con 42, Int 34, Wis 24, Cha 35 Base Atk +32; CMB +48 (+52 grapple); CMD 66 (cannot be tripped) Feats Combat Reflexes, Deadly Aim,Extend Spell, Greater Sunder, Improved Critical (claw), Improved Initiative, Improved Sunder, Iron Will, Point Blank Shot, Power Attack, Precise Shot, Quicken SLA (baleful polymorph, bloody claws), Quicken Spell, Spell Mastery (x2) Skills Acrobatics +44, Bluff +47, Diplomacy +44, Fly +38, Intimidate +47, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, geography, local, religion) +44, Knowledge (nature, planes) +47, Perception +46, Sense Motive +42, Spellcraft +44, Stealth +35, Survival +45, Use Magic Device +44; Racial Modifiers +4 Perception Languages Aklo, Draconic, Infernal, Sylvan, telepathy 100 ft. SQ no breath, planar acclimation, swift tracking, thagomizer

Ecology Environment any land or underground (First World) Organization unique Treasure double standard

Special Abilities Devolutionary Nightmare (Sp) Any creature affected by Mormo’s nightmare spell like ability must succeed a DC 38 Will save or be affected by a primal regression spell for the next 24 hours. Favored Enemy (Ex) Mormo gains the favored enemy ability of a 20th level ranger, except that she can change what creature types and subtypes count as her favored enemies after resting for 8 hours. Fourfold Gaze (Su) Mormo has a gaze attack with a range of 60 feet. She may change the effects of her gaze, or suppress it, as a free action once per turn. The possible effects are: 1. panicked 1 minute (Will DC 38) 2. paralyzed 1 round (Will DC 38) 3. petrification (Fort DC 38) 4. 200 points of damage (Fort DC 38 negates) This is a mind-influencing effect, and the saving throw is Charisma based. Immortality (Ex) If Mormo is slain, she is reborn as a viper on the First World. Every 100 years, Mormo gains a size category until she reaches Huge size, whereupon she molts her skin and is reborn in her true form. Planar Acclimation (Ex) Mormo is always considered to be on her home plane, regardless of what plane she finds herself upon. She never gains the extraplanar subtype. Poison (Ex) Bite—injury; save Fort DC 42; duration 1/round for 6 rounds; effect 2d4 Con damage and stunned 1d4 rounds; cure 2 consecutive saves. The save DC is Constitution based. Spells Mormo can cast spells as a 20th level witch with the Strength patron. The spells listed above are the ones Mormo has taken Spell Mastery feats to prepare. Spines (Ex) As a standard action, Mormo can fire six spines from her tail. Treat each spine as a ranged attack roll with a thrown weapon with a range increment of 100 feet. Each spine deals 1d8 damage plus Mormo’s Strength modifier on a successful hit. Swift Tracking (Ex) Mormo does not suffer a penalty to Survival checks made to follow tracks at her normal speed, and only takes a -10 penalty for following tracks at double speed. Thagomizer (Ex) Mormo’s tail slap attack deals bludgeoning and piercing damage.

[joss-scatorccio7]

I think one of the things that makes Sophie Thatcher a talented and noteworthy actress is her ability to believably act non-verbally. I know every actor has that ability to some extent, especially in horror films. But I think that as of right now, Sophie Thatcher is one of the best in that field. The most obvious and possibly the best example of this is the short horror film “Blink” where she plays a hospital patient who just woke up from a coma and can’t speak. In that role, she has to rely solely on acting non-verbally, and she excels at it. I’ve also noticed this in Heretic (most notably, the blueberry candle scene), Yellowjackets (the best example of this imo was the card-drawing scene in s2) and pretty much all of her projects that I’ve seen. Ofc her acting in general is always on point, but I think it’s her ability to naturalistically portray emotion that makes her really remarkable, and a true Scream Queen.

[maskofenigma]

Fallen London's recurring topic of Love is really interesting to me as a sort of throughline between various stories and i want to ramble about discuss that briefly. i dont call it a theme because thematic statements are usually more complex than a single word, at least in my mind, but a lot of Fallen London's storylines incorporate love into their themes.

there's the obvious things ofc; the Manager and the King, the Duchess and the Canigaster, Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, the Bazaar's whole situation. Love is a common motivator that many people can relate to, so it's no surprise that it appears in this capacity. Even so, these instances also underpin a lot of the setting's character, particularly the latter two examples, explaining why the neath is the way it is. but if we broaden our horizons just a bit, you can start to see it appearing all over the place (though maybe thats just confirmation bias lol).

the youthful naturalist loves discovery and life, and evolution in that context is a story about what one is willing to endure and sacrifice for that love. Love is a constant theme in the Light Fingers storyline, between moon milk and poor Edward, but also shows in Mr Fires's love for London (strange and deleterious though it may be) and the protagonist's love for either the Hybrid they protected or the diamond they'd been after. I don't know as much about the other ambitions (yet), but Nemesis is all about avenging a loved one by any means necessary, and you could see Bag a Legend as a love for the hunt or a love of fame, though even i’ll admit thats a bit of a stretch. Idk about Heart's Desire i’m still working on it but there's probably something. Its literally about what your heart desires but there’s absolutely a deeper connection with the Marvellous and stuff. No spoilers i'm still working on it :3

i dont know a ton about SMEN's story either, but i know from a ludonarrative perspective that it tests the players love for their character, forcing you to ruin this silly victorian who you are presumably quite attached to in the search for knowledge (perhaps another kind of love?) With what little i know of it, i’d honestly be shocked if there wasn’t anything there. if ao3 has taught me anything, there was definitely some kind of love going on between those two space bats, but im not sure if ao3 is a reputable source in this specific instance

The Flukes are literally sick with love for lost Axile, and a lot of the Masters are shown yearning to return to the High Wilderness. Many of the Irem Destinies regard love in this way, love for the sun, for the liberation, for ones partner, for london, for the people of the neath, and on and on. im not very far along with the railway but im 100% certain itll crop up again there, whether with Furnace Ancona or the Efficient Commissioner or the masters or whatever else. same goes for the Exceptional Stories and the myriad tales ive yet to unlock. Weve started to see a glimmer of it in firmament, with the imminent lucifer fire guy, but i wasnt really sure what his deal was. the idea extends to the other Sunless games from what i know, though ive yet to play those. Mask of the Rose is a romance, so thats pretty clear cut; sunless skies seems to have a lot of content relating to Queen Victoria and Prince Albert; and sunless seas seems to have it present in a few storylines, though i couldnt point to anything specific at this time. even small things, such as the way that the railway steel seems drawn to Hell and the sorrowful properties of sphinxstone, makes for a setting that is inundated with longing and heartbreak in a fascinating way.

viewed through this lens, fallen london's perspective on love is tragically earnest: love is painful and unfair and yet so very necessary. as someone who's aromantic and a hater, i call that an L. but from a thematic perspective its very interesting how often this occurs and how it connects a lot of fallen london. In so many other narratives, love is a conclusion, a reward or climax. In fact, mass media seems allergic to depicting an active and healthy relationship, and instead relegates such matters to a single ceremonious kiss. But for fallen london, a game where kisses are currency and romance is taxed, the concept of love is afforded such an interesting amount of care and reverence. Fitting for a setting wherein the insisting incidents all relate to love in some way or another

it may be comedic and at times quite absurd, but fallen london to me is a game deeply concerned with love and its influence on people. and idk i think thats interesting. if you're looking for the theme or message of a given fallen london story, look to love, always.

does that count as a thesis? i certainly dont know

[ganondoodle]

you know, not like i had enough zelda ideas and rewrites already

but i thought of another (just roughly .. for now) for totk ... and its one where theres no time travel and no direct views into the past either, and no sonau shown, been wanting to think up one like this before but i recently got the basic idea for it (it ignores all of totk aside from some ideas like .. underground stuff)

the basic idea being that the sonau, whoever they were, had an understanding of the cycle hyrule keeps falling into, based on their use of the three animals representing the three virtues, perhaps them being so aware in fact that they were working on dismantling it, finding out why and get at it at its roots, perhaps being one of the only tribes left that knew some things of the past- with the twilight princess referecnes in that boar statue and the seven stones around it with one toppled over (like the sage that was killed)- or even just being aware of it, but not doing anythign against it bc they thought it should be and remain like it (though i like the first idea more)

them not being a high tech people either, perhaps more naturalistic or magic adjacent thing- to contrast the shiekah, who, as their place under the hyrulean monarchy, firmly believedd in hyrules divine right to conquer it all, and the sonau with their knowledge of the past and the cycle of reincarnation beign a threat to the royal families absoulute power position- thus leading to the sonaus destruction and why all their (botw) ruins are highjacked by shiekah shrines!

since the sonau kept most of their knowledge to themselves (hey hey, heres and idea, they didnt communicate vie normal languegs but vie sign language or some magic- making them even more different and mysterious to the others living in the world) no one really got to know what they knew nor their culture or plans; the shiekah findign out what they know or just that they might be a threat to hyrule being sent to get rid of them, in the process finding out more about the past (like the king of the gerudo being the one who has resisted hyrule before and his potential to go monster mode) beginning the plan to imprison the current king of the gerudo (picking up some of the ideas i have had before, the whole betrayel plot) before he can become a danger to hyrule

ganondorf finds out about it (perhaps being in a shaky alliance out of necessity- like the shiekah intentionally minign below the desert without the gerudo knowing that it robs the land of life- thus makign them dependend on trade with hyrule) and plans to counteract it (a big somehow for now, like assassinate the king of hyrule? or try and force him to abandon their plan or sth), and the plan works out for the most part, but theres one gerudo thats been on the side of the hyrulean family the whole time leading to ganondorf ending up sealed and trapped by the queen of hyrule (sealing powers and all, perhaps, again picking up former ideas, after starting a war for ganondorf killing the king) and after realizing ganondorfs undying spirit will never rest try and purify the malice hed sent out to break free, leading to them discovering a much more efficient way to power their newly developing tech, rather than luminous stones which are hard to mine and process, using ganondorfs spirit/malice instead (yes i WILL include battery theory again) which allows them to make all the ancient shiekah tech in the scale we see in botw (and hear of in the past calamity)

its sort of more like the first ideas i had for a totk rewrite, zelda being your companion from the start and link loosing his arm and gettign a shiekah tech replacement- with the added bonus of including the sonau without robbing them of their mystery while still developing them further

most of their recording having been destroyed, either intentionally or by the tides of time, but due to the cataclysm changing the landscape there being new caves uncovered with cave painting like remains of the sonau, entrances to the underground revealing that they came in fact from there and the population on the surface was a small fraction of the last ones of them, with the underground being filled with even more (botw) sonau ruins, but also shiekah labs in other parts

yes it paints the shiekah in a bad light .. which honeslty why not, they are hyrules pawns more or less, and given what the monks do just to give a future hero their last bit of spirit they must have very strong believe in it all- but then the next king turning on them and persecuting them just like they did to the sonau .. being yet another cycle

you slowly discovering everything real time, no memories and no direct views into the past, just real discoveris

ganondorf would once again be the villain, but it would give alot more background to him, in this case making him much more a victim of said cycle, it repeating by wanting to avoid it etc etc, and you wouldnt be able to reason with him after a little over ten thousand years of solitary imprisonment AND your spirit/energy being continueosly exploited to power tech built to fight off any of his attempts to break free (calamity ganon) leading to the desperation of literally tryign to rebuild himself out of malice, which is how you get weird spider ganon and the malice build lumps, eyes, mouths and even rib like structures- the monsters and bosses being a creation of him yes, it being an attempt, or antoehr really, to take revenge on all those that plotted against him, that helped in putting him in this agonzing condition between life and death AND then even exploiting his spirit too-- making the end fight more of a mercy kill with a tragic note, but still hopeful to a better future and not to let the cycle begin anew once a new gerudo king is born- so its not utterly throwing it all in dissarray but giving you the sense of ... theres a future, hope for soemthign better even if it wasnt fixable now

it falls more in line with the 'traditional' zelda formular, but makes it a bit more .. involved? nuanced?

(havent yet thought of ideas for the sky except .. it being there still like i had previously thought, idk if i will develop this further but i like this ones alot bc .... i dont like the totk sonau at all and find it extremely boring to just say yep they are here and actually everywhere and here they are literally in your face as people with voices- i liked them alot more as unkowns)

[book--brackets]

Valdemar: Heralds of Valdemar by Mercedes Lackey (1987-1988)

Chosen by the Companion Rolan, a mystical horse-like being with powers beyond imagining, Talia, once a runaway, has now become a trainee Herald, destined to become one of the Queen's own elite guard. For Talia has certain awakening talents of the mind that only a Companion like Rolan can truly sense.But as Talia struggles to master her unique abilities, time is running out. For conspiracy is brewing in Valdemar, a deadly treason that could destroy Queen and kingdom. Opposed by unknown enemies capable of both diabolical magic and treacherous assassination, the Queen must turn to Talia and the Heralds for aid in protecting the realm and insuring the future of the Queen's heir, a child already in danger of becoming bespelled by the Queen's own foes.

The Memoirs of Lady Trent by Marie Brennan (2013-2019)

You, dear reader, continue at your own risk. It is not for the faint of heart--no more so than the study of dragons itself. But such study offers rewards beyond compare: to stand in a dragon's presence, even for the briefest of moments--even at the risk of one's life--is a delight that, once experienced, can never be forgotten. . . .

All the world, from Scirland to the farthest reaches of Eriga, know Isabella, Lady Trent, to be the world's preeminent dragon naturalist. She is the remarkable woman who brought the study of dragons out of the misty shadows of myth and misunderstanding into the clear light of modern science. But before she became the illustrious figure we know today, there was a bookish young woman whose passion for learning, natural history, and, yes, dragons defied the stifling conventions of her day.

Here at last, in her own words, is the true story of a pioneering spirit who risked her reputation, her prospects, and her fragile flesh and bone to satisfy her scientific curiosity; of how she sought true love and happiness despite her lamentable eccentricities; and of her thrilling expedition to the perilous mountains of Vystrana, where she made the first of many historic discoveries that would change the world forever.

Entwined by Heather Dixon Wallwork (2011)

Just when Azalea should feel that everything is before her—beautiful gowns, dashing suitors, balls filled with dancing—it's taken away. All of it. And Azalea is trapped. The Keeper understands. He's trapped, too, held for centuries within the walls of the palace. So he extends an invitation.

Every night, Azalea and her eleven sisters may step through the enchanted passage in their room to dance in his silver forest, but there is a cost. The Keeper likes to keep things. Azalea may not realize how tangled she is in his web until it is too late.

Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor (2011-2022)

Twelve-year-old Sunny lives in Nigeria, but she was born American. Her features are African, but she's albino. She's a terrific athlete, but can't go out into the sun to play soccer. There seems to be no place where she fits in. And then she discovers something amazing--she is a free agent with latent magical power. Soon she's part of a quartet of magic students, studying the visible and invisible, learning to change reality. But will it be enough to help them when they are asked to catch a career criminal who knows magic too?

Serafina by Robert Beatty (2015-2019)

Serafina has never had a reason to disobey her pa and venture beyond the grounds of the Biltmore estate. There's plenty to explore in her grand home, although she must take care to never be seen. None of the rich folk upstairs know that Serafina exists; she and her pa, the estate's maintenance man, have secretly lived in the basement for as long as Serafina can remember.

But when children at the estate start disappearing, only Serafina knows who the culprit is: a terrifying man in a black cloak who stalks Biltmore's corridors at night. Following her own harrowing escape, Serafina risks everything by joining forces with Braeden Vanderbilt, the young nephew of the Biltmore's owners. Braeden and Serafina must uncover the Man in the Black Cloak's true identity before all of the children vanish one by one.

Serafina's hunt leads her into the very forest that she has been taught to fear. There she discovers a forgotten legacy of magic, one that is bound to her own identity. In order to save the children of Biltmore, Serafina must seek the answers that will unlock the puzzle of her past.

The Children of the Red King by Jenny Nimmo (2002-2009)

The fabulous powers of the Red King were passed down through his descendants, after turning up quite unexpectedly, in someone who had no idea where they came from. This is what happened to Charlie Bone, and to some of the children he met behind the grim, gray walls of Bloor's Academy.

His scheming aunts decide to send him to Bloor Academy, a school for geniuses where he uses his gifts to discover the truth despite all the dangers that lie ahead.

Fairyland by Catherynne M. Valente (2011-2016)

Twelve-year-old September lives in Omaha, and used to have an ordinary life, until her father went to war and her mother went to work. One day, September is met at her kitchen window by a Green Wind (taking the form of a gentleman in a green jacket), who invites her on an adventure, implying that her help is needed in Fairyland. The new Marquess is unpredictable and fickle, and also not much older than September. Only September can retrieve a talisman the Marquess wants from the enchanted woods, and if she doesn't . . . then the Marquess will make life impossible for the inhabitants of Fairyland. September is already making new friends, including a book-loving Wyvern and a mysterious boy named Saturday.

World of the Five Gods by Lois McMaster Bujold (2001-2005)

Lord Cazaril has been in turn courier, courtier, castle-warder, and captain; now he is but a crippled ex-galley slave seeking nothing more than a menial job in the kitchens of the Dowager Provincara, the noble patroness of his youth. But Fortunes wheel continues to turn for Cazaril, and he finds himself promoted immediately to the exalted and dangerous position of secretary-tutor to the Iselle, the beautiful, fiery sister of the heir to Chalion’s throne.

Amidst the decaying splendour and poisonous intrigue of Chalion’s ancient capital, Cardegoss, Cazaril is forced to encounter both old enemies and surprising allies, as he seeks to lift the curse of misfortune that clings to the royal family of Chalion, and to all who come too close to them...

Keys to the Kingdom by Garth Nix (2003-2010)

Arthur Penhaligon's first days at his new school don't go too well, particularly when a fiendish Mister Monday appears, gives Arthur a magical clock hand, and then orders his gang of dog-faced goons to chase Arthur around and get it back. But when the confused and curious boy discovers that a mysterious virus is spreading through town, he decides to enter an otherworldly house to stop it. After meeting Suzy Blue and the first part of "the Will" (a frog-looking entity that knows everything about the House), Arthur learns that he's been selected as Rightful Heir to the House and must get the other part of the clock hand in order to defeat Monday. That means getting past Monday's henchmen and journeying to the Dayroom itself. Thankfully, Arthur is up to the challenge, but as he finds out, his fight seems to be only one-seventh over.

The Riyria Chronicles by Michael J. Sullivan (2013-present)

Hadrian Blackwater, a warrior with nothing to fight for, is paired with Royce Melborn, a thieving assassin with nothing to lose. Hired by an old wizard, they must steal a treasure that no one can reach. The Crown Tower is the impregnable remains of the grandest fortress ever built and home to the realm's most prized possessions. But it isn't gold or jewels that the wizard is after, and if he can just keep them from killing each other, they just might succeed.

[callslips]

u should get a pass to be mean i think the way ur asks are clogged with freaks n weirdos who can’t take a hint. can we talk about lottienat please that will probably weed them out

YES WE CAN TALK ABOUT LOTTIENAT.

s3 predictions are so hard because idk if we even fuckin' saw nat in the trailer so we're gonna talk about lottienat and symbolism the symbolism being: mother deer father stag, doomcoming crowns, hunter/prophet, the passing on of the queen title... let's begin

mother deer father stag: lottie being mother deer, nat being father stag - comfort and security consecutively, lottie being the main source of mental stability for the girls as they are stuck in the wilderness (mother) and nat serving as the provider for all of them (father) (of course these are patriarchal roles but bear with me) ... deer represent a deep connection to spirituality and the supernatural as well as harmony and peace (all lottie wants), whereas the stag is regarded as earthly, of the land and rooted in power whilst maintaining sensitivity, intuition, and most importantly gentleness (nat's moments of aggression have always come from a place of sincerity and care/the protection of others)

NOW... DOOMCOMING CROWNS...

LOOK AT THE SIZE DIFFERENCE!

the symbolism of lottie's crown being larger and the way it still resembles antlers ... so naturalistic yet a statement of her (at the time, current) power ... vs nat's crown being a smaller (her antlers have not yet grown in), more ornamental (still clinging to the conventions of society at this point) version of the same thing - made with wire or twine - the OPPOSITE of naturalistic... they're so tethered.

HUNTER VS. PROPHET.

much like father stag/mother deer we see this juxtaposition of roles... it speaks for itself but i'll say it anyway, lottie seeing the stag begin to shed its horns - inevitable (the path bloody and ugly) coupled with the regrowth over time - is greatly indicative of nat eventually becoming the wilderness queen (prophetical) vs our beloved hunter later seeing a moose which, yet again, is a signal of strength and power but more importantly THE ANTLERS, even THE JACKET, symbolizing that she is *becoming* ready to take the role of leadership... i digress i just really love the oracle x provider dynamic ok???

lastly and most profoundly: the passing on of leadership. even though lottie assumes guilt here (she's a baby she did nothing wrong) it is still MONUMENTAL for lottienat imo, not only in the sense that lottie believes nat survived the hunt and deserves it, but that she has been PREPARING nat for this moment - blood and ash for protection, watching over her, seeing visions directly correlated to her... maybe i'm insane?

what i want to see: this new dynamic explored. nat has taken on the role of leadership in the realm of hunting but not caretaking - she is now the embodiment of the queen of hearts, loves deeply, but is now taking on a VERY big role. Who will she lean on? she's done nothing but butt heads with lottie this entire time yet now she might NEED her... lottie's guidance... omfgggg nat as saul the prosecutor turned paul the apostle. once an enemy, now reliant - dually, as they need each other (circling back to the mother/father dynamic).

there. i'll shut up. most of this is me rambling anyway.

i leave you all with the very heartwarming:

[syrupspinner]

i just defeated Psychopomp Gold

ive never been a fursona kinda person but there's something about the thraits that activate the "I want to be one of those" part of my brain

this is one of those "what can I say" kinda games. so much of psychopomp is the atmosphere, the visuals, and just the general vibe. it's so intense that it's kinda impossible not to have a good idea of if you're gonna rock with it or not from the steam page alone

i was first introduced to this game via a mutual who I think has a good-ass taste in games specifically if they're about the severely mentally ill, like needy streamer overload and... antonball, i guess. hi nephro @thisisntapainting! anyway, I don't really have any first-hand experience with schizophrenia (which seems like what the game is trying to embody) but it seems like it's pretty effective. you can't really describe what happens in this game without it sounding like someone having a psychotic nervous breakdown. like, if you tried describing the plot of any other dark and surreal game like fatum betula or like, that one game with all the smiling as something that happened to you, people would be like "oh from a video game! what a silly YouTube prank you're doing". but with psychopomp you'd just get a sincerely concerned wellness check.

the first level I played had you going into a sewage treatment plant and helping nuggets of meat with animegao masks kill their queen/filtration system. it's like, a level above the full immersion technique of expecting the player to adjust to their surroundings naturalistically and just tries to actively fuck with you because you tried understanding. you dont get a deeper explanation of why we are perpetually harvesting the bones of children and frankly its pathetic of you to expect otherwise. is that what psychosis is like? welp, nothing to do but choose an extreme schema through which to filter all these experiences. I think the helmet kid is like if I saw the tv glow was about being christ, and also there was a 30 minute long childbirth scene, i wont explain further

i hear the gameplay get compared to kings field a lot (i typed this out, but couldnt verify it? i think i got this mixed up with lunacid lmao), but I think that's just cuz it's one of the only real time fps dungeon crawlers that most English speakers have played. oh, speaking of, did you know this game has a big Russian fanbase? I've never been able to say that about well-adjusted games, it's always shit like hotline Miami and hello Charlotte. are you guys okay? anyway, the gameplay is awesome.

I love how uncomfortable it makes you feel just by trying to force the world into a grid, making things feel claustrophobic or off centre. I like how easy it is to get punished for not having your hammer selected when something starts running at you, encouraging a paranoid playstyle where you always have a weapon out and slowly creep around corners. that part in the childrens hospital where the nature segment leads too a hallway thats juuuust big enough to hide the walls is the darkness so you have no idea how big it is is wonderful. it builds a really effective ludonarrative, where you learn about pompy as a character through how the player naturally acts, in the same way we know sonic likes to go fast because he's always in video games where the player goes fast. (also, no spoilers, but i love how well this is used in the epilogue as well)

she's paranoid, indifferent to the value of life around her, just touching and killing things. she picks needles up off the floor and just shoves em in her blood. she has no thoughts about the cultural wall paintings in the thrait village, or anything to say about the tv playing anti-spaceworm propaganda other than that it's dusty. she's impulsive, she just kinda says things that dont really follow together, she doesn't care about her personal safety or well-being, and barely cares to learn about the world around her beyond what gives emotional gratification like justifying her misanthropy. maybe this is just me reading too deep into it, but I think a good narrative should encourage you to look into a characters head and construct how they think and see the world based on their actions, and video games are special in that regard because they can do so using the player as a conduit. i could also just be straight-up wrong, this game is pretty impenetrable

despite trying to cultivate an air of perpetually having no idea what the fuck is going on, things are established in this game with surprising consistency. like, itll contradict reality as you know it, but it wont contradict itself. theres a poster talking about how venus and mercury are fictional planets, and the moon has an eye, so now you know space is fucked. then when you see the transient area with a hatched cocoon and one with a tv talking about a worm you can reasonably surmise that the space worm is the king/queen of venus. and then therell suddenly be some additional bullshit thatll make you reconsider everything you know like a child that just figured out other countries exist, like how humans evolved two seperate times. i could keep going, trust me, but wed be here all day

i try not to use the word "perfect" too much, but i sincerely believe that this game succeeds in everything it attempts to do. the gameplay does a wonderful job at encouraging a terrified playstyle, with little touches like how you have to put your weapon down to unlock doors. the atmosphere is a perfect industrial mindfuck where everything is a conspiracy-inspiring combination of man-made and realistically impossible. it does everything it can to entice you to try and figure the world out and before you know it youre doing some pepe silvia bullshit, just like helmet freak would be doing if she didnt already KNOW the answers from the start and made this whole mess just to confirm her own delusions.

like. i cant emphasize enough how fucked up this game makes me feel, theres a visceral uncomfortable feeling like my skins on too tight and i need to get the fuck out. i can only play one level a day and i need a variable amount of time before i build up the courage to jump back in there. i missed one of the keys to get the secret thingy (how are you supposed to break that silk door thing in the moth level?) and let me tell you i am NOT going through all that again. this game makes me sweat just because of how stressed out and anxious i feel from the moment-to-moment gameplay and the oppressive ass atmosphere.

WAIT. BAROQUE. ive been trying to think of what this game reminds me of and a steam curator finally said it, fucking baroque for the sega saturn. look it up youll get it

anyway! play the damn game. one of the best and most effective psychological horror games ive ever played, mandatory gaming for anyone who appreciates atmosphere in a video game. if you have fun analyzing esoteric narratives, itll give you something to chew on for... god knows how long really, i still dont really know how to articulate what ive seen. that doesnt stop it from being incredibly effective, honestly the fact that its just a vaguely-themed collection of shit devised from the ground up to freak you out is a point in its favour.

either way, this is one of those games we'll look back on and go "yeah this is where it all started" like we do for shit like devil may cry and grand theft auto, i think this is gonna inspire a lot of people to do a lot of things

things like. make other video games. i feel the need to specify that

[true--north]

C o o l w i t h m e | Helsa, dark!Elsa, good!Hans, F1, Snow Queen elements

"And what, Prince, did you hope to achieve by breaking into my humble castle?" said Elsa, rising from her icy throne. "I wonder why the likes of you assume they can come and go just like that. This is my home, after all." Her voice is full of poisonous sweetness, she speaks like she thinks he is a total fool.

Hans squared his shoulders and grabbed the sword tighter. "Where is Princess Anna? I have come for her!"

Elsa tilted her head, and scrutinized him. "Ah, princesses, everyone always wants to save these pathetic foolish creatures from evil heartless witches...and then drag them to the altar... Have no idea where she is. I guess she has already found a new suitor to replace you, Your Highness, and just ran away with him. She will probably pick another sister on the road as well, she is like that. Easy comes, easy goes."

"How can you speak so heartlessly about your sister!" Hans was offended. "I heard you loved each other once. I know once you were kind and gentle..."

Elsa frowned for a moment, but then she smirked coldly. "The past doesn't exist, and neither does the future. There is only this moment of the present, frozen in the ice of eternity..."

Hans made an attacking move, but with a careless snap of Elsa's fingers, his faithful sword turned into ice, and then crumbled into sparkling snow dust.

"Aw, Hans. Are you still trying to play the hero?" She walked up to him, the needles of her high heels cutting into the ice floor. Hans was defenseless, he's stunned but not by the magic that swirled around them, but by the Queen's winter beauty, and the yearning soul that shone through her azure eyes.

And this became his downfall, this moment of hesitation when he couldn't find it in himself: to kill her, to kill the witch.

One blink, and ice shackles wrapped around his arms, and a chain locked him to her throne. The second blink, and a naturalistic, beating but ice heart appeared in Elsa's hand. Without taking her eyes off Hans' face, she squeezed this marvelous creation in her fist, and it broke down into hundreds of blue shards.

"I have a better game for you to play. You will stay here, my brave prince, until your princess saves you or until you gather the word, yeah, L O V E from these wreckages. From the looks of it," she smirked again, "You'll stay with me forever."

Hans was forced to his knees, his chains were so heavy, but he still hit, for Westergaards are lions, not mice. "Oh Elsa, such a wicked cold-hearted queen, and thinks about love?" His sarcasm bit colder than her false sweetness.

Elsa left the throne hall, turning to look at him one last time, and no feeling broke though her mask of icy beauty.

[the-jewel-catalogue]

Monthly Jewels: May || Emerald

The Godman Necklace

In 1965, a pair of elderly sisters, the Godmans, approached Buckingham Palace and told them that they had a piece of jewelry that the Queen might be interested in. According to Leslie Field in The Queen’s Jewels, they believed that a diamond and emerald necklace that they’d inherited from their father, British Museum trustee Frederick McCann Godman, had connections to Empress Joséphine of France.

The palace did a bit of digging about the Godmans’ necklace, and unfortunately, it was determined that the piece didn’t come from Empress Joséphine or the Leuchtenbergs at all. Regardless, it’s an extremely beautiful nineteenth-century necklace, and the sisters asked if the Queen would still like to have the piece. It’s rare that the royals accept such extravagant gifts from the public, but as in the case of the Queen Mother and the Greville inheritance, this time the Queen accepted.

~ The Court Jeweller

The necklace which is a delicate ornamental work in platinum, is encrusted with diamonds and emeralds. The design used on the necklace is based on symmetrical flower motifs, a style that was common for jewelry crafting throughout the 19th century, a naturalistic style that used the “language of flowers.”

The thick circular band of the necklace is encrusted with diamond baguettes interspersed with round brilliant-cut diamonds. Seven floral motifs arise from the lower side of this band, which take the form of seven pendants. The largest of this floral pendant is situated along the median line of the necklace, and is encrusted with two large emeralds, a rectangular-shaped smaller emerald at the base, and an elongated oval or drop-shaped emerald in the center of the pendant, which is the largest emerald in the necklace.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Queen of the Fairies

All children love fairies. Who among us does not have memories of springtime afternoons with Nurse in the gardens, watching those tiny, human-like forms flitting through the world on their delicate wings, who seem to be clad in the very blossoms among which they live?

Yet most of us, as we age, forget about the fairies. We rush past gardens and flower boxes with barely a glance for the blooms themselves, much less for the delicate creatures that hide so carefully among them. If we think about them at all, they are part of the hazy, distant memories of long-ago childhood, not a vital part of the landscape that supports every facet of our daily lives.

But there is one woman who did not forget. Who never did forget, in her eight-and-four-score years of life, despite a scientific world that laughed her to scorn. As I, with all of England, mourn the passing of this inestimable woman--beloved author, illustrator, and (at last) honored naturalist, I can think of no better way to honor Constance Sommers than to recall my childhood meeting with her in the summer of my seventh year.

I had always loved watching the fairies in the window boxes outside my family’s London home. In 1892, I visited my grandparents in the countryside, and a new world opened up to me, filled with more flowers—and more types of fairies—than I could have imagined. I spent every waking moment in my grandmother’s gardens. I watched fairies hatch from the hearts of blooming tulips, scatter thousands of dandelion seeds, and endlessly paint the delicate shades of apple blossoms.

My favorite place, however, was my grandmother’s rose garden. There I found fairies whose forms matched every species of rose to a shade—save one. The crowning jewel of my grandmother’s garden was a rose she had bred herself; its white blossoms, as large as my hand, were streaked with red, and its scent was like a thousand fresh-plucked fruits. I knew that such a flower could only be tended by the grandest and most beautiful of fairies, and I watched, breathless, week after week for this hypothetical fairy to show her face.

At last, on a morning when my quest left me restless with anxiety, I tiptoed out of my room and slipped out to the rose garden in the gray light of dawn. As soon as I reached the prized rose bush, I saw fairy even more beautiful than I had imagined. Every bit of her form, from her face to her tiny fingers and toes, was pure white, with only the faintest green specks in her gray eyes. One of grandmother's red-and-white blossoms seemed to splay from her waist like a dancer's skirt, and her wings were so transparent that in that dim light, she appeared to have none, and instead seemed to float upon the delicate breath of the dawn.

At first, I stood awestruck—this was truly a queen among fairies. Then I recalled—I couldn’t let her slip out of my grasp. In a twinkling, I caught her in a glass jar, with one of my grandmother's roses tucked safely inside to serve as shelter and food.

How I rejoiced in that treasure! I brought the fairy to my room and marveled at her graceful fluttering until breakfast time, when I slipped away to the kitchen to eat with Nurse. By the time I returned, the beautiful little fairy was splayed, lifeless, across the base of the jar.

I wept myself breathless, completely inconsolable. Nurse offered comfort and threatened punishment, but she could not quiet me. At last, my sobs drew Grandmother, who took one look at that lovely little fairy and said, "I suppose there's nothing to do but give it to Constance Sommers."

I knew that name—every child in England did. Constance Sommers had written and illustrated the marvelous tales of the flower fairies that had a place on every nursery shelf—and all this time, she had been one of my grandparents’ neighbors! Surely she, if anyone, could save this little fairy! After much begging and pleading, I was allowed, reluctantly, to accompany Grandmother as she brought the fairy to Miss Sommers.

The carriage brought us to a tidy brown brick cottage atop a hill, surrounded by the most glorious gardens I had ever seen. Flowers bloomed on shrubs and trees, climbed trellises and the walls of the cottage, and blanketed the ground with every color of the rainbow. Even from the carriage I could see dozens of fairies flitting among the blossoms. I was utterly enchanted. Were it not for the dead fairy I carried in the jar, I might have lost myself in ecstasy.

The moment we alighted from the carriage, a gate leading to a back garden opened, and a woman strode toward us. She was like the branch of a tree—impossibly tall, thin and knobby. Her hair—dark, with only whispers of silver—was cut close to her head. She wore a simple white shirtwaist and black skirt, and dozens of tools—pens, keys, scissors, lens—hung from a silver-chained chatelaine at her waist. Her eyes, caged behind gold-rimmed spectacles, darted a million directions, fairy-quick, as if cataloging the landscape.

At last, her eyes lit on me—or rather, upon the jar in my hands. She rushed toward me without so much as a glance at Grandmother. “Fairy?” she asked.

I nodded and lifted the jar toward her. She took it and examined it with those sharp eyes—which quickly widened. “I’ve never seen this kind before.” Those eyes pierced me. “Where did you find it?”

She was speaking to me, not Grandmother! Never before had an adult addressed me so directly. “In Grandmother’s rose garden,” I said. “Can you save it?”

The head moved—one sharp shake. “It’s dead. Perfectly preserved. Do you have more?”

“N...no.”

“If you get some, I’ll pay triple the going rate. Could be a new species.”

She bombarded me with questions—what kind of flower the fairy resembled, the location of the garden, the soil conditions, the time of capture, the surrounding flowers. Grandmother answered the more technical ones, but since she hadn’t seen the fairy until I’d shown it to her dead in a jar, most of the questions about it fell to me. I was terribly shy, but under the circumstances, too bewildered to be afraid. As Miss Sommers jotted down my answers in a small diary, I had my first brush with a scientific approach to fairies—and I was fascinated.

As she questioned, Constance Sommers wandered through her gardens, making note of various fairies—lilies, honeysuckle, hollyhocks—but clearly intending me to follow and continue with the interview. I had never felt so important. I answered the questions to the best of my ability—and she seemed impressed.

“You’ve got a good eye,” she said. “Good memory.”

As if I could have forgotten anything about the queen of the fairies!

I trailed Miss Sommers through her back garden, losing Grandmother somewhere along the way. At last, Miss Sommers approached one of the cottage’s side doors. With a twist of one of the keys at her waist, the door opened, and I followed her inside.

At first, I thought we’d entered another garden. Every surface—every wall, ceiling, shelf and dozens of tables—seemed to be covered in framed flowers. Enchanted, I stepped closer to the nearest one, and found that it was the lilaced purple skirt of a flower fairy.

My enchantment turned to horror. Every single one of those surfaces—every frame—was filled with flower fairies, each one as lifeless as the beautiful specimen in my jar.

I ran away screaming.

I took only two steps out the door before Miss Sommer’s hand came down upon my shoulder like an iron shackle. She stood over me, as immovable as stone. “Where are you going?”

She did not sneer. She did not sympathize. She didn’t try to soothe or placate me. She simply asked. Before such unshakable practicality, I was helpless. My screams stopped.

She pulled me back into that room and plopped me onto a low wooden stool. Frozen as I was, I didn’t resist. Then she opened the door, tipped the fairy onto a table, and went to work.

Her hands were like two fairies, constantly in motion, yet always sure where they were going. I forgot about the walls and simply watched her work. With minuscule brushes, she cleaned the fairy’s lifeless form, then arranged it inside another wooden frame. She posed it with its hands outstretched, its nearly invisible wings positions halfway down so as to catch some of the light in rainbows. I recognized in this work the same hand that had painted such delicate pictures of living fairies. Though the fairy’s end was tragic, she was turning it into something beautiful.

As she worked, she lectured—I believe she forgot I was only a visiting seven-year-old, and not a potential apprentice. She explained how the preservation of specimens allowed for further study. She spoke about competing theories as to the origins of the fairies—whether they were one species that took on camouflage based upon the nearby blossoms, or multiple species that were born with each flower—whether they were somehow tied to the flower’s life cycle or whether they were an independent species laying eggs within the blossoms.

I have heard it said many times over the years that Constance Sommers did not like children. Certainly, she did not handle children with delicate patronizing care, as the adults of that generation and that class tended to do. Certainly, she had attention only for her work. But I believe it was simply that she was no respecter of age. Whether her listener was seven or seventy years of age, so long as they respected her work, she allowed them to stay.

That day, I stayed for hours as she utterly captivated my mind and imagination. My little fairy, who met such a tragic end, became a crowning jewel of her collection, vital to her later discoveries about the camouflage abilities of rose fairies. Those discoveries were not published by the scientific community for decades—her gender and field of study made it almost impossible for her to be taken seriously, until later developments in ecology made her work impossible to ignore.

But what adults could not accept, children welcomed with open minds. The fairy of the white-and-red-striped rose featured in her next picture book—as Queen of the Fairies.

Now, I am grateful that, in recognizing both the artistic and scientific achievements of this remarkable woman, the rest of England knows what I learned that day—that title truly belongs, and always will belong, to Constance Sommers.