#since snipping at shapes instead of like

[meamiki]

many mirabelle’s for mirabelle's birthday :]

happy birthday to mirabelle !!!!!!

[crabsnpersimmons]

"Hair dyes or perms or just a quick snip, you can always count on your ol' pal Clip!"

it's about time i officially shared my design for Clip from my hairdresser au! here's the silly boi himself!

a.k.a. the most complicated character i've ever designed...

close ups and additional comments under the cut!

that's my boi, despite his crazy design, i love him. his silly top knot hat, the horn-like points around his faceplate, his speckled colours, his four arms, and his funky pants. he's just soooooo fun.

Clip likes to play games and knit! he even made the patchwork pants he wears (he made Sun and Moon a pair too, but they're too precious for them to wear... also a little gaudy to wear in public—doesn't stop Clip tho!). He actually makes everything the boys wear, since there's not a lot of things in their size/shape.

instead of resting at night, he can be found in their living room, playing Kirby 64 for the nth time and/or knitting something. he's just too restless to stay still, he's always gotta be doing something and if it isn't gaming, knitting, or hairdressing, then he's up to No GoodTM.

Clip... likes popping balloons. he says "Goodnight!" with each popped balloon and once he's done, he tosses up the scraps like confetti all while giggling joyfully.

needless to say, he is not fun at parties. Sun and Moon don't let him near balloons for this reason.

and yes, he has sewing needles on hand at all times. for fashion emergencies... and for unsuspecting balloons.

Clip's not allowed to have a phone (just imagine all the in-app purchases Sun and Moon would have to deal with), but he likes to keep up with his customers and their games, even if he doesn't get their fixation over bluenets he'll never openly admit it but he prefers curly-haired blond hunks that look sweet in soft pastels but could also squash him like the spider he is

also, he's great at microbraiding! though i imagine if Sun and Moon are free, they'd come help to shorten the wait but also to compete and see who braids the most (Clip always wins of course—make anything into a game, and he's winning)

aaaaand there's this! i wanted to make sure Clip would be able to freely rotate his waist so his arms could have their full range of motion, and this was the solution i came up with: a crop top on top and a wrap around his waist. and Clip here is being a sneaky little scamp about it.

[poppy-s-rampage]

Once a Hero.

Chapter 1: Too late!

Warnings: Blood, Gore and violence. You can't sue me now!

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Prologue| Masterpost| Chapter 2!

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The Master of time leaned over the unmoving form of his young protegee, forceps needle and thread in hands. The old ghost deftly redid the stitches on the youngest torso. Slowly but surely closing the jagged ‘Y’ shaped wound shut.

‘How did it come to this?’

All it took was one minute of inattention for the young Halfa's timeline to be put in jeopardy. In a single moment of inattention, Daniel’s timeline tangled with another stray unstable one and merged. By the time Clockwork noticed, the timelines were already fused to the point of no return. Reality wrapped to fit the new Frankenstein series of events. So he did what he could, snip at some parts, and twist at others to make it so his protegee could have a chance of survival and still having a goodish timeline.

The gaping wound now finally shut, the old ghost went to treat the boy’s muzzle cuts and throat. The apparatus, when destroyed by the wail, had split open the right cheek’s flesh from the corner of the Halfas mouth, carving a morbid half smile. The boy’s tongue was bloody but could still be salvaged with diluted ectoplasm. The real problem was the throat; it was impossible to currently heal to a usable level with the concentration of ectoplasm he could safely use on Danny.

He was no Frostbite, but he was more than capable of putting back together the young ghost in a Time out. Daniel was too unstable to stay in the infinite realms, his core still too raw for pure Ecto. It would be like feeding a 10-year comatose patient a buffet after being kept alive via IV, transfer the concept to a fragilized and forcefully balanced core, and you get the idea.  It was also a way to better realize the consequences of his mistake. But not to apologize, nothing would ever be enough to fix what Daniel had endured.

Clockwork stopped believing in apologies an eternity ago.

It all had happened so fast, Phantom had no chance of changing the course of events. Ironically, the current timeline was the best possible outcome after the incident.

While his protegee’s original timeline’s parents would have been accepting of his heritage, the ones of the intruding unstable timeline were not. ‘Monsters’ would have been too kind of a word to describe them. Curiosity plagued individuals who could have given Dan a run for his money. The origin of a world’s collapse, the cause of too many deaths, terrifying geniuses with an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and slaves of their obsessions. Even their children didn’t hold enough value for them to spare.

Thankfully, this world didn’t come to that and was still salvageable. Unfortunately, too many people have already lost their lives and existence to his mistake.

It had been like any tranquil day in young Daniel's life. He woke up groggy after a night of patrolling, went to school, hung out with his friends, patrolled a bit, saved a few weaker ghosts, stopped a few accidents and then went back home. The young Halfa had planned to finally reveal his identity to his parents- with no little insistence and encouragement from his sister and the reassurance of the previous Freakshow happenings. (He, of course, delayed the moment as much as he could.)

Of course, Clockwork had already watched and analyzed all the possible futures caused by this decision. He had assured Danny that no harm would befall him.

And since every possible happening was in Daniel’s favor, the ghost of time left the timeline out of his watch in favor of fixing yet another mess the Speedster’s had caused.

Seriously, what kind of mentally challenged troglodyte would erase an entire timeline to enjoy a cheap burger in loop instead of buying another!

*Crack*

The forceps broke in his hand. The Ancient summoned another one. Moving to stitch the lacerations on his king’s arms and legs.

It had, sadly, taken a while for the Master of Time to fix the Flash themed issues. It then took him an even longer while to salvage the tangled mess of timelines. He was far too late to save Danny’s loved ones. Humans, even Liminals, were fragile.

—-------------------

The reveal had gone well at first, Jack and Maddie had accepted their son’s new nature. But then the timelines merged, the Fenton parents became one with their alternates and the world was set ablaze.

The youngest Fenton was promptly drugged and knocked out, only to wake up on a dissection table. His parents and a few GIW agents circling him, tools in hand. The hours, maybe days, Daniel spent in these creatures’ grasps were a nightmare made real.

His sister and friends tried to free him, only to be captured and fall victim to the same fate. Amity Park’s younger population mutinied against the agency and scientists but quickly got shut down. Brutally. The city was deemed a lost cause and put on lock down. The elder Fentons and the GIW galvanized by their success, went after every single being standing in their way in the name of science and self-defense.

It was too much for the young Halfa. His every waking moment being haunted by monsters wearing the skin of people he used to know and love. To hear the same people who raised and loved him gloating at the harm they caused his fraid. At the harm they caused him, vindictive. Every ounce of strength Danny had went into figuring out a way to save what he had left. But alas, he was too late.

Everything culminated the moment the agents and his parents reentered the room for the how manyth time. Their make believe faces fixed into a cruel smirk, smiles too wide, eyes too bright and too many teeth. Were the ghosts truly the monsters ?

Black opaque bags were dragged into the room next. A dreadful foreboding feeling caressed his spine. It was different. What were they planning?! What did they do?!

Panic seized the Halfa’s heart, hair standing on end. Eyes wide and pupils dilating as he noticed the strong smell of copper permeating from the bags.  His restrained limbs shaking at the realization of the truth he oh so wanted to deny. 

The monsters kept talking, taunting and accusing him of something. Blaming him. But he didn’t ‘hear’ them over his ever rising dread.

They opened the bags and his world came crashing down.

Three lifeless barely recognizable corpses. Chest opened in a bloody imitation of a butterfly. Missing limbs and organs. An innumerable number of lacerations. All indicators of a painful and slow death. But yet their eyes remained closed into acceptance and welcoming the relief of death.

He wailed.

Despite the muzzle, despite his already severed vocal cords. The wail coming from his very core blasted everything in his surroundings. The muzzle shattered, the monsters vaporized into a red mist and the walls became debris.

The building shook. The creatures in human skin panicked trying desperately to flee the premise but they were too late.

The latest experimental portal meant to be mass produced by the GIW resonated with the Wail and destabilized. The explosion that followed erased the facility and its surroundings and triggered the original Fenton portal which in turn wiped the city above off the maps.

Every single being died. The GIW agents, the Fentons, the citizens and some of the weaker ghosts. The stronger Phantom rogues weren’t even in the range or succeeded in escaping. The Fentons and GIW were still ‘thankfully’ useless when it came to capturing them.

And then there was Phantom.

Unfortunately or fortunately for him.

Forever the exception.

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Prologue| Masterpost| Chapter 2!

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Author note:

Hello! Thank you for reading! This time I didn't write this at 3 am!

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I wrote it at 5am! Insomnia says what?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Dollhouse 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as fear, coercion, violence, noncon/dubcon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk. 

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you. 

Summary: Five girls move into a shared residence for the upcoming school year but not all is as it seems. 

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Captain Syverson, Steve Abnesti, Lloyd Hansen, and Peter Parker 

This fic features five named readers; Ann, Lulu, Polly, Barbie, and Molly. This chapter features Polly and Ann. Please note that characters may switch but will maintain second-person POV.

Note: 💗

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3 

Love you all until you can’t stand it. Take care. 💖 

Barbie sets up her vanity on the desk. She opens the little plastic doors on the mirror to reveal the built-in lights before bending over to plug it in. You’re amused at her efforts as she reaches around the legs in search of a socket. 

You’re so excited. You’ve been counting down the days since your best friend came up with the idea. She found the ad online and forwarded it to you. It was almost too good to be true. You came together to meet the building manager, Jonathan, and he showed you all around. You can’t believe you both snagged a room. 

Barbie stands and pushes a button on the base of the mirror. She fiddles with her phone and there’s a chiming noise. Music starts to play from the speakers behind the vanity. Nifty. 

She lifts her makeup chest onto the desk and unrolls her collection of brushes and other tools. Her passion is admirable. You guess that’s why you are friends; she doesn’t shy away from what she loves. For her, it’s cosmetics, for you, it’s clothes. 

Lulu watches her as she hovers around the door. The girl hasn’t stopped moving since you go there. She’s like a hummingbird, always fluttering. She has this nervous laugh that seems to escape her without notice. 

“What are you taking, Lu?” You ask, hoping to distract her from her nerves. 

“Oh, uh, mathematics.” 

“Math? Wow.” 

“I’m not much for numbers but I have to do accounting courses if I want my business degree,” Barbie snips as she sorts through her makeup pads. 

“Business? That’s cool. What about you, Polly?” Lulu sways and tucks her hands behind her back. 

“Interior design. My mom forbade me from going into fashion but I convinced her to let me do this instead,” you explain. “It’s good money and I can still sew on the side, I guess.” 

“That’s interesting. I don’t know much about fashion. Vogue or whatever,” she tentatively peeks over at Barbie. “You have so much makeup.” 

“I’m a collector,” Barbie trills. “You want me to do you up? I don’t mind and I’m religious about cleaning my stuff.” 

“Oh, uh, you don’t have to,” Lulu waves her hands. 

“I don’t have to but I want to,” Barbie insists. 

“It’s her hobby,” you say, “just don’t let her get you with the glitter.” 

Lulu shrugs, “okay, nothing too heavy. I have sensitive skin.” 

“Oh, you don’t need much,” Barbie assures her, “your eyes are the perfect shape.” 

You hide a yawn as your leg bounces, jiggling the whole bed with it. You lean back on the heels of your hand, bored but not unhappy. The music fills the lull as Barbie searches through her palettes. 

You flinch as you hear something in the hallway. You get up as Barbie asks Lulu her opinion on lip gloss. You open the door and peek out. A girl carries and old looking suitcase down the hall, a box cradled in her other arm. You step out and she tosses the box in surprise. 

“Oh, hi,” she touches her chest and catches her breath. She looks over in dread at the scattered contents of the box. “Uh... sorry. You scared me.” 

“I’m sorry, I was just coming to say hi,” you go to her as she leaves her suitcase to the side and gets down to gather up her belongings. You help her, picking up a framed photo of a woman. She looks a lot like her. Maybe her mother? 

“I’m Ann,” she says as she takes the frame. 

“Polly,” you reply. “There’s some other girls in there,” you point over your shoulder. “You’re welcome to join us once you get your stuff down.” 

“Uh, sure, maybe,” she lifts the box and stands. “Tired.” 

“Right, yeah, I think everyone is. Been a long day.” 

“Is everyone else already here?” She asks. 

“I think. There’s two others downstairs. I guess you didn’t see them on your way in.” 

“Just the boy, uh, Peter? He’s nice. He wanted to play some ping pong but my hands were full,” she backs up to grab her bag, “I’ll knock on the door if I get a chance.” 

“Sure, yeah, we’d be happy to have ya. I know we were thinking of drinks so... maybe later.” 

“Okay,” she nods and lets herself into the last empty room.  

You go back into Barbie’s room as she bends to ply powder to Lulu’s face. “Someone here?” She asks. 

“Yeah, the last girl. Ann.” 

“Ann? That’s so pretty. Was she nice?” She asks. 

“Oh, super nice. She seemed a bit tired but I think we all get that. I told her to stop by if she has the energy.” 

“Awesome,” Barbie preens and stands back to examine Lulu. 

You wade around the room restlessly. Now that everyone is here, you’re impatient. You go to the window and glance out at the yard. It’s green and lush and perfectly groomed. You touch the window. The glass feels peculiarly thick. You twist the latch between the panes and push out. Heavy, too. 

As you do, you notice the figure below. Steve notices you too. The large blond man turns and peers up. You stand dumbly as you are. He raises a hand in a casual wave. You frown and pull back without returning the gesture. 

“Oof, that pollen’s going to get me good,” Barbie sniffles, “honey, will you look in my bag for my claritan?” 

“You’re always so dramatic,” you tease her as you tuck down your concern. 

You go to Barbie’s purse and search around for the pills. You don’t want to worry her by asking about that man. If everyone’s here, shouldn’t he be headed out. Jonathan touted the new security system and he mentioned routine check-ins. You really don’t like the idea of constant surveillance, even if it’s for your own safety. 

“You okay?” Barbie asks as you approach her with the box of tablets. 

“Fine, fine, just... adjusting.” 

“We all are,” she sets down her brush and take the medicine. “Right, Lu?” 

“Oh, yeah, everything’s so new,” the girl wiggles on the chair and giggles. “And far from home.” 

You give her a sympathetic smile. You can’t even imagine what it’s like to be in a whole different country. The more you think about it, the more your own homesickness mounts. Your family isn’t the best but you can’t help but miss them just a little bit. 

You put the portrait on the empty desk next to the box. You’re too exhausted to unpack. You drag your feet and sit on the bed. There’s a tidy stack of folded sheets on top, next to a card. Strange. 

You reach for the envelope and tear it open. Inside, you read the little welcome; ‘Consider this a housewarming. Please don’t hesitate to call should you have any issues with your housing. Jonathan Pine.’ Under his name, he’s written the number you already have in your phone. You lower it to your lap and something slides out of the envelope. 

You bend forward to take the gift card from the floor. Huh. That’s a bit too generous. A gift card to the local mall. You wouldn’t spit in the face of kindness but this all seems a bit much, especially after staying so long with Marla. 

You put it all back in the envelope and lay sideways on the bed, legs still over the edge. You were so happy to get a room there; clean, affordable, great location. Not that you’re there, you’re overwhelmed by it all. All these pretty girls, younger yet well ahead of you. 

It won’t do to get hung up on age or time or whatever. You should at least try to make friends. They seem lovely so far. Besides, you didn’t just miss out on classes for all those years you took off, no, you lost out on the social scene. 

You huff and push yourself up. Better be a human and go and meet your roommates. The long you wait, the more awkward it’ll be. Besides, you’re done with being left behind. 

You peek out into the hall before you emerge. You step out and shut the door gently. You cross the white carpet with blue roses and knock on the same door that girl Polly came out of. The moment your knuckles hit the wood, a brew of nerves begins in your stomach. 

It doesn’t take long for an answer. It’s almost like Polly’s waiting for you on the other side. You smile and give an awkward wave. Why did you do that? 

“Hey, offer stand?” You ask. 

“Oh, hi! Yes, come on in and meet everyone,” she steps back. You poke your head in before the rest of you and push your shoulders up, “hi, I’m Ann.” 

“Barbie,” the one standing up introduces, her focus on the other as she draws on her eyelids with liner. “This is Lulu. She’s an exchange student.” 

“Hi,” Lulu squeaks then giggles as she keeps her eyes closed. 

“Stay still,” Barbie tuts. She gets an apology and another tinkling laugh. 

“It’s just the three of you?” Ann asks. “And Peter?” 

“And Molly,” Barbie answers as she pulls back and caps the liner. “Quiet but sweet.” She sucks her teeth as she looks over Lulu. “We’ll do your mascara and gloss and then we’ll go do some driiiiinks.” She shimmies as she sings the last words. 

“I brought vodka if you wanna share,” Polly offers, “Barbie only drinks tequila.” 

“Can’t go wrong with a margarita,” Barbie counters. 

“I’ve never drank,” Lulu says. “My mom never let it in the house.” 

“Oh my god! Alright, well, we’ll make sure to give you a starter drink,” Barbie chirps. 

“Vodka’s fine, thanks,” you say to Polly. You look around and take in the large makeup chest with its many shelves and the roll of brushes in all sizes. 

“Barbie’s really into cosmetics. We go on dates to Sephora.” 

“They know me by name,” Barbie brags. 

“Mm,” you nod and clasp your hands together. You don’t know what to say. “So, uh, super nice building huh?” 

“Oh, it’s fucking perfect,” Barbie says. “I lived on campus last year and the showers were always clogged with hair. Ew.” 

“Hah, yeah, well, just wait a couple months,” Polly scoffs. 

“Mm, and there’s good security,” you suggest as you drag your hand up your arm, “I met that guy on the way in. Steve.” 

“Ah, yes, he’s nice,” Barbie says. 

Polly hums and her lips thin as she glances at the window. Lulu giggles again but doesn’t add anything. 

“And Jonathan is a sweetheart. That accent, too,” Barbie laughs. 

“Oh, uh, yeah, he’s nice.” 

“Sy is... nice too,” Lulu says. “The gardener.” 

“Honey, I need to do your lips,” Barbie chides. 

“Sorry,” Lulu stills and lets the other girl paint her with pink gloss. 

“There’s a gardener?” You ask as you share a look with Polly. 

“Done,” Barbie announces and stand straight. 

Lulu looks at herself in the mirror and bats her lashes, “oh my god, it’s awesome! Wow! I don’t even look like me!” 

“You do. I just highlighted your beauty,” Barbie assures her. “Ann, how about it? You want a glow up?” 

“Uh, no, that’s fine. Lulu, you said there’s a gardener?” 

“Of course,” Barbie shrugs, “I mean, look at the yard. I’m not trimming the hedges, are you?” 

“Yeah, he’s a big guy. Super helpful. The other day, I got locked out by accidents. Oh, you gotta be careful with the front door.” 

“Right,” you squint. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“We got all year to complain about the house, guys, let’s go get the others and get the party started,” Barbie whines as she looks around and flits over to a Louis Vuitton bag, “let me just get my tequila. Pol, go get your bottle and we’ll ball out.” 

You force a smile but it’s not entirely fake. You’re excited. You’re finally getting started on your life after dwelling so long on the end of it. You just wish your mom was here to see it. You wish you could call her so she could tell you she’s proud. 

She would be, wouldn’t she?

[kaiserposting]

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 0.9k TYPE: Meet-ugly (community service 💀), Crackfic WARNING(S): None? Dick jokes ?

There is a pair of shears in your hands and an ugly man to your left.

Actually, he’s not that unfortunate looking, but he seems like he should know better than whatever that excuse of a hairstyle is supposed to be.

You snip away at your government-assigned bush little by little while humming and stroking your chin in fake artisan appreciation, eyes darting between him and the shrub. Though you’re supposed to be working on this together, he hasn’t been doing much aside from pretending to prune whenever the supervisor passes by.

“Do you think I could shape it into a penis?” you ask, flicking a leaf with your finger.

The guy spares you one hateful glance before he crosses his arms, perhaps to signal that this is your battle to fight alone.

“I know they want them to be squares, but I’m into abstract art. Like really into it,” you say, lying.

He doesn’t respond.

You cut a dead branch and throw it at him, which prompts him to evaluate you like one might examine a particularly watery piece of shit out on the street. “So what’re you in for?”

“I’ve been ignoring you for fifteen minutes,” he snaps, picking up the specific stick you tossed at him from the ground and aiming for your eye when he returns the favor, possibly trying to blind you. You dodge with a smile of mild contentment. “Stop talking.”

“I imagined you to be the kinda pedantic asshole who’d argue that maybe penises aren’t abstract, or about how technically we’re not in jail, so I shouldn’t act like we are.”

“I don’t give a fuck about what you imagined,” he says before ripping out another dead branch with his bare hands (even though he also has gardening scissors like you do), immediately ruining the minimal progress you’ve made. “And you’re doing this way too slow.”

You nod, not bothering to inform him of how unhelpful he has been in this endeavor. Not that it matters. You’re not here to be productive. You just have a set of hours you need to fill out.

After a short while of mundane passivity, he realizes your chatter, while irritating, at least provided something to stimulate his mind, meaning an excuse to be annoyed. He says, “I got a parking ticket.”

“Really? Community service just for one parking ticket?”

“... I got sixty parking tickets.”

“Well, sounds to me like your parking is more in the style of post-impressionism than realism, but what do I know, I’m not a doctor.”

He ignores the twine of bullshit you just strung together, asserting himself above the usual game you fall into with people where they run around in circles riling themselves up trying to explain to you that you are talking nonsense. Instead he takes it in like it is natural and asks, “And what did you do?”

“Fraud,” you say, lying a second time. In reality you tried to shoplift a mop, although apparently both you and the item were not as inconspicuous as you believed.

“Since when do they give community service for fraud?”

“Hey,” you raise your hands in mock surrender, “it was a small-time fraud.”

“Yeah, whatever that means.”

“It means I ball like Milken,” you say.

“I don’t know who that is.”

You feel generous enough to elaborate, “Michael Milken.”

“That wasn’t an invitation for you to keep talking,” he rolls his eyes with the attitude of an invisible camera capturing his expression and turning him into a gif for people who describe themselves as ‘sassy’ to use, “nor is it helpful to anyone who doesn’t concern themselves with trivia about American scammers.” The way he says the word ‘American’ makes it sound like some kind of malaise.

“What do you concern yourself with, then? What’s your name?”

“That’s cute, but you don’t need to pretend you don’t know who I am.”

Your eyebrows scrunch together and wrinkle your forehead in an ugly manner as you struggle to conceive of what he’s on about. “Know you? Have we met before? I admit I went to that lame piano bar once, but I don’t remember anyone from there.”

“Do I look like you met me at a fucking piano bar?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Michael Kaiser.” There is a cadence of importance in his tone, so maybe he thinks his name means anything to you, which it doesn’t.

“Mike Kaiser.”

“No, not like Milken. You know how. You heard me say it.”

You turn around to go back to your gardening, deciding to work on your penis shrub project. Of course, it’s not coming out successful — there is not even a hint of a phallic shape, but even so, you must persevere.

This ‘Michael Kaiser’ watches you for a while. “You really don’t know who I am.”

“No, Mikey.”

“You’re fucking irritating,” he says. After some consideration, he adds, “Give me your number. We should go out sometime.”

“Maybe,” you agree noncommittally.

“Alright. Here’s what you’re gonna do. If you can come up with a way for us to get off community service early, I’ll give you my number,” Kaiser tells you, acting like you’re the one who came up with the idea of you two seeing each other again, or as if you’re begging to go out with him on a date.

It is very audacious. He’s standing there with a smug smirk on his face, arms still crossed. You think something’s wrong with him.

Either you’re falling in love or his display of unmedicated mental illness is arousing you because you’re suddenly feeling compelled by his advances out of nowhere, but one thing is for sure:

You’ll never really be able to trim the shrub into a penis.

[silkscreaming]

I made a volume 10 trimax vash cosplay for MAGfest and I am SO proud of how it came out :) Some process stuff below! Warning for image and text heavy.

Truthfully this cos is only about 85% complete—I’d purchased a bunch of hardware to really go in on a volume accurate version of his undersuit and belts, but simply ran out of time before the con. It was the first cosplay I’ve sewn since 2017 and the first wig styling I’ve done since 2020, so I’m not gonna beat myself up too much!

(This is all purse hardware off Etsy and some buttons from M&J trim)

This was my first time ever making a muslin mock-up, but I knew it was going to be necessary to get the coat to lay the way I wanted it to. I really wanted to try and create proportions that elongated the legs/torso and widened the shoulders by placing the coat tail splits appropriately and raising up the shoulders with some padding. And of course arm and leg details that I’ll get to someday lol.

I created two mock-ups. One of basic muslin that helped me go from an existing pre-bought pattern to something more Vash-shaped, then a second one on a slightly sturdier scrap fabric with my finalized torso proportions with padding so I could accurately pattern out the sleeves and collar.

I was tracing my pattern pieces onto newsprint and vellum as I went, so once all of those were finalized, it was time to cut my fabric! I used a heavy cotton twill from B&J fabrics and two kinds of fusible interfacing from Mood (I’m spoiled by being local to the fashion district these days). A smarter person would have bought a thinner fabric to line the inner torso with, but I did not feel like getting that complicated with my first ever muslin-drafted AND lined project, so I simply cut double of every pattern piece in order to create a lining.

Sleeves were done by interfacing and cutting into a top panel, carefully snipping at the cutout portions, ironing and fabritacking in place, and then top stitching the whole piece to the main sleeve. I later added some leather backing squares and interfacing behind the larger eyelets for aesthetic while keeping the ventilation in tact. Ideally in the future I'll also add a strip of fabric to the gun arm that creates a slight bunching effect since that sleeve is a little more ruffled over the cuff. Photos below also include three shoulder pads pinned together on each shoulder, but I ended up forgetting not using them on my final wear.

Unfortunately at this point I was approaching con time, so I started cutting some corners that I made easily replaceable for future upgrades. The coat tabs are just painted craft foam cut to the size of the buttons, tacked in place where the button pierces through the tab and where it wraps around the edge of the front panel. The straps that attach to the lapel and wrap under the arms also were just decorated with some silver trim instead of hardware, and I skipped the side button panels at his hips for pattern-making simplicity and time. They'll be added later! I'd also love to do some weathering, but don't think I can quite bring myself to riddle the coat tails with bullet holes as some people do haha.

Gun arm attachment was also a quick and dirty addition, just some vinyl trim on eva foam attached with contact cement and a decorative button. First time working with contact cement somehow, but I look forward to also being able to upgrade this at a later date to a more accurate shape with the full belt attachments!

I was also hoping to update the shoes a bit by making some boot covers for them and rub-n-buffing the soles to disguise the platform a bit, but I love my pick for the cleat-look that Vash has! Some good ol' Demonias in classic vash fashion :)

Last but not least: The Wig. My pride and joy.

I got lucky enough to nab an Arda sale, I think right before Halloween, and picked up the Morpheus lace front in black, along with some extra wefts in pale blonde. (I also bought a whole separate pale blonde Morpheus wig, boldly thinking I could swing a normal trimax vash wig lol. It made for a convenient Eriks wig in the mean time.)

Since I was aiming for the end of volume 10 post-Wolfwood death look, I started by trying on the wig, roughly tracing out my hairline, then gently unweaving that portion of black in order to re-ventilate it with blonde.

After I replaced that whole strip of plucked hair, I tried on again to finalize where I needed to ventilate to cover my own hairline, and completed my outline with both blonde and brown-black wefts (i had them on hand lol). All in all, I ventilated more than 4 square inches of blonde, and at least a solid centimeter extension of the black hairline across the whole front of the wig. Probably close to 30 hours of work in the ventilating alone, but I am a little slow since I haven't ventilated in a few years and didn't keep clear track of time.

If there's one thing I should be used to by now about Arda wigs, they are THICK. There is zero teasing in this wig. None. Just got2b, a blowdryer, and a prayer. And a good load of bobby pins. The wig was also sadly a last minute hotel room mad dash, and I do hope to restyle it under less duress, but I do think I successfully achieved the Trimax swoop and am very proud of it! It was unbelievably windy on the walk from our hotel room to MAGfest, so the photos in the start of this post show a bit more droop than my initial styling, but I think I'll be able to touch things up next wear.

And of course, shoutout to my partner for gifting me the official glasses for Christmas :) And thank you to my roommates who barely saw me for a month and a half except for when I needed help with a hem lol.

All in all, I am unbelievably proud of this cosplay, I can't wait to put some more love into it and wear it again!

[greenhorn-art]

Prince of Shadows, Lord of Thieves by alkat

Fandom: The King's Avatar | 全职高手

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: Gen

Words: 1 929

Once upon a time, their exploits were immortalized by artists and writers across the tapestry of history. Once upon a time, they were worshipped as gods and reviled as demons. None of that stopped the Met from stealing all their shit.

About the Book

FONTS: Alegreya [Google Fonts], Lato [Google Fonts]

IMAGES: all art made by myself @greenhorn-art for this fic

MATERIALS: regular ol' printer paper (8.5"x11", 20lb, 96 bright); ~2-2.5mm binder's board; Neenah cardstock (8.5"x11", 65lb, bright white); Cialux bookcloth (black); waxed linen thread (30/3 size, white); wheat paste (1:4 flour:water); paste wax (from a friend, unknown ingredients&quantities, some kind of wax and turpentine/mineral spirits)

PROGRAMS USED: Affinity Publisher 2; Affinity Designer 2; Bookbinder JS | Renegade's Community Imposer (settings: Quarto, snug against binding edge, custom signatures of 2, 1, 2 sheets).

Text & QR codes printed with colour laser printer (duplex, flip long edge), images printed with inkjet printer. QR codes generated with LibreOffice Writer, snipped, saved, and inserted where needed.

BINDING: quarto (quarter-letter) size, sewn board binding with french link stitch and breakaway spine.

.

So this one all started because the visual of HST's outfit was so fun that I was possessed by a visceral need to draw it. Inspiration slapped me across my mind's eye, and much like a medieval knight being slapped in the face by a glove (which didn't actually happen, that's a myth that sprung from the throwing down of a gauntlet. but that's beside the point), I felt bound to take up the challenge. Which lead me to draw a few more, and then I ended up binding the whole thing.

(Also, I find it really amusing that the famous Terracotta Warriors were just storage for YXs stuff. And the gang going 'shopping' at various exhibits for gifts for friends/family,, like that sure is SOME window shopping! I can hear it now: 'Oooh I'll take one one those SMASH, and that SHATTER, and throw in some of those CRASH, they're going to love these! 😇'. All in all, it was a fun little read, and fun little project! :D)

About the Art

Because this was initially a one-off drawing I tried a new art style (and struggled to at least not stray too far for the rest). It was fun and helped me think more about shape and visual focus, instead of being caught up in the details.

The crow (based off of image ID: 4039963 from Rawpixel) and the red umbrella on the front cover were filled curves made with the pen tool. The illustrations' poses were based off of a combination of images found on Google and photos taken by myself.

Pinterest is awful for sources, but it would have been handy to pin the references I'd googled. Only remembered to save the one of a man sitting at a desk. (I deliberately searched for someone sitting with bad posture because YX is described as being "slumped" over the desk. I figure that since "the laws of physics held no meaning to ["cursed souls eschewed by the natural order"]", they'd also be immune to mundane things like discomfort from sitting hunched over for too long. Back pain images were a gold mine! All I had to do was choose one with lighting that would give me a silhouette.)

The Myriad Manifestations Umbrellas and illustrations were drawn in Procreate.

I opted for a more plain umbrella design because it's not (presumably) a fantastical weapon in this story. Though the initial version did have YX cradling the donghua!MMU.

For the scene breaks I inserted the images, pinned them inline as character, and adjusted height and baseline in the pinning menu to fit.

The author wrote one scene break differently than the others, using multiple empty paragraphs instead of just one. Following suit, I used a different image for that particular break. I wanted to reference vampires somewhere, so for that break I made two bloody spots resembling bite marks. The blood spots were made with a group of shapes in Designer.

On cover design:

Because the MMU is what sparks the whole heist, I wanted it on the front cover.

Earlier iterations involved a full cover spread with a man's shadow standing before a shattered glass case, with a plaque mounted on the wall to the left providing information. The plaque was formatted like a museum label and had the author, date published, title, event collection, and story description. I'd also added a QR code to it. Ultimately, I abandoned the concept because it was difficult to decipher what is was when only looking a one cover at a time.

My second idea for the cover would have been a bookcloth-only cover with a cut-out of the MMU on the front, acting like a window showing off an image of the MMU on paper below it. (Inspired by the work of a number of folks over on Renegade's Discord. Here's a few examples gleaned from a quick search: szynkaaa's lung cutouts, some of EHyde's books, and the front cover of Spock's massive all-in-one TGCF). As fun as that would have been to try out, I felt it didn't quite suit the style of the art so I nixed that too.

Eventually I landed on the back cover design with the Met exhibition webpage. At last, I felt that the back & white and simple-shapes-background went with the artwork. The webpage viewed on the phone is based off of the Met's actual website. I took a snip/screenshot of the Met's logo from the banner at the top, then looked at their exhibitions' pages and eyeballed it to create my own. (Threw in the QR because I wanted the easy access to the fic online on the back cover). I chose to use a phone screen rather than I computer monitor because it worked better composition-wise. And besides, while YX may be allergic to owning a phone, SMC is not. I imagine that she saw the news while on her phone then messaged him.

The front cover came together after that. An umbrella for the MMU, and a pop of red. One of YX's messenger crows. A black shape in the background similar to the back cover's, sort of creating a spotlight over the umbrella and placing the rest of the cover in shadow.

Trying New Things: Applying a protective finish to printed covers

Over on the Renegade Bindery Discord, folks have spoken about using a beeswax & turpentine/mineral spirits 50-50 mix to seal printed covers (thank you Kate). According to my dad that's just a paste wax, so he threw 3 different ones at me and said 'have at it'.

I tested them out using the same paper and inkjet I'll use for the cover. I was looking at 1) whether the paste wax affected the paper colour or print quality, and 2) the finish. After applying one coat each and buffing them out I had my winner. Then I applied & buffed two more coats to it and tested 3) water resistance by dripping tea on it. The liquid beaded up and wiped away without staining -- good, three coats will work nicely.

(Test results: Mystery paste wax from a friend wins.

The commercial SC Johnson Paste Wax Original formula (intended for woodworking) has a nice dry shiny finish, but coloured the paper slightly brown -> disqualified

My dad's homemade stuff has a nice shiny/satin finish and didn't change paper's colour, but it felt slightly tacky even after buffing it -- maybe I didn't buff it enough?

The gifted paste wax has a matte finish, didn't change paper's colour (in the image below this one has 3 coats. The paper is now slightly off-white, but still acceptable), and while not as dry-to-touch as the Johnson it was not as tacky as the other homemade stuff.)

When I print out my quarto covers, I print front and back covers side-by-side on the same page*, with some guides to ensure I'm cutting and gluing in the correct place. (The guides mark the boundaries of the covers and start of the turn-ins, and stop at the edge of where I cut. Before cutting I flip it over to mark the guides [see marks indicated in image below] on the wrong side and connect them so I can see where to glue/place book. Then flip it back over to cut, right side up.)

*I'm being economical here at the cost of possible warping damage. This layout means that I'm only using one sheet of paper, but the grain is running in the wrong direction (across the book instead of preferred head-to-tail/top-bottom). This could cause warping issues, but I'm OK with that. I'm hoping that by just gluing at the edges, instead of pasting down the whole thing, warping will be minimized. (I use wrong-grain endpapers most of the time with larger books anyways).

I applied the paste wax before cutting out the covers, working carefully to avoid accidentally creasing/bending the paper (which happened twice, but it was minimal and I hardly notice it). Doing so before cutting ensured that the cover material was completely covered. Even the turn-ins -- something I later came to regret. After all, wax is used specifically so that things don't stick to it. It made it rather difficult to drum on the endpapers because I was trying to glue something down onto a waxy surface. It all worked out in the end -- perhaps due to the fact that there were multiple layers of wheat paste which could adhere to each other, followed by being squashed in a press.

[oceanlipgloss]

VALENTINE

ELIGOS.

+ no warnings.

+ female mc, feminine pronouns, hints of female mc’s official appearance.

An arts and crafts project of her very own.

An eyeshadow palette on the vanity, scissors in her hand, pink ribbons on the floor. And his adorable smile, of course, reflected in the mirror.

He looked so cute. Like a little present.

Ribbons were once tied in bows around his horns and clothes. Same old, same old—but then she thought, why not change that just a little on this chocolate-sweet day?

When red paint and pink paint are mixed together, they swirl into a color akin to magenta. The pink he likes comes to life from a drop of magenta—or perhaps strawberry-red—and a dollop of cream-white. But aren't cherries and Red Delicious apples the actual color of Valentine's?

That's why ribbons dripped from a lacquer box, all red, pretty and shiny. The crimson sheen of them made him wonder: was that why had she led him by his pale shoulders to the golden vanity? Better yet, was he going to get lots of pampering?!

Warm fingers stroked his hair. Compliments sprinkled themselves over his head. Made him feel giddy. And then those fingers were untying bows from black locks, sliding ribbons down white strands.

Horns for last!

Red ribbons twirled around her pale fingers, limited their movement; she avoided touching his horns as best as she could, however. It's nice to keep things innocent for once—sweet and childlike!

These short dark bones were such sensitive things, though, for even the caress of soft fabric against them made his body stiffen. And contact was ever inevitable—so when his short horns and her delicate fingers eventually met in the lightest of brushes, a shiver rippled under his porcelain skin.

Every time a pink ribbon fell to the ground, instead of it a red one got tied into a bow.

Snip, snip, snip! Scissors cut away any offending strings. Sunshine fell on his hair and made red velvet shimmer like rubies.

Minutes ago she was thinking about how precious he looked with his pink ribbons, blushing cheeks and childish smile, but right now she almost felt like she would eat him up as though he were just a tiny piece of heart candy. Red complimented his rosy happiness so prettily.

Just like a doll.

She had told him that in the human world, red was the color of love, and the color of Valentine's, the day of love.

That had to mean...that she loved him!

Happy. He felt happy.

As he watched her dip a soft brush in metallic red, he found himself thinking that white ribbons would look lovely in her violet hair.

The fine bristles felt softer than a dream against his skin. And a bit ticklish. He giggled. It was hard to stay still, but he knew it was important for perfect results, so he did.

Scarlet spread over the little bows on his shoulder. And since this was not only for artistic purposes—but also a message of endearment—she might as well also 'paint' the ones on his leg. So, she knelt before him and did just that.

With every tiny bow colored, she pressed a soft kiss to his skin and gifted him a compliment—didn't stop even when he already had a whole heart-shaped box of them that overflowed and dropped the sugary candies to the ground.

Finally, her hands reached towards the great pink knot about his waist. She would now sew red velvet to another one of his outfits, because the ribbons and colors must all match, no?

+ MASTERLIST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[wuxiaphoenix]

On Writing: Upcycling

I don’t know if this holds for every writer. But for me and no few I’ve traded emails with, our brains and accumulated libraries of books/notes/articles/stray neat things off Tumblr is a vast collection of “it could come in handy someday.”

This holds for less-than-great movies and TV shows, too. See something you think is kind of meh, but there’s a character, setting, or worldbuilding aspect you like? Write it down. Toss the note into your collection of ideas. Maybe let it marinate a bit. Then take it out, check that you can file the serial numbers off and make that bit original, and see if it slots in as a neat piece of an Idea.

Note, a piece; not the whole thing. If you want to rewrite The Acolyte so that Jedi Master Sol gets out alive and with his morals intact, instead of that... confused mess of characterization shift between the first eps and the last that reviews say happened-

If you want to, go to; but that will be fanfic. (Nothing wrong with good fanfic!)

If, however, you like the idea of a Korean space wizard traveling the galaxy and getting mixed up in a murder investigation... that could very well be original, and vastly entertaining. A wuxia wizard and a cop; together, They Fight Crime!

Ahem.

(Am I a smidge grumpy that this was the premise the Acolyte advertised, and then neglected completely? Yes, yes I am. I also predicted that takeoff of The Fugitive scene minutes before Roommate showed me the relevant review clip. I predicted, in fact, no less than three bad Plot Twists in the review that way. I may have made my roommate a tad nervous. So yes. A smidge. Or more.)

Picking up snips of ideas can be particularly helpful if, like me, your ability to visualize people is... ahem, not your strong point. Seriously, change your hat and I probably won’t recognize you the next time we meet. Faces don’t stick in my head. So giving a character a physical appearance can be daunting. I mean, they have... two arms and a head? Hair? Human-ish shape?

But as the internet saying goes, if you can’t make it yourself, sometimes store-bought is just fine. So I look at actors. Anime characters. Comic books and manga. “Does X look like the kind of person in my head?” And then, yes, alter some details. You don’t want a copy. Just a general model. And since writing is a verbal media instead of visual, that should work out fine. Your readers are going to picture their own versions of your character anyway, even if you do get lucky with your cover.

Also note, watching people in motion can really help with action scenes. I’ll take all the help with those I can get!

So never let anybody diss the, ahem, less than perfect stuff you watch or read. If you like it, there’s something good in it. Make a note.

It could come in handy someday....

Unrelated side note. If you used to love lemon meringue pie but turned up allergic to eggs, search for this recipe: Sweet & Tart Egg Free Lemon Bars, by Safely Delish. (It’s been a few years since I got the printout, so searching for the link is probably best.) This recipe is not only egg-free, it works with GF flour! Though the crust is a tad crumbly. Sometime I’m going to do some experimenting to see if I can fix that....

[girakacheezer]

Marlowe Devblog #10

I came across an issue in the game where if a box is flush against the wall, I can stand on the floor beneath the box as long as I’m walking into it.

This issue also occurs sometimes in stacks of boxes, but normally because there’s a very small ledge/difference in position that’s less than 1 pixel and thus not visible to the human eye.

Since this is similar to the issue I faced in Marlowe Devblog #3, I thought maybe a similar solution would work, where I could just simulate collision in different orders to find the correct outcome.  But with throwing entities into the mix, this would double the number of simulated collision runs in a single entity check, if not increase them further, so this strategy is becoming less appealing.

I looked online to see if anyone else has faced similar issues with tiles or whatnot, and one solution I saw people mention was to “change the player’s collider to a circle”.  In this engine I’m making, collision isn’t really built to the point where it can work with arbitrary geometrical shapes, just rectangles (it makes calculations a lot simpler), but I can still use the idea of a “rounded hitbox” to fix this.

The issue right now is that as a perfectly rectangular object, when we try to fall down and into the right into this “wall”, the corner of our hitbox hits the hidden corner of the wall below the box and end up getting pushed up as well as to the left outside the wall and box.

Using a circular hitbox though, the corner of the player’s hitbox wouldn’t get snagged on the hidden corner in the wall anymore, allowing us to “slide” past it.  However I don’t have circular collision programmed into the engine, so instead I’ve opted for a slightly different solution.

The idea is instead to use a hitbox that behaves more like this, with “rounded” corners to help us slide past things when we’re against a mostly flat surface.

In practice how I achieved this was by snipping the ends of the collision lines for map collision, so that there was a bit of room to avoid hitting the corner/edge of the line inside the “wall”.  I chose to snip the map lines instead of the player box since in general map lines are bigger than entity hitboxes, and rounding the corners of a very small hitbox could lead to weird interactions.

However this had an issue where if I jumped into a corner just barely, I could clip the player’s corner into the line and get OOB, since map line collision is permissive in that if you were behind a line the frame before, you’re allowed to be behind the line until you’re in front of it again.

So I updated the collision such that for the map lines, there was a tiny space behind the line that if the corner/edge of the hit box was in, it would snap the player to the line edge, even if it was on the inside of the line before.  This prevented the issue where the player could clip OOB via corners in geometry.

This update to line collision also meant it fixed the issue I previously had in devblog 3 without the need for multiple collision simulations, so I was able to remove that code from the map collision which will increase the perf of collision code in general.

This also lets you slide around corners if you bonk into them just barely, which is a nice feature to have to make jumps/collision feel more fair.

I also applied a slightly modified version of this corner forgiveness to entities, and it works well here too.  It also solves a previous issue I had where you could get snagged on a corner if sliding against a solid flat wall of boxes, which previously I had a solution in place that sorted entities by distance from the target before running collision checks, which was a rather expensive solution performance wise.  I’m able to remove that sort() call now, thanks to this.

[im-a-wonderling]

White Moves First, Part 3 ~ Edmund Pevensie

Massive thanks to @writing-on-the-wahl​ for all her help. I hope you guys enjoy!

Summary: Despite the distance between their two lands, Y/N, princess of Archenland, is close friends with King Edmund the Just. But when push comes to shove, will friendship turn to more?

Warnings: Rabadash continuing to be sleazy and a horrible understanding of how chess works lol

Word count: 4.8k

White Moves First Masterlist | Main masterlist

Typically, the morning after a ball, most of the court to stayed in bed until noon, including most of the advisors on my father’s council, which meant when I awoke, there would be no council meeting to listen in on for hours. 

My curated beauty had done its part last night, so when I awoke, I dressed in my simplest dress: a green gown with dark laces on the front instead of on the back, which allowed me to put it on with no assistance. With no council meeting to eavesdrop on until later, I stole some breakfast from the kitchens and made my way to the gardens with scissors and a basket. In summertime, I loved to pick a bouquet for my rooms, and if I was going to be occupying myself for the morning, this was the best way to do it. 

The herbs and vegetables used by the kitchens were grown behind the castle, in the space between the castle and the wall surrounding Anvard, so the castle gardens were purely for enjoyment. 

Blooms of every kind blossomed, some hidden by the tall hedges, others raised so they could be seen from anywhere. From what others told me, my mother’s favorite pastime was to walk amongst the flowers of every shape and color. Apparently nothing had been planted here without my mother’s approval, and since she passed, my father liked to keep everything exactly the way she’d liked it. 

A ring of large trees had been planted around the garden, offering me enough of a shield to keep me from being spotted, but I still ventured deep into the garden. After being watched by the entire court last night, I craved the privacy to think and feel anything I wanted.

Breathing in the fresh smells surrounding me, I stopped in front of a bush of white roses, reaching out to brush a rose that hadn’t quite bloomed yet with my finger. 

“Y/N!”

I glanced up to see Edmund walking towards me, the new sun behind him highlighting bits of his brown hair and making it seem like he wore a shining crown. As he drew nearer, I noticed his clothing was not that befitting his station, but a plain green tunic with brown trousers. In contrast to his relaxed attire was the sword strapped to his waist. 

Why was he here? Had he been on his way to spar and then noticed me? That can’t be right, I thought to myself. If he’d been simply walking past the garden on the way to the barracks, he wouldn’t have seen me. 

“Good morning!” I called brightly, using my scissors to clip the young rose and setting it into my basket. 

Edmund merely nodded, coming to a stop in front of me. 

“Were you trying to match me?” I asked with a sly smile, motioning to his outfit and then mine. 

He didn’t reply. He merely stood there, studying my face with something unidentifiable in his eyes. 

“Did you sleep well?”

He hesitated and then nodded again. “Did you?”

I snipped another rose. “As well as I could after spending an evening with Prince Rabadash.” Out of the corner of my eye, Edmund tensed, his grip on his sword tightening. “Only time will tell if my father got the clarity he wanted.” 

Edmund rolled his shoulders a couple times, as if the muscles were sore. “There’s going to be another council meeting after lunch. We can meet in the drawing room after, and I’ll tell you about it.”

“I would like that.” 

Silence fell between us as heavy as a baby elephant and not half as adorable. The dark-haired king’s gaze fell to his feet, as if he were checking to make sure he wasn’t too close to the edge of a cliff. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Edmund jerked his head up. “Wrong? Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

I shot him a rare, reproachful look. “Don’t pretend. Not with me.” Edmund sucked his lips into his mouth, looking more upset than he had before. “What’s going–”

“You danced with Rabadash nine times last night.” 

I could do nothing but blink. Was there some significance about nine dances? And why had he counted in the first place? “And?”

“And you danced with me once.”

Oh. 

“Edmund, you can’t read into–”

“You said that you didn’t like him. That he was an…” Edmund’s cheeks colored, and I nearly laughed at his inability to repeat what I’d called Prince Rabadash. “Yet you danced with him.” He shuffled his feet, not meeting my eyes. 

Was he upset? Did he somehow think that I preferred that worm to him?

The very idea was laughable. 

And yet the sadness on Edmund’s face was so deeply etched, I could feel it emitting from him like a harsh wind. 

I dropped the scissors, brushing off my hands. “My father asked me to.”

Edmund’s eyes shot to my face, eyebrows drawn together. “He asked you to dance with Rabadash?”

“He asked me to…” I sighed, folding my arms across my chest to combat the creeping feeling slinking across my skin. “To stay close to him, I guess?”

Edmund’s frown was leagues darker than I’d ever seen. “How close?”

“Close enough to convince him not to attack Archenland.” I bent down to retrieve my scissors. “Unfortunately, I think he was focusing more on me than Archenland.”

“Did he make you uncomfortable?” Edmund asked with great alarm. 

I ran my finger across the edge of the scissors, stalling as I neared the rosebush. “He didn’t do anything improper.” 

I prepared to cut another rose, but suddenly a shadow fell on me. I glanced up to see Edmund standing close enough to block out the sun. “That’s not what I asked.” 

My voice failed me. 

I didn’t get much satisfaction out of lying to people in general, but this was Edmund. Beyond being a man of great integrity who genuinely cared about my wellbeing, he was my best friend. Out of everyone I knew, he would most understand the deep-seated unease I felt around the Calormen prince. 

But as I met Edmund’s gaze, I knew I didn’t have to say a word. An understanding passed between us, quicker than lightning. Edmund stepped back, once again creating a respectful amount of space between us. “After last night, he should have no reason to get close to you ever again.”

That we know of.

I almost voiced the thought, but shook it off. It was a beautiful morning, and I was in a beautiful place with one of my favorite people. Negativity had no place here. “The roses will bloom any day now,” I said, cutting another rose and dropping it into my basket. 

“They are…very nice.”

I shot Edmund a look. “Very nice? Is that the extent of your complimentary vocabulary?” 

He chuckled, holding up his hands. “I’m afraid unless the roses are armed and trying to duel, I have nothing much to say.” 

“Is that what you’re going to say to your wife on your wedding day? That she looks very nice?”

“Well, only if she asks.”

I laughed, much too loudly for a proper lady, but Edmund looked pleased. Picking up my basket, I shaded my eyes from the sun. “Perhaps then we should take a turn about the other parts of the garden. Maybe you’ll get lucky and the marigolds will launch an attack.”

Edmund guffawed. “Well then, milady, will you allow me to escort you?” He offered me his arm, his eyes twinkling. “For protection, of course.”

“If you insist.” I loftily looped my arm with his, causing both of us to chuckle before walking down the garden path. As we ambled along, my gratitude for the man beside me grew and grew. Of course I was thankful he’d let the topic of conversation switch to something other than Rabadash, but it was more than that.

It bothered Edmund to see me with the Calormen prince, and I was glad of it. Yet even that didn’t stand in the way of the camaraderie we shared. He made me feel at ease, simply by being himself.

I paused to cut some carnations. “Was Lucy terribly disappointed about not coming to Anvard?”

Edmund laughed, glancing down at his feet. “Oh, practically inconsolable until I promised that you’d come to Narnia for a visit.”

Tendrils of longing curled in my chest, making it hard to breathe for a few moments. Oh, to visit Narnia would be a dream. Hopefully that dream was closer to fruition than many of my other dreams. “And how’s your brother doing?” I managed to ask around the self-pity.

“Oh, same as he always is.” Edmund leaned against a nearby cherry tree in full bloom. “Making great, kingly proclamations and pretending he doesn’t know half of the women in this world are in love with him.”

I snorted as I moved on to clip a few stems of lavender. “He’s a blond, what do you expect?” I lifted a sprig to my nose, breathing in the calming scent. 

Edmund chuckled. “I suppose that’s fair.” 

I held out a sprig. “Do you like lavender?”

His eyes settled the plant. “It’s purple.”

“Yes.”

“Am I supposed to like or dislike the color purple?”

I rolled my eyes. “I mean, do you like the smell?”

He tilted his head, looking confused. 

“Honestly Edmund,” I said with a sigh, bounding up to him. “You can be so uncivilized.” 

He opened his mouth, looking mightily offended, but I held out the lavender right beneath his nose. He closed his eyes and mouth before breathing in the calming smell, his chest rising considerably. Then his exhale sent air skimming across my fingers. Edmund’s eyes fluttered open. “It smells wonderful,” he said softly. 

The wind picked up, blowing my hair into my face and filling the air with pink petals drifting this way and that.

Before I could react, Edmund lifted his hand to my hair, tucking it behind my ear. It was quick, easy action, like his hand had acted without permission from his mind. “You have flowers in your hair,” he murmured as his fingers drifted from my ear to the top of my head, gently picking them out. 

I stood rock still, gazing up at Edmund’s intent face. It was the same face he made while studying the chessboard halfway through a game as he tried to puzzle out all the potential interactions between the pieces. 

I liked that face.

I liked his face. 

His fingers were still at work in my hair, but his eyes darted down for a moment.

Something he saw there must’ve caught his attention, for his fingers paused in their work. His sharp eyes, trained on my face, held no delight, and his lips held no smile, and yet...

Yet.

I felt a shift, like the ground underneath my feet was giving way. The longer he stood still within arms reach, looking down at me, the more my heart started to race. 

Why is he looking for so long? my head asked with great apprehension. 

Why has he never looked for this long before? my heart whispered back.

“Princess.” 

Edmund and I leapt apart to see Prince Rabadash, casually leaning against a tree. 

“Prince Rabadash,” I said, quickly walking over to my basket, dropping the lavender into it. “I hope you slept well.” 

When I didn’t get a response, I straightened to see the two men staring at each other. Edmund’s nostrils were flared, but Rabadash was smiling. 

“I slept marvelously,” the prince said, his attention shifting to me. “You know, being so worn out from so much dancing last night.”

Edmund shifted. 

I managed a smile. “My father will be pleased to hear that.”

“Did you enjoy last night as much as I did?” Rabadash asked, an easygoing smile upon his face.

My cringe nearly broke through my carefully crafted expression, so it took me a few moments to work out a response. “Last night was certainly noteworthy.” 

Rabadash didn’t respond with anything other than a smile, but that smile spoke volumes. The excessive pride radiated from him like the stench from the stables. Whatever game he was playing, he certainly thought he was winning. 

“Have you had breakfast yet, Your Highness?” I asked, hoping that he hadn’t and that he’d go find some. 

“I was actually hoping we could eat together.”

Edmund stepped forward. “I’m sorry, but the princess has work to do in these gardens. You’ll have to go find some breakfast on your own.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate.” Rabadash clasped his hands together. “I shall have to go find your father instead.” He gave a little bow and turned back towards the castle.

Edmund and I watched him go. 

“Ass,” Edmund muttered under his breath once Rabadash was out of sight, and I chuckled. 

“Am I rubbing off on you, Your Majesty?” When Edmund didn’t respond to the quip, I sidled up to him. “Hey.” I waited until Edmund looked at me. “Soon enough, he’ll be back in his own country, and we can deal with him from afar.” 

“Can’t come soon enough.” He sighed. “I’d better go get changed before the council meeting later.” 

“Ahh, yes, you have important things to do,” I said with a smile, ignoring the pang of wishing I could be involved in those important things too. “Well, thanks for protecting me from the marigolds.”

Edmund didn’t laugh. “Believe me,” he assured, “I would much rather spend the day protecting you from marigolds than going to meetings.” Before I could comment, he brought my hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. With a wink, he walked in the opposite direction as Rabadash. 

Suddenly the pleasant morning temperature felt a bit hot. 

After clipping a few more flowers of various colors, I left the gardens and entered the castle, heading for the kitchens to get a vase and water for my bouquet. 

I crossed the main hall, about to break off for the servant staircase when I caught sight of my father and Rabadash at the end of the hall. Quickly, I ducked behind a column, peeking around the corner at them. Being too far away to hear them, I could only see their facial expressions. 

Rabadash looked as slimy as he always did, but my father rubbed the side of his neck, looking thoughtful.

My stomach dropped. 

If my father was considering whatever Rabadash was saying…that meant there was something to consider. 

Nearly forgetting my basket, I scurried in the other direction, headed straight for the councilroom. Whatever the two of them were discussing, my father would bring it up with the council as soon as he could, which meant I needed to get into place before they arrived. 

Once I turned the corner, I hiked up my skirts and ran as fast as my legs would take me, ducking underneath the tapestry with no hesitation. 

When the tapestry settled into place, I stood there, clenching the handle of my basket, breathing heavy while my mind raced. 

Surely Prince Rabadash wouldn’t be so foolish as to declare war while he was still a guest at the castle? That would make it all too easy for him to be subdued or captured before going home. But would he lower his pride enough to ask for peace? 

Never.

So what else could he possibly be asking for?

A loud bang sounded, making me drop my basket as a wave of raised voices reached my ears. I quickly bent to collect the flowers that had scattered through the alcove.

“Father, are you out of your mind?!” The voice belonged to one of my brothers, most likely Corin, since Cor never raised his voice. “What are you–”

“Silence!” my father thundered. “I will not have you question me.”

“But—”

“We have found a way towards peace! Someday, you will understand that peace is what matters most.” 

The room went quiet. 

“Your Majesty,” I heard an advisor ask, “what do you speak of?”

Someone let out a large sigh as my father answered. “Rabadash has approached me.” 

I stopped breathing, waiting for him to continue as tension coiled in my chest like a snake trying to squeeze the life out of my lungs. 

“What’s going on in here?” Edmund’s voice asked from a little farther away, and hearing it made me suck in a breath. Even though I couldn’t see him and he had no idea I was here, knowing he was there made the knot in my chest loosen slightly.

“King Edmund, Queen Susan, you got my message.” My father’s voice had considerably lowered, sounding far more respectful. “Please come in.”

There was some shuffling, and, judging by the scraping sounds, someone moved a chair. 

“King Loon,” said Susan, “you’re making me nervous.”

Someone cleared their throat. “The prince was very taken by my daughter last night, as we all saw from how many times they danced together.” I strained my ears, wishing my father would talk faster. “Rabadash has approached me and offered to settle things in the old way.”

No.

My body revolted as I sank to the floor of the alcove, bracing a hand on the rock wall.

Anything but that. 

“You mean–” Edmund started.

Someone slammed something down on the table, and my heart raced as I wished I could see through the tapestry to see who did it and why. “He means to marry off our sister to that arseworm!” Corin shouted.

“Boy, do not shout at me,” my father warned. 

“Father–” said Corin, but he didn’t continue, clearly cut off by some nonverbal cue.

“I will draw up the terms of peace, and as soon as it is done, Prince Rabadash will sign and leave for Tashbaan.”

“With the princess?” a voice I didn’t recognize asked. 

“With the princess,” my father confirmed. “They will wed back in Tashbaan.”

Silence fell in the room. 

Then, it exploded, everyone talking over each other with such different volumes and emotions, I couldn’t pick any of it apart from the voices screaming in my own head.

Narnia and Archenland had battled Rabadash together in order to keep Susan away from Prince Rabadash’s clutches—and now my father was handing me to him on a silver platter? 

Yes, Susan was a queen, and I was merely a princess, but I knew with certainty that if I were part of the Narnian royal family, many would be prepared to die before handing me to the Calormen prince like cattle. 

“King Edmund,” my father asked, causing the room to go silent and bringing me out of my thoughts, “what is your counsel?”

I could picture my brothers, Queen Susan, the advisors, everyone turning to look at Edmund. Edmund conducted himself with such authority in the last meeting, it was hardly a surprise that my father wanted to hear from him. I waited with bated breath, wondering what my friend would possibly say in response to this. 

But the room remained quiet. 

“Edmund?” Queen Susan said. “Is everything alright?”

“Has Y/N agreed to this?” Edmund asked evenly.

Silence fell again.

“I see,” Edmund said. “How long ago did you discuss this with Prince Rabadash?”

“Not twenty minutes ago,” one of my brothers cut in.

“King Loon,” Edmund began, “Prince Rabadash is crafty. It is entirely possible that he has other motives for asking for the princess’s hand. For instance, he might be looking for a hostage by saying he’ll marry the princess once they arrive in Calormen.”

“So perhaps we should negotiate for the wedding to happen here, in Archenland,” my father mused. My heart leapt to hear my father taking advice from Edmund. My knight in black, acting in defense, just like always. Surely the Just King of all people would be able to convince my father away from this plan. 

“This marriage could be Rabadash’s attempt for us to let our guard down, making it easier to get to my sister.”

I shut my eyes. 

Of course.

It was foolish and sentimental of me to think that I was Edmund’s concern instead of his own flesh and blood.

“Narnia has spies in Calormen court,” Edmund continued. “Give us the chance to reach out to them and see if the prince has discussed the marriage with the Tisroc. That will help us gauge how serious Rabadash is about this marriage.”

No one spoke for a few moments.

“Very well,” my father said. “I will ask Rabadash for more time.” A few murmurs reached my ear. “But,” my father said sharply, “if he has discussed it with the Tisroc and is willing for them to be wed here, I am going to give him my daughter.”

Somewhere in the distant recesses of my mind, a gavel banged as my future went up in smoke. 

I swallowed hard. 

To hear my father talk of this without remorse or doubt…

I was my father’s only daughter, and yet he was willing to sell me for peace. Only Corin had spoken out against it, and he hadn’t even asked our father to inform me about the decision. 

Still reeling, it took a long moment for me to realize that the room was completely silent. I slipped out from behind the tapestry. I stumbled through the halls like a woman in a dream, my thoughts whirling around like a spinning top. I barely realized where I was headed until my fist was banging on the door of the fanciest guest suite in the castle. 

Prince Rabadash opened the door, and I didn’t even wait for an invitation before storming in. “Why do you want to marry me?” I demanded. There was no point in obeying my father’s request to be honey now, for apparently his intention was never for me to be kind for posterity’s sake.

“Hello to you as well,” Prince Rabadash said, turning to look at me and leaning his head against the still-open door. 

“Please answer my question.”

Prince Rabadash smiled, shutting the door. “Why wouldn’t I want to marry you? You’re a princess, a very beautiful one I might add, and we had lovely conversations last night and this morning.”

“Don’t waste our time with insincere praise.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m asking you to tell me the truth.”

“I am not lying to you. You’re, by far, the most beautiful princess I’ve come across, and last night, I got to see the grace with which you handle yourself, even beyond the dance floor.” He licked his lips.

Despite the disgusting action, I knew he meant what he said. Still... “I don’t believe that’s the only reason why.”

“Isn’t it?” Prince Rabadash folded his arms, looking to all the world as if he enjoyed this. As if it were some kind of game. 

Well, two could play. “Queen Susan is just as beautiful and graceful as I.”

A scowl broke through the prince’s easy-going expression. I felt a thrill of satisfaction. For even if he quickly smoothed over his expression, I’d struck a nerve. 

My bishop takes his pawn.

“I believe you sell yourself short,” Rabadash said breezily. 

“There’s a reason you’ve chosen me instead of continuing to fight for her.” I straightened my posture. “What is it?”

“I thought you wanted peace?” he said, coming forward. 

I stood my ground, meeting his gaze without a care for what was proper. “I do. But if you truly wanted war, I don’t believe you’re the type to be swayed by a pretty face.”

“Not even a face as pretty as yours?” The prince gently caressed my jaw. 

I smacked his hand away, anger rising. “If you’ve been paying half as much attention as you pretend, you would know your compliments mean nothing to me!”

Prince Rabadash inhaled deeply, as if there was some pleasant smell in the room. “There you are. You’ve finally come out from behind all this etiquette, all this courtesy.” He grinned, lifting a hand to run his finger over the delicate knot of my laces just above my waist. “It’s outrageously attractive.”

His knight takes my bishop.

It took all my strength not to stagger away from him, to stand my ground. “Why do you want to marry me?”

To my relief, the prince took a step back, dropping his hand. “Maybe I just want a guarantee that my country won’t be attacked.” 

“Us? Attack you?” I folded my arms. “You’re the one who nearly took over my country!”

“And it makes perfect sense that there would be a retaliation.”

“You won’t get one from Archenland.” The words left my mouth before I realized that I had no authority to make that promise. But as desperate as I was, I didn’t care. 

Rabadash lifted an eyebrow, leaning closer. “You’re willing to make that promise on Archenland’s behalf?”

I didn’t flinch. “Yes.” 

My pawn takes his knight.

“Then what about the kings and queens of Narnia?”

I blinked. Why would he ask me such a thing? “That is yours to sort out with them as you will,” I said shortly. “I can’t speak for them.”

“Ahh, but there is only one reason they would promise me anything.”

What was he getting at? I silently wracked my brain for any possible explanation as I suspiciously regarded him.

That was a mistake.

Prince Rabadash nearly preened at the attention. “Oh, darling, don’t you understand?” he finally asked. 

I nearly got distracted by my disgust at the pet name. “What don’t I understand?”

The prince moved forward, dipping his head close to my head so his lips were positioned right beside my ear. “You are my reason.”

I careened away from him, angry both at his proximity and at his evasive and confusing comments. “That makes no sense!”

“It makes sense to anyone who's seen the way the Narnian king interacts with you,” the prince replied, without moving from his spot.

His queen takes my pawn.

“Edmund?” I laughed, but the sound was too hysterical to sound genuine. 

My queen moves behind my knight.

“He’d never do anything to put you in harm’s way, even if it meant peace with Calormen.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Judging by the way he looks at you?” The prince cocked his head. “He would never do anything that could potentially put your life at risk.”

He could’ve hit me round the head, and I still would’ve been less confused. King Loon was willing to put my life at risk for peace. Why on earth would Rabadash think Edmund cared any more than my own father? “You’re staking the fate of countries on the way the king looks at me?” I spluttered. 

“A look is all it takes to know when a man is in love.”

In love?

Edmund?

With me?

All I could do was blink at the prince, who looked pleased with himself for the bomb he’d dropped.

“I guessed as much last night, but it was clear as a bell this morning.” 

His rook takes my queen. Check.

I opened my mouth. 

“Don’t waste your breath denying it,” he said. “King Edmund wants you.” Heat crept up my neck as I tried not to think about Prince Rabadash’s implications. From the sly curve of his mouth, he knew the crudeness of what he was implying and enjoyed it. He sauntered forward. “The Narnian king cares for you. If you were in Calormen, he wouldn’t dream of attacking it. So the best way for me to protect my country is to make you one of my wives.”

My eyes widened. Wives? Plural? 

“They will know that Calormen isn’t to be trifled with.” He lifted a hand to touch my face, and I was too focused on not passing out to shy away. “And you’ll be a beautiful addition to my harem.”

The world slammed into focus so violently, I jerked away from him. “I will never marry you,” I spat. “You are a hateful and revolting man.” I flounced towards the door, but Rabadash’s hand shot out and wrapped around my upper arm, pulling me back to him. 

“You’ll have to find a way to get over your scruples,” he said, his grip tightening. “Because you’d better believe, if I don’t return to Tashbaan with you beside me, there will be no peace.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I growled back.

My bishop shifts, checking his king. 

Wrong move.

His hold grew painful, enough that I cried out, as he brought his face right to mine. “You don’t.”

And with that brutal truth, my hopes died. 

When he let go, all that was left for me to do was run.

Checkmate.

-

Part 4

White Moves First tag list:

@thelifeofsecretpenguins

Overall tag list:

@thelastpyle @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[roadandruingame]

RAR Musings #12: Weapon Specials

Since I mentioned them in Musings 11, I wanted to touch on weapon effects.

Since the beginning, I wanted RAR to have better choices when using different weapons for different reasons. DND has damage vulnerabilities and resistances, but for the most part, there's little you can do to actually change your playstyle WHILE fighting an enemy: you're unlikely to thrust your torch at enemies with a vulnerability to fire, and you're far less likely to purchase acid vials on the off chance you find an enemy vulnerable to acid. This puts combat versatility squarely in the hands of spellcasters, while martials Hit With The Sword Again, which often gets reduced down to whether the creature's physical resistances can be cut through with magic weapons, and whether your character has the proficiency to equip their magic weapon of choice.

Road and Ruin instead grants different strike styles to each weapon:

Piercing, or accuracy-based attacks with force applied in a straight line; rolling a d4

Slashing, or edged-based attacks, slicing or scraping with wide or prolonged surface contact; rolling a d8

Bashing, or contact-based attacks, where no particular care to accuracy is necessary; rolling a d12

Armor reduces the result of each die by the armor's value in that method of defense, though they are mostly equal, so it's much harder to stab through armor than it is to simply cave it in.

Solid Blows, or above half on the die, deal the full damage on the weapon's profile, while below half, or Glancing Blows, deal half damage, rounded down. A 1 and lower is a miss.

When rolling the die achieves a Solid Blow, a second die of the same is rolled, and the results totaled: for every 50% threshold above 100% the combined value achieves, a stage of Special is granted. For example, a Piercing attack gains special on a 6, 8, 10, 12 and so on. Different weapon types have different Special effects, though critical damage is the most common one.

Longbows achieving Special add +1 to their damage and roll again, until Special isn't achieved. This describes arrows cutting through armor and into helm gaps, sometimes finding lethal purchase, although rarely.

Poisoned or serrated daggers inflict their poison or bleeds on a Piercing or Slashing special after armor is calculated, while others increase the critical damage multiplier, or reduce the impact of armor as it finds gaps or cracks it open.

Medium-sized or Heavy weapons that land Bashing specials can damage armor or shatter shields. Strength can be added to Bashing special rolls, helping a landed hit follow through.

Chopping, or d10 attacks, can dismember and sever limbs.

Certain enchantments may activate on a weapon special, granting enhanced speed or power, or igniting the blade with fire.

Or; none of these things. Weapon Special is an optional system, for players who want more of a gear grind, or for their progression to be measured by the size and diversity of their arsenal. Monster-slaying adventures especially would benefit here, but for players who don't want the micromanagement, the system can safely be snipped out in favor of more narrative combats.

A question I still have is whether or not there should be more than one special per weapon, and whether they should both apply, or just one apply, and if the player should have the choice of which. More than one runs the risk of someone just, bathing a knife in two dozen different chemicals, and it's like. You could do that. I'm not sure what that does. I assume it's worse than just one, but I don't know if it's worse than a dozen, or better than three dozen.

Another aspect of weapons I'm proud of is a comprehensive system for determining how much damage is supposed to be on the weapon's baseline. This is through variables like Size, Shape, Weighting, and Material, but it essentially allows you to definitively quantify what a goblin shortspear actually is, and why as a human, there's not much value in looting it unless your own weapon has been damaged.

Speaking of: Improvised weapons. Like improvised materials in the newly revised skill check system, landing a blow (or, using the item) with an improvised or damaged item prompts a secondary roll, to see if the breakage extends, and whether the baseline damage drops. Given how arrows only have 1dmg in the first place, any amount of damage, or even firing them at all, is enough for them to call it quits, but it can mean extra ammo in an emergency.

Crafting of weapons, also mentioned in the revised skill check system, can also produce masterworks. This is sort of like improvised, except that there's an additional stat bonus in some way; bonus damage, or a resistance to breaking. Specialists can work at improving an item over time, with the right materials and hours, to slowly, but surely, craft a masterwork, but it might take them days, or weeks, or months, or years to finish one. Meanwhile, a legendary blacksmith might have a 1 in 2 shot of crafting a masterwork of a common item.

Another system involving weapons is Favor. I'm still juggling the name, since it overlaps with Favor from a godly or spiritual angle, but essentially, beyond proficiency with a weapon type, beyond specialization with a particular kind of weapon, there's favoring a single, individual item. Something about the way it holds, or it's shape, or that it belonged to your family, inspires you, and no other weapon is quite the same. Favor is a kind of gith system, a spellsword, where power comes not from the wielder, nor from the weapon, but from the union of the two. Favored weapons can gain special abilities that only trigger while in your hands, and they become a badge representing your renown in the region. You may brandish it to inspire fear in your enemies who know you, or keep it polished so that it's edge never rusts and it's shine never dulls. But basically, martials will have the option to pick and keep a specific weapon close, so that they aren't incentivized to hop around, but that being a tavern brawler who uses anything at hand is an equally valid playstyle.

[amuseoffyre]

OFMD S2 Speculation

I put together a little list of things I think are coming in S2 on twitter, and I’m stashing it here too in case the bird snuffs it.

As S1 was Stede going through his best then worst and figuring things out, S2 is going to be Ed's story

Hornigold. Why else have Jack mention him, especially when so much of Ed's past is shaped by Hornigold and his father.  I suspect he's the villain for S3, but I like the idea of him being there through S2 like the shark in Jaws, finally appearing at the end to ruin everything 

Which leads me into the belief we're getting 3 season. S1 is A New Hope. S2 is going to be Empire Strikes Back, with one captured and/or forcibly separated with an “I love you”/“I know” vibe. S3 is going to be their Return of the Jedi :D (And in this story Izzy gets to be Lando - sold Stede out, saves him (hm. If I follow this train of thought that makes Stede the Leia. Stede ending up in a metal bikini... oh dear))

Izzy is 100% getting a tasty arc, especially since he’s dealt with Blackbeard before but has never been around Kraken!Ed. I also love the idea of him, against his better judgement, acknowledging Stede's bonkers genius. Izzy respects people who *earn* their way instead of buying a way in. I think he's going to see Stede in a whole new light. Stede&Iz brotrip in S3!

This probably won't be until S3 if we get it, but Stede's obsession with fake heads is how they finally get away: Blackbeard's death famously involved his head hanging from the mast of his ship. What if Ed snipped his hair, kept the clippings to made a fake head and escape? (“Our old lives will be gone. Dead” - one down, one to go)

I suspect Ivan is toast. Jim, when motivated by very vengeance, will take it out on the people they know to be guilty. Ivan was one of the two people who was involved in the marooning and is the one who is in the room with the feral assassin with no idea of their full skillset 

Pretty sure that Jackie is married to all of the Siete Gallos and diverted Jim from killing more hubs because she's a cunning old fox who knows how the game works. Jackie's proved she knows how Jim ticks and she played on that like a virtuoso in their last confrontation.

Ed isn't the only one flipping the bird to the king. Izzy sold out too, in order to save Ed, but he seems to have forgotten this now that he's a pirate again. I'd like to see him being very surprised when that comes back around to bite him. 

I am VERY suspiciously watching the half-orange. I feel like it's very important that Alma kept a bit and Stede kept a bit and I wrote a whole fic that involved it. I am suspicious bastard by nature :D

This is less speculation and more desire: I want Ed and Stede to end up chained together before they've had a chance to make-up. I want them to have to escape while bitching and bickering and fighting all the way. Inspired by the Obi-Wan, Anakin & Dooku episode of Clone Wars 

I am very excited. Can you tell?

[wackymaci]

Maci Wiki Snips - the entire backstory - part two!

(Part one here!) [part two!] (part three here!)

bc who tf knows if I’ll ever really finish wiki and, well, this is all written!

akaaaa

Pre-canon events & backstories: This section contains information about Maci from before the canon Elysium’verse began - events that have taken place essentially “offscreen,” but are still canonical, and even crucial, to Maci’s history. Presented as a short biography… into narrative story.

copypasted again! still very long and still an entire STORY, of course picking up in the very next section following the previous post.

CW: Thanatos. THIS IS TRULY AN EXCRUCIATING READ (it was also an excruciating write) - physical-emotional-sexual abuse, violence, etc etc etc - PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

we (all of you allowed on this blog) basically already know the whole gist of Maci and Thanatos’ past (although I know there is one Specific Detail in this that I have NOT shared before that is going to make you all Gasp) - but since this is a very detailed summary of their full entire story it is of course horrific. s. sorry in advance. WELL.

So without further ado and wincing through reading this the entire way -

Ages 17 to 20... Thanatos.

Maci was now 17, and was being eaten alive by gnawing desperation, but she’d circled back to reminding herself that at least she was pretty. This was something she felt she could cash in on while she waited for Thanatos to realize she was available.

Without telling anyone what she was planning, that winter Maci gathered an insane sort of press conference in the Underworld and announced to the crowd that she was willing and ready to have sex with anyone who would have her. The audience of Chthonic entities did not actually seem to mind the thought of taking the virginity of a teenager clearly in the midst of a manic breakdown, but Maci's announcement was at first met with silence and hesitation, for if this was some sort of trap laid by the royal family, surely anyone who touched her would be subject to the wrath of the King and Queen. While they were slowly realizing that Maci was in fact completely serious - though again, clearly, in the middle of some sort of episode - Maci's flirty speech was interrupted by Thanatos.

Thanatos was always discreetly monitoring Maci for his own ulterior motives and he had been in the crowd that had formed. He was alarmed – not over Maci’s visibly waning mental health in this moment, but merely at the thought of “the ultimate prize” he had spent so much time carefully shaping and grooming giving herself away to anyone who wasn’t him. On the spot, Thanatos decided that he couldn’t risk anything or anyone getting in the way of everything he'd planned for years and seized the opportunity.

Thanatos appeared next to Maci and made a show of concerned outrage, beginning a hushed argument between them in front of the grumbling crowd until Thanatos told her that he’d keep her safe by sleeping with her himself. Finally stunned into acquiescence, Maci allowed him to teleport her with him back to the palace. Once they were alone, she lashed out at Thanatos for making fun of her, but Thanatos (who knew exactly how to talk to her and what she wanted to hear), assured her that he wasn’t joking. He told her that sure, doing all of this was… unhinged, but who was he to stop her from doing whatever she wanted to do? She was the Princess, after all. And if she was dead-set on sleeping with random people – sure, why not, but also… why not let that first random person be someone she knew and trusted, instead? Tearfully, Maci confessed that she could not possibly allow him to have sex with her out of pity, for she was in love with him, and always had been. And Thanatos, playing her like a fiddle, replied that he’d always loved her too - that was all it took.

Maci and Thanatos began to date, and Thanatos insisted they continue as an open relationship to allow Maci to meet her goal of sleeping with as many people as possible. The sex addiction that would follow Maci for the rest of her eternal life well into the present day (and never resolved) began here, as she was instantly intoxicated by the rush of endorphins and easy attention that came with. Meanwhile, Hypnos acted weirder than he ever had now that Maci and Thanatos were together, perhaps, in Maci's opinion, on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She chalked it up to jealousy (at Thanatos’ expert assessment) and paid him no mind.

Thanatos hit her for the first time about a month and a half in.

When it happened Maci burst into flames and threw him out; he didn't argue and retreated to his home in Tartarus. Days later, when she could no longer stand being alone, and felt that the string of anonymous sex she was having was no longer a sufficient band-aid, Maci sought him back out and demanded answers. Thanatos was all syrup sweet apologies, promising it would never happen again and swearing he had no idea what had come over him. Desperate to bury this and move on, refusing to acknowledge the glowing red flags and with no one else to turn to, Maci had Thanatos swear an unbreakable Stygian oath that he would never hit her again. He did swear this on Styx as asked. This was in fact the only time he would ever hit her through the rest of their relationship.

A few days later, Maci was with Thanatos when out of nowhere his mood turned suddenly cruel, and he began to neg her with sharp barbs and personal insults. Maci was successfully triggered into anger, her emotion-fueled powers setting ablaze again. But this time Thanatos was ready, armed with a theory he had been working his way up to testing: immortal deities did not need oxygen to function – but fire did. He strangled her until the fire went out, and Maci found herself choking literally beneath him, in a state of shock as Thanatos assumed the upper hand. As he finally dropped all his pretenses, Maci at last met the real Thanatos.

Over the next few days, weeks, months, Thanatos carefully outlined their new dynamic. He explained he was in love with her; he’d always been in love with the blind adoration and worship she held for him, though now he loved the look of fear in her eyes much more. Maci tried to break up with him – he refused. That wasn’t up to her. When Maci sought out Hypnos, he followed her to him with his scythe, and revealed, as Hypnos sobbed and bled, that Hypnos also didn’t make decisions of his own.

Maci couldn’t process the cruelty that was being inflicted upon her by her best friend, the love of her life, the only fucking person who had ever seemed to care about her. In fact, Thanatos seemed to enjoy reminding her that there was no one else beyond him. It was springtime by now, and Hades was not about to notice that anything was amiss in Maci's personal life. It was the time of year that Hades hardly noticed she even existed. When Thanatos began to wield his scythe against her too, Hades did not spare a second glance at the gory slashes Maci barely hid, proving Thanatos smugly right.

But though she was horrified to admit it, during these early months Maci was still in love with Thanatos, and she also couldn't stomach the thought of solitude. She was crippled by a fear of abandonment that had festered and grown by this time in her life. Thanatos plied her with niceties and the attention she craved, taking pleasure in the way he could easily dictate the rise and fall of Maci’s hopes, and she remained wrapped miserably around his fingers even when his faux kindness turned viciously cruel. She told herself over and over that at least he was better than no one. He also wasn't keeping her prisoner in the formal sense, and the terms of their open relationship still stood. Publicly, Thanatos still acted as the Underworld's darling, and they both knew no one would believe her if she tried to tell anyone what was happening. In her spare time, Maci numbly took solace in endless random sexual escapades, grasping after any fleeting moments of pleasure and affection that she could manifest.

This all went on, though by the next year, Maci age 18, her adoration for Thanatos had at least finally faded. Maci was far from the docile plaything that he was trying to force her into being, and she found the indignant energy to snap back; verbally, physically. Thanatos could overpower her every time, and everything was worse when he was angry, but she felt that it was worth something to piss him off, at least. The gravity of the nightmare she was living in began to sink in whenever Maci was alone with her thoughts, so she did everything she could to avoid ever being alone. When she was not with him, she distracted herself by seducing anyone across the Underworld, building a new reputation for herself that she felt vaguely proud of. She spent all her time in random beds or with Thanatos and was rarely at her home palace - and whether or not her parents noticed that she was a touch more withdrawn, a touch angrier, a touch cagier; whether they had heard the rumors about her activities; Maci never knew, as neither of them ever addressed her about it.

She also spent more time with Hypnos. He had always been a part of Maci’s life as her second best friend, but it was only now with the first spot open that Maci really started to pay legitimate attention to him. Eventually at Maci’s insistence, Hypnos admitted to her the scale of which Thanatos had been terrorizing him for their entire lives. He also confessed that he’d suspected Thanatos’ plans for her and regretted that he hadn’t tried harder to get her (or anyone prior) away from him before it was too late. Maci was stricken with the realization that Hypnos had been truly at her side while she had taken him for granted. Bonding through their mutual abuse, they began to lean on each other more and more when Thanatos was not looming over their heads. Eventually, Maci pushed their deeply trauma-bonded friendship into something more, and Maci and Hypnos began to date, secretly, behind Thanatos' back.

He found out, of course. It was at least a year later (Maci now 19 years old) that he finally acted in response, though Maci suspected he’d known for much longer before. Thanatos was always annoyed each time he caught the two of them together innocuously, but the level of anger he reached when revealing he knew their relationship was more than platonic was beyond anything he’d ever shown. Unfortunately, it was not difficult for Thanatos to twist this new dynamic back under his control. As an act of humiliating punishment, he forced Maci and Hypnos together; each terrified that the other would be hurt, they had become each other's biggest weaknesses. On this night, Thanatos used his scythe to slit Maci’s throat, nearly decapitating her.

Gods cannot die, and even what would normally be considered a grievous injury could eventually knit back together over time. In unimaginable pain, barely even able to speak, Maci was now left as prisoner tossed within Thanatos’ Tartarus cave, though he did not come or go and had whisked Hypnos away with him. Maci’s worst fear was to be alone, after all, and this was a punishment. The wound Thanatos had slashed into her healed tortuously slowly - when it was eventually “healed” enough for Maci to collect herself and leave, she disguised the horrific injury with a scrap of black fabric torn from her own chiton, tied around her throat like a choker. This black choker accessory would become part of her signature look forever through the modern day - though today that scar is only noticeable under close scrutiny, faded from time.

Not knowing where else to go, she looked for Thanatos, hoping at least Hypnos would be with him, and Thanatos promptly collected her back under his wing. During this second wave of their “relationship,” the occasional manipulative kindnesses he had sometimes tossed to her were no more. Thanatos was now bitter and cruel to Maci all the time. The resistance Maci had spit back upon him during those early years was also fizzled away - Maci quietly disassociated through each day. Thanatos' levels of physical violence escalated to include the occasional breaking of bones in addition to his ever-present scythe, and he now forced Maci and Hypnos together often. They still secretly clung to each other whenever they could, but both had numbly accepted that there would be no reprieve from this and Thanatos' constant surveillance. The passage of time was a blur. In public, Thanatos was somehow still all smooth charm, and though he was always flanked by a trembling Hypnos and an uncharacteristically docile version of Maci, no one ever guessed the truth.

The scope of Thanatos’ abuse came to a final crescendo sometime after Maci was 20 years old (maybe even beyond that, as she had reached two decades and stopped counting her immortal years). Unbeknownst to Maci, Thanatos had secretly procured a poison that he believed could strip a deity of their immortality - this had always been a long-time dream of his. Though Hypnos had grown up listening to Thanatos talk about this impossible goal, he was floored when Thanatos bragged to him exactly how his relationship with Maci would soon come to an end.

Hypnos had never stood up to Thanatos before, but he knew that he could not let this happen. As Thanatos cornered Maci alone to insist that she drink the glass he’d prepared for her, both Maci and Thanatos were equally shocked when Hypnos burst between them and shattered the poison in the nick of time. While Thanatos was frozen in disbelief, Hypnos breathlessly explained what had almost just happened to her... and Maci's state of disassociation flickered. No deity had ever died before. The sheer, insane, terrifying gravity of the Fate that she had missed by mere seconds crashed upon her as a weight heavy enough to launch her back into her senses. Then Thanatos snapped back into his senses, too.

He descended into an unhinged frenzy of rage and obscenity and lunged to hack violently at Hypnos, who was instantly overtaken. The scene unfolded before her in what felt like slow motion. Staring frozen in shock, it was here that it dawned on Maci what was happening and had happened; what Thanatos was doing to Hypnos and had done; what Thanatos had just tried to do to her; everything that Thanatos HAD done to her. Again she was snapped back to sudden reality. Maci, shoving down the fear that had consumed her for the past few years, forced herself between the twins and exploded.

Though Thanatos was in an uncharacteristic state of wild madness, redirecting his scythe wildly as Hypnos stumbled out of reach, Maci was now fueled by almost four years of her own stifled fury and she fended him off as a blazing inferno. Successfully forcing Thanatos back, Maci urged Hypnos to flee to the palace and bring back help. He returned with Persephone, who only understood what Hypnos had been trying to frantically explain in the throne room once she saw the scene of violence still unfolding. Infuriated, she peeled Thanatos off her daughter with an endless cascade of vines summoned from the underearth. The veneer of normalcy Thanatos always put on in front of everyone was shattered, completely gone even in front of the Queen herself, and he howled and fought as he was restrained. Restraining Hypnos too for good measure, Seph rushed to Maci, who now extinguished and collapsed.

And then it was over.

The immediate aftermath of Thanatos

Thanatos and Hypnos both were collected to the palace as prisoners (despite Maci’s insistence that Hypnos had nothing to do with this – they were known for being inseparable, and Seph wanted to be safe rather than sorry at this point. Hypnos did not argue), and before a court made up of the King, Queen, and the Primordial Titan-goddess Nyx, summoned as Thanatos and Hypnos’ mother, Maci finally revealed the truth, leaving no details out.

The list of shocking accusations would have seemed almost impossible to believe if Seph herself had not witnessed Thanatos at his worst. In fact Thanatos, even while held now within the constraints of thorning vines, was no longer bothering to hide his chilling demeanor. As the three elder divinities listened to Maci explain the sequence of events with Hypnos timidly chiming in when prompted, their reactions varied. Nyx seemed… appropriately horrified, but strangely did not protest the descriptions of Thanatos’ behaviors. Seph was visibly furious and heartbroken, devastated that Maci had gone through this, especially without anyone realizing. As for Hades – at first, he managed to be skeptical, but the evidence of Thanatos’ crimes in Maci and Hypnos' clear injuries could not be denied, as well as Seph vouching for what she had personally seen. Staring next into Thanatos’ unrepentant icy glare, Hades too settled into anger that such a betrayal of the royal family had occurred.

Maci had chafed at the fact that her word alone was not enough for her father to unconditionally support her, but by the end of this conference, it was still clear that something needed to be done, and all eyes turned to Lord Hades to announce the punishment that Thanatos should face. But Hades suddenly seemed troubled in a different way, and after a period of terse silence, he unexpectedly requested to speak to Maci alone. He sent everyone out of the throne room and Maci, with some anxiety, faced her father one on one.

Hades was quiet for a long time. He solemnly began to explain to her that since Thanatos was a Death God, one of only two in eternity’s existence, he did not think there was anything he could comfortably do to punish him, lest he risk the collapse of the functioning of the Underworld. Then, as Maci listened in dull horror, unable to believe what she was hearing, Hades turned on her, exasperation and frustration in his voice. He demanded to know how could she choose to get involved with this situation, knowing Thanatos was essentially untouchable? What exactly did she expect him to do to fix this now? Hades turned vicious, falling back into their pattern of relationship after all this time - had she done this on purpose to make a scene and be the center of attention again, wasn’t that just oh so typical of her? And for that matter how dare she prostitute herself across the Underworld, making a fool out of the King? He spat that he had always assumed she could take care of herself, but now it was clear that she was not capable of it, and again, what did she possibly expect him to do now that she had ruined her own life, and allowed Thanatos to take advantage of her stupidity?

Though Hades' words were callous, it almost seemed as though he had not yet fully made up his mind on what to do, or not do. For once, Maci did not respond to Hades’ provocation with matching vitriol. Instead, with another piece of her shattering inside, Maci tried to plead to Hades' sensibilities as her father and not just the King, begging him not to do this to her. But the longer Hades went on without responding, the more Maci's temper began to boil, rising in sheer desperation even while tears welled in her eyes. Finally she snapped at him that it was some move to send everyone away first, lest Persephone find out what a heartless fucking monster he was - the second the words were out of her mouth, Hades' gaze turned ice cold, and Maci knew she had sealed her own fate.

He reconvened their conference. Before Hades could issue his final decision, Nyx had the quick audacity to address them and plead for mercy for her son (just the one, ignoring the other who had suffered at his hand). Maci never knew whether Hades’ decision was drawn from this final request from the influential Nyx, or from her own last conversation with him; either way to the shock of everyone gathered including Thanatos himself, Hades formally announced that Thanatos would be free to go.

Ignoring Maci sobbing next to him, Hades issued a proclamation to serve as a restraining order, barring Thanatos from interacting with her ever again. This would serve as Thanatos’ singular punishment. Then, ignoring the furious disbelief of Persephone on his other side, Hades went on to issue a further proclamation – citing Maci’s clear inability to responsibly handle herself, effective immediately until further notice the Underworld’s population as a whole would be ordered to embargo her, and in fact anyone caught interacting with her would be personally imprisoned. As Maci wailed and screamed and pleaded to deaf ears; as Seph sat disgusted and outraged at her husband but unwilling to override him; as Thanatos bowed to the King, recollecting himself at once into his simpering, smirking demeanor; as a horrified Hypnos was ushered away by him and Nyx, still tethered to his brother with no end in sight; Hades offered no apologies, and he exited without looking back.

And with that, the saga of Maci and Thanatos' initial "pre-canon" history, and generally the overall sequence of events that inform the crucial components of Maci's character, is considered to officially end here. Thanatos would actively re-enter Maci's life after about two millennia had passed, now within the narrative of the Elysium'verse's canon storylines.

Maci would remain in Hades' forced isolation for the next eight years before circumstances (also pre-canon, briefly discussed in the following section) finally allowed her embargo to lift. She would then carry on into the rest of her life as the person this history had formed her into, the version of Maci who exists currently - all of it neatly compartmentalized inside of her, but quietly fueling absolutely everything about her personality, behaviors, and decisions.

✧*̥˚Maci literally would not begin to deal with any of the emotional or mental effects of her childhood and adolescence until about 2,000 years later, throughout the canon Elysium'verse.✧*̥˚

one more part left to finish this pre-canon up, the brief events immediately following that include Melinoe! (Part three is here now!!)

IF you made it to the end of this post- holding you I’m so soRRY.,,, but let’s all cradle Maci together because :(((((((((( AAUUUGHHHHHHHH— ahem once again questions and comments are appreciated AAHHH—

[communistconsumerist]

Vampiric Vulvas: How Galliano's Margiela Beleaguers Womanhood Through the Body

Whether inanimate or alive—the vulva, once genital, has been fashioned into a grave. Stripped from all its hair and shorn to be skin, the sex has become its independent entity, akin to sterile textile. As if it were a memento mori of its wearer, it has been soldered to the cadaver and turned into a fetish.  

Since its materialization, the bush has become a stationary object—a merkin, seducing scenes of cadaver-seeking flies with its scent and hiding the “true” sacred object with it. Nudity below the waist is fatal to factuality. Snipping and shaving the cooze of its organicity has made the chunk an unbroken whole again. For as soon as a shaving razor presses itself down a woman’s lap, her pubic area gains movement and meaning through the blade’s murdering of her body. It sinks its whetted teeth so far down the skin that its traces leave behind a thousand configurations of life. 

Bareness is like lace, then—dead if it cannot suck the blood that bubbles through a woman’s lumps and bumps and grant them viability. The razor cannot defend the rights of the corpse if the body remains immaterial. It should always kill. 

Then comes Galliano—erstwhile fired from Dior, now the creative director of Margiela—divinizing the dirt of womanhood, in all her flesh and musculature, in his Artisinal Collection for Paris’ week of haute couture. Known for its mania for the material, couture season calls for its darling, daring designers (the likes of Galliano and all) to tokenize the body more than they are allowed to during any other season. They are called to inaugurate voyages by accentuating abundance. Yet where his wasp’ed waists and wadded hips ravel in tulle, Galliano embroiders hair into cunts and cloth into curves—both ceramic. Pressing his models’ intestines together with corsetry that is sanctified to shape the bowel into an hourglass, Galliano makes nominal the dress—not the body. Through staging a Parisian nightlife consonant to Brassaï’s, the designer calls attention to the theatricality of life, where complete conformity and sterile subordination embrace enlivened femininity.  

In this scene, fibers—munched by moths and draped over Galliano’s dolls—are wedged within carefully molded confines of busty bodices, clothed in nakedness, bare in their bedizen. Paris awakens to puppets here, stumbling over the catwalk with legs, slanted, as if controlled by a puppeteer. As the evening wears on, all cutlery for flesh, who are made cloth but not objects—or the porcelain-skinned ceramics that are swathed in muted colored lace and linen, and are bare beneath all curvilinear lines of embroidery and ruching—morph into girdles and draping less artificial. Orange, teal, and violet, in all their sheerness, work as second flesh for the Venus von Willendorfs that look out of place between all enamelware. Voile is fastened to their flesh, cascading off of their thighs like a stream of solvents, the solute—the lace corsets and linings of coutil—almost rejecting the musculature the other die-casted bodies marshal. Instead of a striptease, like Frolov’s heart-shaped cut-outs and even Robert Wun’s carmine mannequin—emerging from the model’s waist, holding the strap of her dress, and nearly revealing her breasts—Galliano dresses the female (gendered) body in all her fullness. It is not often that designers, or fashion fetishists, content themselves with entire women, often pining for what’s minced instead—whether tits or waist, clumps or curves. Yet within the realm of couture commodification and its consumption of indecorous cunts, Margiela celebrates womanhood as existing. Gone is the fetishized vampire.  

It all comes down to material—the dead. As the likes of Sigmund Freud and Louise Kaplan argue: without a fetish to ease that way, the phallus finds itself refusing to enter the vagina that needs a substitute penis strapped onto it to satisfy the little boy that lives inside the phallus (one that has been inculcated by papa patriarchy). This oscillation between the animate and inanimate ultimately finds itself bearing fruit within the fashion industry, where Versace’s 2013 A/W peek-a-boo jumpers—with cut-away detailing—are dicks, deriving their strength from the orgastic affirmations of the model’s participation in wearing these phallic phantasies over her now-cadaver (the phallus substitute). Galliano’s color-washed, mummified bodies—faceless and smothered with scrappy netting, wearing merkins as if they were to be Renaissance sex workers—may look anything but alive. But they are desiccated to perform sex as defined “biologically”. It is the kind of depiction you find in books that medicine students pay for.  

Flesh and bones. Hair.  

Teeth and eye-sockets. Skull. 

Modern medicine, however, is full of fiends—full of couplings between organism and material, conceived as coded devices but labeled to be “real”. Within its thin layers of powdery pages, the undead pretends to be alive, as if the fields of pathology, biology, and sexology were to be the fields of fashion. Margiela rehabilitates the “sex” from its sepulchre. Its tousles of moss hang from the bush, which has historically been deemed hideous. 

Phallically unpleasant.  

Unpretty.  

History shifted the moment priests stopped kneeling at Christ’s feet and stopped kissing Him on His curio lips. The moment priests stopped adorning Mary Magdalenes with golden lac and stopped making her skull shimmery. The moment priests stopped vivifying women and stopped caring about their being. All she is now is deceased. The consumer object has become a staple now for spurious gratification—alienating the mammary gland from the organism, baring her skin from all her hair, and constructing a bodice out of her body. Fashion has always followed this in the same manner as doctors have—claiming names are normative and performances are real life. Galliano plays the performance up and stages femininity to be an act in the actual. In his show, the Brassaï-esque woman—one that needs to go out and step out of the house—materializes herself into china—with cracks of ceramic gathering themselves around her waist and singing it. Once the night is set and the party is over, all she is, is fiber and fabric. She bares herself to reveal her paleolithic sensuality—all her hair and all her musculature. The vagina as antagonizing the penis.  

She reveals her sex—enlivened.  

The merkin, made material to prevent lice in the 16th century and revelation in 20th century blockbusters, is not the point of attention in Margiela’s dress that covers the body (for once, not straight-size) in its entirety. It does not reveal itself as a pubic wig either, but blends into the fabric as its thatch. What has been made unsexy in the bedroom—a naked woman—has been made into a performance of biological sex.  

What is being modeled is skin as it is. As it exists.  

When daytime arrives, a gendered performance follows—one akin to the first. It is performing one, either in hiding (the blazer a censor bar of the body, parted into objects), or in delftware (the woman turned object, joint after joint, a phallic phantasy). It is clear that Galliano stages the fashion show within his fashion show. The vulva is a grave, and the model is a vampire. We are once again at the cemetery, burying the vagina. Maybe the disease Galliano’s merkin intends to prevent within the night scene, then, is one of gendered dominion. One of conformity within a collective space, theatricalized.  

Where normativity slips within consumer culture, the cunt—once crucified and made into a cross—lets out a breath. 

◆

Works referenced: 

Kaplan, L. J. (1990). Female Perversions: The Temptations of Emma Bovary. https://ci.nii.ac.jp/ncid/BA21304991 

Rose, L. A. (1988). Freud and Fetishism: Previously Unpublished Minutes of the Vienna Psychoanalytic Society. Psychoanalytic Quarterly, 57(2), 147–166. https://doi.org/10.1080/21674086.1988.11927209 

◇

Related readings: 

Hanssen, B. (2006). Walter Benjamin and the Arcades Project. https://doi.org/10.5040/9781472547842 

Illouz, E. (2021). The End of Love: A Sociology of Negative Relations. John Wiley & Sons.  

Miklitsch, R. (1996). The Commodity-Body-Sign: Toward a General Economy of “Commodity Fetishism”. Cultural Critique, 33, 5. https://doi.org/10.2307/1354386 

Steele, V. (1996). Fetish: Fashion, Sex, and Power. http://ci.nii.ac.jp/ncid/BA2664017X 

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[stellaronlove]

Valentino x OC (Clover) - Chapter One

((A/N: I’ll probably come up with a title for this series later, but for now it doesn’t have one lol. Trigger warnings include workplace sexual harrassment, mild violence, and generally all the warnings that come with Val being Val.))

When Valentino opens a job for a new personal assistant, Clover believes this may be his best chance to find work in Hell without selling his soul. Little does he know, he may be in way over his head…

Getting a job in Hell was interesting, to say the least. There were plenty of jobs, sure, but not many that didn’t include “sell your soul” in the hiring requirements. Clover wasn’t exactly a genius, but he was smart enough to know better- selling his soul was one deal he could never worm his way out of once he signed the contract. So when he finally found a job that didn’t require being under the complete control of an Overlord, he was determined to get it. He didn’t have much of a resume, frankly, since he hadn’t been in hell long. He wasn’t really sure if experience from the living world counted toward job applications in Hell, but even if it did, he wouldn’t have much to put on there… most of his adult life had been spent in a greened out daze, sleeping and binging shows he couldn’t remember the plots of.

Given his inexperience, Clover’s next best option was to go into the place he was applying to and make his case in person. He had seen V Tower plenty of times in passing, but had never really had much reason to go there- he didn’t work in the studios, nor was he attractive enough to be a model or actor. But personal assistant- that was a position he was sure he could fill. When he entered the huge front doors of the tower, he was astounded by the bright lights, the busy environment… it was so overwhelming all he could do was stand there for a moment taking it all in. He stood there for a moment, ears flicking nervously, as he stared dumbly- but he was startled out of his stupor when a voice snipped at him.

“Who are you? Do you have a reason to be here?”

The voice wasn’t rude exactly, but the man sounded like he was in a hurry. Clover jolted to look at the speaker- and found himself face to face with someone’s pants. Or well, to be more precise, he found himself pretty much face to face with a stranger’s bulge. It wasn’t exactly uncommon, being as small as Clover was, but it was certainly a surprise, and Clover stumbled back a step, craning his neck to look up. His face was still flushed, embarrassed by such a close encounter, but Val stared down straight-faced, looming intimidatingly as he repeated myself.

“Speak up, dumbass. Do you have a reason to be here? Spit it out.”

Clover gulped, taking a deep breath, then spoke up. “Um- yes, actually. I saw listings in the newspaper saying Valentino was looking for a personal assistant. I came hoping to get an interview.”

“That would be me.” Valentino’s wings gave a sharp little flap behind him, draped down instead of taking the shape of a coat as they usually would. His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he leaned down to get more on level with Clover, burning red eyes giving Clover a quick once over. Clover couldn’t help but squirm a little, unsure about the sudden attention. “Hmm. You’ll do. You start tomorrow morning, 7am. Don’t be late-“ Valentino paused, squinting once again before digging into his back pocket. He extracted a wad of bills and tucked them down the back of Clover’s pants with a shameless smirk. “And please- go buy yourself something less ugly to wear so that I can actually be seen with you, alright chiquito? You look like you bought your clothes at a grocery store.”

Clover sputtered a little, lost for words. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he arrived at V Tower- maybe a job interview of some sort, or even to be turned away for not having submitted an application. He watched in confusion as Val walked away, one of his hands stuffing his wallet back into his pocket as another swiped a coffee right from one of the employees’ desks. Watching Val walk away, Clover had a feeling he was already in way over his head… but given he’d just been hired on the spot, he didn’t have much choice but to prepare himself for the job ahead. That night, before he returned home, he went out to one of the nicer clothing stores in town and bought himself a few button downs and slacks. He expected to have to dip into his own budget to buy work clothes, but- when he pulled out the stack of cash Val had given him to assess the damage, he almost choked. It was probably more money than he had ever held in his life, frankly- and even after paying for all his clothes, he still found himself tucking leftover cash back into his pocket.

When morning came, Clover woke up bright and early to make it to his new job on time. He found himself putting more attention into his appearance than he had in a long time- brushing his hair and styling it in more than just a messy ponytail or bun (ok, not MUCH more, it was still just half up instead of all up), washing his face and doing some faint semblance of a skincare routine, dressing in the pricy new clothes Val funded for him. It was strange, to be honest… even when he lived on Earth, it had been a long time since he put much care into his appearance, and that hadn’t magically changed when he arrived in Hell. He wasn’t even sure why he put so much effort into how he looked… maybe it was because Val had seemed so focused on it? He was hired based on a simple once-over, and the first task he was given as an employee was to buy nicer clothes, so it was fair to assume his appearance was going to be important here.

When he arrived at V Tower, Val wasn’t yet in the front lobby, and Clover wasn’t sure what to do about this. He paused by the reception desk, and the woman sitting there stopped to stare for a moment. She popped her gum, raising her brow a little. “Can I help you?”

“Umm- yeah, actually. Yesterday I was hired on as Val’s personal assistant, and he instructed me to get here at 7, but I don’t see him anywhere.”

“Go on up to his room. Top floor penthouse, just hit the P button on the elevator panel.” She sighed, digging in a desk drawer before producing a lanyard for him with his photo and name printed on it. Clover pulled the lanyard over his neck, his tail twitching anxiously. He was disconcerted to realize he had never given Val his name, much less stopped to get a photo done for his key card. The photo seemed to have been taken by one of the many security cameras in the lobby, though how it got such a high resolution photo he wasn’t really sure. He also found himself nervous because the moment he told the receptionist he was hired to work for Val, she seemed to shift from irritated by his presence to sympathetic quickly. He found himself even more worried that he had signed himself up for something with no clue how difficult it would really be- but there was no turning back now.

“Thank you for the help.” Clover nodded at the woman at the counter, and she nodded back at him.

“Good luck, kid.”

Feeling even less assured than he had this morning, Clover approached the elevator and followed the receptionist’s directions, hitting the P button on the elevator and scanning his key card when prompted. The ride up was quiet, the silence filled only by the tinny sound of a digital voice announcing air times and call times for various television programs. Not even radio music to break the tension… it certainly wasn’t a promising start to his new career.

When the elevator arrived at the top floor and Clover stepped out the sliding doors, his nose was hit by a thick, heavy smell something like incense and opium. The entire room smelled smoky and sickly sweet, but faintly like cologne too, and a more animal scent Clover couldn’t seem to identify. In the bed across the room, Val was sprawled out atop the covers- and Clover stumbled, bumping hard into the coffee table when he got a better look. Other than his wings, draped clumsily over the more sensitive parts, Valentino was completely naked.

His eyes remained closed even after the clatter of Clover’s leg hitting the coffee table, but he shifted in the bed and let out a swear, throwing a mug from his bedside table in the general direction of the sound. Clover dodged the flying mug and watched with horror as it broke on the ground a couple feet away from him.

“Ughhh- clean that up. And get me coffee. And booze. And turn off the lights, for fuck sake, it’s too bright.” Val complained, pulling his wing over his face- and unfortunately for Clover, exposing his whole dick in the process. Clover let out a startled little bleat, turning away.

“U-Um- yes sir, I’ll take care of it!” Clover scurried to pick up the shards of the cup, hands shaking and face red as he tried not to pay attention to the blatant nudity. Honestly he wasn’t sure what he was expecting given the man produced porn for a living, but he wasn’t used to being around naked men this way. In life, he’d sort of slowed to a dead stop and disappeared into himself not long after he started being old enough for sex, and in hell he simply hadn’t bothered. Maybe if had, he’d know the lingering tinge of sourness and musk in the air was the smell of sex. He could hear rustling as he resolutely kept his eyes on the pile of shattered porcelain, but assumed- or well, hoped, really, that the sound was Val covering back up, or maybe putting on some clothes.

His hoped were squashed when he heard footsteps behind him, then a voice. Embarrassment and flusterment were like blood in the water to Val, who couldn’t help finding it funny how nervous Clover was about his nudity. “What, chiquito, are you shy? Better get used to it, you’re gonna be following me to some pretty wild places. C’mon, turn around and look at me.”

Clover gulped, his tail wiggling nervously as he shook his head. “No, that’s alright. I’ll uhh… I’ll just finish cleaning this up and go get that coffee you asked for.” He didn’t say it aloud, but he hoped by the time he got back with the coffee, Valentino would be dressed, or at least covered somehow.

Valentino grew irritated quickly, one of his hands reaching to squeeze Clover’s face as he turned Clover around. “I said look at me, not stutter like an idiot and make excuses.”

Clover’s eyes grew wide, his ears pinned back. He was practically face to face with Val’s dick, this time without the barrier of fabric to make it less embarrassing- and worse, he found himself scared. He could see now why the receptionist downstairs had looked so sympathetic. Val was clearly volatile… he wasn’t sure how dangerous Val could be, but he let out a breath of relief when the hand gripping his face let up. He scrambled back, taking a shaky breath. “I have to go now. To, uh. To the bathroom. Be right back.” He was shaking a little, his face hot and his heart racing as he hurried toward one of the doors in the room.

“That’s a closet, sweetheart. Other door.” Val laughed, swinging back to his usual teasing self just as quickly as he’d gone dark. Clover ducked into the other door quickly, shutting and locking it behind him. He took a minute to compose himself, rinsing his face with cool water and sitting on the edge of an impossibly big bath tub while he calmed down. As he composed himself, he thought on the situation… he could quit right now and leave, nothing was really stopping him. After all, he hadn’t signed any sort of contract, soul-binding or otherwise… but he couldn’t afford his apartment much longer without a job, and Hell wasn’t kind to the homeless. Besides, this was the only job he could find that didn’t require signing away all autonomy and pledging his soul to an Overlord. So- suffice it to say, he was more trapped than he wanted to admit. He took a deep breath, bracing himself, and stepped back out of the bathroom.

“Let me get you that coffee now, alright? Do you take cream or sugar in it?”

“Both, and a shot of Bailey’s in it too.” When Clover dared to glance toward the source of the voice, Valentino was already dressed and packing his pipe with some sort of dark, tar-like substance. He shot Clover a grin, cocking his head a little. “So you’re not quitting?”

“Not yet, but if you do something like that ever again, I will.”

“We’ll see about that, chiquito.”