#white glove myth

[archivyrep]

Archivists at the Movies: Reviewing the Film “Can You Ever Forgive Me?”

On October 19, 2018, the film, Can You Ever Forgive Me? premiered in theaters across the United States. It serves as a more relevant depiction of archivists in popular media than the National Treasure franchise or the 2005 film, The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy, which has archival themes as an important part of the story.

Reprinted from my Wading Through the Cultural Stacks WordPress blog. It was published there on Aug. 4, 2020. It was originally published on the SNAP blog on April 3, 2020.

In Can You Ever Forgive Me?, Lee Israel (played by Melissa McCarthy), a writer whose popularity is slipping, forges letters of famed writers in a failed attempt to boost her self-confidence. In the process, she visits archives, libraries, and other cultural institutions to examine the original letters, create forgeries, and then steal the originals. In one scene, she travels to the Yale University Library which combines elements of archives and libraries into one institution: interacting with a librarian and wearing white gloves to examine the original letters. Later in the film, Lee expresses remorse for her actions, including stealing archival items and asks the court (and the audience) to forgive her.

This depiction of archivists in the film is generally positive, differing from the muddled mess created by the Star Wars franchise, where creators couldn’t determine whether Madame Nu worked at a library or an archives, mixing the two together. In the film, the unnamed librarian/ archivist, follows a number of core values outlined by the SAA, providing access to original materials, consistent with access restrictions, promoting open use and access. This archivist also helps preserve the original letters as primary sources and acts professional to Lee, despite her bad attitude, at least at first. She also ensures responsible custody of the records and behaves in a professional manner. The depiction also squares with my experience working in archives, with the security guard checking her bag before she enters the facility.

At the same time, the portrayal of archives and archivists in this film is problematic. For instance, Lee’s use of white gloves runs afoul of existing standards. As Alexandra K. Alvis, a reference librarian for Smithsonian Libraries Special Collections points out, gloved hands have less manual dexterity than bare hands because gloves can accidentally tear pages or lift parts from pages like pigments. Furthermore, cotton gloves are relatively dirty and cause hands to sweat, with no evidence that handling paper with bare hands causes chemical damage. Even so, there are exceptions, especially when dealing with photographs or books with “lots of metal components,” where wearing such gloves is justified.

While this is only one film in the vast panoply of those created by Hollywood which feature either librarians or archivists, often more of the former than the latter, it is important for archivists to retain a critical eye so that we can help promote accurate portrayals of our profession in the future. This will involve pointing out inaccuracies in Hollywood films and other media in order to improve the popular perception of the archives field so that individuals don’t have misguided views of what the profession is about. What form this critical eye takes is up to individual archivists and archival institutions.

© 2022 Burkely Hermann. All rights reserved.

[puppyeared]

i have an idea for a character design but what animals are usually associated with medicine??? the most common answer i got was snake, but i also thought of lab rats/mice, rabbits etc

[ange1heavensent]

College!Ellie Brings You to Joel’s Farmhouse in Texas for the Summer -Headcannons

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Pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

w/c ≈ 1140

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☆Ellie is nervous but excited as she drives you down long country roads to Joel’s farmhouse in Texas. She’s been looking forward to this trip for weeks, wanting to show you the place she spent so much of her life and, more importantly, introduce you to Joel. It's a huge deal for her to bring you home. The nervousness is written all over her face, though she tries to play it cool.

☆The reality of farm life hits quickly. On your first day, Joel hands you a pair of gloves and gives you a rundown of tasks you’ll be helping with: feeding the animals, harvesting vegetables from the garden, and assisting him with odd jobs around the house. You weren’t expecting a summer of manual labor, but the way Ellie grins at you makes it worth it. Ellie, of course, helps out too but is more inclined to sneak off with you whenever she can, convincing Joel that she's “just showing you around.”

☆The next day, Joel takes you into town to get a pair of proper cowboy boots. He raises his eyebrows at your low-top Doc Martens, chuckling softly. "Those ain’t gonna last long out here," he says with a knowing grin. You spend the afternoon at a local store, where Joel helps you pick out a sturdy, well-worn pair of boots that actually fit in with the work on a farm. Ellie watches from the side with a smirk, making jokes about how you’re becoming "one of them."

☆When Joel sees Ellie’s new eyebrow piercing for the first time, his reaction is immediate. He narrows his eyes at her, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement. "What the hell is that?" he asks, though you can tell he's not really angry, just playfully irritated. Ellie grins at him, shrugging nonchalantly. "Got it like a month ago, looks good right" she says, like it’s no big deal. Joel rolls his eyes but doesn’t say much more. You catch him later, glancing at Ellie’s piercing with a small, hidden smile, though he’ll never admit he secretly thinks it suits her.

☆Ellie insists on being the one to drive you everywhere in Joel’s beat-up truck. The truck is ancient, with worn leather seats that creak, an air freshener that smells like a mix of pine and motor oil, and a radio that only catches country stations. Ellie loves it though, she drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh as you cruise down dirt roads, dust swirling behind you. You watch her in admiration as she taps her fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music.

☆Ellie starts laying her Texas charm on thick, especially when you’re alone. She exaggerates her accent, drawing out each “sugar” and “darlin’” with that slow, playful drawl just to watch you blush. She finds it endlessly amusing to tease you like this, especially when she calls you pet names in front of others, making you smile and roll your eyes in mock annoyance.

☆It’s underneath the vast Texas sky you and Ellie go to unwind each night. After long days of work, you and Ellie find yourselves lying out in the open fields, fingers intertwined as you gaze up at the stars. Ellie points out constellations with precision, her voice soft yet filled with excitement as she names each one. She talks about the myths behind the stars, of distant galaxies, and other wonders of the universe, drawing you in with every word. You listen in awe, occasionally sharing a quiet joke or stealing a kiss, your laughter mingling with the peaceful sounds of the countryside.

☆On the Fourth of July, you drive into the nearby city with Ellie, Joel, and Tess. The smell of fair food wafts through the air as fireworks begin to crackle above you. Ellie pulls you closer with every explosion, her arm wrapped around your waist as the sky lights up in bursts of red, white, and blue. It’s a rare, peaceful moment with everyone together, the sounds of laughter and celebration mixing with the warm night air. You catch Joel watching the two of you with a soft smile, seeing just how happy Ellie is.

☆Despite her usual boldness, Ellie becomes more reserved with public displays of affection around Joel. It’s not that she thinks Joel would disapprove - he’s always been supportive - but there’s something about showing that kind of vulnerability in front of him that makes her feel awkward. Instead, she sneaks in small gestures, a hand on your back, a quick kiss when she thinks no one is looking. Keeping most of her affection behind closed doors.

☆After a long day on the farm, you and Ellie find yourselves sneaking off to the barn for some privacy. The air is warm, hay beneath your feet, and the soft glow of moonlight filters through the gaps in the barn’s wooden boards. You’re mid-makeout when the barn door creaks open. Suddenly, Joel steps inside, immediately freezing in place when he sees the two of you. He clears his throat awkwardly, looking everywhere but at you two, before mumbling, "I'll uh... be outside," and quickly backing out. You and Ellie stare at each other, wide-eyed, before bursting into quiet laughter, trying to recover from the embarrassing moment. Ellie teases you about how you've officially broken Joel's ability to look her in the eye for the rest of the trip.

☆Mornings are spent in the garden with Tess or Joel, picking vegetables or watering plants. The work is slower and more peaceful than dealing with the animals, and you enjoy the chance to learn from Tess, who teaches you little tricks about gardening that Ellie never seemed to care about. Ellie lounges nearby, watching you work, occasionally offering to help but mostly just admiring you from afar with a lazy grin on her face.

☆While farm life involves hard work, it doesn’t take long for Ellie to find you more often than not cuddled up with the sheep instead of actually doing your chores. You’ll disappear for hours, only to be found in the barn snuggled up to a particularly friendly sheep. Ellie teases you about it, but secretly, she loves how gentle and soft you are, how even the animals seem drawn to your warmth.

☆It turns out Ellie has a ridiculous fear of the hens on the farm. One morning while feeding them, you watch in disbelief as she freaks out, practically running away from the clucking birds as they flap their wings at her. You laugh so hard you can’t stand, holding your stomach as tears stream down your face. Ellie glares at you, but the corner of her lips twitches up, seeing how happy you are here.

:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:+* ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡.｡:+*ﾟ ゜ﾟ *+:｡.｡:

Thank you for reading! If you liked this fic, check out my masterlist for more :)

[dcmcboxers]

My shout-out to queer youtubers

Hbombs list was great but obviously not comprehensive. I watch a lot of video essayists and wanted to give a little love to the smaller channels that fall under the radar. Please feel free to add to this list!

let's talk about stuff/Sarah Zedig

If you've seen Jesse Gender's videos on the Matrix movies you may already be familiar with Sarah. She does excellent film and culture analysis with a lot of great conversations on paratext and outside influence in engaging with text. Her video on Tunic is one of my favorites.

Pamphleteer

No one makes videos like hers, which has the side effect making them a bit hard to describe. I will link one of my favorites which describes the disconnected temporality of being older when you discover you're queer.

Turbo Queer

Really really under watched channel. Skylar covers a lot of topics from video games, to anarchist history and modern events, to autistic life, to current politics. For a fun one check out her video on the SpongeBob strike episode.

Kaz Rowe

Kaz does a fantastic job examining modern myths and manufactured history primarily pertaining to western Europe, Victorian & Edwardian England, and 1800-1900s US. And of course, talking about historical queerness in all its ambiguities and evolutions. I highly recommend their video on Weimar Germany.

drapetomania

drapetomania interrogates the politics of low class and high class art and entertainment from a queer and Black perspective. Their art history videos alone cover many angles of white supremacist history I haven't seen anyone else discuss and I'm very excited to see more from them. They are also a very under viewed channel that more people should see!

I am error

Evelynn's channel primarily discusses video games in a presentation style and voice most similar to Action Button reviews. There's something just a bit more personal here though. I hesitate to say cozy since that word has a bit of an infantilizing connotation, maybe comforting is closer. She puts an immense amount of thought and empathy into the experience of playing video games and the personal narratives we build with them.

Swolesome

For more transmasc perspectives there's Swolesome. He has a lot of interesting insights into the more traditionally masculine and "broish" communities like fitness as well as commentary on recent trans issues.

Shonalika

Music, disability, and aggressively non-binary. Their video on gender presentation in heavy metal was really insightful. I would also check out the video "Why I Wear Gloves" for more insight on invisible disabilities.

Vivian Strange

Vivian delights in being a bit of a contrarian- something I really appreciate. She's probably going to challenge you and you're probably going to disagree at times, which is what makes her channel so important. Her video on Marquis De Sade is powerful and a must watch (if you can stomach the subject material, although I would encourage you to try). I haven't seen her most recent video on Saw yet but I am extremely excited to.

[tartagilicious]

8:17pm / kiss me until my lips fall off, kiss me until i start to rot

heyyyyy guys :hehe: thank GOD i still have access to this blog because i've been back in my genshin player days for the past month or so, and i FINALLY WANNA WRITE FOR IT AGAIN IM CRYIUNG!!!!!!!!!! missed all of u sm, hopefully this will be more of a regular occurance now :') going back to my beloved seasons series, also with the last installment, capitano + winter !!

the strongest has never been an easy title to shoulder, both in times of need or peace, sanctifying a never ending cycle of authority that he had been entertaining for centuries. the captain. a newer adornment to his identity, but a significant one nonetheless. once an icon to a legion of soldiers, his place with the archon of ice beckoned a need to keep himself trained, as frigid as the nation he had learned to call home.

and truly, it was with a sword gripped in his gloved hands that he felt most at home -- strong despite the rot that had woven its way into his skin like a disease, whole despite all that he has lost in his centuries of life.

however, it was in your presence alone that he felt most meek.

everything about you seemed to strike him, digging into the innermost dips of flesh in the cavern he called his chest, searching for a heart that had long been subdued. you weren't gentle in your search, oh no -- you never were.

capitano bled for you. although, for once, it was not in a warrior's sense. your smaller hands never struck him, your words never aimed for his weakest points. never once did you aim to worsen the wound you were so often responsible for tearing open. how could you, when you were unaware of its existence?

he bled for you in grumbled words of affection. during those quiet nights it was too cold for you to stand it, when it was simply out of the question to be anywhere but within his broad embrace. he bled for you when you yearned for your homeland, in a way that he had never ceased to mirror, even in his wearier states.

and perhaps most of all, he bled for you when his helmet was discarded.

having grown used to the piece of metal that aided him in shielding the abyssal rot of his features, he was entirely unprepared for the magnitude of emotion that overran him when it came time to expose himself to you for the first time.

but you had never been one to shy away from life's rougher aspects.

your breath escapes your mouth in small white clouds, puffs of air to display your exertion as you walk along the edge of the zapolyarny palace's frosted edges. the grand building melts into the landscape of ice and snow much like its hotter counterpart, the pale mosiac of bricks embodying the chill of its inhabitants.

at the very least, there is one within its depths that you can count on to return the warmth to your worn body. the cloak your lover had gifted you long ago shields you from the rougher elements of snezhnaya's winter at face value. but it's the excitement festering in your chest that keeps you warm enough to find your way through the snowy night. it's the adoration in your heart that lights up the space around you as you step into the harbinger's abode, leading you home.

yet, it's his arm that slings around your waist when you step quietly into the house, the other half of your warm embrace, simply manifesting in a larger form. an appreciative smile is beckoned to your lips as you stretch within the confines of his large arm, your own cloak dropping to the floor as he wills it.

"...you are late." are the words that finally escape from him in a mumbled fashion, voice smothered by the heated skin of your neck. capitano leans over you like a creature out of myth, taking the opportune moment of your hand resting on his back to bury his nose in your hair.

no helmet.

a pleased sound is drawn from the back of your throat as you lean into him, head tilting to follow the path of his lips before you're returning, "...the snowfall is heavy this time of year."

a large hand trails down to your frostbitten own, the action of his fingers intertwining with yours mimicking a blanket of warmth. despite his state of otherworldly decay, you've found that your lover can run quite warm.

spurred on by his own heart, you're sure.

he speaks softly into your hair, tugging you until you're against his chest, no longer your own half -- but now part of a whole. "...you must dress accordingly. your fingers are freezing."

"they will warm up quickly." you promise under your breath, head tilting up to take in his face. no longer is there a quiet sting between you, like the contact of your gaze pains him. all that has been left behind is a dull, and ever-present warmth. "you will warm them up quickly." you add almost cheekily, seemingly proud of your own response.

a rough hum of acceptance replaces a verbal response as he simply pulls you closer, his arms falling to your torso. a once strained action has long become comfortable, and you relish in the familiarity of it as you sink into the harbinger's embrace.

despite his strength, capitano has found that being weak is not terribly bad, either.

[vilhelios]

— SWIM WITH ME / I THINK I CAN SEE THE BEACH;

( i need you here with me / but we're out in the open. ) ; romantic headcanons for abysswalker!rafayel ♡ more under the cut!

CW: spoilers for rafayel's "sea of golden sand" myth + general abysswalker rafayel lore ; fluff ; angst ; hurt/comfort ; mentions of blood, injury, and self-harm (rafayel plucks off his scales) : might feel a little ooc because it is abysswalker and not main story rafayel ; quite the word dump (bc i rattle my cage for him)

— as the morning light of the desert creeps into the dim of a tent, two bodies lay tangled in the warmth of each other. RAFAYEL sleeps light and wakes early—hours before the sun peeks over the golden dunes—and although the habit irks him, it does offer him a wonderful sight as compensation: the sight of you, bathed in the soft, rose-gold light of morning, hair a mess, marks littering your skin from where the sheets pressed up against you.

overcome with a love that warms him like molten gold, the young god cannot help but litter your face in butterfly kisses. two to the apples of your cheeks, one on the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips, the middle of your temple. when you shift in your sleep, groan at his ministrations, rafayel can only chuckle, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. he thinks he can hear amund yell for his presence. he couldn't care less.

— RAFAYEL sees himself as the sword at the hilt of your belt, the dagger in your hands that you should use as you see fit, the steady hand guiding your own, drawing your bowstring. he is your ever faithful shadow, always at your side, a watchful gaze always on you. it is only natural for one to protect the keeper of their heart... which is why you and the medical kit from the nurse's tent have gotten well acquainted with each other.

"one of these days, you're going to listen to me." you sigh, gently peeling aside the torn leather of his garb. rafayel does not wince; you don't think you've ever seen him do so, not when he ripped that arrow from his shoulder, or when he stumbles back to your tent with a bloody gash on his chest, or when he's brandishing new bruises on his knuckles. the royal guards seem intent on tracking you down, crossing all of philos's 30,000 zetameters of sand to lock you up in your gilded cage again.

rafayel seems equally intent to ensure that doesn't happen, even if it means throwing himself into their line of fire.

"if i listen to you," the lemurian starts, violet gaze trained on the gentle workings of your fingers, "they'll take you from me again, back to the palace." his breath hitches the slightest—at the thought of you leaving him again, or at the too-harsh tug of the bandage, you're not sure.

— some nights, RAFAYEL is awoken by dreams—horrible, lifelike nightmares. it's sudden, a jolt that has him taking in rapid breaths, a tremor in his hands. "a nightmare", he tells you, when you stir awake and ask him what's wrong in a groggy voice that makes his heart ache, "just a nightmare, sweetheart. nothing to worry about." he waits until he hears your breathing slow once more, pressing kisses to your temple all the while, before slinking out of the tent and into the cold desert air. he'll return to your side before the sun rises, but for now, with still-stuttering breaths, he just needs some time to clear his head.

in his nightmares, a butterfly flaps its wings just the wrong way and rafayel is landed in a world where he is as cold-blooded as amund wished he was. he is back in the ruins of the isle of songs, your hand guiding his own (white-knuckled, dagger brandished) to the place where your heart thrums beneath. and unlike himself, rafayel takes the chance: takes back what is his, what was never yours to keep. the god of the sea was a foolish, lovesick man. he would not make the same mistake.

the dagger sinks into your flesh, the ease of it wrong. your blood flows onto his palms, gets into all the creases of his gloves, spills onto the barren earth and dyes the returning sea red. it is so, so warm against his skin, warms the fire in him that threatened to fizzle out. (he has always been a selfish man, he knows. it is only right that he is no better than bloodthristy philos.) the look dream-you gives him, before he awakes from this cruel world, sears itself into the back of his eyelids. he can see it still, when he looks at the dark of the night sky: reverent, loving. (how could you not, when he has freed you yet again?)

— often, you ask RAFAYEL to tell you tales of the ocean; more specifically, its creatures! what were those rays he spoke of, or the sharks, or those star-shaped things? do the lemurians actually eat them? your lover finds your boundless curiousity incredibly endearing, chuckling whenever your eyes seem to light up at the mention of some new deep-sea fish.

"this is a whale shark." rafayel says, and you watch as the scale in his hands transforms into a small purple apparition. it's as long as his pointer finger, heteroceral tail flicking as it swims in the flame currents, light purple spots patterning its black back. "they are gentle things, despite their size. they only ever eat plankton. i used to have one as a pet, long ago."

"how cute!" you laugh, waggling your finger in front of the shark and watching it follow. "did you have other pets?" and at that, he procures another silver scale, places it into your palms and covers it with his own. a barreleye manifests, and you grin when it's luminous purple eyes stare up at you.

(rafayel ignores the sting in his arm, pinpricks of blood soaking his garb from where he'd plucked some scales off. the wonder in your eyes is more than worth it.)

— helping the LEMURIANS with their daily chores within the camp comes like second nature to you. there is always so much to do: collect jars upon jars of water from the nearby oasis, prepare food, feed the camels, record the state of the camp's supplies... all the while, you feel RAFAYEL'S eyes on your form, your ever cautious vassal. with a little smile, you pretend you don't notice his lavender gaze, if only to spare him from the flushed ears.

it's surprisingly simple, making that lemurian cake: tapioca flour, camel's milk, a healthy dash of sugar, and citrus rind... when the sweet old woman you've spent the afternoon baking with feeds you a slice, you think you've simply ascended. back then, rafayel had fed you one that was cold and a little stale—probably as it was a part of his rations for long journeys. perhaps he'd like one that was far fresher, and baked with love?

... which is how rafayel found himself with a wicker basket full of cake shoved into his hands, and an awaiting you in front of him. "you've been training a while, haven't you?" you smile, taking one of the soft slices and bringing it up to his lips; "try it for me, please!"

and as obedient as ever, rafayel takes a bite, sweetness and citrus on his tongue. "it's good," he hums, kisses your fingertips, "tell me when you're making it next time, love. i'd love to help."

— the LEMURIANS, you remember, were masters of the arts: singing, painting, poetry... so it's no surprise, then, that they celebrate their craft almost every night: children crowd around a charming poet, hooked on every word of their newest bedtime story—his newest fable, that is (something about a fish and a bird, who wished to visit a bakery); the musicians have already begun their newest improvised song, a lively version of an old elegy, it seems; the bonfire in the centre burns high into the night sky like it was trying to reach the stars itself, and when the lemurians dance around it their shadows are long against the sands. you don't know how, but you're eventually dragged into the dance yourself. the glee is infectious, and you find yourself instinctively looking for your beloved.

RAFAYEL doesn't indulge in dancing often, as fun as it may be. he knows the steps, his feet still tapping to the rhythm of the tambourines even as he nonchalantly leans against the tent pole in the distance. it is second nature, now, but his eyes always find you, even in the crowd of people—you, laughing and twirling around without a care in the world. it makes his heart race, a smile creeping onto his own features. he watches you dance with his people, linking arms and being spun around; for a moment he wonders if he should join just to be your one and only dance partner.

... he doesn't notice when you've escaped his gaze, but before he knows it, you've snuck up on him and wrapped a shawl around his neck, dragging him towards the crowd; "dance with me, rafa!"

and how can he refuse a shared moment that transcends lifetimes—across shimmering oceans, and marble floor ballrooms, and golden sands? rafayel's stumbling forward into you until his arms take their rightful place around your form. his hands find the small of your back and yours hold onto his shoulders, shawl long abandoned on his neck. this is second nature, galaxies colliding, two souls becoming one.

— after all of the night's festivities are said and done—the musicians pack up their flutes, lyres, and tambourines; the children cover up their yawns with still-red palms from clapping to tonight's tunes; the remaining food is safely packed away for tomorrow—it's just you, RAFAYEL, and the dwindling embers of the fire he'd just stomped out. "i do believe even your highness is not exempt from curfew," he hums, takes your hand in his, and presses his lips to the knuckles.

and in the silence of your tent, coveted in the silver hues of moonlight, rafayel sits you down before him, your back leaning against his chest. his arms wrap around your frame, his chin resting on the crook of your neck. this is your ritual, on too-cold nights: rafayel lights a flickering flame in his palms, the black and violet embers cold as ever. you both stare into this dying fire—you both know what is to come.

sometimes, when the ugly concoction of guilt and sorrow prick at your very soul, your hand reaches up to entwine with his own, just as they did to guide his dagger to your heart. "i won't." rafayel says, and you know what he means. "i will never hurt you." he doesn't complete the sentence, the words dying on his tongue, but you know the rest (there is no other end to this story): i would rather die.

a/n : i need abysswalker carnally it's not even funny anymore 🤩 these were. not supposed to be this long (they are like little fics in themselves omg). but i love this rafa so much i think he deserves it. thank you for the love on the previous rafa content <3 it makes me so happy seeing people who also love this lil guy. the dancing with rafa hc is very much so inspired by "through heaven's eyes" from the prince of egypt! <3333

[seaswallovvme]

I see you wanted some request... May i suggest Baldwin laying his head on reader's lap and sharing a romantic moment? Maybe reader reading some poetry for Balwin and some soft kissses in his gloved hand. Just if you want, of course.

Have a nice day ♡

Shallows

A/N: This is inspired by the song “Shallows” by Daughter just in case you wanna listen to it! Also the poem is a shortened version of “Anim Zemirot” which is a Jewish liturgical poem. I thought it fit nicely cause often the love we share with others brings us closer to God and sometimes God reflects in other people to bring out the best in us🤍

The stifling Jerusalem heat was something she would surely never get used to.

She was born in a place far from the holy land, raised in a land that was so far she doubted she’d ever see it again.

A land where snow would fall and cover the mountains and endless meadows in a thick coating of white.

Sometimes she missed her home which now seemed impossibly far away, and everything in her new home couldn’t have been more different.

The first few months she had cried a lot, she had been homesick to a point where she could hardly eat, unsure about her fate of being the new queen of the kingdom of heaven.

It was such a heavy weight that lasted upon her shoulders at such a young age.

It was burden that threatened to crush her whenever she would wake in the mornings and yet, when she thought the sun would never rise for her again, a single ray of light made its way into her heart.

Her husband had always been so gentle and patient with her, coaxing her out of her shell when she shut herself away, bringing a small tray of her favourite cakes and spiced tea into her room.

He was so gentle, so kind and fair and so different from what her mother had told her about the ways of men.

He was exactly what a king should be and there had been so many before him, older and more experienced too but their glory faded in comparison to Baldwin.

She had never minded that he was sick, a part of her hoping he would leave her alone to lament his fate and yet she found herself to be pleasantly surprised when he didn’t.

It had taken time for her to get used to his presence and the duties that came with being a queen but she would have been a fool to keep him on a distance forever.

She simply couldn’t.

Not when he would sit by the side of her bed when she refused to leave her chambers for the first week, not when he would never raise his voice or have any demands other than to at least try to give this new life a chance.

A hour of him sitting on the edge of her bed had soon turned into more.

Spending the evenings playing chess or visiting the gardens at sundown, talking of books from lands far away, myths and stories or battles that had been fought long ago.

She simply couldn’t keep this gentle and soft-spoken young man at arms length.

One night however he didn’t come to her chambers.

She waited for the sun to set but even then, no trace of him.

Perhaps he had grown tired of her stubbornness.

Perhaps he had grown tired of her self pity?

And how could he not?

His fate was much more agonising than hers, his existence was a matter of life and death every day, only alive and breathing by the grace of god.

She felt like a fool to cause such an ordeal in front of the man who suffered each day, bearing his cross yet being so kind to her.

She was tossing at turning in her bed.

It was hot and the silken sheets that wrapped around her body so softly even felt too heavy at this point, too hot, too tight.

It was no use crying now, she decided chewing on the inside of her cheek thoughtfully while slowly climbing out of her bed.

The marble floor was pleasantly cold underneath her bare feet as she slipped through the darkened hallways of the palace, quiet as a cat, a burning candle in one hand a book in the other.

She knew the way to Baldwins chambers.

He had shown her on the first day she arrived, explaining she would be welcome at any time of day or night no matter the reasoning.

And this reasoning was very important, she was sure.

She would head inside and apologise.

She would apologise and ask if she could read to him the way he had read to her so often.

She would say how sorry she was for being so ignorant and selfish, how she was sure she would do her very best from now on to be a proper queen and wife.

However as soon as she knocked softly and slipped past the guards with an apologetic smile the words died in her throat.

His chambers were dimly lit by candles, a faint trace of sandal wood lingering in the air.

Here it was cooler than elsewhere in the palace, to help his weary lungs breathe.

He was laying in bed, on his back.

His hands were freshly bandaged, his face too now that he was not wearing a mask and she could smell the herbal ointments.

Quietly she stepped closer but still he noticed her, raising his head as his eyes widened and she was sure had never seen a man this worried in her life.

“I am so truly sorry I was not able to visit you my beautiful darling”

When he spoke she had to step even closer to hear his voice, so soft and quiet that it easily could have passed as a hushed wind.

“I have developed a fever, nothing grave yet my physicians refuse to let me leave my chambers” he explained, a sorrowful look on his face.

“I had sent for a servant to inform you about the situation..did no one tell you at all?”

In that moment all of her hesitance, fear and standoffish thoughts melted away and instead her heart soared with an unfamiliar feeling.

It had first started faintly in her stomach when he would offer her his arm in the gardens a while ago but this was a much more intense feeling.

So intense it almost hurt yet in such a strangely beautiful way and she could feel the tears stinging in her eyes.

“Please do not apologise..it is I who should tell you how sorry I am” her voice was a mere whisper, strained and she licked her lips to wet them before slowly climbing into his bed, so careful not to hurt him.

She looked up, facing the guards by the door.

“Please leave us”

She rarely ever addressed them but now she did, her timid voice so loud against the quiet of his chambers that it nearly startled her.

Baldwin seemed curious by the way she was behaving and even more so when she spoke again as soon as the guards had left and closed the heavy door behind them.

“I want to apologise” she started quietly but her voice got more sure the more she spoke.

“I want to apologise for having been so difficult when I know you are feeling much worse than I. I have never wanted to be a burden to you or make your days more difficult than they are already”

When she had first started talking she avoided his gaze but now she looked at him, truly, for the first time ever and despite the fact she could only see his eyes she knew underneath the bandages he was smiling.

“An angel sent from heaven could never be a burden to me” he whispered back, reaching out to place his bandages hand on hers so very softly.

Her vision became blurry with tears and yet she smiled, gently squeezing his hand back and oh how she thanked the almighty to have given her a husband as gentle and righteous as hers.

She slipped underneath the covers, nuzzling into him hoping he could forgive her but the way he held her close made her feel like there was nothing to forgive at all.

After a short while they had settled in comfortably and now it was her turn to return all the affection, love and care he had showered her with in the last few weeks.

His head was heavy, resting in her lap and his eyes were shut as she gently traced her fingers over his bandages face, every now and then raising his hand to her lips to kiss it.

A fever was always worse at night but she hoped her presence would bring him at least a small sense of comfort, even if it was the least she could do.

Her plan however seemed to work just fine, his breathing slower, less laboured and his limbs had relaxed, his free arm wrapped around her as if he were scared she would leave.

She wouldn’t, never again.

“Would you like me to read to you? I finished one of the books you gifted me and when I read one poem I was reminded of you” she admitted, somewhat glad the dimly lit room disguised the flushing cheeks that came with how she hated herself emotionally.

She wasn’t worried he would make fun of her though, he never had made her feel uncomfortable and now it was on her to make him feel just as safe.

His response was a faint nod and a whisper, his blue eyes opening and he looked at her with so much adoration that she could feel her heart ache once more

“Yes please..”

She was eager to comply, not wasting a second she straightened up a little, opening the book she had brought, flipping through the pages until she found what she had been looking for.

With care she tilted the book in a way for the torches on the walls to hit the paper in a way that would make it possible for her to read.

When she did, her voice was quiet and she made no pause, only rubbing his hand through the bandages.

The way he squeezed her hand back made her stomach flutter, sure that he could feel her touch.

“Melodies I weave, songs I sweetly sing;
longing for Your Presence, to You I yearn to cling.

In Your shelter would my soul delight to dwell,
to grasp Your mystery, captured by Your spell.

Thus I glorify You in speech as in song,
declaring with my love: to You do I belong.

The scope of your greatness and he marvel of Your strength
are reflected in Your actions all described at length.

Youth and force in battle, old age on judgment day;
like a seasoned warrior, with strength He clears the way.

He wears triumph as a helmet on His head,
His power and holiness have stood Him in good stead.

May my prayer rise to the Creator of the miracle of birth,
Master of beginnings whose might and justice fill the earth.

May You find sweet and pleasing my prayer and my songs;
my soul goes out in yearning, for You alone it longs.”

Silence stretched out near torturously when she had finished reading and neither of them said a word.

She felt embarrassed all of the sudden, awkward having read a poem filled with devotion and yearning such as this, both for him and for God but when she looked down into his face all of those feelings faded.

His eyes were open, glossy with adoration and a sheer layer of tears and she could have sworn she had never seen a sight this beautiful.

No matter the illness, no matter the bandages and physical fragility that seemed to drain him, none of that could take his beauty away.

His voice broke when he spoke and she was so taken aback it took her a moment to recognise his words were a quote from the poem she had read

“..declaring with my love: to You do I belong..this poem is about the Lord is it not?”

She smiled faintly, shutting the book as she placed it down on the small table next to the bed.

“It is..it reminded me of you. Of how brave and good you are and I cannot help but feel as if the Lord wanted us to cross paths. Your love turns me into a better person Baldwin. When I am with you I feel as close to him as I have ever felt before”

His hand squeezed hers just a little tighter and he took a deep breath before he continued

“Sometimes I cannot comprehend the Heavenly Father and his mysterious ways. I used to think my illness was a way for him to punish me, scorn me for my sins but how could I ever doubt his justness, his everlasting grace and love when he granted me the time I get to spend with you?”

[matbenetti17]

General Name: Medyna Blurr Name Meaning: Medyna's name cames from the city of Medina and has an assonance with the greek myth of "Medea" Age: 85 (she looks younger because she uses lots of Concealment Stones) Gender: Female Species: Witch Occupation: Producer of TV programs (on crystal balls) Coven: Illusion Sexuality: Heterosexual Residence: Boiling Isles Magic/Abilities Like all witches, her connection to magic comes from a sac of magic bile attached to her heart.

As a member of the Illussion Coven Medyna can cast spells that allow her to create illusions. Appearance Medyna has short ash blonde and white hair. She has a gold tooth and long painted nails.

She has grayish green eyes and wears lots of makeup.

Although she always wears two Concealment Stones, her black pearl earrings that practically make her look sixty-five, she also has enchanted the mirror that she wears on her chest to always show her an image of when she was young.

Even though she seems young, Medyna still needs to lean on a walking stick with (what seems to be) a very precious spherical Galdorstone set in it. In reality it is her disguised with an illusion palisman Eyeris, despite her closeness to the Emperor's Coven she has not been able to part with it. The wood of her staff contains some gold dust, making it a very valuable object despite being antiquated.

Medyna usually wears a light blue chemise, dark turquoise bell-bottom trousers with a golden trim and black ankle boots. To hide the wrinkles on her neck and hands she always wears a blue scarf and white gloves, adorned with golden rings.

Even her belt has gold details, a little gift she gave herself when her husband Aurelius died. Personality (WIP) Likes: Mirrors, gold, jewels, feeling and looking younger, having affairs with young men Dislikes: Being treated (and called) as a grandma Relationships (WIP) Stats Strength: 4 Speed: 4 Agility: 3 Stealth: 5 Wisdom: 8 Magic: 8 Speech: 10 Extra Family: Aurelius Goldflee (husband), Argos Goldflee (son), Nephele Weaver (daughter-in-law), Frezier, Gia and Zyler Goldflee (grandchildren), Tempest Kelley, Rose Goldflee and Orion (great grandchildren)

Allies: Emperor's Coven, Adrian Graye Vernworth, Tommy (boyfriend)

Pet: Eyeris, the spider-eye palisman

[yoga-onion]

Legends and myths about trees

Forest myths, Estonian traditional beliefs (5)

The world of the Estonians’ ancestors – Magical objects [first part]

White Ship (valge laev) - mythical ship that brings freedom or takes people away to a better land. This myth was born around 1860 when a small sect led by Juhan Leinberg (also known as Prophet Maltsvet) gathered near Tallinn to wait for a white ship to take them away.

Hat of fingernails (küüntest kübar) - makes the bearer (usually Vanatühi) invisible. In Estonian mythology, Vanatühi ("Old empty one", or alternatively, Vanapagan, "Old devil") is a/the devil or god of the underworld, a giant farmer who is more stupid than malevolent. Vanapagan is the ogre character in Estonian versions of the series of internationally known folktales of the stupid ogre.

Letter gloves (kirikindad) – were believed to have protective or magic powers, especially church letter gloves and the gloves that sailors wore. Letter gloves were (are) decorated with special geometric patterns and narrow red stripes; they have many whispers and spells in them because the crafter used to sing while making, dyeing and knitting yarn.

Letter Belt (kirivöö) - the belt had the most ancient and magical patterns of all the craft items, red woven belts and laces were a common item to sacrifice (they were tied to the branches of holy trees). The belt was tied around parts of body that were sick and, pulled tightly around the waist, to protect and give strength to the bearer.

Sacred stones - the last ice age has left a lot of great stones (erratics) in Estonia. Many of them were considered sacred and people came to them to sacrifice silver, blood, red ribbons and coins and ask for welfare and prosperity. Often, the stones have little holes in them, some of them probably used to place the sacrifice in. The meaning and function of the holes is however still disputed; according to a paleoastronomer they may have had a calendary function.

Travelling forests - when people are mean, greedy and cruel, the forests will leave those places. The most stories about travelling forests are found in coastal areas of Estonia.

木にまつわる伝説・神話

森の神話・エストニアの民間伝承 (5)

エストニア人の祖先の世界 〜 魔法のオブジェ（続き）

白船（valge laev）- 自由をもたらし、より良い土地へと人々を連れ去る神話上の船。この神話は1860年頃、ユハン・レインベルグ（預言者マルツヴェトとしても知られる）に率いられた小さな一派がタリン近郊に集まり、自分たちを連れ去ってくれる白い船を待ったことから生まれた。

爪の帽子（küüntest kübar） - 持ち主（通常はヴァナトゥヒ）を見えなくする。エストニア神話では、ヴァナテュヒ（「老いた空っぽの者」、あるいはヴァナパガン、「老いた悪魔」）は冥界の悪魔または神であり、悪意というより愚かな巨大農夫である。ヴァナパガンは、国際的に知られる一連の愚かな鬼の民話のエストニア語版に登場する鬼のキャラクターである。

レター・グローブ（kirikindad）-特に教会便りの手袋や船乗りが身につける手袋には、身を守る力や魔法の力があると信じられていた。レターグ・ローブには特殊な幾何学模様と細い赤い縞模様が施され、糸を作ったり染めたり編んだりするときに職人が歌っていたため、多くのささやきや呪文が込められている。

レター・ベルト（kirivöö）-ベルトは、工芸品の中で最も古く、魔法のような模様をしており、赤い織物のベルトやレースは、生け贄に捧げるための一般的なアイテムだった（聖なる木の枝に結ばれていた）。ベルトは、体の病気の部分に巻かれ、腰の周りにきつく引っ張られ、持ち主を守り、力を与えた。

聖なる石 - 最後の氷河期は、エストニアに多くの巨石（迷子石）を残した。その多くは神聖なものとされ、人々は銀や血、赤いリボンやコインを捧げ、福祉と繁栄を祈願するために訪れた。多くの場合、石には小さな穴が開いており、そのうちのいくつかは生贄を捧げるために使われたものと思われる。古天文学者によれば、穴には暦の機能があったのかもしれない。

旅する森 - 人々が意地悪で、貪欲で、残酷であると、森はその場所を去ってしまう。旅する森にまつわる話は、エストニアの沿岸部に多く見られる。

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

tagged by @trench-rot thank you <3

Spicy NSFW snippet below from the vampire!au (if you want to join that tag list opt in here)

banner by @/cafekitsune

warnings for: p in v sex, blood, Rory getting to be just a little dominant (as a treat)

Goddamn tired. He’d been awake for nearly 36 hours straight, finally given a chance to rest after prepping for another mission. The briefings had become the least of his worries, the same old-same old, but still every possible scenario circled his thoughts like he was a bloody clown with spinning plates on sticks, making sure not a single one fell on his watch. Laying back in his bed, Price released a long, burdened exhale up towards the ceiling. Staring at the boring beige paint that was military standard as if he had expected it to change, running his hands back and forth through his hair. Thoughts of pouring himself a drink or perhaps lighting up a cigar for a little stress relief sparked behind his eyes.

And then the door to his quarters creaked open —

It was the silence of the night, the others long since turned in, and while everyone else on base should have been sleeping, he realized he wasn’t entirely alone. 

She appeared like an apparition. The door closing shut behind her with the flick of her delicate wrist, the lock clicking just as he gulped down a heavy swallow, his saliva thick in his throat, his tongue feeling sizes too large for his mouth. 

His heart thundered in his chest, pounding in his ears, silencing any of his previous worries. White noise blanketed the gray matter. A haze as thick as fog blurred his vision, tunneling it until all he saw was her – everything else was just background noise. Non-existent. 

Her lithe form crawled up from the foot of the bed. The mattress creaked, bending to her weight, and his stomach dropped as something feral coiled inside him. Survival instinct. Fight or flight. Nerves fired, synapses screamed every red flag and siren and they died away before his body was even given a chance to react. Years of experience, training, battle readiness, all made into myth as big, beautiful hazel doe-eyes locked onto him from under long, dark lashes – the gleam of a predator within them. Hunger. A starving beast. Stalking towards him with the sleek sway of a panther. Slithering up the bed, an adder – deadly, dangerous. Intoxicating. His breath came in short and heavy. Sitting up against his pillows, his whole body felt like it had been entombed in earth, muscles unable to move without the use of brute force, and he’d been made docile under that singular stare, crushing him beneath it. His chest compressed, suffocating, squeezed tight until it hurt just to breathe. Pale, slender fingers stretched out, and with the reaper’s touch, they pushed him down onto the mattress, forcing him down. His struggle, entirely futile under her feather-lite touch. The strength of a two tonne tank contained in her fingertips and total control slipped through his fingers the way the fibers of the sheets within his fists did. A shuddered breath tumbling over his lips before he sucked it back in through gritted teeth with a labored hiss. Frozen hands traveled down arms that could toss a man over his shoulder or throw them over a barrier wall, and he’d never felt so unbearably pathetic. Held captive, imprisoned in his own bed like a child who’d woken from a terrible nightmare and didn’t even have the strength to scream. Soft palms drifted along his limbs, marble-smooth, stone-cold. Shivers slid down his spine, fractals of ice freezing the blood, spreading through his veins and making each pump of the work-horse muscle in his chest painful. Fingers slipped around his wrists, manacles that made his own digits lock like the blistering wind of a frozen tundra had chewed its way through his gloves and began to gnaw at the skin below. His jaw clenched, heels digging into the mattress in some feeble attempt to break free from her hold as she settled herself on his lap, straddling him, milky-white thighs trapping him between them and each desperate attempt to flee only caused the blanket covering him to slip further down his hips, revealing the dark curls that bordered the root of his cock. He bit his lip, chewing on the flesh as his hips bucked, groaning, deep and low from the back of his throat. “Christ, Ror. Please, darlin’...”

“Please what?” She purred, leaning towards him, her mouth inches away from his. Testing him, toying with him. Her soft breath ghosted over his lips like a cool breeze in summer, chilling the heat that simmered beneath his flesh, sending yet another shiver coursing through him as the sweat that began to slick his skin and dampen the hair on his body was wicked away by her frozen touch rather than the evaporation of body heat. The soft swells of her breasts pressed against him, but there was no heartbeat there, the cavity may as well have been hollow below. It didn’t rise or fall either, her lungs lying as still as the grave. “Fuck, woman, can’t just come in here and tease me like this,” he gruffed, teeth gritting together, brow furrowed. With each lift of his pelvis, he would grind against her, stroking his thick length against her velvety soft folds, and despite the icy temperature of her flesh he still hardened to the stiffness of a glacier in return. She giggled and it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard – it was bloody torture. He was more worked up than usual, desperate and aching after days without rest, and she was playing him with the gall of a cat whose claws had managed to curl themselves around the tail of a rat. Lifting his arms above his head, manipulating and maneuvering him like he was a fucking posable doll, she pinned his hands above his head and brushed the tip of her nose against his, paying extra attention to the little mole that sat there. “Gonna get you back for this, sweetheart. Mark my words.” Her hum in response vibrated through his skin and rattled his chest. “Promises, promises.” That sweet voice of hers melting his urge to flip her over and take the upper hand, conquering her gorgeous body – not that he could if he would, she was much too strong for that now.

Growling, his eyes narrowed at her, the piercing blue stare holding her dead to rights. “You’re bloody cruel.” “Oh, shut it,” she said with that goddamn smirk of hers curling her mouth and awakening her angelic dimples. 

The nip at his lower lip, her pearly white fangs pricking against him, caused another groan as his hips rolled towards her. Trying – and failing – once more to lift his arms from beneath her grasp. “So impatient, my darling. Think I never get you off with the way you’re acting.” Brows knitting together, he looked up from beneath them with a darkened expression. His mouth scrunching in frustration, his square jaw cut with sharp edges as he lifted his chin defiantly and a low rumble built like rolling thunder in the distance. “Do not give me that look,” she scolded him, “You’re the one who asks for these bloody games, love.”

His brow cocked and a short huff fluttered the dark waves that framed her face. Much too fucking pretty a face. “Am I not allowed to indulge in a little fantasy, my girl? How many men get to say their lady is a bloody vampire? Doesn’t mean I want to be left in the cold though, Ror. Driving me mad here.”

“Party pooper,” she muttered before capturing his mouth in a deep kiss. Each press of her lips to his seemed to last forever, languid and slow, as sensual and seductive as the very aura that surrounded her since being turned several years back.

Her lips, like the cool side of the pillow, were refreshing, invigorating. The taste of her was sweet, the spoonful of sugar that made the shitshow of life go down a little easier. Grunting as he shifted beneath her, her hardened nipples brushing over his chest and she whined into his mouth.

“Sweetheart…” He hated to plead, hated how weak it made him sound, hated giving anyone that sort of power over him but Christ, if she couldn’t pull every little whimper and moan from him like it was second nature to her. “Oh, my darling,” she cooed, pulling away, her lips glistening with the sheen of his saliva upon them. “You really must be suffering.”

He’d give anything to break free, to run his hands up and down the smooth curves of her waist and over the round of her hips, squeezing her firm little arse cheeks in his rough palms. To be able to grip her tight and drive her back and forth on his shaft, directing her, watching pleasure wrack her body, making her moan the way only he could; but instead, he was stuck there like a bug pinned under the glass in some hobbyist’s collection. 

Her hands squeezed around his wrists a little tighter, constricting the blood flow, the flesh growing hot and red below as his life’s essence pooled in place. Closing her eyes, she sat there silently, unmoving – like a corpse. She used to only be able to read him by memorizing his tics and tells, perceptive in her approach to dealing with him. Now, she could hear his heartbeat, the change in his breath, smell his sweat, feel the blood pump in his veins through his very skin. It had been an unnerving development at first, the woman he loved becoming an undead lie detector with blood-sucking instincts. “Rory,” he husked her name, a quiet whisper traveling in the space between them. Her full lips curled into a half grin and she gazed down at him, her eyes warm and brimming with life despite her circumstances. “You really want your hands free, don’t you?”

Price nodded, jaw tense, his throat bobbing as the pulse point in his neck hammered so hard it nearly strangled him. “Can only take not touchin’ you for so long, darlin’.”

Pulling her hands away, she sat back, her back arching in a gentle curve as she leaned away from him. The entire swath of her silky flesh available to him to roam his callused hands against, appreciating every inch to his heart’s content. Sitting up, moving with the reflexes that made him so dangerous in the field, he wrapped his arms around her, gripping her tight and pulling her against his chest. “Lift up, sweetheart,” he ordered, slipping a hand between her legs and teasing the entrance to her core with the head of his cock. As she lowered onto him, his breath hitched. Taking all of him, every last inch, they groaned in unison. “Fucking hell, love,” he purred in her ear as her hips started to roll against him, her slick coating his shaft as tight walls clenched against him. His eyes fluttered shut and his head rolled back, exposing the flesh of his neck, releasing an inaudible moan. One arm coiled around her waist, pressing her body to his, as the other slid up her back, his hand delving into the strands of her hair, bunching it up in a fistful. Straining to maintain clarity of thought, his whole body stiffened, his tendons all standing in stark relief.  

She gripped his shoulders, snaking her arms around the back of his neck. Her body rocking against his. Hips grinding, rotating. He was faced with Heaven on Earth while buried deep inside her. Price nuzzled in against her neck, breathing in the decadent scent of her perfume – sultry, heady, unfathomably deep. His mouth trailed along the smooth column, laving his tongue over the cool flesh as his beard rasped against her. 

“So damn beautiful,” he mumbled, lost in the feel of her undulating, of being inside her. Trapped in a daze of passion, a dark paradise with a woman cursed with everlasting life so long as she had a constant food source, he was lost in the sensation of reaching the precipice she was leading him towards in her thrall. Losing track of time and space, her soft lips grazed against his artery and the barely there touch of pillowy flesh pulled him back into reality. 

With his jaw cupped in her hand, holding him in place, her thumb brushed softly through the whiskers of his beard and the stubble of the five o'clock shadow on his neck and jaw. The quiet hiss of her parting lips was the only warning he received before the tip of her tongue flickered out tasting the beat of his heart. Fangs descending against his skin, she dragged them gently and pierced the flesh with all the pain of the prick of a needle. Gasping, he gulped air like he was drowning. The pinch of her bite soothed by her plump lips wrapping around the wound and sucking on the flesh, drawing out more of his blood that bubbled to the surface.

The hushed slurp of her open mouth wrapped around him reminded him of biting into a ripe peach in summer and the juice that ran down the chin with it. Succulent, sweet. And as her hand caressed his jaw, gentle and tender, coaxing him deeper into her maw, he was sure that was how her brain had learned to rewire itself with her change so she could stomach what she was forced to do for sustenance.

His fingers dug into her, searching for but never finding any source of heat while warm blood trickled down the contour of his neck and over his barrel chest, pooling where their bodies met as she continued to drink. The suctioned sensation was just enough to keep him from falling over the edge, maintaining at least a portion of lucid thought before the lightheadedness started to creep into the corners of the little world they had created together. “Rory,” he murmured, knotting her hair in his fist as he tried to pull her mouth away. It didn’t take much for her to get the hint, panting as she tore herself away from her source of fresh blood, drips of it curling down her chin from the corners of her mouth. “Sorry, love,” she breathed, her tongue darting out to clean her lips as she wiped the traces of claret from her face with her hand. “‘S okay,” he rumbled before pulling her in for a kiss, tasting himself on her tongue. 

He redoubled his efforts to reach his climax and hers, the metallic tang lingering in the air and in his mouth, clinging to his gums and inside his flared nostrils with each heaved breath. 

NSFW taglist: @roofgeese @efingart @josephseedismyfather @g0dspeeed @cloudofbutterflies92

@imogenkol @inafieldofdaisies @raresvtm @evvie-a @clicheantagonist

@rc-dragons @la-grosse-patate @direwombat @statichvm @cassietrn

@lady-eudaemonia @voidika @strangefable @simplegenius042 @writeforfandoms

@elligatorrex

[sardonic-the-writer]

—the great potato war

SUMMARY | nobody cared about potatoes. nobody at all. well, except for you and your neighbor, who's pink hair and pig skull never failed to catch your attention. it was about time you approached him

PAIRING | technoblade x reader

REQUESTED | no

WORD COUNT | 1.8k+

WARNINGS | none

AUTHORS NOTES | some nice healthy platonic fun times with our boy techno. ive been binging his channel as of late

🥔 Masterlist 🥔 Navigation 🥔 Rules 🥔

Sitting on his knees in an uncomfortable kneeling position, Technoblade felt a trickle of cold sweat work its way down the back of his neck. He could feel the sun beating down from above, its relentless rays doing nothing for his sweaty skin.

Wiping a gloved hand along his forehead line, Techno looked up from his work. The man's fingers and palms were stained with dirt splotches and grass marks. His pink hair had been tied back and tossed in between the back of his shoulder blades with ease, a sturdy hair band keeping it in one bunch.

Technoblade stood up to his full height. He could practically feel his spine elongating already; a few sharp pops even rang out from his tired joints to audibly show how hard he had been working. Although, as he looked out upon the sight in front of him, Techno couldn't help but think that it was all worth it.

Hundreds and hundreds of harvested potato lines laid in front of him with a barren look. Remnants and scraps of the former vegetation littered the scorched ground. Brown spots and dried up greens were what were left of the hybrid's hours of heavy work.

With a haughty grin, Techno walked off his elaborate plot of land. It took a minute too, seeing as he had a ginormous five acres to show for it.

“That’ll put me ahead.” He grinned, taking off the worn leather gloves he had been wearing to garden. In an almost comical manor, he rubbed his hands together like a film villain painted in black and white, smiling.

From the comfort of his secluded property, getting to the hub was easy enough. Just a small stroll on an obscure dirt path and he was in a familiar looking village.

Each time he passed the threshold from lush forest to dusty village, Techno could always feel the strain in his muscles as he tightened them, a feeling of discomfort washing over him in small waves. It wasn't as if he didn't ever like visiting the place. The collection of small wooden houses and abundancy of vendor stands were more than useful in tasks such as expanding his farm and gathering materials. It was the stares he was less than partial to.

Eyes filled with fear and wonder alike followed Techno as he walked stiffly around the place. He should have been used to this by now, more than aware of the titles he had collected over the years. Blood God, the Blade, even the occasional call of potato man was tossed in his direction. The last one made him want to laugh the most, if he was being honest.

The pinkette didn't blame people for staring. He was more or less a myth taken form to them. A pink haired warrior hiding behind a pigs skull, often seen buying the materials needed to reap all kinds of vegetables. In all his years living just a few miles away from the public, the only locals he had ever spoken to were the sellers. Maybe an occasional traveler, interested in what the rest of the world was doing now that he had left it—despite the fact he had vowed he would never return to the life he had been leading before. No. He was much more content growing crops than watering the fields of battle with blood. So yeah, not exactly the type people around here were used to seeing.

"Alright. It was about time I met the asshole that insist on making my life a living hell."

Techno's swift movements stopped in the middle of the sidewalk he had been steadily moving along; an admirable feat from whoever had just caught his attention—something that didn't happen often.

His sharp gaze was hidden behind the bone white skull he insisted on wearing so much, sweeping around until it eventually landed on the source of his brief pause.

It was someone short. Well, at least shorter than him, which was normal for about everyone he had ever met—save for a teenage enderman hybrid he had used to know.

Skimming over the height difference, the second thing that caught his attention were their hands. They were almost as dirty as his, if not dirtier. Even through the grit and grime he could see a few hardened callouses dotting their skin. A detail that almost made Techno tilt his head with mild curiosity. Almost.

Thirdly was their stare. It was scarily memorable of the very same one he saw each time he looked in the mirror. Determined, with layers and layers of vast emotions underneath it.

The stranger approached him, hands in pockets as they bit at the inside of their cheek. Looking far more comfortable than anyone else would have in approaching the infamous piglin hybrid.

"Do I know you." Techno's voice was monotone. Flat. Less than a question, and more of a not so subtle way of getting them to leave him alone. It didn't work.

"Nope! Pretty rude of you, considering we've been neighbors for about half a year now. But I'll let it slide." The carefree tone and amused smile contradicted what should have been the hostility in their words. Their sentences were certainty set up to be directed at him with a different emotion if they so much as pleased. But Techno knew how to read people, be it common folk or kings sitting high above him on a throne as they lied about their sins. And this person before him certainty had no intent to do anything beyond chat.

For some reason that confused him more than anything else.

"I don' have any neighbors." His voice was clear. Slightly raising it for the sake of the people around them doing a poor job of eavesdropping; a silent call to get moving. To which the small crowd immediately did.

"Maybe so you think. But tell that to me and my house I've been living in for six months. If you ever bothered to visit anywhere other than this shithole or your huge ass garden you would know that."

They knew about his garden, along with his traveling habits. If they were telling the truth about being his neighbor, that would be less of a concern to hear. But Techno decided to play it safe, straightening up to his full height and curling his fists as if to insinuate a threat. He didn't feel like scaring off anyone more than he usually did, although this time it would be with intent, but he'd rather continue on his way with a bit of guilt rather than with the possibility that someone from his past had finally caught up with him.

"Oh relax tough guy. I'm just here to talk potatoes."

He stirred at that.

"..what?"

"Potatoes. You know, the thing you spend all your time farming." The person who had still yet to introduce themself carried on with hand motions, blowing out a slight sigh. "I really didn't think the second after I moved some crazy guy would be setting up shop with the same idea as me. I mean come on, how many people in the world have even considered going into potato farming as a hobby. You and your—your incredibly overpowered gardening tools."

It took a second before all of the dots began to connect in Techno's head. The way they had approached him with a competitive tone (albeit it playful), how they only seemed interested in talking about vegetation, the roughness of their hands—

"(Y/n) right?" In spite of himself, Techno found a small quirk in his lips forming. Not quite a smile, but something similar to it all the same. He was rewarded with a joyous nod of confirmation.

"Bingo."

So this was the person who had been after his number one potato these past couple months. Why the hub had such a thing as a leaderboard for who could sow the most vegetables, he had no idea. But it proved a successful way to pass his time. A task that included beating out the only other person on that board who was a threat to his number one title—the very same person who was currently standing across from him.

"Technoblade. Nice to metcha." He held out a hand, surely baffling a few of the people who were still staring at him and (Y/n). It was expected later there would be whispers of the interaction between the infamous man towering over an unassuming civilian, but he didn't mind.

"I know who you are." They took his hand with a snort, laughing. "I've been burning holes through your name on that stupid leaderboard ever since last summer. Your mental, you know, for farming a million potatoes a day."

"So I've been told." A brief memory of an old competitor made its way to the front of his mind, the word squid leaving as soon as it had came.

"I suppose asking you to stop farming would be a waste of time?"

He almost laughed.

"I'll take that as a no." (Y/n) tightened the grip on his hand with a fervent determination before letting go. A silent challenge. The first one that had interested Techno in a long time.

"How about we make a game out of this?" His ears perked up, blood red eyes capturing (Y/n)'s as they proceeded. "If we're to continue in this great potato war, how about we settle around a five hundred million goal. First person to it gets bragging rights. As well as, I dunno, something of the others. We can work that part out later."

"You're going down nerd." He grinned, sharp canines showing excitedly.

"Oh please." You rolled your eyes with the same sort of smile. "his'll be a cake walk for me. Or a potato walk for me, you could say."

"Bruhh."

"Like that one aye? How about, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be mashed potatoes!"

"Anyone else want to be my competitor? Anyone?" Techno pretended to call out to a crowd, scaring the nearby foot traffic as they scurried around the little bubble they had both created in the street.

"Alright fine fine you've made your point. My humors simply too good for the likes of you." (Y/n) returned to stuffing their hands in their pockets now, body weight shifting from foot to foot.

Techno took one more long look at them. Sweeping their figure with a feeling he hadn't encountered in a long time.

He was having fun.

"May th' best farmer win."

"Oh I will."

And with that, he set off in the opposite direction of you, determined to get back to his farm before you did yours.

[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.

[leonvarcas]

Guide to The City: Chapter 2: Fixer Associations

A sequel to This Post where i catalogued The City's workshops, this time covering the fixer associations! Please note this will contain unmarked spoilers for Library of Ruina and Limbus Company.

1: Hana Association

Language: Korean Specialties: Fixer grading and management, threat classification, elimination of Impurities. Uniform: White and gold-trimmed long coats over a white suit with a black tie, emblazoned with Taoist trigrams on the shoulders. Equipment: Black crystalline weapons that can be reformed instantly to different forms, making Hana fixers dangerous and unpredictable in close combat. Most often wielded as Crystal Spears (Mirinae, Olivier, Hana Association Fixers) but also as a Crystal Gauntlet (Harold) Known Fixers: Mirinae, Harold, Olivier (Library of Ruina) Hana handles the grading and licensing of fixers and fixer offices, grading them from 1-9 (1 being the strongest, 9 being the weakest). They also handle the classification of threats to the city. from least to most dangerous, the classifications are: Canard Urban Myth Urban Legend Urban Plague Urban Nightmare Star of the City Impuritas Civitatis Impurities are special threats, classified by The Head themselves for immediate extermination or removal. Hana only personally fights against Impurity level threats.

2: Zwei Association

Language: German Specialties: Defense, peacekeeping, and bodyguard duty. Uniform: Blue and yellow coats and suits. Equipment: One-handed swords (Zwei Crew), two-handed swords, or Zweihanders if you will (Julia, Isadora, Walter, Zwei South Section 4 Faust, Zwei South Section 4 Gregor), and stun batons (Zwei South Section 6 Sinclair, Zwei South Section 5 Rodion) Known Fixers: Julia, Isadora, Walter (Library of Ruina), Faust, Gregor, Rodion, Sinclair, Heathcliff, Ishmael, Don Quixote (Limbus Company, mirror World of the Zwei Association) Affiliated Offices: Streetlight Office Zwei will handle peacekeeping within their territory, but don't mistake them for police, you will need to pay them for their protection. They specialize in defense, of people, places, whatever you need them for.

3: Tres Association

Language: Spanish EDIT: thank you to josieblueart, i had completely forgotten! Specialty: Testing and licensing of Workshop products Tests and approves all products made by the Workshops of The City, likely also in charge of "dealing with" any unauthorized distribution.

4: Shi Association

Language: Japanese Specialities: Assassination Uniform: Black and Red (varies) Equipment: Red katana (all) Known Fixers: Yujin, Valentin, Tenma, Thelma (Library of Ruina), Don Quixote, Heathcliff, Ishmael (Limbus Company, mirror World of the Shi Association) Affiliated Offices: Full-Stop Office Shi specializes in stealth and assassination. If you really want someone dead, you pay the Shi. Due to the nature of the job Shi is frequently understaffed, and thus terminally overworked and injured.

5: Cinq Association

Language: French Specialties: Dueling Uniform: Blue cape over a black suit, with a feathered cap Equipment: Rapier (All) Known Fixers: Don Quixote, Outis, Sinclair (Limbus Company, World of the Cinq Association) Have a dispute with someone, but you're too weak to duel them yourself? Hire the Cinq association to duel them for you!

6: Liu Association

Language: Chinese Specialties: War Uniform: Black suit with gold accents and red coats Equipment: Swords (Liu Fixers), Gloves (Cecil, Mei, Chun, Miris, Liu Association South Section 4 Ishmael), Guandaos (Lowell, Xiao), and Gauntlets (Liu Association South Section 6 Gregor, Liu Association South Section 6 Meursault, Liu Association South Section 5 Hong Lu) that cause fire via friction, requiring skill to use effectively. Also their signature red coats, made with Moonstone, singularity of M corp, that defends against psychological attacks. Known Fixers: Cecil, Mei, Chun, Miris, Lowell, Xiao (Library of Ruina), Ishmael, Gregor, Meursault, Hong Lu (Limbus Company, World of the Liu Association) Liu Association specializes in open combat, having great numbers and skilled fighters wielding fire. Liu are called in when you need to fight an army... or a monster.

7: Seven Association

Language: English Specialties: Information gathering, detection, hunting Uniform: Green coat, brown suit Equipment: Swords (Seven Association Fixers, Dante(LoR), Seven Association South Section 6 Yi Sang, Seven Association South Section 6 Ryoshu, Seven Association South Section 6 Director Outis, Seven Association South Section 4 Faust, Seven Association South Section 4 Heathcliff) and at least one bladed cane (Seven Association South Section 6 Director Outis) Known Fixers: Dante (Library of Ruina), Yi Sang, Ryoshu, Outis, Faust, Heathcliff (Limbus Company, World of the Seven Association) Han Hee-Joon (Distortion Detective) Affiliated Offices: Moses Office If you want to know something, you pay Seven Association. They specialize in information gathering, and if you pay extra, they'll also hunt down whoever you wanted to know about.

8: Eight? (Speculation based on the languages of the sinners and their numbers corresponding to the languages of the fixer associations, other instances of speculation will be marked with a ?)

nothing is currently known

9: Devyat Association

EDIT: Credit to truboo42, i'm bad at remembering limbus tidbits lol Specialties: Delivery Devyat employs courier fixers to deliver packages around The City, it is assuredly a dangerous job requiring skilled work.

10: Dieci Association

Language: Italian Specialties: Research, accumulation of knowledge Uniform: Priestly robes with a yellow sash Equipment: Gloves that somehow grant power the more knowledge the wearer has (Dieci Association South Section 4 Rodion) Known Fixers: Rodion (Limbus Company, World of the Dieci Association) Not much to go off of yet, but it seems like the Dieci specialize in accumulating knowledge, and are somehow able to use that knowledge for power. (curious why they never went to The Library, who also claimed to accumulate knowledge. perhaps they didn't want the library to have any of their knowledge?)

11: Öufi Association

Language: Swiss German Specialties: Trades and Deals Edit: thank you project moon very cool Uniform: Purple and black outfits similar in style to that worn by the Landsknecht of 15th century Germany Equipment: Ornate Halberd (Öufi Association South Section 3 Heathcliff) Known Fixers: Heathcliff (Limbus Company, World of the Öufi Association) Not much to go off of yet, but the Öufi seem to specialize in contracts and the enforcement thereof.

12: Dodeka?

nothing is currently known

And that's all, hopefully we'll gain more info later on the associations we haven't seen yet, expect future posts covering the Wings of the World and the Backstreets Syndicates!

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

Working on some designs for the White Witches! The concept of them is so fucking creepy and unsettling I love it so much, so naturally I have to draw them. But before I get to do that, I have to figure out how the fuck to do that- so welcome to my process! This is gonna be long as hell, so I've put it under the cut for the sake of convenience.

First we gotta go over what we have. I haven't seen any official art of White Witches, only of the Manus and some Hunters, so we gotta work off of the narration. The first notes I took were from Arc 2, the first ever appearance of a White Witch.

These are the details I got from that scene:

White robes

Gloves

Long sleeves

Long white veil with light green and blue embroidery

Lower face showing, eyes covered

So all of these needed to be incorporated somehow. Step one was messing around with the veil and the robe silhouette.

Silhouette

This part was easy enough, I wanted to stick with the church theme so I started looking through nun habits. I didn't want to exactly copy any specific style, but it felt like an appropriate starting point. What I ended up keeping was a heavy lean on triangles and rectangles.

Veils

This was probably my favorite part to experiment with. The veils are described as covering the eyes, but not the lower half of the face, so you can see the mouth clearly. This detail actually spawned a whole train of thought that massively influenced my design going forward but we'll get to that later-

The first idea I had was to just take a regular veil and make it sheer at the bottom, like a gradient. But I quickly dropped that, it felt too same-y, and with colors it would blend right in to the rest of the white robes. The whole point was to bring a focus to the face. What I ended up sticking with was this!

Once I had it down it seemed so obvious- a split veil! I just put a split across the bridge of the nose and bam, suddenly it made sense. The triangular cut and the cascading folds just kind of happened, it felt natural with the rest of the shapes I had been drawing. A friend said it reminded him of moths, which felt oddly fitting given their association with magic in Arc 1. In retrospect, I think I was subconsciously inspired by early appearances of Blue Diamond in Steven Universe. Not intentional, but I do love how it turned out.

Other Uniform Details

This is the "later" I mentioned earlier, because I am obsessed with the implications of this veil. It's very specifically said that a White Witch is never without her Manus or a Hunter, and the first one we ever see is flanked by two hunters. They are, fundamentally, still seen by the church as threats.

So with that in mind, one goal expanded into two. At first my goal was to make them unsettling, but beautiful. Like porcelain dolls. The church doesn't parade their cruelty around, they dress it up in fine robes and narratives of redemption.*

* This is some extrapolation on my part. It's mentioned in Arc 2 that most witches regard White Witches as "traitors". That implies that their imprisonment is not common knowledge. If it was, they would be "captives" or "prisoners". Even if they turned themselves in, I highly doubt they were signing up for whatever the fuck is going on in that church.

Now I have my second goal: make them clearly, but not obviously, trapped.

This gave me a really clear direction to move in, because now every piece of fabric has an extra practical purpose. For example-

There is a myth that making eye contact with a witch is inviting a curse upon yourself. The veil helps with that. Blocking their eyes eases the anxieties of any passerby or audience (and makes real spells that require direct eye contact impossible). It also heavily obscures their vision, making them reliant on their Manus to move around effectively. The mouth is uncovered so that they can always be monitored for recitations or chanting. Symbolically, the veil could parallel the blindfold of Lady Justice. If the narrative spun by the Church is that the white witches are willingly working in their service, then there is a sense of self-redemption to it. Turning wicked skills to the service of what is good and holy. Repenting as an act of the pursuit of justice. Obviously made all the more ironic and gross by the true nature of the whole thing.

The long sleeves are beautiful, and add to the general elegance of the uniform. They are also deeply impractical. The length makes them easy to trip over, the weight of the fabric makes them difficult to roll up.

There's a sketch on the first image by my friend who suggested that they could have twin trains coming off of the skirt, like moth wings. They create a very sleek and elegant design befitting the image of the Church. They're also easy to step on or grab in the event of a runaway witch. Naturally I took his suggestion.

This is what I meant by "clear but not obvious". None of this stuff is hidden, but most people aren't going to notice it. Someone like Zachary probably would, because he would be thinking from the perspective of how to escape or fight back, so he'd pick up on those details. But the general non-magic crowd isn't going to be thinking about that at all. They'll assume that a lack of literal chains means that there are no prisoners here. So the Church gets to keep a squeaky clean image with the public at large while still acting as a prison.

Basically, I'm having way too much fun with this. And now I have a solid idea of what I want these guys to look like! Next up will be settling on designs for Little One, Pointer, and Middle! (Speaking of which the utter disrespect of calling her "Middle"???? That was one of the details that made "As violently as possible please :D" a very satisfying moment)

[rebelliousstories]

Kiss Me You Animal

Kiss Me You Animal

Relationship: Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard x Zylia “The Freak” Shelley

Fandom: Fallout

Request: No

Warnings: Angst, Violence, Mentions of Blood, Fluff, Happy Ending

Word Count: 1,748

Main Masterlist: Here

Fallout Masterlist: Here

//Previous Chapter//

Kiss Me You Animal Masterlist: Here

Summary: One final showdown. One final goodbye. One final kiss.

“Look alive boys! We got company!”

That was what Zylia first heard after coming out of a short nap. She did not mean to fall asleep, but when you are dehydrated, starving, and constantly pumping adrenaline in a fight or flight response? It tends to wear you down. But that was the least of her worries. Two possibilities were coming through the door right now. Either that was more goons for this band of misfits, or it was Cooper.

She was not sure which of the two was more terrifying. And then, if it was Cooper, two more terrifying thoughts came into her brain. Was he coming because he was wanting to finish her off and take the caps, or because he cared for her? All of these were being amplified by the pounding in her chest as the doors to the warehouse were opened.

With spurs clicking against the concrete floor, The Ghoul had arrived.

“Whoo! Now I am excited to finally meet the myth and legend that is The Ghoul. Glad you could join us!” The leader called, waving his arms around in a grand gesture. His eyes were obscured by the lip of his hat, so the rest of the people could not see where his eyes landed. But Shelley knew where Howard’s eyes were. They were on her, even if she could not see them.

“Well, certainly made it easy for me to find y’all. Can’t say I’m excited about being forced to chase a band of misfits that even Santa don’t wanna visit.” His drawl was thick, but his words confused the group.

“So why the hell you kidnappin’ my paycheck?”

“You mean, your girl?”

“No. She’s not my girl. She’s a fucking paycheck.”

The leader of the group raised his eyebrows and looked between the two mutants with rapt attention. He started to laugh, that only his fellow bandits joined in on. Zylia bowed her head as she listened to what he was saying. So he was just coming here to make sure his competition was taken care of finally.

“Well, shit. Ain’t that a kick to the teeth, sweetie,” the man that was really starting to piss Zylia off teased. His fingerless gloved hand reached down to caress her cheek, but it was taken away shortly as her teeth snapped towards the fingers. “Oh, don’t be like that sweetheart.”

“You gonna kill her or fuck her? Cause one of those I don’t wanna be here for.” Howard called out. He was slowly working his way up Zylia’s list of people she would not mind killing violently.

“See, I wanted to kill you both. But because I’m so nice, I’ll give you a choice. Either you can go first, or she can.” Fingers tangled in blood soaked white locks, causing the woman to scream out. Her hands were quickly unbound from her post, and she was dragged before The Ghoul as she was dumped to the ground.

“If you don’t mind, I have one request before you kill us both,” Cooper’s request drew the attention of two people, “let me kill her myself.”

“Oh, wow. You really have been a pain in his ass. What the hell did you do to him, huh, Freak?” Once more, the leader teased her.

“Been followin’ me ‘round like a lost puppy for months now. Just been waitin’ for an opportunity like this,” he grumbled. With each word, Zylia felt her heart breaking. He never cared for her. And now she was going to die at his hand.

“After you.” The leader stepped back a good couple of feet to where he would have been safe from what he thought was going to be a bloodbath afterwards.

“Come ‘ere.” Cooper snarled, leveling Zylia with a dangerous look.

She squeaked, and tried to run but her body was running on fumes and adrenaline now. It was no match for Howard, who would have gotten proper sleep, and adequate food and water. He grabbed her by the back of her shirt and hauled her back. After she was on the ground in front of him, he kicked her several times. Each one landing perfectly over her skin.

She curled up into a ball to try and get away from the beating. Each time she did that, he would find a way to go after her again. This seemed to go on for an eternity. And every hit was a literal and metaphorical punch to the gut. Cooper brought his hands down with his feet after a while. Zylia had been beaten enough times to know that begging for him to stop would only make it worse.

There was a sickening crack, and Zylia went down. Her hands were limp on the floor. Her body was turned away from the group, but her chest was no longer rising and falling as it should have been. Rubbing his hands, Cooper stood over the body of the woman that he had kept with him as a companion over the last few months. Clapping was heard behind him, and he finally turned around.

“Now that was a beautiful, albeit brutal display.” The leader complimented, watching The Ghoul with excited eyes.

He clicked his fingers, and motioned to the body that was on the floor. Two big, burley men came over to Zylia and tried to pick her up, but to no avail. They shoved her shoulder to double check and see if she was still alive, but it only caused the woman to roll over on her stomach.

“Maybe it’s just from the way I was raised in a different time than y’all. But that ain’t no way to treat a lady.”

Gurgling was heard coming from where Zylia laid. The first man was clutching his throat as blood poured out of it, while the second was having to deal with her knife being lodged in his skull. Cooper watched in delight as the leader that had dragged all of them there was now frozen in fear. Zylia dragged herself to her feet, and felt a sort of bloodlust take over.

The Ghoul drew his gun as chaos erupted all around them. There were bandits trying to make an escape from the mutant duo, and some that were trying to fight them. He fired at anyone who dared get close, while Zylia got close to everyone to deliver a killing blow.

Pulling her knife from one of the bandits, Shelley looked straight at the last man standing. The leader that had kidnapped her in the first place. When he felt eyes on him, the man took off for one of the exits. The adrenaline coursing through her veins shot her forward like being fired from Cooper’s gun. She ran as fast as she could, and heard Howard take off after her as well.

A bullet flew past and landed in the leg of the leader. He crumpled to the ground in anguish which allowed Zylia to catch up and straddle him. Her knife found a home in his shoulder as she turned him over on his back. The screams he let out was music to her ears. She moved her knife to the other shoulder before leaning down.

“Please, please. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Please just let me go.” He begged and pleaded, but it fell on deft ears. Another bullet hit his other leg, causing more screaming and begging from the man that was supposed to be the tough guy.

“You’re damn right. You’re not gonna do anything like this again,” Cooper drawled from where he had come up behind the other two.

“Matter of fact, you ain’t gonna be doing much of anything anymore.” Zylia finished, plunging her knife deep into his chest. Blood poured out from where his heart was. She stayed like that until the last light left the man’s eyes. Only then, did her body finally start to come down from its high of adrenaline.

She stumbled off of the man, and was caught by Cooper who looked over her with concern. His hands traced over her body, trying to feel for any life threatening injuries while his eyes took in any that were not. Shelley collapsed back onto the floor and Howard followed her down.

“You alright there, vampie?” His voice was full of concern as he tried to get an assessment on her.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m alright. Do I have something in my hair?” Cooper chuckled, which prompted Zylia to follow.

“Oh, ain’t you a joker.” He commented, drawing her into his chest. She sighed heavily as she rested in her spot.

“Was startin’ to get worried that you wouldn’t have gotten my idea.”

“As soon as I saw the handle poking out of your waistband, I knew.”

He chuckled again, and pressed a kiss to her head. Pulling away, the duo looked at each other in contentment. Without words being spoken, Cooper stood and gently helped Zylia to her feet. He made sure she was stable before walking past all of the bodies that littered the floor, and out to the desert that greeted them.

She was deposited to where she could lean against the building as he retrieved his saddle bag, and her own bag as well. Hooking an arm around her, Cooper made sure that she could walk before taking off for the city that was a day or so away. He was keeping an eye on the road ahead, and the other on her to make sure that she was still with him.

They made a pit stop on a rock that was big enough for one of them to sit on. Cooper made sure Zylia was sitting and balanced, before he began digging around in his bag. A stim pack was produced along with some jerky and a canteen of water. While she was busy greedily gulping down the water, Howard was sticking her with the stim pack to help jumpstart the healing process.

“Thanks for coming to get me.” She whispered in between bites of jerky.

“We’re a team now. Can’t have my partner dyin’ on me now.” He replied, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

Without warning, Zylia surged forward and captured his lips on hers. This time, it was no accident. They both sat there, enjoying their moment together. This could have been the end. But the one thing they did not count on, was the love two mutants have for each other.

[worldismyne]

Lust Redesign

(I gotta redo Maka's design and then tackle Kilik's, but then I think I'll be moving to the next chapter after that and only highlight the most unique/important designs)

There's a popular HC that meisters pick the battle outfits for their weapons, and with the exception of Maka I think that's 100% true.

So I tried to use elements that have appeared in Tsubaki's fits over the years, and combine them into something sleek. It's mostly black with a little pop of white. (This mission also ends the constant battle of style over practicality between the two. Constantly pulling up stockings and not being able to feel through the gloves was a pain in the ass. Mums the word).

Black Star was number one on the list when it came to the race, so he's the most compelled/ooc of the boys for this one.

The translations kinda range on what stock personality Black Star had this chapter, but the jist I got was the protagnoist "stupid about love" disease, but on a girl.

So I wanted to lean more into shonen tropes than shoujo for this interpretation. Considerably more humble, she is 'the girl' (tm), bossy, a tactian and able to more easily pull from an encyclopedia of myths and legends. (Black Star already knew about them, but being cautious sudden was more important once she started connecting the dots).

Rather than being oblivious of how Maka gives her special treatment though, it's more she doesn't understand why anyone else would care. (Maka frets and stares at him all the time when the roles were reversed, why would it be any different now?) Plus Tsubaki was avoiding her, the absolute betrayal of it all, she needed the support of her closest friends.

Black Star mentally checked out for this and thought of it more as a look at how their potential SOs might get along. (Kinda like walking around an MMO) Soul hating him during Lust really bummed him out, he had hoped their future GFs would be besties too. He didn't really make the connection that Soul Eater Evans was pissed at how he, Black Star was unbothered by the whole thing.