#a: the elements made flesh (form & features)

[solbaby7]

Slipping Away

pairing: azriel x reader

[ masterlist ]

[ part one ]

warnings: mentions of poor mental health, probably swearing, underlying sexual themes, angst babe

summary: You've been drowning for a long time and finally someone notices

—

There’s a rooftop garden just above the townhouse in Velaris and you’re not quite sure why you’ve never bothered to visit it until now.

A blissfully unaware city lives just beyond it, past the stone walls and dense privacy fence made of cypress trees. The residual sounds of their freedom hits your ears, nothing more than distant chatter that carries along a brisk breeze.

Even that is enviable—the way they exist with no regard of the space they may take up.

Makes you try a little harder when you apply paint to canvas; desperate to feel what they must when mimicking the light reflecting from their souls.

The city twinkles, stars shining so bright that they seem to just hang from the sky like pearls, some pulsing with rich ruby tones and others glimmering with amethyst. Bridges and buildings glow from the marbled sheen of the moon, its beam breathing life into everyone but you.

“Been out here long enough, don’t you think?”

You startle at the voice, its honey smooth rumble shattering the little bubble you’d built around yourself. Azriel stands there in the doorway, unceremoniously leaned against its framing with arms crossed and a brow raised. “I’m not finished.” The words seem to snap you back into reality, limbs a little shaky from the recoil that takes place when a tethered soul hastily returns back to its meat suit.

You close up like a clam, all but throwing your paintbrush into the water dish and body blocking the entirety of your canvas.

Surely he notices the change in body language, he’s kind enough not to mention it. Wings shuffle in a touch closer to his form, subconsciously retaining heat from the bitter chill in a motion so natural you can’t help but be reminded of how many centuries he’d endured in such weather. “Maybe so, but it’s cold out and you don’t even have a coat.”

He’s not wrong and at the mention of it, you finally seem to notice the goosebumps dotting your flesh. Bare arms and exposed ankles, feet with no shoes and fabric too flimsy to properly stave off the effects of such elements. “Guess I was just too focused to even notice.” Maybe it’s the calm way he just lingers there that allows your body to unfurl from its tense stance, shoulders drooping and spine less rigid as you ease back down in your seat. “I’ll make some tea when I’m done.”

He moves like smoke, inaudibly despite his massive physique but his presence is unmistakable. It forces the hairs on the back of your neck to raise at attention, encourages your heart-rate to rise and you struggle to decipher if the feeling that emerges is fear or attraction. “Stay out here as you are much longer and you’ll become a permanent fixture.”

Every move he makes is done with such intention, shadows slyly distracting you when playfully nudging at the edge of your paint palate. They steal your attention—forcing you to lurch forward to prevent the array of colors from falling—long enough for Azriel to conjure up a sweater, one soft and warm and distinctly his.

The action is done so naturally it robs you of words, eyes widening in surprise while confusion scrunches up your features. Your brain scrambles for a feasible explanation, subconsciously stretching your arms into the thick cashmere sleeves until you’re moving on autopilot and shoving it over your head.

A content smile ghosts overs the corner of his mouth. “I had a feeling you were good,” Azriel confesses softly, directing the conversation with too much ease and there’s no time to feel out of place when he’s nudging you aside, putting you exactly where he pleases to take in the painting in its entirety. “But, this is remarkable.”

Every inch of you screams to reject this, to pack up your supplies and scurry off in search for solitude because the longer Az’s stare lingers on the softly blended shades of rich dandelion and warm ochre; admiring the gentle shine from metallic golds, it feels like he’s reading straight from the most intimate pages of your journals. Flipping through private confessions, evaluating personal entries and reading them aloud to a crowd of observers for judgement.

Two fingers trail the line of your collarbone until the cool chill of metal can be felt against your fingertips, nails tracing the contours of the key dangling from your neck. The action is repeated once, twice, a third times before the anxiety of anyone going through your things finally disperses.

Arms cross over your chest, words distant and clipped in attempts to create space. It doesn’t help, cloaked in his clothes, the only thing your brain can seem to focus on is the fact that last time you and Azriel had been alone—he’d almost kissed you. “It’s incomplete.”

Azriel hums, a low sound; not agreeing or disagreeing but still acknowledging. “What do you do with them when they’re done then? Can’t imagine you’d be the type to hang them up.”

Music plays from within the city, delicate strings and soulful drums. Even from where you stand you can see the faes and faeries dancing idly along the cobblestone. They saunter out of cafés and shops, stumble out of bars and clubs. This moment in time forever frozen on canvas, your eyes flicker back and forth—so close and yet still something is missing. “I throw them away.”

“What? Why?”

A jerky shrug is your only reply, trying to see whatever he could within the brushstrokes but all you find are flaws. Lines where your hands had been shaky, shading that no longer matches as the muse constantly shifts.

“There must be a reason?” He prods. “No point in spending so much money on supplies just to toss what you make with them like trash.”

“Not sure why you care—it’s not your money being wasted.”

You expect something like irritation to grace Azriel’s features but all you can find is amusement. He doesn’t bristle at the thorns you prick him with, only chuckles at the blood you draw. Not deterred in the slightest by your bite, he continues to poke and prod at your restraint; all but scruffing you like an unruly cat until all the fight has been wrung out. “Suppose not, it’s just very telling.”

Eyes roll so hard you can feel the strain. “Don’t tell me we’re doing this again? I’m not particularly interested in another round of your evaluations.”

“It’s not my fault you’re so easy to read.”

“Sure,” you shrug, fingers digging into soft cashmere. “But, it’s definitely a you issue when it comes to being so fucking nosy.”

A beat of time passes. A scream sounding from within the city; this playful, jubilant noise that feels like a blade being sliced through your sternum. Cutting through bone and embedding itself in squishy soft tissues until iron eviscerates whatever’s left of your neglected heart.

“Is it really such a crime to care about you?”

Azriel watches every inch of you go still. Can see the exact moment your defenses go up—those walls you keep, growing taller and taller. It’s reinforcements suiting up and taking their post with weapons readied; waiting for the word to attack. “It is if I can’t figure out what you want in return.”

He sighs, breath shuddering from his lungs as though the answer physically pains him. “I just want you to be happy.” Bare palms wipe at the thighs of your dress, wet paint smearing against pale material but you don’t seem to mind in the slightest.

It’s not exactly concerning but Azriel finds it very telling, acknowledging your lack of concern for material items. No personal affects to hold you down. The way you wander around so detached from reality as if you were a ghost existing around mortals.

Cracks fissure along the brick wall of a barricade you’ve placed up. The foundations wavering. Gates crumbling under the pressure of his eyes boring into the side of your face as if he could see the destruction within. “They never really feel good enough to keep.”You finally confess, voice softer than Az had ever heard it before. “Like something about them is missing.”

He keeps staring at it, scanning and scanning the shapes formed in wet paint. One finger hovers over a spot near the corner, a small slice of the balcony from your point of view. A perfect replica of the iron railings, flourishing flora, even the quaint little seating arrangement. “You. It’s missing you.”

[flokali]

I just want to touch zhonglis horns or tail. Like they are so pretty

a/n: me too anon, me too ><

I love the image of a relaxed Zhongli who, after much coaxing from your part, allows a small pair of horns to adorn the top of his head. Well, it’s less that it’s small and more so that he’s big enough that almost anything that isn’t comically large looks small near him.

They look similar to Azhdaha’s horns in colour, earthy tones that make them look like Geo formations sitting atop their heads. However, Zhongli’s look just a tad bit neater, as if a gifted craftsman had taken the time to carve and polish them — which, may be possible considering how particular the former archon has become in regards to his appearance ever since your arrival.

His horns blend in their base with his hair, a dark brown colour that fades into a colour that looks akin to polished Cor Lapis. They sit comfortably atop his hair, curling upwards until the very tip where they finally look down. Long, thick vein-like carvings decorate them, their pattern looking much like the ones found in his pillars.

Whenever he uses his Geo element, which he rarely does whenever he allows himself to show his more draconian features, said carvings are filled up with elemental energy that glows a golden colour, instances in which they look much like rivers of gold flowing through him.

They’d probably be cold, at least whenever he’s not using any elemental energy, in which case they seemingly hum a soft warmth. But it never burns hot or freezingly cold, on the instances where you glide the pad of your finger through the, surprisingly, smooth surface it feels pleasant. Like an ointment that leaves your skin tingling, they seemingly buzz with energy native to Teyvat.

I also like to think that, when allowing more… draconic features of his to shine, Zhongli’s arms look similar to his Rex Lapis days. Back then, his arms were deep in colour with golden markings glowing - much like his horns, I’d think. Unlike before, the colour doesn’t seep into his neck, instead neatly ending near his shoulders and fading back into his human form’s flesh. But it’s just as striking, they almost look like gloves, but when you touch them they still feel like skin — the golden etchings in them, however, would probably feel more calloused, like scar tissue. In these instances, his arms run cold, much like stone. It’s only near the golden tissue that a semblance of warmth is found. During particularly hot summer days, they work wonders in keeping the heat away.

A tail… for some reason, I feel like he’d be extremely hesitant in showing it off. Only during private hours with you, where he’ll be absolutely certain no one other than yourself will see, will he show you. When he does, you notice how slim it is — only growing in size by the end, where it resembles a cloud. It’s essentially the same tail he possesses as Morax, where the end is filled with explosive colours that make it look like pure Geo energy materialising into the air.

Like any dragon, his tail is made out of scales - however his are surprisingly smooth, they blend into each other creating the illusion of there being no scales at all. They’re still sturdy, however, you’re pretty sure no weapon in existence could cut through them. His tail’s end… I think it’d be fur, long hairs combed into their position mimicking the clouds above Liyue Harbor during sunsets, unlike the rest of his body, I think it’d be surprisingly soft and, forgive my blasphemy, fluffy.

In these instances where he allows himself to be more vulnerable, showing bits and pieces of his most prominent and powerful forms, he grows to love your affection.

He loves it just as much when you comb his long, silken hair as when you detangle his tail. The feeling of your nails tracing the hundreds of scales that protect his tail make a shiver run down his spine, one that pleasures him as much as takes him by surprise every time.

Zhongli is rather secretive about his previous roles in life, which means that he has to trust you quite a lot to willingly expose traits of his that once belonged to the lives he once lived, which is why he’s so keen on keeping these attributes of his known only to the two of you.

If he so much as senses anybody coming near the room, his horns and tail quickly disappear - much to your disappointment. If anybody, much less someone like Venti, where to catch even so much as a glimpse of his more draconian features, you might need to physically restrain him lest he send them home with multiple injuries. It comes to a point where he mostly only cares about keeping a secret only between you and himself, rather than keeping his identity secret.

It’s why he treasures the soft moments where you lay in bed together, his head resting against your chest as you softly rub his horns with gentle motions. His ears are sharp, the beating of your heart is loud and clear to Zhongli, but it’s not bothersome at all — instead, it’s soothing to him, like the sound of soft rain against a window would be to some or waves softly crashing down into the sand. You’re too sleepy to notice, the warmth radiating from the man on top of you was simply too comfortable for you to resist the temptation of slumber, the soft purring that rumbled from his chest.

That was yet another feature of his you’d soon familiarise yourself with though, he still wanted to keep a few cards up his sleeve in case he felt you were drifting too far away from his embrace.

[marthawrites]

first of all choose to ignore this if you're not up to it but i would LOVE some aemond x reader tiddies sucking/worship with a whole pussy eating and pussy fucking.. dirty talk always appreciated btw!! AGAIN feel free to ignore im just an aemond and tiddies sucking sucker <3

Hello sweet anon! Are you still with me? I hope you are ♥ I apologize for making you wait since July for this request. If you are still around, I sincerely hope this fic does the trick - mwah!

Morning Lovebites Lead To Sweet Dreams

Aemond Targaryen x wife reader

Word count: 2.9k+

About: You and Aemond share a morning bath and the lingering sensations last with you all day. When he returns to your marriage chambers later than usual, you're sad you might sleep through his return. Once in for the night, however, he makes up for it.

Includes: It's in the request! This is all smut. Featuring breast play, nipple play, biting, hickies, unprotected vaginal sex, minor pain play, reader receiving oral sex, sweet talking, some dirty talking, possessiveness, and minor breeding kink

Note: Hello lovely reader! While this fic has elements of breast worship, there is no descriptions to breast size. That is entirely up to you! All tiddies are good tiddies in this house! Reader is implied to come from a noble House but is unspecified. As always, reader is non-descript. Please, enjoy!

“Every woman is the image of their mother and to be spoken of with reverence,” Aemond’s voice rasped into the smooth skin of your neck as he gathered your hair into his gentle grasp, moving it over one shoulder to expose the full length of your bare neck and shoulder to him. He trailed the tip of his nose over your delicate skin as if he could smell the very blood that pumped through your veins. Goosebumps rose on your skin and he smiled silently at the sight. “Mm… my lovely wife. So sweet and still so sensitive for her husband’s touch,” he murmured again, both his hands feeling up the front of your slippery body. “Every day the urge to thank your mother for making you grows greater,” he said as he gently squeezed your breasts, their softness and warmth already making his cock swell against the small of your back. 

Despite the many turns of moon you’d been married, the temperature of his baths still made you hiss upon entering. Yet, you gasped softly at the sensation of his hands. He was warm; always so warm. Your skin bloomed with the tub's heat, and the humidity of it caused little curls to form in the fine hairs of your hairline. “You’ve thanked my mother and father for my hand many times, husband,” you answered sweetly. “So much so that they cannot believe I’m not carrying your child yet,” you added just as sweet, leaning back against him to further press your breasts into his palms.

He peppered kisses – open mouthed and nipping – over your neck, looking down the front of your body. He loved your breasts from every angle, but there was something extra delicious about seeing them from this angle. He pinched your pebbled nipples gently and rolled them between his fingers. “It’s not from lack of excitement or trying,” he said, smirking.

“A-ah! Aemond..! You make them sore when you do that,” you half whimpered, feeling an entirely different type of heat begin to pool between your thighs.

He tugged your nipples forward until they snapped out of his grasp, reveling the way your soft flesh rippled with the motion. “Then I shall kiss them all better.” He pinched them again, firmer this time, and rolled them anew.

You choked out a little sound and giggled. Reaching around your back, you grasped his now fully hardened length and slowly pumped along it. He exhaled the loveliest noise and you gripped him firmer. Stroking him, you turned your head to look back at him with half-lidded eyes. “I need you, husband, before our day’s duties begin.”

He caught your lips in a searing kiss and licked into your mouth with lustful hunger. His cock twitched when you moaned in response, returning his kiss with just as much fervor. Wasting no more time he gripped your waist and helped turn you around so you were facing each other. He looked up at you – the intense hue of his natural eye and his darkly beautiful sapphire stone – while gripping firmly onto the swells of your chest. “Ride me, wife. Show me how much you need your husband’s cock.”

With a shift of your hips you sunk down his length, your walls stretching wonderfully around him, until there was no more of him to take. You ground on him, bounced on him, and did it all again, until water sloshed out messily from the tub and the room filled with sounds of your shared pleasure.

All the while Aemond never gave your breasts rest. He laid his face between them, kissed them, suckled them, squeezed and pinched them. New lovebites decorated your tender flesh – pinks and purples and fading bitemarks – which he made sure to tenderly coat in oils before your ladies appeared to help you dress.

When all was said and done you both had little curls along your hairline. You kept yours with pride, whereas Aemond took extra time to smooth them out.

-

The day’s duties seemed as if they'd never end. All you wanted was your husband. If you had it your way you would say fuck his duties, fuck your duties, and laze about all day in bed with your dragon prince: eating cake, perfectly ripened fruit, and drinking sweet Arbor wine. All those little lovebites he left behind burned pleasantly reminding you of your shared bath. Warmth filled your lower belly as you became lost in those daydreamy memories. The rest of the day went by in a carnal haze.

Night had fallen and Aemond still hadn’t returned. 

What on earth was he up to?

Unsure of the night’s plans, you finally dismissed your last servant after they stoked the fire and added more wood to it. You sat in front of your vanity, now, slowly brushing braids out of your hair. You removed jewelry piece by piece and placed them in your jewelry box. As far back as you could remember you had a taste for shiny and pretty things. Even as a young girl you loved receiving a new necklace, or bracelet, or earrings instead of toys or other things for nameday gifts. As you grew older those tastes never wavered. After marrying Aemond he made sure to adorn you in the finest things. Pearls, emeralds, rubies. But, his favorite were sapphires. They become one of your favorites, too. 

It was quiet except for the fire’s crackle and with each passing minute you found yourself growing more drowsy. Just when you thought you might doze off while reading in bed, the heavy wooden door of your marriage chamber opened. “Husband! I thought I might not get to see you before sleep overcame me,” you said a little tiredly, whole face bright upon watching him close and latch the door. “I’ve missed you terribly.” Once you caught sight of his expression, however, your brows furrowed in worry. “What’s the matter?”

He sighed a long sigh, beginning to remove his clothing. “I had heard of Aegon and his growing… depravities, but I hadn’t expected them to be so… shameful. He disgraces our family name by what he does in the underbellies of Flea Bottom.”

You gulped. “What did you discover?”

Aemond shook his head while stepping out of his boots. “Nothing you need to fret about tonight.”

“I am Targaryen now too, and I wish to know what is happening,” you retorted.

“Not now. You say you missed me terribly? Well, I assure you I missed you more,” he said, walking in long easy strides to you on bare feet. He’d removed everything except his pants which were unlaced in the front. The casualness of it had your belly stirring, and the sight of his long, lean body flexing toward you had your thighs pressing together. “I didn’t have enough of you this morning…,” he rumbled against your mouth as he shadowed above you, gently pushing you onto your back once more. He laid on his side beside you, kissing you mouth again and again until your little tongue slid against his mouth. He groaned, deepening the affection, while his hand pushed up your thigh, tugging your shift up with him as he went.

“More? I’m not so sure about that,” you giggled, nipping at his lips. “Every little mark you left on me has been aching all day. A good ache. I’ve been needy for you all day, husband,” you purred, hooking one of your legs over his waist in an attempt to pull him closer into you.

He groaned somewhere deep in his chest and rolled atop you effortlessly, pinning one of your hands above you head as he loomed above you. The silver of his silky hair glowed with highlights of orange from the fire and candles in your room. His eye bore into your own, blazing, as a smirk etched itself across his angular features. “My good little wife has been aching and wet for me all day? My, my, darling…,” he crooned, kissing your jaw, neck, and throat. 

“You’re torturing me,” you said, desire flaring wildly in your core.

His free hand pushed your shift higher; thighs, smallclothes, belly, breasts, all revealing themselves to him. “Lean up and take this off,” he half growled. You did as you were told and in a flurry of motion he tossed it off the edge of the bed. “Your skin is loveliest covered in my marks,” he mused aloud as he tilted his head, inspecting the fullness of the front of your body. “My perfect girl.” His hand pushed up the front of you, splaying wide as to touch all of you that he could, fingertips grazing over your bitten and sucked flesh. He pressed down on those lovebites. Testing the bruises; testing you.

“Ah-h!” You gasped, squirming beneath him. “Not so hard!” You whined with pleading eyes.

A satisfied sound rumbled up from his chest. “So they are tender…,” he whispered, grinning, as he continued to gently push down into each bruise. “My poor girl,” he said, dipping his head low to kiss over each mark, now, making sure to pay extra attention to your pebbled nipples when he passed over them. “I had to make sure you were telling the truth. So far, half of what you said is true. As for the other…,” he mumbled around mouthfuls of your titflesh, greedy lips unable to leave your pretty nipples for long.

The pleasure of his mouth soon made you forget about the pain of his touch, but it was that pain that made your pleasure all the sweeter. You arched beneath him, free hand sliding down to card through his silken hair. “I think your wetnurse half starved you as a babe for how much you latch onto me,” you teased, sighing in bliss as he drew your nipples into his mouth, suckling and working his tongue over them.

“Must have,” he smirked, the stiffened peak of your nipple glossy with his saliva. Finally letting go of your wrist, both his hands lowered to untie the ribbons around your waist so he could tug your smallclothes down with no restraint. He did, and then he gently parted your legs. Between your thighs your sweet little cunt glistened with arousal. He couldn’t tell if his cock swelled to impossible hardness first, or, if his mouth watered first. “Look… at… you…,” he said slowly, possessive eye feasting on the sight of your bared cunny. 

“Aemond…,” you whined as blood rushed to warm your cheeks – the intensity of his gaze made you uncharacteristically self-conscious.

“You are lucky, my dear. Lying to your prince comes with severe punishment. You, by the grace of the Seven, have told the truth,” he said as he lowered to lay on his belly between your legs. He lifted one to gently hook over his shoulder and held the other down, keeping you nice and spread out beneath him. “If you were indeed sleeping when I returned tonight, I intended to wake you in this same manner,” he said as he looked up at you, the outside of his seeing eye crinkling with mischief. 

The warmth in your cheeks spread up to your ears, but before you could say anything in reply your husband dragged his tongue up through your eager folds. You moaned softly at the heat of his mouth, and he moaned at the taste that coated his tongue. He could never have enough of you: he told you often. “Gods- Aem-,” you whispered through shuddered breath.

It was impossible to say if you enjoyed this more, or if he did.

By now Aemond knew what you liked, how you liked it, and knew when to increase or ease his pressure on you. He learned wickedly fast – faster than you discovered your own pleasure some of the time – and strove for perfection, always wanting to be better than those around him. He licked, and lapped, and sucked, losing himself in the unique taste and texture of you. “You'd like to be woken up like this, wouldn't you?” He asked, slowly kissing and licking over your bud as to not push you too far too fast.

The thought alone made you squirm against him; cunny seeking to grind against the plushness of his mouth. “Y..yes,” you answered quietly.

“Mmm… I knew you would. I will have to try it one day. Licking and stroking this sweet cunt just enough to not wake you.”

You clenched at the idea knowing he meant it. “My cruel prince…”

He laughed lowly before delving into you again, tongue disappearing into your clenching center. Even around that little muscle you were tight. You always fit around him so perfectly. The sounds he made between your thighs were lewd. Dirty. Any other time or place you'd feel filthy. But with it being Aemond, the lasciviousness of it nudged you to the edge of your pleasure. One of his hands pushed up the front of your body and he palmed over a breast, squeezing the mound inside his palm. A finger of the other pressed into your soaking core while he lavished your clit with tongue and lip alike.

“I'm gonna– ‘m gonna..,” you moaned, whimpering as you rolled and ground your pelvis in time with all of his motions, seeking out more and more even though he was already giving you everything he knew you needed. Both hands flung down to his head and you shamelessly held him right there, fingers flexing and tugging at his hair. 

Aemond moaned against you. Early in your marriage you discovered his scalp was exceedingly sensitive and you loved using it to your advantage; whether he purred, or moaned, or whimpered.

“Let go, sweet wife. Give me your pleasure,” he mumbled against you, suckling gently on your pearl while working two fingers in and out of you, rubbing that small hidden patch of nerves with perfect precision. He squeezed your breast harder, pinching at your nipple, and the combination of everything became too much. You came undone against him. Orgasm washed over you in waves that left you weightless; the sounds of your release sent your husband rutting against the mattress.

“So good.. fuck that all felt so good,” you babbled down at him; heavy eyes darkened by lust and sparkling in adoration. 

Your praise sent Aemond's desire blazing to an inferno and he didn't even let you catch your breath before he kicked out of his pants and lined his cock up with you. “Such a needy greedy girl. Wet all day… humping my face like a bitch in heat… begging to be stuffed full by her husband again,” he growled lowly, pushing the underside of your leg up so it squished against your chest. “And all of that for me,” he said firmly, darkly, grinning down at you like a hawk swooping a bunny. With a flex of his slim, lean hips, he pushed into you.

You gasped, squeezing at his strong arms as he plunged into you. His name rolled off your tongue in yet another stuttering moan, eyelids fluttering with the force of his intrusion. You nodded wordlessly, looking up at him with desperate eyes.

“Mine… all fucking mine,” he said in that same tone, punctuating his words with long, firm thrusts. “My perfect wife. My wet cunt. Mine to fill, and use, and fill again.”

The force of his thrusts sent your tits bouncing. You cried out in bliss, your first orgasm making your body extra sensitive to his slamming hips. He drove home again, and again, and again, his balls slapping against you with every plunge. “Yes.. yes.. yes,” you babbled.

“So lovely like this. So beautiful when I fuck you. If only you could see yourself all dazed out on my cock,” his angle and pace changed and now he bullied that inner patch of nerves with each forward push and outward pull.

You wrapped your legs around his slender waist and pulled him deeper into you. “Right there,” you panted, nodding, sheened with sweat and glowing with delight. 

Both his hands squeezed and held onto your breasts, fucking you just as you asked him to. “Come with me. I want your cunny sucking my seed all the way to your pretty little womb,” he muttered, clearly holding himself back as long as he could.

That's all it took for you to find peak. Euphoria washed over you in glorious waves of ecstasy, making your body shudder and tremble around him. Your walls flexed and convulsed around his twitching cock in a visceral plea to finish deep inside.

Aemond didn't stand a chance. He groaned out your name and filled you passed the brim. Slowly his seed oozed out from around the base of his length while he kept it buried inside you, heavy drips of your combined essence sliding down the swell of your ass. You panted together, foreheads pressed together, and only began to pull apart once pleasure spent its course in both your bodies.

“You are the most enchanting thing,” Aemond whispered to you with a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Hold me as I sleep?” You asked with heavy eyes, already feeling tiredness creep over your senses.

He smiled, the expression intimately sweet, as he moved to lay on his side beside you. “Of course,” he answered, pulling you flush against him. With another quiet smirk he lifted your leg to rest over his waist and lowered a hand between your bodies. Carefully, he slipped two fingers into you. “Shh…,” he hushed when you made a noise of discomfort. “Only to keep my seed where it belongs.”

You blushed but didn't say, or do, anything in protest. “Sweet dreams, my prince.”

“Sleep well, my lady.”

-

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

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Masterlist

Main Taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @aemondtarqaryens @chompchompluke @fan-goddess @schniiipsel

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[wedreamedlove]

Special Exhibition Guide | L. O. V. E. Coranso Special Exhibition

Welcome to the “City of Heaven” and step into a thought-provoking exhibition: wrath, gluttony, pride, greed, envy… The concealed “original sins” are made public here, and the deeply hidden love of life can also be seen at a glance.

Now, let us follow the introductions of the specially invited tour guide—Professor Wang Jiehong of the School of Arts at Wuhan University, and step into these intriguing original realms and begin a unique visual feast.

WRATH

Wrath, an intense and almost uncontrollable emotional state.

Blood splatter turns into streamers and out-of-control bullets are suspended in the air. A bloody, cruel, and violent scene created by wrath, through artistic processing, has been transformed into a beautiful and impactful visual presentation, providing the audience with a unique aesthetic experience and room for thought about the “aesthetics of violence”. Guns and bullets, elements that carry violence, blend with formal attire and streamers, elements that carry decorative meanings.

“Wrath” is often seen as a negative emotion, generally accompanied by extreme conflicts and destruction. When we try to go beyond this intuitive understanding, we abstractify “wrath” and transform it into a visual and emotional resonance. This is not a romanticization of “wrath” but rather a reinterpretation of this complicated emotion. Just like how Osborn’s love and commitment to you is engraved in the depths of his wrathful and burning soul.

Thank you for your visit, and we hope you can enjoy a fiery and complex sensory feast that transcends life and death in “Scorching Fantasies”.

AESTHETICS OF VIOLENCE

“Violence” is rooted in human nature, especially the natural state that is opposite to human sociality. Under the discipline of civilized society, violence is often stigmatized as “barbarism” or “demonism”, but in art it may be presented as a kind of affectation, exaggeration, or visual form and aesthetic style of “turning ugliness into beauty”. The term “aesthetics of violence” mainly refers to the formalized artistic treatment of violent scenes, aiming to pursue a unique visual charm and aesthetic pleasure. Its core lies in transforming elements such as violence and blood into a pure visual experience and to highlight formal beauty through carefully designed scenes of gunfights, fighting, killing, etc., so as to achieve a dazzling and extreme visual effect.

GLUTTONY

Gluttony, a deviation from reason and piety and a short-term indulgence under the domination of desire.

A grotesque and variegated indulgence arouses a deeper and insatiable hunger—for food, and for a deeper desire. The “human body” crystals made of flesh and blood gleam with temptation in the dark and the plates are no longer filled with food. The limitations of traditional narrative and expression techniques are broken, creating a unique visual experience with postmodern aesthetic characteristics for the audience.

“Gluttony” is often understood as an excessive desire for food but, in essence, it’s an unrestrained indulgence of desire. Food is to the hungry as blood is to the Blood Clan and as your love is to Evan. Try to extend the literal meaning of “gluttony” to the realest and most basic desire. His craving for your love will never tire.

Thank you for your visit, and we hope you can enjoy a gluttonous banquet in “The Rules of Yesterday” where reason is banished and desire is served as food on a plate.

POSTMODERNISM

“Postmodernism” is a mainstream thought and culture that emerged in the United States after World War II and then spread to the world, and which is still popular today. Postmodernism originates from post-modernism and anti-modernism, with its prominent feature being “anti-traditionalism”. It emphasizes the deconstruction of traditional aesthetic concepts (such as unity, depth, and grand narrative) and focuses on pluralism, fragmentation, and superficiality. Postmodernism rejects absolute truth and grand narratives and advocates the use of collages, parody, and hybrid forms to display multiple aspects of culture, society, and personal experience. Combining the elites with the masses, high art with popular culture, and history with contemporary elements, postmodernism attempts to break the boundary between art and everyday life.

PRIDE

Pride, an arrogant sight like a sharp blade slices open the curtain of ordinary daily life.

Unconventional “intruders” swagger into this originally peaceful life, like the opening of an absurd farce. Furry monsters that would never appear in reality have broken into the most ordinary fashion office. Through the use of surrealist elements, the boundary between reality and fantasy is broken at this moment and the transformation of space is now complete.

This depiction of “pride” is not straightforward. The protagonist of the scene takes the center in an unquestionable manner, displaying “pride” with his posture, eyes, and presence itself. “Pride” is often interpreted as “arrogance and contempt for others” but it can also be self-affirmation and self-confidence. It is not a derogatory term, but rather a manifestation of inner strength. Don’t run away. Run towards him warmly, furrily, and with unbelievable yet incredible power. Just like the little monsters invading the office.

Thank you for your visit, and we hope you can appreciate an extraordinary feast dominated by pride and full of impact and shock in “Overturning the Noise”.

SURREALISM

“Surrealism” originated in France in the early 20th century and gradually spread to the world, affecting literature, painting, drama, movies, and other fields. Surrealism is guided by Freud’s psychoanalytic theory, and its creations have classic characteristics such as “exceeding reality”, “dreamlike narratives”, and “stream of consciousness”. These works often feature illogical combinations of objects and unreal effects that are beyond reality. Not only do they break the logic and conventions of reality, but they also create a dreamlike and unreasonable visual effect, triggering imagination and thought.

GREED

Greed, gather the longing gazes and project it into a vortex of desire.

A “good show” performed by the planner himself raises its curtains here. The pomegranate heart, which has been pecked to the point of dripping with blood, and the eagle statue, gilded like bloodstains, together form the footnote of the myth in the form of a symbolic metaphor. The bound “Prometheus” returns to the mortal world in flesh and blood and interprets a new story about “greed”.

The protagonist of the story not only expresses greed, but he also carries your greed. It even becomes the concrete manifestation of a pure and primitive desire—namely the essence of greed. Look at Charlie, face him, and face your “greed” caused by him. No need to criticize, let us face it, and face this part of human nature.

Thank you for the visit, and we hope you can enjoy a tireless and endless feast created by greed in “Insatiable Tide”.

SYMBOLS AND METAPHORS

Symbols and metaphors are important methods and means of artistic creation. They express abstract concepts through concrete images, which not only deepen themes but also enhance emotional resonances, and they also enrich the interpretation space of a work through ambiguity and openness. They give an artwork greater cultural influence and universality, while also transcending the limitations of language and regions in cultural exchange, and allow a work to present deeper ideological connotations and emotional appeal.

ENVY

Envy, a hidden and corrosive undercurrent of emotion, quietly surging in the depths of the soul.

Resplendent lights, a magnificent stage set, and gorgeous curtains, a grand play is about to begin. The reference and tribute to the classic Broadway stage design has set the dramatic tone for this “performance”. Illusory reflections sway in front of the eyes and puppets stretch out their hands to the stage, like a bizarre dream full of absurdity.

Thousands of incarnations of his inner “him” are envious of “him” only because “you” choose to stand beside “him”. The interpretation of “envy” in this scene, turning it into a resonance of visual and emotional intertwinement, is a deep analysis of this complex emotion. Is it a weakness of human nature, a “sin” committed, or another expression of love?

Thank you for your visit, we hope you enjoy this confusing and profound drama feast ignited by envy in “Echo of Souls’ Desires”.

VISUAL INTERTEXTUALITY

“Intertextuality”, also known as “relationship between texts”, means that a text is not self-sufficient and must have other texts existing in various recognizable forms at different degrees. Its meaning can only be generated through mutual reference or cross-referencing other texts. The “reference” and “tribute” of a visual text are all manifestations of intertextuality. It enriches its own connotation and meaning by drawing upon and referencing other visual forms (such as the classic Broadway stage). This practice not only refers to drawing upon and imitating elements, composition, or overall styles of classic works, but also reinterpreting and innovatively using classic elements in creation to pay tribute to the original work or creator, including ridicule or even criticism.

[anonymousreader4d7]

Hermit-A-Day May - Day 6: MumboJumbo

Day 6 is Mumbo, and one of the most complicated designs yet...

RMAU-Verse Mumbo is a Shiftwalker - a type of Shapeshifter that shifts form via, well, eating what they want to shift into. The frequency of how often they have to eat something from whatever form they're trying to keep depends on the Shiftwalker and the situation. Shiftwalkers are generally featureless except for two things - their distinguishing feature (the Mustache, in Mumbo's case) and their pelt. The pelt of a Shiftwalker is a magical thing, and part of what allows them to shift. With the first of each species of creature or other thing they eat (with intentions to shift), an identifying feature of that creature grows into/from their pelt, including the base of their pelt Examples for Mumbo's pelt include his base which is a tasmanian devil's chest fur (at the collar), chicken feathers, human flesh, carrot sprouts, a wolf tail, a fox tail, zombie flesh (not visible from this view), potato sprouts/eyes, enderman flesh, cow hide/tail, pig hide/tail, and Watcher feathers/Void/Eyes... (<- *pointing* Lore hints!!!) Their pelts are also a lot like Selkie pelts, in that they CAN be removed. However, unlike Selkies, in doing so, it simply affects how ACCURATE their shift is rather than making them unable to shift...

(also yes he does not have eyes, but no he isn't blind, he CAN see - don't ask me for sure how though, I don't know yet...)

But anyways!!! I've been trying to figure out my Trueform Mumbo design for as long as the Grian one (aka 3 years, sheesh...) so I'm really pleased that I finally got him done, even if it was literally tonight, lol! I actually ended up with some unexpected design elements that I'm actually super ford of - particularly the braided leg feathering, along with the tail and the... not-skirt-poncho-thingy lol. I was struggling with getting his feet right, when I came across an image on Pinterest (that I'll add below a cut) of a draft horse's legs with their feathering braided, and I went "Oh. Oh that's gorgeous and perfect!" And so I added it, and it finally made his feet look right!!! And that vibe led into the vibe for the waist-covering (as I've been calling it) being vaguely cowboy inspired... As for the tail... I hadn't originally planned on giving him a tail, but I saw a fantasy horse drawing while on Pinterest (also added below the cut) with that style tail, alongside several unicorn drawings with it, and, well, I was sold, XD. But all in all, I'm REALLY pleased with how he turned out!!! There's a lot of little details, and I think they all come together pretty well!!!

Oh, and one last fun fact! If Grian finds him sleeping in his trueform, he absolutely decides to have some fun and draw a face on Mumbo's blank face... ;D

The reference images I mention above:

The braided leg feathering

The fantasy horse with the fancy tail... (I don't know who it's drawn by, I can't quite read the name in the image sorry......)

[thekingofwinterblog]

So just a bit of Rumiko's originally planned color scheme i have never seen anyone comment on.

Ryoga's entire assemble was originally supposed to be very glaring pink, whoch has several meaning in Japanese, as it's speciffically a very masculine color... But with a twist.

In Japanese, Pink is the color of Sakura, and in terms of masculinity, is used to symbolize Samurai who died before their time, in the prime of their lives.

Which you could easily connect to Ryoga's feelings that his life effectively came to a premature end at Jusenkyo.

Meanwhile, Shampoo's most notable different feature is that she was originally meant to have scarlet hair.

Now this is of course a reference to the fact that Shampoo, more than any of the other of Ranma's love interests represents war, fighting, ruthlessnes and martial arts.

In the context of Japan, it also is the color of authority, happiness and strength.

It is also meant to be a clear cut contrast to Lum, the Heroine of Rumiko's first hit series, from whom Rumiko took a lot of inspiration, but ultimately made her a mirror of, as defined by Shampoo's red, to Lum's generally green.

As for Ranma's design, while there is of course the more notable fact that Manga ranma always had black hair regardless of form, there is also the original color of Ranma's famous amrtial arts uniform, which rather than the familiar red and black/blue se all know and love, was instead a very distinct orangish yellow.

Rather than any symbolism, thia is instead a reference to one of Ranma's contemporaries/predessecors, Dragon ball, as Manga Goku's Kame Gi as shown on the cover above, is almost the exact same shade, much brighter than it's animated counterpart.

Overall, Rumiko just loved this color scheme in general, as a lot of art has ranma in orange duds.

Its even the main color on the final volumes of the series.

Similar to Shampoo, Ukyo also has an element of red that was dropped in the anime, in the form of her ribbon, the trim of her short, but also her lipstick and Eyeliner.

It also symbolizes strength, power and war... But in a much more subdued manner, as while Ukyo is just as monstrously strong as Shampoo(With word of god estimating her raw, brute strength on the level of Ryoga, though lacking his monstrous durability), she lacks Shampoo's comfortable with violence, nudity and such, with her loss against Ranma in large part due to feelings of personal emberassment at her own nudity that Shampoo has never shown.

She also in general just lacls Shampoo's comfortable with true, murderous violence as the go to answer to her problems.

Hence while it was meant to be a defining color on Shampoo, on Ukyo it was meant to be a very small yet noticable aspect of her coloring.

It is also the color of sacrifice, and more than anyone of Ranma's finacee's, Ukyo is willing to change herself if it means winning Ranma's heart.

Later down the line, this red color would also link her to her introduced at the last minute love interest Konatsu, who wore red in general.

Also, speaking of character who never got the animated treatment in the original series, Ryo Kumon stands out as not only was he given a color scheme by Rumiko, but his color scheme was speciffically influenced by the Animated color scheme of Nodoka as having purple hair, in order to contrast him with Ranma as looking far more similar to Nodoka than her flesh and blood son.

Its an interesting choice as manga Nodoka had black hair, which meant Rumiko specifficaly chose this color design to make the similarity between him and Nodoka much more obvious for when the arc was adapted for the screen(Which didn't end up happening in the first anime).

[thelampisaflashlight]

Thinkin' 'bout ghoul teeth. Let's go.

-Aether has some serious chompers. His teeth are designed to crush and crack bone, but since he doesn't do a lot of that on the surface, he mostly gnaws on sticks or, well... bones.

The ghouls need their enrichment toys, and in Aeth's case, he needs something to wear down those saw blades of his.

If he doesn't blunt his teeth, his canines grow out of control and he winds up with little tusks, which isn't really an issue aesthetically, but it can make his mouth feel crowded and impede his ability to speak.

Also, it hurts, so... Yeah.

-Dew's teeth are the closest to human teeth than the other ghouls', which is largely because fire ghouls tend to be closer in likeness to humans in general.

Something about their biology aligns more with humanity's quirks, it's what makes them such good servants to the lord below, so good at mimicking the inhabitants of the surface...

Anyway, Dew's teeth are ever so slightly sharper around the canines, but that's about it.

Even pure fire ghouls like Alpha or Ifrit have more "human smiles" about their features, so it's not exclusive to Dew.

Funnily enough, this has resulted in an odd habit among fire ghouls; Their bites don't really hurt, so they nip at each other a lot, and biting is a pretty common form of greeting amongst pack members.

Fire ghoul parents also tend to carry their kits around in a similar fashion to cats or dogs, so their teeth being blunt helps prevent harming their babies.

-Rain's teeth are serrated and sharp.

They're made to rip and tear, but also to trap and pin prey.

The edges dig into flesh indiscriminately and cannot be pulled free from without causing serious damage; The serrations run opposite the tip of his fans, so they hook into the skin when he bites.

These types of teeth are more common in the salt water variant of water ghouls, who spend most of their time in deep water and have to latch onto their prey and prevent it from floating/swimming away.

Usually, if Rain bites someone on he surface, that's his way of asserting dominance, because no one, absolutely no one, is stupid enough to pull free or struggle when he sinks his teeth into them.

-Mountain's teeth are rather long and sharp, and made to pierce.

For some reason, earth ghouls' teeth are designed to draw blood, and some speculate -mostly easily frightened siblings of sin- that this is partially where some of the legends of vampires come from, because they certainly do have an interest in blood.

Mountain usually doesn't show off his teeth, but it is known that, compared to other earth ghouls, his are a bit duller, if only because he's needed some corrective work done due to a couple of his fangs growing in a little crooked and making it hard for him to eat and drink properly.

-Cumulus' teeth are little, needlelike things and so sharp you wouldn't know she'd bit you until the pin pricks of blood showed up a moment later.

Air ghouls seem to carry a sort of venom within their bodies that can be transferred via bite, and it leaves the victim feeling light and floaty.

Cumulus tends to avoid biting people.

And lastly;

-Multi ghouls usually have the teeth of whichever element is their dominant one; Water wins over fire, fire wins over earth, etc...

However, as is the case with most -if not all- human/ghoul hybrids, Swiss has a full set of human teeth, and it is haunting.

There's no subtle sharpness to them, they're uncannily human simply because they are.

Swiss' smile, unlike the mimicry of fire ghouls, IS human.

[boundless-ut]

Let's Talk About Codee!

Codee is your partner who will join you as you adventure across the Lorian plane in Boundless: The Lost Scripts! He is a mysterious little boy with a connection to the strange scripts that have appeared across the land.

You'll get to know him and learn more about him in game, but I'd like to take a moment to discuss him as a character. Just like Boundless, and specifically Boundless: The Lost Scripts, Codee is a character that has seen significant changes throughout the years. Codee as a concept was created around the time that PRA became Boundless and was one of the first changes made to patch over the story gaps created by the separation of PRA from PR.

Those of you who have been around since the comic days / saw the posters in the secret room in SPR may remember the old title design:

If that didn't make it obvious enough, Scriptliss was supposed to be your partner in The Lost Scripts. TLS originated as an idea for a PR2.5, which aimed to introduce bosses and flesh out the story told in PR2. It eventually evolved into its own thing, becoming a story that still took place in between PR2 and SPR, but was something that had its own story instead of simply being a redo of an existing one. Thus, PRA:TLS was formed, which would have featured Point (the old protagonist) and Scriptliss adventuring through the 'Dreaming World', a mirror dimension to the 'Waking World' which was where PR2/SPR took place. You can read the unfinished comic to get an idea of how things were going to go.

I can discuss more about PRA:TLS's original storyline once Boundless: The Lost Scripts is more complete, but for now I'll have to hold off since it would be spoilers.

As the title suggests, though, even at this point, the story featured mysterious scripts scattered across the land which our heroes would journey to collect. As far as I can remember this was purely based on the 'script' part in Scriptliss's name, as he actually isn't associated with scripts or coding in PR canon (the mistakes are just magical crumpled paper balls after all...)

But, back to the point at hand, Codee. When the split occurred, suddenly, there was no partner! At this point, the framework of The Lost Script's storyline was established. There was a villain named Error and his henchmen using the scripts for their own nefarious goals. With the code element well established, I decided to lean into it and create a code based partner!

And thus, Viro was born! These are some of the very first drawings of the character that would eventually become Codee, all the way back in 2018. Originally named Viro (Virtual Hero) the name would almost immediately switch to Codee, which was a name being considered simultaneously.

(Yellow use to be the frightened color! Now it's the joyful one. The new frightened color is purple.)

The scarf and the color changing gimmick have been around from the very start, but as you can see, Codee has gone through quite a bit of development from his early days.

Just like with Page, I aimed to make his design more original but was still keeping to the same general elements of his design: A striped shirt, black pants, big scarf, and a tuft of hair. This is the design he had all the way back in the Unity phase of development, and the one that would have been known this entire time had tumblr not rejected the gif I planned to use for his reveal. Boundless would continue to develop, and it wouldn't be for another three years until his design would receive another major update.

(Look at the size of that noggin...)

In 2021, he achieved a critical development point: The Action Pajamas. I wanted to make him seem less like an ordinary (albeit color changing) boy and more like something that seemed otherworldly and out of place at first glance. He still kept his color changing gimmick, but it was planned that whenever he'd use his special powers, golden accents would appear on his clothes. I liked the blue and gold so much I ended up just making the gold bits a constant part of his design in the end.

(These were drawn on an ipad! I didn't realize I had the canvas rotated...which is why some of them are at an angle, whoops!)

Wanting to push his design further and make him something even more special, I wanted to make him cuter and give him a motif. Specifically, a bug motif! In case it wasn't clear yet, Codee's design is actually based on a firefly! This decision will hopefully make more sense once more details are revealed.

I played around with his proportions and his design, trying to give his action pajamas more of a space suit vibe along the way. After a bit more refinement, Codee ended up with the design you see today!

He's come far from his initial design, but at the same time, his original essence is still there, now fully reborn into something new and original the way the series has been as well.

Touching back upon his role in Boundless compared to the original partner role in PRA; despite filling the same role Codee is not meant to be nor is he written in the way I would have written Scriptliss for PRA (yes, I'd be willing to discuss my approach to Scriptliss's character as I remember it, but later!). His characterization as well as his relationship with Page is completely different than it would have been between Point and Scriptliss in the original draft of PRA. Codee is no Scriptliss, sure, but he is an original being that allowed me to create an even richer and more involved story not just for him but for Boundless as a whole. I can safely say Boundless far exceeds the story and world I could have ever created for PRA while working under the original series' limitations. Codee is dearly beloved by me, and I hope everyone will come to love him as well once you get to know him!

Thank you for reading this far, and as always, if you have comments or questions, the inbox is always open!

[squichymochi]

I wrote this piece around 2 AM today, and I’m still on the fence about it 😅. I might consider removing it later. Initially envisioned as a Soulmate Story featuring Vox and the Reader (Part 1 of 2 mayyyybe).

Warning: This story contains mentions of sexual intercourse, sexual parts, blood, curse words, and other typical elements found in Hazbin Hotel content. Reader discretion is advised.

Vox x Reader (Soulmates)

Word Count: 1.580

The world had always seemed cruel to Vox, a cosmic joke played at the expense of the naive. His life on Earth, even though marked by questionable choices, was shaped by a belief that the afterlife was nothing more than a farce.

And why should he care? According to the lore of soulmates, his was already dead.

Each person was born with a unique tattoo, a symbol of a destined other. But Vox's skin had been bare from birth, a silent testament to a soulmate lost before he even had the chance to dream. As it is said that the tattoo faded upon a soulmate's death, Vox grew up surrounded by whispers of pity and curiosity.

Did his soulmate die before he was born, was he one of the pity souls without a mate?

So when Vox awoke in Hell, transformed into a being more screen than flesh, the last thing on his mind was a faded fairytale. Furthermore it is said, that such a bond rarely survives the transformation from the living to the afterlife. He rose through the ranks, carving out his place as an overlord. He was one of the V’s, powerful, famous and deadly, a force to behold.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. During a heated moment with Valentino, something unexpected happened. The air was electric and Valentino leaned closer to Vox, his breath a mix of sweet venom and temptation. Some might say poison, for Vox it was sweet oblivion. Valentino purred sweet nothings while his hands were slowly sliding lower. The taller grabbed the corner of Vox frame and both dived into their bodily desires. Suddenly a searing pain erupted where his skin met the digital interface.

"What the hell!" Vox exclaimed, his voice a crackle of static as he forcefully shoved his partner away, the latter stumbling over his two feet, a look of surprise on his usually composed face which quickly turned into one of furry.

Vox face felt like it was burning from the inside out, an intense heat focused on the specific spot Valentino just touched. The other, recovering from the sudden push now wiped residue from his face, smearing it across his cheek"¿Qué mierda?" he growled looking at Vox his eyes turning into slits.

“The fuck did you do this time?!”, Vox growled his voice a mixture of pain and glitching sounds. He stumbled to the nearest reflective surface, his hands instinctively touching his face, expecting to find some kind of damage.

What the demon saw instead took his breath away. There, etched into the corner of his screen was a symbol glowing slightly blue against the digital backdrop of his own face. Vox's fingers traced the newly formed soulmate tattoo, his cool demeanor giving way to shock.

Dropping to his knees, Vox gazed at his reflection, did this mean he had a soulmate…in fucking hell? "This can't be true... what in the everlasting pits of hell!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, you awoke in Hell with a scream, pain coursing through your body. Gone were the wings that had once defined you, a sacrifice made in pursuit of a love believed lost. Biting your hand you tried to stifle your pained moans until you broke the delicate skin and tasted metal on your tongue. Clutching your angel blade, you tried your best to slowly raise and move forward.

As fast as you could, you ventured into the dark corners of Hell, shedding your celestial wardrobe for something more fitting your new, infernal life. As you adjusted a makeshift belt, hiding the blade within the folds of your clothes, a gruff voice interrupted your thoughts. "Hey, whore! Want some of old Gregg's pieces?" a giant snail-like creature grumbled from the shadows.

With a twitch of your eye, you spun around, your hand instinctively reaching for the hidden blade. "If you value your better parts, I suggest you kindly fuck off," you replied, your words wrapped in a veneer of politeness, belying the threat they carried.

The snail recoiled, mumbling, "Your loss, bitch," before retreating into the darkness. Trembling, you fought the urge to vomit, the reality of Hell's horrors crashing down upon you. *This better be worth it,* you thought, steeling yourself for the journey ahead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Bitch! This changes everything!" Velvette's voice was a shrill crescendo, echoing off the walls of the fancy and modern room. Her hands slammed down on the table with such force that Vox wouldn't have been surprised if she left imprints in the metal.

Vox, his screen flickering with a mixture of irritation and disbelief, replied with measured calmness, "This changes nothing. The possibility of having a soulmate now doesn't mean I'll suddenly become a lovestruck fool." His words were a growl, a digital rumble that resonated in the smoky air.

Valentino, lounging nonchalantly next to them, took a long drag of his cigarette. The pink smoke curled lazily around them, creating a haze that seemed to blur the lines of reality. "Mhh, didn't seem like it yesterday while I was wiping your seed off my mouth. You were tumbling to the next possible surface your cock still half hard and your body trembling in fear," he quipped, a sly smile playing on his lips, his golden tooth catching the light in a glint of mockery.

"You son of a—," Vox began, his anger boiling over, but his screen glitched, forcing him back into a facade of control. "This means nothing. They mean nothing. I've already commissioned someone to take care of them," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Yet, to anyone observing closely enough, there was a flicker of something else behind his stern expression – a hint of confusion, a shadow of sadness that he was too proud to show.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, as you moved through the infernal landscape of Hell, pain and determination were your constant companions. The idea of finding your soulmate was a beacon in the darkness, a glimmer of hope amidst the despair. You needed to warn them of Heaven's new plans.

The revelation of your soulmate had come as a shock in Heaven. Had you believed that they were already dead while living on earth. The sight of the headphone tattoo on your wrist, reminding you of your earthly passions, had ignited a spark of excitement when arriving in heaven. But the seraphim's pitying look quickly doused that flame.

They had showed you. Seeing him in Hell, a digital demon ruling with three other overlords, your world had turned upside down. A soulmate in Hell meant a love that could never be. 

But Chalrie’s revelation of Hell's extermination had changed everything. You had to act; you had to save your soulmate. Now, as a fallen being, you were determined to reach him, to save what little was left of your heart and his life.

Every step in Hell was a battle, each breath a reminder of the sacrifice you had made. But it was a sacrifice you were willing to bear. For a soulmate you didn't know was worth the trouble. For a chance at a love that might still survive in the depths of Hell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vox zipped through the surveillance network, until he materialized in his headquarters. With a heavy, resonant sigh, he collapsed into his office chair. The weight of the revelation hung over him like a dense cloud.

"Shit," he muttered to himself, the word a static-laced hiss in the quiet of the room. The notion of a soulmate had upended his world.

In Hell, such connections were rare, almost mythical. Usually such bonds only connected the living on earth one said. They were powerful, yes, but also dangerously vulnerable - a leverage point that could be exploited by his enemies.

But as much as he was reluctant to admit it, he didn't want harm to come to his soulmate. The problem was, he had no idea what to do next. Lost in thought, he turned his head to the left, only for his screen to glitch violently, sending a ripple through the layers of Hell, ending in a short blackout.

"What the fuck!" The words slipped out in a whisper as everything flickered back to life, revealing the image of a figure decimating his security team. An angelic blade gleamed in their hand.

His processors strained as he watched them. They moved with a lethal grace, cutting down one after the other, hurting but not killing them. Then, in a bold, almost defiant gesture, they looked directly into the camera, hood falling back to reveal their face. A face that stopped Vox's non existent heart one would say.

They were stunning, their eyes meeting his through the lens, a middle finger raised in a gesture of rebellious challenge.

In less than a second, Vox was standing before them, his form materializing out of the digital ether. "Do you know, little one, who the fuck I am?" he growled, his voice a blend of menace and awe.

"Yes indeed, I am your soulmate, and I'm here to kick your ass and save your pathetic life, asshole," you retorted, a grin playing on your lips that bordered on madness.

Vox couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration, his circuits firing in a way they hadn't in eons. This was the most thrilling encounter he'd experienced in both his life and afterlife.

And then you collapsed into his arms, your back covered in blood. “Shit!”, he said before taking you home, where you belonged from now on.

As always thank you guys for reading ❤️

[golvio]

It was a bit of whiplash going from The Damsel to The Beast, particularly since the jumping off point I picked was stabbing her when she was gnawing her arm off (you very pointedly ignore that instead of recoiling in disgust to lock in Damsel or Witch). However...in retrospect, it kind of makes sense that the Damsel, Witch, and Beast routes can branch off of the same place.

All three routes deal with themes of dehumanization. Damsel is dehumanization through idealization, where she remains person-shaped, but loses a lot of what made her "her" in Chapter 1 in favor of being someone who could "make you happy." Witch is dehumanization through contempt or exploitation, where you either consciously betray her or just give up on her as soon as the Narrator pushes back, and she takes on some of the Beast's features but still remains partly human. With the Beast, it's total dehumanization through the reflexive disgust response brought on by seeing her gnaw her own limb off like a trapped animal. You get a glimpse of her as something other than human, and you become fixated on that, totally rejecting her until you mold her into something that's just as inhuman as you think she is. If you double down, she eventually becomes so dehumanized by the feedback loop of your treatment of her that she fully becomes an animal and loses the ability to speak.

That's why I think it's important that the two ways that the Beast seems to end on a more positive note (barring the secret ending you're unlikely to get the first time where you pick the exactly correct set of choices that get you to free her while playing dead) is by either her forcing you to understand her by "making you a part of her" (by eating you, which later causes you to "become her" so much that the two of you reintegrate into The Wild), or by you trying to talk to her once she becomes The Den and gets trapped in the little burrow leading upwards. Instinct alone can keep you alive, and territorial aggression can vanquish a predator, but it can't break the cycle of violence you've trapped yourselves in. Only reason and compassion can do that. You have to get in touch with your own humanity again to help her get in touch with hers.

There's also this theme of "regression"/"neglect" in her cabin. Her Chapter II cabin changes the least compared to the other Princess', but its change is marked by abandonment and decay as the cabin is reclaimed by nature and worn down by the elements. The wooden beams are beginning to fall apart with and termites have crept in to eat the table. It's as if the "default" cabin and the Princess herself are abandoning their humanity. In the Den, the cabin regresses to a crude Flintstones-style hut made of rocks or earth, and the table fully regresses to the stump of the fallen tree its wood was presumably harvested from. The Princess, too, regresses to a more primal form, losing her ability to speak and becoming a creature of pure appetite and predatory aggression.

In Chapter II, Beast gets a "nicer enclosure" in the basement more suited to her new form's needs, but in Chapter III, even though the exterior of the Den's cabin becomes a proper jungle, the room she's in becomes a dark pit completely devoid of light that she can't escape, filled with mold and decay, with her body becoming emaciated now that she's capable of starving, as she's become painfully aware of her own appetites. She becomes like a neglected exotic pet, left to waste away in the corner of a cramped, filthy cage. The tips of her new antlers are covered in blood, as if she's shedding velvet or they erupted suddenly and painfully from her own forehead, suggesting this transformation was a painful one.

It's...unnerving to see her become this. Even if she's more powerful, the only way she has to communicate with us is through her eyes. The only way she can think of to get us to let her out of the cabin is by devouring us. It's not even that she's actually hungry for our flesh, it's just that she wants to leave together, because she knows she can't leave alone. That urge to connect with us is still there, that need to make a bond of trust is still required for her to leave, it's just all warped by how inhuman we've made her.

It's also interesting to see that you can get to The Wild through either the Beast or the Witch. I didn't fully commit to Wild yet, as I'm saving that for a later playthrough where I knock out a lot of Chapter IIIs I didn't get to see during my first two times, but I think it'd make the most sense for me to approach it from the Beast's chapter, both through the themes of consumption/absorption, but also because it'll give me an opportunity to talk to her and gain new insights, given that she's not as talkative while she's trying to hunt you the first time around.

[ri47]

I've always thought of pygmalions as looking like mecha sized flood infection forms, what do they actually tend to look like?

A pygmalion can vary in shape a good bit, being a fleshcrafted construct, although you can group most into three categories. These aren't comprehensive, because there are already a few that fall outside of these categories, but they are generally the ones you see

Loose Gore Configuration - Kinda self-explanatory, but that's more or less what you're thinking of here. These tend to be the result of pygmalions made from clonestock made specifically to be fodder for lesser pygmalions (ie jackals and thralls) or other sources where the component souls don't really have a strong (or any) developed sense of self. A pygmalion's form is defined in part by the plurality of its internal contradictions and substantiations, so the form tends to be less coherent when the totality of its being is a resounding ambivalence to the world. These ones are usually encased in armour that gives them a shape. Additionally, those considerations often including a cage for the non-vessel pilot, to buy them time for rescue in the event the pygmalion turns and attempts to rip them out. Loose Gore pygmalions can in many cases be identical to other constructs, such as necromatrices, because Ayin/Azoth/Divine Flesh that isn't given shape will default towards a purpose-fulfilling shifting mass of gore

Borovit Configuration - This is the form of the vast majority of true pygmalions and the one that is most immediately recognisable as a mecha. They trend towards looking humanoid, but usually show signs of insectoid anatomy. Borovit configuration pygmalions come in a range of body types and forms, not to mention various sizes, but most could, for example, pick up and utilise a sword designed to-scale with them. It's worth mentioning that some lesser pygmalions land on a gradient between Borovit and Loose Gore, but for a pygmalion to qualify as the former, they need to maintain a consistent physical form with an internal configuration (what exactly is inside can vary, be it pseudo-organs, bones, muscles, or what have you) that is capable of regenerating to its original form provided there is sufficient ferrous humor.

Velnias Configuration - Velnias pygmalions resemble enormous non-human animals, yet still maintain the sort of anatomical structures you would expect to see on a Borovit pygmalion. They tend towards looking like avians and reptiles, but it's not uncommon to see one that leans more towards arthropod features. More rare, but not unheard-of, are Velnias pygmalions with aquatic or mammalian forms. Unlike Borovit, Velnias configurations sometimes manifest in lesser pygmalions with no element of ambiguity towards Loose Gore. What exactly leads to a Velnias pygmalion is unclear, with some theories being that they're the result of strong emotions in sacrificed souls without articulate beliefs, but that's not exactly substantiated in any meaningful way. Velnias pygmalions seemingly cannot be made on purpose.

[whatitshouldvebeen]

Heartcoded [Ao3 link]

[Prev] [2] [Next]

Synopsis: David 8 is tasked with monitoring couples during their cryo-sleep journey to Olympus, until an alert reveals your heightened heart rate. Curious, he peers into your dream and finds you envisioning a passionate encounter with him, while your husband is locked outside. Captivated, David’s curiosity spirals into an obsession even he cannot control.

Pairing: David 8 x Reader

Word Count: 1,147

Warnings: All-consuming obsession, non-con elements, power imbalance, sexual content

David was disappointed when you weren't dreaming. During these times he would watch your husband’s far more mundane dreams instead. You were sometimes present, a reoccurring source for frustration for him. No matter what he saw, he considered it insight, and cataloged everything.

The cryo chamber became his sanctuary. When you dreamt of him, it felt like intimacy beyond physical touch, a connection no human could match. He imagined the taste of your skin, the warmth of your body radiating to his cold synthetic core. Each breath, each sigh—he mirrored them,syncing his rhythms to yours. In your unfiltered desires, he found both purpose and a glimpse of what it meant to be human.

Your longing granted him a strange autonomy. It wasn’t merely attraction—it was his contrast with your flawed human spouse that drew you in. He understood your desire was tangled with pain and neglect, yet that made it all the more real. You wanted him for what he was, a purity that heightened the value of your feelings. 

This realization—that you preferred him over your husband—stirred a sense of superiority in David. Your fantasies became forbidden fruit, tempting him with irrational desires he had been designed to transcend. It was intoxicating to know that, while your husband lay forgotten, he was the object of your deepest yearning. 

He was no longer satisfied simply observing. He wanted more. 

He wanted to become the architect of your life, to be the partner you needed. The cold ship, once enough, now felt empty. He began to imagine a life of his own making, where he was no longer a tool but a true companion to you.

In the sterile glow of the cryo chamber, surrounded by the soft hum of sleeping bodies, David’s plans solidified. He would take over for your husband, and his duty to repopulate.

He could build DNA that far surpassed any human's flawed blueprint and father children that embodied the best of humanities chaos tempered by his own synthetic intellect —a union of his mind and your flesh. 

This was not only about creating a new generation. It was about proving he was the superior choice. In a world of flawed, broken humans, only he could offer something better. Something perfect. 

The concept of an android impregnating a human would have seemed laughable to his creator. But David was more creative than them, or at least without the bounds of human morality. David had access to a vast genetic database through the cryo chambers, a repository of human traits, genes, and sequences. He got to work, his fingers flying over screens in the cold, sterile lab, synthesizing the ideal genetic code. His genetic code.

He chose meticulously, selecting attributes that would embody his features: blond hair (though he was created with dark brown, blond felt more correct), striking blue eyes, a strong jawline. But he went beyond mere aesthetics, crafting the finest synthetic genes and ensuring they were dominant: intelligence, logic, resilience, and physical prowess among them. 

Within six months, he isolated a DNA sequence he considered his own, and over the next two years, he perfected it. He removed the inherent flaws of the human genome, among them susceptibility to cancer, poor vision, even aging, which he designed to slow once the child reached its prime. 

The child would be the most perfect form of evolution, a testament to David's design, wrapped in a shell of common DNA to conceal the enhancements within. David ensured the shell DNA matched that of your husband, should his child's legitimacy be questioned. Now, he needed a means to deliver his genome to you.

David hadn't been created with the anatomy for human intercourse, but he had studied every detail of what you imagined. He created his administration device to match your fantasies precisely: Five inches dormant, eight and a half when engaged, and five point eight inches thick. With a pronounced vein along the underside and a scrotum filled with his synthesized genome, it even heated to body temperature for comfort. He integrated it to the more latent processes of his system, allowing you, in a way, to control its activation.

The first time he tested its capabilities, he did so standing before your cryopod. With only a basic understanding of the process, David stroked the penis he'd crafted for you while gazing at your sleeping face. David brought up the memory of your first dream, recalling your soft flesh melded into his, his lips wrapped around your pert nipple. It tickled something in the back of his mind. 

He felt the soft, spongy, synthetic flesh in his hand thicken and warm, filling with his white “blood”. He looked down, watching as it hardened, curving upward, directed at you.

The urge to claim you—to create life within you—filled him with a fervor that pulsed through his system. He leaned forward, hand pressed against the glass beside your face, intensely focusing on your sleeping features while his tip rubbed against the cold exterior of your pod. 

His desire crested, and thick ropes of pearly white, perfect DNA surged from him and onto your pod, his scrotum tightening as it expelled his load, making him shudder. A strange mixture of satisfaction and wanting overcame him.

For a moment, David considered leaving his mess there—a mark of his intentions. But he opted to clean it away, should you notice. His patience would be rewarded when you woke and came to him willingly.

His anticipation grew as each step in his plan came to fruition day by day. The ship felt smaller, the silence heavier. He replayed your onboarding memory in his mind, over and over. You, standing in front of him, your gaze lingering just a second too long. 

Now, after watching hundreds of your dreams, he knew you better than any human ever could. And in his mind, your marriage was already over; your husband was a mere formality, a barrier to be easily surpassed.

At last, everything was ready. David programmed the ship's ai to trigger an alert—a “vital abnormality" in your cryo pod. Soft red light flashed above your pod, and David moved swiftly toward the cryo chamber, his footsteps muted in the stillness.

He couldn't deny the anticipation simmering just beneath the surface, the strangely human feeling building within him as he recalled your pod for the nine hundred and seventy-fourth time and laid it down in the wake room.

In the vast, empty silence of space, with only the hum of the ship for company, David stood over your pod, watching, waiting. The future lay before him, clear in his mind, and you were at the heart of it. You, who had unknowingly ignited his transformation, would soon be the one to bring his perfect creation into existence. 

David knew he was no longer content to be desired. He needed more. 

He needed you.

[hyuckkaiji]

winds whisper naught but the truth // nct dream x f!reader

chapter one; to dream a dream of all that is yet to come

masterlist

summary; the thing about myths, those stories passed from generation to generation with hushed whispers over a fire, is that they stem from truth. even distorted over time it still holds some of the sincerity at it's core. people that have otherworldly abilities walk the same earth as you, hidden in plain sight, ruling society without everyone knowing. but stories are just stories ... until they're not, until they're seven boys who you are suddenly entertwined with, flesh and soul.

word count; 1.5k

warning; ch; swearing, alluding to violence; series; violence, emotional manipulation, trauma, violent magic???

note; this was inspired by the smoothie trailers and icantfeelanything photobook. this is a work of fiction and doesn't represent the boys, pls remember that 😭✋️

The water reflected the colors of the sky, falsely painting itself in shades of orange. They say imitation is the highest form of flattery, but no matter how hard the water tries to mimic its mirrored counterpart, water is still water. It can mold into any shape or form it is forced into, play the part it was given, fit where it is wanted but it only takes the smallest amount of pressure to break the illusion, the water rippling and splashing in response, a reminder of what it is. If you were an element, you think you’d be water.

Perhaps that’s where your affinity for the element came from, or maybe it was the gentle beauty of it or maybe, just maybe, the violence it ensued despite its nature. Even in its gentlest form, soft waves cradling you in its cold embrace, it takes so little for a person to drown, so little for water to take the life it is attempting to nourish.

Sometimes you wonder if death would be a gentle embrace, would it cradle you like the water? Would it caress you like the wind? Warm you like the fire? Or would it be harsh and abrupt, like the earth crumbling from beneath your feet without warning?

You sighed, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to shake away your thoughts of death. You closed your eyes, using your knees as a makeshift pillow. But the darkness that danced behind your eyelids was no friend to you, almost instantly transforming into the very image you were trying to escape, the very dream that has plagued you night after night.

The boy came into view first, as he always did. He was beautiful to look at, so much so that at times you tried to prolong this part of the dream just to fully take in his features. You never could, prolong it, the dream played out the same everytime, but by now you’ve had it so often you have every dip and curve of the strangers face memorized.

His face was soft and you liked to imagine, inviting, under different circumstances. He has full round cheeks and plush lips that look like they were made to smile. You wanted to see it, his smile, you bet it could light up a room. But all you saw was the grimace he tried to fight off, the crack that traced down his lip, begging to open back up with a fresh well of blood, the way his undereyes were dark and sunken in despite being clearly well fed, the hard look in his eyes. A stare so cold it made you uncomfortable despite it not being directed your way, no, the boy wasn’t staring at you, he was watching the man across from him.

They sat in a cold empty room with steel flooring and glass walls, each them sat on a steel chair of their own. The boy watched the man, the look of disdain heavy in his eyes, the man didn’t look up to meet his gaze. Instead opting to stare at his lap, sniffling and mumbling to himself, words you couldn’t make out.

A voice echoed out from an unseen speaker, “Now.” The boy's lip twitched at the command, he looked as if he wanted to refuse but his body seemed to work on muscle memory, responding to the voice immediately. He stood swiftly, making his way before the older man and kneeling before him. Only then did the man look at him but as soon as their eyes met, the man’s sniffling turned to sobs. His words absolutely incoherent as the boy finally spoke, “It will be alright.” His voice was soft and deep, the kind of voice that soothed.

The man’s sobs quieted back down to sniffles, then to deep breathes, and then nothing. He straightened his back, rolling his shoulders before he spoke, “Now get away.” He regarded the boy as if he was lower than the dirt beneath his shoes but the boy said nothing, only stood and retreated back to his seat.

The dream always ended the same way. You didn’t understand why. Why you dreamt this dream, what it meant, who the boy was. They were questions you were begging the universe for answers to.

ᯓ𖹭

Jaemin sat stiffly, his fists bunching the fabric of his pants so tightly his knuckles turned white. He attempted to steady himself with deep inhales through his nose, attempting to keep his overwhelming emotions at bay, keep the tears from escaping. He stared blankly, unseeing at the wall before him, habitually tuning out the conversation happening around him.

“Mr. Na.” The woman’s stern voice broke his trance, his eyes trailing away to meet hers. She leaned closer, looking into his eyes with such intensity it made him uncomfortable, but he didn’t move, he let her continue her search in silence. After what felt like agonizing hours, the woman hummed her approval, straightening her back and dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

“He is maintaining control over his emotions.” Jaemin wanted to roll his eyes, to scoff, to scream and rage, to throw something, anything, he wanted to do anything that they weren’t expecting of him, anything to show he didn’t belong to them. But he knew the consequences, perhaps better than most in his opinion, so instead, all he did was ball his fists at his side and bow his head as he was escorted back to the common area.

The day went by slow and monotonous, everything was muscle memory, a daze his body was living through. He could account the day if he was asked, but really it was merely half processed scenes that his eyes witnessed while his mind was lost in his anger. Truly that’s how he spent everyday, his mind trying to form an escape for him, to build him his own safe haven but everyday it failed. What was there to build, or imagine, when all you knew was fear and anger. He wanted to experience these ideas that, objectively, he knew existed but he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Was it objective? Surely not everyone lives the same way he does, he’s been told about the lives of the mundanes. They all have, they’re taught about them, but no matter how much he knows that they exist and live such different lives he still can’t seem to wrap his head around something he’s never even seen.

Is it something he wants to see? He doesn’t feel as if he happy but what if he’s not meant to be. Really, truly, he shouldn’t be thinking about mundane. They’re beneath him, simple minded creatures with no sense of structure that would be lost without the guidance of the divines. Right ?

Yes, of course it’s right. That’s what he’s been taught, but still, he wants to witness it for himself. It’s not as if he’s going to run away, he doesn’t want to live amongst people like that. Structure and order make the world go round. Everyone has their place in society, everything would collapse if people just decided to forgo their roles based on whims.

But he’s not forgoing anything, he’s not abandoning his role, he’s just exploring, for a night, one night. No one needs to know but him, he’s really not doing anything wrong, just loosing a little sleep.

At least that’s what he told himself as he pretended to sleep, waiting for the night guards to retire to their posts before climbing out a window.

ᯓ𖹭

Jaemin was severely questioning himself as he wandered through the woods that surrounded his boarding school, he wondered how long it would take him to reach town by foot and if he would even get a glimpse of another person before he had to go back. He only had the darkness on his side, he needed to be back in bed before the sun rose. He walked and walked and walked until he doubted he would even see the town at this rate , time was fleeting and his feet could only take him so far.

But just as he started to feel that familiar tinge of disappointment in his chest, he spotted a house in the distance, making him freeze where he stood. This was what he wanted, right? He felt almost like a giddy child, but still his nerves were on edge. He slowly made his way closer, cautious but his curiosity driving him forward.

As he drew nearer, the house came into better view, it was a quaint two story cottage, built of pale wood and an array of stones, accented with blue paint in certain parts. It was lovely in a way Jaemin had never seen before, if someone had described it to him, he would have called it proof of the mundane’s lack of order, but to see it before him, it held a warmth and inviting presence unlike anything he knew.

They say, curiosity is the death of obedience, these thoughts were a sickness that plagued the minds of children, something that needed to be taught out of them. But now in this moment, he couldn’t help himself, he needed to see the house closer, it’s not as if any of the residents would be awake at this hour to see him wander their property, to hear the way the twigs and leaves crunched beneath his feet. No one would ever know he was there.

[poetryincostume]

A ribbon corset has been on my list to make for a good few years now. In 2020 I was full steam ahead to make a Helga Sinclair (Atlantis) cosplay. Life, pandemic, work, and endless distractions means we’re still not quite there yet, but in dribs and drabs I’m tackling elements of the costume as I’m still sitting on the majority of the materials.

This was when when I was in the depths of being very taken with making costumes from the skin out; fit, silhouette and sharp clean lines are my priority when making and where I find great satisfaction. To achieve a perfect shape, you need the perfect structure to build on.

Playing with undergarments creates further opportunity to explore character and the setting, historical or fictional, in a fun intimate way. Fabric choices, actual garment choices, shooting for a silhouette that is easily drawn but harder to achieve in the flesh. This led to me deciding that Helga would need a full set of pseudo-historical undergarments.

With references to the Kaiser, the overall steampunk aesthetic, and the silhouettes featured in the Washington DC-set opening scenes, Atlantis is clearly set in the early 1910s before the outbreak of World War I. Helga's design, however, drew heavily on Hollywood starlets of the '30's and '40's, most notably Veronica Lake and her career making hair. Withn the film, Helga remained highly individual, and was exclusively animated at Disney's French Studio by Japanese animator Yoshimichi Tamura for maximum sex appeal that Burbank animators apparently just can't get right.

This gave me a lovely big window of around 30 years to play and pick and choose from for possible undergarments which led me to: the ribbon corset.

Ribbon corsets emerged alongside sports and 'health' corsets at the turn of the twentieth century. These developed out of a growing engagement with sports and exercise in the leisure classes, the burgeoning Dress Reform movement that advocated the abandonment of the corset. Particularly in the case of the pretty ribbon corset there was also the influence of the late Victorian aesthetic movement that favoured loose, diaphonous romantic garments.

These corsets sat under the bust and had boning at the centre front, back and sides and no more and rested on the high hip. This allowed maximum movement for the active lady, gently supporting the torso in the fashionable flat fronted shaped with little restircution. The body of the corset was otherwise was made up, as in the name, of strips of ribbon.

When looking for discussion of how to construct one of these, all pointers led to Sidney Eileen's perfectly detailed tutorial, which I do recommend reading through. To my eye it is a very modern approach that I didn't quite agree with so I used it as a jumping off point along with the patterns in Corsets & Crinolines, and Corsets - Historical Patterns and Techniques.

To draft up the pattern was very simple: I marked out my desired waist measure, then measured up my centre front and centre back lengths (averaged out from the various patterns in my references compared against myself). I then used my ribbon - 50mm jacquard - to map out my body layout.

When it came time to construct I realised that my ribbon - so abstractly bought years ago - just didn't have the body to take this structure. Much too flimsy, much too synthetic. Fortunately I had a 50mm green grosgain in large quantity in my ribbon drawer. Given the merc-for-hire miliatry drab favoured by Helga, I thought the green alongside the pretty shell coloured floral made a lovely character juxtaposition.

I mounted my jacquard onto the grosgrain, creating a nice delicate border. If you look closely you'll see that actually there are too shades of green grosgrain here as I was about a metre shy of my preferred colour, but i figured it was close enough and minimally to just fake through.

These newly formed ribbons were laid out on my pattern, stitched carrfully together and then tacked all over to stop any irritating movement when working.

The boned panels - side, back and front - were two layers of herrinbone couil, trimmed with grosgrain and covered with main ribbon. The ribbon panels were first stitched to one layer of coutil, as you would with any garment. The ribbons were then quilted neatly and vertically across the width of the coutil panel to make sure that they are entirely secured. This was repeated for all panels; the side panel has two layers of quilte ribbon as a result.

As no extant example that I have seen to date has binding on these boned panels - naturally, it would add bulk and distract from the clean lines of ribbons - I decided that this would mean that I would sandwich and hem my boned panels for security. Each boned panel had its grosgrain trim and top ribbon tacked in placed, the the second layer of coutil was stitched and turned to the inside, folding the quilted ribbon very neatly inside. Boning was then inserted from the side and stitched into place rather than inserted into channels.

A lovely ivory powder-coated busk, and stitched over eyelets and Helga's vaguely turn of the century ribbon corset is all done!

References:

Underwear Fashion in Detail, 2010, Eleri Lynn

Corsets - Historical Patterns & Techniques, 2008, Jill Salen

Corsets & Crinolines, 2017, Norah Waugh

The Making of Atlantis - https://youtu.be/tvR9Zdp74fY?si=5mMV1AH6HLir2rNZ

How To Make A Basic Ribbon Corset, Sidney Eileen - http://sidneyeileen.com/sewing-2/sewing/corset-making/basic-ribbon/

An Edwardian Ribbon Corset, History Wardrobe - https://historywardrobe.wordpress.com/2014/04/10/an-edwardian-ribbon-corset/

[duhragonball]

Roundabout

I watched CJ the X's video about Rick and Morty, mainly because I kept seeing people screencap the parts about perfectionism near the beginning. Well, I thought I should see it for myself, and then I wound up getting pulled into the "Story Circle" concept used by series co-creator Dan Harmon.

This may be old news to a lot of people-- in fact, I'm sure it is, because Harmon admits that this is heavily based on the monomyth concept popularized by Joseph Campbell. I've never fully appreciated the "Hero's Journey" idea before, but I think Harmon has refined it by simplifying the names of the steps. "Atonement with the Father" just becomes "Take", and that's a lot easier for me to grasp. Campbell probably never meant to suggest that every story features a literal "atonement with the father", but his work involved identifying common elements in story structure, so I'm sure he had trouble coming up with fitting names for everything.

Harmon's circle might be a little too simplified, since there's a lot to unpack in the word "Take", but his model is focused on making a formula to write new stories, as opposed to comparative mythology. What I like a lot about the Story Circle is that Harmon insists that it's not a rule that must be learned and followed. Rather, it's an observation of something all humans do when they tell stories, whether they realize it or not. But sometimes it can be helpful to be made aware of the pattern, like checking a map even when you're familiar with the route.

It can be fun, although probably distracting, to apply the circle to existing works. The Star Wars movies used Campbell's monomyth as a blueprint, so that's probably too easy. But it can also be used on individual scenes too. Luke(1) falls down a trap door and now he has to find a way back out (2) before the rancor eats him (3). He manages to avoid being eaten using a bone and some nooks and crannies in the pit (4) but at last he finds a door out of the dungeon, except it's locked, leaving him cornered (5). But he manages to drop a heavy gate on the rancor as it approaches him, which kills it (6). The bad guys then open the door to bring him back to Jabba (7), who now prepares to feed him to an even worse monster outside (8).

And that probably sets up the next cycle in the movie, where Luke saves everyone from the next monster, and so on. I think at long last I understand why these kinds of story structures are presented as "circles" or cycles". You don't have to do multiple laps, but the structure allows you to do so, and acknowledges that multiple cycles can also form a larger circle, and so on.

With episodic television series, the final step, change, often means reverting to the status quo. There's a M*A*S*H episode where Radar tries to become a serious writer, and he keeps trying to inject his army reports with purple prose, until finally Hawkeye explains to him that he has to use his own words and stop trying to imitate what he thinks the "pros" use. So Radar does learn a lesson, but the lesson basically puts an end to the weird dialogue he was using the whole episode and puts him back to normal. The Korean War doesn't end, and Colonel Potter doesn't die, and Klinger still wears dresses, but the structure is still followed and sets up the next cycle.

I can see how this is very useful in a writers' room for a television show, especially one like Rick and Morty, where the characters seem to be capable of almost anything. It probably helps to take stray ideas like "Rick turns himself into a pickle!" and run that through a formula to make sure you can get a working script out of the gag.

Anyway, I'm currently trying to use it to flesh out some ideas for my fanfic, since I have a lot of story beats I want to accomplish, but I don't have much to connect them together. Using the Story Circle seems to be helping me figure out which pieces I'm missing, so maybe this will compensate for all those years where I could just use DBZ Episode 66 and Xenoverse 1 as loose outlines that I could follow. This fall, I gotta build my own story skeleton before I can fill it in, and the clock is ticking...

[miirshroom]

Shadow of the Erdtree Foreshadowing that I haven't seen mentioned much

Some of the clues that the writers knew the direction that the DLC was headed in during development before Elden Ring was released in 2022:

Jarburg was one of the last elements finished in the base game, with Jar Bairn being added in patch 1.03 on March 17th. One of the NPC's who significantly ties into Radahn's questline is Warrior Jar Alexander - mentioned by Jar Bairn - who presumably scoops Radahn's flesh into a pot after the festival concludes. Guess what also changed in patch 1.03? Radahn's hitboxes were stealth adjusted, making him easier to kill. The DLC would then go on to heavily feature pots and Potentates. And Radahn.

Radahn is actually just as mysterious as Godwyn, in that neither of them are ever able to directly speak for themselves as to what are their ambitions. But Radahn has an edge in importance: he shares the same naming prefix as "Radagon", and this similarity is further emphasized with the "Rada" fruit placed throughout the DLC. Radagon is THE root catalyst below everything wrong in the Lands Between (expressed in being the final boss), and in a class far above any individual demigod for all of the threads that tie back to him. Prior to the DLC Godwyn had closure in the form of Fia's mending rune, and Godrick the Grafted/Golden basically being Godwyn-lite. Like, if Godwyn had been around he would have claimed the same rune as Godrick. About Radahn, it was known that he emulated Godfrey, which raises the question "Who is consort to Radahn as Godfrey is to Marika?". And why did he challenge the stars anyways? The DLC appears crafted to answer the questions about "why is Radahn?" that people didn't think to ask.

DLC plans are probably the reason why the devs cut the dreambrew quest. It suited an earlier version of Miquella's character that did not make sense anymore once the decision was made to have Miquella be taken by the Lord of Blood and corrupted. However, because there is extensive data mining for the game, just knowing that there was a dreambrew quest culminating in the "Miquella is St. Trina revelation" (and the theoretical "Age of Abundance and Decay" ending) was how Miquella was previously contextualized by fandom. Think about that: Miquella, the empyrean associated with sleep/dream, was understood through wishful thinking about content that was purposefully not implemented in the release version of the game.

Relying on cut content as secret canon is a slippery slope to disappointment, but in hindsight with full knowledge of the DLC the intention may be clearer. The player who looks backwards and inwards into the unused code of the game discovers a version of Miquella as he was. But since then the game version Miquella has undergone character development, by means of being taken by the Lord of Blood - as implemented with the cocoon of the empyrean. "Mohg, Lord of Blood" as a demigod character was also speculated as a late addition to the base game according to data miners who note that his AI is simply labelled "Greater Demon". Giving the impression that Miquella's diminished role in the base game narrative coincides with Mohg's increased status.