#this thing was a BEAST of a research endeavor

[lady-harrowhark]

after nearly three years... over two hundred cases... unknown dozens of meetings... more than a thousand videos... and one last short-notice late-night data entry triage session...

i have just submitted the final dataset for my parent-child relationship video coding project for analysis

i feel like i need to smash a gameshow buzzer or something

[yanderenightmare]

I have an honest question and I don't want to sound rude or anything at all but what's so interesting about CNC. Like I see people hype it up but to me it just feels like romanticizing r4pe..I'm not really into CNC so I can't talk bad or downplay whatever they do but I'm just asking because I want to understand it better.

A question I, by no means, can answer perfectly. However, in the spirit of philosophy and amateur psychology, I will lay unto you, ye who have keen ears, my theories.

Now, I am in no way a psychiatrist. However, as I am a woman who does a great deal of fantasizing and further thinking of what I fantasize about, I thought I might assume the role of a sexologist as it is no protected title.

I’ve long wondered why we (women) fantasize about things that would appall us if manifested in reality. It makes little sense that an act so ruining in practice should make us feel fulfilled when the mere thought of it is humored.

In the vast complexities of psychology, no matter how much I drink of its depths, I can’t seem to get my fill enough to understand it. Trying to figure out female arousal is like pulling hair from a clogged gutter and trying to undo all the knots. It’s a web of contradictions.

However…

First theory – there are cultural reasons. If we accept the inbuilt instincts of old and the instincts we adopt through media while growing up – all in all, the great history of aggressive men dominating passive women – we are conditioned to accept that this is what romance looks like.

Second theory – there are the emotional reasons. The "Beauty and the Beast" motif – featuring classic co-dependency. Women submit to abuse because we have an inbuilt need to nurture others – so when we love men who require to abuse and own us in order to love us, we somehow forget to protect ourselves in favor of loving them, which in this case means allowing them to abuse and own us. It's warped.

Third theory – there are psychological reasons. In fantasies and writing or viewing, we get to reframe traumatic experiences in a positive light or rework traumatic experiences in a safe environment – a form of psychological self-defense, much like Stockholm Syndrome or a type of self-inflicted Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Fourth theory – research has also been conducted regarding physiological reasons. Here, we have another inbuilt self-defense mechanism – a seldom talked-about phenomenon – which shows that women tend to become physically aroused when they sense any possibility of sexual aggression in their environment – in order to lower their chance of injury if they are raped.

Through all this, I believe one can narrow fantasies of rough or non-consensual sex into something as paradoxical and polar as having a wish for control and a wish to relent oneself of it. And coming to this conclusion, I realized that such is the pursuit of many, even in endeavors not of the erotic kind.

Humans wish to have control just as much as humans disdain having control. This is why BDSM (bondage, domination, sadism, masochism) kinks and fetishes are found in some shape or form in nearly every romantic or sexual relationship in existence. You’ll have the dominant partner wishing to achieve control over a submissive partner wishing to relinquish control through such means of domination, humiliation, pain, and pleasure.

But it’s more complex than that, isn’t it? 

Yes. Because, contradictory – a submissive partner may wish for control, and a dominant partner may wish to lose it. Human beings are an unyielding paradox where we flex across contrasting aims with no means to an end.

Yes, we wish for control, yet disdain having it. Perhaps we find the answer to this paradox in maintaining control by losing it?

Moreover… how does this relate to nonconsensual sex fantasies?

Here, we get a fifth theory containing the ego – a spin-off of a kind from the third theory. Here we find the wish for control, where, in the lustful fantasy realm, non-consensual sex bolsters a woman's feelings of seductiveness and desirability in the way it has the power to make a man lose his decency and self-control, driving him to commit crimes of passion despite ill consequences of losing his pride and honor as a man – also, ultimately, risking getting sent to prison. 

Put simply, some women enjoy the idea of being irresistible enough to drive even a good man crazy. The thought of being attractive enough to make a man love-sick and the power and control that follows it is, in this case, a turn-on.

A sixth theory – another spin-off from the third theory – is that fantasies of rape allow women to reduce the distress associated with sex, as they are not, in this scenario, responsible for what occurs. Moreover, the logic here states that when one is forced into something, they’ll have a lesser need to feel guilt or shame about acting out their own sexual desires.

Put simply, some women wish to maintain their innocence despite having carnal desires only satiated by means of sinful acts. 

This begs another question.

Is this a lingering feeling of guilt and shame around female sexuality?

Of course! Women are constantly met with disdain when open about their sluttiness.

So, are fantasies of nonconsensual sex a type of projection they do because of this?

In some cases, yes!

Transferring our own sexual desires unto another gives us permission to act them out without feeling guilty or dirty – because, inside this fantasy, it isn’t us committing the indecencies.

... Okay then...

Summing up theories five and six:

Control. To feel wanted, lusted for, obsessed over, and coveted by others. The power of driving someone to lovesick desire, a frenzied state, where they would do anything, even illegal, to have you. Additionally, despite such harsh cases of ego, wanting none of the responsibility for it, wanting to be free of sin, to maintain innocence and purity in light of such dark desires.

Or is there a seventh theory? One found in our idyllic construct of freedom – this aimless goal of ours to make ourselves appreciate breathing – done by balancing the electric powerline between having and losing control.

Is it this act of switching places, the attraction and pull, the stimuli and response, the attack and retaliation? In the chaos of contradictions and uncertainty, we find a thrill that occupies our otherwise hibernating minds – bored to the degree that we become machines in our daily programs. 

Is it simply that we need a little extremity as a remedy for our dull lives?

Do we fall in love with illegal things simply because we are denied them? Simply because they’re illegal? Self-harm, drug use, gambling, murder, rape…

Are these things a part of us? And are we, without them, left feeling unfulfilled? Is The Purge perhaps onto something vitally important? A cure for boredom, this mediocrity that leaves us feeling so blue?

I think, if I were to find a comparison, it’s quite similar to the blind bounds of excitement others ascend to in the midst of playing violent video games. The rush of falling in and out of enemy territory, of danger and safety, from being a predator to becoming the prey, of victory and defeat, of chasing death only to be comforted by one’s remaining life – because in reality, you're safe and sound in front of a screen.

Also, in other cases - rollercoasters, horror movies, extreme sports, etc...

Yes, the wish to trip in and out of control isn’t limited to the realm of lust but is present in most aspects of life. We find it in extreme cases such as drugs, gambling, gaming, relationships, and in other subtle cases of professions and work.

If you don’t like it, that’s your business, and I wish you the best of luck in lust elsewhere.

On another note – and such another warning and disclaimer – I want you not to accept my tales of lust as love stories. Personally, I think hints of toxic displays such as jealousy, obsession, and possession in a partner are natural – but – a difference is made when such feelings become restricting to a degree you no longer feel free. I implore you to make such distinctions for yourself when regarding yourself – and, in extreme cases, when regarding others.

In said regard, I do not condone the events nor the actions of the characters in my stories – neither offender nor victim. Don’t allow yourself to fall prey to toxic partners! The signs are always there – keep a weathered eye out for them.

And no, I’m not blaming those who’ve allowed themselves to stay in toxic relationships. I, myself, am guilty of that. But I won’t excuse my poor judgment either. You know when something doesn’t feel right. We shouldn’t blur the lines of right and wrong in the name of love – or whatever else we may lend our self-control to – such as religion, culture, family, societal pressure, etc...

You are in control. Don’t forget it. And don’t allow anything else to become the case.

[evolutionsvoid]

For years, there has been debate and wondering about what truly is down there in the abyss. It is the never ending topic amongst sea folk, and the ceaseless, fruitless endeavor of researchers and philosophers. There is a world down there, no doubt, and the creatures down there share a familiarity with us that we find strange and unsettling. From the odd fish caught in nets, to the words of wisdom granted by the aquatic messengers that come to our shores, we know there is a faith below. What else can explain the Bishops and Monks? How else would you describe the carved trinkets of ambergris and whale bone, whose visage is alien yet exudes an aura of reverence? And then there are the visions, which some can easily cast aside as odd dreams or fits of fearful hallucination, but so many of these glimpses share similarities and the way the seers speak of it all shows that there is something more than mere imagination.

The abyss has a religion, it has its beliefs. So much so that there are even some folk up here on dry land who seek its teachings and wisdom. Yet, there is little in physical proof to show what this faith entails, what do they believe in, what do they preach? At night, upon the calm ocean, sounds of prayer and faithful chanting can be heard emanating from the deep, but these words hold no meaning to us. Even the script carved into the ambergris totems that have been collected elude translation, so there is much left as a mystery. However, there is something to their faith that is known, and cannot be denied. A figure that hangs above it all, whom we must assume all these prayers and offerings go to. Though no one has ever seen her in the flesh, the many carvings and artifacts that bear her visage cannot be ignored. And when those who come in contact with the abyss dream, they speak of her flowing form drifting through the endless blue void. To the beings that live down in the bowels of the ocean, she is their god. A figure of the abyss, of life and death, and the endless cycle that all living things follow: she is the Mother of Snow.

From glimpses in visions and study of found carvings, her body is shaped by death and decay. Flesh, bones, scales and rot are a part of her form, and so are the ravenous scavengers that feed upon them. She is born from the death of leviathans, and congealed of the countless piscines that perish in the vast depths. Yet, her deathly form shows no aggression, no malice. Her carvings show a reverent nature, slow and delicate. When they dream of her, they see her drift almost lifelessly through the void, like a floating corpse destined to be devoured. And to her followers, that is what she offers in her infinite kindness. From her body drifts the ceaseless marine snow that nourishes the world below. Her flesh is in a constant state of rot and decay, sloughing off in crumbling flakes that rain down upon her followers. Those who pray to her rejoice in her offerings, singing out in praises as they collect the manna from the sky. To the creatures of the abyss, life only exists because of their divine Mother of Snow.

The gentle drifting of rotted flakes are not the only things she bestows upon the faithful, as she can grant great bounties and feasts at times. Dead fish and ravaged corpses can fall from her hand down below, but the real miracles come when she beckons to the dying leviathans. It is said that when one of these great beasts of the sea is on their death bed, they will hear her song. She sings to those who are doomed and dying, calling upon them to follow her to the cycle beyond. The leviathans will answer, and seek out the kind Mother. Their journey ends inevitably with death, but it is believed that their passing is done in the exact spot where their corpses may fall upon the billowing cathedrals below. From their death comes a great feast, a great bounty of nutrients that shall feed the people of the deep for a good long time. They sing, pray and give thanks for the food, all while happily holding the knowledge that the time will come when their flesh will do the same. This is the nature of the cycle, where death feeds life, and life needs death. She is the embodiment of this, and her followers preach it to all who will hear.

While the Church is lenient on those who ascend from the abyss, able to use their similar acts of worship as evidence that the Church and its golden Ichor is truly divine, they do not speak much of the Mother. For all is fine and acceptable as long as their idol is held the highest, but the presence of this goddess challenges their position. In some sects, they refuse to acknowledge her existence, pretending it is all some silly sailor's story. Others claim that she is more symbolic of the offerings that fall from the hands of those above, where "foolish" abyssal beasts mistake the scraps of humanity as something godly. At worst, strict members of the Church see her as a blasphemous symbol, one that denies golden Ichor and the true gods that fall from the skies. Her song and offerings are twisted into malicious an deceptive things, luring people to their death. There are certainly a fair share of land-based depictions that show her as something wicked and vile. However, this vision of the Mother is often only held by those who stay far from the sea, never meeting its shores or sailing upon its waves. For the sea folk who live their entire lives near and upon the waters, they hold a different belief that they are sure to keep secret from the Church.

Spend enough time on the vast expanse of the sea, and you will learn some things that cannot be explained on land. When you rest upon the blackened waters at night, rocked to sleep by the gentle undulations of the waves, things may come to your dreams. Even those who do not make their living on the oceans can experience these odd visions, often triggered by exposure to its benthic artifacts and strange creations. Those who hold these carved tokens or cling to weapons made by abyssal hands can find themselves dreaming of an endless watery void, and life humming far down in its depths. It is through these strange dreams we have learned what we have about this strange underwater world, and it is also how we have seen the Mother of Snow, or more so, felt her.

There are no writings, no explanations to what she is and what she wants, and these dreams never have words to them. The abyssal creatures will chant and pray in tongues unknown, and those visited by the Mother will find her to either be silent or emitting her gentle song. She will give no words, no wisdom, so we do not know her intent, yet all who are visited by her are certain of what she is. They speak of kindness, of a serene calm that washes over them in these dream depths. They find peace in her presence, a feeling that often sends the speaker into tears merely thinking about. She says nothing, but they know of her love, there is no denying it. Her mere visage settles all fears and unease, and her song brings something that words fail to describe. It is a gentle and calming tune, leaving no doubt in why the leviathans follow her when the end comes. They find comfort in these final moments, an understanding that this shall end but bring forth something miraculous. Death will bring blessings to others, and your own essence shall continue on into the cycle, guided by her song and motherly presence. The beasts of the sea know this peace, and some who have encountered death upon the ocean have witnessed it too. When a ship is lost at sea, there are many horrid ways to die, but some who have been rescued have spoken of strange times where their pains and fears vanish. Of fellow sailors smiling as they sunk below the waves, of times where they let go of their rafts and supports so that they may be taken by the sea without fear. A famed tale speaks of rescuers pulling a survivor from a sunken ship, where all hands had been lost save for one. Despite this salvation, the lost man refused their aid and fought as they pulled him on board. He made attempts to throw himself back into the sea, weeping and begging to join the others. He heard her song and felt her arms, and he wanted nothing more than to find that peace.

In most of the visions and dreams, the Mother of Snow is silent, drifting about with her flesh and form billowing in the current. It is said that if you see her, than blessings are sure to follow, raining down upon you like her own rotting gift. However, in the rare instances you hear her song, the sea folk would say that your time is coming. The end is near and she is visiting you to give you peace before it happens. Do not be scared, do not fight it. It is simply meant to be, with no cruelty or hate attached. On the ships, those who share the fact they have heard her will often gain a reverence from the crew, who will not fight them if they give an odd request. They will nod their heads and let them be, knowing that their end will soon be here. However, there will certainly be some subtle distance kept between you and the rest of the crew, who want to be sure that they too don't get swept up in your inevitable demise.

While the Church tears down her image and claims her a false idol, there are plenty of whispers about the Mother of Snow and our own gods. The humors and Godly Fluids that feed our world fall from the sky, carried to us by the corpses of the divine. And yet down below, another god sheds her own flesh to feed her followers. If this is how they thrive, then how are we any different? We all pray to the heavens for manna to rain down, for divine death that may bring forth life. We bow before great corpses, and feed upon our deities with reverence and respect. We both look to the skies and hope, wondering what hangs so impossibly high above our own heads. Are we truly separate in our ways? Are these not our fellow brothers and sisters in faith? Or perhaps, something more than we are willing to admit?

---------------------------------------

"Mother of Snow"

Here is a remake of an old piece of mine, a concept that I have always enjoyed: the Mother of Snow. Once I got going with FOI, I knew she would fit right in! Even then, I feel like she would fit in with all my worlds. I am really happy with how she turned out, which is good, because DEAR GOD SO MANY FISH TO DRAW!

[zibiscusloon]

🐍 Sam Lindwyrm 🐍

Owl House OC

( Left to right: s1-early s2, s3 (human realm), epilogue )

Samara “Sam” Lindwyrm is a young witch attending Hexside with possibly the longest standing truancy record in all Hexside history. She’s almost been expelled on multiple occasions as a result of this.

She’s very temperamental and has a naturally sour attitude. Only thing she never counted on was a certain human bumbling into her life and cracking open her shell (while also forcing her to come to class)

— — — — —

-Sam is a witch-gorgon hybrid. Her father was a witch and her mother was half-gorgon. She can shift into a gorgon-like form (she only has two snakes in this form, their names are Salt & Pepper!), her gaze isn’t actually able to turn anyone to stone, but it can temporarily stun her target!

-She was initially enrolled into the Oracle track due to coming from a long family or oracles, but switched to the beast keeping track half way through her enrollment at Hexside. (She much preferred beasts to fortunes)

-She was raised by her grandmother Natalie, as her parents had been arrested and petrified. Her mother Ophia was a wild witch who kept her wild status hidden by tattooing an fake oracle sigil on her arm. She was caught using healing magic by one of her neighbors when healing a young Sam. She was later arrested, her husband Ernest being taken in for housing a wild witch. Sam was four at the time. She despises Belos as a result of this..

-She’s rather rude and spiteful towards her classmates, she mainly does this to cope with her fears of letting others get to close to her, out of fear she’ll have to deal with the pain of losing someone again. However, after being taken in as a member of the Hexsquad, her softer, protective side begins to shine through.

-Met Luz after Bump had sent Luz out to find Sam, as she was of course skipping, (he’d planned to finally hand in her expulsion forms, he just needed her in person). They met in Sam’s typical hiding spot, and through a series of definitely illegal shenanigans involving some poor Coven Scouts, they became friends. After they returned to school, Luz convinced Bump to allow Sam to remain a student. Bump eventually conceded, provided Luz make sure Sam actually shows up to class. (And Sam ended up becoming yet another member of the Hexsquad-)

-Her palisman is a capybara named Kibitzer. He’s as the entire Hexsquad would put it “a lil bastard”, and is also the light of Sam’s life. He’s rather deadpan constantly and is very protective of Sam.

-Met Hunter when her and Luz were doing illegal shit (of course on Eda’s order-), and their relationship started essentially as petty banter. But through a time of Hunter getting dragged around after her, and they actually began to talk, both began to realize that their lives are relatively shitty thanks to the Emperor’s Coven. They both also open up about feeling smothered at their respective homes. And while getting Hunter (with the help of Flapjack and Kibitzer) to open up about his suppressed interests (and gushing about her own), Sam began to realize how much she loved his dorky personality, and set out to try and reach out more to him afterwards.

-The two of them grew even closer during their time in the Human Realm, exploring human customs together, Sam beginning to dabble into researching the realm’s animals and trying out wild witch practices from the Savage Ages, while Hunter dwelled more into who he wanted to be, supporting each other’s endeavors the whole time. The two of them started to officially date after the Owl Fam saved The Boiling Isles.

-She was enraged by Hunter’s “death” during thanks to them. She lunged at Belos’s with all she had, not even calling Kibitzer to her, simply attacking with the largest spell she could conjure. Belos of course escaped, but she did show a side to her that hadn’t been seen until that point. She was completely worn down throughout all of For the Future, having to regain her magic as so much had been drained from that spell.

-Luz, Gus, and Willow are literally only able to get her to come to class if they put any creature in front of her. A dangerous dragon, a trash slug, pixies, ratworms, anything works, the girl goes doe-eyed at creatures. Otherwise she’ll be dragged into Hexside kicking and screaming.

-She’s a cheerleader for the Emerald Entrails! She did it as a favor for Willow. And also to get back at Bump for not allowing her to be cheer for the Banshees. It’s because of her that snakes are not permitted to be used at cheer tryouts..

-Her eyeball earrings she wears from s1-s2 originally belonged to her mom. They’re rather uncomfortable and rather worn from age, but she always wore them as a memento to her mom. Her eventually deciding to stop wearing them happened after learning to let herself move on from her parents’s passing.

-She got her cardinal earrings while in the Human Realm! It’s while the squad was out shopping for new clothes and Kibitzer and Flapjack directed her towards the pair. She felt guilty for a while as she wasn’t wearing her mom’s, but through some talks with Camila, she realized she didn’t need pieces of jewelry to keep her parents memories alive. She may have also gotten the earrings as a not-so-subtle hint to Hunter about her crush (girl ain’t slick-)

-Her blue jay earrings were a gift from Hunter! I love the headcanon that gifting jewelry in the Boiling Isles is the human equivalent to proposals, so that’s what I went for with it. Masha helped him pick them out from a shop in the Human Realm as he wanted to mix the next step of their relationship from both realms (jewelry from the Human Realm, and the practice of the Demon Realm)

-She views Bump, Bat Queen, and Eberwolf as parental figures to her. And despite the strain they initially had in their relationship, post Day of Unity, her and her grandmother worked to mend their relationship, attending family therapy together.

-As an adult she works as a palisman carver with Hunter and the Clawthornes! Since she’s not great at carving, she manages Palisman Adoption Day at all Boiling Isles schools with the Bat Queen!

-She also has a mentorship under Eberwolf, in which both of them worked to help rescue and relocate beasts who had their habitat destroyed by the raising of the Left Arm during Belos’s possession of the Titan.

-Is very close to the Clawthorne family, Eda, Camila, and Raine all welcoming her in as one of their own (she’s always admired Eda as a wild witch) and Luz, Vee, King, and Collector all happy their brother has an awesome girlfriend who can make him happy (and bonus to Luz since she’s already one her best friends!)

-She’s Waffles’s self declared mom now. Hunter still has yet to earn Kibitzer’s complete approval on their relationship, but he’s getting close! (He just wishes the damn capybara would stop bopping him with those tiny paws of fury-)

And this is Kibitzer and Sam in her gorgon form! (With Salt and Pepper!) (gorgon design is outdated though- I just need a new ref-)

[mothrianna]

Of the Forest

[fem!oc x male!faun]

(This is meant to kick off a series of terato based writings that feature my redguard oc, Nemona, coming across several of the creatures and entities that can be found throughout the expanse of Elder Scroll's Tamriel.)

Summary:

She'd always wanted to visit the rolling meadows and lush forests of High Isle even as a young girl. Now as a woman, she finally gets the chance to see it, and the entire world and all of its natural splendor as she furthers her mother's research. But nothing that her parents taught her prepared her for the things she would find out in Tamriel's wilderness. (In which a faun manages to come across a lone human woman in his native forest and allows his curiosity to get the best of him.)

(somno, oral, terato, unprotected, smut)

Against her better sense, she elected to ignore intuition. 

She'd known the feeling for what it was, a suspicious inclination that she was being watched. Her sense told her that she'd been alone. That hardly anyone walks so far out into the forest save for the lone hunter, and even then most of the locals that called this rural swathe of the country home avoided the untamed wilds. They felt that it was best left to the spirits and animals that held dominion over it. She'd been an oddity. A strange tourist hoping to poke her nose into places not suited for any human, let alone her. In the eyes of those few who had enough inclination to ask her about her journey watched her with knowing, yet sympathetic eyes.

Like they'd known what the forest had in store for her. 

She'd felt the eyes before she could give words to the feeling itself. Felt some extra sense responding to every shift in the nearby underbrush. Or a silence that seemed to stretch on for too long, as if even the birds held their breath. She wrote it off as simple nerves at first. She was far from home for the first time in her life, hoping to further her mother's research into magical ecological survey. She had a single minded goal and she couldn't let paranoia so easily chase her away from it. Not when she'd come so far. 

She'd always been one to listen to gut instinct, stubborn in all endeavors unless her intuition guided her otherwise. This marked the first time she didn't listen, opting to follow her mind rather than the nameless feeling within her that yelled for her to pay attention and go. She threw herself into her work instead, running her series of tests on her sought after nirnroot that has acted as a magical conduit and sponge throughout the duration of its life. She hoped to discern what sort of specific magical properties it's native ecosystem might have imbued it with. Progress went soundly enough, and time flew by since finding the elusive plant. Before she knew it, evening fell. 

She enjoyed the mild air of the bridging gap between summer and autumn, cool and comfortable the moment the sun dipped below the horizon. Of course, she'd find herself drifting off as she waits for the alchemical test results, her body tired from the long day of hiking along streams and riverbeds in her search. She'd only laid her head down for a quick rest of the eyes, prone and curled about herself on the woven blanket she set out as a perfect work area just before her tent. The glade she took camp in had been serene and peaceful enough that sleep found her easily.  

She'd been gifted with a sweet dream. Something warm and unusual for her, granted that she'd always been one for long, dreamless bouts of sleep. She'd always been a heavy sleeper, something her mother worried over her for when she decided to set out on her own. She feared for her only girl, who sought to travel countryside and wildernesses far removed from civilization where any manner of strange beast could happen upon her in the night. But Nemona worried little over it, opting to never let fear bar her from freedom. 

But this time, she dreamt. 

A strange dream, where butterfly touches kissed her bare arms and left goosebumps in their wake. Where the hot puff of breath painted her shoulders in warmth and tickled her neck. A slick hot organ of a tongue gingerly licked at the joining of her neck and collarbone, and she didn't find it a disgusting feeling in the slightest. Surprisingly, it was pleasant enough that it left her insides curling in on themselves like a flower refusing to bloom. Is that what it was like to be licked? To be kissed? 

Hungry tastes of her flesh. She often wore low, breathable cuts in her dresses because she moved about too much for anything more restrictive. It left her bosom more exposed, her chest and collar bare to the elements and open to the hot and hungry laves against her flesh. Something in between her hips responds in force to it, her chest nearly following the sensation with each pass. 

But the mouth traveled lower, ghosting over her clothed breasts. Pressure followed, as if a gentle kiss was being planted just over the space of her nipple. The hands find their way there next, deft fingers lightly brushing over the stiff fabric that separated her from the world. She wore little in the way of wrappings, the garment stiff enough to hold her shape and keep the finer details from the outside world. But here, she wished it was thinner. Wished she could feel just more under those fingers. 

The fingers travel elsewhere, up and down the length of her arms as of the feel of her bare skin is a novelty on its own. Over her hips and thighs. Under the hem of her dress, struggling to find purchase under her layering. But they manage, finding her bare thighs and marveling at the heat between them. 

With her dress pulled back, the night air swaddled her in its coolness, but there was still warmth between her thighs, the heat of a breath at the space between her hips as she felt the certainty of a nose pressed to closely to her flesh that she was certain she was being scented. She almost has the wherewithal to feel shame, but the needling want rooted just behind her hips distracted her from it. She was pushing into the touch instead, hips searching for just more pressure. Relief. 

And she got it, if only incrementally. The tongue lapped at her clothed sex, hot and wet even through the thin cotton of her undergarments and teasing at her flesh. Once. Twice. Searching for her taste with a persistence that brings them back each time with renewed gusto that eventually prompted for the death of restraint. The thin strip of her underclothes are peeled to the side and she was gifted with such a firm, heated lick that it left her squirming. 

Again and again, licking deeply between the lips of her flower as if she'd been coated in nectar. Wanting and hot. Fiercely enough that it pulled a whine from her. Only then did the tempo falter, as if her voice startled her lover. But she needed more. She'd never had something so sweet before, untouched as she was. 

She reached down, her hips searching for him again. Her fingers found their home upon his mop of hair, threading through… 

A furry texture. Short hair, but soft. Her hands go further and find something hard sprouting just from atop the head, like bone. Like horns. Splitting and curling like fine branchwork. 

Like antlers on a stag. 

Her eyes opened, some sinking feeling finally snatching her from her sleep addled daze and prompting her to look. Look she did, craning her neck to find the very real mass just between her legs, frozen like a statue. Like ice, watching her with the same sort of startled stupor as she did him. 

Him. He. A person, but not. 

No, this was neither man nor mer between her legs. Nothing she'd known or even heard of from her parents. Never in their tales of travel across the whole of Tamriel had they ever mentioned a race of man crossed with deer. 

From his head stood a proud, branching set of antlers, beautiful and horrible at once with the way they end in delicate points she knew could gore with enough force behind them. His ears stood still, long and cervine in nature.  He was dark furred, but the color she could not see through the dim, moonlit darkness. But she saw a little of his eyes, wide and dare she'd say- spooked by her sudden wakefulness. As if he'd never intended to wake her. As if he'd been trying for gentleness as he enjoyed her body in her sleep. 

She was without reaction for long, arcing moments. If he wished to meet her with aggression, she'd be hopeless either way with the way she seemed to lock up like startled prey. She finally kicked herself, pushing herself up abruptly onto her hands and he reacted as if burned, moving away from her and leaving a yawning, cold and gaping berth between them. 

He was horrible yet beautiful at once. Unnatural to her eyes, but of nature. His long, cervid face held a grace to it despite being trapped between man and stag. And she couldn't say he bore the gaze of a beast, with the way his eyes seemed to swim with fear. He knelt crouched just away from her, body tensed like a coil as if he prepared to bolt. His body bore the physique of a slender and lean male, almost mer-like in height and grace. His musculature bore an elegance, finely woven and tempered. Strong, hooved legs and long, slim arms. Clawed hands and a slender middle.

[legacygirlingreen]

November 1892 // Farmer Sebastian Sallow x Reader (part 9)

Part 9, full master list and description here

Warnings: teen angst

Word count: 3,500

'Til you do, 'til it's true

As she started her third year in school, Sebastian began his last at Hogwarts. The two grew impossibly close, despite having less time to actually converse, and more distance. Her brother had gotten his Hogwarts letter, and started in September. When she wrote to him, he did say that Sebastian cheered the loudest when the boy had been placed into Hufflepuff. 

When one of her professors came with a collaborative research opportunity to study abroad for a few months, she was eager to prove herself. Not even caring where such an endeavor might lead, she signed up to go with the beasts professor to work with other students around her age on a project concerning a new healing potion. It wasn’t until after she’d agreed to go for a full month at another school that she realized it was Hogwarts she’d be traveling to with her professor for a few weeks. 

Deciding to not tell Sebastian, she figured she would surprise him, as well as her younger brother. The journey amongst the skies in a unicorn pulled carriage had been lovely. Seeing the highlands as they traveled made her feel homesick. She felt giddy when they arrived, house elfs collecting their things. 

Their group included some of her fellow classmates - 3 to be exact - as well as her beasts professor Ms. Morris. The woman had easily become her favorite professor despite the subject not being the most applicable. Ms. Morris had studied at Hogwarts herself before relocating to Paris to work with the embassy there for a few years, before going to teach at Beauxbatons. She was much younger than most of the professors, and commanded class with a much friendly approach.

As they exited the carriage, she watched as Ms. Morris greeted the headmaster, Phineas Black. The man seemed well groomed and in a perfectly tailored green suit. His age only shows in the slight gray stripe in his hair. 

“Ah Ms. Morris, students from Beauxbatons, I would like to introduce you to Professor Sharp, he is our potions professor and will be helping to lead your research team.” Headmaster Black informed them. 

“What happened to Professor Lawerence?” Ms. Morris spoke and Black bluntly commented 

“Early retirement. Aesop Sharp is a former Auror. I assure you he is competent.” Black said leaving without much word.

“Ms. Morris, lovely to meet you Professor -“ she started to introduce herself to the man when he interrupted her, scooping her hand in his own and doing the best bow he could manage despite his leg. The girl noticed immediately how he limped and it showed when he attempted to bow slightly in respect. 

“Call me Aesop. The pleasure is all mine…?“

“Rebecca,” the woman responded with a smile. 

Y/n couldn’t help but want to be reunited with Sebastian or her brother. Unfortunately they had other plans as they were given a brief tour of the school by the groundskeeper who arrived shortly - Mr. Moon.

Finally when they made it outside the great hall she could hear through the large doors as the headmaster introduced the guests, before Mr. Moon allowed them entrance by pushing back the doors. 

“Welcome the traveling team from the esteemed Beauxbatons academy. Please do your best to make them feel welcome as they are here to learn in your classes and around the school grounds” Black commented as they started their dramatic walk to the front of the hall. 

She could feel her cheeks warm, feeling the eyes of the entire school on her as her soft blue uniform swayed elegantly like her classmates. She took the lead, walking ahead of the other three students: boys named Michelangelo and Pierre, as well as a girl named Camille. All three being at least 2 years ahead of her. She felt confident being allowed such an honor much earlier than her peers. 

Walking through the hall she searched for the Slytherin table, attempting to scan the faces to find Sebastian and regretfully coming up empty. She soon switched her gaze to the hufflepuff table and found her brother's shocked face staring as she waved sweetly. 

Eventually they joined Black at the front who escorted her professor to join the other teachers before telling them to feel free to mingle wherever they’d like with the other students. She turned, moving towards her brother when she heard it. 

“Chou?!” 

She turned around immediately and saw Sebastian standing up, from a portion of the Slytherin table that had been difficult to see earlier. He leapt from the bench and ran towards her. 

“You’re here? But how?” He asked to come closer, looking down at her with a smile as he saw her uniform. 

“Collaborative research project between our schools… but you’d know that if you paid attention.” She giggled as he scooped her up for a hug in front of her gawking peers and his classmates. She disregarded it, allowing his strong arms to surround her again as she laid a peck to each of his freckle filled cheeks. 

Suddenly she felt hands from behind reaching her and she knew her brother would also want a greeting so she regretfully let go of the farm boy to hug her younger brother. 

“une lettre aurait été bien” her brother said with a laugh and she shrugged while ruffling his now slightly overgrown hair. Her brother didn’t give her much time to respond before he ran off abruptly and rejoined his friends. 

“Come sit with me?” Sebastian offered and she smiled, allowing him to lead her over to the Slytherin table. Turning around her classmates looked at her pleading and she motioned they could follow her if they’d like. When they approached the Slytherin table, a few students moved over to accommodate the 4 students, one of those being a familiar head of dirty blonde hair. 

“Oh hello Ominis, wonderful to see you again” she told him when she sat down across from the boy she’d met on occasion due to his presence in Feldcroft. 

“I thought that Sebastian was simply happy to eat dinner shouting about cabbages. Although Black’s comment did contextualize it more now that I think about it… I assume your trip was pleasant?” Ominis asked her and she assured him. 

“I still can’t believe you’re here” Sebastian said in disbelief as a small smile graced his full lips as he started helping her by telling her which foods on the table were his favorite. 

As they ate and caught up she couldn’t help but steal glances at him. While her crush had dwindled with time, knowing she truly did enjoy being in his life as a friend and knowing he only saw her as such, it never fully went away. The older - and more handsome - he got it occasionally resurfaced. He’d grown taller, and wider at the shoulders, with his arms seeming to fill out. Gone were all traces of his baby fat in his face, replaced with a stronger jaw and higher cheekbones. Along the edges of his chin was the appearance of stubble from the last time he’d shaved and he’d allowed his sideburns to grow much further down than he used to. Regardless he still maintained a more boyish charm, despite now being a man. 

Suddenly she felt eyes on her, and when she looked past Sebastian she saw a girl glaring at them. Sebastian followed her eyes and rolled his own before asking the girl: 

“Got a problem Reyes?” with his dark eyes angrily pointed at her. 

“Isn’t she a little young for you Sallow?” the girl returned his glare with her own in defiance. 

“Whatever do you mean Imelda?” he asked with an eye roll. 

“I didn’t figure you of all people would be going for such a young sweetheart. Whenever you mentioned your friend from Beauxbatons I always imagined well… someone in our age group.  Not a child.” Imelda explained harshly. At this she sucked in a shaky breath, watching as Sebastian’s face twisted into a grimace, almost as if he rejected the Slytherin girl’s words immediately. 

“I don’t know what delusions you are operating under Imelda, but y/n and I are exclusively friends, companions, partners in crime, confidants. Merlin, she’s like a little sister to me. I’d never actually consider courting her.” He replied with a disgusted tone.

“Ah so your little cabbage has a name, how cute. Although you might want to let her know that, because the poor thing looks like she’s fit to burst out in tears any second” Imedla laughed and Sebastian looked over. 

Reyes was far from lying. She was about to cry. She understood the boy didn’t see her in that manner, and it had been a pill she’d been neglecting to swallow for years, but now that sad reality forced its way down her throat in the form of a tight lump. 

I’d never actually consider courting her. The words rang in her head. She stared at the wood grain in the table, hoping more than anything she could go back in time and simply not have come to Hogwarts. If she had, she’d be able to continue operating under the delusions that maybe someday he’d love her as more than just a friend… or at the very least not find her so utterly repulsive he felt the need to save his reputation and deny it so openly and rudely. 

Standing up without warning, she started to head for anywhere other than the Great Hall. As supper had dragged on, students had begun to file out and go back to their common rooms. At her hasty standing Ms. Morris noticed her attempt to flee, as did her 3 classmates who sat there shocked.  

Not even caring where she was going to hurried out of the hall and pushed her way out the doors that led to the courtyard. She knew Sebastian was likely not far behind her so she cast disillusionment around her to conceal herself from the boy and started off down the stairs that the grounds keeper said would lead to the lake. 

She could hear footsteps and Sebastian calling her name but she didn’t care. She just kept going hoping to escape him and have just a moment to herself to process the way such a deep friend and someone she trusted, could be so repulsed by her. 

Eventually she found herself at the edge of the lake near the boathouse and sat down on the dock, pulling her knees to her chest and burying her face as she tried not to cry. She wasn’t sure how much time went on, but eventually tears did start falling as she laid there silently. Somewhere along the way her charm had dropped as well, leaving anyone who wanted to look, a clear view of a sad girl crying in the dark by the lake. 

When she heard the footsteps approaching, she tried to ignore them, but when they got to be right next to her she quickly spoke.

“Go away Sebastian, I don’t feel like speaking right now.” she said bluntly, not looking up.

“What if I am not Sebastian?” a feminine voice asked and she looked up, seeing her professor, taking a seat next to her. 

“I am sorry professor, I shouldn’t have run out like that. We are guests here and I -” she started to explain but the woman kindly held up her open palm stopping her. 

“It’s alright, you’re not in trouble. Pierre told me what happened when you ran off, and I came to check on you. Are you alright?” she asked gently and the girl shook her head. 

“I know - I know he doesn’t like me in that way, but It hurt hearing him so revolted by the thought of it, as if I am not worthy of anyone’s time…” she explained sadly. 

Ms. Morris thought for a moment and softened her expression before replying: “Do you know why you are here?” 

“Because I was stupid enough to sign up to come here” she said bluntly, wiping her face of tears. At this the woman laughed before shaking her head. 

“Far from it actually. You are here because I wanted you to be. I thought you were capable. More capable than most of your peers and even some older than you. You are very knowledgeable in many areas. My class, potions and herbology. You are one of the brightest witches I’ve had the privilege of educating. Don’t let anyone make you feel less valuable than you are… especially not a Slytherin boy of all people.” the woman joked and it received a small snort from the girl.

“What’s wrong with Slytherin boys?” she inquired

“Nothing… inherently… but it's always a smart idea to watch out with them. They can often be more charming initially and then harsher than you anticipated.” she explained with a distant look in her eye. 

“Like Professor Sharp?” the girl asked, recalling the way the man had so openly flirted with her teacher, and the woman blushed at the memory. 

“Exactly like Professor Sharp. We should both focus on our task here and steer clear as much as possible from the serpents alright?” the woman replied while she stood, offering hand as the two of them walked back to the castle. 

As they approached the Great Hall again they were intercepted by the man in question, who’s hand was currently clamped down over the shoulder of a very guilty looking Sebastian.

“Miss y/l/n, I believe this one would like to apologize for making you feel less than welcome” the man said gruffly while pushing Sebastian forward. 

“Chou-” he started and she interrupted him.

“Y/n.” she said bluntly and at this, his face fell and his lips moved into a tight line. 

“Y/n. I am sorry for what I said, I had no right to be so rude. You're wonderful-” once again she interrupted him.

“It’s fine Sebastian. No need for apologies and certainly no need for lies to comfort my feelings. If you don’t mind, it’s been a long journey and I wish to retire with my classmates and professor to our accommodations,” she told Sebastian formally, as if they were strangers before turning to Professor Sharp and saying “I apologize sir for my childish actions, I promise they are not a reflection upon my capability to perform in the classroom”

With that, Ms. Morris came forward wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulder, before escorting her off with the other students. As Sebastian was pushed in the direction of the Dungeons he kept looking back, over his shoulder, hoping she would be trying to catch his eyes. When the girl kept looking forward his heart sank and he realized the extent of his mistakes… 

———————————————-

The Beauxbatons students spent most of their time at Hogwarts in classes with the 5th year students. Since all of her peers were in their fifth year themselves it made sense to place them all with the students at their host school to maintain their education over the time abroad. 

When they weren’t in classes or working on the research project with Professor Sharp, they were allowed to mingle and explore the grounds like any other students. She had been so excited to show her friends from France Hogsmeade and introduce them to her younger brother. 

Ever since that first night she’d ignored all of Sebastian’s attempts to apologize, avoiding him like the plague. He’d sent notes, letters, he tried the mirror, even waiting outside near where the carriage they enchanted to be quarters but she always managed to slip past him. 

In her classes she’d made some friends with Hogwarts students, namely a boy from Gryffindor named Lucan. His excited and infectious energy was hard not to be drawn into. The boy had approached her, asking how she’d known Sebastian and after a brief explanation she also realized he ran the dueling club Sebastian was so proud to be a part of. They bonded over their knowledge of the boy and knowing how occasionally hot headed he could be- as well as the art of dueling. 

Despite spending free time with Lucan, she continually denied his requests for her to come watch crossed wands out of fear of crossing paths with Sebastian. She did worry that eventually the boy might wear her down due to the way she was slowly growing fond of his extremely curly hair and hazel eyes…

“Ah, just the girl I was looking for…” speak of the devil. She rolled her eyes before turning around, prepared for yet another onslaught of him begging her to go to crossed wands, despite knowing her aversion to being in the same room as her long time friend right now. 

She was surprised when instead she saw him standing there, single rose in hand, with a nervous expression gracing his face. Raising an eyebrow she stepped forward, just for him to practically shove the flower into her hand without warning. 

“This is for you” Lucan said, a smile on his face as he looked down at her. 

“Any particular reason for gifting me random flora or…?” She asked him suspiciously, prepared for more begging about the dueling club. 

“Well, sort of… I was wondering if you would go to the -“ she nearly fumed at his never ending attempts to push her boundaries but she’s glad she didn’t interrupt him as his request shocked her “Yule Ball with me?” 

“The what?” She asked shocked and he looked nervous before he tried to explain.

“The Yule ball. It’s a ball, held every 4 years here and it is right before the Yule holiday begins and when you return home… if you’re worried about not being allowed since you don’t technically attend the school I already asked professor Weasley and she said that your peers and professor were already invited. I just really hoped you’d want to go with me.” He said and she absorbed his words the best she could. 

“Lucan-“ she started and the boy looked down dejected, prepared for her to say no.

“It’s alright, I wasn’t sure if you had made up with Sebastian, and if you prefer he escort you I understand as you’ve known him longer and I heard him tell Natsi he wanted to take you, I just thought-“ by this point the poor boy was nearly rambling. 

“Lucan, I would love to go with you.” She said with a smile.

“But what about Sebastian?” He asked surprised, now worried he might upset the older student for stealing the girl he wished to take. 

“What about him? Last I heard he found me nearly repulsive… I’d much rather go with you and have a good time… besides I think you’d look quite handsome in your dress robes'' she said blushing and he mirrored her expression.

“Well then, I look forward to escorting you m’lady” 

———————————————

The night of the ball, she got ready with Ms. Morris and Camille. Her classmate had been so kind as to go with her to Hogsmead to find a dress for the ball, and they’d settled on a beautiful gown. 

The three finished getting ready, a feat that was impressive considering all the layers they had to put on, before her professor escorted them all towards the castle. As she walked towards the great hall to find Lucan she bumped into someone and when she moved to apologize, her words died on her tongue. 

She had done a fantastic job evading him since she’d traveled here, but it had all gone to waste as Sebastian stood in front of her now, green dress robes pristine with the exception of his tie, which had been removed in his attempt to redo the knot in it. He looked as if he always had, so incredibly handsome with seemingly no effort and yet… 

“You cut your hair” she said breathlessly as their eyes made contact. It had been far too long since his beautiful brown eyes had looked at her, but right now they seemed to be gazing at her in a way they never had. She couldn’t quite place what they meant but he eventually responded to her verbal olive branch. 

“I did. It was getting outrageous… In a few months the long and overgrown bush I previously called hair, won’t be acceptable to go to work, so I decided to cut it now so I could get used to it” he explained as she stared at him. It looked so much more mature on him despite not being that different. He’d merely cleaned up the edges a little but it somehow completely changed his overall appearance. 

“It looks good.” She said bluntly before suddenly finding his polished dress shoes more interesting. 

“You look-“ he started but was interrupted.

“Ah Sebastian, here to try and steal my date? I surely hope not” Lucan’s cheerful voice rang in the air as she turned to see him standing next to her. His dress robes are a bit loose, as he hasn’t quite filled out as nicely as Sebastian had…. Stop. She nearly yelled at herself. She came with Lucan, the kind boy who had made her feel welcome, not the neighbor who had broken her heart. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Lucan. You all have fun at the ball. And Lucan-“ Sebastian said, turning on his heel to leave as the Gryffindor boy’s eyes grew wide. 

“Nothing untoward. Be respectful, after all my lovely neighbor is a lady…” Sebastian didn’t give anyone a chance to respond before he slipped into the crowd and disappeared.  “Well that was odd. Shall we go in?” Lucan asked, offering a hand for her and she placed her gloved hand into his. Before he carefully helped her move about the great hall together for a night of fun, well mannered frivolity…

[machinesonix]

An embarrassing share of my family's estate has been redistributed in the acquisition of experimental material. The trappings of modern ethics in the have sought to stymie the progress of science since before the Fall, and the bleeding hearts have only become more agitated ever since the rats started talking. Thus I have made sure to procure written consent and a receipt of payment for each Rattus Faber ‘volunteer’ in my project to forestay scandal.

If there are any truths to be gleaned from my research the foremost among them is this; If you give a rodent a confection the d–ned things will exploit you for all you are worth. What sympathy I might have fostered for these vermin has been whittled down by their extortionate demands. While so much of London subsists on mushroom flour and the questionably sourced meat-like fare purveyed by Mrs. Plenty, these rats eat as well as any in the Shuttered Palace. I would have hoped a few respectable vintages from Greyfields’ cellars would sate a beast’s tastes for luxury, but treacles and marmalade from the Surface? Soon enough the rodents will have enjoyed more of my estate’s largesse than I might ever hope to.

Precious little has been learned, save for the extent of rodential avarice. Let the church say what it will of mankind’s inclination towards sin, had God granted any beast of nature half the faculties of man we would be more likely to see essays in defense of cannibalizing the young rather than the abandonment of the habit. Yes, there is risk inherent to participating in my studies, and yes it is customary that dangerous work be compensated with additional pay, but I cannot help but feel that tradition ought to be relaxed in the new context of the Neath in the same manner we have abandoned customs regarding marriage and romance in the face of irrefutable proof that  there are a great deal more categories of personhood than the two commonly accepted on the Surface. 

None of them will suffer any permanent harm until my endeavors are successful and in that eventuality the contract guarantees generous provisions to compensate the family of the deceased. And still, they expect hazard pay as though their deaths were permanent affairs. One in every ten poor souls at any textile mill in London can be seen missing eyes or fingers but are still paid a pauper’s wage because their mutilation is left to chance. If a breakthrough is made tomorrow, perhaps one rat in one hundred will have suffered more than a protracted nap before whatever subnatural force set their little hearts beating once more. 

While postmortem interviews have proved informative, the stories are all the same. Regardless of the means of death, the subjects report memories of passage on a small boat in dark waters drifting towards a distant shore. Other passengers may or may not be aboard, but descriptions of the gondolier seem to all indicate a common person (granting, of course, allowances for the subjective interpretation of species, rats and humans alike consider the boatman ‘sharp-eyed’ and ‘well-dressed.’)  Witnesses corroborate the presence of a chess set, though I’ve nothing but rumors to ascertain its purpose. Elizabeth, is this why you always played like you had something to lose?

–From the Journal of Dr. Thomas Abernathy, May 3, 1868

[pinkafropuff]

[old friends]

When they first met, Aran did not think of it as an adventure to be excited about. All Minfilia had told her was that their friend “Cid Garlond” had much desired to see her, and that she should make haste to be by his side to help him with whatever his endeavor was on that night, and that would take several weeks- if not months- to complete. 

She’d only nodded. Though she didn’t like or dislike Cid, she found that her own lot was being instrumental to whatever he wished to use her for, simply by virtue of being the strongest woman in his line of sight. Which was annoying, but. Well? It was good for the Scions, so she guessed it was good enough for her.

(She didn’t have to like it, though.)

When she showed up that first time, she was instructed to speak to a man called Rammbroes (who, thankfully she was familiar enough with to know he would not treat her as an errand girl) who then sent her on a mission that- after much technical-babble- was…an errand. But that was mostly okay, in this case. He beseeched her as he would a friend, especially when he added, “There is also someone I would like you to check up on, a researcher that came along with us. If you can find him, I will be very grateful, as I have not heard from him in a while.”

This was the start of her troubles.

“I have hidden them,” said the voice in lieu of her stupid aethersand, her stupid lightning cores. “And I would send you to fetch them- so long as you pass my trial.”

 Given she had Midgardsormr perched on her shoulder at the time, she was not in the mood to entertain more ancestors, or fairies, or great beasts, or whatever wanted to toy with her now, and would sooner put them to her blade instead. A relief, too, when whatever it was decided that she’d overperformed for it and had to reward her with her prize.

Perform. She was used to that now. Still, the word itched against her scalp. Mayhaps she should change her hairstyle again soon. Thinking such as she headed back to camp, she relayed to Rammbros that she had not, in fact, found the bloody researcher he’d been talking about and was instead beset by something else, only to be cut short in her story by the announcement of the very same researcher showing up on their doorstep with all the aplomb of an impressionable teenager.

“I hope I did not keep you waiting long,” he said. Aran looked him up and down. A short man with red hair and one green eye, one red. 

Kinda cute. She’d thought, arms crossed. But not really my type. Despite this, his eyes were on her (though, notably, he seemed to be trying not to do so with some measure of excitement) and she let her own slide past, as though she could not keep up with his boundless enthusiasm-

-until it occurred to her suddenly that she’d heard his voice before.

“This is Aran. The friend I was talking about. Most people call her the Warrior of Light, though."

He seemed a bit put off by this, eyes wide and tail lifting a bit in the back, as though hearing such surprised him. When Aran realized it meant he hadn’t know it was her, she smiled, despite herself.

“I-” He cleared his throat. “Well, ‘tis a pleasure to meet the eikon slayer! Cid did say he was bringing a friend, but-” Were it not so dark, she may have thought his cheeks were growing pink- though whether that was from excitement or embarrassment was anyone’s guess.

His eyes were nearly sparkling. A little endearing, maybe. A little frightening, also, for reasons she could not explain at first. A feeling. “Right! G’raha Tia, at your service! This is my first foray, so you’ll have to excuse me. I’ll have to improve my martial skills somewhat, before we set upon the tower.”

Her eyes dimmed. She was becoming used to a something by now that she dared not share with the others, a dangerous sort of thing that betrayed how this world, under Hydaelyn’s laws, worked. As they chattered on about getting inside and the schematics of the tower, Aran excused herself to schedule another appointment with Jaudeline in Limsa. That feeling in her gut did not go away and even as she bid them goodnight, she closed her eyes to recover the edges of that instinct, burning it deep into the back of her mind. 

That boy was in danger. She would make it her job to be sure he survived.

It was all moot, at some point. No matter what happened, what she did or thought to say, G’raha was always destined to be lost in that tower. To lock himself inside.

“The future is where my destiny awaits.”

She wanted to shake him. To grab his hand- and did, she realized suddenly, when his gaze flickered downward- though she released it almost as quickly as she’d caught it. The others gave him well-wishes, supporting him in his goal to search for a better future by doing only what he could do, by proxy of being the last in a long and spiraling Allagan bloodline. 

Aran only clenched her jaw. She knew this plot only too well, and did not say a word.

She took a step back. It was not until night fell that she realized she was simply standing at the closed doors of the tower, contemplating how to feel about heroes that don’t come back.

-----

What was it about that man that made her so crazy? Was it the cowl? The sandals? The voice that she was sure she had heard somewhere before- its lilting tone only offset by how somber he sounded. Or tried not to sound. When he gave her the tour, she found herself less and less angry than she should have been; he abducted all of her friends and put them in precarious states, and coerced her into coming to a doomed world, but-

…but…

Oh, but it was beautiful! They were thriving, not surviving, and even he sounded ecstatic to show her! To make her understand! Surely it wouldn’t have been different if he’d taken her hand as he’d done it, the pride of a father bragging about his children (though trying not to) leaking into his voice as he directed her here and there and elsewhere to be sure she understood. To be sure she knew. 

This world is worth saving.

It was new. After all that war, after fighting Zenos, after nearly falling to his blasted blade it felt…

Romantic.

Romantic and idealistic and…

Under the newly shining night sky, he kneeled before her. A proposal, of sorts. Even long into the future, the action was not lost on her. Still, she wanted to chastise him. To be angry with him or admonish him for doing this at all. For reminding her of what he’d already done, villainous as his accidental actions were. But…after his display with the Lightwarden- his graceful parries and stunning shield bashes with such magnificent, quiet calm, that she’d nearly held her own breath- she thought differently. She felt differently.

How embarrassing.

The desperate plea of an old man, his hopes resting on a dying world. On her. Again. And yet- 

“Will you help me save this star?”

Beautiful. He was beautiful.

----

After the rejection- after the almost in her room, that other night, she withdrew in a way she did not think she could. From him, specifically. From others, not as much. It faltered only for a second when he returned from Vauthry’s castle, when he faltered, when Alphinaud let it slip that the Crystal Exarch truly could not go far from the tower without weakening himself severely. It made her want to scream. Made her want to say so many, many things, but none were coherent. What could she say, really? ‘Stop endangering yourself’? ‘Stop being a fool’? What did that matter to them both? Wasn’t she also a fool to trust him? To fight for a cause that was in some parts a lie? To allow herself manipulation so long as she had someone to believe in?

Oh yes, she knew. She was stupid, but not that big of a fool. And he was not that good at lying to her, either. He omitted before he lied outright, and she perceived it easily, in the middle of the beats and the almost-stutters clipped between words and-

….where had she heard those things before? It was different, but still there, still obvious, I know you, I know, I knew you, but from where? From when? Why was he so strikingly familiar, and yet so different than anything she would have thought before? 

How could she forget someone so glittering bright?

It was at Mt. Gulg that she realized it was not in the forgetting. Nor was it in the remembering. It was in a secret that had been sealed and buried deep in that despicable tower and did not leave any hints big enough to pull on like thread that would lead back to him. Not until then. Not until Mt. Gulg.

“The future is where my destiny awaits.”

He said it in a moment of delirium. A moment of weakness. She doubted, too, that he remembered he’d uttered it aloud at all, but…

Oh, beloved.

She wanted to close that distance between them. Even for a little bit. Even if the distance between two hands spanned malms, past the rivers and lakes that he wished to travel over with her. That he wished to adventure across, despite being tied to that stupid tower. That stupid tower.

She had half a mind to break it into pieces.

“What will you do after this?”

His mouth opened in surprise, despite himself. What an expressive mouth. She never tired of watching it, or listening to him talk, even when he sounded sad and upset with himself about something. It was revealing, all the same. He hadn’t expected that question, for whatever reason, and though his answer did not please her, it was nice to listen to his lies of omission all the same.

It was also why, when she was dying and she heard his voice, she calmed. Why despite herself, throwing up stark white bile, the contents of her stomach mixed with poisonous and imbalanced aether, she paused. Her vision was blighted, her body broiling from the inside out, and all she could think in that single, dismal moment was that she was glad he came.

You came.

“At journey’s end, a thief makes off with the hero’s prize. A bit anticlimactic, I’d wager, but I digress.”

A villain. What he wanted was to make himself a villain. But he was just too heroic to pull it off. He always had been. For what can a righteous man do but what is right? Can a just judge not abide by what is true? What is good?

(“You’re shit at this.”)

Words never left her still-dry mouth. Splinters through her face, her hands, her horns, heat at the back of her neck, closing up her throat, she could not say anything at all so she reached out her hand, to close the distance. To try. 

She reached out. 

And the wind, hearing her plea, took his hood with it. 

-----

The Echo was a convenient tool at best, and magical eavesdropping at worst, but for Aran at this particular time, with her key from Lyna and her view of the Exarch’s study, it was enlightening. Maddening, yes, but enlightening. There were at least three people who earned her ire, and not one of them would be spared that wrath, despite the bleary edges at her vision and the clarifying Light that burned her already sensitive eyes at the best of times.

“It is only a temporary fix,” Ryne told her, but Aran didn’t mind. It was enough for now. “Please, don’t overexert yourself.”

What a funny thing to ask of her. When was she not overexerting herself? No, in this case, something hotter than Light burned in her veins, something far more potent and spiriting than even her outing with the Crystal Exarch in Tomra. 

“So, what will you do?” The ghost of a Warrior of Light past, the angel on her shoulder with a bloodied axe on his back, paced around the room behind her, seeing what she saw. 

I’ll kill him. Contemplating. Thinking. Judging. The spanning knowledge of his decisions- for this world and its salvation and her own almost made her sour. Almost.

That jerk didn't kiss me because he was going to die.

Silence. Trembling at her shoulders was more than silence, but she did not give into it. Not yet.

THAT JERK WOULDN'T KISS ME BECAUSE HE PLANNED ON DYING!!!

AGAIN

AGAIN

AGAIN

Oh, but he had indulged her. He let her flirt with him, hungrily ate up the attention she gave him, and even returned it on several occasions. But he always pulled back. Always pulled away. Like he was taking just enough. Just enough to sate him for a while, as he staved off the inevitable. As he bided his time for certain doom.

You are too strong for your own good.

She wanted to break something. Well. Now that it was all out in the open, she'd find something to break.

"If the Scions find out, they will try to save one person to save none. You must keep this secret for me, Urianger."

("Would that I could lay it all bare- but I cannot. Not even for her.")

"I'm afraid we must pick this up at another time, my friend."

She sucked in air through her nose. Then she clasped her hands once she reached her decision. “I’m going to have some words…with Emet-Selch and the Exarch both.” 

The fury building in her scalp made her head itch. “But first,” a smile pulled at her lips, sharp teeth throbbing in her mouth as she yearned for bloodshed, “I’m going to get my hair done. ✨”

[soggytaxidermy]

do you have posts about silas lore… if not i wish to know it. if so i would like to read them, and i have an alternative question: what would he be most likely to get arrested for :)

Aahh thanks so much for the ask! I don't have any Silas lore posts at the moment (I will endeavor to make one soon). Brief overview below the cut:

He was a choir surgeon who specialized in the phantasms and theorized that they could be used to achieve ascension. He was one of the chief scientists of the research hall and responsible for creating the brainsuckers. After a while, his conscious started to weigh on him, and he began having strange dreams from which he would wake up drenched in saltwater. This culminated in attempted suicide via throwing himself from the top of the clocktower. While prevented, it didn't sway his wanning faith in the church. He began to sneak out and spread anti-church papers that told of some of their practices and raised questions about others under the pen name The Witness. This little ploy was found out by the Church and he was tried for it and put under house arrest in his study in the research hall until they could figure out what to do with him. Then came the night of the burning of Old Yharnam. Silas saw his chance to escape amidst the chaos and took it. It didn't go exactly as planned, as the fall he avoided years caught up with him, albeit from a shorter distance (and accidentally this time), however he did survive with a nasty compound fracture that would mess up his ability to walk normally on his right leg for the rest of his life. He wandered, limped, and dragged his way to Hemwick, where he set up his secret clinic in an abandoned mill. He devoted his practice to curing beasthood without using blood, using surgery and amputation and developing his own drugs to combat it. Along the way three things happen: First, he realizes there are signs he is falling to beasthood as well (the purple im his left eye). Second, he gets addicted to his own experimental drugs after testing on himself for so long. Third, the saltwater dreams do not cease and in fact become clearer, accompanied by a ghost of a rune that he keeps seeing everywhere that he can't decipher the meaning of. He becomes obsessed with the rune, convinced that he's discovered a whole new Great One. The rune is Witness, and the lost Caryll Rune prevents one from suffering the affects of frenzy. Armed with this new boon, he continued to pursue his hidden eldritch patron, desperate to find a cure - now his humanity was on the line as well. His progress was cut short by being discovered by the School of Mensis. Silas was taken captive and his clinic burnt. In the end, he makes contact with his Great One, and is transformed into something half-beast, half-kin.

Omfg sorry I said brief and wrote you an essay fgghghhh at least a Silas lore post exists now!

And in answer to what Silas would probably be arrested for: in modern context, probably making drugs. Any drug crime in the book, actually. Good job Silas walter white-ing it up

[saurotitan]

My Superhero Ideas: The Midwestern Marvels

This is based on something I started thinking about while coming up with my "spidersona" Cave-Spider, which is the simple fact that the midwest doesn't get any superheroes in mainline comics. Sure, there's the Great Lake Avengers, but those guys are literally a joke. To rectify this massive travesty I brainstormed a few ideas and wrote quick character profiles for the first members of a team I'm tentatively calling the Midwestern Marvels. I'd love to get some feedback from you all on this idea, and if you've got any character ideas, character art or constructive criticism feel free to let me know.

The Iron Brigadier:

Name: Thomas Miller

Age: 24/ 183 (time travel mishap)

Aliases: "The Old Soldier" "The Last Black Hat" "Kang's Little Oopsie"

Abilities: Trace amounts of super-soldier serum in bloodstream due to transfusion provide Miller with peak human performance in athletic endeavors. Trained marksman with upgraded 'Spencer' repeating rifle, talented hand-to-hand combatant, owns a bayonet crafted from a damaged piece of Sam Wilson's flight harness. Trained public speaker.

Overview: A member of the Civil War group known as the Iron Brigade, Thomas was just another young man fighting for his country. One day on an especially bloody battlefield Thomas was wounded and separated from his fellow soldiers, and out of nowhere a flash of light appeared. When the light dissipated Thomas saw three men in odd costumes fighting (Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and Dang the Conqueror). Ignoring his injuries, Thomas ran over to help the man wearing the colors of the American flag, picking up a broken piece of Falcon's wing from the mud to use as a knife. Upon realizing the fight was three on one Kang attempted to retreat to the present day, bringing Mr. Miller along for the ride in the chaos. Kang fled the scene shortly after, leaving a very confused Thomas Miller to collapse from wounds sustained in 1864. In order to keep him alive until medical aid could arrive Steve Rogers gave Miller a blood transfusion. Now trapped in the present day, Thomas is the last man standing from a force of men who never gave up while fighting a good fight. He is the sole beneficiary of a veteran's pension fund set up for those who served in the American Civil War, and occasionally gives talks on the importance of cooperation and equal rights. He actually had to take lessons on public speaking after coming to the present day but he believes in the message he's spreading with all his heart. Thomas recognizes the Union he fought for has flaws but he's still glad to see that the future turned out pretty bright.

Hodag:

Name: Lawrence Jackson

Age: 19

Aliases: "The Forest Beast" "The Midwestern Mutant"

Abilities: Inhuman strength, bullet-resistant hide, retractible claws, tail, steel-crushing jaws, rapid regenerative healing, adaptive camouflage. Skilled cook and excellent with computers

Weaknesses: Sensitive hearing, mediocre low-light vision, requires more food/water/minerals than normal human to fuel regenerative healing capabilities. Not a great climber and has trouble making sharp turns while running.

Overview: Lawrence was born looking relatively normal despite possessing an x-gene and probably would've gone through life without an issue if not for his college professor Dr. Smith. Doctor Smith was a cutting-edge researcher in the relatively new field of mutant genetics, and wasn't going to let little things like morality or ethics get in the way of a promising test subject with vestigial mutations just waiting to express themselves. Smith staged a "lab accident" that caused a shift in Lawrence's DNA, expressing his latent mutant traits. To cover his tracks the professor blamed a nearby fight between local hero Cave-Spider and a crew of armed robbers. Cave-Spider and young Mr. Jackson wound up going head-to-head in a widely publicized brawl the next night outside Mt. Horeb, Wisconsin (the troll capitol of the world!) before cooler heads prevailed and the real culprit could be identified. Sadly, Dr. Smith had fled the region while his former student was distracted, trapping Lawrence in his monstrous form with little hope for a cure. Dubbed the Hodag by the local media, Lawrence now tries to use his strength to protect the innocent from those who would harm them, running a soup kitchen for mutants in downtown Milwaukee. He, Cave-Spider, and Iron Brigadier were all founding members of the hero group The Midwestern Marvels.

Zaj:

Name: Ying Kue

Age: 21

Aliases: "The Hmong Dragon" "The Minnesota Powerhouse"

Abilities: Flight, fire projection from hands, pyrokinisis, strength sufficient to lift a freight train, hand-to-hand combat training, magic resistance, costume is strong enough to deflect multiple RPG rounds. Bilingual and able to play the trumpet.

Weaknesses: Sustained fire from heavy weapons can eventually wear through defenses, reliance on fire renders some rescues challenging (rescuing cats from trees, rerouting floodwaters, etc). Powers are recharged by sunlight, meaning winter operations may leave Ying drained from shorter days. Time management skills are a constant challenge. Allergic to shellfish and unsure of how to expand knowledge of magic.

Overview: Daughter of a Hmong immigrant family living in Minneapolis, Ying gained her powers on her 18th birthday when trying to save an elderly neighbor from frostbite during a blackout that struck seemingly out of nowhere. When she asked others in the neighborhood about the old man no one seemed to know who she was talking about, and upon checking his apartment all Ying found was a costume and a note : yours now. Taking this as a sign, over the following years Ying would make a name for herself as a protector of Minneapolis, a vocal supporter of Asian-American communities, and the first new member of the Midwestern Marvels after the group's inception after a team-up against mutual foe Road Rage. She still struggles to make time for her family, her personal life, her hero career, and exploration into just what her powers are, but time management is a struggle for everyone these days.

Thoughts?

[evolutionsvoid]

Though I strive to study and discuss the countless species in this world in a factual manner, often I must delve into the myths that surround them. It would seem like a pointless endeavor if my goal is to teach others the truth about these creatures, but I feel it would be a disservice to ignore these legends and misconceptions. These stories are what paint the people's perception when it comes to certain species, and it is what many strangers will run into when they ask locals for more details. While I have certainly spoken negatively about a lot of rumors and myths, I don't truly think they are all bad. It adds something to our understanding of these species and at times it even elevates them to something higher in our minds. My big issue is when these misconceptions are used to demonize species and excuse their extermination, so you can be sure I will be ranting about that whenever I come across it. In some cases, these stories lead to actual fact, as they often are just the half truths warped by time, hyperbole and a bit of alcohol. So by following some of the more outlandish beliefs, you can actually wind up stumbling across a very real trait or behavior that had just been exaggerated over time! Though there are some times that they are indeed completely full of rot, be it people making stuff up or just being extremely stupid (oooh, that is getting me thinking about that Two-Headed Troll debacle, calm it down). However, sometimes it isn't fully the story teller's fault, as certain species can be quite puzzling or deceptive. Just look at the hydra to see how a single creature can make it so hard to separate the fact from fiction. If you read legends and early accounts of hydra encounters, they will tell you that they are reptilian creatures that sport eight or more heads. Many claim that these are related to dragons, which supports the stories of these beasts spitting flames, poison and pretty much anything you want to make the tale extra exciting. Not to mention the most famous feature that these things grow their heads back instantly if chopped off, making two for every one lost! Well, thankfully some people decided not to fully accept these extravagant tales and actually bothered to do some real research about these beasts. It probably didn't take them long to realize that there were many things wrong about these stories!

First thing first, hydras are not reptiles. They have no scales and, more importantly, they have no bones. In truth, hydras are cephalopods, related to squids and octopi. Those eight or more "heads" they talk about are actually their tentacles. I will give some leeway for the story tellers of old on this misconception, because these tendrils work really hard to pass as actual heads. Their tips have three hooks that are arranged in a way that gives the impression of a beaked mouth. What adds to this idea is the fact that these "heads" have been seen "eating," so people think that is proof. Yes indeed, each tentacle is capable of swallowing food into its "beaked" mouth, and it does wind up in the stomach, eventually. The thing is, these limbs are not directly linked to the digestive system, and their "throat" is not a real one. What is happening here is a unique change in the design of the tentacles. While other cephalopods have a flattened, sucker covered part of their tentacles, the hydra takes this and actually folds it on itself. Think of it like it was a piece of paper, and you take the two ends and bring them together to make a tube. These tentacles have been flattened and rolled up so that the suckers are turned inward and are now contained within a passageway that runs from the tip to the base of the limb. If you ever get a close look at a hydra tentacle, you will actually see the seam that runs down it! This creates the fake throat that confuses onlookers, as you will see a head tear off a bit of meat and "swallow" it. What is actually happening is the meat is being transferred to this muscle tube, where it is then moved down by suckers and muscle contractions until it is popped out the base of the tentacle and right into the true mouth! The real mouth of the hydra is a beak in the center of all these serpentine heads, and that is where all the food goes when the heads start to eat. This mouth is also closer to where the true head lies, as getting a look at the side of the hydra will show you eyes! That is where the real brain of this creature lies, and its also why chopping off these snake-like "heads" doesn't kill this creature, it just makes it mad. Another reason why people mistake these limbs for snake heads is because these things seem to move and "think" more than any regular arm or leg. I have watched these creatures for quite some time, if I didn't know any better, I would swear each one of these things was alive and thinking as its own beast. The truth is, these limbs have an extensive amount of the nervous system running through them, with practically their own brain in each. With the incredible amount of sensors and feedback, they can feel their environment and react almost instantaneously. With a small brain within them, they don't even need to contact the main brain to figure out what to do, so much so that they still move and fight even after being chopped off! A severed tentacle will continue to hunt and "eat" food, unaware that its meals are just plopping out of its stump. With their own brains, they can move and coordinate to a terrifying degree, going from a flailing nest of snakes to a synchronized strike within seconds. To add to this is the fact that not all heads are the same. Certain pairs fulfill certain roles, which you can see if you look closely at their beaks and sizes. Often there are two "central" pairs, which have rather regular beaks and an average thickness to their length. These are your every kind of use limbs, the things that pretty much do all the normal work and aren't specialized for anything fancy. Look "above" them, and you will see a pair that is a bit thinner and has a defined hook to their beak. These are meant to snare prey, lashing out and snagging them like an angler would with a fishing line. The hooked beak digs in, holding long enough for the other arms to attack and get a good grip. Below the four center tentacles are a "bottom" pair which appear to be much meatier. They have a bulk to them and their beaks are much stronger. These are the grappling limbs, meant to pull in large prey and restrain them. They are the ones that do the heavy lifting, having more strength to their bite and attacks. Once they grab hold, the fight is over, as the prey is crushed in their coils and held so that every mouth, fake or real, can start chowing down.   

With such a setup, it is obvious that these are carnivores. They slither about in search of prey, using their stealthy coloration to get close enough to strike. Some may hide themselves and wait for food to walk by, while others actively stalk and attack when the moment is right. All they need is to get close enough to plant one hooked beak into the victim's hide, and then they can reel them in and finish them off. While hydras go after large and substantial prey, they have been known to pick off a couple small critters from time to time. When they are hiding, some squirrel or something may get too close. While this would not be a real meal for any big predator, the hydra can afford to slither out a single head to snap it up without blowing their cover. Essentially just deploy a tentacle to act like a snake, and gobble up some mice to keep the belly happy as they wait for something better. Once they down a big meal, they rip and tear into it, with the real mouth taking huge chunks out of the prey while the tentacles get at the harder to reach places. Left on their own, a hydra can pick a cow clean, those tentacles nipping off every scrap they can find. Some times, though, they may not have the stomach space to finish off a meal. However, leaving all those extra bits behind is such a waste, especially when you used all that energy to kill it in the first place. This is where the fake throats come in handy, as they can swallow as much meat as they can hold and keep it held within these sucker-lined tubes. This keeps the food close at hand, protected from scavengers and thieves, as well as allow them to travel without having to hang around and defend a corpse. When the hydra gets hungry, it can just empty these stores into its mouth bit by bit, as it bides its time for another big kill. While hydras are quite large and obvious to recognize, people don't see them as often as you think. This is because hydras live in burrows when they are not actively hunting. Their tentacles and clawed fins help them dig out a deep hole that they can back up into and hide from rough weather or predators. Since they have no bones and a very flexible body, they can squeeze into surprisingly tight spaces! Don't expect some big yawning cavern like a dragon's lair, think of just some odd humble hole in the dirt that you would suspect a badger made. These same burrows are where they keep their eggs during the breeding season, hiding them down below to keep them safe. Regardless of the time of the year, it is advised to keep a far distance from these burrows and not be poking around them (which you should honestly do for any large opening, regardless if you suspect a hydra or not). Get too close or anger it, and those tentacles will come shooting out and biting. If they are hungry and get a good hold, you are going right into that burrow to become supper. Yes, the hole might not be big enough for those with bones, but the hydra is strong enough to get around that issue. Good for them, very bad for you!

Now we get to the part where people ask about the whole "regrowing head" thing. One of the famous things about hydras is their incredible regeneration and many heads, right? Well, that is true! They do have incredible regeneration and can regrow their heads! The catch is: it isn't nearly as fast as you think. People think they just pop back in seconds, when it actually takes days. "Well that doesn't sound very incredible, Chlora" you may say. To that I say "chop off your own hand and tell me how long it takes to grow back" (oh please don't actually do it, especially human readers). We dryads can regrow our limbs, but we are talking weeks and months, so this level is much faster than us! And if the tentacle is cut a certain way, it may damage the regrowth process and cause it to regrow two heads instead of one! There is your "two heads for every one" thing! Yes, it isn't as dramatic and cool looking as the legends, but it is still quite impressive when you compare it to things in the real world! I think it is awfully neat, and you should too! As for the stories about spewing fire and poison, those cases are often referring to different species and not your usual common hydra. Not to mention the cases where people are just making crap up, so be wary of any story you hear. Outside of the fantastical tales, hydras are on the level of basilisks and manticores: lots of people know about them and they don't like them one bit. Hydras like meat, and any big prey animal will do, be it the cow or the cow farmer. Due to them attacking livestock or going after people in their territory, it is common for there to be a bounty out from them. With their many tentacles and squishy body, actually doing real damage to them is hard. Cutting off tentacles just robs them of weapons, it doesn't kill them. There have been a few stories where people chop off all eight heads and gloat over their victory, right up until the actual beaked mouth lunges forward and bites them in two. Injuring them only scares them off for a bit, as they slink away to heal their wounds. Give it a week and they will be back with a vengeance. That is the other issue, hydras are a lot smarter than you think. They can solve puzzles, figure out patterns and recognize the people they hate. Attempts to deter them or keep them out just challenges them, to the point where it almost encourages them. Their limbs can be quite dexterous and can locate any weakness or flaw. Lock your barn up tight, and it is practically guaranteed that a hydra will find the one hole you missed, and then will spend the whole night messily dragging your livestock through that one crack. Their intelligence has sparked a whole lot of interest in the research communities, with questions on how capable and sapient they are. There are too many studies and theories to list, but there is one problem to all of this. Hydras cause a whole of damage and death, which means the public doesn't like them very much. Good luck getting funding or interest when you are talking about studying a monster that ate someone's livelihood and a couple relatives too.   Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian

-------------------------------------------------------

“Hydra”

Bout time this mythical monster was added to all this! Probably took the obvious route, but it was the best I could come up with. Yes, it doesn't have the instant head regrowth ability, but there is no way to make that natural without magic. But there is certainly more fun to be had with this species, so look forward to that! This isn't the last you've seen of them!

[living-in-the-pokemon-world]

Hiya Professor. My name is Halo, and I'd just like to say, it's great someone like you just happens to live in Alola as well, but that's not what I exactly messaged you for.

You see, I sort of recently decided to become a Pokémon Researcher. I originally lived on Melemele Island but I moved to Poni Island to get closer to the main thing I research; The Ultra Beasts. I've devoted my career so far to observing and documenting the Ultra Beasts behaviors in their home environments, as to hopefully learn more about them. It is kinda risky at times, but so far nothing too bad has happened.

Anyways, I was wondering what you yourself know about the Ultra Beasts, as any research you may have acquired would help a lot in my future endeavors.

- Thanks in advance, R. Halo

Good to meet you, Halo, it’s always nice to meet another researcher here in Alola!

I admittedly don’t know much about the UBs as my field of work focuses more on vulnerable and endangered Pokémon, but I’m happy to share what I do know!

Buzzwole, despite their fearsome appearance, aren’t as dangerous as they look if left unprovoked (though I definitely do not recommend approaching one unless necessary) They tend to posture and make themselves appear threatening long before actually attacking, thus giving anybody who has annoyed them ample time to exit the situation.

Poipole are curious little things, with many of them being quite interested in humans as well as our world in general. They’re also quite friendly and gregarious, which is why they (and their evolution) are the only UBs that are permitted for capture (by experienced trainers with the proper permits, of course)

Pheromosa are frighteningly effective predators, using their pheromones (which are even stronger that the pheromones of Salazzle) in order to lure their prey close to them before catching it with fast, precise movements.

And finally, while eggs of the species have yet to be observed, there have been many reports of Kartana performing what many scientists believe to be a mating dance of sorts.

[two-am-outlines-only]

By This Years End

Summary: This is the first part of a Breath of the Wild novelization. It is a narrative of the events leading up to the Great Calamity primarily told from Zelda's point of view using the memories found in game. Age of Calamity is taken into consideration but nothing from that game is really used in this story (no egg guardian). Story will stray from canon towards the end.

General Warnings: Story will contain canonical character death and injury as well as minor character death and injury, war imagery, depictions of mental illness including depression and anxiety, rape intention insinuation though nothing actually happens and trauma. 

Individual chapter warnings will be provided when applicable.

Chapter 1 - Demise

Chapter Summary: Hyrule was falling. In a desperate attempt to fix things,  Demise escapes his prison.

Chapter Warnings: war imagery and implied injury

Word Count: 1403

AO3 Link

Hyrule was falling.

A miasma of ash and malice hung thicker than bar smoke threatening to choke any who’d dare be caught in its path. Yet there was nowhere else to go, houses long kept neat in a reflection of the kingdom's long held peace collapsed under flame and foot as mechanical wonders fought to keep earth-sprung beasts at bay. Animal and human carcasses alike sprawled across road and field, soldiers and fleeing citizens made indistinguishable in the hellish lighting. 

The very air vibrated with screams of the fallen, war cries of the still standing and roars that shook the earth itself from beasts meant to be nearly as divine as the goddess herself; meant to protect, shield and offer hope in a time turning increasingly desperate. They seemed clumsy now. A miscalculation engineered by those arrogant enough to think that in light of a twist in fate something could be done to seal away a millennia's worth of plague in a single day.

Feet blackened by char and dirt slipped and pounded their way through the decaying underbrush. Desperate breaths heaved through burning lungs and long red hair snagged and snapped on branches reaching uselessly to stop the man from making another mistake. A mistake he had already accepted and prayed to every spirit he knew that this was something that would aid in the short term- buy just enough time to fix what he hoped was not yet beyond repair. Years of research through the best kept tomes and crumbling scrolls made him certain he knew where the source of all this lay.  Where Demise had been kept sealed since before Hyrule was named. Link’s power was strong- Zelda’s even stronger. He had faith they would know what to do and be successful in doing it.

Though they had refused to discuss it, this was their plan b after all.

—

“There is over a ninety percent chance of failure in this endeavor.”

The thing outside snarled before smashing yet again into the wall holding fast between it and its target.

"My data projections indicate sharing some information with you may cause your current emotional status to become placated. Allow me to inform you, then, that the hero of legend who trapped you here is long since deceased, and therefore no longer cause for such hatred. Does this not make you wish to cease your thrashing?"

The hulking mass paused before settling for a casual lean against the glowing wall, its thrashing ceased for the time being. “You know, for nothing but a goddess made projection you seem to only gain cheekiness throughout the millennia. Were you not meant to be an impartial guide, with your purpose long since been fulfilled? I still have my kingdom to take back; if what you say is true, what exactly is keeping you here?”

Fi smiled slightly, a function her data tampering had only just allowed her to manage a mere two centuries prior. Though the blessed goddess had seen fit to equip her with only the most standard of functions to be able to assist the first hero, she had been able to slowly but surely analyze her memories and code certain things into her base; thus allowing her to feel and think far more efficiently. It was quite the revelation, one she relished in showing the demon king, if only to perfectly capture the moments of extreme annoyance that flashed across his face.

She would not allow him to win in the mind games he attempted to bait her into. She had changed, even through simply sitting and observing her charge over thousands upon thousands of centuries. She retained within her the means to adapt and grow, her purpose fluctuating along with her. She would not be baited into an argument whose only answer was that Demise was too prideful to do the same.

“Smirk all you want.” he growled at her silence. “I’ll have what’s mine soon enough.”

“Doubtful. But my memoritive data tells me there is no harm in trying.”

 A backhanded fist came slamming mere inches from her face, again merely bouncing off the force field that served as her only protection. She shifted slightly away after a beat of silence, wondering for what seemed the quadrilienth time if this would be the one that did it. Thankfully the shield held as it glowed smugly against the assault, much to Demises' chagrin.

Though she was thankful for the protection the shield granted her, over so many years she began to grow (tired?) of her role trapped inside the cursed darkness sealing sword. It had done well to keep the demon king’s desires from being executed, but it left little to do other than stare and listen to the other’s fits of rage. She often wondered what it would feel like to once again enjoy the companionship of another person who didn’t wish the complete destruction of all things. The shield as of late had felt smaller and smaller, a prison to her every bit as the sword was to her ward. 

Shifting, she watched as Demise threw another well meant punch to her walls, holding in an exhausted sigh. She wondered how her goddess Hylia had willingly taken the step to become mortal. Did she find the sensation of thinking of things other than her divine purpose exhausting, or was she truly lost within the long bloodline of royals, without a care to be had? Perhaps she had always acted outside of her purpose, making her appointment as the protector of the triforce truly a job only she could fulfill.

Suddenly jolted from her musing, the empty space filled with bright red noise, alarms echoing off the edges of whatever their pocket of space was made of.

Teeth flashing a sinister grin, the king erupted in a thick red rage dripping with malice and decay. Bubbles exploded with squelching hisses to reveal bright orange eyes that took in every direction at once, and every weak point it could make out. Coalescing into a dark, boiling mass it ricocheted off the protective barrier and hurled towards the end of the abyss, spreading and growing ever larger as it went.

The shield shattered and was consumed by darkness as Fi appeared before the king of demons, barring his exit in a wall of glowing white behind spread arms and a steady glare.

“I cannot allow this.” She knew, as they both did, who had set off the alarm. She would do everything in her power as the sole guardian within the Master Sword to stop whatever plan they thought they could execute. “You, Demise, are to remain here as set by destiny. The goddesses and chosen hero made sure you were sealed, and I am to make sure you stay.”

The oozing mass roared and a lone figure shoved its way through to leer at her determined face through the darkness. She did not waver as it creeped closer, she would adapt her purpose. She would stand and fight as long as was needed if it meant the sword would stay hidden and protected. Dual blades shone sudden and bright in her hands as her stance shifted. 

“You will yield. My goddess and the kingdom she rules will stand unimpeded by your intentions.”

The figure grinned wider, tar dripping from ever sharpening teeth as he growled low in her ear. 

“Then I entrust you to inform your goddess of your failure.”

And with that, the demon king exploded in red and black poison, advancing to fill the void and completely absorb the glowing figure in its depths.

Just like that it was gone, the void once more just that, leaving Fi to lower her guard and look about with a passive horror.

"And so the rise of another hero is needed." She lowered to the floor once more. "Link, I hope you will prevail against the king, as you did all those centuries ago."

Folding her hands in her lap, Fi lowered her head.

And waited.

—

The night had turned an eerie silence, cool and still as if waiting with bated breath. A man with hair as red as blood was engulfed completely, melting to a bubbling puddle that disappeared nearly as quickly as it had come to be. The Master Sword was once again left alone on its pedestal, an impassive witness as the sky darkened once more through skeletal trees. 

Next

[shecalleditsavagery]

Summer Writing Schedule year 3, Day ??? Let’s say 10

Update: I finally got my new computer! That means I can go back to scheduled writing sessions, rather than just typing things into my phone until I get frustrated by the UI. I have actually written in the time since my last scheduled writing session before my computer broke, and Book 2 is now at 131,018. Plus, I’ve also gotten started on Book 3, jumping straight into writing the opening scene rather than doing an outline, and it’s sitting at a cool 1,451. I still need to write an outline and master character list, and I should do that soon. The sooner it’s done, the sooner I can get into the story in earnest, but I have to make some big decisions first.

Starting Word Count: 0

Book 2, Section #23: Faith, Family, Fidelity

Word Count Goal: 2,882 (original word count of the chapter)

Plotting Goal: Rewrite this section! The rewrites for section 22 ended up being way more substantial than originally planned, and the revised chapter actually ends earlier in the timeline. So, for this section, the protag and LI2 need to grapple with the threat of mortality, a new character is introduced and needs to be allied with, and the protag and LI2 need to bang, preferably in that order. Yes, the sex scene is necessary for both character development and relationship development, but it’s also necessary to *ahem* relieve tension.

Actual Word Count: 689

Final Word Count: 420 (nice). The other 269 was added to a reference document, not the section rewrite.

Actual plotting: Well, I got it started, and I know what I’m going to do with it. Most of my time today was actually spent researching. First, I wanted to verify some medical information with a friend, and she answered my questions but also gave me a new condition to consider: Compartment Syndrome. Naturally, I had to do some internet research to figure out what the symptoms/progression were, and I realized it fit WAY better than what I’d originally been thinking. Then, I realized I needed to actually turn the nameless beast that causes all the trouble into something resembling an actual animal. I went down a small rabbit hole of extinct mammals, but the creature has a species name now, as well as a small encyclopedia-style paragraph in my book of lore. Did I write as much as I would have liked? No, but...

Tomorrow’s Goal: Any creative endeavor can be split into two distinct processes: idea generation and physical creation. Taking the time to do idea generation beforehand makes it WAY easier to do the physical creation than if I tried to do both at the same time. First I decide what I’m going to do, then I do it. Today I made decisions. Tomorrow I’ll actually do it.

[sciencestyled]

Gilgamesh's Great Cellular Quest: A Tale of Whimsy and Wonders

Oh, to be Gilgamesh, ruler of Uruk, seeker of immortality, and now, unlikely protagonist in the curious realm of stem cell research! It all began on a rather nondescript Thursday—yes, we had those in ancient times too, marked by lesser festivals and particularly spirited tavern gatherings. But I digress.

As I strolled through the celestial gardens (figuratively speaking, of course), I happened upon a particularly loquacious parrot, perched atop the remnants of what could only be described as a very ancient, very decayed library scroll. With the imperious air that only a parrot or a seasoned king could muster, it squawked, "Eureka! Eureka!" This was peculiar not only for the obvious reason that parrots should not be reading, but also because it was squawking about something called "stem cells."

Fueled by an enduring passion for all things immortal (and a well-documented penchant for eavesdropping on talking animals), I decided then and there to investigate this new avenue that whispered (metaphorically, again) promises akin to those of the fabled Flower of Youth. And what better way to learn about these modern marvels than to author an article—yes, even ancient kings adapt to new trends!

My quest for knowledge led me to the hallowed digital halls of Tumblr, where scholars and laypersons alike exchange wisdom and cat pictures in equal measure. Armed with a quill that never runs out of ink (thank the gods for modern technology!), I set about drafting a treatise that would surely rival the Epic itself.

I titled my scholarly endeavor, "The Chronicles of Regeneration: Gilgamesh’s Pursuit of Stem Cell Research." It had a certain ring to it, reminiscent of my days chasing eternal life across landscapes fraught with perils. Only this time, the landscape was littered with scientific jargon and ethical conundrums, rather than bloodthirsty beasts and capricious deities.

As I poured over articles, interviewed leading sorcer—scientists, and dabbled in the arcane arts of academic citation, I found myself equally baffled and enchanted by the potential of these microscopic architects of life. The parallels between my ancient pursuits and this modern quest were uncanny. Here was a science capable of mending the torn fabric (figuratively, again!) of human flesh, of reversing the cruel march of time—mirroring my own adventures where I sought to mend the spiritual wounds of mortality.

Yet, as is the way of all great narratives, my article-writing was not without its challenges. There was the Great Coffee Spill of 2023, where a tempestuous gust (from my own sneeze, admittedly) sent a tidal wave of java across my manuscript. Then came the Mischievous Cat Incident, involving a local feline and several crucial notes on iPSCs scattered to the wind.

Through trials and tribulations, I persevered, for I am Gilgamesh, and surrender is a word found only in the lexicon of the less legendary. The final piece was a masterpiece of both science and spirit, weaving (figuratively, yet again!) my ancient narrative with cutting-edge research, and imbuing the old quest for immortality with new life through the lens of stem cell potential.

And thus, dear reader, you find yourself at the end of this humble prequel, standing at the precipice of understanding how a king of old came to champion a cause so thoroughly modern. It is here, in the merging of past and present, that we find our truest adventures. And it is here, I leave you to ponder the mysteries of life, both ancient and newborn.

[wickedsrest-rp]

NAME: The Scribes

FOUNDING: While humanity as a whole continues to be unaware of the beasts they share their world with, supernatural threats only continue to grow. In places like Wicked’s Rest with high supernatural activity, this poses not only a threat to the town, but an ever growing risk to humanity itself. In the year 2000, when a giant egg appeared out in Gatlin Fields, this small group of humans who knew better than most knew they had to pull together for the better of the town. These future scholars determined that in order to protect everyone, the best thing they could do was compile and learn from as much information as they could. They observed the supernatural world around them. They took field notes. They searched for sources of information that spanned that globe. They put themselves in danger in order to learn. They made allies and developed their own philosophy. This marked the beginning of what would later be known as The Scribe Organization, and their collective goal was to gather information about the supernatural world that might later help protect humanity. The stewards of this information would come to call themselves the Scribes, and Wicked’s Rest seemed the perfect location to continue to grow their Library, located in their Oldtown Headquarters. 

PASSING THE TORCH: Today, some of those original founders continue to work at the growing Scribe Organization. Others may have passed the torch to their children, who could have been raised to understand the importance of their parents’ work, or perhaps only learned the truth about it as an adult. Some expectation of legacy seems to have already formed. Some of the founders spread far and wide across the globe, specializing in collecting knowledge on farflung creatures, while others stayed in Wicked’s Rest, trying to anticipate the next disaster. One thing is certain – as hard as the founders worked, there is still so much information that needs to be collected.

INFORMATION & KNOWLEDGE: Today, many Scribes are still dedicated to field research and observing what they see in the world, taking studious notes to file away. While they’ve proven their use in many situations already, the Library was only getting started, and some Scribes may dedicate themselves to collections of supernatural volumes, while others may be more focused on the keeping and preservation of knowledge. Other Scribes may function more like archaeologists or anthropologists, going out in the world and getting their hands dirty in the name of learning. More recently, Scribes have amassed several rarely disclosed locations that house dangerous artifacts. These have the potential to cause harm in the wrong hands – or the Scribes may simply not know enough about an artifact to keep in their main headquarters at the Library. Should some of these artifacts fall into the wrong hands, the results could be catastrophic. Scribes, however, feel strongly that they are the right hands. 

MORALITY: Above all else, the Wicked’s Rest Scribes seek to keep the town and humanity as a whole safe from the numerous threats it faces day in and day out. They’ve developed their own codes and philosophy to help guide them in this lofty endeavor. Within their code, Scribes agree to be pragmatic with all issues the town faces and like to map out potential consequences of sharing valuable knowledge. Scribes pride themselves on their objectivity and prioritize accordingly, with the greater good in mind. They operate as a democracy and every decision the organization makes is put to a vote amongst its ranks. To some, this can become frustrating as it can sometimes take a while for decisions to be made.

The Scribes are aware that they share the town with many non-human species as sentient as they are. On this matter, they also strive for neutrality. They tend to avoid working with any individuals who have only violence in mind, or individuals of any species that are currently attempting to exert control over the town. In general, they have a vested interest in keeping the supernatural secret from humans who are not in the know. Given their study on the subject and personal experience, they know just how dangerous it can be when humans begin to pry into the supernatural. Some Scribes see the irony (or hypocrisy) in this more than others, but most agree it’s for the best. 

Each Scribe has their own approach, but as a whole, they will work neutrally with any species, provided they have assessed the situation, need, motive, and likely outcomes to be for the greater good. While it is rare they will interfere with different disputes among species, if things escalate to a certain point, Scribes will provide necessary information to other parties that are de-escalating any conflict. They tend to focus on large-scale issues that plague the town as a whole as these tend to require more specialized knowledge. Scribes will also keep records of events like this in order to help future generations who may encounter similar problems. 

SECRECY: Because of their recent founding, even those who grew up within the supernatural community may not have heard of the Scribes. Though the Scribes value working with others, they also value secrecy and ultimately wish to remain relatively undisturbed. They understand that the knowledge they hold is valuable, and as such, Scribes typically reveal themselves only when they feel the situation or time call for it, so as not to put a target on their back or cause greater conflict. However, regardless of being covert, those with a keen interest in the supernatural, as well as those in need of assistance, often find themselves face to face with the Scribes. 

RECRUITMENT: In order to even enter the Library, an invite from one of its stewards is required. Information in the wrong hands can be a very dangerous thing and those rare few who are invited to join the Wicked’s Rest Scribes, rather than legacied in, are thoroughly vetted. New members are occasionally recruited by an active scribe who has deemed them trustworthy. Before officially joining, recruits have to take a test with both multiple choice and written answers. For the character portion of the exam, the paper is spelled to prevent lying. Part of this section is an oath to not commit violence or murder. While not impossible to circumvent this spellwork here, in order to cheat one has to be very skilled at compartmentalization. The oath itself is not magically binding.

COMMUNITY DYNAMICS: While the Wicked’s Rest Scribes themselves are pledged to nonviolence, they will share information with hunters, vampires, spellcasters, and a variety of species to help take down any threats to the town. They have a network of people in town who they may be able to call upon to help, and they wish to grow that network. Their goal is to be respected by most species (at least, the individuals who know of them) due to their pragmatism when it comes to keeping all citizens of Wicked’s Rest safe. However, they’re not quite there yet. Some species may not appreciate being studied, while others might feel the Scribes are “useless” because they don’t take up arms themselves and instead try to remain neutral which sometimes leads to detrimental inaction. Opinions differ based on who you talk to and what the latest conflict was. Some notable dynamics are below: 

Hunters: Scribes and hunters use each other as valuable resources in the exchange of information pertaining to the supernatural. Because the Scribes are a predominantly human organization, some hunters disapprove of them being involved in the supernatural, and especially of them disseminating information to others who aren’t in that world. Scribes can also cast judgment on hunters who kill indiscriminately or feel that they own certain knowledge. Despite these circumstantial bumps, hunters and Scribes can be of great use to each other.

Mediums: Where does one go when they need to research who a malicious ghost was when they were alive? Scribes have some of the most accurate records of supernaturally inclined ne’er-do-wellers and that can often help mediums figure out how to best some of the toughest specters. However, some mediums may feel that the Scribes’ efforts to understand the nature of ghosts are misplaced at best.

Fae: Among the most insular species, fae don’t take kindly to anyone prying into their secrets and communities, especially humans. They feel this secrecy is necessary to protect themselves, and knowledge escaping from them is only a threat. Fae dislike Scribes for the attempts at collecting this information, and some may even be moved enough to act against them. On the other hand, some fae may have fun providing inaccurate information. As such, the material the Scribes have on fae is sparse and laced with things that might be completely fabricated.