#very distinguished indeed

[winterlogysblog]

LOOK AT THIS DISTINGUISHED GENTLEMAN✨LOOK AT THE WAY HE IS SITTING

✨YES✨

✨VERY DISTINGUISHED✨

[who-can-touch-my-boob]

<- Sanemi simp posts masterlist

What’s our little angel thinking about?

[0-k-4]

JEAN MOREEAU REAL NAME IS JEAN-YVES. I KNWOW THIS SOUNDS VERY NORMALY FRENCH TO NON FRENCH READER BUT. IT HITS DIFFERENTLY FOR FRENCH PPL

[teine-mallaichte]

We need to expand our use of dilirium within the whump community I think.

When people see the prompt "dilirium" or "dilirious" in a whump event most jump to fever, illness, infection. And that's fine. That's valid. But there is SO MUCH MORE to dilirium.

Delirium is a complex psychological state that can indeed be triggered by illness and fever, but it can also result from a wide array of other causes. It’s a state where cognition and coherence deteriorate, where reality may start to frey at the edges leaving the whumpee confused, disorientated, maybe unable to even distinguish reality.

You can drive a character into a dilirious state without any external factors. A characters cognition and coherence can be picked to the brink by so many things.

1. Extreme Sleep Deprivation: this is a favourite of mine. A whumpee kept awake for days on end, their cognitive functions begin to deteriorate, the boundary between wakefulness and sleep blurs, leading to fractured and disjointed thought processes. The mind starts to struggle to maintain coherence, resulting in hallucinations and a profound disorientation.

2. Substance Withdrawal: Not one I've explored much, but can totally count. The body and mind in chaos, craving what they can no longer have. The physical symptoms can be brutal, but the psychological torment can drive them into a state of delirium, where reality becomes a shifting, unreliable landscape.

3. Psychological Torture: Another one I tend to gravitate to. Intense psychological manipulation, sensory deprivation or overwhelm can also drive the mind into delirium. Continuous gaslighting, isolation, or exposure to disturbing stimuli can erode a characters grasp on reality, leading to a state where they can no longer distinguish between truth and illusion.

4. Emotional Trauma: this a mental breakdown. Severe emotional trauma pushing a whumpee into a to their mental limits. The overwhelming stress and fear fracturing their mind, causing confusion, disorientation, dissociation, hallucinations as their psyche tries to protect itself and struggles to make sweetheart if what's happened/happening.

5. Overwhelming Physical Pain: Pain, just pain, if relentless and severe enough, can lead to delirium. A whumpee in constant, excruciating pain might find their mind breaking under the strain, leading to confusion, disorientation, and a detachment from reality.

6. Fever: and just because it can't really be left of the list, fever. Infections, illness, etc. But did you know there is more than one kind of dilirium? Yes there is the sick whumpee who is too weak too most and admits all their insecurities and secrets in a slurred disjointed major. But there is also the type of dilirium where the character becomes energetic, erratic behavior, pacing incessantly and speaking rapidly, refusing to rest. Frustrating and worrying for those trying to help.

And this is just the ones of the top of my head. There's so much potential here! And yes this is a very self indulgent and selfish post that I wrote while writing a fic where I am inducing dilirium in a character through acute stress and an identity crisis 😅 but in short - I want to see more varied portrayals of dilirium in whump.

A similar post about hallucinations A similar post about fever

[mostlysignssomeportents]

AI art has no anti-cooption immune system

TONIGHT (July 20), I'm appearing in CHICAGO at Exile in Bookville.

One thing Myspace had going for it: it was exuberantly ugly. The decision to let users with no design training loose on a highly customizable user-interface led to a proliferation of Myspace pages that vibrated with personality.

The ugliness of Myspace wasn't just exciting in a kind of outsider/folk-art way (though it was that). Myspace's ugliness was an anti-cooption force-field, because corporate designers and art-directors would, by and large, rather break their fingers and gouge out their eyes than produce pages that looked like that.

In this regard, Myspace was the heir to successive generations of "design democratization" that gave amateur communities, especially countercultural ones, a space to operate in where authentic community members could be easily distinguished between parasitic commercializers.

The immediate predecessors to Myspace's ugliness-as-a-feature were the web, and desktop publishing. Between the img tag, imagemaps, the blink tag, animated GIFs, and the million ways that you could weird a page with tables and padding, the early web was positively bursting with individual personality. The early web balanced in an equilibrium between the plunder-friendliness of "view source" and the topsy-turvy design imperatives of web-based layout, which confounded both print designers (no fixed fonts! RGB colorspaces! dithering!) and even multimedia designers who'd cut their teeth on Hypercard and CD ROMs (no fixed layout!).

Before the web came desktop publishing, the million tractor-feed ransom notes combining Broderbund Print Shop fonts, joystick-edited pixel-art, and a cohort of enthusiasts ranging from punk zinesters to community newsletter publishers. As this work proliferated on coffee-shop counters and telephone poles, it was visibly, obviously distinct from the work produced by "real" designers – that is, designers who'd been a) trained and b) paid by a corporation to employ that training.

All of this matters, and not just for aesthetic reasons. Communities – especially countercultural ones – are where our society's creative ferment starts. Getting your start in the trenches of the counterculture wars is no proof against being co-opted later (indeed, many of the designers who cut their teeth desktop publishing weird zines went on to pull their hair and roll their eyes at the incredible fuggliness of the web). But without that zone of noncommercial, antiestablishment, communitarian low weirdness, design and culture would stagnate.

I started thinking about this 25 years ago, the first time I met William Gibson. I'd been assigned by the Globe and Mail to interview him for the launch of All Tomorrow's Parties:

https://craphound.com/nonfic/transcript.html

One of the questions I asked was about his famous aphorism, "The street finds its own use for things." Given how quickly each post-punk tendency had been absorbed by commercial culture, couldn't we say that "Madison Avenue finds its own use for the street"? His answer started me down a quarter-century of thinking and writing about this subject:

I worry about what we'll do in the future, [about the instantaneous co-opting of pop culture]. Where is our new stuff going to come from? What we're doing pop culturally is like burning the rain forest. The biodiversity of pop culture is really, really in danger. I didn't see it coming until a few years ago, but looking back it's very apparent.

I watch a sort of primitive form of the recommodification machine around my friends and myself in sixties, and it took about two years for this clumsy mechanism to get and try to sell us The Monkees.

In 1977, it took about eight months for a slightly faster more refined mechanism to put punk in the window of Holt Renfrew. It's gotten faster ever since. The scene in Seattle that Nirvana came from: as soon as it had a label, it was on the runways of Paris.

Ugliness, transgressiveness and shock all represent an incoherent, grasping attempt to keep the world out of your demimonde – not just normies and squares, but also and especially enthusiastic marketers who want to figure out how to sell stuff to you, and use you to sell stuff to normies and squares.

I think this is what drove a lot of people to 4chan (remember, before 4chan was famous for incubating neofascism, it was the birthplace of Anonymous): its shock culture, combined with a strong cultural norm of anonymity, made for a difficult-to-digest, thoroughly spiky morsel that resisted recommodification (for a while).

All of this brings me to AI art (or AI "art"). In his essay on the "eerieness" of AI art, Henry Farrell quotes Mark Fisher's "The Weird and the Eerie":

https://www.programmablemutter.com/p/large-language-models-are-uncanny

"Eeriness" here is defined as "when there is something present where there should be nothing, or is there is nothing present when there should be something." AI is eerie because it produces the seeming of intent, without any intender:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

When we contemplate "authentic" countercultural work – ransom-note DTP, the weird old web, seizure-inducing Myspace GIFs – it is arresting because the personality of the human entity responsible for it shines through. We might be able to recognize where that person ganked their source-viewed HTML or pixel-optimized GIF, but we can also make inferences about the emotional meaning of those choices. To see that work is to connect to a mind. That mind might not necessarily belong to someone you want to be friends with or ever meet in person, but it is unmistakably another person, and you can't help but learn something about yourself from the way that their work makes you feel.

This is why corporate work is so often called "soulless." The point of corporate art is to dress the artificial person of the corporation in the stolen skins of the humans it uses as its substrate. Corporations are potentially immortal, artificial colony organisms. They maintain the pretense of personality, but they have no mind, only action that is the crescendo of an orchestra of improvised instruments played by hundreds or thousands of employees and a handful of executives who are often working directly against one another:

https://locusmag.com/2022/03/cory-doctorow-vertically-challenged/

The corporation is – as Charlie Stross has it – the "slow AI" that is slowly converting our planet to the long-prophesied grey goo (or, more prosaically, wildfire ashes and boiled oceans). The real thing that is signified by CEOs' professed fears of runaway AI is runaway corporations. As Ted Chiang says, the experience of being nominally in charge of a corporation that refuses to do what you tell it to is the kind of thing that will give you nightmares about autonomous AI turning on its masters:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/09/autocomplete-worshippers/#the-real-ai-was-the-corporations-that-we-fought-along-the-way

The job of corporate designers is to find the signifiers of authenticity and dress up the corporate entity's robotic imperatives in this stolen flesh. Everything about AI is done in service to this goal: the chatbots that replace customer service reps are meant to both perfectly mimic a real, competent corporate representative while also hewing perfectly to corporate policy, without ever betraying the real human frailties that none of us can escape.

In the same way, the shillbots that pretend to be corporate superfans online are supposed to perfectly amplify the corporate message, the slow AI's conception of its own virtues, without injecting their own off-script, potentially cringey enthusiasms.

The Hollywood writers' strike was, at root, about the studio execs' dream that they could convert the "insights" of focus groups and audience research into a perfect script, without having to go through a phalanx of lippy screenwriters who insisted on explaining why they think your idea is stupid. "Hey, nerd, make me another ET, except make the hero a dog, and set it on Mars" is exactly how you prompt an AI:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

Corporate design's job is to produce the seeming of intention without any intender. The "personality" we're meant to sense when we encounter corporate design isn't the designer's, nor the art director's, nor even the CEO's. The "personality" is meant to be the slow AI's, but a corporation doesn't have a personality.

In his 2018 short story "Noon in the antilibrary," Karl Schroeder describes an "antilibrary" as an endlessly deep anaerobic lagoon of generative botshit:

https://www.technologyreview.com/2018/08/18/104097/noon-in-the-antilibrary/

The antilibrary is a generative AI system that can produce entire librarys’-worth of fake books with fake authors, fake citations by other fake experts with their own fake books and biographies and fake social media accounts, on-demand and instantly. It was speculation in 2018; it’s possible now. Creating an antilibrary is just a matter of investing in a sufficient number of graphics cards and electricity.

https://kschroeder.substack.com/p/after-the-internet

Reading Karl's reflections on the antilibrary crystallized something for me that I've been thinking about for a quarter-century, since I interviewed Gibson at the Penguin offices in north Toronto. It snapped something into place that I've trying to fit since encountering Henry's thoughts on the "eeriness" of AI work and the intent without an intender.

It made me realize why I dislike AI art so much, on a deep, aesthetic level. The point of an image generator is to buffer the intention of the prompter (which might be genuinely creative and bursting with personality) in layers of automated decision-making that flense the final product of any hint of the mind that caused its creation.

The most febrile, deeply weird and authentic prompts of the most excluded outsiders produce images that feel the same as the corporate AI illustrations that project the illusion of personality from the immortal, transhuman colony organism that is the limited liability corporation.

AI art is born coopted. Even the 4chan equivalent of AI – the deeply transgressive and immoral nonconsensual pornography – feels no different from the "official" AI porn churned out by "real" pornographers. "Shrimp Jesus" and other SEO-optimized Facebook slop is so uncanny because it is simultaneously "weird" ("that which does not belong") and yet it belongs in the same aesthetic bucket of the most anodyne Corporate Memphis ephemera:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corporate_Memphis

We call it "generative" but AI art can't generate the kind of turnover that aerates the aesthetic soil. An artform that can't be transgressive is sterile, stillborn, a dead end.

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/20/ransom-note-force-field/#antilibraries

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

--

Jake (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:1970s_fanzines_(21224199545).jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[thebadboyfanclub]

One Can Only Hope (Cregan x Reader)

First of, I don’t know why this particular song was stuck in my head while I was writing but I think it fits the aesthetic of how the couple works together, also I don’t care that they didn’t pick this actor for me THAT is what Cregan stark looks like, and also sorry for not adding the last detail it just naturally went with a different approach

'may I present my second-born child and my precious only daughter, (y/n) Targaryen, the heiress of driftmark"

(y/n) bowed lightly before the stoic man that it deserves to be noted how thick his fur was which engulfed him, the man nodded as a sign of acknowledgment to the princess and the young heiress (y/n) could swear that she detected a faint smile forming on his lips, to be quite fair no one could tell since the lords' lips were faintly visible due to his distinguished beard, once (y/n)s deep blue eyes met his there was an instant influence on her that cause her to slightly shiver, mostly from anxiety and somewhat fear of the unknown.

(Y/n) could only describe the sensation similar to placing yourself at the very sharp edge of a tall cliff, as one would gaze down at the water the little voice would whisper to take a plunge, release yourself from the shackles of overthinking, whilst your mind begged you to take a step back and forget about all of this.

Unfortunately (y/n) was well aware of the reason why she had to take this long of a flight on dragon back and introduce herself to the new lord of the North, her mother had put a tremendous amount of effort into making this a trip that could be enjoyable too (y/n) but to no avail, she did not blame her mother, ever since she was a toddler (y/n) would catch whispers of numerous people around her castle that would venture on whom she would marry, as the moons passed and (y/n) became a lady the pressure became tighter than her corset.

"judging by the tremble and pink nose you are not accustomed to such a cold environment"

"I'm afraid not, I am willing to try though, if need be"

She suggested as her voice usually would be colourful and loud- something that princess rhaenyra adored- was now barely audible, Rhaenyra dreaded asking this of her only daughter, seven hells the reason she even had (y/n) was because of her failed match that was created under ambition and desperation for allegiance, now she had to bare the curse of the prey becoming the hunter as she set her daughter up in hopes this could bring peace and safety not only to the realm but to their family.

“It is an honor to have the Targaryen family as our guest, I believe last time it was with Queen Alyssane, was it not?”

“Indeed, my lord, though I cannot recall if we have ever United our house bloodline”

“That is correct, such a pity don’t you think Princess Rhaenyra? We must correct that mistake as fast as we can, before all that let me escort you to your chambers, you must rest after such travel”

Cregan's humor was a breath of fresh air for mother and daughter, both of them felt more comfortable through his commentary and light-hearted chatter.

Rhaenyra was extremely thankful that her daughter understood why this must be done if she had to be completely honest with herself partially the reason she chose Cregan as her daughter's match was how the whispers of his strength and his handsome nature made it to the red keep, another thing was a desperate attempt on keeping her daughter guarded, mayhaps if she found refuge in the north of the vicious Hightowers pushed Rhaenyra to war (y/n) would be tucked away and protected by the Lord.

As they walked through the castle Cregan started blabbering about all kinds of things his brain could master, he was certainly nervous when he got the letter from Rhaenyra herself asking for her daughter to be betrothed to him, Targaryen and Starks had, of course, rumors of laying together but never being United in the eyes of the Gods, and to add the fact that the lady is in line for the throne, the wedlock and children would bring such different aspect to his house.

"the lady of the north has to endure the stinging sensation of the icy air, but I believe having a humungous dragon that spews fire on command should help"

Rhaenyra smiled at the slight declaration of interest and almost a very subtle way of claiming their betrothal to be a fact, it was (y/n) 's turn to nod excitedly and let out a small giggle, Cregan was not a man that went unnoticed, young, tall, strong, beautiful, any woman of her status would thank the gods for such a match and a part of her was curious.

Due to the small sign of hope (y/n) careless tucked a strand behind her ear, revealing a part of her to the Lord that he had never seen before.

“Your ear”

He said almost in a question, subconsciously his head tilted in order to get a better view, hastily (y/n) let her hair fall back again, concealing her left ear, flustered and internally cursing herself.

“I don’t believe I have seen something like it before”

“I apologize, I-it is-“

“Unique, I know that Targaryens usually have violet eyes as your mother has, however, I can only guess you found that boring and chose something entirely different, you have quite the taste”

(Y/n)s eyes slightly widen at the kind-hearted nature of Cregan's comment, (y/n) was born with pointy ears, her mother would always jest that it was because the fairies brought (y/n) to her as a gift, others would say that the Targaryens started to blend more with their dragons and that Rhaenyra indulged in blood magic to have the daughter she always wanted.

Gossip and fairytales aside, (y/n) tried her best to conceal that little thing like a well-kept secret that she now had pulled the covers from. Cregan only smiled, (y/n) seemed like a peach on a summer day, full of sweetness, and the nectar could bring back the dead, her smile could make your teeth hurt like how they used to when he ate pie, the pointy ears in his eyes only gave her a boost in her ethereal presence.

Despite that (y/n) had to acknowledge that the man was nothing but a stranger, she had witnessed countless loveless marriages and men that sucked the life out of their wives,  besides all of that she pushed those types of thoughts to the side and masked her dark thoughts for the future with a brave face.

-

"Mother!"

(Y/n) exclaimed as she skipped over to Rhaenyra who rushed to her daughter's side, it had been months since (y/n) had seen her mother, and as content as she was with her new life no one could replace the place Rhaenyra had in her daughter's heart.

"oh my dearest, how lovely it is to see you, take a turn for me let me look at you"

(y/n) let out a snicker at her mother's request even though she complied almost immediately making Rhaenyra nod in approval, to no one’s surprise (y/n) had grown to be a proper lady, her red cape with the thick lining and fur, her hair down and disheveld from riding her dragon, plump red cheeks from eating well, and how could one forget her smile, shining through the realm and blessing her mother with a sigh of relief, Rhaenyra was relieved to say the slightest that her only daughter was taken care of.

"Princess, thank you for inviting us"

"nonsense, I would take any chance to see my baby"

"Mother" (y/n) whispered in embarrassment

"hush now young lady, to me, you will always remain the small babe that curled in my arms, you will know what I'm talking about sooner than late"

"about that, Mother, it might be sooner than you anticipate"

Rhaenyra froze in her spot, her eyes doubling their original size as an audible inhale of breath was heard, (y/n) 's eyes watered and her arms seemed to have a slight tremble whilst she took off her cape to reveal the cutest swollen belly. Rhaenyra stood still for only a second before she wrapped her arms as tight as she possibly could around (y/n) who did the same.

"no, my baby, why didn't you write me about this?"

"I-"

"We wanted to wait this time, I believe you understand, (y/n) wanted to tell you as soon as possible, I advised her not to, forgive me, princess"

Rhaenyra might not have birthed Cregan though she had given birth to (y/n) and that meant that she knew when her daughter was hiding, like now.

(Y/n) wanted to be cautious, after they suffered an early loss of their first baby before her belly could even swell, inevitable fear overtook her, she had refused to ride her dragon for the first three moons and she did her best to remain abed as much as possible.

Thankfully, Cregan shook her out of it, asking her to take a walk as often as his duties allowed him to, he would also attempt to ever so casually bring up how her dragon kept all of the town awake from roaring and complaining, even for this visit  (y/n) only agreed after Cregan offered to get up on the dragon with her so she can feel safe.

"it doesn't matter, all that I care about is that my baby is happy and healthy"

"Don't worry Mother, the north has been extremely good to me"

“For that I am certain, well then, let us celebrate, my little babe is having a little babe”

-

"It is good to see you back and we’ll, my lord"

"it is good to be back, especially with such a catch might I add, tell the cook to prepare the Stagg for supper, give the wild pig for you and the others"

"you are utmost gracious my lord, the princess is waiting for you in your chambers"

"wonderful, do not let anyone disturb us, I wish to stay by her side until supper is served"

Cregan skipped the way into his chambers, he was too caught up in the rush of the hunt and the excitement of reconnecting with his lady wife to notice the nods and stiff giggles of the servants and guards.

He didn't bother to knock, even if he was indecent there was nothing he hadn't seen, secretly he hoped to see her swollen belly bare, as it grew bigger Cregan had adored to kiss on her belly and rub it as he felt the kicks and moves of their child, together they would make plans for the future, like making sure the babe receives an egg for their cradle or getting a wolf cub as a pet.

"my de-"

"shush, you'll wake her"

medusa had cast her spell over Cregan as his eyes focused on the most extraordinary sight, his lady wife holding their babe while she sat up in their bed. (y/n) had never looked more beautiful in his eyes, her hair falling past her shoulders as her arms wrapped around the child and her big eyes sparkling with joy.

The baby was wrapped in a white blanket and (y/n) slightly rocked it, it almost could fool someone that (y/n) had already given birth to numerous children by the graciousness in her moves, Cregan could pull a chair and watch this for the rest of his days, alas his curiosity and excitement rushed him to her side, sitting right next to his lady wife in awe.

"bless me, when did this happen?"

"last morrow, the labors started hours after you left"

"my strong dragon, you did this without me, I must admit I am slightly wounded"

"I did not want to send someone until I delivered her, make sure she is fine and all"

if it was humanly possible Cregan would swear he could hear her trembling heart, as her pleading eyes uncovered the insufferable pain she went through that held hands tightly with distress and a splash of grief.

(Y/n) ached for the babe she had lost, wondering if it had been a boy to a girl, if it would have their father's eyes, or if they would prefer music over hunting, Cregan felt helpless, watching his love suffer as he also grieved in silence, though now it did not matter, the gods took mercy on them.

At just the perfect queue, the small babe cooed pulling both of them out of their trance, simultaneously the pair looked down at the fruit of their ever-growing bond with humungous smiles and cloudy eyes.

"she is gorgeous, once you fully heal we will throw a feast, I'll send some of my best men for a hunt, you should write to your mother, and ask her if she can find Dornish wine-"

"my lord, let us enjoy her before we present her to the realm, she is barely a morrow old"

"she is a princess, our princess"

"Precisely, our princess, come lay with us"

as much as (y/n) comprehends the weight of duty and the strict order of customs that came with such wonderful news, she had grown up with a mother who had wrapped her and her siblings with a cloak to protect their childhood years, allowing them to be kids amid chaos and now it was her time to step up and build a fort that kept her happy and safe.

Cregan puffed out a breath of defeat before he complied and climbed as carefully as a man of his statue could

“Let me see, oh perfect”

“She will grow out of it”

“She better not, maybe the next one can have slit eyes as well”

“My love, I do not believe I can give birth to a full dragon”

“One can only hope”

Cregan jested as (y/n) laughed, the young babe had inherited her mother's ears, Cregan would often brush (y/n) 's hair away from her face to take a look at her ears, or brush his fingers over them as she laid her head on his chest at night, sometimes (y/n) would slap away his hand while he roared with laughter, others she would just bask in his admiration, thanking whoever took favor in her and gave her the man that loved her, pointy ears and all.

Requests are open!

[genshin-impact-updates]

Vanquisher of Phantoms, Vigil of the Long Night

"...Word to the wise, friend. The evidence against you is irrefutable. If you want to uphold your honor, atonement is an option. You could still do much good... There's no need to resort to a duel. I mean, your opponent is Clorinde. *That* Clorinde, you hear? Oh, for the love of the Fountain of Lucine... If you go up against her, you'll wind up without even the strength to confess your crimes!"

— A sincere letter that a certain wealthy merchant who had pleaded "Not Guilty" received on the eve of a duel.

◆ Name: Clorinde

◆ Title: Candlebearer, Shadowhunter

◆ Champion Duelist

◆ Vision: Electro

◆ Constellation: Rapperia

Disputes are a Mora a dozen in Fontaine, day in and day out.

A playwright might accuse a fanatical reader of imitating their style and taking up a pen name too close to their own, to the point that even the newspapers could not distinguish the genuine article. A merchant might accuse a colleague of targeted, malicious, cutthroat competition, of not only constantly adjusting their prices, but of intentionally setting up shop directly opposite them...

Ordinary disputes can be settled by Gardes rushing onto the scene, but there are always a minority of claimants who, thinking themselves most clever in their ulterior intent, will obstinately press for court proceedings just to get their name out there — and if their duel applications were to be approved, they might be famous indeed!

However, if some well-meaning neighbor were to tell them: "I've heard that the most recently rostered Champion Duelist is Miss Clorinde..."

These same clever folk would almost instantly be deflated of all their arrogant airs, like a Violetgold Angler Gull caught by the neck, and cease such prattle altogether.

For all are well-acquainted with the name of the "mightiest" Champion Duelist.

Beneath her blade, all despicable deeds that aim to capitalize on mere fortune under the guise of decency will show their true colors — and she has never once known defeat in a duel.

"...Ahem. Oh, uh... I suppose there's no need to go that far, is there?

So does a clever person, very nearly hoisted by their own petard, flee the scene.

And thus is another such altercation, undercut by ulteriority, discreetly dissipated.

[hyperactively-me]

regency era!ghost x reader au (part 1)

oops my fingers slipped oh nooo. I just watched Pride and Prejudice (2005 of course) and finished the first half of Bridgerton season 3, and this just fell out of my head sooo here ya go

In the heart of debutante season, the grand halls of the manor glittered with an optimistic opulence. Crystal chandeliers hung in every room, and the laughter of the ton mingled with the notes of lively waltzes and invigorating English country dances. Simon Riley, the newly titled Duke, stood at the edge of the ballroom, a stern figure amidst the merrymaking. His eyes scanned the room, but they held no warmth; they were as cold and unyielding as the battles he had once fought in wars. 

Duke Simon Riley had gained his title through his distinguished military service, a feat that made him both revered and feared. His demeanor was hardened, his interactions brusque, and he regarded social gathering and balls with a thinly veiled disdain. He considered balls and galas a different kind of battle, one he navigated with nearly the same stoic resolve as he had the warfront.

Across the room, you move with effortless grace, the hem of your gown bustling around your feet. You are the embodiment of elegance and propriety, your every movement reflecting your strict upbringing. You were popular amongst the ton, your dance card nearly always full. You didn’t really mind, to a certain extent; yet, you’ve never had a dance partner who went past superficial conversation. It was something that irked you, but you had resigned yourself to it a long time ago.

Your father, a Lord, had made it a point earlier in the night to introduce you to the Duke. You glide through the sea of silk and satin, approaching your father’s proud smile in the corner of the ballroom. Next to him was the Duke; a tall, broad man. Quite handsome, you thought to yourself.

“Ah, here she is,” your father said warmly, taking your hand and leading you towards the Duke. “Allow me to introduce Duke Simon Riley. Your Grace, may I present my daughter.” 

You curtsy deeply as your father announces your title and name, your eyes fluttering open to meet the Duke as you offer a polite smile. 

Simon turns his steely gaze upon you, dipping his head slightly in acknowledgement. “My lady,” he said, his voice as cold and formal as his expression.  

“Your Grace, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have heard much about your service.”

“Indeed,” Simon replies, his tone clipped. “I hope the reality does not disappoint.” 

You tilt your head slightly, maintaining your composure at his bluntness. “On the contrary, Your Grace, I find the tales of your exploits quite fascinating. It must have required immense strength and courage.” 

“It required duty,” he said forthrightly, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And an ability to see through distractions.” 

Something in his tone struck you, a subtle but clear implication that left you momentarily speechless. You clear your throat, smoothing out of the front of your dress. “Well, we are all very fortunate that you were not distracted, Your Grace. Otherwise, who knows where we might be?”

Simon’s lips twitched, standing straighter than ever, but his eyes remained hard. “Yes, distractions can be dangerous. Such as a ballroom, where idle chatter and trivial pursuits often mask the true nature of one’s character.”

He eyed you up and down as he spoke, and you feel as though the wind has been knocked out of your lungs. You feel your cheeks heat up with anger at his veiled insult. 

“Your Grace, I must respectfully disagree. A ballroom is where one’s true character is often revealed; most often through grace, kindness, and the ability to navigate society with dignity.”

Simon raises an eyebrow, his expression unmoved. “It is easy to speak of ‘grace and kindness’ when one has never faced true adversity, my Lady. Perhaps your perspective would be different if you had seen the world as it truly is.”

Your temper flares at his condescension, your grip tightening on the skirts of your dress as you step closer. “And perhaps, Your Grace,” you hiss, “if you had ever taken the time to understand the world beyond the battlefield, you might see that strength and bravery comes in many forms. It doesn’t give you the right to belittle the lives and joys of others.” 

Your father steps forward, sensing the need to intervene. “Now, now,” he says, his tone conciliator. “Let not a misunderstanding spoil the evening.”

But the damage had already been done. Simon’s eyes remained fixed on you, eyebrows pinched and eyes cold. He had offended you greatly, swiping at your character even though he knows nothing of you. 

With a final cursory glance at him, you excuse yourself with as much dignity as you could muster, your heart pounding with anger and hurt.

As you walk away, you could feel Simon’s gaze boring into your back. You do your best to shake off your emotions, trying to regain your composure. An evening that had started with hope and lightness had turned bitter. And while the Duke might have won many wars, he would find that you were not one to back down easily. You were determined to show him that in the realm of society, you were just as formidable an opponent as he was in war.

> part 2

[kedsandtubesocks]

what the water gave us

Merman!Joel Miller x F!Reader

summary: the fairytales were half true, the merman you found is indeed handsome but oh so grouchy

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, merman/human relationship, unspecified age gap (reader’s age is not mentioned but Joel is older) instances of blood & injury, brief violence, Joel still being a terrifying force even as a merman, very light discussion of grief & loss of a loved one (Joel with Sarah & reader with their father) grumpy but soft!Joel, sharing food as a love language, use of nickname, protective!Joel, slightly possessive!Joel, f!oral receiving - along with spicy moments, mentions of mating & merfolk courting rituals

word count: 7.6k

a/n: here it is - the nice final surprise for our mermay mini series, this is for all of us who would kiss fuck the handsome merman lol! Thank you to @pr0ximamidnight for letting me scream about this & to @the-wild-wolves-around-you for always being the best support - and to you, if you’re reading this, thank you so much ♡

The sun hangs low against the sky, painting the world in a soft orange creamsicle shade. Sliding your shoes off, you sink into the soft sand and walk the shoreline.

You love your aunt and uncle dearly. But having such a large get together at their house to meet the neighbors and their friends just got too much. It’s why you politely excused yourself and ended up here.

The crash of the waves, the peaceful quiet of the thankfully vacant beach, it all settles you while you walk aimlessly getting lost in your thoughts.

Until a sharp deep growl pierces the air.

The noise sounds close, electrifies your skin, and makes you stop. That’s when you notice trickles of blood in the water.

Petrified your eyes follow the trails.

Then you come across a sight you can’t believe.

By the long stretch of rocks leading out from the shore into the sea, a man sits half up on the rocks.

Older, distinguished in the wrinkles around his face and beautiful grays in his curled hair, his skin however seems drained of color. There’s also a huge gash against his side as if he was impaled.

Even though he’s partially out of the water, you notice, the skin at his hips don’t lead to legs. Your eyes go wide.

Another snarl of a growl comes and you realize it’s this man. His face fiercely stares you down in menacing terror.

“You’re hurt!” You blurt out.

“Get the fuck outta here!” He howls, even has an accent of someone from this area.

“You’re bleeding out too fast!” You don’t even know medical conditions that well to know this isn’t good.

On your walk here you noticed a few beach towels left vacant on the shore.

You immediately turn around and bolt.

The man screams out a curse, yelling at you to stop, but you don’t. Thankfully you don’t have to search too far down the beach to spot one of the forgotten towels. Quickly grabbing it you then rush back.

The strange man is still on the rocks, but it’s obvious he tried sliding down them in an escape. However it opened his wound up more.

“Wait!” Now you cry out. “I know this isn’t much but this can stop the bleeding for now!”

You offer weakly that you could maybe try to get medical attention, but even weary his eyes go wide, and he snaps out a fast sharp no.

“Then you need to wrap this around the wound or press into it.” You offer the towel.

“Y’don’t think I know how to handle this, ya dumb human?” He snarls.

Human. So he isn’t human like you suspected.

“Your wound is getting worse.” You urge now, promising you won’t get others but have supplies that can help.

“Do what ya fuckin’ want.” He snarls.

Gingerly, you place the towel down on a rock then scramble out of the water and head back to your family’s beach home. Thankfully everyone has moved upstairs, allowing you to sneak in, grab a first aid kit, then leave.

You just hope the man hasn’t left or gotten worse.

The sky grows dimmer. The sun almost vanishes beyond the horizon. And thankfully, the man is still on the rocks.

Yet his eyes flutter in and out of consciousness.

Keeping the first aid kit as dry as you can above the waves, you rush into the water towards him.

He’s barely awake, might not even fully notice you’re beside him now. But quickly you unpack things fast on the nearby rocks and tend to the wound as best as you can. The man hisses a half growl at the padding you place to stop the bleeding. Then you use an embracing amount of large bandages over the wound.

The bleeding doesn’t seep through the wraps and it’s enough for now. You’re afraid of leaving him here, but you’re more worried about moving him. So taking the towel you grabbed, you delicately drape it over his body, keeping his face open.

He seems human enough from his upper body. This mystery man is also handsome, scarily so. But the sky is getting dark, and you need to get home. Gathering your things you return to the beach house.

“Hey, where’d ya go?! And what’s with the first aid kit?” Your mom says a bit surprised.

You explain with a half lie that you went walking on the beach and helped a guy who got cut.

“Well look at you! What a hero.” She grins warm and her words feel soft.

That night you barely get any sleep and think of the man on the rocks. Earlier, when you were panicking trying to tend to his wound, you didn’t have time to fully look into the ocean at his lower body. But you caught a glimpse.

You saw a partial marine like body, a sea creature like tail even among the cloud ocean water.

A merman, you had possibly helped a merman.

Now you just hope he makes it through the night.

Scrambling awake the next morning, you make an excuse of wanting to enjoy the beach bright and early, and head to the rocks.

Of course he’s gone.

You almost knew he wouldn’t be here. A piece of you did hope, faintly hoped, he would be. Even the towel is gone.

Out in the ocean a loud splash, like someone slapping against the water, arrives.

There floating in the waves, only seen from the chest up, is the mystery man. He’s okay. He’s here. He’s alive.

“You’re alright.” You exhale relieved.

This man glares at you fiercely. It highlights his weathered wrinkles but also intensifies his handsome features. There’s an intimidating and hardened nature radiating off this gorgeous creature.

“Why did ya save me?” He flat out asks, and you’re stunned.

That’s what he came here to ask you about?

Your face even scrunches up slightly confused, but you tell him the truth.

He was hurt. You had to try and do something.

The answer does soften his features. If anything his eyebrows furrow harder.

“Y’fuckin’ tell anyone about me?”

For possibly being a mythical being, this man does speak very human. You shake your head no, promising you didn’t and won’t ever tell anyone.

He scoffs, distrusting.

With sharp narrowed eyes, he gives you one final look before slipping back into the water.

You sit on the shoreline for what feels like hours, but he doesn’t return.

A bit dejected and quiet, you head home.

Later, trying to get your mind off everything, you decide to enjoy the time you’re here and head into the water.

The wind provides a nice breeze, and the sea swirls around you. Slowly you trek deeper into the ocean letting the water rise. Eventually you comfortably float and glance back towards the shoreline. Your mom lounges in her lawn chair with the recent book she just bought. The sky, beautifully soft this morning, now seems dimmer with all the clouds moving in.

A wave crashes over you from behind.

Powerful and large it drags you under. You were so focused on watching the beach you didn’t even see it coming.

Now you’re under the water, caught beneath the sea.

The saltwater stings your eyes as you try swimming against the current. But you’re a bit disoriented and even trying to just float back to the surface seems harder.

Suddenly warm solid hands are on your hips pulling you up. You’re guided up to the surface. Sweet air fills you and you cough through the stinging in your lungs. You’re kept above the water, held up.

You whip around trying to see who helped you, but there’s no one around.

Someone screams your name frantically. Your mom and your aunt on the edge of the water shout for you.

Weary from the waves you slowly swim, practically float, back to shore before your family scrambles to help you out. They rapidly ask if you’re okay, covering you with towels.

“We saw you go under and didn’t come up for so long.” Your mom explains still very worried.

“Did you guys see that shark?!” From behind by the beach house, your uncle calls out as he comes running.

“Wait, shark?” You blurt out.

Your uncle rapidly explains how he saw the fin poking out of the water around you.

“Could have been a dolphin.” Your aunt offers.

“No, definitely looked like a shark. Thank goodness you got outta the water.” Your uncle playfully ruffles the towel over your head.

A few bystanders sitting nearby ask how you’re doing and also comment how they swore they saw the ominous shark fin swimming around you.

A shark. It doesn’t make sense. You felt strong very human hands on you. You knew a guiding force saved you.

But then the thick cotton clouds above pop and the rain comes. After heading inside and deciding to rest for the day, your gaze stays watching the harsh waves. The storm and ocean move in tandem. You wonder about the man you met, if he’s safe in the water.

Maybe it’s all the talk of the supposed shark in the water, but before you end up fading into a nap, you swear you see a fin swimming in the current.

- 𖤓 -

“You gonna be okay with us heading to the museum?”

For the millionth time you reassure your mom you’ll be fine staying back and getting more rest. The rain from yesterday’s storm stayed, a quiet downpour thankfully not as strong. After everyone heads out, you see this as an opportunity to head out to the beach.

With the rain, the shoreline is vacant. So with your umbrella you head to the beach. The murky water under the dim sky seems more mysterious and your eyes scan the waves, maybe waiting for something to appear.

“Glutton for punishment or somethin’?” The familiar twanged voice.

Immediately you snap your gaze to the side. There in the water, closer to the edge of the shore, is your mystery man.

You blurt out how worried you were about the storm and about him. His eyebrows furrow.

“Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.” He answers muttering.

“And you,” he asks, nudging his handsome chin towards you. “Y’doin’ alright?”

Your heart jumps in your chest. He came to check up on you.

Nodding firmly, you thank him gratefully. You knew it had to be him who saved you in the water.

The man simply nods.

You swallow hard then blurt out if he’s seen a shark.

His face hardens confused. It’s actually adorable with how curiously his dark eyes shine.

“A shark?” He mumbles.

“Yeah, thought I saw a fin in the water.” You don’t want to tell him your uncle did as well.

“Wasn’t a shark.” He answers gruffly, almost a scoff.

You want to press more, ask if it was a dolphin instead when your stomach instead growls loud. Your eyes go wide embarrassed.

One of his eyebrows raises.

“Sorry, need to grab some lunch soon.” You sigh embarrassed.

“Then head inside, lil’ minnow. Go get somethin’ to eat.” He says firm.

Before you can reply he’s sinking back in the water. But as he swims away that’s when you catch it faintly -

A sleek fin towering out of the water.

The shark creature is him.

Also…you realized he just called you a little minnow and for some reason, you find it oddly affectionate.

The next morning a mess of crabs clutter the beach. Even the neighbors besides your family’s place head to the shore to admire.

“It’s like the sea wanted us to have a crab bake.” Your mom laughs.

“They normally don’t wash up on the beach in this many numbers, it’s odd.” One of the neighbors explains to your uncle.

While everyone eagerly moves to get the crabs, your eyes stay on the water hoping to spot a fin among the waves.

At night, once everyone is asleep, you quietly slip out and head to the beach. The patio lights from the beach homes cast a soft illumination. The crashing waves among the abyss beyond are strangely calming even with the darkness of sea and sky stretching out wide.

Patiently you sit at the edge of the water, not even knowing what you’re truly doing here.

“Persistent one, ain’t ya?”

His voice emerges from the darkness and your soul almost jumps out of your body. This time the mysterious man flutters up from the waves and is closer than before.

“Why were there so many crabs on the beach?” You ask quickly and curious.

“Don’t know. Crabs are fuckin’ weird little shits.” He replies bluntly with a hard grimace.

A part of you thinks he does know why.

“How’s your wound?” You ask.

Gingerly he lifts himself closer to the shoreline and then goes to rest halfway upon the beach allowing you a sight of his torso.

The area where the wound is healing up nicely and you even grin relieved.

But him being half out of the water onto the shore also allows you a better glimpse at his lower body.

Tail. He has a tail.

It’s sleek, a deep stormy gunmetal gray, that in this dim lighting almost seems like a lovely rich blue. Faintly you can even see the dorsal find at his lower back.

It’s beautiful.

He’s beautiful. Lovely sun and age spots pepper his skin. His bare chest is broad and seems strong. This man from the sea is burly, solid, and aged, a force of the water that speaks of his power that’s weathered the tides

You don’t even realize you’ve said something, much less called him beautiful, until your mystery man responds.

“Y’think I’m beautiful?” He sounds terribly confused.

“Weirdest god damn human I ever met, lil’ minnow.” He adds muttering.

“I have a name.” You huff back, gently teasing.

“Yeah?”

Your lips twitch at his reply, and you give him your name. This beautiful merman stays quiet.

“And you? What’s your name?” You ask cautiously but hopeful.

No reply comes. You’re worried you’ve pressed your luck.

“Joel.”

Until he answers, and you discover this merman’s name is so lovely.

“Don’t normally see ya around here.” Joel comments.

You perk up asking if he lives nearby.

“More or less.” A cryptic answer.

You explain that you’re here for the summer. After finishing up for the semester you and your mom decided to take a break out here.

“Younger than I fuckin’ though.” Joel says harsh under his breath, and annoyance bristles in you.

“Probably not as young as you think.” You argue back, even explaining you’re just starting grad school so the break was needed.

Joel scoffs, not looking convinced.

“Maybe you’re just an old barnacle.” You fire back, teasing.

Surprisingly, this man from the water snorts amused. The sound is precious. You want to ask him more, learn more about him, but a tratorious yawn escapes you.

“Head to sleep, lil’ minnow.” Joel mumbles.

“Not tried.” You huff, but another yawn betrays you.

“Mhm.” Joel hums, and you think you see a twinkle of amusement in his deep eyes.

There’s so much you want to say, maybe even ask when you’ll see him again. But rising up off the sand, you hear a splash in the waves.

The spot where Joel rested is now empty. A wistful ache settles into your chest.

However the next morning though, an impressive mess of clams and oysters are on the beach. A bright bubble of a laugh almost escapes you.

When the night rolls in, you again sneak back down to the beach. This time you bring some of the leftover sushi from dinner.

You don’t wait for long before Joel swims onto the shoreline.

You greet him with a warm grin. His focus however is on the container on your lap. His handsome scrunched up face seems grumpier.

“What’s that?” He rumbles.

“It’s just fish and rice.” You explain opening the container. “Thought we could share.”

“It’s sushi.” He flat out says and your eyes go wide. He knows what sushi is and you even admit your surprise.

“Yes I know what sushi is.” He replies a bit crabbier. “Don’t live in a fuckin’ damn cave.”

“Where do you live?” You ask now.

“Somewhere.” He replies flatly not answering, so you don’t push it.

Instead you return to the meal before you.

“Since it’s fish, thought you might enjoy it.” You offer.

“You…brought me food?” His voice sounds steeled, cautious. You realize how suspicious it sounds and how hesitant he would be.

“It’s fine, I promise.” You reassure and even prove it by chomping down on one of the California rolls. Trying to ease the tension you ramble about the different types of sushi you like and those you don’t care for too much.

You realize now you must sound ridiculous. You’re about to clamp your mouth shut when very cautiously, slowly, Joel reaches over and grabs one.

It’s like feeding a stray cat and not wanting to scare it. You can’t help but turn to stare and see his reaction. He plops it in his mouth and cutely chews thoughtfully.

“Well?” You ask a bit hopeful.

Joel simply shrugs, almost bored, not even speaking on the taste or if he likes it.

But you do notice he reaches for another one.

In the quiet night, you and Joel simply sit enjoying this space together. You try to ask more about him and about his world. But the dry unamused look he gives his answer.

Joel instead is the one asking questions about where you live, what are you studying for, and one question that knocks you out surprised.

“Y’dont got a mate.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but you still almost choke on a sushi roll.

Stammering, you ask him what made him say that.

“Don’t have the mark humans wear that they’re taken.” Joel comments then moves to point to his ring finger where a wedding band would sit.

“Some couples don’t wear bands.” You argue back.

“Oh? Ya one of ‘em then?” He challenges.

Deflated, you mutter out a low no.

“Why?” Joel asks direct.

“Why what?”

“Why don’t ya have a mate?” He questions serious and his thick voice crawls over your skin.

You shrug, not knowing how to fully answer. Instead you half heartedly tell him you haven’t found anyone yet.

“Don’t sound like a good enough reason.” Joel replies.

Now you’re annoyed, even feel your face scrunch up at his casual tone.

“Why do you even care?” Your question comes out a bit sharper than expected.

Joel shrugs. “Just don’t make sense why a young thing like you is alone.”

Immediately you fire back that you’re not alone. You have friends and family that love you.

Now you stare at Joel hard and fully annoyed. His dark eyes scan your face while he stays composed, unable for you to read.

Your phone chimes with a text notification breaking the moment. You decide to call it a night. Joel is quiet when you move to leave.

The air hangs thick and tense. Internally, you try reasoning that you’re literally talking to a mythical being. This merman was bound to have a strange view of human customs.

You simply tell him good night and walk back.

Before you head inside, you turn around to the shore unable to stop yourself.

Joel very visibly is still in waves. His upper half floats among the obsidian sea with his dark eyes hyper focused on you. However once you spot him, let your eyes lock into his, the merman sinks into the water.

That night you dream of a man from the waves so handsome and real in your arms, but it feels as dangerous as a storm.

The following morning, instead of creatures fit for a seafood restaurant waiting, the most lovely shell sits on the sand.

“Oh that’s pretty.” Your mom even coos. It is.

Cherished and still in awe, you place the shell on your dresser.

Later that night you return to the beach again. This time time with a bag of chips.

Joel arrives hastily.

“The shell is lovely.” You tell him.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout.” He answers simply, but his gaze stays eyeing the chip bag. Your heart warms even at his grumpy reply.

Opening the bag, Joel wrinkles his nose.

“Smells salty as hell.” He sneers.

“Says someone who lives in saltwater.” You snort munching on one of the chips.

“That’s sayin’ something if I say that shit is salty.” Joel huffs.

“They’re delicious.” You clarify holding out a chip to him. Joel’s face scrunches up even more, you laugh.

“What’s with all the sudden human food?”

You shrug. “Just a nice late night snack, thought we could share that’s all. Let you maybe just try more human food.”

With a cautious hard frown, Joel leans forward to the chips in your fingers and moves to bite it. In the process though his lips slide over your fingers.

His mouth is hot, wet. You even feel the brush of his tongue against your fingertips and try not reacting.

Joel makes a face as he chews, maybe not aware of what he just did. Your heart however rages fast and you ask if he liked it.

Now Joel’s eyes flicker to yours. You notice him swallow, notice how thick and bare his neck is and how you want to kiss it already.

He shrugs. You’re learning that’s a very common Joel answer and can’t push for more.

“Your mother. She seems nice.” He suddenly says.

You’re surprised he noticed her earlier out here. She’s been enjoying reading while you stayed inside enjoying a nice nap.

“Yeah, she’s pretty great.” You admit with a soft smile.

“Just you and her?” He presses and you agree happily.

“Where’s your father?”

You didn’t know you’d be discussing this with him. But you explain gently that your dad passed away when you were younger.

“Oh.” Joel’s voice pops a bit. “I… I apologize.”

You reassure him you’re alright. You were young, a child then, and appreciate his sympathy.

“Besides my mom always told me if I ever missed him, I just had to look up.” You tell Joel.

“What?” He asks and you turn your gaze up to the sky.

The stars are faintly out but so sweetly twinkling in the dark.

“My mom said my dad sits with the stars now, watching down and always shining bright to remind me he’s always with me, even when I can't see him.”

The words still warm you to this day.

Joel stays silent.

“And you? What’s your family like?” You ask returning your eyes back to earth, back to this son of the sea.

Joel continues to stay quiet. His focus now falls to the sand where you sit. You should’ve known he wouldn’t respond to something so personal.

“Got a brother, but he doesn’t live too close. He’s gotta pod of his own now.”

He has a brother. And they call their families pod. This information warms you, feels precious and rare.

“I had a pup.” Joel admits.

He had a child.

“Lost her many years ago.” He mutters soft.

Your heart shatters deep in your chest.

“Joel, I’m so incredibly sorry.” You tell him earnestly and sympathetic.

You gently ask him what her name was.

“Sarah.” A lovely name.

You glance back up at the sky. You don’t know anything about merfolk culture, how they honor those who have passed. But you can at least honor her the way you know how.

“Sarah is definitely up there too among the stars, watching over you.” You say reassuring.

The stars seem to twinkle back.

Again, Joel stays silent. You’re worried you might have stepped too far.

“Thank you.”

But in the soft breeze of the night, you almost miss his kind soft whisper of a reply back.

You and Joel sit in a soft silence for the rest of the night.

Waking up the next morning, from the view of your bedroom window, another shell sits on the beach.

This goes on for a little over a week. You sneak down to talk with Joel, even teach him how to play tic tac toe in the sand and discover he’s a sore loser.

Then beautiful trinkets arrive on the beach the following mornings.

Some were dazzling sea glass pieces you want to find a way to make into a necklace. Once he even left you a weather and a very old waterlogged broken compass.

You cherish it all.

But then one night, Joel doesn’t show. You wait, and wait. But no appearance of your merman. And no new seashell or trinket sits on the beach the morning after.

Again you head down to the beach at night. Still no sign of Joel.

You try not to get wrapped up in worry. But soon a week passes.

Now you’re worried, fully wondering what could have happened. You don’t even know where he lives to say you can simply go check on him. You feel a bit helpless, frustrated.

At the week’s end, your aunt wants to take you and your mom to a nice dinner in town. That night enjoying the nice meal, your eyes still drift to the view of the sea. Watching the soft waves, the dreamy sea, you simply hope Joel is okay.

When you get back, you head straight to bed and wonder if you’ll see your merman again.

In the morning, you almost don’t look out the window, like you’re trying to slowly detach yourself. But you do.

On the beach sits a new shell.

You practically fly out of the house and down to the shore.

Later that night, Joel this time rests on the edge of the water - waiting for you.

He’s never looked more beautiful in the moonlight.

You exhale relieved, welcoming him back. Joel’s eyes seem endless as he stares at you nodding

“Sorry, had some things I had to sort out.” He explains, even apologizes. You don’t even want to press why or get upset that he simply vanished.

He’s here and he’s alright. That’s what matters.

“I know it might be too personal, and you can tell me no,” you begin weakly. “But where do you live around here?”

You rationally explain it’s simply to see and make sure he’s alright. You even vow to keep it a secret.

“Worried about an old ass barnacle like me, lil’ minnow?” Teasing, he’s faintly teasing.

But you do worry about him. Even tell him that. Joel doesn’t reply for a moment.

“Tomorrow, come ‘ere early. And I’ll show ya.” His voice is as steady as a river.

You barely get any sleep that night. Before the sun even reaches over the horizon, with the sky faintly showing signs of waking up, you head down to the shore.

Joel already waits for you. He’s ethereal in the morning light. The soft cotton candy sky paints him in a delicate glow.

You walk along the shore while he stays in the ocean and you follow his lead. The guide of his fin from the waves would look menacing, the sign of a terrifying shark in the water. Yet you follow it without hesitation. Thankfully the pace is easy and you enjoy the fact that you simply have him by your side in his own way.

Slowly you walk further away from the familiar beach homes and down towards a more secluded part of the coastline. The houses begin to dwindle. Those still standing houses seem older in their style, rickety and abandoned.

Compared to your family’s beach home that sits further back on the land, these homes sit right above the water.

Weathered from their location, they seem like ghosts watching you. Eventually Joel leads you to a home that’s collapsed.

Halfway in the water, halfway in the sand, it is a cluster of debris and scattered remnants of a home

You watch Joel swim into it from the sea.

So this is where he stays. You find a small alcove to duck under and then step in. Surprisingly, the beach house had collapsed into a father cozy like alcove.

The echoes of the ocean softly swirl all around. When you glance out the opening, it gives a clear sight to the sea where Joel must freely swim in and out hidden by the cover of this remnant.

He’s made a home out of these hollow bones. He emerges out of the water, and his freshly slicked back hair has always made his face seem sharper. But here in the soft atmosphere he seems even more dreamy.

You earnestly thank him for showing this to you and even admire its coziness.

“Y’like it?” His voice is gruff as you continue taking in the space. Yet you feel eyes on you the entire time.

“I do.” You admit truthfully.

That’s when you spot the towel you gave him. It’s crinkled up in a ball, still covered in some dried blood. But he kept it. That reality gets logged in your throat.

You go to sit down on the sand and slide off the bag you brought. You didn’t know how long the trip was going to take and trying to add to the lie you told your family about going to search for sand dollars, you added the bag.

Now it proved handy as you pull out the box of assorted fruits you packed.

Feels like it’s been so long since Joel and you have done this.

Handing him an orange slice, he bites down on the whole thing not even letting you finish explaining not to eat the peel. You shriek a bit panicked, but he mumbles about you worrying too much.

“Well, someone’s gotta worry for you.” You huff back.

In this seemingly short yet expansive time you’ve known him it’s like you’ve become completely bonded to this strange man.

In very common Joel fashion, he settles into silence. Playfully taking an orange slice, you put it in your mouth then smile at Joel.

He snorts a faint type of laugh and it’s everything.

This time you also notice how close he rests on the sand next to you now, closer than he’s ever been before.

“Y’know…” Joel begins soft. “Never got to thank ya for savin’ me.”

His tender low rumble almost mixes in with the crash of the tide. You think of the blood stained towel still here.

“It’s okay. And you’re welcome. Plus I think we’re even now at this point.” You gently tease.

A deep hum comes.

“Ain’t like any human I’ve ever met.” He says even lower than before.

Something indescribable claws in you, and you glance at him. Joel is undeniably gorgeous, the most beautiful being you’ve ever seen.

His usual slicked back curls are starting to dry, highlighting their light fluff, and you ache to brush back some of his strands. However his intense gaze bores unflinchingly into yours. It’s like his eyes spark a fire in your chest burning everything in its wake.

Before anything can be said, Joel suddenly snaps up sharply glaring out to the sea.

“Need to get ya home, lil minnow. Gonna storm soon.”

The sky looked so clear on your walk here. Even now it doesn’t seem like a storm approaches. But you trust Joel. The minute you reach the beach house, thunder rolls in the distance.

Later, in the shower, your mind drifts to Joel. Your thoughts have been with him so much. But now they cross into a more sticky territory.

Joel resting beside you earlier was the first time you had ever seen him fully out of the water. Your eyes snuck as many glances as you could trying to commit the sight to memory.

You knew his golden skin bled into the color of his tail. But his tail, now that you fully saw it, was magnificent. Strong, sleek and sturdy, it speaks of how much power he holds as a son of the sea. Yet you can’t stop wondering where his reproductive organs were.

You knew he had a daughter but you also don’t know if maybe he adopted her. You didn’t want to ask about merfolk procreating, but your mind swirls with thoughts of it. Thoughts of something slippery slick, simply Joel’s, slithering in between your legs clouds your imagination and your throat goes dry.

You’re so caught up in those thoughts, you don’t even head down to the ocean that night.

Instead you dream of merman and the taste of saltwater on your lips.

-𖤓-

The beach is crowded today. You should’ve known the weekend would bring in more crowds. The amount of people must have deterred Joel away from leaving a gift.

You admit you were a little heartbroken when you didn’t see anything on the beach this morning, but you understood.

Now you sit peacefully in the water and search for more shells in the sand to add to your growing collection.

Eventually a soft beach ball gently bumps onto you.

“Sorry!” The splashes come, and off to the side are a pack of three frat boy like guys.

“Kinda got away from us.” One of them says bashfully.

“It’s okay.” You reassure.

“I like your swimsuit.” The guys smiles, and you thank him.

“You wanna come hang with us? You look lonely.” One of them asks then takes a swig of his beer.

Politely you decline, but thank them for the offer.

“Aww,” another says, swimming a bit closer. “C’mon. Gotta be better than just sitting here doing nothing.”

“I’m fine.” You kindly try to stay composed, but you already don’t care for how persistent they are.

“Man just leave her, she looks like a fuckin’ prude anyway.” One of them laughs, and your gut feels uneasy.

Fucking pieces of shit.

You don't even reply, not knowing what else they can do. Skin feeling tight, you want to get out of the water now, and hope they leave soon.

They snicker and laugh with each other, talking amongst themselves. It makes your skin crawl even more. Now you really decide to leave.

Suddenly a horrified scream comes.

It’s male, pierces through the air with pure agony.

You whip your gaze around and find blood spilling into the water. One of the guys that was just speaking to you is the one screaming, holding his leg swearing something attacked him. Another one of the guys then collapses into the sea as he screams. More blood colors the waves.

“There was something in the fucking god damn water!” One of them yells.

Off to the distance someone yells ‘shark!’ and terror fills you fast. The panicked commotion arrives. You frantically scan around.

The fin barely moves above the waves, but you catch a glimpse before it dips below the water.

From the shore, your mother screams your name begging you to get out. You return to land but are determined to find Joel.

“I’m gonna take a walk, clear my head.” You tell your mom.

“There’s a shark in the water! Just stay inside for the day.” She urges.

Promising you won’t get in the water you even reassure her you’ll have your phone on hand. With an apprehensive sigh, she nods.

You practically fly down the coastline.

Even in the middle of the day, no one pays you a second glance. Thankfully further down the beach the commotion trickles down until it’s just you and the sea. Approaching the decayed and vacant homes, this time they feel like guards keeping you safe.

Immediately you slide into Joel’s alcove. You’re not sure it was him, but something inside just whispers it was.

You discover a sight.

Joel sits halfway out of the water and snaps his face up to you. His eyes are what you notice first. Even with how dark they are, his pupils are now slits, reptilian like. Then when he spots you, they expand and dilate as his face crumbles.

He mutters out your name.

You spot his hands - now instead claws with faint traces of blood staining them.

Before you is an apex predator, a true hunter of the waters. And he’s glorious.

The blood seems to confirm it was him in the water. He attacked those guys.

“Go home!” He barks, a fierce growl.

“Did they hurt you?” You ask softly, approaching him with hesitant steps.

He repeats his words, roaring at you to leave, but you don’t. Even with how fierce and terrifying his voice rages, you move, almost possessed, to kneel on the sand beside him.

“Are you hurt?” You repeat again gently.

He pauses before barking out a quick no.

“You were in the water?” You question low.

“I…” you’ve never heard Joel hesitate like this. Your eyes stay on his claws.

A moment passes.

“Always try to swim nearby when y’get in the water.” Joel admits, like he doesn’t even register yet that he's speaking.

Your heart gets tangled in your throat.

“Normally I stay far away and deep enough, but those fucking boys… the things they said.” He snarls disgusted and vicious.

He attacked them because of you. That reality rearranges your soul.

You now gingerly reach down to the water and gingerly grab his hand. Reflectively he almost draws away.

“What’re y’doing?” He mutters sharp.

“There’s still blood.” You whisper back then start pouring water over his hands, cleaning him.

The emotions surging in you feel too deep and strong to describe, but they consume you. You rinse his hands, being cautious of the sharp edges, watching the water fade away the crimson more and more.

It’s quiet in the alcove. Just you, him, and the soft sound of the waves. When his hands are free of blood, you gather one in your grasp. His talons are sharp. He’s dangerous, and you adore him. You gently draw it up to your face.

He doesn’t stop you. You even worry this might be too much, possibly overstepping. But this feeling in your chest is so raw you can’t stop.

You lean into Joel’s palm and gently kiss the center of it as your eyes close.

“Thank you.” You speak, barely recognizing your soft voice.

Suddenly you’re jostled. Your eyes snap open petrified thinking he’s shoving you away. Only to find he’s instead swiftly pulling you closer.

You’re only allowed to process that in a blink before his lips crash into yours. You inhale sharp but eagerly scramble to grab onto him now.

He tastes like the sea, of something deep and ancient but beautifully Joel, and your mouth opens up to him wide and greedy.

You can tell he hasn’t kissed recently, or maybe kissing other merfolk is different, but he’s messy. Teeth clink and crash, but it’s fierce, truly him.

Like the surge of a wave Joel moves against you unleashed, and you draw him closer now moving to rest back against the sand.

Joel shifts moving over your body with a clumsy but earnest ease as he continues kissing you fervently.

Your hands run up his broad and strong shoulders while his hands, claws no more, now map your body out.

“So god damn soft.” He says hoarse and deep against your lips. Then Joel burrows his face against your neck and inhales.

“Smell s’good.” His voice trails off while his lips begin kissing and nipping against your skin.

Your body reacts, rising up to grind against him.

“Joel.” You whisper out his name and he growls. The vibrations of it rumble against your skin rattling your bones.

“Wanna mate ya.” He mutters low, as if smoke leaks into his voice. “Wanna make y’mine.”

“Please please please.” You beg him dizzy and clawing at him.

Joel licks at your skin, and your eyes close in bliss.

He’s a force, dizzying and consuming like the sea itself, and you happily fall under his current. Your swimsuit top is discarded and Joel makes quick work diving down your body to your bottoms.

Without warning he shoves his face into between your legs, flat against your pussy and inhales deep. The most powerful groan rattles the air and you whine.

“Wanna taste, want more.” He mutters possessed, clawing at your bottoms that you shimmy out of.

Now you squirm a bit self aware, very hyper aware, of how intently Joel pokes and strokes around your folds with eyes focused.

You even shift your legs hoping to close them when he growls.

“Don’t hide. S’mine.” The possessive nature leaking out of his voice makes you drip.

That first lick he takes against you, you almost come especially when he groans debauched.

“Taste so fuckin’ good, knew y’d taste so fuckin’ good.” Joel mumbles.

What he lacks in his full knowledge of your body, he makes up for that in how fervently he lets his tongue explore and dive into you. It drives you mad, and your hips trash trying to press into him more.

When you come, he moans loud.

Lips wet with your essence Joel crawls up your body in a daze kissing you as much as he can.

Now he grinds down into you and you feel a very new sensation, a hard bump against your core.

Joel draws back and you now fully see the new raised area against his front torso. His hand palms it, the same way a human would, and he hisses. You ache to touch him.

“Wanna make you feel good too.” You mutter.

Joel blinks back at you, still hazy in his dark eyes. But he leans down and bumps his head against yours soft.

“Starlight, y’sure you want this?” You sure you want me, is what you hear.

You nod and kiss him soft on the lips.

A part of you wanted to be afraid, to not face the growing desire for this creature of a man. But when Joel and you become one, it feels as if the world becomes whole. Like this is what it’s always meant to be, you and him.

Your legs sliding against his tail, his teeth biting into your neck with an aching promise wanting to break the skin, you discover a crescendo of passion like no other, a crashing of the land and sea.

He is yours, just as much as you as his.

Now curled against him on the sand, your merman keeps you in his arms tracing his fingers against your shoulder. Every inch of you feels sore but in a delicious way. You enjoy resting against his sturdy frame.

“You’re still so warm.” Joel mutters a bit in awe.

“And you feel nice and cool.” You smile wiggling closer to him even while being practically glued to his side.

“Can I ask…” you begin hesitantly, and he hums a rumble of a noise that sounds like he’s giving you the okay.

You ask him why he suddenly vanished for that week.

Joel sighs, dreary and deep.

“Didn’t wanna face how… close I was gettin’ to you.” The reveal makes your heart flutter.

Softly you rub against his solid chest then lean to kiss it.

“Glad you came back.” You tell him, and he simply nods.

However even in this soft afterglow, a small doubt trickles now in.

“Joel.”

“Hm?” He sounds as if he’s falling asleep against you.

“Is this… Are you sure this is okay?” You ask delicately.

Joel snorts.

“Yeah, s’okay.” He reassures you. “Been practically courting ya this entire time anyway.”

He says it almost casually, like if it’s an afterthought. Your mind however skips over itself.

You bolt up to look down at your merman still lounging on the sand. His face scrunches up pouting at the loss of your body next to his.

“Wait? Courting?!” Your voice shrills.

Joel rolls his eyes and tugs at your arm trying to get you back into his embrace.

“What do you mean courting?!” You continue sqwuaking.

“You sound like a seagull.” He deadpans. You swat at his shoulder urging him to please explain.

You even stare at him determined. An adorable almost bitterly bashful expression colors Joel’s handsome face. Those deep eyes of his dart away from your stern gaze.

“S’nothin’. Been takin’ care of you same way you’ve been takin’ care of me, that’s all.” He replies gruffly still seeming embarrassed.

Suddenly it all clicks.

A few semesters back you took an ecology course for a science credit. You faintly remember a lecture about how different species mating behaviors. Your professor even made a comparison of a man winning a game of billiards against another guy to establish himself as a strong opponent.

In essence, sometimes mating rituals were about proving you were a strong provider and protector.

Joel had been doing this all along. The way he protected you on the beach, the various seafood critters left on the beach, the way you also fed him, along with the beautiful seashells and trinkets he left -

It had all been his own way of showing his affection and intentions.

Your merman opens his mouth to say something, but you pounce on him quickly. You kiss him pouring in all your devotion you can, and Joel welcomes you greedily.

Eventually a text from your mom comes asking if you’re alright and it gently bursts the bubble you’ve been happily sheltered in. Begrudgingly you kiss Joel many times goodbye. He of course swims by your side the entire walk home.

Later that evening, you sneak back out to the shoreline and kiss your handsome myth of man so many times under the moon's watchful eye.

“So you’re mine?” You ask quietly among the crash of the waves.

Joel nods firm and steady. “Just like you’re mine.”

You float in a dreamy bliss and wish more than ever you don’t have to leave him for the night.

“Don’t worry, lil’ minnow.” He reassures you with one last soft kiss. “I’ll be in the water.”

It’s a promise, a vow, as true and beautifully ancient as the sea.

[anantaru]

GENSHIN + LET ME MELT INTO YOU

— ꒰ including ꒱ — heizou, pantalone, childe, alhaitham, xiao x fem! reader

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ns]fw, kinda soft but also not ??

— ꒰ HEIZOU ꒱

heizou loved watching you like this, severely struggling to keep your emotions contained while holding yourself against the sheets with pretty tears covering each corner of your eyes.

at any different occasion he would've been in midst of the process of fucking you roughly, but tonight, he was greedy, heizou simply took a contrasting approach to the somewhat of a brat reminding behavior you set forth today.

don't get this wrong though, other times he adored whenever you bite back, it embarrassingly turned his loins on fire when he could clearly discern that you indeed tested him right now, enthusiastically waiting for a response from him.

it's never easy with him and ultimately the little game would finish in heizou triumphing over you, frankly, it didn't matter how much you went through the process of messing with his mind, he'd truthfully have you figured out from the very beginning.

it became a habit now, to watch you squirm, you'd regret you ever thought to have a single chance against him in the first place.

"h-heizou." your attempt to stop his rough touch on you ultimately failed as you lightly curved your back off the mattress when his length was remotely massaging over your soaked folds.

"hm?" it was pretty fucking clear that, like this, you're going to lose your damn mind, "it's too much!"

he gave you not a single chance to voice any rebuttal or apologize for being a little brat, leaving himself completely sheathed right in between the squishy flesh but not once coming close to your hole, to that one place you longed for him the utmost.

"oh!" you could distinguish the insincerity in his tone from a mile away. "i do apologize, dear."

your confused look quickly flashed before him when he playfully patted his cock head on your pussy, bathing in your whines.

they turned him on, the more you had exhaled them gravelly, more so in a shaking timbre, he could notice himself throb on your folds, "i wasn't able to note anything important from your mindless blabbering."

at his words, you felt the raw drag of his rough length again, almost torturous and messy, graciously rubbing it on your delicate flesh while simultaneously smearing the filth over your puffy clit to have you coated with both his pre and your slick.

the next shaking moan you heavily heaved went straight to his groin, "please, i'm sorry!" it didn't help that your body was jolting from the overstimulating factor of his precise targeting, that your eyes had grown glassy and low lidded, your lips swollen from the numerous amounts of times you bit down to muffle your noises.

heizou wondered if it was time to give you what you want, lazily grinding himself over your wet pussy before slowly lowering his head to chase your lips, indulging in your sweet cries, "do you think you'll be good now?"

— ꒰ PANTALONE ꒱

you spread your thighs for pantalone, a little more, while your fingers were playing with your entrance and putting on a show.

jaw slacked, you gently rubbed your middle finger over your hole, yet despite that still fending your gaze from him, being far too ashamed to see pantalone stare at you so intently, so, menacing almost.

"add a finger." he commands, it wasn't a question, it was something he required for you to do .. kind of, belittling, but you regardless do as he said.

with one hand you had yourself propped up and stabilized your entire weight on it while you naturally let the first finger be sucked in, only to the first knuckle with the slight split of your cunt being barely perceivable.

a slight relief washed over your skin as you felt your body heat grow, lightly pumping the finger in and out, "how does it feel?" pantalone's voice was low, tranquil and immensely controlling, "tell me everything."

while you pleasured yourself he slowly got rid of his pants, the jingle of his belt echoing through the room.

he was pulling them down entirely and quickly discarding of them with his boxers heavily outlining the big tent.

he beckoned you to move back to the headboard of the bed while he lowered himself to the mattress, settling in between your legs, "don't stop." your mind was dwindling with anticipation, one single finger of yours was nothing in comparison to the real deal, to pantalone's cock bottoming in and out of you in his usual fast approach.

"please." you're weakly heaving, "i need you." you didn't have to tell him, pantalone had already deciphered that by the wet squelching noises a single finger was capable of making, "be good."

he's urging you, pulling down his boxers with his cock springing free, grabbing it in his palm to lazily stroke his length while spreading his pre over the slit. "be good and i'll give you what you want."

you mewled but kept going, you felt an additional layer of pleasure inflicted on you once you carefully danced your eyes over the wonderful play right in front of you, that being him fisting his cock into the little tunnel of his hand.

you rubbed yourself faster and kept going, your nipples by now standing up and entirely erected as he, in a trice, swatted your hand away to abruptly fill you with his cock.

"f-fuck, baby!" your mouth hung low with your throat drying out when he quickly lowered himself to lay flat on your body, leaving you no time to adjust to him at all.

your legs wrapped around his waist in an instant, keeping him close when you cried into his shoulder, "you see?" he notes, still relaxed despite your cunt violently clenching down on his girth, "that's what you get when you behave."

— ꒰ CHILDE ꒱

you embarrassingly hid your face in the fabric of childe's jacket when you straddled him all graciously, in his office, where at any moment someone could come burst in and catch you both.

it was in vein to be mad at ajax for it, he treasured being close to you and although his work schedule was tightly packed, there was always some space to squish in some additional time with you.

"shh." archons, his slender hands fell absolutely maddening on your thighs, more when he playfully squeezed the skin, "you don't want someone to check up on the noise you're making, hm?"

of course you wouldn't want that, but fuck, childe made it extra difficult for you today. "I-i don't!" you were a panting mess, whining for the man that was the sole reason you were in this position in the first place.

his cockhead was repeatedly nudging onto the swollen splotches of your velvety walls, it all felt lewd and disgustingly good, tremendously hot when you continued to grind down on his erected member with his guidance.

"but-" he's smirking, his pretty eyes locking down on where you were soiling his clothes.

"i don't want you to get a wrong idea." childe was suddenly pulling your head towards him with one hand, placing his lips right in front of your ear, "i love the sounds you make for me." childe was bottoming out, entirely burying his length into you, "only for me."

you squeak at the roughened pace and held onto his neck for your dear life while he took over each square of control, tearing it from your grasp.

the string of tiny whines of his names weren't able to be spotted by him as he continued to use you as his cocksleeve, his dear angel who'd always be here to warm him up, to make him sloppily cum deep inside your pussy.

he was so warm, so big and you caught yourself clenching down on him with his thrusts becoming jagged, a harsh groan through his clenched jaw being the ultimate evidence of that fact.

you struggled to keep him all in yet childe found it adorable, as he always did.

how, whenever he dragged you down so you'd swallow his complete length, you'd quickly scrunch your brows together with a couple blurred wrinkles showing themselves on your forehead.

bringing you closer to him, he selfishly pulled you back and forth, the cutest look being laced on his handsome face when his ragged breathing was lurking on your skin.

— ꒰ ALHAITHAM ꒱

alhaitham could never tear his eyes off you, his gaze open wide, observing your every muscle grow rigid at every new raw drag of his cock within your walls.

he's so heavy in you and if you were trying to describe it, which was difficult in its entirety, you'd start on how overflowing it felt, how thick and strong inside, how it accurately rubbed over your sore spots.

he leaned forward to make sure to get a clear, good look on your teary expression, "you okay?" he whispers on your lips before dragging your hips towards him to have his cock fully enveloped by you, stilling his movements.

"y-yes." although it became quite difficult to breathe for you, from the way he had flushed his body on top of yours, it still didn't stir you off your hazy euphoria. "please move!"

between the weak knocks of your hand on his broad chest and your desperate mewls, alhaitham grazed you with the sweetest smile he had available.

"whatever you say." he knows you, every nook and cranny of your sweet spots embedded in his mind and he can see it, see how he was hitting all those spots by the corrupted expression on your face.

you flinched as your body went back from relaxing to being dragged back and forth by his bare hands, your tits bouncing up and down in tandem of his precise, deep thrusts.

your throat made it more difficult for you to voice a single syllable, instead you cried out in a chorus of unclear blabbering, every sharp ram of his cock, like a dagger, pinching against your warm skin.

you didn't expect him to be able to go quicker, the pace he went for now was maddening and thrilling, his eyes were too, dragging over every little square of your body, your cute tits, your swollen lips, squished tummy and hands playing with your sore nipples.

alhaitham felt seen, not only was it his dirty thoughts being able to rush out of him, or how he turned the little fantasies he had bristling in his mind into reality today, but how comfortable he felt with you by his side, didn't matter if next to him, or like right now, under him while he was fucking you brainless.

— ꒰ XIAO ꒱

all of xiao's focus was on you and all of your focus was on him.

it's as if the world stood still in this moment, in those fleeting seconds of pure joy inflicted on each other only you mattered to him.

being intimate in its complete form was a huge deal for xiao, it felt surreal to be able to lay in bed with you, make love and melt all his frustration into your body.

he was rough when he pushed his lips on top of yours, chasing your tongue with his own and suckling on your wet muscle when he continued to hump your clothed pussy.

archons, you made him feel so so good, his voice was hushed and gritty, his hands finding both sides of your hips to keep you down on the bed, dark locks falling into his face.

you break the heated kiss to take a much needed breather, sinking your gaze to watch your wet panties outlining your squishy folds, his controlled pace and rubs only setting a new feeling in you.

no longer was the room silent, it echoed with various sounds and heavy breathing coming from both of you, xiao would most of the times prevent himself from moaning, instead humming affectionate desire towards you.

but his cock, his heavy cock was ruthless and maddening, it didn‘t matter how often you had done it before, it‘ll always leave a significant impression on your body afterwards.

"xiao— xiao!" your little whines seemed like a request, an unvoiced one, "please, i can‘t take it anymore." you emphazised your point when you lightly wiggled your hips, your clothed folds grinding up to meet the raw trail of his cock.

"not yet." he suddenly responded, his breath was fogging on your skin and arose the little hairs on the back of your neck, your sensitive pussy sobbing when xiao carefully kneaded your folds with his length, "this feels pleasant."

you didn‘t get a chance to protest nor beg him not to continue, you finally wanted him to fuck you properly, to impale you with his heavy cock instead of carrying on with his teasing— with the teasing in question not even being perceived as one by him.

the poor nerves on your lower region, tingling with sweet sensations, it was tedious and your thighs were on fire from the additional amounts of times you jerked your hips up to get into a good spot for xiao to massage you with his length.

"almost." he‘s assuring you now, in his familiar timbre muffled with a shaking exhale, placing his middle and ring finger on your burning clit to draw vicious circles on the splotch, "a-almost there."

©2023 anantaru do not share, copy, translate any of my work

[prythianpages]

Take Her To The Moon | Cassian

cassian x love witch reader | summary: Curious over what it'd be like to watch Velaris from above like the stars do every night, you ask Cassian to take you flying.

warnings: fluff

word count: a little under 2K

a/n: I already had a flying fic planned for this au and when I saw that Day 1 of @cassianappreciationweek was flying, I thought why not join? This is my first time participating in a character week! and ofc it's last minute, I promise I'll be more prepared next time.

A canvas of shimmering stars were stretched infinitely above you. Cassian sat beside you, on the rooftop of your shop, his membranous wings folded neatly behind him. Your legs dangled over the edge, the pale moonlight reflecting off your shiny, pink boots. Your eyes were bright as they traced the constellations.

Our child. Our beloved.

Cassian’s head turned to glance at you. “What was that?”

“What was what?”

“The voices.” Cassian replied, a faint furrow appearing on his forehead. Was he going mad? He was sure he had heard them–a distant echo of ancient voices. Yet, you continued to sit beside him, completely unfazed.

So beautiful.

“Oh!” Your eyebrows lifted in realization. Your fingers reached up to brush the earrings you wore, delicate pieces made from the dust shooting stars emitted. “It’s my earrings. They were made from the stars and sometimes speak to me.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do they say?"

“They whisper compliments, mostly. Such as the way I'm as radiant as the cosmos, as beautiful as the night sky…”

Yes. Yes.

You tilted your head in amusement, your eyes reflecting the stars above as if they took residence there. A beauty from the cosmos, indeed. Cassian let out a small chuckle, his ears now being able to distinguish those ancient whispers. You grinned at him, leaning back on the palm of your hands, your hair falling gracefully off your shoulders. 

“They also whisper other things.” You added. “The stars, they see things we don’t. They’re always there, patient and watching. They know our secrets, our deepest desires. They hear our pleas, you know.”

Cassian’s head tilted upwards, lifting his gaze from you and toward the night sky. The moon was full and beautiful. The stars, eternal and steadfast, winking at him, sharp and bright. A sweet fondness had the corner of his lips tugging up. 

“I know.”

A blissful silence enveloped the two of you, both lost in deep thought. Memories of that lonely night swirled in Cassian’s mind—the night he had stood under these very stars, heart full of longing and soul overcome with loneliness. He yearned for someone to gaze up at the stars with, and pleaded with them to send him someone.

A soft sigh escaped you, pulling Cassian from his reverie. His wings fluttered in response, a subtle reminder of the present moment. Perhaps, his pleas had been answered. Because he was gazing up at the stars this very moment with you by his side.

You. Such a bright and beautiful soul. Like a fallen star reborn through the magic of love, and though he hasn’t known you for long, your presence was already illuminating his life in a way he had never imagined.

Take her to the moon.

Cassian's heart skipped a beat, head turning back to you. But you were still fixated on the sky, eyes full of longing, as if you hadn’t heard the whispers of the stars. He wondered what had you so deep in thought and the question was tumbling from his lips.

You blinked, the constellations gracing your cheeks enough for him to see the blush that had settled there. His eyes narrowed briefly. In the the time he’s known you, you have never shown an ounce of shyness.

“The stars are lovely tonight.” You said, dancing around the question. Sensing his gaze on you, you met his eyes, and something lit up in those sparkling eyes of yours. “Want to make a bet?”

“A bet?”

You nodded your head, a bit too eagerly, making him suspicious. Surely, you were plotting something. He could only hope it did not involve any of those pesky little lovebugs you’ve been talking about, another blind date or any more of your love altars. 

One day when he had visited your shop, you had suggested for him to light one of the candles to the altar that spoke to him the most and ask for its blessing. He had meant to light one at the altar dedicated to romantic love but Honey, your cat, had brushed against his leg and startled him. He accidentally lit one of the candles from the altar of erotic love.

It would’ve been fine, really. An honest mistake that could’ve gone unnoticed...if it hadn’t for the old fae woman who had chosen to light a candle at that altar not even a heartbeat before him.

“By The Cauldron, I’ve been blessed!” The woman, who could have easily been his great grandmother, had exclaimed as she threw her arms around him. You had to save him, sweetly coaxing the woman and sending her off with a sleeping potion that’d make her dream of her late husband.

You always meant well with your plans, carefully and thoughtfully scheming to bring Cassian closer to what he desired most—true love. But it seemed fate had a different plan, weaving its own tricks into your efforts. Despite your best intentions, your schemes often ended in failure, leading him back to you.

“If I can accurately guess how many stars are shining in the sky tonight, you have to take me flying.”

A small breath of relief escaped from Cassian. Flying was his territory, his expertise. But the stars…He eyed your earrings, gaze narrowing in on them. “That sounds like a bet you won’t lose.”

He caught the way your gaze lingered on his wings, a hint of longing still shimmering within your eyes. Realization dawned on him then. Is that why you had been sneaking glances at his wings earlier?

“Sweetheart,” he chuckled. “If you want me to take you flying, you could just ask, you know.”

“I can't just ask that! I'm shy!"

“You? Shy?” Cassian laughed again, finding the small glare you sent his way amusing. He shook his head in disbelief. There was a moment of silence and then: “So…are you going to ask me or not?”

You took a deep breath, and Cassian took pleasure in the sheepish look on your face, his wings twitching in anticipation. He watched as your mouth parted before shutting again and raised an eyebrow at you.

Then, finally, you said. “Will you take me flying?... Please."

Cassian stared at you, as if considering your words, even though he had already decided on his answer before you could ask the question. You’ve already done so much for him–have given him hope. He would do anything in return for you. He just wanted to tease you further for a bit but the longer he stared at you, the more he began to lose his resolve.

And when you batted your eyelashes at him, inadvertently striking him with your effortless charm, he was a goner. It was now him feeling bashful. Did you have to be so beautiful?

He barely managed to choke out a “yes” before standing. He could’ve sworn he heard raspy sounds coming from your earrings—like a snicker, almost.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗ 

Cassian’s wings spread out magnificently behind him. He felt the blood rush to his neck at the way you regarded them in awe, stepping forward to admire them more closely. “Beautiful,” you murmured, the stars at your ears whispering in agreement and his wings shuddered at the compliment. “They’re so big. I’m envious.”

“Envious?” Cassian echoed. His chest swelled with pride. You had called them big.

You stepped back, leaving Cassian unsure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. He had anticipated the usual temptation many non-Illyrians succumb to—reaching out to touch his wings. But you hadn’t. 

“I always wondered what it’d be like to fly among the clouds and stars, to feel the wind rushing past and see the world from above. That's what I was thinking about earlier...and you can do it so easily with those.”

“It is nice,” Cassian commented thoughtfully. 

His wings, though scarred from countless battles and injuries, were one of the things he cherished the most. Each scar told a story of resilience, and he took immense pride in them–in their ability to let him soar through the skies.

And he loved flying. The joy, the exhilarating thrill that coursed through his veins. Flying connected him to his Illyrian heritage but also brought a profound sense of liberation. A way to escape and transcend the limits imposed by the ground and a way to be closer to the stars.

Take her to the moon. He heard those very stars whisper again.

He looked at you, the soft fabric of your ruffled blush top swaying gently in the night breeze. You were patient, hands clasped behind your back.

So with a smile, he said, “Well, what are we waiting for?”

Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and when he gestured for you to come closer, you approached without a word. His hazel eyes, tender and soft, lingered on you, silently asking for your permission. With a nod from you, he bent down slightly. One arm went beneath your knees the other behind your back and then he scooped you into his strong arms.

As you wrapped your arms around his neck, he felt the rapid, eager beat of your heart—a rhythm that matched his own. But his also carried an undercurrent of something deeper, more intense, spurred on by the feeling of you in his arms.

Standing at the edge of the rooftop, he glanced down at you, searching your face for any hint of hesitation or fear. “Ready?” 

“Yes.” You replied and he found nothing but your enthusiasm reflected back at him.

His smile widened and he made a show of his wings. They unfurled further behind him in a graceful manner, a delicate sound reminiscent of a sail watching the wind, resonating in the air. 

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

Your arms tightened around him and then you two were taking off, the ground disappearing beneath you.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗ 

Your eyes were wide with wonder, the cool night air ruffling your hair as you gazed out at the world below. Moonlight wove silver patterns across the rooftops, and the Sidra River shimmered up at you. As the clouds drifted by, you reached out with a hand, pink magic fluttering from your fingertips. A gasp of delight escaped you as you felt the misty tendrils of the clouds brushing against your skin.

From this height, every scent was vivid—the fresh, earthy aroma of the forest below mingled with the sandalwood warmth enveloping you. It was all a sensory overload that left you breathless, but in the best way possible.

“This is incredible!”

Cassian chuckled but he couldn’t agree more. He was happy to share this joy with you, the powerful rhythm of his wings beating steadily as you soared through the night sky. The world stretched out in every direction, a vast expanse of shadow and light.

It felt as if you were the only two people in existence, suspended between the earth and the stars…and the stars…

The stars seemed so close that you could almost touch them, and your laughter rang out, pure and joyous. Cassian watched you, mesmerized by the radiant joy on your face, pink stardust fluttering around you both. As he flew higher, the moonlight bathed you in a soft glow that made you look as celestial as the stars themselves...

What if you had been that shimmering star he wished upon?

A strange, profound shift occurred within him, causing his wings to falter for a brief moment. You were too absorbed in your wonder to notice, but Cassian’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer. 

He savored the sensation of having you so close, wishing this moment could stretch on forever as the stars did. 

a/n: The star earrings were inspired from Aquamarine's starfish earrings! I'm saving the fic of where Love witch meets the IC as part of my 2K celebration so the next part might be kind of an angsty one, depending on which comes first. If you asked to be on the tag list and don't see your name, please let me know!

series masterlist

series taglist: @mrsjna , @shadowsingercassia, @acourtofbatboydreams, @rcarbo1, @mvidaaaa ,

@stuff-i-found-while-crying , @lipstickmarks, @yamisukehoe , @mp-littlebit , @thecraziestcrayon, @talesofadragon, @ceoofyearning, @anuttellaa

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna

[petermorwood]

I have a sword question, if I may. Or more of a sword confusion Im seeking clarification on.

In my mind a fantasy european standard sword (that obviously doesnt really exist, but like, when a knight or someone in a story has an unspecified sword), I always imaged a straight blade with a triangular tip, both edges sharp cutting edges.

Then at some point I learned about eg scimitars that have a cutting edge and a ...blunt edge?

I was looking at your recent addition to the post about the Turkish sword, where you distinguish between an inner cutting edge on a sword v an outer cutting edge.

And then Im thinking of those enormous zweihander types that are all about momentum and do those even need a particularly sharp edge? They seem in dnd parlance to be a bludgeoning weapon not for slashing.

And while Im asking, like. Rapiers are very stabby weapons, do they have sharp edges at all or judt a sharp point?

I guess my overall question culminates something like "what parts of swords are designed for what damage and why? Is there anything all swords have other than blade and handle like can they all be used for stabbing or do some have very blunt points etc? Is it a big deal for a sword to be double-edged, does that necessitate specific training? Whats up with different sword blades?"

I realise thats a pretty enormous question that might be unreasonable to ask. Im happy with whstever response you are or arent willing to give. Hope you have a good day :)

Sharp edge / blunt edge is the setup on any kitchen or table knife you've ever encountered, and being able to put a hand on the blunt "edge" - usually called the back of the blade - not only helps when mincing herbs or garlic, but also features in some techniques of swordplay.

Other techniques employed non-blade parts of the weapon, using the pommel like a mace and the crossguard like a pick-axe.

*****

Whether swords should be straight or curved, single- or double-edged, was an argument which continued as recently as the early 1900s.

The last swords issued to cavalry for combat use (modern parade swords don't count) were both remarkably similar designs, straight-bladed for thrusting, adopted by the UK in 1908...

...and the US in 1913.

There was, of course, strong opposition from those who insisted cavalry swords should be sabres curve-bladed for cutting instead.

Equally of course, both sides failed to notice - or ignored, since a certain kind of cavalry officer was only bright as regards boots, buckles and buttons - the uncomfortable fact that machine-guns and repeating rifles had made the whole ta-ran-ta-rah "cut them down with your swords, men!" cavalry charge an exercise in futility.

*****

D&D, unless they've considerably upped their accuracy game, isn't much of a reference for weapon realism.

"Enormous Zweihanders" and other big swords such as the Montante were a lot lighter and more nimble than they'd seem from reading an encumbrance chart.

They had their own techniques to take best advantage of length, leverage and momentum and were indeed sharp. Given a choice between a sharp combat weapon and a blunt one, sharp makes far more sense.

In addition, a sharp blade is lighter than a blunt one simply through having less metal. It may only be a few grams of difference, but it IS a difference.

That's also the reason behind a fuller, the groove(s) along a blade.

They're not "blood gutters", tough and cool though that may sound, but a way to reduce a sword's weight while preventing its blade from getting excessively flexible.

Finally...

The re-enactor is wearing half-armour, but these big swords were also meant for use against unarmoured opponents. Bodyguards often carried them (they looked impressive) and those sweeping strokes could block an entire street while The Boss got away.

That's when an ability to cut rather than merely bludgeon makes all the difference. Determined assassins might try to rush a blunt sword, but a sharp one would give anyone second thoughts...

*****

Double-edged swords versus single-edged ones seem to vary depending on cultural preference - also on period of history and intended function.

Bronze Age European swords had straight or leaf-shaped blades with double edges...

...while Ancient Egypt had the curved, single-edged khopesh, a shape which also turned up in Ancient Assyria (this one's in the Metropolitan Museum, New York USA).

It's listed as a "sickle sword", an incorrect term which I wish would go away because sickles are sharp on the inside of the curve while swords like this - their grip-shape shows how they're meant to be held and swung - are sharp on the outside.

And just when "the Ancient Middle East used curved single-edge swords" looks like a handy generalisation, along come straight swords, one from Ancient Egypt...

...another from Luristan, now part of modern Iran.

This next one comes from Ancient Iberia (Spain), right at the other side of the Mediterranean. Evidence of trading links? Your guess is as good as mine.

Iberia went on to use the falcata, a short single-edged forward-curved sword.

Those extra bits round the blade are scabbard metalwork; the wood and leather scabbard is long gone. This repro shows how they would have looked when in place.

Iberia also used a straight double-edged sword which so impressed the Romans that they adopted it, refined it and used it for several centuries. Here's one of the several Roman versions of that gladius Hispaniensis (Spanish sword), double-edged, mostly meant for stabbing but capable of very effective cuts as well.

Here's my repro of a similar sword, the elegant "Mainz" pattern with its long point and waisted blade. Very pretty, and pretty wicked.

*****

"Curved single-edged swords are Eastern, straight double-edged swords are Western", is another generalisation that won't work.

Here are Eastern straight swords...

...and Western curved ones.

*****

Viking swords were all double-edged...

...except when they weren't.

*****

Many rapiers could cut. Smallswords, which came later, couldn't.

Earlier rapiers with broader blades cut better than later ones with narrow blades, but IIRC even the later Italian and Spanish rapier styles include cuts directed at the opponent's face and sword-arm.

I have a notion that the modern thing about cutting with rapiers is based (like back-carry) on seeing it done in movies. IMO - more about it here - that's actually more a modern stage-combat safety thing than a period real-combat move. A fumbled cut is bruising and unpleasant even with a "safe" prop sword, but a fumbled thrust into the eye-socket or throat with that same "safe" sword can be fatal.

Even those early rapiers wouldn't sever a head or limb - a finger maybe, hence the elaborate hand-protection of swept and cup hilts - but blood from a forehead wound running into the eyes was, and in boxing still is, an efficient way to finish a fight by ensuring the opponent can't continue. One of the duels in "The Duellists" ends this way.

This example is a bit optimistic, IMO...

...but a longsword (double-edged)...

...or a messer (single-edged)...

...was quite capable of disarming an opponent in a very literal way.

*****

Some swords had minimal points, being intended mostly for cutting. One example of this is the Indian khanda broadsword. The second example is also very clearly single-edged.

Another cut-only sword without a point (but with double edges) is the Richtschwert (justice sword)...

...though this was a single-function (and hopefully single-cut) tool rather than weapon, neither balanced for nor intended for combat.

Hope this has helped answer the questions!

[localcatmutt]

OTHERHEARTED

What does it mean to be otherhearted?

Otherhearted is a term primarily used in the therian/otherkin community that means “to identify WITH a non-human animal/creature/being.” You may have a deeply rooted connection/relation to it, and experience shifts or traits similar to the species, BUT not identify AS it. For example, I experience many bear traits and shifts, I feel a deep connection to these animals and identify WITH them, rather than identifying AS them. The “as” or “with” are very important to distinguish a theriotype/kintype from an otherhearted “identity”.

Another common term that holds the same meaning is kithtype. The etymology of the word “kith” originally means familiarity (not family), or something/someone you are connected/close to. Then the word “type” refers to what kind of identity it is (which is kith in this case). 

To simplify the difference between kintypes and kithtypes; kin (to identify as/to be) and kith (to identify with/to be like).

Importance of Otherhearted

In the community people tend to showcase their theriotypes over kithtypes. They are held at a higher standard, and they are viewed as more important when it comes to our identity as a whole. But that couldn't be further from the truth. In fact, being a therian and being otherhearted can share most of the same experiences. You can indeed have shifts from kithtypes, mental and phantom. Being otherhearted can impact your life just as much, and you can wear all the same gear as a therian. Both are a part of your identity. Kithtypes can be just as prominent as kintypes.

The questioning process can be all the same as well. 

Belonging in the Community

People who are otherhearted are just as valid as therians, and belong in our community all the same. We all identify as, with or simply connect to animals in different ways than people who aren't in our community. Our animal hearts, minds and souls are what connects us. Not the labels. Therians, otherkin, otherhearted, coping identities/coping links… they all belong.

As I have said before, these all share similar or same experiences. Any of us can wear gear, do quads, make posts, educate or share our identities. The sole differences are the origin of these identities, and whether you identify as or with the animal/creature/being (or if it's a voluntary identity like in the case of coping links, which I will eventually address in a separate post). 

Confusing the two

It’s easy to feel lost when we’re trying to figure out what we are, and where an identity stands. Is it a theriotype? Is it a kithtype? Is it a cameo? It can be quite the confusing process. Although I think that if people knew how important being otherhearted is, they might find it easier to understand if they're kith or kin. I mean, in the end the major difference is just… are you LIKE the animal? Or ARE you the animal? Shifts don't immediately mean theriotype, so I think that's where most of the confusion lies.

Quick definition of cameo for those who don’t know of them : Cameos are simply shifts that can suddenly come and go, that arent from a known kintype. They may make a brief appearance in your life. Think of the actual word “cameo” that is used for actors who make sudden appearances in movies, and may bring an element of surprise to viewers. 

I am otherhearted

I have six primary kithtypes. Each has different levels of relevance/importance to me, but are still very important to who I am as a whole. These kithtypes are; Canines (coyotes and jackals especially), Kermode Bears/Black Bears, Ravens, Snakes, Giant River Otters and Arthropods as a whole. It's a lot, but over the years, deeply rooted connections to these animals have planted themselves into my identity. I have shifts, behaviours and traits just like them!

Sometimes I even feel confused because of how prominent they can become. 

Well, that’s all for now! I thought it would be important to talk about otherhearted identities for a change. Its not shared enough and I think that spreading more information could help people figure out experiences more easily.

Hope you enjoyed!

Last note - If I made spelling errors or definition errors let me know. Everything is based on research, and what I've been learning throughout the years I've been in the community. I have been active here for more than 7 years, and have been on many different platforms including Instagram, Amino, Tumblr, Discord groups and a few Forums. So I don't only explore newer information, but also older ones. 

[weirdmarioenemies]

Name: Mino

Debut: Tetris

Tetris is all about blocks! You know that! Did you know that those blocks are called Tetriminos? Maybe you did! Geometrically, they are tetrominoes, shapes formed from four squares connected at the edges. "Tetrimino" is the official spelling of the ones used in Tetris specifically, which is a little confusing, but it's ok. Don't worry about it unless you are making your own game about tetrominoes! If you do that, be careful.

But what about the little blocks that make up the Tetrimino? These are geometrically called monominoes, but in Tetris, they are simply Minos! Humble little things. The game is named after Four, so what place does a measly One have?

If you ask me, they have all the place, because they are all over the place! There are no Tetriminos without Minos. Together, Minos are powerful, some of the most iconic and recognizable shape clusters in the world! Even in the form of a plush, The Tetris Company almost ALWAYS ensures that the individual Minos are visible. It is a part of the Tetriminos' designs at this point! The only exception I can think of is in situations unable to use their distinct colors, where other design factors are used to distinguish each. In this case, all but the I Tetrimino have their Minos visible, while I is just a solid color. Come on now, I. The most universally beloved Tetrimino, and you can't show some appreciation for the little guys who made you who you are? Sheesh!

While yes, Minos are a bit overlooked, they do indeed get the spotlight every once in a while! In game modes with items, you can expect that there will be one that turns all of your pieces into Minos, allowing you to instantly fill in gaps wherever you like. They are not particularly powerful, only able to clear one line at a time, but they ARE very convenient and easy to use!

Tetris Friends, my dearly beloved and departed Tetris Friends, uses Minos as the base for most of its avatars! I have already talked about these specifically, but I just want to point out these VERY default ones, each a piece of one of the classic Tetriminos, based on color... until the end, where we get what appears to be a Domesticated Mammal Mino! What are the implications of this? Have members of an intelligent species selectively bred the most docile of Minos together? Do Minos reproduce? Am I way off the mark, and is this Mino actually made of cookies and cream ice cream?

Finally, the reason I've been thinking of Minos in the first place! Here is a photo of the Tetris board game, with a single gray square in the Matrix. That's right! A Mino! In my opinion, this game is the most special Minos have ever felt. In this version, Tetriminos are dropped straight down into columns in the Matrix, and so they aren't as maneuverable as virtual ones. They can't be rotated while falling, and can't be slid into place to fill in any little notches.

This is where Minos come in! They are a sort of compensation for the lack of extra control, and can be placed to fill in extra space before dropping a Tetrimino. This is especially useful if you start with a Z or S block, since in this game, dropping one on a flat surface would leave a space no matter what! With a Mino, you can make a nice little ledge for your block to land neatly on.

This game's use of Minos really stood out to me! They're a major gameplay mechanic, they are explicitly named in the instruction manual, and, most importantly, they get their own PIECES. Physical, officially licensed, single Mino objects! They even get their very own color! A humble gray, not flashy like the rest, but distinct among all the others, and practical. A gray not to indicate a lack of interesting qualities, but instead, great potential!

There is no "official art" for Mino, so I just made the post's top image by editing some official Tetrimino art. Also, I have distinct memory of SOME official Tetris game, possibly Tetris Friends, referring to them as Tetrimonos. Does anyone else remember this? Please tell me if you do!

With that, we have reached the end of this post. But this is not the end of my fascination with Minos. In a way, it's only the beginning. In my Mino research, I have discovered some truly incredible things. Look forward to reading about them next week in Minos post part 2!

[neyafromfrance95]

galadriel's whole arc really can be summarized by nietzsche's quote:

"whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process they do not become a monster. and if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you."

her whole rant to adar about exterminating all of his children while keeping him alive to witness it was actually so deranged, i can't believe that they let her be so flawed of a character.

and those aren't "accidental" traits that the show isn't aware are "vices" rather than "virtues", as adar basically called her morgoth's successor to her face after her speech!

she even rejected the heaven bc she couldn't let go of her desire to exact her revenge on sauron.

it makes one think, no wonder that the elves could no longer distinguish her from the evil she fought to defeat (galadriel/sauron's pre-raft storylines parallel too perfectly).

as she did inadvertently keep alive the very evil she sought to defeat, inside her very heart and also quite literally.

and that darkness she pursued so relentlessly, the darkness that is personified by sauron, looked back at her and from the first moment sauron lay his gaze on her, something like a revelation hit him, and the obsessive pursuit became mutual.

indeed, those were the seeds she'd planted and sauron would go on to grope for her mind forever bc she let him in. she let sauron in long before he won her trust as halbrand.

and she might have kept her own darkness at bay later on and closed the doors to it, not consumed by revenge anymore, but she never stopped fighting or thirsting for power, and with trop context all of this is intrinsically connected to sauron. even taking nenya to valinor is given a new layer of context, she holds onto the symbol of her fight and of sauron, taking it with her to valinor (remember how in 1.01 she asked elrond whether he would have her take the fight in her heart to the heaven? oh, maybe she did after all...)

i just love that the lady of the light actually has so much darkness of her own. she is simply so nuanced and complex, and not confined to the limits of what a female protagonist should be like. it's not just her darkness, her pride either. it's not just flaws she is allowed, she is allowed genuine weaknesses. she is so abrasive and reckless that sauron had to make sure she didn't get them drowned in the numenorean sea, lmao. and even her strongest virtue isn't a typical "feminine" virtue, it isn't common sense or nurture, it is willpower.

[masha-nikita]

@historyloverbelle once asked me if I find any historical figure hard to draw. I am no genius, of course I find many faces hard to draw, the criteria being if I cannot connect with the person's eyes, then they would be quite difficult for me. Heydrich Reinhard is one such person. I always present his eyes as somewhat glassy, and there's nothing I could do about it.

I actually don't use reichblr tag often because I know I don't connect well with the eyes of personalities such as Heydrich. They have drastically different temperaments with the Wehrmacht generals, in whom I take great comfort.

But it doesn't mean I have no understanding with people who have different fandom orientation for me, not to mention that in a broader sense I am part of the family. I have a very simple quiz to distinguish real neo-N@zis from reichblrs, which I mentioned in the comment section of a post. I call it "the height metaphor".

Humans are supposed to be afraid of height. Heights are dangerous. I know where people are coming from when saying "stay away from heights! Heights bad! Don't you dare like it!" But the suicidal tendency in me, as indeed is the case for me personally, would feel instant calm when I'm at a dangerous edge of a building, like, I'm coming face to face with life's own brutal mortality consolidated in one single point, I'm suddenly OK. See, a weakened and/or transformed dose of death would prevent you from actually go die. It works like a vaccine.

But for me, the real Neo-N@zis works differently. They are ones who actively bring people up at the edge of a building, taunting them to jump, or downright shove them down the edge. These assholes would laugh at you when you drop to your untimely death, saying "You die of height because you are weak, since you are weak, you are a waste of space. Only the strong fascists matter". They go about construction high buildings with no safety protocols and praise its ideological virtues, so more people are going to fall off the edges. It is a despicable virus.

Self-righteous characters who go about dumping the two groups into one big Nazi category doesn't really alleviate anything. Also troubling are the delusional folks from the opposite spectrum who go in lengths to convince others heights are not dangerous.

ok rant over.