rafael0liveira8-blog

[scraggle7world]

#46-47) Scraggle world - New outfit (1-2)

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First

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Characters present or mentioned:

Drad. (Dream)

Knock. (Nim)

Daymare. (Nightmare)

[boxed-soup]

He's just having a good ol' time!

DIYS

@itsxroxannex

[halloweezer]

now see me blazing

they them

[nickywhoisi]

🎉 50 follows milestone waheyy 🎉🍾

Aw shit I just hit fifty followers, let's boogie

That's more than I've had since, well, last year when I first began my blog! Thank you so much everyone, and I hope more people come join the gang

[ecargmura]

Wind Breaker Episode 12 Review - Grade Captains

The man, the legend, Kaji Rrrrrrrren (Ren Kaji in Western order) is here. As I read ahead in the manga, Kaji is legitimately one of my Top 5 favorite characters in Wind Breaker. While his introduction is a bit chill, if this anime ever gets a second season, that’s when my boy Kaji will shine. You know he’s popular when he gets a high-quality voice actor announcement two episodes before his official debut, ranked 3rd in the second popularity poll, and is plastered in merchandise despite the lack of screen time like how Sae Itoshi gets so much merch despite his minuscule screen time in Blue Lock.

This episode is Sakura slowly getting adjusted to what it means to be a Grade Captain and what it means to take on a huge responsibility. He doesn’t feel like he’s qualified to be a leader, but the leader isn’t chosen because he wants to—he is chosen due to general consensus. That’s how it works in the real world. Heck, Kaji is also Grade Captain and he’s the least leader-like person out there. Don’t worry, Sakura. Suo and Nirei got your back like how Enomoto and Kusumi got Kaji’s back.

Ren Kaji is like if Sakura got character development, but still maintained his prickliness. That’s Kaji in a nutshell. His introduction alone shows that he’s a lot cattier than Sakura from yelling like he’s hissing at people to jumping over a bridge. If Sakura is a cat, then Kaji is like the big brother cat. He has a habit of eating lollipops and having his music super loud. However, what makes Kaji different from Sakura is that Kaji knows how to rely on others and can count on them. This is a good lesson for Sakura to follow because he slowly realizes what it means to open up to others here. Kaji’s voice actor is none other than Nobuhiko Okamoto. I’m sure that mainstream anime watchers will instantly recognize his voice the moment he yelled. Yes, he’s Bakugo. I’m not too familiar with My Hero Academia, but some of Okamoto’s other roles include Himmel from Frieren: Beyond Journey’s End and Genya Shinazugawa from Demon Slayer. To be honest, Okamoto is great with the angry boy typecast and I’m assuming that’s the reason why he got casted as Kaji. Nonetheless, the voice suits him.

Also, I have to give props to Kotoha here. She has always been a big motivator for Sakura. She teases him, but she knows that riling him up will get him to do something. She realizes that he’s stuck on what he should do now that he got voted Grade Captain, and Kotoha realizes that he hasn’t said anyone’s names so far, other than Umemiya’s. If you look back, he’s always saying “You”, “that guy”, or giving someone a nickname like “Scraggles” for Togame or “Shark-Teeth” for Hiiragi. This is a good way for Sakura to realize that if he wants to take on responsibility, he needs to start by learning people’s name—something he has never done before. While he’s terrible with remembering so many names, he got Nirei to help him out as he has very good memory and can memorize a person’s name and face. See, haters? Nirei ain’t useless. I love that he doesn’t have to burden himself with so much at once. He can take baby steps until he feels confident.

Some of my favorite parts of the episode is Enomoto rolling his R’s and Sakura wall-jumping. He’s very cat-like, so it makes sense he can do that. However, wall jumping always makes me think of Mario. It’d be cool if someone edited Sakura’s wall-jumping with Mario sound effects.

This was a chill episode overall. I honestly can’t wait to meet the four devas next week. One of them is my favorite character in Wind Breaker. Next week is the finale. Wait, what do you mean next week’s the finale? No! I don’t want to part with Wind Breaker! Please announce a Season 2, Cloverworks! What did you think about this episode?

[just-jae]

Eyo- So this is why I love OG Naruto

CW: Cursing.

Random projectile vomiting what I love about the first part of Naruto. Mostly from memory (so like, a decade+ ago) I decided to play the the Chunin Exams Arc while writing this to refresh my memory bc honestly, even though I dipped after tasting Shippuden and don't even care to aknowledge Boruto (even if it's good, i don't care) the fact that Part 1 is still so enjoyable shows how it's virtues were in that it actually executed, not just in what it promised. I'll probably be editing this as I rewatch-- like, apparently Choji and Neji also have arm wraps :,V

The theme around hard work. It wasn't a "Work hard to earn a comfy life/ those at the top deserve it" theme it was a "Go after what you love, be passionate, be persistent, build upon yourself to overcome obstacles," kind of hard-work theme. It encouraged chasing your passions and applying yourself to challenges. There was value in just doing that, even if you failed. The meaning and value in your life was tied to your own efforts and decisions, not your status or position in a heirarchy or social conscience.

Positive Father Figures: Forget that Naruto punches his dad in Shippuden. In the first episode, Iruka emotionally adopts Naruto after opening up to him and allowing himself to relate to Naruto as a fellow human being who was suffering and responding to that suffering in similar ways to himself. Before, he pretended not to understand Naruto for the sake of "evil demon kid" narratives and ignoring his own grief. Iruka scraggling Naruto's hair like a big bro/dad wasn't just a bonding moment; it was a found family moment. When Naruto hugs Iruka in the Forest of death, you can tell he adores that kid and is ready to sign the adoption papers.

One of Naruto's icon characters is Ichiraku, the ramen guy who basically serves as Naruto's Grandad. He fills this kid with soup ramen near-every damn day. He's probably why Naruto loves ramen so much.

The spooky, nature-y understones and setting: Giant dark forests, thematic, nature-inspired ninja techniques, the spooky music, the semi-traditional japanese instruments in the sound track (flutes, drums, lutes, etc.) It's got electric guitar too but the traditional texture of the music made it earthy and cultrally touching in the same way that Avatar: The last Air Bender's natural and spiritual eastern inspiration colored it's visual and audial aesthetic. The "HUH"s and "HUAH"' in the background music added so much bomastic, earthy energy, I LOVED hearing them. I'm telling you there's a healthy reason why I like screaming/yelling/hollering. I haven't articulated it yet, but Naruto's soundtrack scratch that itch well.

Horror: Naruto is one of the few anime I've seen with undertones of horror, without being a horror genre show especially for an action-oriented shonen inspired by feudal-age folklore hybrid with modern aesthetics like military vests and tvs. The realistic visual tone that Naruto leans toward compared to modern anime only helps this and makes how dark it gets believable when you consider how culturally and morally grey the base populations are. Sometimes the cultural vices are the main drive in a character's backstory, like Gaara, who's village was crumbling after betrayal and unreliable leadership reinforced the trust and connection issues that left him alone on a raft in hostile waters with the boogie man as his raftmate to where he couldn't even fathom caring for someone else. Bc of this, him being fucking insane, while Naruto wasn't made sense. It felt like the worlds they were in naturally led to the horrors.

Smarts and thoughtfulness being used to win battles. Earlier in the show, things weren't so flashy, not even elite ninjas were shown doing anything nearly as wild as what happens in the second and following parts. The limits of these abilities left room for the characters to use their heads to not only work around their limits but use them to their advantage to bamboozle and have some kind of chance even against physically stronger opponents.

The significance of jutsu also felt more thematic and narrative in nature. The First Hokage's super power was growing giant trees with his chakra.

Which not only suggests he created the very forest Konoha resides in, but also pointed to his approach to leadership, which was giving himself and his clan to stegnthen and lift everyone else up, not just through mixing blood with other clans but through building stregnth and resikience through connections and mutual care.

Much better than the brightest, fastest, most destructive energy bomb or powerup.

Look at the reaper death seal justsu and tell me that wasn't more terrifying than the tentails. Imagine how scared someone is using that jutsu. A demon ghost lady is gonna use your soul as a glove to grab someone else's soul, eat it, and then take you with her... him? It/they-- qhost.

Which leads me to another thing- vulnerability coupled with power. The imagery of the reaper death seal, reainforced a sense of vulnerability that is necessary for the power the user gains.

Gaara's insomnia and dangerously narrow buffer between him and Shukaku lead to him spazzing out in pain whenever something triggers an episode of whatever-the-fuck. Leaving him in a a state of disarray and uselessness.

He was supposed to be the nuke that destroyed Konoha but was too busy chasing after anyone who had a chance of beating him up. And then freaking out over hugs. His invulnerable body came with a trade off of a vulnerable and volitile psyche.

Even Zabuza only survived Kakashi because Haku incapacitated him with needles to his neck and then took care of him afterward.

The conversation between the 1st 2nd and 4th Hokage's was like. "Yo it's my bros!" "Hey bro. Sorry bro." "Bro i don't wanna fight you. But this is so cool. I miss you bro." "me too bro."

Now more character-specific stuff:

Rock Lee is my all-time favorite character. Not only is he the embodiment of part 1's major theme, but I just loved his design and voice acting (the green bodysuit could be awkward at times, but everything else is just pure "That's my son look at him go" vibes).

It's a simplistic, agile, adorable character. Pure serotonin. The way his hair flipped around when he fought was great, the (OMO) face, the scrawly, lanky body that moved a little too sharp bc he was legit always ready to explode-- just great. Rock Lee is so pasionate and just loves living. I got the sense that he isn't training just to prove ppl wrong. He loves the ninja arts, and learns to love taijutsu for its own sake not just for the sake of other's approval or besting someone in combat.

Kakashi Hatake was like the reassuring character. His calm and focused approach to conflicts and danger were a nice balance to everyone else's bamboozlement and dramatic/passionate personalities. Kakashi also comes off as a reality check sort of character. He's the one who makes team seven realize the mortality of ninjas via a monument echoing real-life monuments dedicated to fallen soldiers and victims of war/terrorism. You can tell that he cares about ninja as people despite his laid-back demeanor, and expects his team to understand the importance of respect for fellow ninja. His experiance with the inner workings of Konoha also make him more realistic and aware of the world's greyness. He knows how politically corrupt things are and wants his students to hold on to their morality instead of tossing it away to follow orders.

Zabuza- was not just eye candy-- okay Zabuza was 99% eye candy for me (looked a bit starved but-- damn Kishimoto knew what he was doing with that one)

Zabuza's situation of being emotionally dishonest with himself ties back to the whole vulberability associated with power thing. His cold world veiw ablut using and being used made it more obvious that he and Haku genuinely cared for eachother bc they acted in ways that didn't fit that narrative. This big, sharktoothed "Demon of the mist" having a soft spot that also had a soft spot for him was like 🥺

Tenten's affinity for weapon-weilding was legitimately cool and gave me mechanic vibes. They could have been so creative with that. But for now it's just sitting on its hands. I also just love her character design. She got those BUNS.

The Sand Siblings were my favorite team. They were scary as hell. Gaara was just danger personified. He was bloodthisty with a power that enabled it. Carrying around a gourd that reeked of blood-- like-- Garra was one of the horrors of the forest of death and the way he act and the way his siblings talk about him suggested he was chaotic and couldn't nessecarily be trust to keep to the plan. And I loved that he was this tiny scrawny thing with no eyebrows and eyeliner panda/racoon eyes. Some of his expressions were like- EXPRESSIONS dude.

He used have more expressions than 😐 and 😑. He was unintentionally adorable-- you can tell he was meant to look creepy and otherly but came out a little critter. His hair wasn't even meant to be red, that was an animation error. Like, a character even calls him a runt, Kiba's like "Oh no he's too small to be picking fights, run little dude" so he's canonically a little guy. Littler than normal.

Let me tell you, when I was scrubbing through the episodes (bc they spend so much time wasting time on nothing) my eyes would hook on a thumbnail of Gaara, and it'd be 2 seconds of him not reacting to something, and it'd be worth it everytime. Instant serotonin.

Seeing the smallest, most baby-faced member of the group, who looks even tinier with a giant gourd go:

Is just wild. At least for Naruto. And the fear in the other characters is just- a lot. He's not animated in a cuetsey way either. Like, he's not a loli character. He's a little eldritch horror. And I love that he's not infantilized or cutyfied by the creator for being tiny.

Kankuro was also pretty spooky. Not only did his technique look painful as a papercut, but his main puppet (Crow?) somehow managed to give off body-horror vibes.

They really milked it's spookyness by emphasizing the mechanical side of it (the clicking and the way it jerked) and its use of poisoned everything to make even the tiniest nicks a big deal.

Temari was the power house, aesthetically. Like, it's not even a girl-power thing. She just has shoulder-snapper posture. Her eyes , are this dark blue that I've rarely seen in a character design. She's got big sis vibes (bc she IS the big sis). Like, she's gorgeous.

And her explosive hair went well with her chaotic wind specialty. She just fucks the entire landscape up with the goddamned air dude.

The GODDAMNED AIR.

AND THEN LATER WITH THE FERRET-- LIKE DUDE.

Anyways...

Orochimaru as himself is a creep, at least later on-- mostly bc so much of his character is spent obsessing over a little boy's body- obv. this was meant to be creepy, but it's like, pedo creepy, not spider on the wall/ posessed doll creepy. His introduction as the Grass lady, and this slippery immoral scientist who wanted to catalyze a war was a great time He felt like a force of nature.

I dont have Grass Lady photos yet but this is the next best thing lmao. As the mysterious grass village lady, he was HORRIFIC. I really wish she and her team had been real characters instead of just a skin for Orochimaru to hide in. The way she's introduced is exactly the reason why ninja are traditionally thought of as practicing dark, evil arts. Bc they did dark, evil, spooky shit like pulling at their eyelids and being gross with their tongues. The organs and spooky singing in the background, the predator/prey theme, knowing about Naruto's seal when (at this point) so few others did. On top of that, ya'll gotta know that I'm a sucker for those conical sedge/ coolie hats. The fact that Grass LAdy had a long face and droopy eyes made it all the better. Like, how many other feminine characters have those features? All the character designs of the Grass Village team and the relation of grass to snakes and big hats was pretty neat imo.

Kiba Inuzuka honestly seems like he was inspired by Princess Monoke, which is pretty neat on its own, but i honestly don't feel like Kiba really fits into a ninja village. He's loud and bombastic and rarely uses clever or sneaky tricks. It's just brute strength and prey drive. Which isn't to say he shouldn't be in Naruto, but that maybe he could have been from a different village? Or just not necesarily a ninja. Idk. I love that he's this wild-child who's entire theme is dog.

If a dog were a dude.

If only they were good at drawing dogs though.

Hinata was one of those characters I didn't realize I identified with. A LOT. If Rock Lee is who I aspired to be, Hinata was who I actually was. Not just in demeanor (I too skalked around in a jacket no matter the weather) but also in circumstance. Struggling with comparing yourself to others, or others resenting you for the way you're treated (I was the baby of the family) or constantly dealing with people who think they're better or scold you for poor performance, being pushed into something you didn't even really care for. It was all very relatable, and I didn't even realize it at the time.

The fact that they were willing to give her those "ugly" veins left an impression on me too. Bc, that was her kickass look. It wasn't cute, and she didn't have a delicate, pretty style of fighting. Even though she got beat up she really threw hands in a way that felt realistic. Homegirl was just tryna get by despite being surrounded by assholes, and the moment she stood up to Neji, who was in the middle of phsychologically manipulating her into an anxiety attack (not a literal attack but same energy) was like 🥳. I can respect that. Even though she lost, it really felt like Neji learned there'll at least be trouble if he tries that shit again.

Shino was another favorite (I'm gonna end up going through every character at this rate). Especially with his english dub actor. For much the same reasons as Kakashi. Shino was reliable and cool headed. He didn't strut power or look to intimidate anyone, he just paid attention and tended to his bugs-- which, the fact that he cares for and works with a bunch of bugs is oddly endearing. It's like meeting a cat person who's just really good with cats but doesn't gush over them. He comes off as sensitive, but not obsessive.

His angry-neutral design is pretty neat too. Big Soundwave vibes.

Sakura's wake-up call is honestly pretty iconic. She was a bratty character who realized her flaws on her own instead of being told "Hey, be better you goof", She reflected on how she's been up until the moment when it was all on her and she was eating dirt. Sakura getting serious and learning to be proactive, now that she didn't have anyone as a crutch or a scapegoat, was a pretty awesome moment. And even though The show could have done more with her in that regard, I still appreciate that they went there. Watching Sakura with empathy (especially now that we as a society aren't starving for strong female characters like we used to be) makes me notice how realistic her nievety and dependance is. And also how funny she is at times. Even Ino realizing having that wakeup call like "Bro I'm being stupid, I can't let this girl die over a crush". It even feels like their feud isn't just about a crush but just social insecurity. Sakura used to be shy until she met Ino. Ino enouraged her to be proud up until attention started to be drawn away from her toward Sakura. This also suggested that Ino actually did look down on Sakura and was using her to feel better about herself. Sakura outgrowing Ino put her in a position of facing her own flaws or reframing Sakura as an enemy who didn't deserve to be loved.

And when the reason they were enemies (Sasuke) no longer justified being a dickhead (letting Sakura fucking die) Ino not only had to face her own inadequacy but allow herself to care for Sakura again, from a more genuine place.

I wish they had done more with that, but the fact that they did that in the first place was iconic. There's nothing like having to learn that the world you were raised in is not reality. Breaking out of a sheltered and shallow worlveiw is its own struggle. Its a learning curve, and it leaves you emotionally and socially unprepared when you thought you finally had everything figured out. Sometimes people hold on to bratty behavior bc they think their only other option is getting bullied and hating themselves. Sakura's snootiness comes off just makeshift confidence she learned from assholes. She didn't look down on Naruto bc she interacted with Naruto, she looked down on him bc that's what she's been taught to do about people like Naruto. The whole village was like that. Which is realistic. We just aren't told nearly as much of her perspective as other characters, but her learning how her words impact people, and how dishonest she is about her own competence is worth exploring.

The themes in Naruto were pretty nuanced-- even if the character's dialogue was exposition hell (they spend so much time verbally explaining things that dont need to be explained in such a longwinded manner), they were human condition themes, not just a power fantasy or a romance, or a black and white, good and evil conflict. Ninjas are already pretty shady, with Naruto being the most overtly good character in the show. Everyone else's morality (beside's Lee) is questionable at one point or another-- in fact I think even Lee was introduced as an intimidating upperclassmen. It feels true to life that regular people are actually pretty mean and flawed, which makes Naruto's themes hit harder bc you know it's not just one special character going through a special time, making friends with other 100% good people. Its life. Its people dealing with life. Like, these assholes love and hate eachother at the same time all the time. Some of Naruto's friends did some morally questionable shit. Like Shikamaru pretending to be asleep during the attack on Konoha. We still love the guy, but, get the fuck up dude.

Looking back, this just makes me realize that I've always had an interest in thematic/psychological horror and character realism. I can't stand gore/torture, but spooky grass women that infect you with curses, cursed puppets that spazz and split their faces open, and tiny murderous gremlins who nearly give people heart attacks just bc they thought he was gonna do something, being my favorite characters of Naruto is pretty telling.

Add the inky, Hidden Rain water Clones to the list too.

Iruka needs to get a pen. Reaper needs more soul spagetti and Naruto needs to give back SOME of Garra's personality. Just a little. Let him be a little bit of a little bitch.

[hier--soir]

jessie my love, congratulations on your milestone! you are so deserving and i just feel so lucky to know you and to read your work :’)

i come to you with this🫀and the following prompt for one joel miller

“If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t even think about it.”

and please feel free to be as gross as you want!!!!

"If it were anyone else, I wouldn't even think about it."

warnings/tags: post-outbreak joel x f!reader, off camera murder and cannibalism, stalking, the end of the world turns us all into animals in one way or another, yearning [for touch, for death, for anything really], reader simply wants to be eaten.

word count: 765

The sky is clear, and it must be summer soon, and there are leaves in your hair and dirt laden beneath the crescent moons of your nails.

Pine needles weigh your pockets down; a burden, despite the comfort they bring when you snap them in half and let the earthy scent follow you through the trees.

And on the heels of that sweet smell, lies the bear. Yes, the bear follows too.

Since deep winter, with all of its short days and long nights, it’s bitter cold and startling freeze, he has been there. Tripping over scraggles of roots and traipsing through streams, lurking behind trees and following your pine needle breeze.

Through spring too, with all of its nose tickling blooms, he never lets you stray too far.  

The bear is tall and he stands proud on two legs and he wears denim like no animal you’ve ever seen before.

Little shards of metal dangle from his hip, like a lustrous warning for your eyes only, visible whenever you dare to peek over your shoulder. And if he ever let you fall behind him, you’re sure that a rust red trail would litter the spaces where his feet met the ground.

His brown hair hangs long, from his head and his face, and through cracks in the foliage you see how the sun taunts the grey in it. Watch it shimmer and spark around that heady gaze, around red lips that pucker around whistled tunes as he follows.

You like to think that his songs are for you. Ignore the way that you hear the same whistles returned to him, from all around you. Don’t ever fret that maybe your bear has friends that are hungry. For you wander and you lead him to food, and listen from ahead as he takes your offerings and never asks for more.

It becomes a habit soon enough. From man-made communes to little groups of travellers, you smile and you preen and you ask for directions with a hand on your knife.

And when you drift on, return to the trees, light footed and swift, you hear the way he meets them.

Roaring and red, the sounds of a bear being fed.

And with each passing feast, you wallow, smile waning, and wonder why he never choses you. Why he trusts you to feed him, to lead him to safety night after night, and never gives you what you long for.

But on this day, this day with clear skies and leaves in your hair, you sense him draw closer. Finally feel the warmth of his breath on the back of your neck, the scrape of his paws one step behind yours. And when he curls around your body and presses you to a tree, you move like water in his grasp. Let him push and prod until bark bites at your back and his breath is upon your face, at last.  

The bear is rougher up close. Dark eyes round and wild, all pupil as you drink each other in. Nostrils flared, you inhale the hot musk of his scent, the dirt on his paws where he holds you by the hem, and feel something hungry curl in your chest.

“Are you going to kill me?” you say, and your voice betrays a morbid sense of hope. A rasping, upward lilt to the question that cries, freedom at long last.

His paws tighten around the collar of your shirt, face unreadable. Dark eyes probing in their search across your face, he stares and stares, sharp tongue snaking out to soften chapped lips.

“If it were anyone else,” he speaks with the voice of a man. “I wouldn’t even think about it.” Past thick teeth you see how his mouth shines red. Almost as pretty as grey in the sunlight.

You tremble in his hold and a leaf tumbles from your hair. It meets the dewy ground in a soundless swoop before he presses a heavy foot overtop it. The crunch sends your heart tripping through your chest.

“I don’t understand.” You tremble in his hold. “I thought it was finally my turn.”  

He sees a glimpse of fear through all that sickly defeated hope, and smiles then, not unkindly, lips peeling back to reveal flushed flecks of flesh in the cracks of his canines.

“It was, baby, it was… but I think I’ll keep you.” The bear purrs and rubs his thick wet maw across your cheek, nuzzling ever closer with each hot breath. “Reckon you might be more fun to play with than to eat.”

[boomboxboi]

Reminder!

My asks are ✨open✨ and I also am open to roleplaying some JoJo.

Anyways!!!

What special dish is each GangStar known for? 🍝

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno loves to cook.

But, he’s not a very good cook.

One time, he tried to make his world famous minestrone.

Everyone ended up with food poisoning.

No one has the heart to tell him that his food sucks.

He just gets so excited to cook for others so they just grin and bear it.

Everyone dreads when Bruno cooks.

They suggest that they go out to eat, instead.

Leone Abbacchio

Abbacchio isn’t a huge fan of cooking.

He eats raw potatoes for a reason.

But if he has to cook, it’s always just bulk frozen foods that you heat up in the oven.

One time, he made bulk lasagna.

That was the most effort he put into a meal.

He does, however, enjoy making a good cocktail every now and then.

There is artistry behind that!

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo’s a huge fan of eggs.

He can make any type of egg your heart would desire.

He also taught Narancia how to make scrambled eggs (which Narancia called Scraggle Eggs).

He particularly enjoys making veggie omelettes.

Mushrooms, onions, green peppers, and garlic with cheddar cheese.

He makes it at 3am when he thinks no one is awake.

There is always someone awake.

Narancia Ghirga

He can’t cook.

He tries but he grew up stealing his food and then eating from the garbage.

He’s not a picky eater, because of this.

In fact, he eats a lot.

Bruno taught him table manners and tried to teach him to cook.

Fugo had to un-teach Narancia those atrocities.

Narancia can now make ‘scraggled eggs’ and cinnamon toast.

Guido Mista

A true chef.

He claims to not be a picky eater.

But he enjoys quality food.

He is fond of roasting meat, in particular.

He makes an amazing whole roasted chicken.

Whenever he cooks, everyone is extremely satisfied.

He has tried to ‘help’ Bruno cook (aka do the cooking).

But Bruno somehow always manages to ruin the dish.

He looks away for .02 seconds and then Bruno does something and it’s immediately destroyed.

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno can’t cook.

He also thinks that Bruno’s cooking is fine.

He was the only one not to get food poisoning from the minestrone (dubbed monsterstrone by the others).

Abbacchio swears this means that Giorno is a demon.

Giorno does make a good salad, though.

As long as he doesn’t have to cook.

He can also make bread.

But that is baking.

[notmuchtoconceal]

The wind rolled over the sea, dragging the sea against the land. In mountain mists rose the mudflats to the cliffside, where all around was the grey of probability, for the murk of that sea obscured all which glittered from the ripples of its surface, silken as the translucence of a spiderweb through a beam faint in the dark. The seas which roared, their many miles below framed by the oak contouring of these jagged rocks, the attic window of a home through which you no longer looked.

Cpt. Schreibermachen -- your brother Joseph, who we knew as Joey -- craned the axal column of his vertebrae the full facsimile of a three-sixty degree turn which the stabilities of his anatomy would allow -- craning the long and exquisitely tense musculature of his neck, inviting what tuggings they would allow to what sparse growth sprouted there -- some scraggling and beckoning from the spots and scabs which shone as gold veining the granite jetsam of a cavewall -- staring up into the winding cloudwell which was as a sea itself pouring out. A sea itself pouring out and around, peering through the looming densities, always peering where the sun still blistered brightest, for it bleached and acidified all which it could only relentlessly and unendurably hammer upon.

-- It's here, it's here!

Joey bellowed ahead. Brux screeched from behind.

-- Why, why, why? Why would it be here, Joey? It confounds all matter of public record and therefore common-sense, that it should be here! You are a lunatic! You are excitable, irritable, and contemptuous of the facts before you and all around you! You slumber lazily in a silence which is deafening for it is tragic, that your bountiful young intellect, all your talents and potential, should be squandered on such hysterical and meaningless fancies! My poor brother! My poor Joey! Nobody can help you! You're lost and alone in this world, with adversaries all around and no safe haven to shelter you! For who you are and what you are able, you have been marked -- doomed to wander, now and forever, spurned by all you may help and all who may help you! My poor brother! My poor Joey! Why don't you ever call? We used to be so close? Would you like to talk about it? You know you'll always be my special lil guy, Joey...

From the first of the free asymmetrical zippers on his uniform jacket -- the clanging color and metal latticework which composed a public garden of pins, medals, ribbons & cokecaps blushing lushly from his lapel -- he propelled with great rapidity a violet cloak of embossed and threaded fleur di lys glittering in spun gold, and with it obscured the chatter.

-- Continue to ignore him at all costs! My revelations were revealed to me verily in a session late first this morning before last, then early this evening before this! My unconventional methods -- the methods of which remain still too unconventional to explain this present moment, and perhaps still too many future ones at length! -- was arrived upon for my frustrations with the hole always cleaved away by the cookie-cutter upon the sheet left me at last a ball of dough which was in its sum now entirety the residuals of the previous frames off which the gingerbread men did march ;-- bunched up and rerolled anew, until there was only one but none! I was odds and sods, an oddity out committing sodomy and I wondered truly if I was as inverse as it was said, feeling this emptiness so persistently, for I knew once what spectacular shines burst forth within!

Brux was shouting. Shouting into the roaring wind.

-- The more I talk over him, the more his scrawny lil book boy spinal nerves open to new possibility and influence will be confounded and disrupted --forced to talk in my same dilating and contracting rhythms, so all he attempts to exposit becomes as me; a yawning void, suffocating and expanding, crushing you inward, stupidly and glassily, as the puckering lips of a depthless carnival hare more orange'n gold!

Brux was shouting. Shouting as he rolled his cloak across the mud.

-- They were revealed to me in a moment of meditation come trance come transcendent ecstasy as I lay pressed once more grinding against my brother in the dark night of our shared compartment, where I longed only to be one and deathless with him eternally ;-- knowing myself as I could never be! Torn from the wrong side-in, always back out!

Cpt. Drottin strode forward. On his head, the marble idol flecked with streamers of freshly-oiled copper wire, the anemone-eyes of a harness and visor distended from the notched circuitry of its flexors.

-- Bro, I can't see shit with this shit on, bro.

To the sun, his eyes were pressed. To the horizons, his fingers reached, and some distant ether mist rose to take him in hand. His feet, firm and pressed against the ground, felt in the sutures of their bones what currents flowed beneath the earth, and from his love-nut -- tight, swollen, puckering as his balls still fat and swollen with the seawalls he held back ; uncummed, uneaten, the fire in his guts and balls ;-- eyes alit with leaky cock, hungering for potentials unearthly and obscure.

-- All of this I know. No dissent may take into account what I know, when it refuses to see, refuses to hear -- it is not good-faith criticism to call me a lunatic not for what I believe, but only for I can no longer believe not even in you, but what you think you need to obscure yourself!

From Brux's lips emanated forth raspberries as he leapt into the protracted and violent syncopations of the worm.

-- You're approaching JRPG text-dump levels of unnecessary verbiage, Joey! I have no emotional connection to anything you say, for nobody talks like that, nobody thinks like that, nobody really thinks two dickless nerd boys getting it on (not offense to my good friend, Cpt. Drottin. I would gladly rub my dick bulge against yours were it not already too excruciatingly tender to merely hold your hand. Though I confess also ... I see not the need to work up the strength to perform an action which I have fundamental contempt for, and I (full-disclosure) sometimes worry about you. Nevertheless, I hope impromptu public confessions are something you can live with, and like... things don't have to get too weird between us, for you remain my brother and my heart's most secretive longing and any dream of a life without you is but living death) ... but um, no. Dickless nerd boys can rub their cute lil bumps together anytime, Joey! That's why boys being into other boys is for losers! That's why you deserve a wedgie! Fuck pussy, loser! Pussy, pussy, pussy! You talk too much! You're the annoying one! You're overplayed and nobody likes you!

The salt breeze through his hair, Cpt. Psychorrhax allowed his heart to flutter. The weight upon his chest poured fourth its waters as a goblet overflowing and all throughout the channels of him came the calm which rendered as a warm mist the ice which clotted in his veins.

An elbow to his brothers shoulder -- the limitations of the framing did not reveal the cube on which he stood to gain elevation.

-- He grows more enchanting by the day, Cpt. Schreibermachen.

He looked upon Cpt. Haruspex, and found him magnificent.

Joey looked away -- rightfully, manfully -- at more important things.

-- Well, he'll always be all around. Let's never be tempted not to take him for granted. Smack me and remind me what I'm supposed to be doing. Now that you're here with me, I can admit my cognitive faculties have abruptly halted for you are literally holding my hand.

Their fingers encoiled in the other's. The serpent encoiled their wrists.

-- Your buddy Cpt. Drottin lit a fire in the many fine herbs and splinters I've let line the nests of your aviary, and now through the smoke, you see the signals, rising pitiless off the shouldering earth. Why would you ever feel guilt that you humiliate yourself so shamelessly with that idiot when the man you love is a verifiable beast-tamer fit to open a zoo?

It came first upside the head, then down against the jaw.

-- Man I love. Remind me of evident truths with no need of evidence. I trust in you, now and always. Not once have you done me wrong.

Laika met Joey's eyes.

In them, Joey saw no cause for contradiction.

Joey met Laika's eyes.

Through them, Laika endured. Now and always.

-- You believe for real, Joe?

-- I'll make a believer of you, Laik.

-- I believe in you.

-- I believe in you and me.

They drew closer. Their dicks squirmed in their breachers. Proximate. Needful, yet mindful. In perfect synchronization, now with their hearts.

-- It must be now!

As Joey enunciated -- Brux squawked as a rum-beaten parrot.

-- MUST BE NOW MUST BE NOW ! ! !

Cpt. Hlaford strode forth from the mist, weightless and illusory, though a man of heft he remained, and his palm quite persuasive when deployed.

From his body -- every inch of his heaving muscular pec shelf and abdominal ridges and horselike distended glutes rippling in the sheer linen which clung to his scrubbed and wood-oiled body, gleaming as bronze where the heavier canvas obscured naught but woodlands gone sparse, stitched with gold and of a more natural cream clinging only to depths and seams of his body, drawing eyes by conspiracies stitched into the weave towards things he let dangle, things he let reveal by omission.

To him, Joey fell. To him, Joey looked up.

-- Brother, for I am unclean, and may not be clean at this time, I will endure your chastisement and your chastisement alone, for this is the penance I bare in lieu of the purification I cannot yet truly make!

Wally snorted. What assailed forth from his lips smacked Brother Joey across the face phlegmy and inevitable as the cloudburst of a storm which battered at a dingy ill-stocked at sea, remaining upright only for it wobbled as a top in perpetual motion, knowing only its awkwardness alone with the intricacy well enough to keep itself spinning upright. -- Good enough for me, Joe. What matters is ya got outta bed this mornin and yer makin somethin meaningful of your day by fuckin tryin fer more than once. It don't gotta be perfect. Just show up. Make the effort. Learn what differences lie between an apology and an excuse; what marks a timesink from a sacrifice. Tell me what you have made of yourself, Joe. Tell me what you will make of these coming years. - I am scraps of many things, discarded and piled, and though my choices appear arbitrary, I see in them the pieces of a thing they never were in themselves, but collectively may reveal something of what once was, and though what that may may never be again, I see in these shapes the beams of the scaffolding we may erect to raise ourselves once more high as the golden and glittering frescos which bedazzled our eyes! To us all, we are the inheritors... To those who understand, it will be given, for we make available to all what only... finer eyes have sight to see.

Wally breathed the salt air. In his lungs, it lined like crystal mist.

Behind him, stood men six in number, as his number was six, and six was the sum of three multiplied by two, and the addition of three to itself.

As you have said, so it will be so.

Joey knelt to him. By the roots of his hair, he gripped. The water would come first over his eyes, not from his eyes, though in time they too would flow -- for forth from his urn, the water flowed ice and lemon.

Behind him, his men too stood six in number, for his number was three multiplied against itself was nine, subtracted by itself was six, in keeping with the specific dictate of the requirement that each guardian should have present no less than six and no more than eight men, to keep within what he surmised to himself to be the equivalence of a frequency range.

-- As you have given, so I will now be begotten.

They opened their books and rounded their mouths, Joey's men -- they who were not his duplicates, for when you peered at them with the probing discrimination necessary to parse their overflowing Germanic spirit, you could see all the ways -- in which they were not precise replicas, but some were mirrored inversely, some perfectly, one or two visibly malformed and dragging either one foot or the other.

Far from what I have given, you will inevitably now become.

Cpt. Hlaford's men -- their genitals sectioned off by the underside of a felt harness which flared as a cross to compose the bulk of their garments, left only their sturdy and wool-coated legs freely flowing with the clingy taffeta-chintz spun to ribbons and rose petals of metal and pin -- rose strings within the gildings of their frames, for as they held, thee bones of their fingers were one and welded in oscillation to the structure of the handles of their harps, and all which whistled was silver in their jaws.

Whistle while I work.

Cpt. Psychorrhax spun to face the assembly. His numbered numbered eight for that was four and four and four multiplied by itself and divided back into itself would beget once more itself, and so here he found himself halved within the dictates of maximum allotted allowance.

The spheres aligned. The music came.

As their voices rose, fingers wrung down to pluck the strings.

[mancandy cane my ass the sequential ;-- a quartet of slavs]

Brother Jacek stood facing them.

His eyeline yielded to no one and nothing.

Before him, his men stood eight in number, for eight was the addition of three to five, for five was his number and Laika's was four, which was three with the addition of one, or two with one taken away from three.

Cpt. Psychorrhax's men stood tall in taller hats, meeting Brother Jacek's eyes, and they who came with Jacek threw to one another the bejewel'd handles of broadswords and pressed them to the earth. By hand and half, the cruciforms rose in bloom. Dawnlight strode around them despite the grey of the day and the salt of the sea, for the suns shone off their blades and an array of them they would make as their ankles hopped between the blades ;-- not one point, nor edge ever drawing blood.

I>O>

I. O.

I? O!

I< O<

As pillars of fire, their chants roared forth from their throats. Below the earth, Joey cast his sight.

Look to me, Laika. He said without saying, I will show you once.

Above the sky, Joey rose his awareness.

When he looked and thought, there was the sun -- at some arbitrary point and place; a point only seeming arbitrary for they knew not what he knew now, and to say so would be to say too much, for it was not enough to say things that could not be said when they could be more easily shown; easy sometimes necessitating the manufacture of miracles, tawdry things they are that have words to describe them!

Joey's dick squirmed. The fire roared between his bulge.

Laika pressed his back to Joey.

Joey's men pressed themselves to one another.

A chorus-line mid-collision. Their packages ground into their brothers. Their brothers moaned without relent, stupid for they had been surrendered and were now giving of themselves their sight.

Jacek, by his left and by his right, lifted two coils of wire.

Jacek's men, by the bands of their hammers, beat their blades into the earth :-- drove them deep that any stray light of studs or their handles -- would draw not down the malign influence of her grace.

Jacek, around his neck, hung a chain of iron.

Jacek's men, spinning with swords in hand --

stopping at the edge of their brother's arteries,

drawing still by blade-light to trachea,

plunge themselves in pledge

to recite the vows they themselves make real

by the precision of their moment of utterance.

Jacek, in his left he clutched a coil of silver.

In his right, he clutched a coil of gold.

His men, pressing their prostates to the handles of their swords.

Jacek pressed the coils, cross-axial, to his nips.

Joey pressed to Laika. Laika pressed to Joey.

Their eyes met. What secrecies they knew broiled and conjoined and what they remembered only were the tenderensses which drew them once together, for their's were oppositions to which they mutually drove themselves away, not daring to look, not daring to dream -- of they knew all along was the grandeur to which they were well-entitled.

-- I don't understand. I don't think... I need to.

Laika looked to him.

Laika had no words.

The words would never come.

Not if you gave him a million years.

The words would never come.

His teeth grit. His brow quivered. Beneath his leathers, he stewed in a broil of his own making, he needing always excuse to be roasted alive.

Couldn't think. Only focus.

Dick was so hard.

By his eyes, Joey saw the fields.

By his vision, Joey knew the forms.

The earth did not tremble.

Around it, the air was alive with remembrance.

Laika pressed to Joey. Joey gripped Laika and choked.

Beating. Beading.

Churning. Chewing.

Laika remembered. Laika remembered.

Laika remembered.

The earth bore neither pinecones, nor rolling wheat, but stones. The barren earth yielded only its own desolation. The earth bore not plenty, for the earth was beaten and polluted. The earth knew not beauty for she was scarred and dead, crusted inside with the tar of life.

What sprouted was only rubble, only roots in some dead brush, choking some dead facade as his brother's treacherous fingers grasped along his trachea which the ease at which they caressed him, by chin and behind the ear(th), inviting sweetness and protection to contrast that sociopathy he made so exquisite, so charming with his smile.

None by him could bloom. None but him could water. What he brought forth was only death, as you brought forth only plagues, and all who cowered before you were puppets and corpses, fit to be harnessed by strings and fate, cuffed and muzzled as spotty bandits and mutts.

For from his bag, Cpt. Haruspex at last flung himself free, and with a great wind cursed the horizon he saw now shifting; saw with his own eyes growing vast in their breakages the cleaving from the earth as though the first panes of a fractal beginning to unfurl.

-- I bury you forever, Joey! You and all your works! You ...

His eyes went wide in wandering.

The perspective approached him, and he could begin to piece together -- by what he saw, and what he knew --the truth of what now lay before him, and it mattered not -- the matter of public record, which was his comfort and his cudgel, was doomed now to be revealed as naught but fuel for the fire, idle driftwood it was to flank us from the splendid reality we could see by our own eyes how we now and always lived!

For from this rubble, he could see the shape of cornices, the shape of spires, the fortifications of roofing, the symmetry of archways, all those things which spoke not only to the manmade, but the formal categories of the greatest of that last great pretension -- civilization itself.

-- Though it was written in the scriptures, the last great Laurentian plate was demolished at the time of its reinstallation, how can I not help but see -- my voice remaining now with me -- An Apple Lodging to the east, and those umbering Stallones to the west? This land -- tell it like it was ours! Tell me you won't take it from me. Take her from me again?

Rising, the walls revealed themselves.

On them, the frescoes stood.

Joey pulled forth as he saw. By the stylings he traced their shape from the mold of obscurity and dredged them one step closer to his eyes.

-- It's here, its here! A treasure all around and beneath our feet!

FIVE INLAND SEAS RIGHT HERE OUT FRONT

The wind roared. Around them, hurricane beatings of beneficence blew forth abundance no falsity could desecrate, for this was the truth, the last of all great truths, and through them would Joey right the world.

-- No exaggerations could ruin this day, oh this blessed day! It was true, it was true! It was here, it was here! Oh, this blessed day, it's ours! Before him, it rose. Before him, it stood.

Before it, he bowed, and the marshlands he kissed.

-- As a sire's armpit, I savor. I savor you as only the finest, I would!

To the setting sun, now brass in the falling sky, he kissed the earth where it met those walls, and by them he too stood upright.

[feotakahari]

A few Scrapyard Station subcultures

Metalheads: no, not music fans. These are Tinkers who replace a patch of their skull with metal. It’s meant to be a symbolic representation of the brain surgery Tinker soldiers require in order to fight Parasites, and it shows their support for the war effort. In practice, it also shows they hate everyone who isn’t a Tinker. Real-life equivalent: somewhere between people with “we support our troops” bumper stickers and people who wear replica Waffen SS pins.

Scraggles: Nomads who let their floof grow long and unkempt. They still do enough maintenance to avoid matting, but they don’t bother looking attractive or even presentable by Nomad standards. They encourage others to not worry about whether their fur looks bad and not put so much daily effort into being as prettified as possible. Real-life equivalent: you might think of women who don’t wear makeup, but since Nomads don’t have genders, they’re actually closer to old-fashioned punks.

Entitled: Steward religion doesn’t have a complete stranglehold over their species, and these folks openly and proudly reject it. Unfortunately, what they reject is the part about environmentalism. Since the Goddess never returned, she no longer has a claim on their world, and they declare their right to do anything they wish with what she left behind. These are also the only Stewards who want anything to do with cybernetics, though their compatibility isn’t nearly as good as Tinkers. Real-life equivalent: Richard Dawkins if he was the CEO of Exxon.

Plainsfolk: essentially, these are to Riders what the Pure are to Tinkers, but even more so. The Pure at least accept enough medical technology to keep from dying early, and enough transport and weapons technology to wage their crusade against Parasites. Plainsfolk don’t even want agriculture, let alone vaccines. On the plus side, they’re not sexist or homophobic like the Pure often are. Real-life equivalent: those tribes that kill anyone who tries to talk to them.

Scholar Warrens: most Scholars maintain an “unconnected” hive mind, with essentially the same personality and pre-death memories as their donor. But some embrace the potential for hives to join together into a single entity. The self matters less to them than the quest for knowledge, and it’s common for these mega-hives to split off an individual to have separate experiences and learn separate things before joining the collective again. (A “rogue” hive may decide not to rejoin the collective, but this is a minority of another minority in what’s already a minority race.) Real-life equivalent: maybe some kind of cult?

*Glopping sound*, *glapping sound*, *gloaping sound*: only Scrappers can remember the differences between these, but they’ll scrap with you if you confuse one for another. “How dare you! We’re nothing like those honorless *glupping sound*!” Real-life equivalent: an Armenian who’s just been told he’s “basically the same” as a Turk.

[esp-ae]

what a teeny weenie lanky boy. a disheveled urchin of the streets and alleyways. a magnanimous mousy mollusk of musk. a miniature micro mogul of virtue and Victorian hunger. a satin braggart of mirth and joy, teedling her toddles through life in the highest order of munchkins.

pondering the reconciliation of her grand machinations, those foul schemes she concocted in the name of the world’s demise. An apprehensive demon of destruction and perilous destiny. Scraggling her scriggles through life in a determined march like a game of volleyball.

A cantankerous, cruel and callous curmudgeon of crime and corruption- cursing the world as she teedles her terrifying toddles of pestilence and war.

[boxed-soup]

This was made by Octopus-is-octopus, (or ThatBadVoiceActor on YouTube) you should go check them out!

[jacobhemlock-cyoa-series]

Tumblr, I have a Choose Your Own Adventure for you. Answers will be chosen based on what comment I think is the funniest. Failing that condition if every comment isn't funny, I will choose the Action most likely to succeed.

Your Adventure begins in the town of Mead. Everyone is getting drunk for Octoberfest except you because you left your wallet at home. The town of Mead is a magical place of opportunity. There are help wanted signs abound for businesses like blacksmithing and catering food. There is also a drug dealer in an alley offering to let you join his Drug Gang and sell Scraggle. Scraggle is a magical drug that makes you transform into a cat that is also high on cat nip. And of course, there is a quest for Adventuring. Currently the Quest available is Capturing the Bandit known as Brick Jones. He is known for knocking people out with a single brick to the face.

It is worth noting this is a high fantasy world with stuff like magic, alchemy, and magical weapons and armor existing. Do with that knowledge as you desire.

What do you do? Your current goal is to get drunk and party, but that can change at a moment's notice.

[nickywhoisi]

🎉 50 follows milestone waheyy 🎉🍾

Aw shit I just hit fifty followers, let's boogie

That's more than I've had since, well, last year when I first began my blog! Thank you so much everyone, and I hope more people come join the gang

[thxtandromedatonks]

She couldn't get the nagging thought out of her head. She'd not seen him for a good couple of hours now. Not since he had left their home wihin a puff of green smoke whilst standing within the fireplace. He'd returned to Diagon Alley for the first time in a few months. With Winter starting to feel like a feeling in the air more than usual they'd taken it upon themselves to start feeling slightly festive, to collect some roast chestnuts from one of the street food vendors. They were his all time favourite food. He'd exclaimed many a time, and at least once a year, that the wizarding world version was far better than the Muggle worlds. She had to agree for she discovered this a few years back when they were visiting for some reason of another. They didn't visit much round the colder months, bar their coffee shop haunt.

She was starting to feel physically ill with worry. Started to pace the room. She'd started to wonder whether it was worth sending out Scraggle on a mission to see whether their owl could indeed spot its other owner. There had been a spate of abductions from the Alley of recent and she was terrified that he could have been involved in another. Oh how dreadful the thought was that ran through her mind. The regret of letting him go upon his own, even under the guise of someone else after being dosed up on Polyjuice Potion. Now he had been gone so long that the potion would most likely have worn off by now. This realisation collapsed her to the ground fearing the worst. Fearing that... she dare not even finish that thought.

He'd spent all morning convincing her that he would be ok. She'd said she would go but he was admant on going. He knew her birthday was coming up and wanted to get her something special. She'd told him many a time she was more than happy to forgo that day because she had got her wish the moment she realised her future was with him. But he wouldn't hear of it, however much she tried to presuade him not to. At the moment she would do anything to hear a sliver of news, or to see him, just to know that her fears were just that... fears. The truth could be far too painful for her to take in if she heard anything that was indeed to confirm it.

She'd started obsessively tidying the place up, had started to work upon areas of the home they were renovating. Just to keep her morale up, her thoughts at least dented by something that would stop her thinking of what could be happening if the worst were to happen. Most likely her elder sister. That thought stopped her in her tracks. She'd not heard or seen of her for awhile. No reports. No potential that an incident could have been her doing. No nothing. She knew her sister well enough to know that when she read the Daily Prophet that there was indeed a potential indicator that her elder sister had been behind a dreadful incident that had gone on. Oh how bad some of them had been in the past couple of years. Her elder sister had gone from obsessive, to controlled, to almost psychotic. And all for the love of that half-blood creep that she had met back in the days when she still lived at Black Manor.

Suddenly there was the sound, and smell of green smoke appearing within their fireplace. She spun round as fast as her beaten up heels would allow her to only to see one of her cousins' confidantes standing in front of her. The werewolf one. She got on well with him. They'd been to parties before when they were younger, and she had first starting dating her now husband whilst in secret. They;d both found themselves feeling like they didn't belong and so had bonded due to the fact of how uncool they felt. This particular day did not feel in the slightest like it had the last time she had seen him.

"Can't stay here long sadly Drom. On my way elsewhere. But just passing on the message that your husband wanted to say that he won't be long. He's just got called away for this Hogwarts stuff you both are doing for us at Christmas. He's doing good. No need for you to worry as he knows you probably are. Cheers for that by the way."

And with that he was gone. Like he was never there in the first place, but she had the evidence of the smoke and ash settling to say that someone had actually been there. He always had called her Drom. She wasn't keen on it but she wasn't about to argue back. Especially this day. Everyone called her something different it would seem. But at least someone from that circle wanted to talk to her. Unlike her cousin. She got the feeling she would be seeing him again but not anytime soon. She also got the feeling that they were about to be caught up in some war related situation. Oh how she hoped that wasn't the case, and that really this whole Hogwarts situation was a way to keep them safe.

It was less than a month before they would be there. The only people in an empty uninhabited castle of a school which was in the middle of nowhere. Her and her husband had already planned how they were going to keep their home safe. They'd already started in fact with the added protective charms. She knew that spellbook inside out and back to front with all the different types and versions that there were. She'd even tried out rumoured ones on inanimate objects, and then had been so good at them that she had lost said object! But Charms had always been her strongest subject, much to her parents' dismay at the time. The last thing either her or her husband wanted was to come back to discover this home going down in flames, like their one previously had only a few months ago.

She was metaphorically going to kill him when he turned back up at home, she had decided. She was keeping one eye on what she was doing, and out of the corner of her other the fireplace to make sure he knew of her displeasure of keeping her waiting. However much distance she put from herself and her family there were some traits that just wouldn't go away. Inpatience being one of them. But he knew this, he knew her well enough that apparating to her other side was the best way to keep her from being mad at him. So when she finally pulled herself together after the visit, and had decided that the fear was something that wasn't going to be as bad now that there was a glimmer of hope... but she was still mad at him when she realised that he had actually been sitting on the floor opposite for a good 10 minutes whilst she had been distracted by her thoughts, and the potential happenings at the fireplace.

"You extremely dreadful wart of a wizard for making me fear the worst!" She gasped in despair, as he looked up at her and smiled hopefully that she wasn't as angry as he had feared her to be. "You made me fear your death, you loathsome gargoyle for doing that!"

"Woah, woah.. you know I didn't mean to be back so late." He gasped as he wrapped her up in his arms to make sure that she knew he was back. He knew why she felt that way and he had known as soon as the potion wore off that her fear would have returned ten fold. He leant back, to push the hair away from her fact, only to discover the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Hey, hey... no need for feeling like that. I'm back now and I ain't going anywhere anytime soon."

"Please never let me feel like that anytime ever again. The Polyjuice Potion..." To stop her finishing that sentence he lifted his finger to put it against her lips for he felt her fear boil up inside him.

He'd never really left her life that before. They always knew where the other one was and what they were doing. She had a good idea why he had been gone so long for she could see it over her shoulder, and instantly there was that pang of regret for making him feel bad. The effort he had gone to.. she just wasn't expecting it.

"I know. I know. It's ok my love." He whispered against her ear as he once again wrapped her up in his arms.

One of the problems with this darn war was it made them both feel far needier than they actually meant to be. Mostly because they needed to know the other was safe, they needed to rely on each other, and that they both knew with where they stood being alone in this war was going to be far more dangerous than any of them knew. Neither was ready to let go of the other just yet. They both knew that time would come someday what with both having different blood statuses, and this whole darn war being all about that. But until then they would do anything to make sure that they weren't separated.

"Happy birthday my love," He whispered once more, wrapped her up even tighter before swaying her to the music that he heard within his mind. "I know it isn't much but over my shoulder you have yourself the perfect candlelit meal, with all your favourites."

She smiled a bit more cheerfully as she leaned into him following his lead as he moved her to the tune she suspected he was dancing them both to. She felt him twist her fingers around his as he moved her arm so it looked like they were to be waltzing, his other hand slowly running its way down to the small of her back. She leaned back, lost in his eyes, in the way they both felt about each other.

[the-woild-is-y-erster]

LMAO, that's exactly how I'd describe him

What is your project on? (If I'm bothering you, lmk)

no youre not i swear honestly its nice to have a break from staring at this guys ugly mug on the cover of the book for the past hour xx

our projects are an obituary on machiavelli talking about his life and accomplishments and such

this is what i have so far :)

Niccolo Machiavelli. Father, husband, Italian, philosopher, scholar, politician, baby at one point. 

He was all these things and more until his extremely timely entrance into eternal rest on June 21, 1527. The world breathed a sigh of relief as he took in his last, scraggling, painful breath. "Buona liberazione!" they yowled, fake crying into hankerchiefs. 

The man may have had many accomplishments, but his faults weighed heavy on the ears of those who had the misfortune of hearing his cajoling. This conniving wannabe Plato spoke heartily of the merit of war, and its essentality to the state and life in general, bringng up arguments of free will and how half of life is ruled by luck (fortune) and half is ruled by our own divine free will.

He had few good ideas, his most memorable being that of keeping yourself (as the prince, in reference to his own book) in the general populace's good graces, in being a decent prince and not confiscating goods needlessly. He states that it is better for a prince to be feared than to be hated, for to be hated is to have failed your kingdom and your people.

He and his ideas were not missed.

i'll probably have to edit it to make it less funny :(