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hellishere7980 · 11 months

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IMW Chapter 7

Marinette just stared at the Kwami.

She could have change her suit?

She could have more equipment than just a yoyo?

She didn't have to have worn that skin tight, relieving suit for the last 3 years?

"Tikki..." staring straight into Tikki's eyes "run" Marinette proceeded to chase after Tikki for a good 30 minutes before she was able to catch the Kwami. Jumping over the couch jumping off the walls as Tikki dodge, dived and phased throw the walls and household objects. Finally catching the Kwami in her hand Marinette looked at her dead on with her most serious look she could muster, whilst shaking her. "So you mean to tell me I have been fighting against akuma's with nothing more than a yoyo because you forgot to tell me I could change my suit after Stone heart?" Marinette asked the kwami. "yes" was all the reply she got as the Kwami was to busy trying to stop the world from spinning as Mari stopped shaking her. "Tikki.." Marinette said looking at the kwami once she got her sense back "No chocolate chip cookies for you for the next 2 weeks as punishment for forgetting something so imported. Is there anything else you need to tell me" "Yes Guardian" replied Wayzz from the kitchen where the rest of the kwami's were watching from after they finished cleaning up.

Marinette gestured to the kwami's to move this to the couch so they did. Once everyone was settled, Wayzz began. "As you know Guardian, since you began training with Master Fu and later myself and the others, we have mostly been teaching you magic theory because you had yet to awaken your magic. Which for a Miraculous holder is normal. Even the magical protections here had to be activated by us kwami after you, yourself wrote them. For normal magic users the younger one is more beneficial, it is to awaken early whereas miraculous holders and Guardians tend to awaken when they are older because the strength of their magic is far stronger than they need both strong mind and body. This is the main reason why the Order tended to take their disciples around the age of 3-5 because they would have years to train them in everything from martial arts to magic theory, usually they start with martial arts because it trains and strengthens the body and meditation and other types of training trains the mind.

It was considered normal for disciples to finish, to have become a master in the martial arts by age 10 to 12 and then they would have 3 or so years to learn the more advanced magic arts before their awakening. A guardians awakening would be from ages 12-15 A holder's awakening would be from ages 13-16 for holders who were a match for class 2 miraculous and below. And a true holder like yourself or a holder of any class 1 miraculous and above tend to have their awakening between ages 17-21 once the body has fully grown." "So I had my awakening because in a Guardian?" asked Marinette but the kwamis just looked at each other. "No, Marinette that's no how it works" replied Tikki "You shouldn't have been able to awaken your magic until you were at least 17 or if you were in a life and death situation, because you were a holder first before you were a Guardian. There can only be a few reasons why you were able to do so but the most likely is because of your exposure to almost every miraculous in the mother box except the butterfly and peacock. You were able to wear 16 miraculouses and transform with 4 of them and show no symptoms of physical or mental drain after Kwami-buster, which could only mean you were already physically and mentally mature enough for your awakening by then, you just needed a trigger."

"So, I have magic now? Super cool" Marinette said happy, she had been waiting to finally be able to use magic, so many plans where now possible.

"Yes, now you have many new powers like you can transform with no time or power limit and full access to all the powers that come with the domain of the kwami. And only a full fledged guardian can unlock miraculouses restrictions to that point. And finally when transformed you will be able to communicate with us within your mind meaning we can help you come up with plans and use your powers.

There are also other benefits like being able to meet, train and interact with past holders in your mind but also past guardians, so they can teach you what you can't or don't know."

A new world is waiting at the horizon.

Marinette was in her safe room with the secret compartment where she kept the miracle box. It was like instruction manuals were just appearing in her head, strange but not unwelcome. Finishing reciting the spell in the guardian language and the box was sealed. Now there was only 2 ways to take out a miraculous, through her yoyo or for her to unlock the box. Walking back into her room heading for the bathroom for a quick shower, she had already laid out what she was wearing underneath the transformation. She would be teleporting straight to the president. Most of the government had moved outside of Paris to make sure top secret information stayed out of Hawkmoths hand so the president no longer lived at the Elysee palace, but had moved about 2 towns over out of range from akuma's and Hawkmoth but close enough to help with military intervention if necessary. They had moved most of the government to some of the old forts from the French revolution.

Marinette thought and a way of red overcame her and she was in her new suit, pausing briefly to look at her reflection getting her first close look at her new suit and its weapons. At least now she would be able to use some of the staff techniques Sabine had taught her years ago. "Tikki, Kaalki, unify" and Lady Foal now stood, her suit had added black accents and a leather look. Not bad if she said so herself. "voyage" dropping through the portal, the room exploded Lady Foal merely raised her hands and said, "i'm Ladybug hero of Paris and I have come to meet the president of France to discuss the Shadowmoth situation" Lady Foal looked directly at the president sitting at her desk. "Kaalki dismount" after the light died down Ladybug stood head held high. "stand down" was all the president said gesturing for Ladybug to take the seat in front of the desk "what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" asked the president Taking the offered seat Ladybug sat down looking directly at the leader of her homeland. "I have discovered the identity of Shadowmoth and his allies madam." Gasps were heard from all over the room. The president merely put on an serious face and went for her intercom, "have the prime minister in my office immediately, code: scarlet maiden" after about 15 minutes of which the room sat in silence, the prime minister arrived with a few offers. After everyone was seated in the chairs Ladybug in the one closest to the door so she could see everyone. Marinette recognised merely everyone in the room. Ministers of defence, finance, home security and even the minister of foreign affairs. Everyone she needed for her plans was here. The president pressed a button under her desk and the room went into lockdown metal shutters and everything. "please proceed, Ladybug"

Ladybug simply nodded "As I said when I arrived I discovered the identity of Hawkmoth now known as Shadowmoth and his allies. So far my investigation has revealed that his influence doesn't reach beyond Paris boarders both as Shadowmoth or his civilian identity. However when his identity is revealed to the public it is highly likely to cause mass unemployment and 30 percent of Paris's economy to collapse that will result in a financial collapse not seen since the great repression in France. "

"His civilian identity is?" asked a minister.

"Gabriel Agreste"

#alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #jason todd #maribat #marinette dupen chang #hellishere7980 #dick grayson #miraculous fanworks #miraculous incorrect quotes #miraculous lb #adrien agreste #lila rossi #bio!dad bruce wayne

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fallsekings · 4 months

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OOC: I've been doing some self-reflecting lately and thinking a lot of things over and... well I figured I'd post a particular thought here, because maybe some of you can relate to it. It pertains to folks around you not really understanding some of your hobbies... like characters and roleplay. But I'll post it beneath the cut so I can ramble a bit:

A lot of you guys know that I've been focusing on my mental health recently and I started thinking about... when did I start having less motivation to do certain things. I used to draw art, I used to write fanfictions, I used to roleplay every day, I used to have amazing ideas for stories and drawings. I also made fanvideos. I used to love doing that. But why did all of that change? I no longer do any of that, at least not as consistently as I used to. I try from time to time, but yeah... besides mental energy being an issue, which I hope to take care of in due time... I think it had a little something to do with the people around me.

I'll try not to rant or anything like that here, but one of my coping mechanisms in school, was to draw. It was so hard for me to pay attention in class because my mind wandered and wouldn't focus on what the teacher was saying. Drawing seemed to focus me in the moment and it actually did help me pay attention to what the teacher was saying. I actually improved my drawing skills quite a bit during these years while making good grades in college. The problem was... no one around me got it. I'd always sit and draw some of the same characters, characters that I was passionate about, characters that I wrote about etc. etc. Because it was easy for me to imagine them in my head and then draw them. It made me happy... and yet... the people around me took it as me being creepily obsessed, because they didn't understand that I needed to fidget to focus. Something that wouldn't take too much brain power, so I could focus on the teacher... and I would get picked on for it. One student went as far as buying a t-shirt that said "Friends don't let friends obsess over celebrities" and wore it one day just to make sure that I saw it.

And yeah I get "obsessing" over a celebrity is bad, but that's not exactly what I was doing. I did have favorite actors, I think that's normal, especially if they play a few characters that you enjoy. But I saw it the same as liking a particular band and buying more than one of their CD's. You can like an actor for their talent too. But I never drew the actor. I drew the characters.

But that's besides the point. People made it their business to get in my business and make me feel bad about the things that I enjoyed.

A lot of my favorite characters from shows and movies, they tend to be older. Which made a lot of people even less understanding. They seem to think that the only reason to like a character or their actor is because you surely must like them for the way that they look. That had to be the ONLY reason in their eyes. It wasn't. A lot of older characters tends to have a lot of baggage and I kinda like poking into that and exploring that because that's what I find interesting. But again, folks don't understand that. I got made fun of quite a lot for having "an old man fetish", even my family thought so and no amount of me explaining why I liked certain characters made them think otherwise.

I got told that I couldn't have screensavers of my favorite characters, because that meant that you must find it aesthetically pleasing which just further proved their point. And the best part of all of these? I was told I was going to burn in hell for "lusting" after these people. I am not even joking. I was actually told this.

So I did retreat honestly. I stopped immersing myself in my favorite characters and their worlds because it gave me nothing but stress. Every time I watch something now I tell myself not to get a favorite character or actor because I don't want to get "obsessed" anymore because I don't want to go through that again.

I write all of this because I was just watching something on YouTube that basically said this. If you're passionate about something, you'll find people who will like you for it. People like people who are passionate about things. And I got to thinking about that and it's true. You will find a few. Just keep being you and the right people will find you, eventually. I guess I haven't found too many people like that in my personal life. People online? Yeah I have found more acceptance online than in person. I think where I live is backwards thinking, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

I guess what I want to get around to saying is... sometimes people suck, because they don't understand, but that doesn't mean that you should let others dictate your life and the things that you like and enjoy. Be passionate about the things that you like. Do what makes you happy. Don't listen to other people... because society has a way of pushing those who are different back in line... but don't sacrifice the things that you like and enjoy for other people, because the only one who will be miserable later is yourself. You may not be being picked on anymore... but if you become miserable in the process, is it really worth it? I am going to say no. It's not worth it. You be you. Do what makes you happy and don't listen to anyone else.

I don't know if anyone needed to hear that or not. But it's a lesson I had to learn the hard way and a lesson that I'm still trying to learn. I need to learn to just let myself enjoy things without judgement or worry about what others might think. in the end, it's not worth it.

#out of notes #mun things #tw: mental health

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thisselflovecamebacktome · 4 months

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My top 5 albums/eps for 2023

So it has come to the end of the year again, and despite now having been burnt twice doing this list before the last day of December only to listen to albums that should have made them within the year (Evermore and SOS, you will always be famous lmao), I'm ready to put out my top 5 albums/EPs that were released in 2023. And before anyone asks, no, rerecordings do not count and will not be considered for this list (sorry Taylor and Demi), same with deluxe versions (sorry Noah). So without further adieu, here are my top 5 albums/EPs for 2023.

5. The Age of Pleasure – Janelle Monae.

Following up Dirty Computer was always going to be a challenge. For those who haven't listened to Dirty Computer, I would literally call it one of the best albums of all time. And, at least for me, there's been a pattern with all artists where once they release an album I adore, I tend not to like the next one. But Janelle well and truly rose to the occasion. Much like Dirty Computer, I felt like I was transported to a different time and place listening to The Age of Pleasure. Each song is strong on it's own yet works so well together but are all different and distinguished enough to be memorable. Unfortunately I feel like as a whole this album did not get the hype that it deserved, but I am hoping that its AOTY grammy nomination will help give it that chance for more people to listen to it. All in all, the only, very subjective, reason that this album was not higher is because it's personally not relatable to me, and that's a major reason I listen to music. Like I said though, that is very subjective, and not at all a comment about its quality.

Favourite Song: Champagne Shit.

4. Guts – Olivia Rodrigo.

I'm just going to say it upfront, this album was too hated on just because it wasn't Sour and over weirdo rumours. Like do I think it'll be my favourite album of all time? No. But neither was Sour and Guts does just a good a job at being the perfect teenage album. And I say that in the most affectionate light because I think it is an art to capture an age like that. At the current time, Sour and Guts flip flop as my favourite Olivia project, and realistically, had I had Guts when I was closer to Olivia's age (rather than nearly a decade older), I think Guts would have taken the cake easily. It's relatable and unfortunately still socially relevant given its topics of age gaps in relationships, the way the music industry treats young female artists, and the guilt and shame that come from both of those. Likewise, its commentary on honesty about who you are and what you feel compared to what others want (extending as far as into the bonus track Scared of My Guitar) is a relatable and interesting theme throughout the album. As a whole, Olivia well and truly defied the sophomore album dip for me and I cannot wait to see what she does in the future (hopefully including an Australian tour lmao).

Favourite Song: The Grudge.

3. The Good Witch – Maisie Peters.

I'll say it outright, if this had come out in 2018/2019 (when I was 22 to 24 years old), it would have well and truly been my number one pick of the year and probably joined the ranks of albums like RED and Melodrama that define the year they were released for me just by being released right when I needed them. Even now with the distance of several years, I still think of the same person I would have then when listening to most of the songs on this album; I just get the benefit of being able to laugh along to the songs rather than be sad. Admittedly, it took a few listens, both with the standard and deluxe version to fully feel this album as a cohesive project (ironically You Signed Up For This, Maisie's first [non soundtrack] album, was too sonically cohesive for me to the point I prefer to listen to the songs on their own and The Good Witch initially felt not sonically cohesive enough), but once it hit, it hit. I remember my first listen and hearing There It Goes for the first time and having a quiet moment of judgement thinking that the wrong song was picked for the closer because how was it going to top There It Goes as a statement piece for the album... I was quickly proven wrong as History of Man started to play and I realised that not only was this the perfect closer, but objectively one of the best songs I've ever heard. So yes, as a whole, I think she made the right choices in terms of tracklist order and what was left on the deluxe. Additionally, jokingly I am grateful that we didn't have “you had a phone, you should have called” in 2018, for I would have acted irrationally lmao. Overall, after having seen Maisie live in February, this was one of my most anticipated albums of the year, and much like Olivia, Maisie has well and truly defied the sophomore album dip for me and I can see myself loving this album for years to come.

Favourite Song: There It Goes

2. This Is Why – Paramore.

Over the years, I've had a very up and down relationship with Paramore. I loved their earlier work, fell off with (read: only liked a few songs per album) their self titled album and never fully made my way back to them... until now. To me (and I believe the intent of the album was), this album is like the encompassment of being alive in 2023. It's tired, it's angry, it holds back and even resents “positive” emotion at times, but ultimately it is just very human and reflective of where the world is right now. Of all of my choices this year, This Is Why is absolutely the album that is most relatable to myself in this current moment. And, having a year where I came back to pop rock music in general, this album just came at an absolutely ideal time for me. Overall, it is the album I feel has the most potential for me to look back on and be like “yeah, this was 2023 for me”, and for that alone, it has earned its spot on my ranking. My only regret is that I unfortunately did not get to see this album played live on tour due to other things going on in my life... almost as if I ran out of time (pun intended).

Favourite song: Running Out Of Time.

Rolling Up The Welcome Mat – Kelsea Ballerini.

So some of you may have realised the title of this post is my top 5 albums AND EPS and have realised that there is a direct lack of extended plays spoken about so far. Well surprise! Before this year, the only Kelsea song I had heard was The Other Girl featuring Halsey, but she's someone who I have wanted to listen to for a while. So when I heard that she was releasing an extended play, I jumped straight in and fell in love. I've never been through a divorce, but the emotions and grief of losing a relationship (romantic or otherwise) that you feel you fought so hard to grasp onto despite knowing it wasn't working and feeling like the other person wasn't trying resonated so deeply with me. And much like The Good Witch, I think if I had had this ep in 2018, it would have been the album I felt sad to, and honestly? To a point where I may have avoided it because it hit too close to home. But instead, all of its tracks were my top streamed tracks with nothing breaking them up. Overall it is an exemplary, relatable piece of work to which my only complaint is that I cannot buy it on CD (sorry, not much of a streamer) and while I haven't had a chance to go listen to Kelsea's other stuff (sorry it's been a busy year), I cannot wait to see what else she has in store, both in her past discography and future projects.

Favourite song: Genuinely all of them, but if you're going to put a gun to my head, Mountain With A View.

#janelle monae #olivia rodrigo #maisie peters #paramore #kelsea ballerini #this is why album #rolling up the welcome mat #the good witch album #the age of pleasure #guts #i really should start my own tag so i can access these easier because I do them every year lmao

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pink-concorde · 5 months

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☾𖤓 Zutara Week 2023 – Respite 𖤓☽

Once Zuko was settled in the Western Air Temple, Katara came to threaten him, yet… For a moment, there was a respite from her icy glare. Where he had hope.

#zutara #Pinks Art #zutara week #zutaraweek #zutara week 2023 #zutaraweek2023 #zutara week 2023: respite #zkweek #zkweek2023 #zuko x katara #katara x zuko #aged up zutara #only because #my art tends to have them be at least a few years older than in the show #katara background taken from AtLA

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moonboy-ish · 4 months

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Hello! I'm Koy it's a pleasure to meet you

I'm an 18 years old trans (neurodivergent) dude who's barely starting his transition sooooo stick around to see how this goes! ✨

I'll be using this blog as more... NSFW ish… in thoughts, rambles and arts, and more personal stuff I guess

Sfw & art blog: @kabs1912

More stuff about me

Sometimes use emojis as tone indicators (and tone tags), but not on prompt writing

I’m T4T~ had some experience with cis people 😒 and that is just not my cup off tea anymore

I’m bisexual with a preference for mans, and also polyam, but currently I’m single

I would say I’m a bottom/sub maybe power bottom if I put in the effort but honestly I like the idea of someone taking the lead

I’m in fact, a virgin

Love pet names!! ✨

Feel free to interact if you are

Part of the LGBTQ+ community

Specially if your trans

18-25 years old (specially if you want to dm me)

A decent human being in general

DO NOT INTERACT

MINORS, MAPS, RACISTS, TRANSPHOBES, RIGHT-WING BITCHES, DETRANS, AGEPLAY, ANY FORM OF ED BLOG, MEN DNI BLOGS, HIGHLY RELIGIOUS christian PEOPLE

I have religious trauma so yeah, politely fuck off

I don’t like you and you won’t like me

DM/ASK/General Interactions Rules

Almost every pet name is welcome, but if you're going to call me pretty or beautiful it has to go with “boy” or something to match my pronouns like “pretty boy” or “beautiful thing” just don’t like the feminine implication on them

Please try to use all my pronouns, not just he/him

No photos on DM, just, don't, I'll post when I'll post and I don't want yours there so, yeah

I tend to be really irregular with responses on DM (adhd acting up) so I apologize in advance, sooner or later I’ll remember that I only answered in my brain

If you come up as aggressive or I don't like your vibe I probably won't answer

If you make me uncomfortable in any way I WILL block you

ALSO IF YOU’RE OLDER THAN 30 DO NOT TOUCH THIS BLOG, GET OUT OF HERE YOU COULD EASILY BE MY PARENT AND THAT’S JUST WEIRD THIS WILL GET YOU BLOCKED IMMEDIATELY

Questions list: https://www.tumblr.com/moonboy-ish/738710799823126528/bigger-new-list-of-sex-questions

Kinky and horny stuff

I'm into: bondage/restraint; cock warming; corruption; pet play (especially puppy play); spanking; biting(I have an oral fixation); slight knife play; size kink; praise; slight degrading; body worship; edging; overstim; breeding (NO PREGNANCY OR RAISING); free use, but just in private

Okay Terms: (boy)pussy, cunt, hole, chest, clit, (t)cock

I'm NOT into: any body fluid aside from cum, sweat, tears, or blood (in small quantities and period blood is a no); misgendering, or any form of forced feminization; medical anything; Religious Kink(at least if I don’t explicitly say it’s fine); body modification; Any form of incest(fauxcest included); any public stuff that isn't in a four-wall room like, there can be other people, but not in public spaces

TAGS:

- Koy-prompt: scenarios and prompts

- Koy-ramble: rambles and thoughts

- Koy-sfw: sfw

- Koy-nsft : nsft

- Koy-asks : asks

- Koy-pics : pics

- koy-art: nsfw art that I don’t feel like posting on my main blog

Last updated: January 8th, 2024

#ftm #demiboy #trans #t4t #transmasc #nonbinary #trans nsft #t4t nsft #lgbtq #lgbt pride #trans pride #trans artist #Koy-ramble

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 7 months

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Day 7: Needles

(Disclaimer: three of the characters in this story belong to me. You can find more information about Azalea here. For more information about Caliban, go here. For more information about K.O., go here. For my personal headcanons on Murdock, who belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, go here. And if you’d like to learn more about the mob these guys all work for, go here.)

(Additional Note: I got some partial inspiration for this story from this lovely drawing by the extremely talented @rebar2042. Please go give them a follow and share their awesome art!!!)

(Trigger Warnings: descriptions of illegal business, physical violence, abduction, blood, syringes, poisonous substances, torture, implied dismemberment, implied cannibalism, implied murder, talk of death/dying, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10 Day 11 Day 12 Day 13

Unless you counted his tinted glasses, Murdock looked absolutely nothing like himself right now.

In the place of his currant-colored turtleneck and black overcoat was a pale button-up and a half-zipped fleece jacket that was the same shade as a cornflower, complete with a screen-printed logo (an orange circle outlined with white) to match the cap resting atop his head. His raven hair was hidden, tied-back and pulled-up, though some of his bangs peeked out from beneath the rim.

Murdock understood the importance of disguises; any hitman who didn’t was a moron who could look forward to a career that would last a couple years at most before ending in humiliation rather than mystery.

Yes, he was more attached to his usual work clothes, but he took satisfaction in that particular sentimentality being more fucked-up than one would probably expect. Aside from that and the business angle of things, costumes really were just a fun concept to play around with. Even now, as he pulled into the cul-de-sac and parked near the curb, the adrenaline that’d already been slithering around his lungs spiked when he glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror.

He hopped out, stepping around the decoy mail truck to hoist the back door up. After pulling out the dolly and loading a larger-than-average box onto it, he tucked a much smaller package and a clipboard under his arm and strolled up the driveway of the nearest house.

Murdock rolled his shoulders, taking a quick, deep breath. He went over the script in his head for what was probably the eighth time today, then reached out and rapped his knuckles against the front door.

Five seconds or so passed, and then the telltale sound of muffled footsteps approached from the other side.

Murdock put on a polite, well-rehearsed smile as the door was pulled open.

He immediately had to bite his tongue to keep that smile in place as he registered the man now hovering in the threshold.

He was the same height as Murdock, appearing a bit older. . .well, that was Murdock’s best guess, at least. The amount of tattoos on his skin was truly shocking. Only a few patches of his natural skin were left in between each of them.

For the most part, Murdock didn’t really have an opinion on tattoos. He was aware of how painful the process tended to be: therefore, when any of his victims happened to be inked, he tended to take that as something of a personal challenge for interrogation and the like. He knew it was best to avoid getting any himself, and he knew whatever body art anyone else decided to get was none of his business.

But he also knew how the lines between good body art and bad body art were not fine.

At all.

It seemed his latest target didn’t have that same understanding.

“Delivery for Mr. Abbott Tudye?” Murdock announced, willing his tone to sound lighter than usual.

“Right on time,” the target replied with a nod. Glancing at the larger package, he backed up a few paces, holding the door open. Murdock took the invitation, dragging the dolly along and leaning it against the nearest wall as the door was closed behind him.

“I’ll need—” Murdock cut himself off, just barely managing not to swear in surprise at the discovery that his target was among the ranks of people who’d gotten famous online for having actual pictures of faces permanently drawn on the backs of their heads.

The target turned to face him, casually raising an eyebrow.

Murdock cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, need a signature for both packages, please,” he amended, holding the clipboard aloft.

The target blinked at this, but simply shrugged and took the offering into his hands. “. . .Y’know you don’t have to keep that act up in here, right? Suppliers are the last people to tattle on in my book.” He then outstretched his free hand, patronizingly gesturing for Murdock to fork over the smaller package

“Look, those papers are part of the contract. I just want to be thorough” Murdock reported, giving up the box like a good little boy and biting back a grimace at the sight of the back of the target’s hand.

(Was that tattoo seriously supposed to be depicting a lion’s head? If so, then it was proof of miracles, because it would’ve made the damn Gripsholm Lion look natural!)

His sudden surge of disbelief and disappointment was quickly calmed by smugness. He could tell when he was being lied to, but that didn’t really bother him right now. The pack of lies he’d personally help to set up for this job were much more clever.

“Besides,” he added, ever-so-slightly raising his voice, “you can never really tell when there’s some extra eyes or ears around. Not until it’s too late, I mean.”

The target snorted, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with a smirk. “Okay, calm down with the conspiracy, buddy.” He walked past Murdock to set the clipboard and pen down on his coffee table, his focus now consumed by the package. He fished a small knife out of his pocket, pushing the blade toward the thick line of tape. “Since you bring up eyes and ears, though. . .have you heard anything about my trigger? It’s been a good while since I sent him out, and he hasn’t reported back to me at all.”

“I’m afraid not. I did try to ask around, though,” Murdock answered, his expression flickering.

On one hand, the target had his back to him yet again; Murdock knew he had acting skills, but just how little this guy thought things through almost made his performance way too easy.

On the other hand, the target turning his back to Murdock meant he had to look at that second stupid fucking face again.

Oh, well.

He kept speaking, making sure the sound of his voice drowned out the way he carefully dragged one of his own knives down the length of the larger package. “But I wouldn’t worry about it too much. We’ve all gotta lay low after a job, don’t we? Your guy is probably a lot closer than you realize.”

The larger package silently twitched. A pair of brown eyes glinted at Murdock through the sliver of space between cardboard folds. The hitman smirked, raising a hand to count down on his fingers and mouthing along.

Three. . .two. . .

The scream that tore through the air was at an octave usually reserved for fire alarms, but neither Murdock nor his accomplice flinched at it.

A small thump followed the distress call, which was now breaking apart into shorter wails as the target backed away from the box he’d just opened. Murdock copied those movements, making sure to stay behind him. The target turned around soon enough, of course, his face contorted in absolute horror at the fact that he’d gotten so close to a pale, dried-blood-covered human foot instead of the cocaine block he’d been expecting.

“Y-you. . !” The target cried, now charging forward, anger joining his fear. “What tHE FUCK IS—”

His words suddenly wilted into unintelligible sputters of pain. He’d been a mere inch from Murdock when a blurry shape came jettisoning out of the larger package to collide with his neck, forcing him to double over.

“Haven’t you heard to not blame the messanger?” A new voice inquired, sounding like a casual lacing of venom in sugar. A petite woman emerged from the package, holding an unusually large packing tape dispenser and narrowing her eyes at the target in a way that should’ve turned him to stone. “I mean, this whole thing was my idea, so. . .”

“I’m not denying that,” Murdock promised, jokingly doffing his delivery cap to Azalea.

Azalea, in turn, nodded, her expression shifting from composed fury to maniacal at lightspeed. The target tried to regain his bearings, tried to keep shouting, but she had other ideas. In a single, fluid movement, she stepped closer and bashed the tape dispenser against his nose. She repeated this action until the target was on the floor, and even then she kept swinging the strange choice of weapon up and down onto his head again, and again, and again, and again.

Murdock was prepared to step in, but his instincts told him that wouldn’t be necessary. His expression grew more curious than sinister as he watched his colleague convince the target that he could be a phrenologist’s dream come true. Sure, the tape dispenser had some solid weight to it, but. . .wow.

“Impressive,” Murdock mused once the target finally when still and Azalea finally paused for breath. “And I thought I’d end up having to knock him out.”

“What, am I supposed to just let you take all the credit?” Azalea huffed a laugh, rising to her feet to look up into her accomplice’s dark eyes. “This is a half-and-half job.”

“It sure is.” Murdock knelt down beside the target’s unconscious form, fishing a few zip-ties as well as a bundle of thick cloth out of his disguise jacket’s interior pockets. Once the target was properly bound and gagged, Murdock crammed him into the same package that Azalea had previously been hiding in, not being the least bit gentle. He held the panels closed so Azalea could reseal them (which was a bit awkward, since the tape dispenser was now broken due to being used as a makeshift hammer).

“I’m a little surprised Cal let me take this,” Murdock mentioned as he strolled across the target’s living room, leaning down to stuff the severed foot back into the small package.

Azalea shrugged. “Feet are mostly just skin and bones. Plus, from what he’s told me, they just sell better on some markets than others.”

“. . .I mean, do the connoisseurs of those ‘other markets’ really know if the feet they’re looking up are still attached to people?” Murdock pondered, cackling when Azalea rolled her eyes and lightly punched him in the side.

“I texted the cleaning crew while I was in there,” Azalea pronounced, nodding to the larger package and its new cargo. “They should be here in thirty minutes or so.”

“Great!” Murdock nodded, remembering that The Pentas Family’s chop-shop was in need of a new car. “And we’re still set on the site you picked out?”

At his cohort’s affirmative hum, he bared his teeth in a patented, dangerous grin. He grabbed the dolly’s handle, then gestured to the front door. “Shall we, then?”

Azalea’s smile was a bit more lively, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t frightening. “Let’s.”

___

Reilpi Woods was a quaint place. It was only a fifteen-minute drive from the Cove Port Inlets, stretching for miles and miles and miles; a good portion of it grew near the beaches and along the seaside cliffs. Sure, its title kind of sounded like the beginning of a drunk madman’s attempt at a prophecy, but it really was a nice place. A convenient place, too.

With how deep it went, it could be plausible for someone to, hypothetically, get lost on a camping trip and never come back. That also made up for many of the hardships that came with burying a body (after tricking the authorities into digging up untouched soil in a specific location with a false report, of course).

The branches on the majority of its trees intertwined with one another, forming more than enough of a shield from both the sun or the odd camera-equipped drone piloted by some background character whose life could potentially be changed for the worse.

The trees in question came in varying heights: some were as towering as houses, and others were short enough to be scaled quite easily.

Murdock had chosen a tree that seemed to be right in the middle of those categories. It didn’t take too much effort to aim and toss the long end of the rope coil over a thick, sturdy branch. He gave the line an experimental tug, just to be certain it was secure, then began pulling it hand-over-fist.

“HMPE. Nice,” Azalea complimented, watching her accomplice work as she retrieved the small, pink-stained wooden chest she’d previously hidden in the decoy mail truck’s glove compartment.

“I only work with the best,” Murdock replied cheerfully. “The hardware store had a great sale earlier this week.”

Once his and Azalea’s target had been hoisted a few inches, just able to stand upright with bound wrists suspended over his head, Murdock strode over to a smaller tree nearby, tying the end of the rope into a tight knot around its trunk.

When exactly the target had regained consciousness, neither of them could be sure. By the time he’d started making noise, they’d already driven a good, long way into the heart of the forest. He’d tried to start running as soon as Murdock reopened that package, only to collapse on his face about three seconds afterwards. Even now, strung up and shirtless, he apparently still thought there was some use in writhing. He kicked and swayed, eyes bulging, chest heaving. His attempts to hurl obscenities at his captors were well-muffled by the gag that’d been tied around his mouth.

Azalea dragged a collapsable table out of the trunk, unfolded it a few feet away from where the target stood, and set the aforementioned pink chest on top of it.

“So,” Murdock pronounced as he walked past her, carrying a long leather case he’d produced from under the driver’s seat. “How much time do you think you’ll need?”

Azalea hummed as she pried the little chest open: five empty syringes had been organized into a little pyramid, kept in balance by the line of five glass vials sitting right beside them. “Well, each dosage will need at least a few minutes to take effect. I already have some pretty good estimates, so maybe. . .twenty-five minutes? At most?”

“Yeah, that’ll be just fine.” Murdock nodded. “Becky’s a fast worker.”

Though Azalea didn’t pause as she pushed a needle into a rubber stopper, she still couldn’t help but chuckle.

Murdock refused to stop his movements as well. While opening up the leather case and lifting a shovel out, he raised an eyebrow at his colleague’s laughter. “What’s so funny?”

Azalea tilted her head, flicking at the now full syringe before setting it down to prepare one of the others. “You always give the others flack for naming their equipment, but you don’t have any room to talk.”

“Excuse you, I’ve got tons of room,” Murdock protested. “Becky is special. She’s been there for me ever since I started out.” He hugged the shovel close, some brief yet total adoration worming its way onto his face. He then spun Becky in his hands and brought her tip down into the soil about ten feet from where the target was hanging.

“Good for her,” Azalea replied. “Still, are you sure you’ll be done around the same time I am? I wouldn’t want to just keep you out here for hours.”

Slight hypocrite or not, Murdock did have a bit of a point. The blades of Becky’s cutting tip were ridged, implying that she was capable of slicing through more than just dirt. There were black grips along the socket and handle. She truly had a polish to her, one that would seem more appropriate on a blessed and/or cursed weapon of yore.

“Hours?” Murdock barked a sarcastic laugh, glancing back and forth between Azalea and the ground. He worked himself into a pattern of movement, the little pile of loose dirt beside him growing bit by bit. “Becky and I will race you, Aza!”

Azalea blinked, placing a hand on her hip. “That hole’s gonna have to be six feet deep, at least.”

“And it will be!” Murdock insisted. Nodding at the target, he added, “Plus, we’ll be putting him in vertically.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Azalea retorted. She fidgeted in place. “. . .Aren’t longer holes harder to dig out than wider holes?”

There was no response from Murdock this time. He just kept digging, though he peered up at her over his glasses. His eyes were just barely visible, but that expectant, daring look was obvious.

“Okay, then.” Azalea offered a polite shrug before turning on her heel and approaching the target.

The target snarled at her, raised a leg to try and kick her. But as she gracefully sidestepped out of the way, she saw how he finally seemed to notice what was now in her hand. His scowl wavered, his muffled insults came to an abrupt halt, the patches of skin unmarked by tattoos turned pale as the needle caught a stray beam of light peeking through the canopy above.

Azalea rolled the first syringe between her fingers, thoughtful as she paced around the soon-to-be sentient pincushion. She had the experience to know which areas were most sensitive to injections: hands, the soles of the feet, palates, that little groove between the upper lip and the nose.

She couldn’t really go for any of those areas right now, but that wouldn’t be a problem. Run-of-the-mill muscles could always make getting a shot more of a struggle than strictly necessary.

With that in mind, Azalea halted in her tracks just behind the target. He tried to turn himself around to keep facing her, but he wasn’t fast enough. He didn’t even have time to recoil as she stabbed the needle deep into his lumbar, effectively piercing the tattooed eye of a snake that had bent fangs and looked more drunk than menacing.

Azalea pressed the plunger down with enough force to almost risk crushing it. She held onto it for a few long seconds, just to be sure, then stepped back. The syringe stayed in place when she let go of it, well and truly stuck in the target’s skin.

Slowly but surely, a dark red bead rose up around where the needle met the syringe’s hub. And as it began to trickle down, leaving a thin, red streak to disrupt the tattoos below that embarrassing snake, the target started bellowing.

The cries were low at first, but they grew louder in no time, broken up by the target’s gasps for air. The skin around the injection site was already swelling—it couldn’t really be compared to an allergic reaction or the like, but it was still horribly noticeable.

From what Azalea had heard, Gila monster venom caused an intense burning sensation, as well as dizziness, a rapid heart rate, and sometimes even a decrease in blood pressure. Cases of being bitten by the lizard in question were rarely ever fatal, but that was just fine.

A dosage of something fatal would’ve been too good for the target.

About a week had passed since the incident.

That one spot on Azalea’s arm still ached and stung like no other, but she didn’t have to wrap a new set of bandages around it anymore. The dull red mark still stuck out against the rest of her skin, but it seemed to be getting a little smaller every day. Hell, by now it could’ve been mistaken for a simple scrape, as though Azalea just had a disagreement with the sidewalk pavement.

The tranquilizer gun fit shockingly well in the pocket of her vest. The weapon was a lot like Azalea, actually; it was small enough to underestimate, and it packed way more than enough of a punch to make whoever was doing the underestimating regret all the choices they’d made to get to that point.

Azalea didn’t need to use it very often—remember, her way of work was all about stealth and cunning and HAHA YOU FOOL, YOU’LL NEVER LOOK AT A COOKIE THE SAME WAY AGAIN BECAUSE YOU’RE DEAD NOW!—but ever since that fateful evening, she’d made a point to carry it every moment she wasn’t in the public eye. Once she and her peers all made sure that the threat was truly gone, she’d return it to that innocent-looking little safebox in her cabinet.

The Pentas Family wasn’t on total lockdown; just lying low for a bit. There’d been no complaints about The Boss’ orders, of course. Just like there was no doubting that they’d come out on top. But that impromptu emergency meeting had still been so tense. . .

Azalea gave the Gila monster venom about three minutes to work its magic. The target had yet to vomit, but the nausea in his eyes was painful just to look at.

She checked in on Becky and Murdock, who were still preparing the grave.

The mound of dirt had definitely grown, but the bottom of the hole was still very much shallow.

Murdock glanced up as his accomplice approached. He stayed just as silent as Becky, but the sheer amount of excited determination on his face spoke volumes.

Azalea didn’t really have anything to say either, so she just gave him a curt nod before retreating to start the next phase of the session.

Warrior wasp venom wasn’t lethal, but it could almost make you wish it was. The insect in question was aggressive and territorial, so encounters with it weren’t exactly uncommon in certain parts of South America.

Some victims likened the sting to boiling oil being poured over your skin. Others compared it to being chained down in front of an active volcano, right in the path of all that flowing lava. Perhaps no two victims could describe it in the exact same way?

Azalea wasn’t certain, and she probably never would be. It wasn’t like the target had a chance to give her a description.

Or. . .maybe he did, in a way.

Because just a moment after she stabbed the second syringe into his right deltoid, he confirmed the rumor that warrior wasp venom made people sound absolutely insane when they screamed.

Azalea lightly shook her head, drumming her nails against the box she was carrying in time with her footsteps. Aforementioned box was full of sweets, but unlike many of its predecessors, none of those sweets would end up killing whoever decided to help themself.

K.O. deserved a reward for being so quick and so efficient with the bullet graze, after all. Yes, he’d already gotten paid for taking on the last-minute assignments, but Azalea couldn’t just not thank him personally.

Due to his walnut allergy, K.O. had to be very, very careful about the treats he consumed. Anything involving chocolate was almost always too risky, but Azalea had plenty of recipes for different types of candy. She knew this gift wasn’t much, but she also knew that K.O. would still be happy with it.

As if on cue, K.O. popped up right as Azalea rounded the corner. He was halfway leaning through the door to his den, light streaming across the old platform. What a coincidence: Azalea hadn’t told him about her plan to stop by, but she’d still predicted that he’d be down here.

What she hadn’t predicted was for Caliban to be down here, too. Last she’d heard, her brother was running his own errands around town. But, sure enough, here he was, doubled-over and gritting his teeth as he trudged onto the old platform from the opposite direction.

That was what made Azalea stop short before she could call out to either of them.

Something was wrong.

Caliban always kept his back straight unless. . .

An awful type of energy slithered along Azalea’s neck as she quickened her pace, nearly dropping her cargo.

A panicked shout caught in her throat, making both Caliban and K.O. flinch as they finally looked over and realized she was here with wide eyes.

Even with the dark blue shade of the fabric, it was easy to see a stain blooming through the lower half of Caliban’s button-down.

Even in the dim lighting, it was easy to see how the hand Caliban pressed against his stomach was covered in glistening red.

Even through the immediate cacophony of questions on Azalea’s part and instructions on K.O.’s part, it was easy to hear droplets of blood plopping against concrete as they trickled out between Caliban’s fingers.

Yet another wasp’s venom was next on Azalea’s list for the session, so the syringe containing it would go in the target’s left deltoid. To compliment the other, see?

Not immediately, though.

“The guy you sent is dead,” Azalea announced, speaking to the target for the first time since she’d knocked him unconscious. Her voice was soft, and muffled, agonized, unintelligible groans were still leaking out of his mouth. But she knew that he could hear her.

“. . .Or, I’m pretty sure he is, at least. He was kept alive for a few days after his little stunt, but there’s no saving him now,” she continued.

Visible shivers had been wracking their way up and down the target’s body all this time. Azalea knew that they were involuntary, that they were just more side-effects of the poisons she’d given him so far.

Now, however, he froze in place.

Azalea smirked, practically able to see her words registering in his mind. “Nobody’s going to find either of you, y’know. Even if someone actually tries to look, they won’t get any leads.”

She resumed her pacing, never taking her eyes off the target, watching as his ragged breathing stuttered.

“I know, I know. Scenarios like that are pretty underwhelming, but that’s more on you for springing this on us the way you did.” Azalea shrugged as she passed the syringe from one hand to the other.

Her smile widened a bit. “Don’t worry, though! We’ll try to make things more interesting for your other cronies. I bet one of them will end up being found again and again for a month or so. It’ll have to happen in a different city, but that’s not too big of a problem.”

Tarantula hawks got their name from their frightening diet, but that most certainly wasn’t the only thing they were infamous for. By some terrifying miracle, their stings truly felt similar to an active hair dryer after it was dropped into someone’s bathtub. They were described as explosive

The toxin was apparently explosive enough to give the impression of electric currents literally tearing their way through your bloodstream.

“This is like a weird variation of sibling ESP,” K.O. blurted as he carefully prodded at the puncture site with gloved hands. “Really, I’m surprised some cosmic imbalance hasn’t been triggered.”

“Don’t remind me,” Azalea replied, wringing her hands. She’d just returned from washing them for the third time. The skin around her knuckles almost felt a little dry.

“Hey, if I had to be jumped, at least it was by an amateur,” Caliban mused, chewing his lip while staring at the ceiling. A good few minutes had passed since he'd stopped shaking and choking on air. It seemed the sheer awkwardness of having to lay across someone else’s workout equipment with his shirt half-unbuttoned was balancing out his stress.

“Good point,” K.O. agreed as he soaked yet another washcloth into the bucket of cold, clean water he’d brought from upstairs.“I don’t really work with knives, and I can still see how that idiot should’ve used a drill if he wanted to cause some real penetration.”

The resulting fit of snickers on Caliban’s part were so sudden and loud that he lurched forward. Said snickers automatically had to compete with the way Caliban sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth as K.O. swept the washcloth over the latest wound.

“. . .I should’ve seen that coming.” The mental image of a person’s guts getting all twisted around a drill bit wasn’t pretty, but Azalea still clicked her tongue and fondly rolled her eyes as she carried over a thick roll of gauze.“If Murdock isn’t around to make jokes like that, then someone else always will. Always.”

“We’ve all gotta do our part.” K.O. took the bandages, offering a proud, smug grin in return. “Okay, Cal: sit up slowly but don’t move your feet too much. And keep your arms above your stomach.”

Caliban was still giggling at the semi-dirty quip as he complied with the other mobster’s instructions. His face fell, however, as he looked down at the new gash on the left side of his abdomen. Sure, the bleeding had stopped, and sure, it was actively being hidden by layers of fresh heavy-duty bandages.

But even with the knowledge that it hadn’t gone deep enough to cause any serious infections, Azalea could tell that it hurt much more than Caliban was letting on. She sidled around K.O., careful to give him enough space as she stood beside her brother. She quietly rested one of her hands on his shoulder, trying to help him stay steady.

Despite the initial panic, things had moved nice and quickly. Time hadn’t even seemed to slow down and make everything feel worse for once.

It hadn’t exactly been pleasant to feel her brother’s blood spill onto her hands while K.O. rushed to get something more effective for applying pressure, but Azalea knew how much of a tough cookie he was. This wasn’t the first time Caliban had gotten stabbed; this wasn’t even the worst example out of all the other scars decorating his torso. If he could heal up from all those other cases, then this one would be a cakewalk. He was going to be fine.

Azalea stared into her brother’s eyes, hoping to somehow filter all those little reminders into his brain without speaking.

Caliban stared right back at her. And, judging by the way his features seemed to relax a bit more, her efforts were successful. “That’s the thing about stabbing,” he finally continued, the usual grin back on his face. “You have to know where just the right spots are if you want to be effective. Otherwise you’ll just make the rest of us look bad.”

“Well, I’m sure you can give that moron a proper demonstration once we track him down,” Azalea promised, madness flickering along her otherwise gentle expression.

The tired look returned to Caliban’s eyes. He let out a melodramatic sigh, shaking his head sulkily. “No, I really can’t.”

“Why not?” K.O. asked as he secured the last layer of padding.

“Because the guy was covered in tattoos!” Caliban threw his hands up in frustration, eyes growing wider and just a bit more wild than before. “And when I say covered, I mean COVERED! Ink like that just completely ruins the meat! Makes it taste horrible!” He made the mistake of ever-so-slightly stretching his stomach, which prompted him to grind his jaw, screw his eyes shut and fall back with yet another hiss.

“. . .So, you’re saying other types of ink could make people taste better?” K.O. wondered with a smirk.

“Yes, K.O. That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Caliban deadpanned, craning his neck to raise an eyebrow at his colleague, who held up his hands in mock surrender.

Azalea, meanwhile, kept drawing circles on Caliban’s shoulder, all the ideas on what to do to her brother’s attacker quickly forming a maze in her mind.

“. . .They weren’t even flattering tattoos,” Caliban murmured, gingerly folding his arms across his chest. “Seriously, there was a pinup girl on one of his arms and she looked like a random stranger just offered to share a toilet seat with her.”

“Did you seriously not see this coming?” Azalea inquired, halting right in front of the target. “That’s hard to believe.”

The fourth and final syringe was ready. It was almost as long as a pencil, wider than the three that had been used before it. Its needle was thicker, shinier, sharper, the meanest-looking thing in Azalea’s collection. But even if it wasn’t, that wouldn’t have mattered.

When you were handling a dosage of fresh, pure, unadulterated bullet ant venom—a substance that was infamous for literally being described as “walking over flaming charcoal with three-inch nails in your heels”—nothing really mattered.

“Turning the art festival into a gun range wasn’t enough, huh? You just couldn’t resist going after my brother yourself.”

The target’s head had been hanging. He must’ve been tired from shaking it side-to-side as if that would somehow convince his brain to magically alleviate the torment. But it suddenly jerked up like that of a marionette puppet.

Like a new, foreign weight had just settled around his shoulders, encouraging the tiny rivers of blood to keep trickling down his chest and back. Not chasing all the pain away, but somehow managing to distract him from it, if only for a moment. His bloodshot, watery eyes seemed to grow even wider than before as he stared at his torturer.

“What, couldn’t you tell?” A sarcastic chuckle bubbled up in Azalea’s throat. “I know he’s a lot taller than me, but still: isn’t the resemblance obvious?”

She pretended to mull the question over for a few long seconds, then snapped her fingers.

“Oh wait, that’s right! There really is no way you could’ve known about that.”

She rested her thumb on the syringe’s plunger. Her knuckles were turning white as she kept the barrel pinned between her index and middle finger.

“You probably didn’t even know I was there for your first little rendezvous. . .” she continued, drawing even nearer, now holding her little weapon aloft.

The target attempted to stagger back, attempted to turn his head away.

Azalea, in response, reached up and gripped his chin, digging her nails into the skin of his jaw as she forced him to face her. Her other hand was a blur, the syringe glinting hungrily.

“. . .Because you’re just a bottom-feeding coward.”

The needle sank into the target’s flesh; the left side of his abdomen, to be specific.

There was still half of the venom left in the syringe when the target started screaming. His legs gave out from under him as though his bones had dissolved into his blood. As his knees couldn’t touch the ground, he swayed to and fro in a very unnatural manner with such violent convulsions that he could’ve been mistaken for having a seizure.

He’d been screaming for the majority of the session, of course, but this scream was. . .something else. It was like nothing Azalea had ever heard before; and this wasn’t even the first time she’d used bullet ant venom.

Eh, what else could be expected from the brilliant, intense, undeniable crown queen of pain?

Even with the new ache in her ears, Azalea felt a smile etch its way across her face. It wasn’t calm just yet, but it would get there eventually. She’d reached her goal: there was no way in hell that this target wasn’t regretting his choice to screw around with her, Caliban, and the rest of their family.

“Looks like I’m done over here,” Azalea pronounced, wiping her hands as she turned to look at Murdock. “Sorry if all this noise has been bothering you.”

“Oh, not at all,” Murdock reassured, his voice suspiciously more chipper than tired.

Azalea was about to jokingly ask if he’d brought a second shovel along so she could help him finish digging out the grave.

She was about to. . .but she couldn’t.

Surprisingly enough, the way her jaw hit the ground didn’t disrupt the pile of dirt beside Murdock, which had transformed from an improvised molehill to a small mountain. It even seemed to be a couple inches taller than he was! The hole that’d been excavated was just wide enough to put an adult human in feet-first. It also seemed to go much, much deeper than six feet; a sunray was shining down into it, and yet the bottom was still shrouded in darkness!

“H-how—HOW—?!” Azalea stammered, glancing back and forth between Murdock and the pit.

“Like I said, Aza: Becky works fast,” Murdock explained without really explaining, smirking like a bastard as he rested his arms on his beloved shovel’s handle.

“AAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGH!” The target tried to add.

Azalea blinked, slowly raising her hands to massage her temples and reminding herself that she and Murdock had someone to bury. There wasn’t time to question the potential reality-bending powers of some tactical shovel. “Fine, okay, whatever. Could you just bring him down, please?”

Murdock nodded. “My pleasure.” He cradled Becky in his arms one last time before setting her back down in her leather case and returning it to the decoy mail truck. After that, he made his way over to where he’d tied the line. Azalea followed him, orbiting around the target one last time before the rope went loose.

Just because those four syringes were empty didn’t mean she wanted to waste them, after all.

@rebar2042 @sammys-magical-au

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familyofpaladins · 10 months

Text

I suddenly remembered this old oc i had a few years ago and realized that i had never really drawn the other character for the story I had started to develop in my head

The story/plot is still uuhh being developed, so it's mostly these two and a bit of world building lol

The world being sort of steampunk/ a little bit dystopian. The world is filled with automatons, have for hundreds of years. Early automatons were bulky and not very human shaped, but became more human looking over time. Although some are still bulky, they have jobs that are usually either heavy lifting (like construction or manufacturing) or appliances (they're basically walking ovens/washers/the occasional television). A Lot of the human automatons are used by the government and military, but automatons are almost everywhere.

The robot above is very old and is a bit rusty, and was shutdown for a while, so he's got some moss on him. He's been around a long time and has done repairs on himself. But he can't fix everything and so he has a bit of a memory problem. Most automatons have some kind of purpose or job. But he doesn't have one? At least not that he remembers. He tends to wander and just help people with various tasks. (such tasks include anything from helping a cat out a tree, to helping repairing a building, to stopping a mugging). Eventually he meets Jess

Jess is a kid that has been running around the city for several years. They were abandoned as a baby and never cared much for the homes or orphanages they were placed in. Jess is very good at mechanics and loves to steal. They are a gremlin despite most of the art making them look serious lol. The Automaton doesn't have a name, so Jess calls it many names: Rust Bucket, HunkAJunk, Tin Can, but most often he is called Scrappy (names start out purposefully insulting but become fond over time). At some point when Jess is helping him with repairs, they find the letters B E N on him and decide that Ben is his official name (but still calls him Scrappy) For the majority of the story Jess is actually younger than the art, around 12-14 years old. They ended up looking older when i was drawing lol

#idk why i decided to draw or post about them now #but they've been in my head the last couple days #Ben is a bit odd. He doesn't spend much time with a particular person until he meets Jess #jess doesn't really understand genders and uses whatever pronouns they want to at any given moment #this world/story is called #Scrapped #oc: ben/scrappy the automaton #oc: jess #my art #famofpaladins draws #mmmmm what else to tag #Original characters #Original work

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autumnslance · 1 year

Note

🍭why did you start writing?

💎why is writing important to you?

Have a nice day <3

These are questions I feel like I can't give a satisfactory answer beyond "cuz it just is" the same way breathing is a thing that I must do in some fashion. But here's some things I've semi-sorted out over time:

My paternal family is full of storytellers, mostly of the liar and tall-tale-teller variety. I really can't trust most of what I'm told from that side about family history and their lives cuz it's always shifting and changing and full of improbabilities, holes one can drive a semi truck through. Especially my dad's stories; he has such a desperate need to seem cool and important, making up an entire military service life that doesn't match up at all to timelines and only started after watching 80s action hero war films, and even in some cases using them to justify outright bigotry. His dad used to do the similar things, about being a pilot and war hero. My aunt at least made the stories of childhood antics sound funny, and my late uncle found humor in his many medical mishaps, exaggerated in some cases, others not.

(This is also why I cannot stand some people that will bust in constantly with one-upmanship stories or a desperate need to relate and be involved by telling tangentially related tales, and always worry I'm doing, or appearing to do, the same thing as a family trait that I can't shake)

As my aunts and dad get older, and especially with one having multiple health conditions, misunderstandings due to "medicated or not?" and also probable dementia are added in, but that's at least normal, if heartbreaking.

(I also don't interact with my family much; they aren't entirely terrible people, but we don't really operate on the same wavelengths and I tend to like them better when I'm living at least a few hundred miles away. I've tested this a few times over the last 25 years or so)

My late uncle was much younger than his 3 siblings, still a teenager when we were kids, and he was into science fiction and fantasy. He was the one who told us those stories, based on the books he was reading, or the art and statues he collected in his room. I first learned of Hobbits and Rings, and the Three Laws of Robotics, from him. I watched my first episode of Star Trek with him--TNG's "Skin of Evil" actually, and though I knew nothing of the show, the characters' interactions and response to their fallen comrade struck small me in a way. My uncle was also the one who got us to draw and practice writing by making it fun and relating it to stories. Before starting school, we'd tell him stories he'd write down for us as we scribbled out drawings. Natural progression to start writing on my own once I could.

And I had a very clear and desperate urge to learn how to read and write as a tiny sprog. I wanted to know the stories for myself, and also write down my own. Cuz it struck me, somehow, that tall tales and lies were just tall tales and lies. But write it down, give it to made up characters, and then it's a story. And one of my earliest SFF memories that wasn't an animated "kids movie" but a grown up show, was a rather human story of loss and grief, even with phasers and a guy in an oilslick suit as trappings.

I knew I liked reading (and watching, and very eventually playing) stories, and how words worked together. How one could reference other stories and bounce off those ideas and themes. How to create emotions and make people laugh or cry with just some cleverly placed words, maybe a good visual and music cues. I wanted to do that, too. And along the way was lucky enough to find adults and then peers and friends willing to encourage and nurture that desire into an actual skill.

Wish I'd kept up on the drawing, though; I had a creative streak, but my interest ended up leaning more into words. I have a decent imagination, but I didn't want to use it to be just a liar. Storyteller though, seemed far preferable an appellation, and that's at least a respectable way to use made up things to tell certain truths.

#Lyn Prompts #Fanfic Writer Asks #about me #Blogging

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 1 year

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Hi, sorry if you’ve answered this before but I was wonder what do the Tenbusches look like?

Anon, you are my favorite today as this is exactly the distraction I needed after a shitty day (and week and month and so far year). And you actually ARE the first person to officially ask me this, so I'm thrilled to answer! :) I have thought about this extensively, so long-winded answer ahead! @chestcongestion drew their interpretation of them not long ago (check it out here) and they actually got quite a few things in the right ballpark, especially since I didn't give much insight on their appearances! But let me give you the official rundown:

Thaddeus: Hair is coppery red and fluffy, eyes are bright green. The shortest of the three, but muscular and well-built, so he could be called stocky due to his height. Lots of freckles all over his body. Generally ruddy and healthy looking. Wears reading glasses as he gets older. He has crows feet and laugh lines early in life due to how much time he spends outside, and how much he loves to laugh. (Other than Padma, Thad is the one that was most spot-on in Beep's fan art!)

JB (Joel Benjamin, if anyone cares): The tallest in the family. Of Latino descent on one side, with dark, thick, wavy hair and dark eyes, but fairer skin. However, he tans quickly and easily and is dark-appearing most of the year. He's more stocky/muscular than lanky, and struggles with his physique as he ages. He also needs glasses in his older years. Generally he's very serious and slow to smile, but when he does, it's the warmest smile ever.

Theodore: Of medium height and build, though on the taller/thinner side of average. Blue eyes and thick, straight dark hair. Wears glasses always as he hates contacts and touching his eyes. On the pale side, but gets flushed with any physical activity or wind. His warm, open demeanor is evident on his face. His eyes disappear when he grins. When he smiles, everyone around him smiles.

Audra: Thick, wavy auburn hair and blue eyes, of Irish descent (her maiden name is Murphy). Average-tall height for a woman and curvy, with a generous bust and hips, but she maintains her trim waist well into retirement and works out religiously (more than any of the others), so she tends more toward muscular than slender. She wears glasses for reading and computer work. She has serious RBF and a very matter-of-fact demeanor, so she comes off as severe to most people at first, but it doesn't take long to see her soft, silly side.

Thalia: Tall and willowy, with long blonde hair and strikingly dark brown eyes. More slender than heavy. She knows she's gorgeous and knows the effect she has on people, so she always dresses the part whenever she leaves the house. She never needs glasses, which is good because she wouldn't wear them if she did. She's more likely to roll her eyes and make a sarcastic comment than smile, but just like everything else about her, her real smile is beautiful.

Padma: Of Indian descent, with brown skin and very dark hair and eyes. She's by far the shortest and thinnest of them all, petite and almost frail-looking, though she's quite healthy and gets sick the least of all six. She wears glasses whenever she works on the computer. Her hair reaches past her waist, long and thick, and seems to make up half her weight when it's loose and brushed out, though she usually wears it in some sort of braid. Gentleness exudes from her, and if she's not deep in thought, she can usually be seen with a peaceful smile on her face.

I have (imperfect) celebrity face claims for all of them. If a lot of people ask, I may share. But I'd rather you picture them for yourselves from what I've given you here.

Thank you again for asking! I really appreciate you taking an interest in my characters.

#answered asks #my ocs #OC asks #CottageVersity AU

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liz-and-the-blue-bird · 1 year

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Good evening to me

Since I've gotten some new followers: "Good ___ to me" indicate long personal posts. You don't have to read them ofc, they're mostly for me down the line.

This is kind of a weird one, it's mostly reflective stuff today. I don't usually make these without a lot of negative or at least melancholic emotions to work through. Regardless, I want to stop writing about the recent ex, but a lot of this is going to be tangential to her, so she'll pop up a few times. However, I want to focus on some personal thoughts that I've been thinking about.

Here's a song.

Right at the end of February, I took an OCEAN test or a "Big Five Personality" test. This is actually unusual among personality tests, it is actually supported by Psych research. Results tend to not change over a long period of time, etc. etc. You can take it yourself here, and be sure to share with me your results! I'd love to see them. In the meantime, here are my results:

The Extraversion and Openness to experience being so high is unusual, I think. It means a lot of what makes me comfortable involves art and people, or perhaps as an extension of that, expressing myself and communicating. With this context in mind, I've started to look back at my personal history. Moments where I'm sad or melancholic, I tend to write. When I was very young, it started with poetry, but now it has evolved into these journal entries. And I guess the reason I prefer to make them public is because of that extraversion, that longing to communicate with people my ideas or emotion.

Speaking of, I found a bunch of old notebooks the first week of March. So I've been reading through them all. And by a lot, I mean a lot:

And then, even older notebooks.

You can tell these are older because I doodled things on them. I never doodle anymore.

The first batch, the moleskins and stuff like that are primarily journals. Or at the very least, notes on what happened. The one that is open actually started 4 days after the ex 8 years ago. After a week of being sad and noting every single thing that has been happening, it abruptly jumps 8 months to me complaining about something else because I was not a very consistent note taker.

Meanwhile the one with the bird on it is actually a poetry notebook, before I started preferring to write exclusively online aka in the tumblr editor. The last poem written in there is Sucks. Then I stopped writing poetry for a very long time, and a lot of my writing energy became these journal entries, as well as other stuff on this blog, usually regarding anime.

The older notebooks, the spirals, are pretty much all poetry notebooks back from middle school and early high school. Though there's a few where I just doodled a bunch. They date all the way back to end of middle school.

But the poems SUCK. Like they're REALLY BAD. Most of them are actually on DeviantArt however, so they actually had an audience. Had.

I enjoyed looking through them. Interestingly, a lot of the love poems in them are reference to my first first girlfriend in middle school/high school. There was even a photo of us from back then, which was a big surprise. I don't remember much from her other than, well, making out a lot. I liked making out. I still do, but it started there.

We were a problem. We made out on all the band trips home. We would be late to band practice because I had brought her to a quiet corner of the school to just make out with her straddling me or me grabbing her butt. We made out so much in the practice rooms that the band directors ended up putting up signs in the band room saying to limit PDA ("no purpling" I think is what they said).

But I digress. I don't know her anymore. And she has such a common name that I wouldn't be able to stalk her if I wanted to.

Here's an indie song I just learned about and have recently been obsessed with.

I already kind of feel normal. I have spikes down but I've started waking up at 7/10 instead of 3/10 and winding up. 7/10 is about my default state. 10/10 is like... On a date with a girlfriend who I know is excited to be with me. 1/10 is trying to decide if life is worth living. 7/10 is "would dance to One Direction if it started playing right now".

I had a moment about a month after the break up where I just had a really bad breakdown. It was a combination of some more bottled up thoughts about the relationship that I had trouble finding a reason to write down or tell anyone and how poorly I had been taking care of myself and my surroundings because of my mental state. And I told it all out to a very old friend of mine. She comforted me but she said something that has made me feel better the most since the break up happened.

"But the fact that you're here, telling me this in this moment, just shows how much you cared and how much you can care for people."

It made me feel better. A lot better.

My capacity to care.

I care about a lot of things, very deeply, and often for very little reason. Stuff like the most efficient route to work, or my specific boba order that tries to get the "most drink per drink." How I tend to pause and stare at the sky for no real reason other than it's there and I won't see another like it. How I overthink things and memorize useless things. But this is the first time that that I've been told and thus realized, that it is no weakness or weirdness.

It's a strength. It's just me. A tremendous capacity to care.

I've been holding on to that ever since. I hope I don't forget it. Because from my old poetry and journal entrees, I tend to let girls and myself gaslight me into thinking that me caring about them so much, "too much" is a fault of my own. It isn't.

It isn't. It isn't. It isn't.

It is simply me.

But anyway.

I've started talking to a new girl. I've made it clear I just got out of a relationship, just to be fair to her, and tbh I'm not super certain on her, but it feels like I just want to see where this goes. I just really really want to meet people right now.

I think I have always had this fetish for nostalgia. Where I couldn't fall in love with anyone who I hadn't known for a long time. I think I learned about this very recently, and was why I was so aromatic until I re-met the ex. When I realized it, I started thinking I needed to grow out of it in some way. Especially if I'm actively trying to meet someone new. It's not that I wouldn't open up to people, I've always been a chronic oversharer (see, um, this entire tumblr post series), but rather I wouldn't feel supremely comfortable with people until I knew them for years.

But then a friend told me that my music taste is nostalgia. After I linked her that song I just linked. Because a lot of songs I send to her have this nostalgic feeling, even between different bands, genres, languages. Sometimes it's sad nostalgia, sometimes it's happy nostalgia, but it's definitely a longing for something deep and sentimental.

And I had just learned about that song.

This changed my feelings towards my "nostalgia fetish." I don't think I am looking for people who I have known for years. It just so happens that lot of my closest friends are that because I'm old and that's just how friends are when you're old. But I think it's moreso I'm looking for someone who has this same sentimentality. This same depth of emotion when looking at something old or close to them. My fetish for nostalgia isn't nostalgia for the person, but nostalgia in the person.

At least, I hope so.

Whatever, I'm looking forward to meeting new people.

Last song.

Many years ago, I remember the first time I felt normal after that break up. It was like 10 or 11pm and I was bringing someone home. They lived in Round Rock but I lived in downtown Austin, since I was a UT student at the time. After dropping them off, I still had like a 20 minute drive and I had just learned that The Summer Set's album, Legendary, had a deluxe edition, which that song I just linked is a part of. I look them up on youtube and hit play.

And on that drive home I found peace, somehow. I remember stopping before getting to the highway, next to a unkempt grassy field, and standing there, looking at the sky. I missed the sky and stars. I missed that hour drive home from her house when it was getting dark and you could see the constellations because I was between 2 medium sized cities. I missed that bumpy road that seemed perpetually under construction and twisted and winded and didn't make sense. I was a lonely boy who didn't have a place that felt like home and didn't know where he was going to end up. But I knew and, at least in that moment, was fine with it.

I still am that boy. But that constantly under construction road got finished in the past 8 years. That starry sky was gone, I noticed, from our drives to Austin together—too many small towns and buildings had popped up, too much light pollution. I thought I found a place person like home but it was a dusty extended stay motel that I ended up staying at for 5 months, with too high of a rent and a crummy landlord.

Last time I felt over her, I remember saying that my daydreams no longer had a girl on my shoulder. I felt really aromatic. Really antisocial. I became an island. And I don't know if I'm trying to replace her or what, but I don't think that will happen this time. I might be fine without a partner, but I know I am better with one. I know I'm ready.

For anything, really.

#the kyoukai no kanata gifs are important to me too #for some reason i associate it deeply with college and the ex #i have weird associations i think #i mean i describe songs with taste flavors #when i was in uni i made playlists named after drinks #anyway i digress #to me #this might be the last one for a while #thank you everyone who spends the time reading these #as well as anyone who just spends time interacting with me #i consider you all friends

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