#patch bei

[cloudtaleblog]

Siblings ✨

my bei shipkid(??) idk battle-made kid lol

Patch (BEI) belongs to me!

Sapphire (Glue) belongs to @cxte-fireafy

Error and Blueberry (The Ask Error one) belongs to @loverofpiggies

Ink belongs to @comyet

Gin belongs to @dreemurr-skelememer

[kabr0ztrousers]

Fem reader who is attracted to her were-gator step dad. He's got a deep voice and a bulky body that he proudly shows off. She often rifles through his laundry to smell his musk. This time she finds cum stained boxers and brings it to her room and starts smelling and licking it. She touches herself and moans his name. Well the step dad hears this and apologizes to her for not noticing how lonely she's been. He makes it up to her by fucking her stupid.

Kabr0z Writes episode 127: Step-Gator

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

Find the AO3 series here!

CWs: Step-cest; age difference; oral sex; enthusiastic consent;

A/N: This one might be a little rough, it was a heavy night last night and I've been hanging out my arse for most of the day. Have fun 😅

###########################################

For the past few months, one man above all others has driven you wild. Tall, barrel-chested, dark grey-green scales, always smelling of cement dust even when he tried to mask it with his deep, sultry cologne. Every time you saw him, you felt a wet patch growing in your pants. You'd had to invest in some reusable liners to stop your wetness bleaching your underwear. He was kind, suave, and knew exactly how to talk to a lady. The sort of perfect man you'd only hear about in cheesy rom-coms. Hell, he even volunteered at a bird sanctuary. There were only really two problems that stopped you asking him out. Firstly, he was more than old enough to be your father. That you could work around, you're sure. The other issue is a little tougher: his wife. More specifically, his wife is your mother.

So you had to take matters into your own hands. You tried redirecting your attentions on boys your age, you even tried to find older unmarried men, but the string of online dates leading to meaningless sex didn't slake your thirst. You'd been through boyfriends almost as quick as you went through socks, nobody able to scratch the itch that's been building in you for so long. There was one trick though. One of the chores you're responsible for is the laundry.

It sounds cliche, to sit on the corner of a running washing machine, holding a used jockstrap to your face, but oh God did it work. You felt like you could get off on his musk alone, the rumbling machine underneath you just an aid to give you an excuse to be in here uninterrupted. The corner shaking against your cunt didn't do any harm either though, and the sound of the drum spinning more than drowned out your moans in an ocean of white noise.

Of course, while the sound of the washing machine meant you couldn't be heard, it meant you couldn't hear anyone else moving around the house. You didn't hear the front door opening as he came home early. You didn't hear him putting away his work clothes, or starting to change into his sports gear. You were much too preoccupied to notice the dusty hi-vis jacket falling down the laundry chute into the basket next to the washing machine. The first you were aware of your not being alone in the house was when the door to the laundry room opened and he saw you. You were halfway through a toe-curling orgasm. One hand pressed his underwear to your face, the other slick with your wetness, three fingers stuffed into you.

He froze, mouth open. You tried to cover yourself, but your knickers hanging off one ankle and the scent of your cunt in the air left nothing to the imagination, not to mention the whines escaping you as the vibrations rolled up your body, lighting your nerves on fire. You stared at each other for a moment, then he stepped forward. His hand slid under your hair, palm flat to your scalp before he closed his fist, gripping a handful of hair from the back of your head and pulling you off the washing machine. If he was trying to discipline you, he was doing a poor job. You felt yourself blush harder, yelping as your knees hit the tiled floor.

He wasn't trying to punish you, or if he was he had an odd way of going about it. Your face was being pressed up against the bulge in his underwear. The smell of warm, fresh sweat and the particular musk from his balls filled your senses. You grabbed his waistband and tugged, pulling off his boxers and getting a faceful of his balls, his cock flopping onto the side of your head. You held them to you, licking and kissing the soft scaled skin of his scrotum, listening to his grunts as he ground your face into him.

"You want some more?" His growl was like nothing you'd heard before. Rumbling, bassy, coloured with barely contained desire. You nodded, still tasting him. You whined as he pulled you away, until he pushed two fingers into your mouth, holding your jaw open as he guided you to his cock. You stuck your tongue out, eager to taste the dripping member in front of you. The musk was even stronger coming from his cock, warm and intoxicating. The tip poised against your mouth, he took his fingers out of your mouth, letting you tongue touch the tip, a drop of precum oozing onto you.

His hand landed on the back of your head before he forced himself into your throat. You felt yourself dripping as he pumped your head over his cock, one of your hands dropping between your legs to service your greedy clit, even as his length made you gag. His hips worked like a piston, driving him in and out even as he pushed you down. Your vision began to grey at the edges. You didn't want to stop, not until-

You came. Your toes clenched as your hand rubbed in circles around your clit. Juices dripped from you as your cunt clenched. You lost your balance, slipping slightly, held up onto his cock by your hair. The flash of pain as your hair tugged sent another wave through you, making you whine around the merciless face-fucking

"Damn, you're a slut aren't you? Should I cum down your throat, or make myself a grandkid?"

You could only gurgle, throat filled with cock. He pulled you off him. You gasped for breath, finally able to breathe properly. He pulled you up to your feet, turning you around to bend over the still-running washing machine. Your tiptoes brushed the tiles. He grabbed your arm and twisted it up behind your back, pinning you to the machine as his tip kissed your entrance. You bit your lip, stifling a groan. Your back arched up to him, taking the tip between your folds. He pulled on your hair, bending you backwards as he buried himself in you. His fanged jaw dipped next to your ear

"You're wetter than your mother" He thrust in hard, making you gasp "tighter too"

You grinned, squeezing him with your pussy "Maybe you're just big"

He chuckled, fucking you harder. Your clit pressed against the rumbling machine. Nectar flowed from your cunt, coating your clit. Every thrust slapped his balls into you even as the machine under you rumbled. Your eyes rolled, knees bending and toes curling as you wailed in release. One hand clutched his in your hair, the other balled into a fist behind your back. You kicked your legs as you saw stars, screaming through clenched teeth. You could feel every bump and ridge on his cock as you clenched around it. He groaned, burying himself in you, moaning your name as you felt him twitch and throb. Hot cum filled you. You tried to wrap your legs around him, but you didn't need to hold on to him. He was buried in you, still trying to thrust deeper as his pendulous balls emptied themselves into you. His cum flooded you as he tugged harder, leaning on your arm as you both settled, twitching and panting, both having fucked each other out.

You sighed as he released you, shaking the stiffness out of your arm. He pulled out, leaving you weak and leaking on top of the appliance.

"I'm going for a shower. When you've cleaned up a little we can go for ice cream, my treat." He stroked your hair and turned for the door "And don't worry, your mom already knows"

#######################################

Have a request? A suggestion? Just want to confess a kink? My asks are open!

And for the record, between starting this and finishing it I've eaten and am feeling much better 😁

[undomesticated-catgirl]

im a snapjaw. im bitin the fart bubbles in the watervine patch. we smokin qudzu symbiotes. smokin that south sunderlies house isner deluxe megadram kasaphescence kush. we smokin beetlebum. im on 12 ubernostrum injectors smokin on q girl dick. we smokin mangrove gelatinous prism boogers. we snortin that good six day stilt hot and spiny jibblies. they must have amnesia, they forgot that im xem. that bey lah backwoods pack hittin that hindrussy smell like a chitinous puma. we smokin shit from a glass hookah blowin shekhinah's bubbles. im sick in the head. im on that rainbow wood soupy sludge. im on them ekuemekiyyen greens. im on them omonporch asphodelytes. i left my zetachrome pumps in the reliquary, i'll have to stunt on them next time. i don't give a fuck if i get decapitated, i don't need that head anyway. im high on 12 pax klanqs, lookin to beat the cum out of an irritable palm. we smokin dilute warm static you stupid piece of shit, i'll fuckin kill you. call that pussy the asphalt mines, cause im in this bitch and i can't get out. last guy who ran off on the pack got choked out by some ulnar stimulators. the last thing he ever saw was the engraving on them. slowly faded into darkness, and i let the argent fathers take him.

[clumsydolly]

Obey me x Deuce Spade!Reader Part 2!

3 Younger brothers!

Warnings!⚠️: mentions of gang violence

Thank you for the ask! Please send more I'm loving these! The last one will be coming up in the next post since this is sooooooo long!

Asmodeus

Asmodeus took one look at you — panting from sprinting to class, tie askew, shoes scuffed, one hand clutching a cracked RAD binder and the other waving wildly as you yelled, “SORRY I’M LATE, I WAS WRITING A PRACTICE ESSAY ABOUT ETHICS!!!” — and decided immediately:

You were precious.

Not just cute though the determined sparkle in your eye was kind of cute but precious, in the way a chaotic, loud, blushy, absolutely earnest soul was in a sea of too-cool demons and tired celestial beings.

“Ohhh, sweetheart,” Asmo cooed as you tripped over your chair leg and collapsed onto your desk. “Are you alright? Emotionally, spiritually, and fashionably?”

You groaned into your notebook. “I just want to be an honor student so my mom can brag about me to the neighbors…”

Asmo clapped his hands. “A family-focused, hardworking, slightly messy disaster?! You're just my type!...well even though I don't completely have one....but who cares!”

At first, you didn’t quite know how to handle Asmo. You were too busy obsessing over flashcards and trying not to cry in front of Lucifer after forgetting to label your potion diagram.

Asmo would flutter into your study sessions, interrupting with dramatic gasps every time you forgot to moisturize or skipped lunch. You’d be mid-breakdown over whether “demon hierarchy” was supposed to be capitalized and suddenly get slapped in the face with an under-eye patch.

“Darling, if you're going to have an academic crisis, at least do it with hydrated skin.”

You didn’t understand him this effortlessly fabulous, glittery chaos sprite who cared more about your self-care than your quiz scores. But slowly, Asmo became a constant in your journey.

He wasn’t a tutor. He wasn’t trying to teach you demon history or correct your grammar. What he did was show up with snacks, dance music, and a new lip gloss for “confidence enhancement.” He called them “beauty battle buffs.” You took the name seriously.

You once called him the “self-care paladin of the Devildom” and he teared up like you just gave him an award.

When you confessed how badly you wanted to succeed how your past mistakes haunted you, how people always seemed to think you’d fail, and how every “A” felt like proof you weren’t a screw-up anymore Asmo didn’t brush it off.

He didn’t make a joke or go soft with pity.

Instead, he said, “Honey, I know what it’s like to want to shine so brightly that no one can see your cracks. But trust me — the cracks are where the sparkle gets in.”

He hugged you so tight you forgot to panic.

After that, Asmo got invested.

He color-coded your notebooks for you. He set alarms on your D.D.D. so you’d take breaks. He threatened to report professors who gave unclear assignment instructions (Lucifer had to intervene more than once).

He also started doing “pop quizzes” on emotional regulation.

You’d be ranting about a dumb grade curve and he’d ask, “Okay, Y/n, on a scale from one to ‘I’m gonna throw hands,’ how mad are you, and how hydrated have you been today?”

You never knew if you wanted to cry or laugh. Usually both.

Asmo also taught you the art of the confidence selfie. Before every big test, you had to take a pic together you doing your best Serious Academic Face™, him holding a “You Got This, Baby!” glitter sign.

He put the best ones in a folder labeled “Y/n’s Hot Honor Student Glow-Up.”

He didn’t just hype you up. He saw you. The weird mix of rage, sweetness, awkward charm, and absolute loyalty that made up the very core of who you were.

One day, when you were so tired you fell asleep face-first on your workbook, Asmo pulled a blanket over you and whispered, “You’re already enough, you know. Grades or no grades.”

You grumbled in your sleep about thesis formatting.

He smiled. “And adorable.”

Of course, being Asmo, he also tried to use your academic success as an excuse to throw “Honor Student Celebrations” complete with party hats and choreographed dances. You drew the line at confetti cannons in the RAD library.

Mostly.

But every time you stumbled, every time you doubted yourself, Asmo was there reminding you that striving for growth didn’t mean hating who you were. That working hard didn’t mean punishing yourself for not being perfect. That even if you tripped on your own shoelaces and knocked over five desks in the middle of a lecture, you were still worthy of being seen. Loved. Celebrated.

“You don’t have to become someone else to be enough, Y/n,” he’d say. “You just have to see yourself the way I do brave, ridiculous, sparkling, and so, so good.”

And maybe, just maybe… you were starting to believe him.

____

Bonus

Y/n's mom took one look at Asmodeus and frowned.

"Why are your buttons undone."

"Because I'm fabulous, darling!"

"You're going to catch a cold."

Asmo shrieked.

Despite the rocky start, Asmodeus quickly became fascinated by how utterly immune she was to his charm. No blushing. No swooning. She just kept giving him disappointed PTA mom stares like he was a kid who failed math class.

But the kicker? She liked him.

"You're too much. But... you make my child laugh. So you're alright."

He gasped. That was the first time he felt seen. Like, actually Mom-approved seen.

From that point on, he asked her for skincare tips, and she asked him how to stop her aging app from blurring her eyebrows. It was a fair trade.

Beelzebub

You met Beelzebub the same way anyone meets Beel accidentally running into a wall of muscle and nearly bouncing off like a tennis ball.

“Oh—! I’m sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going, I was trying to memorize chemical reactions while also carrying three textbooks and a meat pie for lunch because if I don’t eat I get dizzy but also I think I failed the last quiz and—!”

Beel stared down at you mid-ramble, blinking slowly, and then reached over to gently take two of the textbooks off your stack like it was no big deal.

“You should eat first,” he said with the sincerity of a priest delivering a holy commandment. “You can memorize later.”

You blinked up at him. “Oh. Um. Okay.”

And just like that, you earned a permanent seat next to Beel at lunch.

At first, it was a little intimidating. The guy looked like he could bench-press Cerberus, and the way he inhaled food was borderline alarming. But Beel never made you feel small or silly, even when you got flustered explaining how you were trying to be a “reliable, reformed, academically respectable model student.” In fact, Beel nodded like that was a totally normal thing to say between bites of demon lasagna.

You learned quickly that Beel didn’t speak much, but when he did, it mattered. When you were stressed and muttering about how your mom deserved a child who didn’t blow up their alchemy set three times in one semester, Beel just looked at you calmly and said:

“She’d probably just be proud you didn’t give up.”

You nearly choked on your sandwich.

From then on, it was like you became his academic gym buddy except instead of lifting weights, you were lifting yourself out of a C-average spiral and trying not to cry every time a professor reminded you that “intent isn’t the same as results.”

Beel was ridiculously supportive in his quiet way. He didn’t give motivational speeches or fuss over you like Asmo. He didn’t even fully understand some of the subjects you were studying. But he’d show up every time. With snacks. With patience. With that calm energy that made your racing thoughts feel less like a storm and more like a breeze.

When you wanted to scream over a bad grade? Beel just passed you a protein bar and waited. When you wanted to skip dinner because you had “so much work to do,” Beel picked you up like a potato sack and carried you to the kitchen.

“Can’t study if you pass out,” he said. You didn’t argue. Mostly because his biceps were terrifying.

You found out later that Beel did understand the pressure. He wanted to be reliable too for his brothers, for Belphie, for everyone. He knew what it was like to feel like you had to earn your place by always being good, always being strong, always being enough.

That’s when things shifted.

You started packing extra food in your lunch for him little things you made yourself, sometimes a little burnt, sometimes overly seasoned, but always made with care. Beel ate them all. Every single time.

You started walking home with him after class, talking about everything and nothing. You’d vent about an upcoming test, then ask him what his favorite dessert was. (Answer: all of them.)

Beel never teased you for being awkward, or loud, or getting too passionate about demon law reform. He liked it when you got excited. Said it made you “look like the food was finally ready.”

The first time you accidentally fell asleep on him during a study break, he just adjusted his position so you didn’t drool on his jacket.

“You’re trying really hard,” he murmured to your sleeping form. “I see it.”

You never heard him say it, but when you woke up, there was a perfectly wrapped sandwich in your hand with a sticky note that read “Eat this or I��ll be sad :(."

After that, you stopped trying to be perfect.

Not completely. You still studied like your life depended on it. You still panicked before tests. You still wrote practice essays titled things like “How Not to Be a Disappointment: A 10-Step Plan.”

But you also ate lunch. Took breaks. Laughed more. Tripped a little less over your own expectations.

Because now, you had Beel.

He didn’t just carry your books. He carried your guilt, your doubts, your need to prove yourself. Quietly. Steadily. Like it was no big deal.

And when you got your first A in Demon Ethics, you ran down the hall yelling “I DID IT!” at full volume.

Beel met you halfway. Lifted you into the air with one arm like you weighed nothing, grinning from ear to ear.

“I knew you would,” he said.

Then he ate your congratulatory cupcake in one bite.

You didn’t even mind.

_____

Bonus

Y/n's mom handed Beel a tupperware container the moment he walked in.

"You look hungry. Eat this."

It was over. Beel was in love. Not romantically, just... emotionally. Spiritually. Cosmically.

She cooked like a legend and scolded him like a son. Beel spent exactly four minutes trying to be polite before giving in and eating an entire pot of stew.

"He eats like your uncle."

"You said I don’t have an uncle, you're an only child."

"Exactly."

He tried to offer to help clean, but she waved him off.

"Just keep protecting my baby. And try not to eat anything cursed, please."

Beel nodded solemnly, a meatball hanging from his mouth.

Belphegor

Meeting Belphegor was not your most graceful moment.

You had just spent three straight nights trying to memorize every demon law amendment from the last three centuries because “I will make honor roll this semester or die trying,” and promptly passed out on the stairs in the House of Lamentation.

You woke up to a face about an inch from yours, staring at you like you'd just rolled into his nap zone uninvited.

“…Did you die?”

“Not yet.”

“Lame.”

And just like that, Belphegor decided you were tolerable.

Well tolerable in the way you were a little weird, a little too upright for your own good, and carried the air of someone trying way too hard not to mess up. That amused him. You were like a tiny, chaotic wind-up honor student that occasionally exploded into panic. Very entertaining. Very loud. Very dramatic.

“I have to pass this next exam or my mother is going to vaporize me with a single glare.”

“...Sounds fake.”

“It’s not! Her eye twitches before she kills.”

“...."

"...."

"Okay you're right she's super supportive, but I still wanna make her proud!"

Despite his love for naps and general hatred of effort, Belphie found himself weirdly drawn to your energy. You were constantly flinging yourself into responsibilities and tripping over your own motivation, like a demon-slaying Roomba.

You, on the other hand, had no idea how to handle Belphie.

You’d walk into the attic to grab some old textbooks and he’d be draped across the floor like laundry left out to dry.

“You’ve been asleep for eight hours.”

“Wrong. I woke up after five. Then I watched you panic over your essay for two hours. Then I fell back asleep.”

“…You watched me??”

“Yeah. Your hair fluffed out like a murder bird. It was cute.”

Cute.

You nearly passed away on the spot.

But somewhere between your seventh panic attack over “not being smart enough” and Belphie telling you to “just set the library on fire and start fresh,” a weird friendship settled in.

He’d appear in the library, half-awake, tossing a pillow at your head before you could spiral.

“Don’t even start. You already know you’re trying too hard. Take a nap. You’ll be less annoying after.”

You’d complain. Loudly. You’d say things like “But if I sleep now, I’ll dream of my GPA crumbling like stale cookies.” But you’d still curl up beside him anyway, mumbling formulas into his shoulder until you passed out.

Belphie was surprisingly patient with your goals. He didn’t get why you were killing yourself trying to be the perfect student but he respected it. Sort of. In a “you’re insane but also determined and I guess that’s hot” kind of way.

What really confused him was how easily you admitted to your mistakes.

“I used to be kind of awful. Got into fights. Broke stuff. Screamed at vending machines. I’m trying to be better now.”

Belphie blinked at you. “You… admit that?”

“Why lie about it? I was dumb. Now I’m just medium-dumb with better habits.”

He laughed so hard he snorted.

It was the honesty, maybe. You didn’t pretend to be perfect. You weren’t afraid to be the punchline if it meant making someone laugh. And you didn’t treat Belphie like a landmine you just… existed around him. Even when you knew what he’d done in the past.

“I used to… hurt people,” he muttered once, during one of your library naps. “I’m not always someone worth trusting.”

You peeked open one eye.

“Well, I’m not always someone worth betting on, but here we are.”

That was the thing. You never asked him to change. You didn’t ask him to apologize for his past a thousand times. You just kept being there a hurricane of ambition and accidental vulnerability wrapped in a tie that was always a little crooked.

And Belphie?

He kept showing up, too.

He’d bring you snacks from Beel when you forgot to eat. He’d yank your pen out of your hand when you hit your fourth hour of overthinking an essay. He even started letting you win at pillow fights (though he’d never admit it).

When you finally passed that brutal demon history exam with a high score, you came running into the attic yelling like you’d just discovered fire.

“I DID IT, BELPH! I PASSED! I—”

You tripped on a pile of blankets and face-planted next to his mattress.

“…Congrats,” he said, not even looking up. “Now shut up and nap. You earned it.”

So you did.

And for once, your dreams weren’t about grades or failure or your mom sighing over your report card. They were quiet. Warm. Calm.

Like you’d finally found someone who didn’t care whether you were a delinquent turned honor student or just an exhausted mess.

To him, you were enough either way.

_____

Bonus

The showdown between Belphie and Y/n's mom was...tense.

He tried to sleep on the couch the second he got there. She hit him with a rolled-up newspaper.

"Get your feet off the cushions."

"...I see the resemblance now," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

But oddly enough, she liked him. He didn't talk much, didn’t fake anything, and most importantly, didn’t try to sweet-talk his way out of accountability. She respected that.

She even gave him a weighted blanket before bed.

"You need it more than you know."

He stared at her, half-asleep.

"I get why Y/n turned out okay now. You’re terrifying."

"And you're welcome."

They both understood each other on a deeply passive-aggressive level. It worked.

Thank you for reading!! I will have the last part out soon! Please send more asks as usual Reblogs are encouraged and appreciated! 🩷

[howi99]

Project ARC remake 20

Qrow: *rolling his eyes* This is getting ridiculous, Ozpin. Glynda is a complete mess and Jaune regressed mentally to a 10 year old?

Ozpin: *sigh* From what i understood, speaking with him, it's less that he has the mental faculties of a 10 year old and more that he has the memories of one. He's also slowly getting his memory from Beacon back, so he should be able to reintegrate-

Qrow: Oz! *Slamming his hand on the table* We both know he can't go back soon. *Looking pissed* The kid is having phantom pains from- *shaking his head* urgh, just thinking about it makes me sick.

Ozpin: *sigh* So you want me to go against Glynda's wish and warn Atlas that we found him?

Qrow: ... Can't believe myself for saying that, but yes. *Drink from his flask* It's either that, or the kid might remember something he really shouldn't.

___________________________________________

Glynda: *looking at her little brother with pain in her heart* Jaune...

Jaune: *wearing an eye patch* W-well, the pain disappears when i'm blocking my vision. So with that, i should be fine, ok? *Smile* You don't need to worry too much about me, right?

Glynda: ...

Jaune: *scratching the back of his neck* Look, i won't be long. I'm just gonna get some eggs and prepare some Vale toast.

Glynda: *panicking* J-Jaune, wait i-

Jaune: *putting his hand on her shoulder* Sis, you can't be with me all the time. *Calming smile* I won't disappear or anything. Just... Sit and relax. Think of today as a vacation day, ok?

Glynda: ... *Looking at the ground* Ok...

Jaune: *nod* Good. I'll be back in a jiffy! *Leave*

Glynda: *closing her eyes* It's gonna be fine, he's gonna be fine...

___________________________________________

Cinder: Tsk, nothing to eat. *Closing the fridge door, taking a look at the rest of the little studio she took for herself with a sigh* At least, i'm not living with that psychopath... And it's comfier than Evernight. *As she said those words, her stomach grumbled* Urgh, fine, i'll go buy something to eat. *She puts casual clothes on herself before leaving the apartment*

___________________________________________

Cinder: *panicking, as the man who fought her in Mistral is now smiling at her with a dumb look* I-i-i-i-

Jaune: *looking apologetically at her* Sorry to have startled you, but could you take a step to the left? *Point behind her* i'm trying to get some milk and-

Cinder: *trying to protect herself from what she is assuming is going to be round two of her getting almost killed* I-i know how to defend myself and-

Jaune: *perplexed* What? *Realising he's completely in her personal space* O-oh, sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you! *Sheepish laugh* I lost a lot of memories and i keep forgetting i'm not just a kid anymore.

Cinder: *blinking* U-uh!?

Jaune: So uh... *Point, again, behind her* Can i get the milk?

Cinder: ... *Shaking her head, stepping aside* You can take it! I-i don't need it.

Jaune: *smile* Thank you.

Cinder: *still completely terrified* S-sure, no problem!

___________________________________________

Cashier: Sorry, but your credit card was declined.

Cinder: *slumping* But i only took some bread...

Jaune: *who just finished packing up his food* Would you like to eat with me and my sister?

Cinder: *startled* WHAH! S-STOP APPEARING FROM NOWHERE!

Jaune: *wince* S-sorry, i just wanted to make up for the fright i caused you...

Cinder: *looking at the loaf of bread in her hand then at the mountain of food Jaune is bringing back to "his" apartment* I... *Her hunger won over her fear* Fine. B-but just a quick bite.

Jaune: *smiling* Of course!

___________________________________________

Cinder: *sitting at the table of the second in command of Ozpin and the thing that tried to kill her* ...

Glynda: *sigh* Jaune, you really should stop trying to help everyone you see. It's a bad habit.

Jaune: *who just finished making breakfast* But you always told me to be the best i can be. Isn't helping those who can't feed themselves a part of being the best i can?

Glynda: *wince* I-i know i said that, b-but people can be dangerous and i don't want you to get hurt.

Cinder: ... *Internally screaming* I-i d-didn't know she was y-your s-s-sister.

Glynda : *Eyes widening* J-Jaune!? I told you to keep people from knowing!

Jaune: *wince* I totally forgot, my bad... *Placing the "French" toast on the table, along with bacon and eggs* Can you forgive me with a little bit of bribery?

Glynda: ... *Sigh with a smile* Sure, you may buy your way out of it... For now.

Cinder: *stomach growling at the sight of the food* ...

Jaune: *smiling at the (unknown) criminal* You can pick what you want, i don't eat much anyway.

___________________________________________

Cinder: *now back at her apartment* ... *Looking at the nicely packed food Jaune gave to her* ... *Then thinking back on the "conversation" she had with Tyrian two days ago* ... That's so unfair...

[Now, for everyone that thinks Cinder is out of character, remember that A) she doesn't have any power from the maiden, so her confidence is actually low and B) she stole a part of Jaune's soul in their fight. Basically the soul of an angel which is slowly but noticeably having an impact on her own.]

[historicalbookimages]

🦜 Gemeinnüzzige Naturgeschichte des Thierreichs bd 2 plates Berlin ;bei Gottlieb August Lange, 1780-1789. Original source Image description: Historical illustration of a blue and yellow macaw (Psittacus Ararauna Linn) perched on a gnarled tree branch. The bird displays vivid blue feathers on its wings and back, a yellow-orange chest with feather patterns, and a green patch on its head. It has a strong, curved black beak and sharp claws gripping the branch. Surrounding the tree base are small plants and foliage, with a naturalistic background. Hand-colored with fine detailing typical of 18th-century natural history prints, the artwork includes multilingual labels identifying the species. The image combines scientific accuracy with artistic style from the late 1700s.

[ilovefreedelahoya]

Yap time

The way beyblade deals with certain emotions is really good imo

Im mainly gonna focus on disappointment, persistence/determination, fustration, growth, pride, and many things like that.

Every blader wants to win, and when they don’t, they get fustrated. All bladers deal with it differently. Some(Shu) throw their beys on the ground and scream. Others(Valt) are filled with determination to try again and get stronger. Bell fell into a mini depression after Rashad broke Belia. Beyblade is also not scared to let the boys cry over broken beys, it’s their passion and spirit of their soul pratically, and it was destroyed while they had such high hopes of winning. This disappointment and frustration is similar to how people today feel about sports. Training and pushing their body to the limit just to lose and get mad at themself or teammates. This happens all the time in beyblade burst evolution, after Free left BC Sol, everyone went through a rough patch filled with disappointment and many quitting. Because of that, however, they were also filled with determination to get better, allowing them to become the number one team.

Teamwork and friendships. They’re really important in beyblade because friends help each other get stronger and teams work together to win. If there’s no harmony between bladers, they lose. If they fight, they’re going to lose. If they split, they’re going to lose. Beyblade teaches that sometimes you can’t always have your way and you need to work together and listen to each other to actually accomplish what you strive for. There are multiple instances within the series, Shu and Valt, Free and BC Sol, Basara and Bel’s group, Valt and Rashad, Aiga and his sister even.

Passion and limits. Aiga, shu, lain, Free, Rashad, and Phi are pretty good examples of being obsessed with power. All except Free had became corrupted with the want for power and ended up breaking people’s beys. I won’t add Bell to the list because he genuinely cared about the bey he accidentally broke, Ragnaruk and tried to help valt after damaging Valkyrie. I added Free because of his limits. He cared about blading so much that he had hurt himself on multiple occasions to be the best. In the manga he literally self harms to be mors serious and can we mention how he used to train with freaking boulders??? Now he’s better, in DB i haven’t seen him go crazy and he takes up meditation to focus instead of hurting (i talk abt it a bit more in my fanfic) Shu also pushes past his limits on multiple occasions that ends up hurting his shoulder. So beyblade says “know your limits” and “don’t pull a Free/Shu and get hurt because we’ll get sued”

But also the passion part that i got sidetracked from… it can be dangerous sometimes. Do i need to bring up Joshua’s obsession with Free? Sure, later. But Aiga’s passion compared to Valt’s passion is different. Valt wants to have fun, Aiga just wants to win. Along with Phi, Lain, Shu, Free, Rashad, etc. etc. but they don’t care about who gets hurt even if it’s themselves. Lain just fought to consume other people’s power. Aiga and Phi and Lain wanted to be number one so they broke people’s beys in the process. It’s really dangerous to lose oneself to that passion and it carries on to real life as you could genuinely get yourself or others hurt. For example, getting too passionate for sports and cheating just for a win like the Steriods incident in the olympics that couldve actually injured the athletes. So on and so forth…

With joshua, it’s not that deep. Bro jumped off a building cuz Free did. I mean yeah they had parachutes but are the two of them even licensed to use them???? Whatever it’s a cartoon and Joshua is like 20… HOWEVER FREE IS CANONICALLY 11 IN EVOLUTION AND BRO LIFTS BOULDERS?!?! I’M OLDER THAN HIM AND I CAN’T EVEN CARRY MY BACKPACK FOR SCHOOL- maybe i should start addinng boulders to my workout…

Pride. Mainly Free’s, Lui’s, and Bell’s. Do I need to say much other than it makes them underestimate others and makes them more upset when they lose because of the disappointment thing i talked about- Imagine having pride in your work where you won’t even look at another persons, then its forced in your face and you can’t get over how great it is? It really takes a blow on one’s self esteem and we can see that in Bell. Bell, the spoiled, powerful kid who was able to beat everyone until he couldn’t; until his bey had been broken and bursted by so many who were so much stronger. Just like Free getting bursted by Lui in evolution. They just got a huge reality check and blow to their ego that forces them to rethink nearly everything. “Maybe I’m not the best.” Free and Bell. “Maybe I should quit” Basara and Bell. or “Maybe there’s still a long way for me to go.” Almost everone in the show-

It all ties into the growth of the characters. Id say beyblade writes them pretty well considering at least half the characters disappear with the bext series. I mean when was the last time we saw Daigo and Ken- Evolution- which was four seasons ago… im glad we get to keep Free, but I also miss Cuza, Kris, Xander, Ken, Daigo, etc. Rantaro, our original loud blonde sidekick, hasn’t appeared yet in DB (then again im only halfway through-) but yeah, their characters are pretty good. Free went from bored to… still bored- but more respectful of other bladers. Aiga and Shu went through a whole corruption arc- Shu’s corruption arc actually allowed him to help Lain. (I think- i gotta rewatch) Valt became a lot more mature, he’s still a perfect amount of silly. Bell is a lot less spoiled, still spoiled, but less. Maybe a tiny bit.

Anyways that’s all my brain is able to do for now-

So yeah, beyblade is “not that deep” if ykyk-

thanks for bearing with me

pov me looking you dead in the eyes yapping about beyblade at 3 AM

[blakegopnik]

Happy to see my review of Dawoud Bey's great show at Sean Kelly Gallery getting nice play in the New York Times. The full text is below (click on "Keep reading") but one thing I didn't have room to dwell on, as much as I would have liked, is the vitally important tension between Bey's video and his stills. That's a tension (as I see it) between the “gaze” of the enslaved, in the fractured video, and of Europeans, in the elegant, traditionally artistic, even "sublime," prints. It would be so easy for someone to think the prints were just elegant, knock-off commodities meant to fund the more truly important, more challenging video. But I think the reflection back and forth, between the settled elegance and the unsettling challenge, is vital to the entire project.  

IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF THE ENSLAVED - THE NEW YORK TIMES

CRITIC’S PICK

By Blake Gopnik

Jan. 30, 2025, 5:00 a.m. ET

The terrifying first capture in Africa.

The deadly crossing of the Middle Passage.

The brutality of slave markets and servitude.

It’s almost impossible to imagine, let alone depict, the full horrors of American slavery, although writers, directors and artists have tried.

But there’s one moment that seems to have caught their attention less often: the first encounter of kidnapped Africans with the strange new land where they were marched into enslavement.

In a remarkable exhibition called “Stony the Road,” at Sean Kelly Gallery in New York, the artist Dawoud Bey takes us on the path that tens of thousands were forced to walk, from the slave ships that landed at the James River’s docks to Richmond’s slave pens and markets.

With 14 still photos and a vast, two-sided video projection, Bey explores the Richmond Slave Trail that extends for several miles in Virginia’s capital. At Sean Kelly, Bey’s stills

are the first art you encounter. Those deluxe black-and-whites, almost a yard across, show various wooded spots along the trail, avoiding any details that speak of our era. (In fact, the trail now crosses many modern settings.) We get a view of trees and ground, of bits of river and patches of distant sky, such as an African might have encountered 250 years ago.

The images were shot on old-fashioned film and printed on traditional photographic paper, so we’re treated to the velvety blacks and sparkling whites of landscapes by Ansel Adams and Edward Weston and other pioneers of American photography. It’s tempting to linger with those tasteful, orderly images — in the gallery, and in this review — but I discovered that they get a whole new meaning after seeing Bey’s video at the gallery’s rear.

That video is titled “350,000,” an estimate of the total number of enslaved people who passed through Richmond’s trading markets. (The piece was originally commissioned for a major Bey show at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts in Richmond in 2023.) Ten minutes of black-and-white footage appear on a screen that bisects a big space and reaches almost to its high ceiling. It shows the same wooded path as in Bey’s prints, but to utterly different effect.

The piece works hard to put us in the place — physical, but above all psychological — of one of Richmond’s newly disembarked. The images are projected at “life scale,” Bey told me, so that the path’s tree trunks and branches are the same size on the screen as they would be if they were there before us in life. And the trip down the path is captured in a single take, without edits, by a Steadicam held at an adult’s head-height, giving a captive’s-eye view of the passage up the trail.

But the goal isn’t to create a crisp, immersive substitute for a past reality. (Bey insists that his piece isn’t about faking some kind of long-lost documentation.) It’s about using the visible artifice of fine art to encourage a trip into a past we need to confront. In some ways Bey’s video has more in common with a poet’s evocative description than with a Spielbergish attempt at historical re-enactment.

So Bey’s cinematographer, Bron Moyi, shot all the footage with a century-old Petzval lens, once used for dream sequences in silent movies. It blurs all but the middle of the scene it shows, giving an almost drunken effect to Bey’s footage, which is also shown in somewhat slow-motion. Real vision never really works quite like that, but the Petzval provides an excellent metaphor for the kind of disorientation Africans must have felt on first being shoved ashore in Virginia.

They couldn’t have known quite where they were going, or what the endgame might be — most couldn’t understand their tormentors’ language — and “350,000” has a similar lack of plot or endpoint. Its camera’s “eye” rarely looks straight down the path toward some far-off goal. Instead, it veers from earth to treetops; from river, down at right, to undergrowth that hems the path at left.

No one knows if captives would really have looked anywhere but at their own stumbling feet or at the back of the chained figure ahead, but the camera’s wandering eye evokes the fracturing of any normal they might have known. Even the flora in Bey’s video, sure to strike most Americans as an average woodland scene, must have seemed foreign.

Bey makes his disjunctive technique stand for the utter confusion — physical, cognitive, spiritual — that captives must have felt. A soundtrack, commissioned by Bey from the dance scholar E. Gaynell Sherrod, adds to the effect: It’s a mash-up of random footfalls and birdcalls, of heartbeats and hoofbeats, of grunts and sighs and clinking chains. It doesn’t quite reproduce what the enslaved might actually have heard, but it sometimes adds Hollywood melodrama that the visuals smartly avoid. However, Sherrod’s soundtrack, and its lack of obvious sync to Bey’s visuals, maps onto how trauma can fracture our perceptions.

 “Bey’s installation doesn’t recreate a single moment in someone’s pain,” our critic writes. “It condenses all the moments that thousands of subjects might have suffered on the Richmond Slave Trail.” via Sean Kelly, New York/Los Angeles; Photo by Adam Reich

In a final touch, Bey gives art viewers a more immediate taste of that same bewilderment: The occasional visitor who peers around to the other side of Bey’s screen will eventually realize that the view there is actually the same path but seen on a different trudge down it. That gives a sense that Bey’s installation doesn't recreate a single moment in someone’s pain; it condenses all the moments that thousands of subjects might have suffered on the Richmond Slave Trail.

And then, leaving the video behind, you encounter Bey’s stills once again, and now they seem to play a different role in his story. After witnessing the splintered sights in his video, his stills now seem to stand for the very firm and settled present that today’s art world lives in, at so many removes from an enslaved person’s view.

They give us something like the stable, settled view favored by Europe’s artistic culture, circa 1800, when wild nature promised escape from the everyday into the sublime. It’s almost as though Bey’s prints offer a bright light at the end of their forest path, so that, as in many an Ansel Adams photo, the white of the immaculate silver print becomes the white of escape and transcendence. The prints have a stable authority, in their confident choice of subject, the snapping of the shutter, their deluxe printing, that isn’t there in the video.

Bey’s show gets its name from a passage in the second stanza of “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” the hymn by James Weldon Johnson that premiered in 1900 and is known as the Black national anthem: “Stony the road we trod/Bitter the chastening rod.”

Here’s how the stanza ends: “Out from the gloomy past/’Til now we stand at last/Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.”

Now, 125 years later, Bey’s gloom seems to cast new light on art’s gleam.

[xxmochadoodlesxx]

Yvonne Doe x Jason Todd - "A week after" PT2

She remembered bringing the man back to her place, he wasn't badly cut up but definitely enough to be considered in need of a bandaid or two. She brought him back to her bakery, just a few streets down from the incident. The back of a storage/employees room was where he propped himself up shakily on a bench as Yvonne rushed for a first aid kit. Yvonne patched the man up, cleaning his wounds and supplying bandaids for the deeper cuts. She'd attempt at making conversation or getting more details on the situation (should the police interrogate her) but he kinda just..trembled and stared blankly into the void. That was until the man grabbed her and just hugged her TIGHT. Not in a sweet way, more like a kid desperately clinging onto their mother about to be dragged into daycare. His body wracked with sobs, shaking uncontrollably and saying something about being "caught again". Yvonne was no stranger to panic attacks, her little sister had many when growing up. She calmed the man and FINALLY...he was coherent enough to speak. "My name is Jason Todd," He'd trail off for a moment, "And, thank you. Thank you..." Jason Todd. At least that was something besides 'random man I saved' in her brain. Yvonne didn't register his outfit, or more so the armoured costume of the Red Hood, how his face and eyes held eerily similar to that past Robin she'd heard of on death-days in the newspaper. To Yvonne, this was just another person she incidentally saved via following her instincts. Same how she thought of nothing when quickly whipping him up something the kitchen, cleaning up and just- Jason watching her with a look of awe, calamity and some form of revelation. He stayed silent the majority of that evening. Only until a Dick Grayson, NightWing, ended up outside her bakery with a Red Hood helmet in hand and calling Jason over. Only then did it FINALLY sink into her who Jason Todd was and what she had just done. Saved a vigilante. He left without much of a good-bey but NightWing offered his thanks. Yvonne remained silent and stunned in her empty and closed bakery as she REELED through the night she just had. Now in the present, a week later, She's making tea for the vigilante who has been sat in her living room and staring at her like SHE'S the one unsuspecting in his home. "Well, Red Hood-" "Jason." Yvonne turned around and rightfully almost shit herself. The man had somehow silently moved from the opposite end of the room to sat on the small kitchen isle that doubled as her dinner table. His helmet was off finally and she was confronted with that same scarred face that shook, cried and blushed at her all of that night last week. Except now minus the crying and shaking, he was content. "You can just call me Jason. I don't mind." He spoke quite out of character for the Red Hood. Soft, warm and almost like he was talking to a rabbit that would get scared and run away from him. "Do you, mind if I stay? At least, until the rain calms." Red Hood and Jason Todd for that matter does NOT give a flying fuck about the rain, he's just pulling as many excuses possible to stay in here- with her. Yvonne nodded cautious but also curious. Not a regular thing to find a Bat inside YOUR home without apparent nefarious reasons. "You had supper yet?" Jason shook his head. Lie or not, Yvonne complied. "I'll whip us up something quick, I could use something before meal prepping for tomorrow's lunch rush." A strange but somewhat endearing connection, huh?

[hanchaozhilang]

Ten Newly Translated Episodes! (RoTK 1994, Ep. 48-58)

(HARDSUBS NOW AVAILABLE)

MKV (softsubs) (Best quality, recommended to watch with MPV, Kodi, VLC, or MPC-BE player) Torrent: 1 , 2 Direct Download: 1 (Contains the most up-to-date files, as well as patches for torrent users)

MP4 (hardsubs) Direct Download: 1 (Contains the most up-to-date files, can be streamed through the MEGA player) (There is a Foreword for the sub, it is worth a read!)

We are so grateful that you have remained committed to this epic team despite the delay, we are always active and diligent! The delay was so that our good team members could carefully review the translations to ensure that they are easily readable and understandable! These episodes deal with the rise of Liu Bei’s empire and should be fun to watch! Thank you once again from all of us on the team!

Please join our Discord if you wish to help or hang out!

[bungeepuppet]

Illumi's Toybox - Chapter 1 & 2

Summary: Hisoka is a mercenary who loves hunting powerful fighters, but gets more than he bargained for during his attempt to infiltrate Castle Zoldyck. Rating: Mature (Canon-typical Violence) Words: 4,800 Note: For reference, Illumi is 20 and Hisoka is 24! :3

Also on AO3! �� [Chapter 1| Chapter 2]

--

CHAPTER 1

The Kingdom of Padokea wrapped around the northwest coast of the northernmost continent of the Known World. Despite this, the weather of Padokea was temperate, and the late-spring temperatures coaxed out plenty of fresh blooms across the countryside. With such lush landscapes in abundance, Padokea was best known for its quaint villages and the friendly villagers that resided in them. 

Hisoka Morow, a young man that was a gladiator by day and a mercenary by night, was resting in his room on the second floor of an inn at the center of one such quaint village. He sat by the window, entertaining himself by shuffling a deck of playing cards as he stared past the cobbled rooftops and beyond the vast forests that surrounded the town.

His eye was trained on the gnarled, black mountain in the distance – the only thing that seemed out of place in this idealistic atmosphere.

Kukuru Mountain was the home of a very curious family. The royals there were not part of any governing force in the Kingdom of Padokea. They had seemingly no interest in any political affairs, and very rarely made appearances at gatherings. Anyone would say that it was unheard of for a royal family to be excluded from invitation lists, or to decline attending balls or galas comprised of nothing but the bluest blood in the world, but the elusive Zoldyck family was an exception.

It wasn’t quite as disrespectful as it sounded. It was not that they were being shunned, exactly, but rather it was that most royals and nobles alike would prefer to keep their connections with that particular family out of the public eye.

The Zoldyck family, after all, was first and foremost, a family of assassins.

Sometime within the last hundred years or so, they were recognized officially as a royal family. No one seemed to know what council decided it, or what the purpose of the decision was, but it didn’t matter. The family was fabled to be so demonically powerful and ruthless, that there wasn’t a soul on Earth who would try to argue the authenticity of the title to them.

The fluttering of cards filled the air as Hisoka smiled and licked the corner of his mouth in anticipation.

His favorite pastime was tracking down powerful fighters and then killing them. Watching their confidence sap away into immobilizing fear was so delectable, so irresistible, that it was Hisoka’s sole driving force in life. The impending hunt for a good fight whet his appetite, and the castle on Kukuru Mountain promised a variety of meals that would satisfy his cravings, at least for the time being.

Hisoka had done as much research as anyone could about the Zoldyck family, and now all there was left to do was a field study.

–

The light of the waning moon was swallowed in the inky shadows of the forest’s reaching bows, providing only patches of light on the seldom-traveled road. Above the darkened woods, Kukuru Mountain marred the idealistic night sky, leering down at any who might approach it with a tremendous force that fit the stories Hisoka had gathered about his prey.

In a blur of red and gold, Hisoka ran at an impossible speed up from the valley at the base of the mountain. He saw no need to dress for stealth, and instead wore a perfectly tailored red, white, and gold outfit, just as he would if he were performing at the colosseum in Heaven’s Arena. Hisoka made it a point to dress nicely for his fights, and it wasn’t as though the heels and corset-like binding around his waist would slow his movements.

So instead of dressing in black to sneak through a forest at night, Hisoka was confident that using In to completely conceal his aura was all he would need to do to avoid being caught.

As he flew up and over boulders and fallen logs, Hisoka caught sight of what he suspected was the beginning of the Zoldyck territory. Standing directly ahead of him was a massive stone wall, at least thirty meters in height. The daunting hurdle did not deter him, and with a single, hard push off of the ground, Hisoka launched himself high. He easily cleared the wall, so quickly that his shadow barely registered on the open path before it was gone again. 

He landed in a sprinter’s lunge on the other side, with his hand splayed flat onto the cold grass. The forest outside seemed to only break for a moment to allow the road leading to the castle to pass, and then continued on inside the grounds as if it was never interrupted at all. 

Hisoka smiled, unable to contain his excitement. Without a doubt, the castle would have much more impressive security than a gigantic wall, and he was eager to find out what was in store for him. He wasn't supposed to engage with anyone tonight, but if the opportunity arose, he didn't think he would be able to resist a few quick killings.

He didn't spare more than a second to relish in the thought, then continued sprinting up the mountain. He kept his body low, and his quick steps were close to silent.

After a few minutes, the glow of torches and the sound of commands being called out signaled to Hisoka that despite his efforts, somehow he was discovered. His smile crept back up as the voices drew nearer.

A man in armor yelled orders to a group.

“Fan out! Mike is tracking–” 

Before he could finish his sentence, a playing card sliced through the air and across his throat. Blood spurted from the wound, and the man collapsed to the ground in a heap without more than a quick choking sound. 

Hisoka circled the group, unable to convince himself out of indulging his nagging, ever-present desire to spill blood. These were undoubtedly the Zoldyck Castle's guards, and he was curious to see how much of a fight they would put up. He was confident that the Zoldyck family would have well-trained fighters and Nen users alike to repel any number of bounty hunters and revenge seekers that surely plagued them.

Though, as he whizzed by, cutting the throats of another handful of men, he began to doubt that confidence he had. Well, even if it was too easy, it was still enjoyable. 

His laughter echoed in the surrounding forest as he continued picking off guards. The last of the troupe pursuing him fell dead, and he took a moment after to lick a stripe of blood off of his card. The panic caused by his attack was evident as more shouts and torches pushed at the edges of his hiding places. It didn’t concern Hisoka – even though any plan to spy on the family was ruined for the evening, he was certain that there were plenty of places that he could hide out on the property until an opportunity arose. 

Suddenly, an icy, murderous intent flowed through the woods, catching Hisoka’s attention. 

His yellow eyes glistened with curiosity, but upon further inspection, the tremendous bloodlust was obviously not a person. Something was hunting him, something large, with the desire to kill him and nothing more. 

If the presence was just a beast, Hisoka had no reason to stay and kill it. He was not interested in fighting something so trivial, and instead opted to continue his trek to find the castle hiding somewhere on the expansive property. Hisoka’s boot dug into the soft earth, and he rocketed forward again, sprinting uphill in hopes of spotting the castle, all the while easily outrunning whatever it was that was tailing him.

He must have run almost three kilometers before realizing that what he thought were stars were actually the faint glimmer of windows, high above, close to the mountain’s summit. If not for the luminous glow of candles beyond those windows, the castle's pagoda roof would have gone completely unnoticed, black as night against Kukuru Mountain’s volcanic exterior. 

Hisoka’s mind whirred to life, already thinking of ways he could attempt to scale the cliffs leading upward without being noticed. It wouldn’t be tonight; he would have to wait for a few days before it would be safe enough to move again.

An abrupt, sharp strike to the back of Hisoka’s head cut his thoughts of further trespassing short. The force behind the strike buckled his knee midstep, and although he instinctually rolled forward, he still hit the ground hard. He skidded across the uneven, rocky floor, then landed alongside the dirt road on his elbows.

Hisoka had not sensed anyone or anything near him, and quickly swiveled his head back around to try and catch a glimpse of what had hit him.

He saw nothing hiding among the trees, but before he could turn his head back around the other way, he was struck again. The proximity of this attack allowed for a concentrated strike to the base of his skull, and in an instant he was unconscious. 

The air fell silent then, the cries from the castle guards disappearing as if lost in a vacuum. With no sound outside the rustling of leaves, an ominous figure stepped out of the shadows, each step precise and calculated. The figure walked to Hisoka’s side, and stared at him with large feline eyes, irises wide and cold.

A small breeze pushed the figure’s shape, and revealed shoulders that had been completely eclipsed by long, black hair. The figure was that of a man, tall and thin, and dressed immaculately. His hair wafted aimlessly to one side as he stared at the man who had caused such a stir in the dead of night.

“Prince Illumi.” A guard approached him and bowed his head. “Please accept our apologies. You should not have had to intervene to subdue such a nuisance.”

Illumi did not turn to the guard addressing him, and instead continued to stare.

“It’s alright. I just returned home.” He said in a flat tone. “He has a very powerful aura. I doubt any of the guards would have been able to stop him.”

Even though unconscious, Hisoka’s body was still evenly coated with perfectly controlled Nen.

“He is alive.” Illumi commented off-handedly.

He had kicked this intruder in the back of the head with the heel of his boot – it was very seldom that someone would survive one of his kicks, especially to such a delicate area. This man was very strong. He likely rivaled Illumi himself in physical strength, and it was unknown how powerful his Nen ability was.

“Bring me a pair of inscribed manacles.” He said after some brief contemplation. The guard closest to him nodded and then gestured toward the group arriving.

As they hurried to comply with their prince’s order, Illumi’s eyes did not leave his victim’s body. The reflection of Hisoka’s sleeping face distorted as Illumi’s irises began to swirl unnaturally, spinning threads of Nen in a long forgotten language from the center of his eye.

--

CHAPTER 2

For as large and foreboding as Castle Zoldyck was, the maze of tunnels and dungeons carved into the mountain beneath it was even larger. Crawling through the mountain’s innards, the stone passageways had existed for generations, and ranged from as icy as a root cellar, to as stifling as a sauna, depending on how far you were from an old pocket of magma.

There were plenty of dungeons, mostly used for keeping the current king’s prized hunting trophies – living specimens of gruesome, vicious monsters from across the world – locked away in the depths, until the king found a fitting use for them. There were only a handful of prison cells, and only one that was regularly used. 

Hisoka awoke with bleary eyes, but was quickly alert when he felt cuffs on his wrists. He moved cautiously, so as to not cause any disruptive noises. Only a quick adjustment of his forearms was needed to confirm that he was shackled to a wall, with his arms painfully cuffed straight behind him.

It was not a situation he was unfamiliar with; he had been in shackles plenty of times in his life as a gladiator and criminal. Still, it was concerning that he did not remember at all who had attacked him or how he had ended up here. It was also not something he needed to dwell on, as the most pressing issue was escaping.

Hisoka squared his body, opening up his nodes to allow his Nen to flow freely, but the warm, viscous feeling he was used to did not envelope him. That made him pause, and he focused more intently, but again was met with nothing. He had not been without control of his Nen since he was a small boy, and its disappearance gave him a feeling of vulnerability that he was not accustomed to.

Although it was very concerning, Hisoka was still confident that he did not need his Nen to escape from a pair of manacles. He was very flexible, and it took no effort to seat himself backwards over his wrists, or to loop his arms up from under his tucked legs, until he was seated with his arms now resting forward.

He had thought the cuffs were just uncomfortably tight, but as soon as he could see them, Hisoka was immediately aware of where the discomfort came from. In addition to the cuffs that bound his wrists, there appeared to be two ball-headed, metal skewers affixing them together through the middle as well. There was no bleeding, but as Hisoka’s Nen attempted once again to surge forth, the pinheads pulsed in response, emitting a murky purple aura that bled into the cuffs. 

Hisoka’s eyes dilated in surprise to see lettering appear on the cuffs in the same purple glow.

It was inscription – a very old technique among Nen users that had fallen out of practice as the language needed for it had died out. It was obvious that this was the cause of his dammed-up Nen. 

Hisoka’s brows furrowed; to lock up his aura was a very personal attack, as far as he was concerned. Whoever it was that had quite literally pinned his nodes shut, would suffer for it.

The sound of metal clanging systematically distracted Hisoka momentarily from his insult. 

He turned his head in the direction of the disruption, and saw, from his limited view, a metal door against the wall outside of his cell. The noises continued, clicking and clacking, until the vault-like door creaked open. Hisoka saw a number of mechanisms on the inside of the door, and figured that the sounds had been from a series of locks.

A voice spoke from the hallway beyond.

“He is in the farthest cell, my prince.”

The mention of a prince brought Hisoka's attention all the way up to a hundred. Could it be that one of the Zoldyck sons was speaking with a guard just outside the room? If Hisoka’s aura was currently able to, it would have spiked significantly.

“Thank you.” Another voice spoke. It was montone, almost light, but closer to bored.

The door opened fully, and an elegant, fair-featured man stepped inside. Hisoka's eyes widened expectantly, hurriedly trying to absorb all they could about his appearance.

This prince was tall, around 185 centimeters by Hisoka's guess, and had a slender frame. His hair fell to his mid-back and was a polished black color, boasting a healthy shine under the light of the nearby torches. He did not appear to be any older than his early-twenties, with his face devoid of any wrinkles, scars, or blemishes. It was surprising – he looked too untouched, too proper, to be one of the children in the monstrous and ruthless Zoldyck family.

Of course, Hisoka knew very well that appearances could be deceiving when Nen was involved. It was simply that from the many rumors he had heard about the family, that Hisoka had imagined a group of brutes, with sunken eyes and rippling physiques, adorned in their victims’ skulls and pelts. This man looked like a posh, well-to-do noble that one could find in the bourgeoisie district of any major city.

Well, aside from his large, drowning black eyes.

Illumi moved, undeterred by Hisoka's staring. The door shut behind him, and he didn't hesitate to approach the cell alone. His steps were casual, as though he was walking across a cozy reading den, and not across a musty, dank dungeon.

He stopped in front of Hisoka's cell and stared down at the captive man inside with an unreadable expression. Hisoka stared back, barely able to contain his excitement. 

Even without a trace of Nen, Hisoka could tell that the prince who stood before him was strong.

“Hello.” Illumi said plainly. 

Hisoka blinked. What an unassuming voice, he thought.

“Good morning. ♦” Hisoka greeted him back. He had no idea what time of day it was, but he didn't think that he was out for more than a few hours.

“You were caught trespassing on our property.” Illumi continued. “For that crime, it has been determined that you shall be executed.”

His tone remained eerily calm, despite the gravity of his words. Hisoka prevented his expression from falling. The situation was very dire without his Nen, and he had no idea exactly where he was or how to escape – but, he could certainly take advantage of this visit.

“Oh, that's disheartening to hear. ♠” Hisoka responded just as casually. He remained seated, but turned to face Illumi respectfully.

“You will be held here until your execution later today.” Illumi spoke again. Hisoka twinged inside; a few hours was all he had to figure something out.

“Ah, alright…” Hisoka feigned compliance, then looked away curiously. “If I may ask, where is here, exactly…?”

Illumi paused and tilted his head slightly. Usually when faced with such harsh truths, the prisoners he oversaw would scream and cry, then devolve into begging or threatening, depending on their personality. At least this prisoner kept his manners.

“You are in the castle prison.” He answered. Hisoka nodded with a hum. This prince was so honest, giving away information that he didn't need to. Hisoka wondered if it was possible to trick him into removing his cuffs, or even letting him go.

“That is all I wanted to inform you of.” Illumi said and turned to leave. The sudden departure would not help Hisoka – he needed him to stay.

“Going so soon? ♣” Hisoka called after him. Illumi stopped and turned back around. 

There was a silence that passed between them, but Hisoka felt no animosity. How thrilling!

“If I am to be killed today, could I ask a favor of you? ♦” Hisoka did his best to keep his tone from coming off as too playful, in spite of the anticipation swirling in his stomach.

“What is it?” Illumi asked. 

Hisoka felt his excitement climbing up his chest.

“I hope I am not too forward in asking, but would you humor me with a game before my impending death? ♥” His eyes closed like a fox’s as he smiled. 

“A game…?” Illumi set a finger to his lip with the question. 

“Yes, I love games. ♪” Hisoka nodded. “Are my belongings nearby? I had a deck of cards in my bag. Would you bring it to me?”

Illumi scanned the walls, and quickly found the bag in question on the other side of the room, set aside on an empty guard’s desk. As he made his way to it, Hisoka grinned internally. 

He couldn’t believe his luck; was this prince really going to humor such a meaningless request? For as strong as he was, was he really this easy to manipulate? It reminded him of a coddled child, having never had to make a decision for himself and easily being swayed with the promise of something fun or sweet. Less than ideal for an assassin, but it boded well for Hisoka’s chances of escaping.

Illumi, unaware of Hisoka’s silent machinations, stopped at the desk and began to look through the contents of the leather pouch.

The satchel did not contain much, but each item it held was equally odd, like a small container of candies, and a worn, wooden panflute. Among these trinkets, Illumi found two decks of cards. One was a deck of tarot cards, and the other was a deck of traditional playing cards. Illumi took the latter and returned to the cell.

“Is this the deck needed to play?" Illumi held the package up. Hisoka smiled appreciatively.

“Yes, that's it. ♥” He hummed. “Would you like to play a game?”

Illumi stared at him, again unreadable. After a moment of contemplation, Illumi noticed that something was off.

“Ah. Your arms.” He said, with more infliction than Hisoka had heard so far. “They were behind your back before.”

Hisoka tensed. 

Even such a small act of defiance could be deadly if Illumi defined it as such. No matter how docile he had seemed so far, Hisoka wasn’t foolish enough to take any word between him and this fabled beast lightly.

“…♠” 

He needed to answer carefully. 

“Mm, yes.” Hisoka adjusted his shoulders comfortably. “They had become quite stiff during the night, so I moved them to the front. ♣” 

He decided to not recognize how doing so could be seen as an attempt to escape, and prayed that Illumi would follow suit. 

“I hope that is alright, my prince. ♦” He added with a charming smile.

Illumi watched him, unmoving. 

A few agonizingly long seconds of silence passed, then Illumi abruptly sat down on the floor, regally so, with his shins to the ground and his knees together. He faced Hisoka, and held the deck up again.

“Explain the game.” He said, without a word more in regards to Hisoka’s change of position.

Hisoka could only blink, his previous spike of anxiety gone in an instant. This prince was so simpleminded that it was disarming. How could he not even question the flimsy excuse Hisoka had given? Could a cold-blooded predator even be so trusting, or was he just dumb?

“Yes, of course. ♣” Hisoka said smoothly instead of the many rude things he was thinking. “My arms are currently indisposed – would you kindly shuffle the deck for me? ♦” 

Illumi removed the cards from their packaging and began to shuffle them methodically. It made Hisoka smile to see such dedication in the motions; it was obvious that he was familiar with playing card games.

“That’s perfect. ♥” Hisoka said after a moment. “Now, please take out a card of your choice.”

Illumi pulled out a card and looked at it. It was thrilling to Hisoka to have someone royal following his orders so dutifully. He didn’t think Illumi even realized it.

“May I see?” He asked. 

Illumi turned his hand around and showed him the card; the four of diamonds, one of Hisoka’s personal favorites.

“What is this game?” Illumi's voice had a small push to it. Hisoka’s smile didn’t waver – this was so fun.

“My apologies! I wanted to build some intrigue.” He chuckled. “It’s a card trick. ♣”

“If you reshuffle your card into the deck, I will be able to pick it out of the stack without fail. ♦”

Illumi tilted his head in curiosity. Without any further explanation, he replaced his card and began shuffling the deck, just as thoroughly as before. Hisoka bowed his head, listening contently to the familiar sound of cards flicking against skin.

After he was satisfied, Illumi held the deck out to Hisoka, perfectly squared. A laugh bubbled out of Hisoka’s smile. 

“Could I ask you to fan the deck for me as well? ♦” 

Illumi used both of his hands to fan the deck, and held the cards out to Hisoka. The obedience made Hisoka’s insides throb with excitement.

“Thank you, my prince. ♥”

“Illumi.” Illumi interjected plainly. 

Hisoka felt his muscles flex involuntarily, his thighs and abdominals pulled tight from the sudden twitch between his legs. In his search, he was unable to find the names of anyone in the family except for the previous and current kings – Zeno and Silva, respectively.

The man that sat before him was Prince Illumi Zoldyck.

His abdomen rippled with an enticing heat, but Hisoka knew better than to let the feeling do anything more than fester inside him. If he played his cards right, he could have the opportunity to fight and kill Illumi very soon.

“Thank you, Prince Illumi. ♦” Hisoka eyed him with half-lidded eyes, despite his best efforts to remain outwardly unbothered.

He reached his shackled hands out from between the bars, and after tracing the air above them for a moment, placed his pointed nail onto the corner of one of the cards. Illumi pulled back and removed the card, and upon flipping it around, he found that it was the four of diamonds.

Illumi smiled. The card trick piqued his interest – Hisoka was fun.

“Do it again.” Illumi said, obviously pleased with the result. Hisoka smiled back.

“Of course, I can do it as many times as you like~♪” 

Illumi found this answer pleasing as well.

Hisoka waited patiently while Illumi went through the steps of the card trick again, then once again correctly chose his card from the deck. It was comical to Hisoka how much Illumi seemed to enjoy the novelty of a standard parlor trick, but he wasn’t complaining. The more that Illumi liked him, the better his odds were to avoid execution, if only for an extra day or two. 

They repeated the process a few more times until Illumi was satisfied.

“What other tricks can you perform?” Illumi asked as he straightened the cards in his hands. Hisoka had been giddily anticipating this turn in conversation.

“I’m quite fond of sleight-of-hand, and can do a lot of other tricks. ♥” He rolled his fingers for emphasis. “If you could free my wrists, I would be happy to show you. ♦”

The silence that followed the suggestion was much different than before. 

Illumi smiled calmly, but his eyes lost all luster, and bore into Hisoka’s with dangerous intent. The stare was all encompassing, as if it could swallow light itself, and Hisoka felt the uneasy drag it seemed to have on his body. Anyone else would have been chilled to the bone from such an unsettling expression, but Hisoka simply smiled back at him. 

His request was obviously too on the nose to come off as anything less than an attempt to escape. The prince’s naivety did have a limit after all.

“Forgive me – I was enjoying myself so much that, for a moment, I forgot I was your prisoner. ♠” His eyes didn’t stray from Illumi’s. “I hadn’t meant to suggest anything disrespectful.”

The black eyes watching him changed with a blink, immediately losing their unnerving quality. Illumi hummed and relaxed back onto his heels. He appreciated Hisoka’s self-awareness, and that he immediately corrected his misstep without having to be told.

“Alright.” Illumi replied in a lofty tone. The quick switch of mood surprised Hisoka again, and he laughed softly under his breath. He sighed and brought his attention back to the man in front of him.

Illumi was watching him again, very closely. A sane person would act with extreme caution with eyes like that on them. They gave the same impression as that of a guard dog standing alert, daring you to give them a reason, to inch just one step closer than you should, so it could rip you to pieces.

Hisoka adored expressions like that.

“Why did you laugh?” Illumi asked. Instead of sounding threatening, it sounded genuinely curious. Hisoka recovered quickly, ready with another practiced smile.

“You’re so gracious and straightforward, Prince Illumi. ♦” He said, mentally running his tongue over his teeth. The image of Illumi’s cold eyes was etched into his mind already. “I really enjoy people like you. ♥” 

Illumi’s mouth disappeared into a small line.

Only a moment later, there was a formal knock on the prison door.

“Prince Illumi,” A woman stated, just as formally as her knock. “I apologize for interrupting, but the Queen is calling for you. She asked that you meet her in the garden.”

Illumi let out a soft noise. If Hisoka wasn’t mistaken, it sounded a little disappointed.

“Alright.” Illumi replied. “I will be right there.”

“Thank you, my prince.” The woman called from behind the door again, then left. 

Without any hesitation, Illumi rose and palmed the cards back into a proper stack. He slid them into their box and returned them to Hisoka’s bag methodically, as if it was his own.

Hisoka’s smile remained while he watched him, but inched up more when Illumi turned back to him.

“Goodbye.” He said casually.

“Goodbye.” Hisoka nodded in his direction. “I hope I will see you this afternoon. ♠”

Illumi didn’t reply, but his stare lingered for a moment longer before he took his leave. Hisoka closed his eyes with a relaxed hum as he listened to the door’s many locks clack and grind back into place. That was an enjoyable experience.

He wasn’t sure if the pleasantries were enough to sway the coddled prince’s opinion of him, but he had a grain of hope. All the same, he was prepared to cut off his arms and run if he had to.

[weirdlittlestuff]

current state of my patch pants

a little empty rn but slowly getting there

the bei bedarf, zsk (warum schenkt ihr mir kein bier) and mission ready patches are bought, the rest are diy by me or @baguetteseagull

most proud of my siouxsie and the banshees patch, took me over 3 hours

in the pocket with the first aid patch i have anything i might need to help at a concert like stuff to treat wounds or sew on patches which comes in handy rather frequently

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

As soon as we didn’t get anymore additional leaks about her gig relaunch immediately following the wellness pap walk I knew she was in deep trouble. That would have been the perfect time to riff off that and she just didn’t do that. It’s in line with her approach to everything else but the tig was her baby for a long time and you would think she’d want the media to talk about her launch of that instead of the cable tv show she was on

I don’t understand how she could fail this badly with Suits getting so much press. That alone should have given her a big boost.

But it didn’t and everything sort of fizzled. They were doing tons of A/B testing and you could see that nothing was getting traction, for either of them. Solo pap walks with patches and water bottles failed. Friend IG pics with Nacho and that yoga girl author both failed. Couple pap walks failed. Divorce and marriage reconciliation rumors both failed because no one cares anymore. Reconciliation leaks with Kate and Charles also failed because no one believes it.

And that’s with the British press getting them tons of free coverage.

The only events that got decent coverage were the Beyoncé concerts and Invictus and both are institutions with captive audiences (Bey’s fan base and the military).

[kotikaleo]

Sketch a day 6

Yeah I skipped a whole bunch of days, life is life BEHOLD!!!!

LIZARS!

I designed only few for now, there is more to come (with 13 in total *dies*) But yeah I tried my best and I put a lot of thought into them!

more rambelings about designs and a bit of lore and what character they are under the cut:

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

General facts about lizards:

All lizards have tails and antenna (some squshy some not so much)

they are incredibly proud. Just in general and have a big pride in them being strong and dangerous and beiing predators. That's why every single lizard have a danger symbol somwehe on them, will it be neclase, shirt patch, button... and so on.

but even with that they try to have good relationship with other hybrids, after all they all work together for better future of all of them

fuck the pronouns, there is only one pronoun in their language, any pronouns in other languages will be ok

actuall lizards do exist in this universe as well they are just wild animals that are like monkeys to us, and are wel... like crocodiles?? you know

And the ones you see here are just specific characters (even tho they don't have proper names). There are multiple pink, red, cyan, yellow and so on lizards, same as I'm sure there are multiple white, red, blue and other colored slugcats.

Pink one looks like most average character we all made once. it's literally hoodie jeans and sneakers, there in nowhere more avarege to go, pink one really goes Just A Guy™ and that's the whole point. Been doing football since 10  not because they are any good at it. Collage student

Blue one is a bit more interecting, you know it's like when you redesign your first character, and you want to keep the simplisicy but also more detailes and less flat. Two blue 'fins' go al along the spine. Also play foorball with pink but they are actually better at it than pink. Same collage with pink

Red is slay. That-s it. They are the King and the Queen and all above and hot and sexy because I said so. Very tall btw, they are like 2m tall, could kill you with their tail and will not apologize and also wears heels, because being 2m tall isn't enough. Sassy bitch. I love them. Also they have red thingies on the back same as on the tail (that's why their back is open, but cover it with a cloak)

Green is a chill guy, but hits like a truck, so do not anger them (whick is more than possible, it's not like they are an ocean of patience). Also can kill you with a tail and not notice. Also I have not decided fully but probably some kind of armycore or something military is def about them. necklase is made out of bronze

Strawbery is my fanourite cat boy of this groop! They are like actual cat boy!!! Their ears are same shape and same softness as the ears of slugcats, so yeah! certified cat! Cutie doll that will puch you in a face, you know what, from now on they are streamer or something like that, becasue I can. With pink gaming set up, yes.

[appalachiannightmare]

Time: May 20th Content Warnings: Vomiting tw (it's a plant that does it, so nothing too graphic in way of ick ♥)

“Drawn together. Painter's brushstroke. Sleight of hand. We won't go up in smoke.” - When Two Are One, Atreyu

Business wasn’t quite booming like Hazel had hoped it would be, but she knew it was partly because she didn’t have a lawnmower, and the shitty pay at Video Vault was barely enough for her to make rent and buy food. Thankfully, her devil usually handled the food part, so Hazel never stayed hungry. But still, anyone who wanted her help mowing or trimming bushes or any other yard work, she had gladly accepted, because each client meant a little more money in her savings account aka an old coffee can she found, hidden away for safekeeping.

“I can’t thank you enough for this opportunity, Ms. Betty. And don’t worry about the quality of your tools, Ma’am. I’ll make ‘em work. You just leave the yard work to me, and you go on in and relax.” Ms. Betty had been the sweet old lady that lived just up the road a few miles from Hazel, except her property was much larger and her home much nicer. And when she had seen Hazel’s advertisement and reached out, the young woman was more than happy to help her neighbor and friend out.

Stepping off the elderly woman’s porch, Hazel made her way out to a shed sitting near the back of the property. And upon inspection had managed to find everything she needed covered in a thick layer of dust, but for the most part, in working order. It was going to be an all day task, but she was looking forward to it, especially considering how much it already reminded her of home. And with her headphones placed securely over her ears, Hazel put on a mix with fast tempo music and got to work.

It took a lot of TLC to get the lawnmower to run over the thick and tall grown grass, and by the time the woman had mowed over the last tall patch, she was ready for a break; sweat dripping from her forehead. Luckily for her, Ms. Betty was already standing on the porch with a large cold glass of lemonade and a smile, “If all my clients were like you, Ms. Betty, work would be so much easier.” Taking the cold glass and watching as the condensation trickled down the side, Hazel took a long slow sip savoring the contrasting flavors of bitter and sweet, until the glass was empty, “That was mighty good. Thank ya. Guess I outta head back out and tackle the rest a’ this work before the sunsets.”

Making her way back towards the shed, Hazel found long handled pruning shears that were perfect for the weeds that had grown to a decent size along the fence running down the property line. It would be her next task and a sweet smelling one at that, “Honeysuckle…I think this is gonna be a lot easier than I suspect if it’s gonna smell like this the whole time, Devil.” It was a bad habit she had fallen into over the years, but talking to her inner wolf had become something she had done quite regularly; especially since most of her time spent had been alone. “Thinkin’ start out by the road and make my way slowly back up to the shed, so it’ll be a nice stoppin’ point for the evening.”

Hitting play on her phone again, the music continued from where it last left off, and once she had gotten into a grove, Hazel was pruning away to the beat of the music. More fiercely at stronger parts. Slower when things slowed. And with some funkiness, when a good backbeat came on. Nothing could stop the progress she was making, and that’s how she liked it until -

…...

Gasping Hazel’s eyes were wide as she tried to look around for any sign of where she might actually be, but nothing. The smell was rancid and foul, causing her to cough and choke fiercely as she squirmed around and reached out for anything she could in the awkward cramped position she was in. Crying out for help wasn’t even possible due to the lack of oxygen, but before she could really get a feel for her surroundings, she was pushed back up out of the darkness and into the daylight, being spit out by whatever had swallowed her whole.

Her lungs quickly consumed as much oxygen as she could as fast as she could. Her eyes were squinted in pain from the brightness of the setting sunlight surrounding her, and she desperately tried to crawl forward and away from whatever the unknown threat was – her nails digging deep into the dirt frantically, before she felt something latch onto her leg again and drag her back.

Letting out a blood curdling scream, Hazel continued to try and grip onto whatever she could to keep herself from getting consumed again, but it was no use as the worm-like tendrils from the mouth of the weed – a weed? It’s a fuckin’ weed?! – pulled Hazel back in by the legs tightening its grip so hard that it made the twenty-three year old yelp in pain; a rare thing for someone with berserker blood running through their veins.

Unable to let out another scream for help, Hazel found herself sucked quickly back into the dark and crushing cavity of the Swallowthorn as her life was slowly being squeezed out of her. But fortunately for her, and unknowingly to the weed that was trying to make a meal out of her, Hazel, once fully inside, gave herself over to her devil willingly and just as quickly as she was consumed whole, she felt the familiar, but ever so painful break of her bones and shifting of her body as the small woman managed to take shape of the fully grown berserker ripping apart the Swallowthorn from the inside out from sheer size alone.

With a new found freedom, the massive wolf rolled out onto the ground, before stumbling around to find her footing and shaking off the remainder of the weed remnants, even angrier than that time she got swallowed by a ginormous gummy worm. Except this time it was a fence row of weeds with thorns, but it didn’t matter. They had wronged her and they were going to pay. 

So with her ears perked to the sound of Atreyu’s “When Two Are One”, Hazel took off running down the fence row ripping the bushes out of the ground left and right with her large toothy maw – the smell of honeysuckle wafting through the air and the colorful blooms of destroyed flowers catching in the wind as Hazel romped somewhat happily around getting pleasure from all the destruction and quiet chaos that was being had out in the middle of The Pines. And by the time she had reached the end of the song, Hazel lay in a field of destruction, panting, with blood speckled fur covered in pollen, grass, and the mauled remainder of the Swallowthorn.

“Well, I was very curious as to how you would handle those Swallowthorns, Hazel. But you took care of them quite nicely. I think that deserves a little something extra.” Ms. Betty had slowly approached Hazel with the same warm smile she held earlier when she had offered the girl the lemonade, but this time, she had a plate full of raw meat that she sat down in front of the large lupine creature giving her a loving scratch on the head, “Such a good girl.” Taking the praise and nuzzling her way into the side of Ms. Betty gently, the large beast consumed her treat taking in the setting sun.

It was a hard day’s work for both Hazel and her devil, but as the ambers and oranges faded into the soon-to-be starry purples and blues, the animal yawned and rested its head just enjoying nature not in any rush to get back to her human form anytime soon, especially when you had good company like Ms. Betty by your side.

[astriiformes]

[Tag Game] Writing Patterns

I was tagged by @marypsue! Thank you, friend.

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern.

Here are mine!

1 - "It was a fateful flash of gold that drew Caspar’s eye to the altar of the church, unmistakably bright even among the sacramental trappings that surrounded it." (Epiphany, Pentiment)

2 - “'Woah, be careful, Magdalene,' said Caspar, watching the toddler nearly trip as she trundled her way over to him." (Bei Wind und Wetter, Pentiment) (This is technically not the first line of the fic, but the actual first line is just a bit of dialogue from the game, so I went with one I actually wrote)

3 - "The second-story bedroom in the Maler home had once housed all three of the family’s sons, from the time Andreas could first walk up the stairs to join his brothers to the day Gabriel had departed for his Wanderjahre, the first to leave home for good." (The Other Side of a Story, Pentiment)

4 - “'Magdalene! How pleasant to see you. Do you suppose that metals have spirits?'” (De Proprietatibus Plumbi, or On the Properties of Lead, Pentiment)

5 - "The little room that read 207 – Herzl Breslaur Jewish Historical Collection on the door was tucked away in a quiet corner of the much larger and ever-so-slightly less quiet Edith & Walter Benson Special Collections Library, which was not to say it was forgotten about, only that it tended to receive visitors with a very specific purpose." (Zichronam Livracha, When the Angels Left the Old Country)

6 - “'Where are they? Honestly if Clara doesn’t come, when she knows perfectly well why I wanted to get everyone together today….'” (February, 1518, Pentiment)

7 - "Shivering as a gust of wind blew snowflakes into her face, Clara clutched the tureen she was carrying closer to her chest." (Beharren ist eine Kunst, Pentiment)

8 - “'Honestly, Andreas the balcony, again? We have a door, you know!'” (On the Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres, Pentiment)

9 - Heart thudding in his chest, Caspar stumbled slightly as his foot hit a rocky patch on the road leading back into town. (Stemma Codicum, Pentiment)

10 - “'How long do you think they’ll be gone?'” (Long Upon the Land, Pentiment)

Honestly this is an entertaining look at how much Pentiment fic I wrote in the last year and a half or so more than anything else, haha. Though at least there's a fun spread of different characters represented (It looks like Caspar shows up the most, which tracks)

I'm a little surprised there aren't more in-media-res dialogue openings; I feel like I used to lean more heavily on those, and in years since have diversified a bit, which is interesting to see.

I'll go ahead and tag @shadowen @animatedamerican @eighthdoctor @philcoulsonismyhero and anyone else who wants to participate, though this is of course optional!