#bevis marks

[rawsmackdownnxtdivas]

The Outcasts & Mark Briscoe 💞

[thisismyanimus]

it seemed that searching three words allows you to find all posts containing those three words

with two words, it seemed that both words have to be in tags, or else it doesn't work. maybe unless the post is popular

but what if i write a really long tag? the maximum limit is 139 characters per tag

i did this experiment in this post

i concluded that if your search contains common words, for example "what write really", it only retrieves certain posts where those words are in the text

for uncommon/nonexisting words in the text of your post such as "brasput yabet mituarb", you can find your post by searching just 1 word

for two words in any of the tags, it retrieves the post, even if the words are common. for example "eat above"

[onboardsorasora]

Ripe cherries??????

It's my maxiel medieval omegaverse fic that's been tabled for like 6 months now but I opened the doc today🥹

“King Jos and Prince Max, your Majesty.” The self-important man bowed at the waist to another man, seated behind a desk– working. Said man stood and his richly dyed doublet caught the light coming through the high windows of the room. His face was handsome in a chiseled, rugged way and Max understood why when this trip was announced, the omega of the palace were awash with whispers of the alpha King Mark of the South.

“Jos, welcome.” Mark smiled broadly and clasped forearms with Jos who smiled equally widely. Both kingdoms served to gain from this arrangement. The South would gain a very powerful ally and the North would gain an omega princess to give their kingdom alpha heirs.

Max thought it was all silly, there was no guarantee that an omega would produce alpha children. Just because one was royal didn’t make them any more likely than a peasant. If anything, King Nico of the West would no doubt be the first to broach the topic what with his bevy of omega children. They were all lovely and no less fit to lead because of their designations. But that was an argument for a different day. Max’s purpose here was to meet, wed and bed a royal omega.

He peered around the room quietly as the Kings spoke, noting the absence of said omega. King Mark’s youngest brother, Daniel. He is said to be quite beautiful and joyful. As if reading his thoughts, Jos peaked around the room, noticing the obvious lack as well.

“Where is your brother? No doubt he will want to meet his new alpha.” Jos’ proud smile coloured his words when talking about Max.

The self-important man left the room quietly. Assumingly to fetch the wayward omega. The doors to the room opened again and a slender man walked in, his dark doublet and trousers were of the practical fabrics used by those that worked in the castle, Max recognized from their short trek through the grand halls.

Mark suppressed a sigh but he didn’t suppress the way his eyes rolled as he took in the curly head that lowered into a skillful curtsey before them. Max watched curiously, Jos’ lip turned up in a half sneer before he seemed to catch himself.

“Many apologies brother, Jetty needed help in the infirmary and I lost track of time.” The apology was demure and Max watched as Mark bit his tongue– for what reason, he didn’t understand.

“It is fine, brother. Please rise and meet King Jos and your betrothed Prince Max. Gentlemen, my brother Princess Daniel.”

The newly introduced Princess Daniel stood and Max was taken in by his gorgeously bright brown eyes. He was lithe, with messy curls that have all but escaped the comb seemingly placed for that purpose. He smiled serenely at them and Max couldn’t look away.

[docgold13]

Heroes & Villains The DC Animated Universe - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

The Trickster

A minor-league crook from Central City, James Jesse suffered from an unspecified mental disorder.  He functioned quite well while on medication; when he went off this medication, however, he became plagued with delusions.  In this delusional state, James believed himself to be ‘The Trickster,’ super villain and nemesis of The Flash.

Armed with a bevy of prank-based weapons and gadgets, The Trickster proved a rather dangerous foe.  And yet The Flash chose to contend with him in a compassionate manner.  Rather than punches and the typical fare, The Flash encouraged The Trickster to seek out help and go back on his medications.  More often than not this approach worked and James got the care he needed.  

The fantastic Mark Hamill provided the voice for The Trickster with the troubled rogue appearing in the fifth episode of the third season of Justice League Unlimited, ‘Flash and Substance.’  

[jjungkooksthighs]

Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (14)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: fluff and angst, abo/werewolf,  fantasy

Rating: 18+/nsfw

Word Count: 8.8k

Summary: The Duels of the Chosen begin, and the alphas battle the right to take the omega as their own. 

Warnings: CHARACTER INJURY, LOTS OF BLOOD MENTIONS, GORE (this will not be for people who are squeamish with blood/gore), dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, alpha!Taehyung, alpha!Jimin, sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, teasing, dirty talk, marking, manhandling

A/N: Hello, all! It’s been some time, but we are back again with another update! I have been very busy with work and school, so that was one of the reasons this took so long. The other reason was that I knew a lot of you were waiting specifically for the long-anticipated fight, and so I became overly critical of myself and didn’t like anything I wrote. This is a chapter that was one of my first ideas for this story, so I wanted it to be as perfect as I envisioned it in my head. Nothing I wrote could match that, and finally I became resolved to just writing without stopping or editing until the end. I hope that you all find this to meet your expectations, given that it is over twenty pages long. Oh, and let me know what you think about that cliffhanger at the end (or anything about this chapter because comments are like the bread and butter of writers), yeah?

Series Masterlist

It is as if time itself has grown tired as the seconds slowly tick by, the silver circlet twining itself around your head becoming heavier the longer it stays nestled there.

It saps your senses and strength away to leave you entirely incapable of movement and thought. In some cases, it even dulls emotions. It was why the substance was forbidden to be used except in ceremonial rites like the Duels of the Chosen.

Soon, even managing a thought becomes a challenge in how the silver intertwists you in numbness in your own head. Even your eyelids fall lower over your eyes in how leaden they have become.

The sound of something distinctly metal comes from somewhere near your feet. It takes a moment for you to drag your irises down your mate’s body to where his hand is fiddling with the bolt holding the first latch closed on the brown wooden box at your feet. The box, like its counterpart that has yet to be opened, is bigger than the one your diadem had come from.

His long fingers easily flick up on the last latch to the second of the three wooden boxes that are of a sepia, umber, and burnt sienna make. It is the second largest box of the three. What your alpha reveals is on a bed of white velvet and you see not one, but two pieces laid under one another that shine in the moonlight.

They are identical and appear to be a kind of cuff for your wrist in their size.  They, like are your diadem, have twisting and tangling silver strands that root from the bottom of the piece to the top, and interspersed throughout the bevy of liana-like tendrils, you can make out small, intricately forged flowerets not unlike the curtain of vines that flowers of all colors and sizes cling to along the stony wall hiding the creek that you used to habit.

It's a task to summon the memories of that place with the circlet that siphons away your cognition. Every time you try, what you are searching for seems to swim away from you in the sea of darkness that has swept your mind in its sway.

“Forgive me, my beautiful flower,” your mate’s voice lifts your very soul as you watch him undo the clasps of the first piece, his digits working the hook with ease and, from his knees, he reaches for your arm while he says, “the tradition is that you must be bedecked in silver before I am allowed to go fight. I fear I may not even make it that far if I do not do this now.” His calloused fingers wrap around your forearm and he turns it so that the underside of your arm is extended to him as he lifts the silver cuff toward it with the other. He doesn’t release your forearm, but instead curls his fingers tighter over your bare flesh as he says, “But gods, you test me so.”

Trying to put together words or sentences is like trying to fish in a dark, murky river. As for your emotions, even they have begun to grow dormant under the waters of dullness that try to quiet them.

It's all you can do to let your head fall to the side in question, the leaf-shaped crystal hanging from the middle of your diadem reflecting the light of the moon.

Attuned to you as ever, your alpha grins, “All I meant is that you have a very, very powerful effect on me, my love.” He guides your arm forward until the back of your hand rests on his shoulder. Then, his fingers are gone and he fits the adornment over your wrist as he hooks the first of the five blossoming fastenings along the undersurface of the bracelet over one another while he confesses, “I wanted to keep kissing you,” he closes the last of the fastenings over your wrist before bringing it to his mouth and placing his lips over your bloodied palm before he turns your now limp arm back over so that you can put your dead weight on his shoulder. Then, he’s grabbing your other so that he can adorn it, too, as he tells you, “I wished to keep tasting you,” a pink tongue glides along his lip where your blood now coats it, a groan slipping from him whilst he secures the fixing on the other wrist cuff as he admits, “And I wanted to keep exploring your body.”

You can only whimper in answer, but even that sound is now muted to your own ears as if you have cloth stuffed in them while the silver sifts out the energy from your body like a drain where the metal touches your flesh. It is heavy as a rock, and your wrist is trapped within it as you whimper.

Your alpha’s eyes soften at that, and still on knees, he reaches for the third and largest of the ornately carved boxes. Somehow, his digits work even slower now on this one.  

You do not think about why. All you can do is sit and watch as a tethering torpor climbs up your arm like a fungus from where the silver cuffs bind them.

“You probably have already realized it by now, omega,” his eyes are locked on yours when his fingers find the hem of your gown behind your ankle and then he’s balling it in his hand, “but it gives me no pleasure to bind you up like this. I am very well acquainted with what silver does to our kind. I made this silver for you, but I also had to make it for myself, too.” He’s careful to lay both of your hands on your lap, “the only reason I am still capable of basic movement while touching it is because I seem to have made myself somewhat tolerant to it with how much I’ve had it on me during my ruts,” golden irises find yours when he adds, “ruts that I could not spend with you until you had accepted me.”

Your heart gives a weak pang against your ribcage at that.

“I’m almost done, sweetheart. Bear with me.” He tugs up on the ovular clasp on the third, final and biggest of the wooden boxes–this one the length of your calf in its size–before pushing inward, and then he’s lifting up the top of the box to reveal two grandiloquent adornments that you’ve never seen anything the likes of before.

It takes some time to process what they are, but you cannot ignore how wondrously they glint in the firelight that makes them sparkle bright as the stars.

With his hand still gripping at your skirts, your alpha coaxes your knees apart so that he can resituate himself and put one of his knees between yours.

It is a strange thing to be so silent, but you know if you didn’t have this silver on you right now, you would be begging.

Your alpha must know it, because he chuckles when he coaxes your left leg up and onto his so that your foot rests on his thigh, and gods, the sight of him on his knees for you has familiar heat stirring between your legs as your sex cries for him.

The wind chooses that moment to wind around you, and then your alpha is cursing under his breath, his fingers tightening in your skirt as he cusses, “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, omega.”

His movements hasten then, and his eyes dilate in desire. You feel your skirt ascend and climb along your leg until he’s got it bunched up atop your knee, but it is a blur after that the muted sound of a clink. You don’t even realize that he’s fitted the piece over your calf and pulled together the three clamps only with one hand along the back of your leg before he’s heaving a heavy breath and leaning forward to utter, “It is a good thing I am touching this silver and that it deafens my senses to an extent, because if it didn’t,” his lips brush the inside of your knee as he mouths, “I’d have likely been unable to stop myself from standing and taking you against this fucking tree you sit on.”

You have half a mind to tell him you want it, that you want him, but words do not come. Every time you seek them, they bury themselves in the silt of your brain and no matter how hard you try, the silver circling your head hides them from you.

All you can manage is a stuttered,” Ah..al…alpha.”

At the sound of your voice, your alpha’s irises contract from between your thighs as he looks up at you. “Here, my love. I am here.”

You wish you could speak more to him. You wish you could touch him. You wish he would-

“I can hear your desire as much as I can smell it, my love,” your alpha tells you as he brings his lips over to the other side of your knee and he presses his mouth to your skin, “your pre-heat is making you fucking needier as the seconds pass, pretty girl.”

You make an effort to make your thighs meet, but the leg that he’d just wrapped silver in does not heed your mind or your instinct.

You pout. It’s all your body has energy left to do.

You hadn’t noticed it before now, but the usual softness, warmth and wetness of his mouth and fingers was gone. Stolen by the silver that drew sensation away until little to none remained.

Suddenly, there’s something hard gliding along your upper shin, and when your alpha’s mouth leaves you, two fresh, new punctures dot your skin along the base of your knee.

You had not felt him bite you. There had not been any pain due to the dulling effect of the silver just beneath his mark.

Crimson now lines his mouth and he lets it descend from the middle of his lower lip and down his bare neck. You lick your lips as you watch it, your tongue dense as a stone.

Jealousy hangs low in your gut over you in how your own blood gets to trail down his body and you can only watch. Your alpha’s mouth curves up at that, and two canines, each red with your blood, protrude from under his lips.

“Worry not, my love,” your alpha’s fingers find your other ankle and he guides it up so that your foot rests on his leg, his head dipping between your thighs while his digits tug the ball of fabric of your skirts higher so that he has more access to you, “I will satisfy every single one of your fantasies, every single one of your dreams, and every single one of your cravings,” his mouth finds the tender flesh of your inner thigh as he angles his head to the side, your own lips parting as his tongue slides from between his to lick you as he says, “I’ll let you have me anyway you wish, my love. Anything to make you happy, pretty.”

You latch onto that word. You try to follow the line he’s thrown you in the river of languor, and you can manage through the current of listlessness, “Y-yours…w-want to-“

You try again, but attempting to get your head above the water of stupor that has settled around you is too much.

Your alpha coos, “Oh, my omega. I hear you. I see you,” He suckles at your flesh before lightly biting down the same time you hear that clinking sound again, his freed hand placing the other silver adornment along your shin only for the sinking of all of his teeth into your flesh to feel as if he were only nipping you. “I feel your very blood trying to give itself to me like this. How badly I want to give in to you, my little vixen.”

“Pack Alpha Jungkook,” your grandmother’s voice sounds in the distance from where she stands on her place at the edge of the timbered stage, “It is time. She is more than ready for you to go to battle.”

“Give me a moment,” your alpha declares.

You do not hear her at first. The sounds and vocables mix together and you can only discern bits of pieces of it.

Not…not ready…alpha…

They are the only words that you can remember long enough to think them.

In front of you, your alpha’s tongue drifts to and fro over the wounds he’d left on your thigh.

I must, my love. I must.

His voice finds you even though his mouth doesn’t move.

You attempt to reach for him, to get closer to him, but it’s as if a weight has been attached to your arm and no matter how much you attempt it, it is too heavy to move. As if to soothe the frustration you let out in the form of a shaky sigh, he gives you featherlight kisses anywhere and everywhere that he can along your thigh before he turns his head inward toward your other and opens his mouth to mold it against you, his tongue laving at you ardently.

The attention has your core clenching around nothing.  

Before he departs from between your legs, his digits finish their work in securing the clamps along the back of the other piece of silver he’d put over your shin.

Like the air, his fingers are ever present and wind over the silver etchings he’d forged for you until they roam to the front of the adornment he’d just attached to you. The knuckles of the hand he has tangled your skirts has gone snow white in the tight grip he has on the thin fabric.

He’s holding it like it is a lifeline, and honestly, it just might be. He’s all that is grounding you right now.

“Stars above, my love, you charm me even when silence and stillness have stolen what is only mine to have,” he gently helps you to put your feet back on the grass, his golden irises sowing themselves deep into yours as he does, “I used to think about what you might look like all tied up and bound for me, but none of my imaginings could ever be as good as this.” He rises to stand above you and it only takes two of his fingers under your chin to lift it enough so that you can keep your gaze on him, your bare neck exposed for him as he inspects his handiwork while he goes on, “You haven’t any clue just how seductive you can be when you aren’t even trying, omega. Look at yourself.”

Distantly, relief trickles over you at how fucking responsive your alpha is to you. You wouldn’t have otherwise been able to move your head so that you could look upon him given that the rest of your body isn’t responding to what the apex between your legs has been sobbing over this entire time.

Your wolf sluggishly stirs at his command, and you do as you are told with your head empty of everything except the need to satisfy him.

 It takes some effort. Drawing your eyeline away from him is like towing an anchor through a muddy seafloor. The red paint of your own blood that you’d etched all over him has darkened even more in its dryness across his muscled arms and corded chest. Lighter trails of it have swept themselves down his neck from where it drips from his lips from his earlier ministrations, and with the hooded look in his eyes and wild black hair that curls around his chiseled face, he looks like he wants to devour you.

You know that you’d let him. In the back of your mind, the image of him with his head trapped between your legs, your ankles thrown over his shoulders and his lips wrapped around your pussy flashes. It sends wetness between your already slicked folds.

“Lustful little thing,” your alpha groans when your scent reaches his nostrils, “Stop thinking about getting fucked, pretty girl. I told you I would take care of that when this is over. Now look at yourself,” he orders.

His fingers that he’s kept under your chin lower your head so that you have no choice but to look ahead where he wants you to. You don’t have the strength to move it on your own anymore.

 The first thing you notice is that he’s still got your skirts rolled up between his now snow-white knuckles. The second thing you notice is the skin of your thighs is now painted in bloodied trails of your essence that circle and tread toward the very bindings that your alpha had just put on you. The third thing you notice is that just below your knee, rivulets of silver run along your shins and calves. Like they have dripped from the rocks of the creek you often played in as a child and found respite in as an adult, the silver drizzles down your leg until it pools around your ankle in the thick band of metal that encircles it.

“C-creek?” you let the heavy, rolling tide of that thought bring the word forth from your lips.

“Yes, sweetheart. I had hoped to capture the essence of the places you love the most in all of the pieces I made by hand for you,” his fingers loosen around the clump of your skirts under his fingers, and slowly, it descends down your knee, your shin, and then finally your ankle as you both watch. “It’s not a perfect replication, but a lot of silver passed through my hands in my mission to make something only you would be able to wear and bear.”

Affection courses through your veins as steadily as the blood that runs through your body at his words.

“Pack Alpha Jungkook,” the sound of wood rattles against the platform she stands upon when your grandmother strikes the timbered stage with a staff of oaken bark to announce, “With your preparations complete, you must now head to the battle grounds you have chosen where your challengers await your arrival. If you have anything else you wish to say to your intended or to the pack, you must do so now.”

Without taking his eyes off of you, your alpha answers, “I do have something to say.” He coaxes your chin upward with the fingers he still has planted there, and then sunlight in the form of irises finds yours. His voice is carried only to you in the small breeze that blows over you. “I want you to know, omega,” his thumb slides along the cleft of your chin, “that I love you. And this fight…I do it for you. Everything I do and have done up until now has all been for you, my love.” He tilts his head up, his lips finding the spot between your brows just under the crystal that hangs from your circlet and then mouthing, “Be a good for me until I come back to you. I will return shortly.”

You bite at the log he’s thrown you, only a few words leaving you because the rest had sunken under the murky waters of thought in your head.

“Good,” you can’t even scrunch your brows together in consternation anymore because of how leaden even those have become. Your jaw hardly even moves when you speak, because doing so is impossible with the muscles that refuse to respond to you as you say between parted lips, “b-be good for…for y-you. R-ret…return shortly.”

That seems to satisfy the alpha, for he rumbles against you in response. “That’s my girl.”

His mouth leaves you, and though you can’t really feel their warmness or softness anymore because of the silver, you miss them already.

He gives you one last glance, and in those eyes of his, and compassion clings to them as they cross over you.

You want to reach for him. You want to feel those arms of his around you. You want him to stay with you. That thought sinks away from you even though you try to swim after it.

Stay… alpha.

Your alpha steps back, shaking his head as he does.  

I will never have to leave you once this is over, my love. Trust in me.  I will not fail you.

With those words he sends through your bond, he turns away from you. Panic somehow worms its way into your gut as you watch.

Your alpha’ voice is firm as a tree stump and sturdy as the bark of one when he speaks again as the grass crunches under his feet. “To any alpha here-mated or unmated-do not go near the omega. My omega,” he adds. “Get within in one foot of her, and I will hunt you down.”

Before him, the males put an arm over their front and pound their fist into their chest one by one.

The sea of alphas and omegas part like a river for him, and no one stands in his way as he walks, his shoulders set proudly as he moves with confidence cording his muscles.

You try to whimper, but the sound is lost somewhere in your throat.

The other wolves cluster to one of two sides so that you have nothing blocking your sight from him as he treads on through the grass that catches his feet, the firelight of the braziers set every few feet bathing him in a golden glow. The red paint of blood he wears like a second skin, and it is a dangerous warning to the three that stand several paces apart from each other in the distance ahead.

The continual crunch of grass under your alpha’s feet continues until the grass yields to the dirt of the plain by the old knoll that had stood since the old times.

Your alpha halts, resolve now set in those eyes of his.

Before him to his left, Taehyung stares with a sneer on his face. In the middle of the field, ahead of your alpha is Yoongi, the russet-haired male that has his arms crossed over his chest. To his right, Jimin bares his teeth.

Your alpha reveals his own teeth to them all.

“Pack Alpha Jungkook,” the voice of your grandmother descends over the plain as she ambles, with two other elders, down the stage toward the mound before the plain, “As you have been named the Omega Y/N’s champion, you have been granted the battle rights and so you may choose the terms of this battle.” She peregrinates still, the thick furs around her shoulders unmoved even in her shaky footfalls, “No one may contest your decisions, and your choices are final once given. If any wolf breaks these terms, he will be disqualified and deemed unfit to take the omega as his own. Do you all understand?”

“Yes,” your alpha, without missing a breath, answers.

The other three males nod.

“Very well. Chosen one, do you wish to take on all of your opponents at once, one at a time, or in any sequential order?” She makes it to the top of the knoll, her knees popping as she does.

“I will take on Yoongi alone. The other two I will fight together. It matters not to me which I battle first.” Jungkook asserts.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Scared, Jeon?”

Taehyung laughs under his breath. Jimin cringes at the sound.

“Keep dreaming, Yoongi. I know how dirty you play,” Jungkook picks an invisible fleck of dust off his shoulder.  

“Will you fight in your human form, or will you shift to your lupine form?” The elder in grayed, wiry furs is unphased.

“The first battle I will fight as a human. My second I will fight as a wolf. The others will do the same.”

“Will you be using any weapons in your first fight?”

“Hands, teeth, and claws,” your alpha decides.

“Will this be to the death or to the surrender of the fallen combatants?”

“To the surrender. I do not wish to lose any of my alphas. Even if they are a pain in the ass.”

“Are there any other conditions you would like to set, Pack Alpha Jungkook?”

Your alpha’s eyes harden on each of the males before him. “Any wolf that falls in combat will bear those marks for the rest of his life. I will allow no healers or menders to their side unless the injury is life-threatening.”

“Those conditions will be met. Anything else?” The elder beside your grandmother asks.

“Yes. One more thing,” your alpha is unwavering as he takes a step forth, “No challenger may leave the perimeter of these grounds we stand on until the victor has been declared.”

“As you say,” the aged wolf on the other side of the lead elder says.

The rustle of trees sweeps over the land from the woodland around, and the fire of the braziers circling the arena of dirt is swept with the wind until all is quiet again.

Your alpha keeps his back to you, and so fixated on him, you do not see your grandmother lift her hand, the sound of horns filling the air as the two elders beside her blow into the wooden tusks with holes cut into them that they’d produced from the folds of their furs that cover the whole of their body.

“I will remind you, Jeon Jungkook, that as you are the current Pack Alpha, your title and rank will be stripped from you should you lose this battle. The victor will take your title, rank, and your intended should you be unable to beat them in combat,” The two elders at your grandmother’s side speak together, their voices melding into one, “Do you understand and agree to these terms?”

Your alpha doesn’t even flinch at the prospect. “I am aware of what will happen should I fail to be victorious. I consent to those terms.”

“Should any alpha fail to comply with these conditions, they will be exiled, and if it is the victor’s decision, he may decide to exile or end the lives of those he defeats.” The elders wait for all four males to acknowledge this with affirmations before: “Now, with the terms and agreements that have been given,” the elder in gray from atop the knoll who stands as the intercessor of the four alphas below voices, “Let the battle begin.”

For a few moments, all the males do is stand and stare between one another, no one willing to make the first move.

Your alpha is patient, so he waits. He has spent a long, long time waiting for you.

Worry snakes around your chest, its slithery movement slow and lazy as you watch your alpha’s muscles in his back tense as if he’s preparing to be attacked.

As if he can smell your concern, he turns his head to the side, his irises softening as they silently seek yours.

Worry not, my love. Just watch me. This will all seem like a dream in only a short while.

“The hell with this,” comes a dry remark from Taehyung, who shrugs off his black rabbit furs, the bones cracking from between his knuckles as he claws at his black linen shirt so that it falls in shreds at his feet, “I’ve been waiting for a chance to get revenge for what you did to my fucking shoulder, Jeon,” Taehyung covers the five circular wounds in his flesh, his eyes boring holes into your alpha, “and I will finish what I started with the female and make you grovel while I do it.”

“Oh, shut up already, Taehyung,” Jimin throws off his own furs, his eyes narrowing on the brown haired wolf who had just spoken, “I should destroy you first for what you did to my sister. To me,” he rips his own shirt from his body, “You fucking asshole.”

“Can you both just come at me already? I’m getting bored over here,” Your alpha stretches an arm behind his back, “Unless you’d like to let Yoongi have a go at me first?”

“Fuck off, Jeon,” Yoongi picks at his nails, “you two had better start ripping into some limbs, or I will.”

“No,” Taehyung pushes off his haunches and is off, “he’s mine.”

Jimin is on his tail the second he moves. Your alpha is still even though there’s a male running toward him and another behind that one. Taehyung’s arm lifts, his claws in the air and then he’s upon your alpha.

Fear constricts your stomach at the sight.

The brown-haired wolf draws his arm down in an arcing motion as if to slash at your alpha’s chest, but before it can make it there, your alpha’s hand, fast as lightning, races through the air and he grips Taehyung’s wrist with force, each of his nails sinking into the alpha’s wrist as if it were water. The brown-haired alpha barks in pain, his eyes unseeing of the other alpha behind him as he does.

Jungkook smirks, and with no effort, he swings his other arm back, his fingers clenching into a fist and then that fist makes contact with Taehyung’s stomach. Hard. The brown-haired alpha is flung like a pebble into the air and the impact of the throw has his head colliding with Jimin’s so that there’s a loud thud as Taehyung’s skull hits the other’s that is hard as a stone.  

“Surely you both can do better than that? I’m a little disappointed. I wasn’t expecting much from Taehyung considering he’s never been that great a fighter,” your alpha wrinkles his nose in disgust at the fresh blood that now coats his hand as he looks down at it, “but Jimin? You usually are faster than that. It’s unlike you.”

“Basta-“ Jimin is silenced when Jungkook impels his foot down on his abdomen to knock the breath out of him.  

Your alpha’s tone is devoid of any warmth when he chides, “I thought I told you not to address me with such disrespect.” He stomps on the downed alpha’s chest again, the rib beneath it cracking like a twig as Jimin yips in affliction.

Taehyung gets to his feet and swings, but Jungkook uses the body of Jimin like he’s a stepping stone to jump to the other side so that Taheyung misses and your alpha tuts, “Ah, ah, ah, Taehyung. It is rude to try to punch someone when they’re looking.”

“Like I give a fuck,” Taehyung curses, and when he swings again, Jungkook jumps back with inhuman speed. Across from him, he just narrowly misses Jimin who had rolled to his belly and pushed off his hands to get up.

Jungkook flicks his bloodied hand toward the ground as if to get it off and red dots the ground before he taunts, “You know, I’ve always thought you smelled absolutely rancid, Taehyung,” he wipes the remains on his trousers, “but I didn’t think it was possible for you to smell worse than the bottom of a fucking bog.”

Taehyung responds by yelling out the Pack Alpha’s name, and then he’s making another dash for him. Jungkook isn’t even phased by it. He just steps sideways so that the alpha’s claws and open maw miss him completely. Jimin comes for him next, but he dives toward the ground and rolls when the other alpha tries to swipe at his side from below.

 Yoongi, the passive bystander, stays where had been since the beginning and files at his nails using a rock he’d picked up.

Meanwhile, Taehyung scampers like a wild man toward Jungkook. Anger has turned the whites of his eyes red, and his movements only grow more erratic the longer he battles.

When Jungkook rises to his feet once more, he grins at the sight. “Always so quick to anger,” he spins when the brown-haired alpha’s arm descends downward, “and always so easy to defeat.” He rotates the other direction when Taehyung’s attempts to uppercut him, “I knew you would not be difficult to defeat from the moment I threw you against that tree in the fucking forest when you talked back to me. When you dared to disrespect and defile my intended with your tongue,” Jungkook’s fist ascends toward his maw, but the brown-haired wolf holds up both arms in front of his face to block. The force of the blow knocks his arms away from his face, one of his elbows pushed up into an area of his arm that it doesn’t belong as he curses loudly and the wolf staggers backward away from Jungkook, who mocks,  “I should take your tongue for all its slander, but taking that ego and pride from you will hurt you more than that ever could.”

Jimin sprints so that he’s waiting on the opposite side of your alpha, but before his outstretched foot can make contact with Jungkook’s stomach, his calf is caught by Jungkook’s fingers. Your alpha keeps that leg in his hold, his claws elongating and puncturing the flesh there so that Jimin winces and cries out.

Momentarily seized by the pain, Jimin grabs at his leg while Jungkook reprimands, “and you, Jimin…You used to be such a good friend to me. I have missed your presence and friendship.” He headbutts the male, “Were you not distracted by Taehyung, you might have actually made me break a sweat.”

The scraunch of dirt sounds from behind him, and Jungkook crouches as Taehyung catapults himself toward him. He hurls Jimin to the ground, and Taehyung’s teeth embed themselves into Jimin’s chest as the two tumble to the ground. In the scuffle, Jungkook’s claws that had been lodged in Jimin’s thigh had cut through his flesh like it was fluid, and blood sprays all around them before Jimin lands with a deafening thump on the dirt that is stirred up in a cloud around the males.

When it clears, a motionless Jimin is lain under Taehyung, who extracts his claws from around his heart and rises without even glancing his direction. Crimson gushes from the downed alpha’s wounds, his skin torn and mangled from his thigh all the way to his foot where his lifeblood flows out of him like a red sea. Bone peeks from beneath the five angry incisions that sever his skin from itself along his leg and his chest heaves with labor where the blood pushes itself out from the five punctures around his heart.

Agitation dots your alpha’s face where Jimin’s blood does not, his entire chest now speckled with crimson that you had not put there.

He had not wanted this to end in death for any under his charge.

“This is your fault, Jeon,” Taehyung spits, “If you had just fucking stood still, you would be on the fucking ground right now, and your little bitch would already be mine.”

That has your alpha’s irises lifting to his. They are colder than ice as he narrows them, “First you defile Jimin, who became your friend because I told him to, and then you insult my intended. Tell me, Taehyung, whose fault is it that you can’t even use your fucking shoulder where my claws severed some of the nerves there when the sun was setting?”

“Hmm,” Taehyung puts a bloody hand to his chin, “I would say it was the she-wolf who is to blame. I wanted to fuck her, and she didn’t want me to. You got in the way.”

“You will never touch her,” Jungkook lifts his lip so his teeth are on display, “and you will never have her,” your alpha growls, “not as long as I live and fucking breathe. I’ll break every bone in your body starting from your toes to your ribs if that’s what it takes to make you understand that.”

“Just as long as it’s not my face. I need that,” Taehyung’s sarcasm is loud, “the bitches I screw love it too much.”

With that, Jungkook roars so even the mountains beyond shake, and he rushes forward toward the brown-haired alpha. He moves with such speed that even the wind cannot blow past him, and it is over in seconds.

One second, your alpha is in front of the older wolf. The next, he’s sliding along the ground under Taehyung’s parted legs, the dirt scattering around him like the bones of prey after a hunt. Jungkook puts one arm out to steady himself before he turns off his heel and rises so he’s stood

behind the unexpecting alpha, and there’s no time for Taehyung to react before both of your alpha’s bloodied claws cut through the air like daggers and he’s dug them deep into the other alpha’s shoulders. Taehyung wails in pain as his freshly dressed wounds are reopened next to five new wounds on his other shoulder where red drips slowly from both shoulders down his bare, naked chest.

He thrashes in your alpha’s hold, but your alpha is stronger, and he knocks Taehyung’s knees out from under him so that he falls onto them in the black dirt.

“You’ve lost once again, you fool,” Jungkook utters, his claws tearing at the other’s flesh every time he thrashes, “now you can atone, at least a little, in your defeat.”

As they are, they both face you, and your alpha’s irises pierce yours when he orders, “Tell my intended that you’re sorry for debasing her with your speech and your actions. Tell her you will never do it again. That you’ll never pursue her again.”

Taehyung snaps, “This isn’t over yet.”

“Oh, but it is,” your alpha decides with derision, “It very much is.”

Taehyung attempts to wriggle out of his hold. Jungkook punishes him, his flesh tearing and ripping where Jungkook twists his claws deeper into him. Taehyung bellows in agony. More blood scatters down his back.

Jungkook huffs, only to extricate his claws from the male’s shoulders and kick him square in the back so that he falls to chest, his arms giving out on him with the way that the nerves had been cut and rearranged in the gory mutilation of his shoulders where flabs of skin barely hang on by a thread.

“Say it,” Jungkook orders as he stands tall above him. “I’m growing weary of waiting. I don’t want to have to use Alpha’s Bidding on you, but I will if I must.”

Taehyung remains silent minus the coughs where more blood spews forth from his lips. He must have bitten his tongue in the fall.

Though he can’t use his dislocated arm, he can still use his other one. That, and his legs.

Before he can even get his first foot on the ground, Jungkook’s hand darts out and his fingers project themselves over and around Taehyung’s neck so that he is held up under Jungkook’s digits. The Pack Alpha squeezes with enough force that Taehyung’s face begins to turn red, his breaths stuttering as his arms unsuccessfully attempt to pull the raven-haired alpha off.

“You’re weak, Taehyung. You always have been, and you always will be. Now give the fuck up already.” Your alpha urges him, the bite in his tone making the wolves around you shudder.

“I’d rather be fucking exiled.” Taehyung attempts to throw his only remaining good arm behind him, but Jungkook seizes his bicep in an iron grip.

Your alpha sighs with exasperation, tsking, “You really should know when to give up, you motherfucker.”

 “You don’t say,” Taehyung goads.  

Jungkook’s eyes narrow, his golden irises flickering as he mulls it over. Those irises settle on yours, and then your alpha’s lips set in a thin line before he acts.

 There’s no hesitation when he twists Taehyung’s arm into an unnatural angle, the crack of bones filling the air in warning as the wolf on his knees hisses and howls in agony.

“No,” Jungkook determines, “that would be too easy.” Jungkook’s teeth sharpen and shift so that they are pointed like blades as he growls, “Running would let you forget. But suffering, “ his canines elongate until they extend below his lower lip, “your suffering will haunt you as a wraith for the rest of your life.”

The word has hardly left his lips before Jungkook wrenches Taehyung’s thin arm up, his teeth flashing menacingly before they disappear into Taehyung’s hand, the sickening crack of bones breaking under his teeth as he bites down hard enough that his teeth penetrate the opposite side of his appendage. The male screams, his fingers twitching uncontrollably as blood bursts forth into Jungkook’s mouth.

It is fetid as bile. It is putrid. It is gamy, and Jungkook blanches at its disgusting tang so unlike the sweet sugary taste of your own.

“As much of a thorn in my side as you’ve been, I do not want to see any of the males under my watch be killed. However,” Jungkook throws his head back, his teeth dislodging from around Taehyung’s palm so that an ovular junction of dark holes arc over and under both sides of his hand and then Jungkook’s hoicking crimson spit from his mouth, “that doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you for what you’ve done.” He releases Taehyung’s deformed arm that is now bent at an odd direction, his jaw clenching as he says, “It doesn’t mean you are not due for discipline since you seem to have forgotten basic respect and decency.”

“I’ve got plenty of th-“

Before the downed mall can finish, Jungkook slices his serrated claws once across the brown-haired alpha’s back, his expression hardening even though the captured male yelps through the stinging sensations left in his wake, “Silence. I will not hear any more defiance or disrespect from you. You will give me your fealty, or I will make you hurt so much that you’ll never even remember what it was like when you could wake up in the morning and use all of your fucking limbs,” he yanks back on Taehyung’s neck, four of his fingers pricking crescents on one side and his thumb pressing tightly in on the other, his claws dangerously hovering over his nape. Like this, your alpha presents the fallen male to you as he continues, “and you will beg for forgiveness on your hands and knees for daring to deflower my mate in mind and in body, “with the hand that does not hold Taehyung captive, Jungkook’s long, curved claws shear the fallen alpha’s back along the unmarked half, and Taehyung’s eyes go white at that, blood bubbling in his throat as the will to fight falls from him with his blood while Jungkook finishes, “and you will bear these marks I’ve scarred you with for eternity, so that not even the gods may forget your faithless acts of lies and licentiousness with the unknowing omegas you defiled.”

It takes until his cheeks begin to turn blue for him to give a choked sound of defeat, his arms falling loosely at his sides as Jungkook tosses him to the ground as if he were nothing more but a piece of meat next to Jimin, who is still as a corpse next to him.

You grow wetter between your thighs at the display of your alpha’s power. You’d always known he was capable and that he was formidable, but seeing him reduce the pack’s strongest to nothing…it was arousing.  

Your alpha bends over between both of the fallen wolves, and then grabs a fistful of hair atop both of their heads and lifts their chins up so that you can see both of their faces.

Taehyung’s face is almost untouched save for the dirt and blood that have caked themselves onto his chin and cheeks. Jimin’s lids are slow to open and close, crimson dribbling from both sides of his stained lips. He is still lain on his back with pieces of his flesh hanging from his leg, the white of his bone peeking through small sections down his leg while his pectorals rising up and down heavily as he heaves air out of his system. His life essence trails sadly down the sides of his ribs.

Taehyung has not fared any better. The bones in both of his arms have been shattered and moved to areas that bones didn’t belong, and his back is marked in several puckered, open valleys of red, angry skin joined by rivers of crimson that make an ‘x’ shape down his back.  His limbs are thrown about him where he is prostrate in the dirt next to Jimin.

“This battle is over.” Jungkook states with finality. “Neither of you can continue.”

“I,” Jimin weakly rasps through the blood that bubbles up his throat, “I yield to you, Jungkook. You have beaten me.”

Jungkook’s fingers unthread themselves from Jimin’s hair, his skull landing softly on the ground as Jungkook guides it down. Despite everything, Jimin had once been his friend. Seeing him like this…it was not easy even for the Pack Alpha.

“Get him to the healers. He will bleed out if he’s not tended to immediately.” Jungkook commands, the emotion in his voice held at bay because he knows Taehyung, like a hound, can sniff weakness and prey on it.

Two males depart from the crowd of wolves around them. They do not question your alpha as they lift him carefully off the ground and onto a mat of grass that is attached to a set of wooden poles on each end for them to hold. Before they can walk away, Jungkook holds his only free hand out.

The two males stop immediately.

“You will answer to me from here on,” Jungkook’s eyes blacken in the eclipse from light to dark, his words deep as he spills them, “voice to me your regrets before I have you removed from my sight.”

Jimin can hardly keep his eyes open anymore, his throat aching from wailing too much. Drowsiness from loss of blood makes his eyelids droop, and it’s all he can do to incline his head downward, his eyes closing as he manages, “I have many regrets. One of my biggest,” he hiccups,” was that I thought I could win against you.” Remorse shakes his voice as he lets Jungkook know, “The other was letting Taehyung manipulate me and losing not only our friendship, but the female, too, because of it.”

With that, he’s carried away into a dreamless sleep and the two males extricate him from the battlefield.

“Pussy,” Taehyung hacks up more blood.

“I don’t recall telling you that you could speak. Perhaps I need to give another demonstration to you of just how weak you are,” Jungkook’s other arm raises up, but before it can go near him, Taehyung cringes and buries his face into the dirt.

Taehyung shrieks, “No! Not my face!”

Jungkook lowers his arm, “You’re pathetic, Taehyung. Now give up.”

“Fine. Just don’t ruin my face,” he screws his eyeballs shut, “I was bluffing about what I said before, alright? Alright?”

“I have tried to be a reasonable male,” Jungkook’s fingers bend inward where he still grasps the other male’s hair, and Taehyung’s expression twists in discomfort as your alpha cautions, “But my patience with you is at its end. Yield to me before I break some more bones.”

Taehyung bites down on his tongue, but he has no other options. He knows he’s lost and that he now has no choice but to swallow his pride.

“I…I yield.”

“Good. Now tell her you’re sorry for everything. You had better mean it, or I’ll hurt you even more than I already have.” Jungkook warns.

“Like hell I’ll apologize to a woman.” He defiantly counters.

Your alpha growls, and he stomps with force down on the back of Taehyung’s knee, the bone shattering as he does. “I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion. Do it. Now.”

Taehyung shakes his head into the ground, his trembling digits digging into the dirt as the threads of pride that remain in him all but sever.

“Gods, that pride of yours is really something. Perhaps by losing it, you’ll finally gain some sense again.” Jungkook provokes before his heel bears down powerfully on Taehyung’s other knee, the ligaments beneath fracturing and splintering upon impact.

Taehyung groans in torment, and what little of his pride had been left is torn from the very base of his being as Jungkook whips Taehyung’s head back so that his spine is curved up at an odd angle.

A little while away, some alphas observe Taehyung with expressions of disinterest, disgust, and dismay contorting their countenance for his misconduct toward their leader. The others watch their leader with delight dancing in their eyes. As for the omegas, many cling to another at the gory spectacle. A few glare with hatred toward Taehyung, but many more look in awe at your alpha.

“Cough up the last of your pride, you imbecile, because none will be left after this. If you will not submit of your own accord, I’ll just make you.” Jungkook tosses him to the ground as if he were nothing but a ragdoll, his irises darkening like the night, his words cloaked in the veils of shadows. “I command you to get on your hands and knees. You are to beg my mate for her forgiveness for any time you so much as looked at, thought of, or treated her in a way you knew I would be unhappy with. Then, you’ll pledge your loyalty to me.”

How anyone could refuse Jungkook would never be anything you could comprehend, but under Alpha’s Bidding, no wolf could disobey he who was the strongest of them all.

Taehyung grunts as the wolf inside him moves, and despite the unbearable pain that it causes him, he cannot help it.

He bows his head and his mutilated arms, maimed back, and disfigured legs all fold under him as he bites out between blood, “Forgive me, my lady.”

Words do not find you with the silver dampening all thought in your head. And in your gut, you can’t find it in yourself to care what this male thinks, says, or does.

All that matters to you is the one who stands behind him. All that fills your vision is him, and soon, he was going to fill you.

“The days of your disobedience are over. You obey and you serve me. Tell me this is true.” Jungkook demands, his eyes black as ash and his voice gravelly.

Taehyung can’t even pick his head up, for he’d landed on his nose in the dirt. With his dilapidated arms, he’d not been able to break his fall. It’s a struggle for him to speak between sputtering out the dirt, but he cannot ignore the male standing above him even if he wanted to.

His wolf speaks for him, his defiance dripping out of him with his blood onto the ground at the victorious wolf’s feet. “You are true in what you say.”  

Jungkook considers him before bidding, “You will never seek my female ever again, and you will do as I say when I command it of you without question, or I will sever your fingers, your toes, your legs, and your fucking arms from your body with my own hands if I have to. Is that understood?”

Taehyung’s skin crawls at the order, fear setting its teeth on him.

The last of his resolve slithers away from him, his muscles slackening as he concedes, “Understood, Pack Alpha.”

“What does it feel like?” Jungkook cocks his head to the side.

“What does what feel like?” Taehyung’s shoulders slump weakly.

Your alpha’s grin is vicious when he reveals rows of sharp teeth, his canines protruding from under his upper lip, “To lose.”

Those golden irises of his land on you and then they’re scaling over you as in a silent journey to appraise you of injuries even though he’s the one in the middle of the battlefield. They grow brighter the longer they are set on you, and with his attention deposited only on you, he doesn’t hear the pounding of paws against the dirt behind him.

All the veins in your body run cold, panic stabbing you through like an icicle. You are frozen in place under the numbing silver, but don’t care about the throbbing in your head from under your circlet that threatens to drag you into dark unconsciousness. Not even that can snuff out the scream that cuts through the air as a shrill sound rifts through your throat in the pitch of it that leaves the ears of every wolf in the vicinity ringing.

Those golden irises that are bright as the sunrise go dim as the dusk under the shadow of russet fur and snapping jaws.

[mea-gloria-fides]

Holy Congregation Gate of Heaven, Bevis Marks Synagogue, London.

[ridenwithbiden]

Last June, Supreme Court Justices John Roberts and Brett Kavanaugh shocked observers by joining the court’s three liberal justices to reject an Alabama congressional map aimed at diluting Black voters’ power. The ruling marked a (likely temporary) hiatus in the Roberts court’s systematic dismantling of the Voting Rights Act. It also invited a bevy of columnists to opine, See, this court isn’t so bad after all!

On the one hand, some fanfare was warranted. The Allen v. Milligan opinion was a genuine surprise, and as a recent lower court ruling in Georgia demonstrates, its effects will reverberate throughout the 2024 election cycle and beyond. A bad ruling would have been disastrous.

On the other hand, focusing on the decision obscures a disturbing reality: In the decade since it decimated the VRA with its notorious Shelby County v. Holder decision, the court’s right-wing majority has used its docket-setting power to tilt the playing field so sharply against democracy that even the rare “wins” simply preserve a degraded status quo.

A new study published on Thursday and led by my colleague Chelsey Davidson found that since the 2012–13 term, more than 80 percent of election-related cases on the Supreme Court’s hand-picked docket could move the law only in a direction that degraded fair elections.

In that time, the Supreme Court accepted 32 cases involving core democracy issues such as redistricting, ballot access, campaign finance, and VRA enforcement. In 26 of them, the lower court had issued a pro-democracy ruling. This means that the best-case scenario at the court was affirmation of the status quo, while a reversal of the lower court would restrict voter participation. By contrast, the justices picked just six cases where they might reverse anti-democracy rulings.

It’s not quite “Heads I win, tails democracy loses,” but it’s pretty damn close.

[ahb-writes]

Book Review: 'Ascendance of a Bookworm' #18 (4.6)

Ascendance of a Bookworm #18 (4.6) by Miya Kazuki, You Shiina, Quof

adventure

fantasy

magic

library science

librarian

royal academy

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Lady Rozemyne's second year at the Royal Academy is a blast. Except, well, it could have been a blast. The problem? The whirlwind bookworm causes so much confusion, chaos and uncertainty that she's called back home after only a week and a half. Not to say ASCENDANCE OF A BOOKWORM v18 isn't packed with a bevy entertaining and dramatic exploits. Only to clarify: If Rozemyne is the cause so much disorder in fewer than two weeks, then what would happen were she to spend the entire term in the Sovereignty?

The novel series' preference to alternate volumes of Rozemyne-at-school and Rozemyne-at-home hits another upswing, as readers trail the troublemaker's return to the Royal Academy. It's a bit unfortunate one can only gleam the young woman's adventures in short bursts like this, but it would appear Rozemyne moves so fast and so earnestly that everyone else needs a whole volume to play catch-up.

In any case, ASCENDANCE OF A BOOKWORM v18 is a wonderful volume. The book spotlights the fruits of Rozemyne's efforts to build up the educational resilience of her fellow Ehrenfest nobles. The book also incorporates a new anonymous threat, explores a new wrinkle in the novel series' mythology and lore, and offers some love to all of the library nerds out there. And finally, the author appears increasingly invested in dropping hints of deeper foreshadowing (e.g., a possible reference to the king; a splinter sect of zealots called "biblical fundamentalists"). A handful of seeds from the previous volume have yet to sprout (e.g., the Ahrensbach duchy scheming on Ferdinand), but one shouldn't be unconvinced the author is playing the long-game here.

Notably, the novel series' character development hits a nice stride. Wilfried's warm pretentiousness is less a mark of a whiny child and more representative of an exhausted and exasperated young man. It's heartening to see (Wilfried: "She expects from others as much as she expects from herself," page 98). Ferdinand, visible through third-person accounts and the Epilogue, is almost but not quite immune to Rozemyne's antics. He regularly expresses to Sylvester and Karstedt that it's only a matter of time until another Rozemyne-problem befalls the duchy (Ferdinand: "So it finally happened," page 311).

Anarchy aside, let it not be said that Lady Rozemyne has zero social anxiety.

Contrary to every other character's popular assumption, Rozemyne is a nervous wreck whenever she must reconfigure her behavior in front of someone new. She is, by almost all accounts, winging it. Which is why her sudden and newfound friendship with Hildebrand, the third prince, goes astonishingly (hilariously) well (despite everyone sweating it out whenever the two accidentally meet in the Royal Academy's library). At the book's beginning, the young woman confesses she'll probably survive just fine without noble socializing (Rozemyne: "I know I should probably socialize more, but… If my choice is between that and the library…", page 34), but it turns out combining socializing and library duties is the perfect snare for this little bookworm.

On subtler matters, ASCENDANCE OF A BOOKWORM v18 does wonders for readers more interested in the author's capacity to wring more detail out of this novel series. For example, readers still don't know what the gods and goddess actually look like, but in this volume, one can glimpse a statue of Mestionora, the Goddess of Wisdom. And similarly, readers haven't too wide an aperture through which the novel might illuminate Yurgenschmidt's civics education, but in this volume, readers learn more about post-Civil-War alliances and the knock-on effects of shifting sociology curricula among the noble elites. And further, readers have a rather disjointed and haphazard recollection of the "divine instruments" native to the book's lore, but in this volume, readers earn a practical and distilled glimpse of Schutzaria's shield, Leidenschaft's spear, the God of Darkness's cape, and Flutrane's staff. This open and honest effort to more smoothly merge passive and active worldbuilding makes fantasy literature worth the wait.

One can only hope the author continues to charm readers with more knowledge, folklore, and stories-within-stories to pry apart the history of Yurgenschmidt.

This is a good volume. A clever use of perspective-writing clues readers into the true impact of the protagonist's actions (e.g., nothing seems problematic in the moment, but later on, challenges emerge). Elsewhere, the rolling punches of Rozemyne always doing her thing with the library, yet that thing invariably spiraling farther and farther beyond her own remit, is not unexpected but funny nonetheless. Rozemyne aces her classes and rebuffs professors who think she and her peers are cheaters; she helps with a wildly dramatic fey-beast hunt but runs out of gas (and is likely to be summoned for questioning later); and she might have found a solution to that whole nobles-skimping-on-returning-books problem. And so, after a somewhat tumultuous second year at the Royal Academy, Rozemyne returns home for another scolding.

❯ ❯ Light-Novel Reviews || ahb writes on Good Reads

[kedreeva]

I love Bug and all the updates are so good. How long does it take for peafowl to mature? Any key development milestones?

Three months is about when you can stop worrying that they'll drop dead. 3-6 months range is where they start developing social bonds outside of their bevy, usually with the other young birds of a party. Bug is ready to have some friends, she already tries to initiate play with the babies, but they are not ready at all.

Peafowl, like horses, all turn a year older on January 1st (people still celebrate hatch days, or keep track of hatch months, but when someone asks you "how old is this bird" you count years by januaries), so that's the second big mark after 3 months, when all chicks become yearlings. Two years old is considered "puberty" range, and 3 years old is a young adult.

They're considered "mature" by 3, but most breeders will admit 4-6 is closer to full maturity. A male's train will get longer and better until he's about 6, which is when he'll be at the top of his game. At 3 a hen may or may not lay as well as a 4-6 year old, and she may or may not start going broody until she's 4+. I see a LOT of people jump the gun on "my birds don't go broody" because they have 2 and 3 year olds, even 4 year olds, that haven't gone broody, so the owners just start taking the eggs away and don't give them chances anymore.

[writing-intheundercroft]

Your Ivy Grows // A Trip to Town

AO3

She should’ve been in bed.

Truthfully, many of her problems stemmed from her being out of bed at the wrong time.  Her mother had always warned her that her disobedience would one day get her in trouble.  In fact, she wouldn’t be living out of a musty old mansion had she not been out of bed the night Marvolo Gaunt and his lackeys dropped in to visit her father.  She was supposed to be safely tucked away in her room, not out in the garden harvesting her dirigible plums under the moonlight.  They would’ve never known of her existence had Marvolo’s associate not been standing next to the parlor window. 

Then again, how was she supposed to know that her father owed Marvolo Gaunt a debt, and had spent the last six months trying to keep him from collecting?  Twenty four hours after she’d been snatched from the garden, she'd been banished to the Gaunt’s seaside manor with just a house-elf for company.  She’d remain there until her father found the blasted spellbook he’d promised to Marvolo. 

Her first few weeks of living at the house were eventful.  Marvolo had sent a bevy of governesses to supervise her, and she’d promptly chased each one of them off. Each had been directly instructed to keep a close eye on the girl, never letting her leave the manor. It only made her tongue sharper, lashing out even harder at her keepers. The first was old, and easily offended by even the lightest of jabs.  The second had cried on her first night after she’d made a dig at her marital status.  The third hadn’t even been there for a full twelve hours before she forced Golly to pack her trunks. 

“Master Marvolo won’t be happy with you,” Golly scolded her, the morning after the last governess took off running from the manor.

She shrugged, smiling at the little house elf as she sipped on tea. “Can’t we just be on our own? I much prefer your company.”

The house elf sighed. “You know Master Marvolo won’t settle for that. He doesn’t trust me to supervise you alone.”

She could’ve run at any moment then.  The manor had anti-apparition charms set around a wide perimeter (even down by the shoreline, she’d tried in vain) so physically running was her only option. A witch of her skill level could easily make her way back to London, and she had tried to do so the night after the last nanny departed, but Marvolo seemed to be one step ahead of her.  He’d caught her climbing out of her bedroom window that night, and forced her back inside the manor by the collar of her nightgown. Her wand was promptly confiscated, locked away somewhere in the depths of the house.  The threat that followed haunted her dreams. 

If you try to run, I will find you.  The house-elf? Dead. Your parents? Dead.  Your father owes me a debt, and running will only make it worse. It’s better if you behave.

And so, the next week, the younger Mr. Gaunt arrived. 

She hadn’t expected him to be so…different. He was the exact opposite of Marvolo; blonde, tall, and lean.  His voice was charming, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d smiled at the dinner table.  Given her father’s profession, she was used to gruff, vulgar men.  The younger Mr. Gaunt was so soft . Despite the angular lines of his face, the young Gaunt had a softness to him; his skin, smooth as cream, was unmarred by marks or stubble.  His lips were plush and pink, and his eyes were like glimmering opals.

She was glad he couldn’t see her blushing at the dinner table.

Perhaps the summer could be salvaged, she had thought, once she slid from her bedroom to the back door.  Golly had told her all about her former mistress, the Gaunts’ aunt who’d disappeared without a trace about a decade earlier. She was a lover of plants, the old house elf had explained, and her garden was in rough shape.  The ivy had overgrown, and choked the life out of any other plant in sight.  She’d taken to pruning and tilling the garden for new flowers when she couldn’t sleep at night; working with her hands distracted her from the worry she had for her parents.

Again, the younger Gaunt surprised her–this time, less pleasantly.  She hadn’t heard his footsteps (he was quite light on his feet, she noted) over the sound of her own humming.  She’d expected a bit of a scolding for being out of bed so late, but she hadn’t expected his screeching.  He threw the wine glass, the rich red liquid flying over the two of them as he scrambled to the ground.  He could see (she assumed) with his wand, but he’d discarded it, patting around the garden beds with his hands like a madman.  He yelled about violets, bluebells, a whole bevy of flowers before yelling at her to return to her quarters.  The linen apron and garden tools Golly had shown her were abandoned, and she returned to her room in shame.

The morning light came faster than she’d hoped. Grumbling to herself, she rolled out of the down feather bed, wrapping her housecoat over her nightgown as she descended the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Just as she was about to turn the corner into the kitchens, she heard a commotion; pots clanked on the ground, and what sounded like a hand met skin.

“Ouch!” The younger Gaunt grumbled. “I said I’m sorry.”

“You’ve apologized to Golly, but you haven’t said you’re sorry to her,” Golly gasped. “Golly is shocked you’d behave in such a manner, Master Ominis. Madame Noctua raised you to be kinder.”

She pressed herself against the wall, heart beating out of her chest.  She’d never known a house elf to ever lay hands on their master.

“How was I supposed to know she’d been clearing up the garden?” He grumbled.  He hadn’t said his first name at the dinner table; she repeated his name over and over in her mind. Ominis, Ominis, Ominis.   It didn’t quite suit him.

“The young miss has been kind to me,” Golly chided him. “Golly must insist you apologize to her at once.”

She could hear his footsteps drawing closer to the doorway.  There was nowhere for her to hide; he’d surely see her with his guiding wand, and things would be even more awkward than they already were.  She wished the stone wall would absorb her, praying that he’d somehow turn around.

He did not–but he still didn’t see her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, anticipating the awkward run in, but it never happened.  Opening one eye, she saw her chaperone turn the corner and walk towards the backstairs.  His wand was stowed away in his pocket, just using his hand to graze the walls for guidance. His appearance was so different from the tidy, proper gentleman who’d met her for dinner the night before.  His light blond hair had been perfectly groomed then; it was now messy, slept in, strewn across his forehead.  His face was flushed, no doubt from the hangover he was probably feeling after downing an entire bottle of wine by himself. The collar of his shirt was undone, showing the slightest hint of his pale chest.  His sleeves were rolled up over his elbows, displaying his forearms as they grazed the wall.  

Ominis Gaunt was handsome , she thought to herself.  Dreadfully handsome, despite the bite in his tone from the night prior.  She wanted to hate him for the way he spoke to her, but something in her stirred at the sight of him so undone.  She held her breath as his hand traced the wall, reaching out for the metal bar of the staircase handrail.  He slowly ascended the stairs, and the sound of his footsteps disappeared as he got farther and farther away.

His houseguest finally breathed a sigh of relief, turning to walk into the kitchen.  Golly had resumed her activities, whisking batter in a bowl, and smiled up at her when she entered the room.

“Master Ominis was just on his way up to apologize to you.” she tutted. “I’m surprised you didn’t run into him.”

“I did,” she admitted. “But he didn’t see me.” She sat across the table from Golly, leaning her chin into her palm. “He walks around the house without his wand.  Do you know why?”

Golly shrugged. “Master Ominis practically grew up here, Miss. He did not spend a lot of time in his family home; I don’t think his mother quite had the patience for his blindness. Madame Noctua basically raised him, and until he was old enough to use a wand, he used the walls to guide himself. Perhaps it's out of habit.”

“I’m very sorry for him, in that case.” she mused, pulling a tea cup from the center of the table. “Such a lonely life for a child.”

“I’d wager you’d understand,” Golly hummed, snapping her fingers. A kettle floated over, pouring warm tea. “You grew up in seclusion, did you not?”

She eyed the house-elf.  Golly was right, but her situation had been far different.  She had grown up alone, mostly due to her parents’ paranoia.  Their dangerous profession meant traditional schooling was unsafe, so she’d been homeschooled by her mother all her life.  She hadn’t spent much time (if any) with people her own age. It seemed while Ominis had grown up alone in the big old house, he’d at least been able to go to Hogwarts.  

“Golly thinks you should go out in the garden today.” the house-elf announced. “You’ll find Master Ominis now understands the undertaking you’re endeavoring with the plants.”

----

It wasn’t long after breakfast that she went out to the gardens.  She stopped in the shed, picking up a fresh apron and a basket of gardening tools.  Slipping on a pair of dragon-hide gloves, she walked out into the sunlight towards the rose bushes.  Their former caretaker must have been cross-breeding varieties; the bushes were now a little too close, tangled together after years of growth without supervision.  She knelt on the ground, taking out the pruning shears.

“Excuse me,” a crisp voice interjected. 

She turned her head, blinking through the sunlight.  Ominis was standing over her, his hands stuck in his pockets with a sheepish look on his face. “Do you have a moment?” he asked, digging his toe into the dirt like a sulking child.

She stood, dropping the shears into the basket. “Mr. Gaunt,” she mumbled. “Good morning.”

He winced at her words. “Please–you can call me by my first name.  Ominis.” 

“Ominis,” she repeated after him. It still didn’t suit him.

“I wondered if you might take a turn with me around the garden,” he asked awkwardly. His right hand was raised, the tip of his wand glowing red. 

Without a word, she wiped her hands on the apron, following him as he turned on his heel.  Their feet crunched on the gravel as they walked down the rows of boxwoods in silence, until Ominis cleared his throat.

“I’m very sorry for my reaction last night.” he apologized. “Golly explained to me–she told me that the garden looked horrendous until you arrived and started caring for it.”

“It’s alright.” she said softly. “You didn’t know.”

“I must explain,” Ominis insisted. “The garden is very dear to me.  My Aunt Noctua loved her plants, and she made me promise to take care of them some day.”

“It’s quite a grand garden, Mister–uh, Ominis.” she corrected herself. “And forgive me for saying, quite an undertaking for a blind man.”

He let out a dry laugh. “Yes, I suppose so.  I considered hiring a groundskeeper to tame it.”

“Let me,” she interjected. “I’d love to take care of a garden this big.  It’s quite a challenge, but it keeps me busy since there’s not much to do around here.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Ominis asked hesitantly. “Even Aunt Noctua had gardeners.”

“I have nothing but time on my hands,” she snorted. “I can handle it.  Besides, you could help me if you’d like.”

“I’m rather dreadful at gardening, actually.” Ominis admitted. “Noctua tried to teach me a few things, but I was so young, I doubt I remember. I was even rubbish at herbology in school.”

“Perhaps I can pick up where she left off,” she offered. “Teach you a thing or two about plants.  You can accompany me to the flower market, I’m not allowed out without supervision anyways. I haven’t been able to go into town since the last governess left, and I’m dying to go to the market.”

“To the muggle market, you mean?” Ominis asked, quirking an eyebrow.

She hesitated. The Gaunts were supposedly considered the cream of the crop when it came to purebloods, descended from one of Hogwarts’ founders; they probably weren’t too accepting of muggles.

“If it’s not allowed…” she started to say, until Ominis cut her off.

“No, let’s go to the market.” he offered. “I haven’t been to the town since I was a little boy, Aunt Noctua used to take me all the time. I’d like to know if it's changed at all.”

“You’re okay with the muggles?” she asked slowly.

Ominis frowned. “I told you last night, I’m not like my brother.” he stated. “I’m not like my family much at all, really.”

“Indeed.” She said, a smile growing on her face. She knew he couldn’t see it, but she hoped he could feel it. “We’ll go to the flower market first thing tomorrow morning.”

Ominis gave her a kind smile in return. He looked so different from the morning–hair perfectly shaped, slicked back away from his face.  His crisp white shirt was held together at the wrists with silver and emerald cufflinks, and forearms covered.  Everything was buttoned up, tidy, and proper.

She preferred him the way she’d seen him in the morning, a little messy.

“What was that?” Ominis asked.

She blushed. “Er, what?”

He frowned. “About my hair. You said something about my hair.”

“O-oh.” She stuttered, mortified that she might have verbalized her internal thoughts. “I just meant it looks nice today.”

Ominis’s face flushed, turning a pretty shade of pink. “Er, thanks.”

The pair continued their walk through the garden, a healthy distance between them. Ominis offered pleasantries about the area, asking what she’d gotten up to in the time she’d been staying at the house without him. His wand remained in front of him, glowing red as he guided them through the winding garden.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” she interjected, “how does it work?”

“Hmm?”

“Your wand,” she asked. “How you use it to guide yourself.”

“It’s a mixture of things, really.” Ominis admitted. “My Aunt Noctua spent months researching–simply put, my wand helps me see.”

“Yes, but what can you see?” She asked, tilting her head at him curiously.

“Well, I can’t really see, if that’s what you’re asking.” Ominis said flatly. “I can sense locations of things, and I can sense when things are coming at me.  But I can’t see what things look like, it doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m sorry if I’m prying. I’ve just never met someone with your abilities before.” 

Ominis paused. “My abilities?”

“Well, someone who could cast such a charm on a continuous basis must be quite skilled.  It seems like rather complex magic; your aunt must have been quite brilliant to come up with it.” she pointed out.

“No one has ever framed it up that way.” He blurted. “Most people call it a disability.”

“I prefer to look at things differently than others,” she hummed. “Makes life more fun.”

Ominis’s lips curved upwards, almost smiling. “Indeed.”

-----

She was quite eager for the next morning to arrive; nearly every night of her stay at the manor had been spent dreading another day of solitude, but she had high hopes for her new chaperone.  Mr. Gaunt–Ominis, rather–had promised her a trip into the town, and she yearned to stretch her legs.  The few weeks in captivity had been stifling, mind numbingly boring.  With Ominis, she’d finally get a chance to leave the barrier of the grounds.

There was a knock at her bedroom door; likely Golly, who helped her dress in the morning.

“Come in,” she yelled lazily. She sat at the dressing table in her chemise, holding her hair up to see how it could frame her face.  Perhaps Golly could help her pin up her hair in something fancy, so she could appropriately match Ominis’s opulent appearance.

The door opened, and boots clacked against the floor.  She turned, gasping as she saw Ominis standing before her.  She prepared to shout that she was indecent, but her lips faltered when she saw his empty hands. Like the morning before, his wand was stowed away in his pocket, only this time he held a wooden cane.

“I wanted to see if you’re ready yet.” Ominis said politely. “I remember the flower market opens rather early, and the best picks go first.”

“Almost ready,” she lied. “Give me a moment, I’ll meet you down in the foyer.” Even though she knew the man couldn’t see her, her arms still flew across her chest to cover herself. It seemed silly, even though his wand was far from his hands, but he was still a man.

Ominis bowed his head slightly. “Of course.  I’ll see you downstairs.”

She haphazardly threw on her green day dress (the nicest one she’d brought with her) and braided her hair. Picking up her sunhat and gloves, she rushed down the staircase to Ominis, who was standing by the door.

“You’re loud when you walk.” Ominis noted. “I could hear you the minute you stepped out of the bedroom.”

She rolled her eyes, pushing the door open as she slipped on her lace gloves. “Did you get super powered hearing to make up for your blindness?”

Ominis pressed his lips into a flat line. “Actually, yes.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize.” she stuttered.

Ominis rolled his eyes. “I’m joking,” he laughed. “You’re just as loud as an elephant, stomping your way up and down the stairs.”

She paused for a moment, chuckling in unison with him. It felt nice to have a companion to laugh with, and it meant after their disastrous first day together, he was starting to feel comfortable around her. 

“So, Ominis Gaunt has jokes,” she teased. “Not all prim and proper, I see.”

Ominis gave her a look. “Despite my appearance, I do have a sense of humor. Now, follow me. I know a shortcut to the town.”

She followed him and his glimmering red wand through thickets of trees on the property. Ominis walked ahead of her, pausing only when they reached unsteady terrain. He’d hold his hand out, helping her step over thick tree roots. His knowledge of the property from childhood hadn’t faded, no matter how long it had been since he’d last returned.

“I’ll need to take your arm when we reach town,” he announced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can’t have my wand out.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to guide you.” She murmured. They were nearing the edge of the town, muggles within seeing distance. Ominis flipped his coat, shoving his wand inside. He gently looped his arm through hers, the other holding out the wooden cane.

“To keep up appearances.” He said simply, as if he’d read her mind.

They walked, arm in arm, down the hill and onto the dirt path.  The muggles didn’t spare a glance at them, likely assuming they were another young couple enjoying a marvelous summer morning.  Ominis’s arm looped tighter around hers, his hands gripping the seam of his jacket.

He was nervous, she realized.  His jacket flap opened in the wind, and she could see the handle of his wand tucked into the inner pocket. Oh how she missed having her wand…

She felt a pang of guilt run through her body; was she really thinking of stealing a wand off a blind man? 

“It’s busy.” Ominis commented anxiously, pulling her tighter.  The muggles packed around them, and the market was loud.  Vendors yelled out their wares and prices, and old women were haggling over flower pots.  It had to be sensory overload for him; he was practically clinging to her.  Without his wand, Ominis had to rely on her arm and the meager wooden cane in his right hand. 

Bodies started jostling them, and a dog across the road barked.  Ominis startled, letting go of her arm.  She quickly side stepped a puddle in the street, jumping onto the curb with her skirts in hand. Ominis, now cut off from his only guide, started jerking back and forth against the crowd in the street.  Again, no one minded him, bumping into him as they went about their business.  

She could run.  

Ominis wouldn’t dare pull his wand out in public in front of so many muggles; she’d have at least a ten minute advantage on him.  He was also far too gentle–she knew he wouldn’t immediately report her missing, not to Marvolo.  Ominis had made his dislike for his brother well known within the first twenty four hours of meeting, so he’d likely try to find her himself.  She could be in London by nightfall, and could escape with her parents by morning.  It would mean sacrificing her beloved wand, but she could always buy a new one someday.

She froze on the pavement, staring at him.  His head twisted and turned, even though he couldn’t see; Ominis yelped out her name over the crowd. He’d shaken out his well kept hair, a lock of blond hair falling in the middle of his forehead as he wobbled against strangers in the street.

There would be other opportunities, she thought. It would be sick to leave a disabled man in such a state. Besides, it wasn’t worth leaving without her wand anyways. If Marvolo was sick enough to threaten a sweet old house-elf, she couldn’t imagine what he’d threaten Ominis with.

“I’m right here,” she called out, stepping back into the street.  She caught Ominis’s flailing hand, drawing him closer. “I’m sorry–I’m right here.”

His chest was heaving, and he pulled at his cravat, loosening it from his neck. “I was worried you left me.” He admitted.  Ominis said it so honestly, it shocked her.

“I wouldn’t,” she lied. She smoothed her gloved hand over his hand to reassure him. “Shall we peruse the flowers?  Perhaps we can bring home some roses for Golly.”

Ominis nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yes, let’s move on.” he said shakily. 

-----

An hour later, the pair walked back up the trail to the house.  To her surprise, Ominis had purchased nearly every bouquet she’d stopped over.  

“You didn’t have to buy every single one, Ominis.” she grunted, shifting the weight of four wrapped bouquets in her arms. “They don’t go together at all, it’ll look horrendous.”

He shrugged. “They smell good.  Besides, it’ll be nice to have flowers in the house. Golly could leave the windows open for days and it’ll still smell like mildew.” he wrinkled his nose. “The poor thing has gotten too old to clean that big house by herself.”

She pursed her lips, adjusting the bouquets against her hip as they started walking uphill. “How about I put these flowers in vases when we get back?  Would you like an arrangement for your bedroom?”

Ominis gave her a flat lipped smile. “That would be nice.”

As soon as they were covered by the trees, Ominis pulled his wand out of his jacket.  The tip turned red, and Ominis shuddered as he adjusted back to his sight .  He was no longer nervous, now confidently walking through the wooded path back to the manor.

“You don’t like going long without your wand.” she observed.

Ominis shook his head; his hair remained mussed from the panic at the market. “No, I don’t.  It’s a little disorienting going back and forth.” he cleared his throat, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t thank you earlier, by the way.”

She leaned her nose down, sniffing some particularly potent sweet peas. “For what?”

Ominis bit down on his lower lip. “For not leaving.”

She froze in place. “What do you mean?” 

“Here, let me carry some of those.” Ominis offered, taking a few of the bouquets with his free hand.  He nodded his head forward, beckoning her to follow. “There’s no need to lie. I know you contemplated it, at the very least.  You had a chance to run, but you didn’t, and I appreciate that you stayed.”

Ominis Gaunt was far more perceptive than she’d anticipated.  She supposed being honest with him would push her further into his good graces. “I thought about it–but staying was the better option.  Besides, your brother locked my wand up somewhere in the house.” she admitted.

Ominis clicked his tongue. “Of course.  I’d expect nothing less from him.”  His face softened; it was a mystery how a man with such sharp features could look so gentle at the same time. “For what it's worth, I’m sorry. If I could help, I would.”

In just the two days she’d known him, Ominis Gaunt had proven to be quite different from his relations.  He was honest and kind, and actually made for good company. He somehow understood how she felt; perhaps he too knew the feeling of being caged in. She couldn’t imagine growing up with a brother like Marvolo Gaunt.  Something about the way Ominis stiffened when he heard Marvolo’s name told her he wouldn’t have been kind to his younger brother.

“I won’t run,” she said softly. “Not yet, at least.” It was the truth.  No matter how kind her new companion was, her first priority would be returning to her parents. As soon as she got access back to her wand, nothing could stop her.

“Well, when you do, at least give me a heads up.” Ominis teased. His dry humor was endearing. “That way, I can run too.”

There was an ease between them that soothed her.  Ominis wasn’t like a governess, watching her like a hawk and criticizing her every move.  He’d been quick to apologize for his mistake in the garden, and even more understanding of her motives.  They weren’t too different from one another, she thought to herself. Perhaps Golly had been right. They might understand one another.  Perhaps even become friends.

“Do you need a hand?” Ominis asked.

She hadn’t realized that she’d stopped in her tracks.  They’d stopped in front of a large root; Ominis had shifted the bouquets under the arm wielding his wand.  His free hand was outstretched, offering her balance.

She gladly put her hand in his.

[nevermore-ocs]

Lucy Ragnulf x chubby fem reader headcanons!

-Seemingly being a common occurrence for the Ragnulfs, Lucy ALSO deeply loves herself a plus-sized, big, chubby woman

-You are the utter definition of eye candy to her, and does she ever have the insatiable sweet tooth

-She loves to silently watch, to witness, to wordlessly marvel at even the tiniest things about you, she's been like this ever since the two of y'all first met and it really came to fruition when you made it official

-Fabric of certain pieces of your apparel stretching over your hips, your belly, your chest, wondering to herself what other certain articles of clothing would look like on your body due to this and end up flustering herself in the process when her thoughts traverse the more sensual side of things

-Another thing that Lucy's able to effortlessly capitalize on thanks to her masterful people watching absolutely is that, nothing can really just fly past under her radar, certainly nothing that you attempt to get away with. At first, you'll believe that your attempt to conceal over a bevy of stretch marks striped over your belly, maybe by pulling a certain shirt down just that little bit further, or maybe even fully reconsidering in dressing up in something entirely different even if its in opposition of how much delight the overall outfit brings you

-Then you'll feel the thing that halts you

-One of Lucy's hands silently sneaking forward from her side after she had crept up behind you, she takes pride in just how soundless her steps can be too for such occasions like this

-Her clawed fingers will just inch upward and hook themselves around the edge of whatever blockade you had instilled to cover up your frame, and begin to ease the cloth back down and off of you

-"You don't have to do that, y'know? The fact alone that humanity literally layered on this, I guess second hand shame, to kinda, say it easier that you need to wear 6 different fucking things just to walk outside with, anyone, not just me, makes me wanna heel stomp teeth down fucking throats in your honor, if I'm being honest-"

-She was, no different in her own manner, the onyx colored cloth mask she had tugged upwards over her nose and mouth was a clear indicator of her hypocrisy, she knew, full-heartedly

-She takes a hold of the edge of your shirt to give a little tug as this indicator for you to direct your attention to your attire

-"Who bought this?"

-"Uh, I did, yeah, but what does that have to do with-"

-"Then wear it, you bought it, you own it, wear what's yours, baby, please. I'd rather have you exactly the way that you are, of course, and as, fucking happy as I can get you, then for you to be as fucking skin, bone ass thin, like what they think is hot up there just to please a bunch of other people who give you the time of day to their oh so important thoughts for like, 5 seconds."

-You had a feeling of what she was going to come back with, but despite it, you blinked your stare up to her face and brought it up

-"And what do I do if someone says something about it? About me?"

-She's silent for a moment or so before her own blood ruby eyes cast down onto you in return and with a softened hum petering through her voice

-"Then you'll only need to stop for lunch for yourself today, after all."

-You couldn't see it, but you could practically feel Lucy's tongue swipe over one of her elongated fangs primed within her mouth thanks to the hauntingly entrancing sight of a bloodied iridescent glint shimmering over her eyes

[okami-zero]

Spoilers for Dawntrail MSQ below!

So, after the assault on Tuliyollal, I am doing the ques to assess damages. ANd while walking through Bayside Bevy, which is covered in scorch marks and debris, there are a *TON* of crafters there. And on a technical level, I know that they are either prior to or past this point in the story. And at first it was kind of a WTF moment.

And then, from an RP standpoint, thinking about it...

It looks like they are helping repair and rebuild. And that was actually pretty neat.

For now, AKagi needs to go kill some fucking robots and an insane, evil cyborg lizard.

[tbfamily-if]

Portrait: Bevis Bakshi

made with bing image creator

Bevis's Relationship with His Mother:

Relationship Dynamics:

Bevis shared a deeply emotional and affectionate relationship with his mother. Their bond was characterized by warmth, understanding, and an unspoken connection that transcended words. Bevis found solace and comfort in his mother's nurturing presence, cherishing the moments they shared together.

Most Awesome Experience Together:

The most awesome experience Bevis shared with his mother was a mother-son camping trip to the mountains. Surrounded by nature's beauty, they spent days exploring, laughing, and bonding over shared experiences. The tranquility of the wilderness provided the backdrop for unforgettable memories that strengthened their bond.

Post-Grief Reaction:

Bevis's reaction to his mother's untimely death was one of profound sorrow and despair. Losing the anchor of his life left him adrift in a sea of grief, struggling to come to terms with the profound loss. His world shattered, and he grappled with overwhelming emotions as he navigated the turbulent waters of mourning.

Coping Mechanism:

Bevis's coping mechanism involved seeking solace in music, his mother's favorite songs becoming a source of comfort in his darkest moments. Lost in the melodies, he found a temporary reprieve from the pain, allowing himself to feel a semblance of connection to his mother through the music they once shared. Music became his refuge, a sanctuary where he could grieve and heal in his own time.

Bevis's Hobbies and Relationships:

Hobbies:

Bevis finds joy in a variety of activities, including playing video games, exploring the virtual realms of his favorite titles, and immersing himself in the captivating narratives they offer. Additionally, he enjoys indulging in creative pursuits, often expressing himself through art and writing, much like his sister Alisha.

Relationship with His Sister, Alisha (11):

Bevis shares a special bond with his sister Alisha, respecting her talent and creativity. Despite their occasional differences, he admires her artistic endeavors and is always eager to support her passion for manga. Bevis takes pride in being the first to read Alisha's manga creations, offering feedback and encouragement that strengthens their sibling bond.

Relationship with His Brother, Asim (11):

Bevis and Asim share a close sibling relationship, often engaging in playful banter and shared interests. Despite their differences in temperament, Bevis values Asim's humor and companionship, finding comfort in their shared experiences. They bond over gaming sessions and outdoor activities, enjoying each other's company and mutual support.

Relationship with His Brother, Darsh (1):

Bevis dotes on his youngest brother, Darsh, finding joy in the innocent laughter and playfulness that the toddler brings to their lives. He takes on a protective role, ensuring Darsh's safety and well-being while cherishing the moments they spend together as a family.

Relationship with His Father, Rakesh:

Bevis shares a strong bond with his father, Rakesh, respecting his authority and seeking his guidance in times of need. Despite their occasional disagreements, Bevis admires Rakesh's efforts to provide for the family and navigates the complexities of father-son dynamics with patience and understanding. They bond over shared interests like sports and enjoy spending quality time together, strengthening their familial bond.

Bevis's Relationship with His Dad's Best Friend, Bo Wu:

Bevis's relationship with Bo Wu is marked by occasional emotional outbursts, often stemming from the deep sense of loss he feels after his mother's death. Bo's presence may trigger intense feelings in Bevis, manifesting as anger or frustration as he struggles to cope with his grief.

Little Facts about Bevis:

Favorite Color: Red holds a special significance for Bevis, symbolizing passion, strength, and the intensity of his emotions.

Favorite Singer: Bevis is a devoted fan of Elvis Presley, finding comfort and inspiration in the iconic singer's music. Elvis's soulful voice and timeless songs resonate deeply with Bevis, offering a sense of nostalgia and connection to his mother's memory.

Favorite Series: Bevis's favorite series is "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles," a beloved childhood favorite that holds sentimental value. The adventures of Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, and Michelangelo captivate his imagination, serving as a source of joy and escape during difficult times.

Cosplay with Siblings: Bevis enjoys cosplaying with his siblings, Alisha and Asim, as characters from "Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles." Asim takes on the role of Michelangelo, embodying his fun-loving and carefree spirit, while Bevis portrays Raphael, channeling the character's fiery personality and determination. Alisha joins in as April O'Neil, adding her own creative flair to the cosplay ensemble. The activity becomes a cherished bonding experience for the siblings, allowing them to celebrate their shared love for the series and create lasting memories together.

More Facts about Bevis:

Favorite Animal: Bevis has a fascination with polar bears, particularly drawn to their majestic and powerful presence. The image of an ice bear roaming the Arctic resonates with his sense of strength and resilience.

Favorite Food: Bevis's favorite foods are pizza and lasagna, indulging in the savory delights whenever the opportunity arises. The comforting flavors and hearty ingredients provide a sense of familiarity and satisfaction, reminding him of home and family dinners.

Gaming with Asim: Bevis shares a close bond with his brother Asim, particularly when it comes to gaming. They enjoy spending time together immersed in virtual worlds, teaming up for cooperative gameplay or engaging in friendly competition. Gaming serves as a way for them to bond and unwind, strengthening their sibling connection.

Supportive of Alisha's Manga: Bevis takes pride in being the first to read Alisha's manga creations, eagerly anticipating each new installment. His support and encouragement serve as a source of motivation for Alisha, fueling her creativity and passion for storytelling.

Quick Jealousy: Bevis's emotions run deep, and he can be quick to feel jealous when faced with changes or uncertainties. His attachment to stability and familiarity makes him sensitive to shifts in the family dynamic, causing him to react defensively in certain situations. Despite his initial reactions, Bevis ultimately seeks reassurance and understanding as he navigates the complexities of change.

[annamaetion]

AI art won’t take away the time I drew a bevy of farm animals for a little girl sitting in front of me on a plane, to distract her from her ears popping painfully. It can’t steal the smile that I put on her and her parents’ faces.

AI needs electricity, and advanced technology that steals from actual artists (and other AI “art” which hopefully poisons its own wells) —All I need is something to mark with and something to mark on.

Sora AI can be used in a myriad of ways to destroy lives and what you want to bet that nobody in charge gets arrested?

We need AI laws…yesterday

[inchidentally]

martin posting all 3 of his driver flirtationships in his insta dump and lando being (at the time of this ask) the only one to reshare the pic to his stories, PLUS adding the "🖤🖤" caption....oh lando go on and scent-mark him already you know you want to 🙄

omg I see your vision and it is compelling me greatly bUTTTT what if I raise you an omega Lando being circled by Max, Daniel, and Oscar and Martin was like oh hell na it’s time Lando presented his neck to me in public I’m not having any more of this

and THEN he posts the ultimate alpha thirst trap to further his cause ??

*especially when big bad alpha Carlos is conveniently laid low w appendicitis and couldn’t mount anyone let alone fight off the others like usual aiavavbdbsbdbdj

tragedy for all of them bc Lando knows none of them will ever give up and he’s happiest having a bevy of alphas vying for him at all times