#flame scallops

[goshashka-design]

Crafting Culinary Elegance

https://videos.pond5.com/seaside-symphony-crafting-seafood-rolls-footage-254010148_main_xxl.mp4 Seaside Symphony In the quiet theater of a seaside kitchen, where salt-kissed breezes mingle with the sizzle of pans, a symphony unfolds. It is a culinary ballet – a delicate pas de deux between the ocean’s bounty and the hands of a skilled chef. Against this backdrop of azure waves, the stage is set…

[jackalhadrurusluvr]

might have to give dune the flavor of nightmares that i have been plagued with lately

[tteokdoroki]

✩ — ANGELS SHOULD NEVER FALL THIS FAR FROM HEAVEN ⁀➷ everyone believes satoru gojo to be an angel. your mother considers her new son to be a blessing, even if he’s bratty and spoiled. but never once did think teasing him would make your step-brother to act on such ungodly desires. (3.2K)

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, smut, pwp, college!au, religious imagery, step-cest, groping, fingering, ‘just the tip’, exhibitionism, clothed sex, male masturbation, slight degradation, bratty behaviour, use of oneesan, unprotected sex, ruined orgasms, cumplay, fem!reader, step-bro!gojo.

things to note. lol sorry it’s been a while !! trying a new layout also posting this into the void while i work on kinktober eee !! idk i’ve had a rough time trying to write a one shot so im glad i could make this !! special thanks to @kishibye for beta reading. i hope you enjoy this bestie boos ily <3

“what are you doing?” there’s a sharp edge to the tone of satoru’s voice, splayed across his tongue that holds back a stream of curses. his eyes speak fury in their piping hot flames of wild cerulean as he watches you enter the kitchen and shoot straight for the snack cupboard.

you can feel the weight of his gaze as it crosses the slopes of your body, from the back of your head, twirling around your curves before ultimately falling to your behind.

playing innocent, you stand on your tip toes and grasp at the bag of chips you’re after. the ones on the top shelf. “whaddya mean ‘what am i doing’?”

“what do you mean what do i mean?” your step brother retorts childishly, as if you’re two kids fighting on a playground at recess.

you click your tongue and pay him no mind. “don’t be such a baby, satoru,” you wave a hand in his face in a haughty manner. “use your big boy words.”

gojo suppresses a whine when your shirt rides up and reveals your skin to gorgeous eyes. he lets it gargle around in his throat like the sting of cool mouthwash, before striding over to you — grabbing the chips and slamming the cupboard shut so hard it makes you jump.

“you can’t just walk around dressed like that.”

he gestures to your get up — the clothes you wear when nobody’s home. your sapphire silly and scallop-edged panties, your old and ratty band t-shirt haphazardly thrown on.

“why?” you turn around to come face to face with your younger (step)brother, noting the way his stare hones in on the plush meat of your thighs as you squish them together — leaning back against the kitchen counter.

“my friends are coming over.”

“so, what’s the big deal?” there’s something about pissing gojo off that entertains you. he’s a brat by all means, raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and daddy’s dollars tucked into his pockets. whenever there’s a problem, all it takes is a classic ‘toru temper tantrum and your parents are on the scene to fix things for him. he’ll never know the hardships of being raised by a single mother, always having a little less than most. he walks around in his own little bubble of riches - and you can’t help but want to pop it. “shoko thinks i’m cool and geto will probably jack off to me later. it’s whatever.”

“but it’s not whatever,” you can practically see satoru fight the urge to stomp his foot like a petulant child — even going as far to have the audacity to pout down at you. “you’ll just embarrass me. so do us both a favour and put some clothes on, nobody wants to see all that ‘round the house.”

“do you own this house?”

“no but i-“

“but your daddy does. and daddy isn’t here! so shut up, satoru!” jabbing a finger into his chest, you smile up at your not-so-little little step-brother, evilly. “i make the rules.”

“oh fuck you. all you do is mooch off of my dad, princess. you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your mom whoring it out for him.” he sneers in response, upper lip curling into a distasteful snarl like a dog with a stranger on its territory. his words, though cruel and foul, are far from the truth and you know that he doesn’t mean it. satoru is a brat that throws acid laced words at anyone who gets in his way — yourself included.

even though you agree that your parents tied the knot all too fast — barely giving the two of you a chance to get to know each other as siblings. they were in love and far too happy for the rivalry between their children to get in the way. you know that the fact pissed gojo off to no end, he hated how your mother doted on him and how he’d always needed to fight for his father’s attention. now it certainly wasn’t ever going to be on him. but the two women in his house instead.

your poor, spoiled, baby brother.

however, you won’t let his words and how he projects onto you, hurt you. “whoops! looks like i dropped my will to give a fuck!” whilst pretending to drop your snack, you bend over in front of him to reveal inches of beauty marked and blemished flesh, drawing hungry seafoam eyes to the bounce of showing your ass — testing your little step brother. “i don’t care satoru, i’m older.”

satoru’s mouth snaps shut after moments of wordlessly opening and closing. he stands frozen on the spot, as if he can’t seem to process the very idea that his older step-sister had just flashed him to prove a point.

but just when you think you’ve won, the silver-haired brat is pressed right up behind you, forcing your body to bend over the cold marble counter that instantly has your nipples hardening against the icy surface. heat rushes to your face, blossoming just under the barrier of your skin as his hard on nestles it’s way between your ass cheeks — a symphony of your surprised squeaks echoing through the modern kitchen.

“hey! what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

instead of responding, he pushes your head down against the counter — circling his increasingly wet erection against your behind, manhandling the globes of flesh back onto his dick. “not so fun, is it.” he coos down at you, voice chilly and full of condescending highs and lows. “yanno…you’re awfully mean to me.”

saliva pools on your tongue, weighing it down in your mouth like a paperweight as satoru’s girth slips downwards, seedy tip brushing over panty clad and your swollen clit. “aren’t oneesan’s s’pposed to take care of their baby brothers?” his breath is hot and ragged against your ear as gojo haunches over you, caging you in like a wild animal as you thrash and writhe under his touch.

you can’t even bring yourself to feel an ounce of shame when gojo’s left hand dances between your tangled limbs and slips past the frilly band of your underwear — ghosting over the throbbing pearl laying between your sticky pussy lips. “step…step brother!” you whinge at the tingle of pleasure that blooms in your lower tummy and spreads like angel wings throughout the rest of your body. 

satoru takes turns playing with you, alternating between his nimble, skilled fingers and his seedy girth that smears precum all over your inner thighs and panties. “like that even fuckin’ matters.” he laughs, twisted and proud. “could you get off like this? yeah i think you could…. you’re already so wet. just from grinding on your little brother’s cock.”

your legs grow shaky at his ministrations, beads of your juices oozing from your empty entrance to stain the man’s sweats, slicking him up as if it’s a signature of your claim. “‘toru!” you gasp, eyes rolling back into the depth of your skull. “m-more.”

“look at how fast you fold for me…” he pushes up your shirt so that the fabric pools around your waist — pawing at the fat there, massaging your hips softly as if he isn’t violently, cruelly rubbing one out on your achey pussy. “i don’t think you’re in a position to ask me for more, big sis.” satoru taunts, a heavy hand coming down on the bare skin of your ass, leaving a raw handprint in its place. “such a nasty slut, i bet you’d let me fuck you like this too. out in the open, where anyone could catch us.”

you yelp in surprise at the feeling of gojo’s messy, cream coated cockhead nudge at your entrance from over your panties — a slender finger pulling the soaked material to the side so he can fuck you with his tip. “oh, i bet you’d like that, huh baby?” he continues to purr, jutting his hips forward ever so slightly — feeding your greedy cunt a few more inches of him. satoru’s barely sheathed inside of you, but you’re already stretching deliciously around what he’s given you. he’s fat, girthy just as he is long and his mushroom tip drags along sensitive spots in your walls you didn’t even know you had.

 he hasn’t even fucked you properly yet.

you sob, wail and writhe on your little step brother’s cock, nails clawing at the marble counter while your breath escapes you. “satoru, please fuck me. ‘m sorry… sorry—!”

“shh big sis, you’re being too loud,” he cups a hand over your mouth. gojo eases two digits past your plump lips to pacify your cries as he shallowly pumps his wet cock into the heat of your sex — gritting his teeth to hide his own moans. “we…fuck, you’re tight as shit… we wouldn’t want my friends to know that you dress like a slut for my cock, would we?”

you shake your head with a muffled moan, suckling the taste of yourself from gojo’s fingers and breathing heavily through your nose. “no, we wouldn’t. that’s right. good girl, oh shit.”

satoru laughs, a little cocky and a little drawn out in a long, whiny whimper over the wet slap of the backs of your thighs in the front of his own. but he trembles from behind you, like his legs are about to give out every time your creamy cunt sucks a little more of him in. it’s a miracle he’s managed to hold you both up.

guilt wracks your body intertwining with the red blood cells coursing through your veins and carrying limited oxygen to your brain — your head practically empty at how your little brother ruins you on half of his fat cock. this isn’t right, this is completely wrong and yet you feel yourself coming undone — weak in the knees and shaky in your lips, the dam in your lower tummy threatening to burst at any second and flood the room in an erotic river of your arousal. 

pushing your head off of the counter, you lean into satoru, throwing your ass back onto him in rhythm with the harshness of his thrusts. everything is hotter, heavier and you can’t even think about how much of a bad step-sister you are when he’s dominating your body like this. the silky locks of satoru’s silvering hair press against your shoulder and he wraps a fist in the fabric of your shirt to pull you further back onto his cock. 

“‘m gonna c-cum, oh god!” you squeal, flinching as your juices crudely slap against the kitchen floor. “i’m so close!”

he pants into your ear like a desperate dog, fully wrapping himself around you and trapping you against the counter so that you have nowhere to go except towards your high. “yeah?” gojo breathes heatedly, temperate breath cascading over the back of your neck and only adding fuel to your fire of desire. “i can tell, you get like this. all needy ‘n cute when you’re about to cum.” 

his words have you clenching around his bulbous tip every time it pushes up against the pleasure spots you didn’t even know you had — your arousal catching in the pretty blue veins that spiral around the length of gojo’s shaft. “you don’t think i can’t hear you, big sis? late at night when you think everyone’s sleepin’….” his whistle tone moans are quickly replaced by deep growls and grunts that only just manage to escape from between the gritted rows of your step brother’s pearly whites. “when you stuff those tiny fingers into that tight little hole and—“

he reaches down between your mess of slick soaked limbs to land a harsh smack against your quivering pussy, sending the foamy ring of white where your bodies join flying about the place. “—and make yourself cum to the thought of me?” he continues, breathing ragged and laughing at you again when you cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure. 

“s-satoru!”

he soothes you with quick circles over your swollen clit and kisses to your shoulder — being careful not to leave marks. “oh did that hurt, baby? am i  the mean one now?” licking a stripe up the side of your face and tasting the sweat on your glistening skin, satoru rambles on — filling you up with praises and copious amounts of precum. “you know i—fuck— you know i love you. my precious big sister, so fucking good to me. let’s make you cum, yeah?” 

you’re allowed to rut back on him for a little longer, since he loves the sound of his name whirling around messily on your tongue, all high-pitched and sugar coated for him. if only you knew how badly he’d wanted you, how pissed he was when his father went on to marry your mother. gojo has wanted you since the very first night you met — his every waking thought has been carefully carved to lust after you, think of your eyes, your smile, your lips. fuck, everything about you has satoru under some kind of spell. 

“r-right there. right there, t-there!” you chant the words like they’re the a prayer, as if they’re the only ones you know, allowing satoru to throw you through the loop of pleasure until you’re too far gone to stay on the ride. 

angling his slender hips upwards, his cockhead bares down on the gummy centre of your g-spot just has he buries himself inside of you — right up to the hilt. “h-here? this where you want me, big sis?” gojo’s amused gasp turns into a coo when you let out a meek hum of agreement, babling wild nonsense and drooling into the counter you’re pressed against. “mmhm, got you creamin’ around me already. so cute, so good when you listen. when you’re a good t’me, oneesan.” 

the honorific alone has your mouth running dry as if it’s been stuffed with cotton. though the syrupy pap, pap, pap of your sex says otherwise. it tells the truth of your sin.

and the thing that you don’t know about satoru is that he loves to give, feeding pieces of himself to you as he fucks you wild in the middle of your family kitchen. he wants you to have all of him, every corner and inch of his body just like he dreamed about. he knows it’s forbidden and that it’s wrong, but he can’t help but relish in the feeling of your pretty pussy sucking him in so selfishly, greedily clamping down on his thick base. 

he would give you anything. anything you wanted and asked for if you’d let him. his hands slip from your waist to intertwine with yours splayed out on the cool marble surface, using his last spurts of energy to drag you towards your orgasm and the deep depths of sinner’s paradise. 

“fuck me, fuck me, baby.” he growls possessively against the shell of your ear. “let go for me. lemme see how much you love your little brother—“

the crescendo of your pleasure is at an all time high, about to come crashing down on you like a tonne of heavy bricks. 

that is until the door bell rings, accompanied by the sound of geto’s voice from the outside of the house. “yoo, satoru! open up!” 

you’d think that you’d have been good enough for your little step-brother to keep going — to push onwards and let you cream all over him before he went to attend to his silly little friends. but he flips the script, pulling out of you just as you teeter over the edge to ruin your orgasm.

“no, no, please!” you sniffle, teary eyed with dissatisfaction sitting in your lower belly — the need to cum still there but the feeling of emptiness within your dripping walls taking over. “satoru…” you whine.

when you look behind you, he’s too busy finishing himself off — his black shirt between his teeth, sweats hanging low on his waist while gojo palms  his hard and heavy cock as he pleases. 

it’s coated in your arousal, shining under the artificial lighting in the kitchen and you watch with a pout as gojo jacks himself off to the view of your ruined cunt. he thumbs the seedy slit at the centre of his bright red tip, hissing through the sensitivity. he’s a picture perfect vision, appearing as an angel before your very eyes. a mop of halo white hair flop backwards with satoru’s head, rich sapphire eyes locked behind fluttering lashes that glisten with pearls of pleasure filled tears. 

you know not to be mistaken, you know that satoru is more like an incubus than the heavenly being he presents as. the parts of your brain with better judgement see him as the sinner who made you fall from grace, committing such a heinous act. the desperate side of you with a brain full of lust and smoke screens sees your step-brother as a god who controls all of your desires. 

you think you prefer that side of you more. 

meanwhile, a drop of sweat runs a track down the length of satoru’s neck, catching on the curve of his Adam’s apple as he swallows down his euphoric laments. you find yourself jealous that his own fingers are wrapped around his sloppy dick instead of drawing shapes against your aching clit. you envy how good it must feel for satoru when he finally cums. ropes of thick white sling around his knuckles, much paler in contrast to his pearlescent skin tone.

a deep, gravelly moan erupts from his hot mouth like lava, accompanied by curses and the stuttered syllables you recognise to be your name while he finishes himself off. gojo jerks his sensitive cock over your ass to paint you with the last spurts of his release. it’s a claim on you as your step-brother, a way in which he can show you that he always gets his way no matter what.

whilst still recovering, your step-brother drags a slender finger through the puddle of cum he’s left on you, and drags it down to your stretched little hole before pushing it against your overstimulated clit. “hmm, so pretty.” gojo grins, slow and sly, when you twitch and attempt to jolt away from him. then unexpectedly, he lands a hard smack against your bum — revelling in your sweet cry of pleasure, impatience and pain. “go put somethin’ on, will ya, sis? my friends are still waiting outside.” 

“i…i hate you.” you whimper shakily, brain frazzled from the situation. 

satoru might be a spoiled brat, but he’s not mean enough to leave you here a shaky, dripping mess so he helps you to your feet — tenderly fixing the hem of your shirt and panties back into place (failing to wipe his cum off of you beforehand). you’re still pouting from your ruined orgasm once he’s done, and he nudges the underside of your chin with a singular knuckle. 

“don’t worry big sis, i’ll come take care of you later. maybe i’ll even let geto watch since you love prancing around half naked for him too.” he teases, squishing your cheeks as you try to swat at him. “and you don’t hate me, you love me and this cock. clearly.” gojo sings and sends a cheeky wink in your before prancing away to open the door for his friends. 

he pulls his pants up as he goes, not minding the wet patch you’ve left on him. 

whereas, you scurry up to your room before they can greet you and gojo tells them that you’re feeling unwell. 

that day, you learn two valuable lessons: 

one —  never mess with a spoiled brat, it’ll never end well for you and gojo will always get what he wants no matter who pays the bills. 

two — geto really does like to jerk off to you, even more so when he watches his best friend punishes his older step-sister with enough orgasms to make her forget why she was in trouble with satoru in the first place.

꒰ end. — all rights reserved © tteokdoroki 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[qadmonster]

Ko-fi Dooble!

"Fakemon based on the disco clam/flame scallop"

Arclam - Psychic/Electric I really wanna give it levitate, but maybe something like shell armor or overcoat, or even static. Extremely slow and somewhat bulky with decent special attack and lots of buffing and status moves.

Also, sorry it turned out looking so much like Flittle! It was meant to look like a little ufo when closed, but it kinda looks like a burger.

[waight-gain]

The Chef and the Critic

Chapter 1: The Tasting

The hushed murmurs filling La Cuisine's dining room parted like a curtain as Jacob Wellington, the city's most revered food critic, made his entrance. Patrons turned to admire him, their eyes lingering on his tall, elegant frame and the subtle confidence that radiated from his every movement. Jacob's sharp features, accentuated by a strong jawline and high cheekbones, seemed to have been chiseled by a master sculptor, while his deep, almost hypnotic brown eyes held an intensity that made it impossible to look away. His dark hair, styled with meticulous precision, hinted at a nature as disciplined as his lifestyle, and an exotic, spicy cologne lingered in his wake like a whispered promise.

His eyes scanned the menu, a silent predator seeking its prey. Jacob's reputation preceded him; he was known for his impeccable palate, his reviews capable of launching careers or sealing fates in the culinary world. His discerning taste and unwavering standards made him both revered and feared among chefs.

In the kitchen, the energy was palpable, a symphony of clanging pots and sizzling pans conducted by Alex Chevalier, the young, fiery chef-owner of La Cuisine. His muscular arms moved with practiced ease, chopping, stirring, and plating with an almost dance-like grace. Chestnut brown hair, tousled from hours of intense cooking, framed a face that alternated between boyish charm and the steely determination of a seasoned chef. Bright blue eyes, like the flame of a gas stove, sparked with creativity and a hint of mischief as he tasted a sauce, adjusting the seasoning with a mere pinch of salt. Alex's culinary style was an extension of his personality—bold, innovative, and unapologetically sensual. He believed in creating dishes that not only tantalized the taste buds but also evoked emotions and desires.

Tonight, Alex had a challenge—a special guest who could catapult him into the culinary elite or dash his dreams with a single, scathing review. Jacob Wellington was his target, and Alex was determined to leave him speechless.

As the first course was served, Alex's creation graced Jacob's table. It was a delicate composition of seared scallops atop a bed of citrus foam, garnished with microgreens and edible flowers. The plate was a masterpiece, each element carefully curated to dance on the palate. Jacob's eyes widened slightly, a subtle sign of appreciation, as he brought the fork to his lips.

"Impressive," Jacob whispered, his voice carrying a hint of surprise. "A delightful play of textures and flavors." He paused, savoring the dish, his eyes closing briefly to focus on the explosion of tastes. When he opened them, they met Alex's gaze through the small window overlooking the dining room. There was an unspoken acknowledgment, a spark of connection forged through the language of food.

In the kitchen, Alex wiped his hands on his apron, his heart racing as he prepared the next course. A fusion of French and Asian influences, it was a bold representation of his culinary style—a blend of classical technique and innovative creativity. He knew that each dish was a chance to prove himself, to show Jacob that he was more than just a rising star; he was a force to be reckoned with.

As the evening progressed, each dish became a chapter in a culinary love story. Alex's creations danced across Jacob's palate, from the crispy duck confit served with a lychee reduction to the deconstructed cheesecake with edible flowers. Every bite was a sensory journey, a blend of flavors that both challenged and delighted Jacob's refined taste.

In the kitchen, tension mounted as Alex's team worked feverishly to keep up with the demand. Plates were passed through the window at a rapid pace, each one a testament to Alex's vision and skill. The team moved in synchronized harmony, their movements a testament to the months of training and preparation that had gone into this night.

As the final course, a decadent chocolate soufflé with a hint of chili, was served, Jacob's eyes met Alex's once more. In that moment, there was an unspoken acknowledgment—a connection forged through the very essence of Alex's culinary creations. Jacob's fingers lightly grazed the stem of his wine glass, considering the intricacies of the meal.

"Chef, your cuisine is a revelation," he said, his voice steady and measured. "Each dish tells a story, and I find myself eager to hear the next chapter."

Alex's heart swelled with pride and a hint of desire. He knew that Jacob's words would soon grace the pages of the city's most influential food magazine, but at that moment, all he could think about was the electric connection between them, sparked by the very essence of his culinary creations.

Bonus Pics

[webby-mogai]

cosplayer (system)

[pt: cosplayer (system) /end pt]

A cosplayer is a headmate who will often take on the appearance of different people and characters in headspace as a sort of "costume" while not necessarily being sourced from said appearance. Their look can change frequently, rarely, or not at all, and the cosplay can be of anything they determine. Things like dressing up and playing a certain character may be important to this headmate.

This can also apply to headmates who specialize in the creation and execution of bodily cosplays, or just particularly enjoy cosplaying.

This flag was really out of my comfort zone as I don't do especially well with cutesy or pastel aesthetics but I tiredly came up with the idea as a half joke and wanted something to do.

[flag 1 id: rectangular pride flag with 11 horizontal stripes. they are all of similar widths with slight variations. in the center is a large yellow circle with a pink inside. the colors top down, mirrored at the last are: baby blue, light blue, pastel pink, light pink, pale yellow and pink. /end id]

[flag 2 id: a rectangular pride flag with 11 horizontal stripes and a circle in the center. the stripes top down, mirrored at the last are: a thin baby blue stripe with a scalloped edge, light blue, pastel pink with a lacey and beaded edge, a light pink with a wavy edge, a pastel yellow heart lace texture, and pink. the circle is pastell yellow with a pink inside, and the yellow part has a baby blue heart shaped lace pattern inside. /end id]

[flag 3 id: same as flag 1 /end id]

[disclaimer p1 id: flaming text on a transparent background that reads "NO FUCKING SYSCOURSE" in all caps /end id]

[disclaimer p2 id: flaming text on a transparent background that reads "ON MY POSTS" in all caps /end id]

[danosrosegarden]

spinning me around - edward nashton ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

{contains: a good dash of angst/descriptions of negative self-esteem with some positive feelings mixed in.}

{note: this piece was a paid commission, and i have permission to share it publicly. find out more about commissioning a piece from me in my pinned post.}

The dress was stuffed in the thick of the racks that were bloated with old clothing, only a sliver of blue, flowering lace poking out towards him. Even still, the peek of the long, ornate dress seemed to sparkle in the mossy green pools of his eyes. He fingered the scalloped edges of the sleeves, testing the silky feel of the fabric between his fingers.

It was the soft, cloud-swirled color of a shimmering summer sky. It was splattered with delicate lace. It had a loose, sheer skirt and long sleeves that puffed at the shoulders and frilled at the wrists. There was not a single stain, loose thread, or run in the fabric. It was the perfect thrift store find, and it was a measly eight dollars. He needed it.

The skin of Edward’s round cheeks broiled and popped with heat as he grabbed the hanger and admired the dress outside of the rack. It was fit for a princess of a lady, a woman who was elegant and beaming and not a nasty monster of a man. Ugly poisoned and soaked through everything he touched. Guilt stuck to the swirls and grooves of his fingertips. Shame and hatred and pure, unfiltered, utter disgust for everything he was flowed through the thick of his bloodstream and traveled throughout his whole body, walking with him through every step he took, each breath he drew, every thud of his heart, each fluttering blink of his eyes.

He held the puffed dress close to his chest like a frightened child would clutch a stuffed animal. Edward glanced to the front of the store where the cashier, a young woman with thin, round glasses and a short brown bob popped bubblegum and picked at her nails behind the counter. The thought of bringing the flowing, feminine garment up to her and not having a woman by his side while he paid for it simply mortified him. At least if he had a girlfriend, it would be obvious that the dress was for her. What would the lady think, a strange man buying nothing at the thrift store except a dress? Would she know it was just for him? Would she think of him as awful and strange?

Then again…who cares what she thought? She was a stranger who had probably seen much weirder purchases from much weirder people in her serving time with retail. He swallowed thickly and took the dress towards the front.

The woman stood up straight from her slouch and scanned the tag of the clothing.

“Pretty dress,” she said. “Nice color.”

Edward nodded, his stomach twisting into tight, tough knots. He took the wrinkly, plastic bag from her. The bell above the door twinkled as he began his slow, shameful walk to his car.

When Edward got home, he took the dress from the bag and stripped all the layers from his body. He couldn’t wait to get into it, yet the mirror stuck on the wall beside his bed frightened him more than any other sharp-fanged monster he’d ever come into contact with.

The fabric was a bit tight around his arms, but it flowed nicely and loosely around his waist. He took a long, deep draw of a breath before stepping into view of the mirror.

Edward’s breath snaked out from his chest slowly like a spiral of smoke trailing from the flickering flame of a candle. His eyes traveled sluggishly and intentionally, taking time to take in each and every inch of his body adorned in enchanting blue lace.

He shuffled his feet around, moving in short, jagged circles, watching the skirt of the dress puff up with the air of his movement. A wild giggle tumbled from his throat as he sped up his circles and watched the skirt move with him. He crashed on his unmade bed as the vision of the world around him spun dizzyingly. Despite his stomach lurching with a dazed woozy and his brain being saturated with a popping ache, he continued to laugh. He laughed like he had never laughed before, lenses of tears casting over his squinted eyes.

When the waves of joy-injected chuckles finally slowed to a calm ripple, he was left with a strange sort of emptiness in his chest. He stood from his bed and returned to his stance in front of the mirror. He smoothed the material of the dress a few times and breathed in, breathed out.

The entirety of Edward Nashton’s life could be reduced to grime. Gritty, gross, grotesque grime. What happened in his past, he shoved into thick, metal boxes and kept locked away in the cobweb-infected, dustbunny-decorated, very back of his mind. He couldn’t forget. He could never forget. But he could push down. He could shove away. He could try to forget so it wouldn’t chomp on his bones and tear away his flesh and eat him alive.

Perhaps Edward would need to keep this as another secret for eternity. He did not have confidence in his finding somebody who would accept this piece of him. But at the very least, Edward was able to find a glimmer of beauty and delicacy in himself.

Perhaps he’d be able to find these pieces of charm in himself more often. Maybe he was allowed to see grace and elegance when he peered into the mirror. Maybe he did not have to live in a constant, dark state of suffering.

There was not a single day in his life he ever felt handsome, much less…pretty. But looking at his reflection, the soft glow of the lamp on his bedside table glimmering beside him with the dress draped on his body, he felt…captivating. Bewitching. Glamorous. Beautiful.

He felt beautiful.

[thatshowthingstarted]

Sword (jian) and scabbard, probably made in the court workshops of the Yongle Ming Emperor. Chinese, Ming Dynasty, early 15th century.

The hilt is of gilt iron. The grip is of gibbous rectangular section, punched with small circles to imitate ray skin. Down the centre of the front is a raised spine bordered by tiny flames at either side.

The pommel is of trilobed form, bordered at the front and rear by bands of golden scrolls. The front panel of the pommel is chiselled and fretted with a dragon surrounded by interlacing flames, with triple claws on each paw. At the rear of the pommel, the central panel is decorated with a monster mask (kirtimukha), surmounted by a silvered crescent and golden disc, and with human hands, also surrounded by flames. At either side of the pommel are the Eight Buddhist Emblems of Good Augury (ba jixiang): the wheel of law (dharma), the standard, the treasure jar, the pair of fish, the endless knot, the lotus, the parasol and the conch shell of victory.

The guard is embossed in the form of a monster mask, surmounted by a silvered crescent and golden disc. The face is punched with circles, the canine teeth silvered, the eyebrows and whiskers chiselled and gilt. The horns are in the form of crab claws. At either side of the mouth is a paw in the form of a human hand. The head is surrounded by scrolling curls of mane. The rear of the guard is rendered as the underside of the jaw, with a set of silvered teeth, and a narrow beard running into a throat of alternate silvered and gilt bands.

The blade is associated but is probably a later replacement of Tibetan manufacture. It is formed of pattern-welded steel, of diamond section, straight and double edged. The pattern welding produces a mirrored pattern of addorsed crescents at either side of the medial ridge. The tang is of rectangular section, tapering towards the pommel, with a large expanded peg-hole towards the end. The edges have been ground and sharpened.

The scabbard is of wood covered in green stained leather and bound with gilt iron. At the throat is a V-shaped cut out at the front for seating the blade, and a scalloped cut-out in the leather to accommodate the guard. The throat retains traces of the scarlet silk with which it was lined. The iron binding comprises a long, facetted strip running all the way round either edge.

There are eight transverse bands at the rear, the uppermost and fourth of which are wider than the others, and extend round the front of the scabbard forming suspension loops. The edging strip has four main facets, with an additional narow facet at either side. It is decorated with scrollwork in gold running down each facet, and matching that on the pommel. At either end is a set of three golden lotus leaves.

The front panel is divided stylistically into upper and lower sections. The upper section is decorated quite plainly; a series of five beaded transverse bands divide it into six sections, and there are three vertical bands of fretted four-petalled rosettes in each section.

At the throat is a cusped section with a beaded border, below which is a band of flames. The ornate lower section has six smaller segments, divided vertically and horizontally by fretted 'vajras', each with a 'yinyang' symbol in the central knop. The half-'vajras' at either side emanate from the heads of lions, and the vertical bands of decoration at either side are formed by rows of flames.

Above and in the middle of these divisions are two square panels, each containing a cusped lozenge shaped central medallion, the corners decorated with interlacing flames. The uppermost of these two panels contains two dragons intertwined amid flames, with the heads at top right and bottom left; the lower has two similar dragons, with thicker bodies, and with their heads confronted at the left and right.

The chape section is decorated with a large panel of interlacing flames, within a beaded border. At the rear of the scabbard, the upper band is decorated with alternating gold and silver scrollwork, and terminates in a rosette at the front. The next two narrow bands are decorated with silver scrollwork only. The fourth is decorated at the rear like the top one, but is extended accross the front in a broad band; it is chiselled with four medallions decorated with gilt characters on silver grounds, and surrounded by interlacing gilt flames. The three lower bands are decorated in gold scrollwork.

The rear chape panel has a small, flat piece of rather coarse, scrolling interlace at the bottom, and narrow bands of petalled rosettes at either side.

A four character Tibetan inscription on the lower suspension loop reads 'khi'u ga ral gri' (honourific sharp sword).

China, 15th century (About 1420),

Leather, Ferrous, Gold, Silver, Semi-precious stone, Silk, Wood,

Dimensions:

Blade Length: 30 inches

Overall (sword) Length: 35 inches

Courtesy: Royal Armouries Museum, Leeds, United Kingdom

Sword (jian) and scabbard, probably made in the court workshops of the Yongle Ming Emperor. Chinese, Ming Dynasty, early 15th century.

[science-lover2941]

Ctenoides scaber

Is also known as flame scallop. It is a species of saltwater clam and belong to the family of Limidae.

Even though you might think it of their name, they aren’t related to true scallops.

(video by Seaoura)

They are herbivores and only eat phytoplankton.

If you’re interested in these facts follow for more:)

[blankwashed]

Heartstrings p2 (P1) P3 P4 P5

When you reached home, you looked through your closet for clothes to wear for tomorrow. A date, right after splitting with your spouse.

After trying on multiple dresses, you narrowed it down to a pink frilly dress, which was also Naoya’s favourite when you pranced around in it. The thought of him made your face sour. However, it was the cutest dress he bought for you. You decided to bring a separate one to wear when you cook in case it got greasy and dirty.

Consciously, you decided on wearing a simple black shirt with shorts. Satisfied with your choice, you also grabbed a plain white apron from your kitchen counter. As you began prepping the ingredients to bring over, you couldn’t help but reminisce about the many times you cooked for Naoya during the long lost courtship days.

As the next day arrives, you head over to Gojo’s, a sleek looking condominium in the outskirts of Shibuya. Gojo greeted her and offered to help her bring the ingredients into his house.

“Wow Gojo, your house…it’s truly a bachelor’s hub,” you said to him while laughing.

That made Gojo smile, while ushering you into his modest yet cozy bachelor pad. The living room was decorated minimally, with a few strategically placed pieces of furniture and personal knickknacks scattered around. A large flat-screen TV, a touch-screen refrigerator and a robot vacuum cleaner, a true new-age man’s home.

“It’s nothing fancy,” he admitted while scratching the back of his neck, blushing. “It all serves a purpose, for someone like me to stay alone,”. While heading over to the kitchen to prepare the ingredients for cooking, you rolled your eyes at how modest he was being.

As he chatted amiably about old times and catching up on recent events, you were in the kitchen going all out on the dishes for Gojo and you.

Watching her move deftly around the kitchen, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. There was something undeniably comforting about having someone familiar in his space, especially after all the years from not seeing each other.

You expertly sautéed vegetables and seared meat while being able to keep the conversation flowing effortlessly, touching upon everything from history from back then and current events. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, bursts of laughter and playful teasing, just like old times.

Gojo cleared his throat awkwardly before stepping forward to express his gratitude. "Thank you for coming over tonight," he smiled warmly.

"No problem, old buddy. It's refreshing to be around someone who doesn't constantly judge me. Sometimes I wonder how did I ever put up with that jerk..." you remarked casually as you attempted to fry scallops. Suddenly, a burst of flame erupted from the pan, momentarily startling you. Gojo, sensing your alarm, quickly rose to his feet, ready to lend a hand if needed.

You chuckled lightly, trying to brush off the mishap. "It's alright, happens every time I add oil to a hot pan," you reassured him, grateful for his concern.

After some time, the food was ready. The scallops, fried to perfection in garlic sauce, exuded a tantalizing aroma that filled the kitchen with deliciousness. Alongside them, the "Marry Me Chicken" dish, with its savory aroma, added to the smell of flavors.

"Oh my my, y/n. How have you not ventured into the culinary business yet? Everything smells absolutely amazing!" Gojo exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with anticipation as he took in the mouthwatering meal before him.

Blushing at the compliment, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of pride. With a shy smile, you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"Actually, cooking gives me serenity," you admitted with a soft smile. "To me, it's an art, and as you know me, I love adding art into everything I do. I think of it as a creative work." A fond chuckle escaped you as you reminisced, "Do you remember when I tried to insert art into all of our Jujutsu practice lessons? Mr. Yaga got so pissed at me," you added with a laugh.

Gojo chuckled at the memory, recalling your artistic approach to Jujutsu training, as if trying to beat people up with the movements of a paintbrush. It had been a comedic time that brought amusement to the entire classroom (and a displeasure to Mr. Yaga).

"Mmm, I guess all those training sessions worked out for the better. You've really mastered something, cooking," Gojo remarked warmly. "I could eat your food for the rest of my life and never grow tired of it."

You felt a rush of warmth spreading across your cheeks at his compliment. "The rest of his life? That's a pretty long time, huh?" you thought with a playful grin on your face, a hint of redness on your face.

As time passed, you and Gojo shared jokes and playful jabs at each other, the easy banter between you creating a comfortable atmosphere. But as the evening drew to a close and it was time to go home, you couldn't shake the feeling of reluctance. It had been a while since you had experienced such close communication with anyone, and you found yourself reluctant to leave this moment behind. There was a sense of warmth and companionship that you hadn't realized you were lacking, and the thought of returning to your usual routine felt like a pain.

"I'll call you a cab?" Gojo suggested as he noticed your frequent yawns. You blushed and nodded in agreement.

"And anyways, call me Satoru. Have you forgotten my first name, y/n? Have we gone back into the last name basis?" Satoru joked, clutching his heart dramatically as if feigning a heart attack. His playful antics only made you blush even more.

"Okay, okay, sorry. I just wasn't sure if you were going to be okay with that. Again, we haven't spoken in ages," you explained, offering a reason for your hesitation in calling him by his first name.

He playfully jabbed your arm like a child. "Hey, it could be ten or fifteen years, and I would still want you to call me by my first name. You mean a lot to me, you know," he confessed, his words carrying a sincerity that tingled in your heart.

"Screw that, y/n. I'll drive you home myself," Satoru said, standing up and grabbing his keys from the holder by the door. You blushed yet again at his offer, feeling touched by his words.

"Are you staying at the house you used to live in, or am I fetching you home to the place you used to stay with Naoya?" he asked, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

You furrowed your eyebrows, clearly annoyed by his question. "Obviously my own place! I never want to see that son of a bitch ever again!" you replied angrily, your tone tinged with rage.

Satoru chuckled, his smirk widening. "I know~ I just like messing with you," he teased, enjoying your reaction.

(NEXT CHAPTER)

here's chapter 2!! <3

[nightmarist]

Shadowheart's Tent

Lots of purple and gold. The crest at the top of her tent, plus the overall tent itself is surprisingly ostentatious compared to what she actually has.

Several potted plants, large and small. Her camp is behind a rock where people can't really see her, but there's clovers right at the edge of her tent. A bundle of herbs sits off to the side by the net of jars and candle pan. A simple set of matching silk pillows. A set of incense near the mouth of her tent. Several scrolls and books for studying and writing on her table. A fan sits on the floor by the table (for herself or for fanning smoke, flames, incense?).

Her tent has little "windows" to look out of. A basket and crafe of water inside with a simple bedroll. One toppled over potter, but probably because there's no plant in it yet. The table is also beautifully crafted, and the awning over it has a simple pattern inside the scalloping.

Practical in that the back is against a rock (no surprises) and windwos to see outward while also having more personal privacy than Lae'zel or Astarion. It's an interesting, almost jarring difference to see such a beautiful tent with such minimal decor. Feels very streamlined without sacrificing beauty.

[helreginn]

The night was quiet and deep. Menegroth, deeper still. Hel exhaled softly as her incorporeal form took shape beneath the cosmos of Menelrond's high ceiling.

She was still somewhat untrained in stealth; Her form, though shaped like an elven woman wasn't quite.. mundane enough. Her long orange hair looked like dancing flames. Moving though there was no breeze. Her eyes, a similar orange were like sunlight in a jar. Bright and open.

Her clothes were contrarily normal. Beautiful, but normal. She wore an elegant gown of green that just barely swept the floor as she walked and an intricate scalloped chain mantle adorned her shoulders.

At a glance, she stood out. But that assumed one was fast eyed enough to catch a glimpse as she slipped from one shadow to the next until she was outside the king and queen's chambers.

"Are you awake?" she asked, gently knocking on the door. As was their signal, Hel let the light of her being peek through the cracks of the door. So that Melian or Thingol knew without saying who had come to call.

[tauforged]

i cannot get over how utterly gorgeous this rainbow pocillopora is. excuse the cloudy tank water i just fed microalgae for my flame scallop so everything’s a bit yucky looking

[leo-kinnie]

You think we can get a Cyborg Leo AU?

Not as in a Robot Arm, but a full-on Genos-type Cyborg body (Spiral Flame Cannon and Nuclear Fusion Core optional)

hey mann... heyy......... what teh fucgking SCALLOP.... are u SAYING TO ME RIGHT NOW...

do u thingk i know twht at the fuckg a nuclaer fusion core is

[en8y]

[IMAGE ID: two rectangular flags. the first one has seven stripes, and the second one has nine stripes. the first flag has scalloped top and bottom stripes, each bump being a different size. the lines mirror each other. the rest of the stripes are straight, and mostly even. the middlemost stripe is slightly thinner. the colors of the stripes, from outside to inside, are as follows: dark cool grey, medium cool grey, pastel pink, and bright purple. there is a warm light purple circle in the center, with a kineti from the binding of isaac inside it. the kineti is a ghost-shaped creature with a grey skull head. it has a third eye, which has a bright purple flame coming off it. the second flag has even-sized horizontal stripes. the colors of the stripes, from top to bottom, are as follows: bright purple, warm light purple, pastel pink, medium cool grey, dark cool grey, cool brown, cool red, medium red, and dull tan. the second flag also has a kineti from the binding of isaac in the center. END ID.]

kinetitboicharic: a gender connected to, affected by, or otherwise related to the kineti monster from the binding of isaac!

@radiomogai @liom-archive @obscurian