#kitestring

[lovecolibri]

"This is what grinding does! You might have a high level, but you SUCK at PVP! You suck at this game!! You suck!!"

Is this Riz or Murph here? 🤣🤣🤣 But god yes, let him take out Kitestring Countertop!

[desognthinking]

im fascinated what is tomb guardians au i am immediately imagining ava trying to get (very serious about her job) bea to talk to her (t4t aka tomb for tomb communication) like “it’s because you’re always on that damn guarding the tomb” and bea staring at her like “oh (relevant semi-religious curse word/deity invocation), i HAVE to fuck her”

Hi 😄  tomb guardians au is exactly that! except a little weirder, i think. Because they arent the guards stalking the graveyard they are the inhumanly stone-and-metal-but-not-really guardians themselves ☺️it's like what if beatrice had two heads and stood watch over the sealed, entombed heart of a bloodline. And ava was the new, terrible protector of a clan of craftsmen on a hilltop, buried with chambers of generations of their art. And what if they were necropolis neighbors 😳

This is one chunk previously posted and this shorter thing is set a little later, during the wedding mentioned in the first part. i think it kind of matches this ask pretty well 🥺:

Weddings are just like funerals: they’re never safe. The procession overflows from the courtyard at the mouth of the tombhouse, and nobody turns their attention to the other side of the hill. That's Ava’s job. Beatrice, perched carefully atop her roof in a long line of others she can vaguely make out, stretched across the rim of the hills, can see her sway and duck through kitestrings and tree-hung lanterns blowing in the wind as she keeps vigil. 

There’s fire, and an uncoordinated symphony of chattering accompanying music, and colored smoke that drifts up and drenches the air in pinks and yellows. The party had started at the Salviuses’ inner city tombhall, and then wound its way through the cobbled streets to settle here sometime around midday. Now the sun has cooled from its boil and the clouds are dissipating in streaks leaving swatches of color overtop the trees.

Celebration mixes with ceremony in equal parts, and Ava’s soaking it in, so she told Beatrice herself. Amidst the rush of activity at the Silvas’, she’d found her way over yesterday, dangling her human legs over a particularly stubborn branch that tipped over a brass gate, lurching under her weight towards brown grass.

“And, if you want,” she’d said quickly, “the view from atop our central mausoleum is incomparable.” Following the parched trajectory of Beatrice’s traitorous eyes, Ava had reached up to hurriedly smooth out the colorful combs that had erupted from her crown as she blurted out the offer. “You could see the dances up close.” 

She paused, as Beatrice reached out, at first hesitantly, then bravely, to gently still Ava’s hands from patting down the sharp, fiery crests. It’s okay.

(I like them.)

“We’re close enough that you could still keep a lookout for things over here.” 

Proximity, of course, was in truth the last thing that Beatrice feared would compromise her duty, and she knew that Ava knew it too. 

They sat in silence, not uncomfortably. Hot plumes, from where the days-long feast was being prepared in great earthen pots and pits on the rolling green surrounding the Silva walls, thinned out as they passed through the trees to Beatrice’s clearing. 

Whispers of stews, and meats, and spices. Beatrice felt, suddenly, terribly hungry.

“Will you ask again tomorrow?” she chanced, finally. 

Ava, bright and shocked and delighted, laughed. In her relief she nearly fell backwards off the branch, taking with her Beatrice, who had joined her on the tree.

Razor-edged fronds sprung up again from the top of her sun-warmed head. “Horrible”, she joked. 

Beatrice disagreed, and let her know.

Now, the sky is dampening, and the wedding party, in dribs and drabs, pauses to refill its cups and light its candles. In this twilight Beatrice lets herself turn to the west.

It is not easy to see, but the creature on the Silva house is there, beyond the clasp of woods, and when Beatrice meets its eyes its form unfolds in magnificent, menacing span and its unmistakable, jagged tail rises, quick and high, as in warning or challenge. 

From this far away, and half-hidden by foliage, it is impossible to make out the details of that bolted, harsh surface, but Beatrice knows how it feels under her palm, fluttering and leathery and spiny and warm, just as she knows by a glance the towering shape of the display and the exaggerated, daring, silly invitation that it extends across the space between their roofs. 

Ridiculous. 

Ava – terrifying as she extinguishes the numerous wraiths that have already sought to take advantage of the guardian transition, serious as the new caretaker of an artistic legacy, and an achingly, brilliantly quick learner of that uncommon dialect spoken by Beatrice’s house – lifts off her roof in a dramatic jump, and lands with a shaking thud that sends shivers through the ground all the way over. 

\

Help arrives so quickly that Beatrice knows said help is going to give her a hard time. 

“Mary,” she greets, relieved all the same. “Are you sure you don’t mind keeping watch?”

“Yeah, don’t worry, Shannon's got it all handled back home,” Mary traces the perimeter easily, scanning the horizon in each direction and then feeling the hollows and convexities of the tombhouse in quick reappraisal. Beatrice stands aside as she smoothly pads across the surface of what she must have judged to be possible points of weakness, tests the robustness of a couple of Beatrice’s carefully constructed defenses, then nods, satisfied. 

A great-aunt, peeking out too to watch the celebrations, looks up, sees Mary, and waves. Mary sends her a bow. 

“You know, Bea, she’s right,” she hums, finally. “It’s not too far away, and you’ve always been focused when out visiting.”

The bait is not particularly subtle, and Beatrice narrows her eyes. 

“I just don’t think it’s safe to reduce any protections during a celebration when everyone’s guards are down.” She busies herself with cleaning up the place, tightening the wards and doing some final redundant sweeps and checks. “It’d be easy for someone or something to slip through, especially with so many unfamiliar faces.”

“Mm. And you’d be distracted.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Sure.” Mary circles, then sits down, settling in and getting comfortable. She uncoils and reaches out to nudge Beatrice gently where she’s examining the shifts in some stones very conscientiously. “And I promise not to look over.”

“Mary.”

“What?” She shrugs, casually puts out a strong claw and kicks Beatrice firmly off the parapet. “Time to go-o.”

There’s a shower of stone fragments as Beatrice shakes and gathers herself to snap and snarl halfheartedly and harmlessly up at her from the ground. 

Mary looks over the edge and shakes her head, grinning. “Oh, baby girl,” she tsks, “Don’t tell me you need me to teach you how to fuck her.”

“Mary!”

Mary’s laughter echoes as Beatrice turns and steals into the darkness, necks hot with embarrassment. “Now hurry up, Beatrice,” her call seeps, howling, into the roots. It warps with the topography of the earth into something deep and old, sinking its frigid teeth into Beatrice’s bones. But the shape of the wind whipping past Beatrice’s ears is fond and teasing in its turbulence as she tears through the thicket. “Your poor girl’s waiting for you.”

[watatsumiis]

i have a thought and i dunno if it totally Vibes or not but i like it so i figured id toss it up here

Ok so I have this headcanon about how Scaramouche was originally strung with wires, almost akin to electrical wires, but when he recieved his vision, it was replaced with something similar to kitestrings, to represent his newfound freedom.

Anyways, id imagine theyd have a different level of tension to what hes used to, so scara who has hypermobility or joint pain issues stemming from his re-stringing. He doesn't seem like the type to openly admit he's in pain or discomfort so he wont say anything about it, but his behaviours are very telling.

[aww-crap-i-fell]

Ok..sitting down on a rock to take stock ...

I've got my bag so I have

1. 400 feet of kitestring

2. A pack of little soap sliver things

3. My notebook and several pens and pencils

4. My anxiety meds (thank goodness)

5. And some small snappers from the 4th of July

6. Hairbrush and glasses cleaner

7. Holy crap my flipper survived

All in all probably the best possible outcome aside from getting my laptop .. I need to find a phone charger though

[lkmaness-blog-blog]

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[bills-place]

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[eliteowlonline]

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[kiteboardblog]

Got to persevere! #extreme #extremesports #beach #kitestring #kite #gopro #sport #kiteday

[skytay0]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Boys 2T Short Bundle.

[eastcoastpineapple]

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[waterloggedsocks]

how many lunarphases get their own names?

wolfmoon. wormmoon. superflowerbloodmoon.

did you find yourself here under pink, red or blue?

hidden under millions of miles is the end already. rot crawling steadily. teach me how to handle this

before the bigbang lived independent of a womb,

you’d float there magnetizing both poles pulling me

your hair stood up and the light became a choir.

your shape washed out in the relentless white

still i keep reaching for your feet like a kitestring

the blizzard keeps picking at the pores across my face

why should we believe in something stubborn as a sunrise?

why is it allowed to be bright on bad days?

[theposhpussycat]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Lot Sz 6 Under Armour +.

[purgatorypoetry]

everything as old as time, good stories and bad stories and tomorrow became yesterday and you already know how this ends -

and all that possibility found in falling, the promise of godliness in nothing like the inevitability behind absolutely everything but then just

damned if it don't feel so good to be freed from the burden of the ground -

weightless in this lack of gravity, drifting - some cut kitestring and I'm solar-sailing away I mean sometimes,

and only when the moon's just right,

I can press my fingers to my chest and feel some of the vacancies left in the wake of so many missing pieces -

there's reward posters for different parts of me fading, stapled to so many tar-soaked power posts in the neighborhoods where I once lived -

phone numbers long-since illegible,

pictures of my face with both of the eyes all blank and faded out

Tell me a secret and I’ll write you a poem

[easydoodledo]

[lingeringscars]

@kitestring said “the only other person that believed in me like that was you.” / pairing: Callie & Stef

tears glisten in Callie’s eyes and threaten to spill over. Callie has spent so much time running  away that she forgot that there was something to run to. she found a home with the Adams Fosters, but they spent so much time worrying that the four walls were going to cave in on them. Stef was the first person in a long time that she thought saw her, and Callie could never repay Stef for that. the compassion and love that they received at the Adams Fosters has always been enough to make Callie feel like they need to do something to deserve it, like it might be taken away at any moment if she didn’t prove her worth. “i should be thanking you.” Callie says with a slight shake of the head. “I had forgotten what it was like. to have a family, to feel safe.” a few tears slip out there. “but you..and Lena... you guys brought me in and loved me. it didn’t matter what stupid thing I did, you still fought for me.”  another shake of her head before “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for that, but I should. I am so grateful for everything you’ve done, and I’ll never forget it.” Callie doesn’t feel like the walls are going to cave in anymore, and Stef is primarily to thank for that. “you were the first person to believe in me.” at that time of Callie’s life, it really felt that way. she needed that, more than she knew. “I love you, and any way I can repay that, if even a fraction of what you gave me..I want to.” 

meme:  the haunting of hill house sentence meme.   episode 4 - 6 / status: accepting

[rectoress]

@kitestring​ said: “ stop talking so much ” / from severus punch him  /  rp sentence starters from  bridget devoue’s  work  ,  soft thorns

            the scathing remark - one offered with a nonchalance rivaling her own - fails to garner more than a quirk of her brow and a furtive glance cast in the potion master’s direction. “i was making an observation, severus.” in one swift motion, the blade of her knife sinks into the tender flesh of another root, severing its tendrils before the back of her fingers elegantly and expertly sweep the dirt aside and make room for the thorough picking apart of each piece until those dimmed good enough to be slipped into a jar. “you did not like what i had to say,” tissaia adds calmly though not without a certain pointedness, “so naturally, as any man is wont to, you resorted to complaining about my talking too much.” another thwack as steel encounters wood, another brush of her hand. “it doesn’t change the fact that i am right: asphodel will never act as effectively as belladonna if you are so bent on distilling it.”