#like very sharp powerful and quick movements. but it’s also fluid… that’s how I imagine shri’iia fights..

[swordmaid]

thinking about hag romance sparring 🤭 which I think is a very rare event bc god forbid astarion breaks a nail but in the off chances they do it becomes a matter of who fights more dirty bc shri’iia overpowers him in strength but he has faster reflexes and he’s very inclined to cheat. so then it becomes this fun little spar where it’s his dual daggers vs her one polearm, astarion always trying to disarm her by doing funky moves and distracting her vs shri’iia going for his shin and ankles so he trips over. then they forego the weapons and end up just rolling around the floor like kittens trying to pin each other down - which astarion does bc he has a secret third knife that he whips out and holds over her that forces her to yield and shri’iia’s like oh noooo u caught meeee. che..! whatever should I dooooo 🤭🤭😏😏 very quickly becomes foreplay and whoever was watching them spar is just like brother eughhhhh 😟😟😒😒🤢🚫🚫

[x-press-it]

Devilish Desires - 1/8

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹⚔️🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others…) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn’t know, even in the descriptions) - Mention of other character from the MCU and subtle references to the comics for flavor (not mandatory to understand what is happening) - Flash back and mention of past trauma - Very quick mentions of drugs - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers.

I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by @gothgoblinbabe writing of sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator.

Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited.

Need some music? I've got you

Chapters: 1/8

Word Count: 1.8K / 60K+ for now

The soft click of the office door broke the silence in the hallway. They stepped out, adjusting their suit jacket, their posture elegant and composed, though a subtle tension lingered behind their calm exterior. Their long black wavy hair cascaded down their back, brushing against the fabric as they moved with an effortless grace. Those days, they felt more woman than anything else—their skin a rich, dark brown that gleamed under the soft lights—but it wasn’t always the case.

It had been a few weeks since they’d started working at the mansion, handling the Institute’s legal affairs. Most of the students gave them a wide berth, and the staff kept their distance—there was something about them that made people uneasy, even if they didn’t understand why.

Them on the other hand, they liked it that way.

As they stepped into the hall, their senses picked up something different. A low hum of energy—wild and untamed, charging the space around them. It tugged at their instincts, drawing their attention before they saw him. He turned the corner, boots heavy on the carpeted hardwood, an unshaven jaw covered in scruff, and a bag slung over his shoulder like he’d just walked out of a warzone. Broad shoulders, rough hands, and that look of a man who didn’t take orders from anyone. Not even Charles, from the way he stormed down the hall, barely noticing anything else in his path. His clothes were dusted with travel and grit, and that sharp, brooding look in his eyes didn’t soften even when they landed on them. He was raw power wrapped in flesh, every muscle taut, every movement deliberate.

Logan Howlett.

They’d heard the name whispered by the students, seen it on paperwork, but this was the first time they’d laid eyes on him. And the sight of him made their mouth water.

Logan had been gone for weeks—tracking down some personal leads, putting down problems before they grew too big. He had just parked his bike in the garage when he caught a scent that wasn’t part of the usual mix around the mansion. New. Feminine, with a dangerous edge to it—like spice wrapped in smoke, rich and heady, making his senses bristle. Whoever this was, she wasn’t some harmless new schoolteacher.

He rolled his shoulders, tightening the strap of his bag as he headed down the familiar hallways. The kids were nowhere to be seen, probably off in some class, and that suited him just fine. His boots made a steady, heavy sound on the floor, his mind set on dropping off his report with Chuck and catching a few hours of shut-eye.

He rounded the corner and froze, catching sight of her.

She was walking out of Charles' office, high heels clicking in rhythm with each step, her silhouette sharp and commanding. But there was something else—a flicker of something above her hairline, two subtle obsidian bumps that disappeared under her carefully styled wavy hair.

Horns?

His eyes trailed lower without permission. The plum of her lips, the curves of her breasts and the sway of her hips pulled at something primal in him, something he thought he had under control. There was power in her stride, something that made his instincts fire up in ways he hadn’t expected. Damn. He’d seen plenty of women in his time, but none with this kind of presence. The way her clothes hugged her body, her confidence… it wasn’t just a walk—it was a challenge. Logan’s gaze lingered a little too long, his nostrils flaring slightly at that scent again, his eyes trailed down once more, uncontrollably drawn to the curve of her hips.

Hell, he’d been gone for a few weeks, and he came back to this?

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them felt charged, a crackling tension that made their skin prickle. His eyes swept over them—sharp, assessing, like he was reading them just as much as they were reading him. The way he looked at them was different from what they were used to. Not with the hesitant caution most men wore in their presence, but something else—something hungrier, more primal. Something that resonated with the darker parts of themselves they tried to keep buried.

They shifted, folding their arms across their chest as his gaze lingered a little too long.

The way his nostrils flared slightly, his eyes flicking from their face to the faintest hint of their horns beneath their hair. Not that it mattered. He was focused on something else, too—the curve of their hips, the allure of their heels against the polished floor. They didn’t need to look to know he was watching.

They almost smiled. Almost.

Her scent got stronger as she started walking again, coming closer, sending a ripple through him that he quickly shook off. Whatever game she was playing, he wasn’t about to fall for it. He’d dealt with enough trouble in his lifetime to recognize it when it crossed his path.

But damn, those hips.

He grunted, pushing it all down as she passed by, brushing close enough that the faintest touch of a thin tail coming from under her pencil skirt grazed his leg so lightly he almost didn’t feel it. Almost. The scent grew stronger, messing with his focus, making him forget for a second that he had a report to deliver. He forced his eyes forward, giving his mind something else to chew on, his eyes on the door to Charles’ office, but he couldn’t shake the feel of her.

"Mr. Howlett," her voice was silk, controlled, the hint of a smile lingering at the edges of her lips, like she already knew everything about him. “Welcome back.”

He gave her a quick glance, a low grumble leaving his throat. “Who the hell are you?”

They saw the tension ripple through him as they passed. For all his tough exterior, Logan wasn’t immune to theirs. He wouldn’t admit it, of course, but it was there in the way he set his jaw, the brief flicker in his eyes as they greeted him. He’d noticed more than just their horns. The tail that skimmed his leg had been subtle, but they caught the way he stiffened.

A small victory.

His eyes were a storm—full of warning and curiosity, a predator assessing the situation. They liked that. Liked that he wasn’t some fool who would melt at their feet like so many others. Logan was… different. Stubborn. Dangerous.

But if he thought that would stop them from having their fun, he had no idea who he was dealing with.

When he spoke, asking who they were, his voice was gravelly—rough, like the scrape of metal on stone—and it made her horns itch with anticipation.

They turned fully, eyes locking with his, letting the question hang in the air for a heartbeat longer than necessary. A sly smile curled at the edge of their lips as they put their hand on their hip, her gaze not shying away from him in the slightest, piercing blue eyes steady.

“I’m E,” they finally said as if it was the most normal name in the world, feeling the weight of his stare. The air between them thickened and then their voice came again, smooth, steady. “The new lawyer.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed, suspicion darkening his features. He stepped closer, just enough that E could smell a faint metallic scent and the earthiness clinging to him. A wild animal, barely restrained.

“Lawyer, huh?” He grunted, but his gaze didn’t waver from theirs, as if he were trying to dig deeper, to get past the surface. “Ain’t seen a lawyer look like you before.”

E’s smile widened, something dangerous glittering behind their cool expression. “And I haven’t met a man quite like you, either, Mr Howlett,” they shot back, their voice smooth, teasing at the edges of something darker, something far older than this hallway or the mansion, or even him.

Logan’s lips twitched, a flicker of amusement passing over his face, though his eyes stayed sharp. “Don’t trust lawyers.”

A smug smile tugged at their lips.

“I’d be disappointed if you did.”

He let out a low, rough chuckle, shaking his head as if dismissing them. But they could feel the tension coiling in him, that primal urge battling with the cool control he tried to maintain. He brushed past them, closer than necessary, the tips of his fingers ghosting near their side. E’s skin tingled at the proximity, their body reacting even though their face remained neutral.

He paused, turning just enough to glance over his shoulder, eyes catching theirs again.

“Don’t care who you are,” he growled softly, a challenge hidden beneath his words. “Long as you stay outta my way.”

Even as he was walking away, they could feel the way his presence lingered in the air, heavy, magnetic. For all the danger that clung to him like a second skin, Logan was… intriguing. His scent still hung around them, earth and steel. But it wasn’t just his physicality that had their pulse racing—no, it was something deeper. Older.

Something that felt almost familiar.

Trouble.

He was going to be trouble, and they knew it.

But then again, trouble had always been their specialty.

Their fingers tapped against their hip as they considered his retreating figure, their thoughts swirling like dark, smoky tendrils. Logan probably thought he was unreadable, a closed book no one could crack. But they’d read men like him before—hungry, guarded, full of secrets they refused to admit, even to themselves.

Still, there was something different there. He wasn’t just another man to be toyed with. No, this one… this one might bite back.

They straightened their jacket again, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as they watched him stop in front of Charles’ office. The muscles in his back flexed under his worn leather jacket as he pushed the door open, and E couldn’t help but smirk.

Yes, Logan was going to be fun.

The door clicked shut behind him, but the scent of her still clung to his senses. He let out a low growl, shaking his head as if trying to clear his mind. What the hell was it about her? That scent, those eyes, those hips… she stirred something in him he didn’t like.

The primal part of him was curious—drawn in by the challenge, by the aura she carried. E. Didn’t matter what the hell she called herself. Something ancient lurked beneath that smooth exterior, something that made his instincts roar to life, like he was staring down a predator disguised as prey.

His claws itched beneath his skin, and not in the usual way.

He grunted, shifting his bag on his shoulder, trying to focus on the task at hand. But hell if his mind wasn’t already circling back to the sway of her hips, the way her voice slithered into his ears like smoke. He wasn’t some lovesick idiot, and yet…

He shook it off.

Trouble. That’s what she was. And he’d be damned if he let himself get dragged into whatever game she was playing.

To be continued...

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don’t forget to comment and spread the love 😊

More on the way!

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Don't forget to follow the tags "Devilish Desires" and "xpressit writings" to stay tuned for the next chapters 😁

[russian-romanova]

once more

title: once more

pairing: jack kline

warnings: accurate timelines? never heard of her. 

notes: gah this took so long and also this is tiny i’m sorry. feel free to punch me in the kidneys 

request: “could you do a jack x reader where the reader is half-demon? like the daughter of crowley or something? and the reader helps jack control his powers because she’s been through it too? just an idea!”

summary: demon!reader helps jack control his powers with the use of experience and a handful of kisses.

+   +   +

It had always been a guessing game when it came to Jack’s powers. A guess as to whether or not it was safe, a guess as to whether or not it was something he could control. Neither The Winchesters nor Castiel quite knew how to help the Nephilim, who was trying so hard but was getting so frustrated until Sam had the idea that they turn to Crowley -- and more specifically to you. 

You were Crowley’s daughter, and you had been dealing with a similar, tamer version of Jack’s powers for your whole life. Lucky for you, there had been not only your adoring father but also legions of demons with no choice but to help you or be the bearer of your mistakes. It had taken a while, but you had years and the peaceful ambiance of literal Hell to accompany you, and you had gotten them to a more than manageable point. 

The Bunker was no unfamiliar place to you. Sam and Dean were good friends of yours, and you had popped in from time to time when they requested the help of you or your family. When Jack was introduced into the picture, you took no shame in heavily flirting with the poor boy to the amusement of your delighted grandmother. As you got to know him, however, your relationship morphed into a much more tender, almost sweet one. 

You had kissed him first, but once he had the experience of a kiss on his lips Jack became addicted. He would kiss you every chance he got, all of them short, sweet, and innocent actions. Very quickly, you became inseparable with the Nephilim. So it made sense when your cell phone rang one day and Sam asked if you thought that you could help Jack with controlling his powers. 

“Okay. Try again, you’ve got it.” You were sitting on Jack’s bed, both of your legs crossed as you leaned forward. Your position was unintentionally mirrored by Jack, his eyes scrunched together in meticulous concentration. His hand moved out a little, his lips pursed together, and everything else around you stood still. 

“I can’t do it,” Jack pouted and looked up at you. There was a wooden pencil in front of you, sharpened yet unused. It had been Sam’s idea, to raise up the pencil as a way to practice Jack’s powers. He was trying, very clearly, but it just wasn’t something that seemed attainable to him now. He tried as best as he could and in every way he could, but no matter how hard he thought the pencil remained on the plush comforter. 

You frowned. “C’mon, Jack, I know you can. Believe in yourself.” You encouraged Jack, who looked up at you with a look of slight confusion. “Yeah, you’re right, that did sound pretty cheesy. What I’m trying to say is-” You searched for words. “You know, if you don’t think you can do it, you definitely aren’t going to do it.” 

Jack thought over your words for a moment. “Will you show me again? So I know.”

You practically rolled your eyes. You had demonstrated a few times, and it was becoming hard to tell if Jack was still watching the pencil anymore. It didn’t take long for you to realize that Jack would watch you every time and not the pencil. “Jack, I’ve shown you, like, eighteen times. What else are you going to see?” 

Jack’s face turned the slightest bit pink. “I don’t know, I just thought the examples helped.” 

You smiled slowly at first before you burst into a grin. “Okay, one more time but then you’ve gotta keep trying until you get it. You’re super close, seriously.” 

Jack grinned at the news and leaned forward to give you a quick peck on the cheek. “That sounds fair.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, it better be because that’s my final offer.” The wooden pencil was between Jack and you, and you turned your face to look at it now. You sunk the exact image into your memory -- the sharp edges, the color, the intensity of the point -- and closed your eyes for a moment with that information soaked into your brain. They opened into a swirling sea of black nothingness, and Jack watched intently as you moved your hand slightly forward, directing your energy to the pencil. You strained for a moment, but then the pencil began to move upwards slowly, and when you were satisfied you began to pull your hand in a figure-eight movement. The pencil followed. 

Content, you let the pencil fall onto the bed and you blinked the darkness away. “You get the picture?”

Jack paused. “Yes, I… got it. I think.” He looked at you for a moment longer before turning his eyes downwards, the pencil now his job to move. He closed his eyes in concentration, squeezing them shut as if he was thinking about something so intensely it blinded him. He thought about the pencil and the way it had looked in motion. The way it had cut through the air like when Dean would swing a machete so fast it made a noise against the air. He opened his eyes and prepared to try his best. 

First, his hand went out as he had seen you attempt. Jack wanted to glance up at you but he knew he needed to keep his focus so he narrowed his eyes. He imagined the pencil picking itself up and flying in the same motion he had been attempting for what felt like months. He only realized that he had stopped breathing once you reminded him to do so, and after a few breaths to catch him up his lungs fell into a steady motion and his heart rate slowed.

One moment the pencil was resting on the bed, and the next it was hovering ever so slightly above it. “Y/N, I did it!” Jack exclaimed, his face turning into a smile. Confidence boosted, Jack was able to bring it even higher and move it slowly in a circle. 

“Hey, there you go! See, what did I say?” You cheer. You lean forward to hug him before realizing that you shouldn’t distract him. He was so into the groove, and you knew that getting it up in the air was the hardest part. Once it was up there, tricks became pretty easy to build up and Jack’s already fluid figure-eight proved no exception. “Look at that, you’re a natural!” 

Jack laughed, bringing the pencil through one more rotation before letting it fall on the bed. He looked excitedly at you. “I should go tell Sam. And Dean. And Castiel.” Jack was practically bouncing with excitement. 

“For sure.” You agreed. Then, “Good job Jack.” You leaned in and hugged him first before kissing him. Jack pulled away, impossibly happier. He stood there for a moment as he did when his mind rushed with too many thoughts before he turned to run out the door. 

He stopped himself for a moment. “Thank you!” 

You laughed. “Anytime, Jack. Anytime.” 

[ymiwritesstuff]

Aaaaaaaa the vampire Kak one was so good!!! Really love your writing! 💖 Could I ask for a continuation of it, where poor Kak's just trying his best to avoid taking blood from anyone (especially fem!reader), but he's become too weak/hungry that he needs it? That boy's already incredibly stubborn, feel like vampirism would make him ten times moreso 😔

I’m so glad you loved the Vampire Kakyoin story! And thank you for the kind words

A Different Side

Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders

Vampire!Noriaki Kakyoin x Reader

Summary: Despite all the help you’ve provided for Kakyoin, the vampire is still frightened of himself and a certain trait that has been kept away relatively well until now

Continuation of Isolation please read that before this one in order to understand the context better

Moments like these made Kakyoin’s insides shine with delight. A quiet moment between the two of you, your head laid gently on his lap, your (E/C) eyes closed as you enjoyed his presence next to you. Kakyoin would carefully examine your resting form with his lavender eyes, a quiet smile spread across his lips. Ever since the male had talked with you on that fateful evening, all his fears and worries had come to a halt. He could finally enjoy life with you by his side.

A part of him was disappointed that he hadn’t talked with you sooner as it would’ve improved his life much faster. However you were understanding of his situation and even after that evening, you allowed him to take his time, only visiting him when he was comfortable. It took him quite some time to gain the ability to relax in your presence as he was still unsure if he could control his potentially dangerous desires. However Kakyoin was eventually able to behave somewhat normally around you, much thanks to your support and patience, which he was eternally grateful for. You completely devoted yourself to him in order to help him. You had completely reworked your schedule so you were able to spend time with him during nights, talking with him, shopping for him and just about anything else he needed. He was soon comfortable enough to go out with you in the darkness, enjoying the chilly breeze and the sky filled with stars.

However soon a harassing anxiety made its way into Kakyoin’s mind as a sudden craving of blood hit him like a truck. The feeling of succession due to being able to withstand the need in the past was utterly destroyed as one night whilst walking along the dimly lit streets, he craved for the red substance, eyes shining with hunger as they looked at every person who walked past him. The feeling was overwhelming, his fangs grated in lust, his pupils dilated and his hands trembled as he was trying to resist the urge that almost overpowered him.

It had been a few days since the first urge to consume blood had presented itself and small bits of said urge hadn’t left him. He still felt the need somewhere in his mind, bothering him to the point where he almost began to isolate himself again. In addition to this, he had noticed his physical condition weakening, hence the current relaxation session with you. Despite the delight he felt while in your company, Kakyoin could feel the lust in him, as if it was slowly consuming him, eating his last bits of humanity.

His face twisted, he raised a trembling hand that seemed to move against his will, landing on the delicate flesh of your neck. How easily he could break that skin, dig into the flesh and drain the crimson liquid from your body. His fingers and claws gently crazed the surface, his nose already smelling the substance. He would be in top condition, his cravings would be silenced and his tongue could finally taste the delicious blood he so desperately needed. His fingers twitched. His tongue glided over his top lip. His lavender eyes shining with desire. Just a little bit. A tiny drop-

Kakyoin quickly retreated his hand from your body, his breathing quickening. That was close. Too close. He had almost given in to his twisted desires. This was exactly what he was afraid of. If he hadn’t snapped out of it, who knows what he would’ve done. He would never hurt you, he wouldn’t forgive himself if he did. But why? Why was it so difficult to resist?

The sudden movements beside you caused you to open your eyes and look up at Kakyoin who had an expression that practically screamed in fear and anxiety. You wasted no time sitting up and tending to his distraught state. “Are you okay, Nori? Did something happen?” Kakyoin’s eyes moved to you, his throat unable to let out the words bubbling in it. He looked tired, weak and he was trembling as if his cold body temperature was bothering him. You begin to wonder what caused such behavior but soon recall the feeling of a cold hand on your neck. Quickly moving your own hand to the spot where you could feel his, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. Your (E/C) eyes move to him to silently ask him what was going on.

Your guess seemed to be correct as Kakyoin’s worried expression only worsens. “(Name) I.. I didn’t mean to..” You keep your hand in the same spot, deeply thinking about everything that’s currently happening. He didn’t mean to drink your blood, you knew it. He would never do it without you knowing. However he looked very weak. During all this time you’ve been helping him and you hadn’t even thought about the fact that he needed blood. How long has he been craving it? “I.. I would never.. (Name).. I-I’m sorry I-”

“You need it, Nori. You’re becoming weaker and weaker. I can’t stand to see you like that. So please.. Drink my blood” Kakyoin’s lavender eyes widened in surprise and concern. Your selfless offer caught him off guard, his lust quickly rising to the surface once again. He was quick to try to deny you: “N-no (Name).. I can’t.. What if I.. Drink too much..?” The past fears of losing control quickly returned, making him think of the worst possible scenario. He and you both knew how much he needed blood, however Kakyoin couldn’t possibly allow himself to do it. If something were to happen, how was he supposed to live with himself?

“You have to. Who knows what will happen if you don’t. Nori I can’t lose you.. If I have to sacrifice my blood in order to keep you with me, I’ll do it” Your pleas dug into his soul like a sharp drill. He knew you were right, he needed blood in order to stay alive. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how much pain you’d be in if he were to disappear. As much as he hated it, he had to do it. A painful sigh of approval escapes his lips. “Alright.. But please.. Stop me if I.. If I can’t do it myself..” A relieved smile makes its way onto your face and with a nod, you prepare yourself for the next few moments.

Kakyoin lowers his face to your neck, his whole body lightly trembling and the smell and feeling of your blood calling to him. He could practically see the red liquid flowing through your veins under the thin skin. It almost looked like it wanted to get out and be consumed by the red haired male. Before he sinks his fangs into you, he gently connects his lips with the surface in an attempt to not only soothe you but also apologize for the fact that he has to do this. You take a deep breath, holding onto his body, waiting for the inevitable pain that will present itself as soon as his fangs pierce your skin.

And said pain quickly comes forth as you feel the two fangs sink into your neck, followed by the feeling of your blood being sucked out. Kakyoin has a firm hold of you, a part of it coming from the side of him that craves your blood. Once the taste of the substance fills his mouth, he’s unable to control his urges. He needs it more than he ever would’ve thought. Your blood is the most delicious thing he has ever had the pleasure of tasting. A part of him regrets the fact that he was about to deny such an experience from him. The texture, the taste, everything. Everything about your vital fluid makes only makes him crave for more, his vision blurring in pure excitement and lust.

You grip onto his clothes and lean your head against his shoulder. The pain is mostly gone, but this whole experience is so new that you barely know how to react. Your eyes are closed as you try to adjust to the strange feeling. The increased pressure leads you to suspect that the side of him that he was so afraid of has come through and you now know that he won’t be able to stop himself anymore. Tiny tears make their way to your eyes as the power he uses to drain you increases to the point where you can’t withstand it anymore. You gently try to pull away but Kakyoin denies your silent request by holding you tighter, a growl-like sound erupting from his throat.

“N-Nori.. I.. I don’t think I can take it anymore” You gently grip his head and guide it away from your neck. Kakyoin quickly snaps out of his lust-filled state and willingly pulls himself away, licking the remaining blood dripping from your wound. He swiftly looks at you, concern painted across his face. With a smile you assure him that you’re fine and also note his improved look. He now looks much healthier, his eyes shine normally, his skin glowing lightly. “Are you okay?” His voice has regained its usual tone, which only increases your smile. “Yeah. And you’re too” Kakyoin is relieved to hear that he was able to control himself, despite your blood making him feel forbidden things.

You quickly pull him into a kiss in which you can taste the remains of your blood on his lips. He wraps his arms around you in a manner that radiates warmth and care. He’s happy to have someone like you in his life, helping and supporting him when no one else could. Kakyoin makes a silent vow within his mind to protect you from everything that could ever hurt you. This includes the side of him that would surely crave the delicious fluid flowing through your body again in the future.

[evolutionsvoid]

As you venture through the grassy plains and sweeping savannas of an arid land you may find the wide open spaces suddenly disappearing. The grass around you will start to climb higher and higher, until they tower over your head like bamboo. The vegetation around you will become a thick curtain, engulfing you in a sea of green. There will be no trees to be found, yet it will feel like a choking jungle. No matter which way you look or go, the walls of grass will still surround you. Many will find themselves lost in this strange environment, as the grass blinds your vision and hides your tracks. You will stomp and push your way through, but it seems like you are going nowhere. As you stop to get your bearings, you may get the feeling you are being watched. With the endless vegetation around, though, it is impossible to tell. But then, a flash of movement! An orange blur darting past the corner of your eye! When you whip around to look, though, there will be nothing. There is no beast, and the grass remains still.  In time, you may see it again, but you will fail to catch it. Again and again, it shall be gone before you can spot it. It is then you realize that you are not alone in this green ocean, and that you best find your way out soon. For this land is home to the Razor Fleas, and they are not nearly as dangerous as I just made them out to be. Apologies, I just got caught up in the moment.   The Razor Flea is a beast that carries many names, much like the Bladed Prowler. Some regions refer to them as Grass Tiger Fleas (or simply Tiger Fleas), while others call them Saw Backs. As far as I know Razor Flea is a more common name, so I am going to stick with that one for this entry. That aside, the Razor Flea is a large insect that prowls grasslands and savannas, but only those that possess tall grass species. They won't be found in those wide open grassy fields that you may picture at first. Sure, they may wander into these areas in pursuit of food, but they prefer to stay in places where the grass grows taller than you! Here is where they are in their element, using the thick foliage to hide their presence and disorient their prey. What makes the Razor Flea the perfect creature for such a habitat is their interesting body shape. Their form is laterally flattened, giving them a thin and tall silhouette. Such a design may seem strange and fragile, but it is actually quite useful in this environment! While other creatures must plow their way through the thick grass to travel, the Razor Flea can slip through it like a fish cutting through a flowing river. They don't need to push and fight against the vegetation like we do, so it gives them quite the advantage! Combine that with their incredible speed, and you got a creature that can zip through the thickest of fields without the slightest trouble. Though my story above may be a little dramatic, it wasn't lying about their speed and agility. Most encounters with them last for only a second, as they zoom by without warning and vanish without a trace. Since they can slip through the blades and stalks, they hardly disturb the vegetation around them, which hides their approach and escape. There were so many times during my travels through the grasslands where I would be right in front of a running group of these insects and not realize it until they were long gone. There would just be brief flashes of orange and then a quiet rustling of the grasses, which I often mistook for the breeze. I have even heard stories of hunting parties who would have Razor Fleas dart between them while they were only feet apart! I can imagine that these speedy creatures have inspired many tales of horror within these grasslands, as some invisible presence haunts you without leaving a trace. 

These skills are what they rely on when they are hungry, as it is hard to fight what you cannot catch! Though I have made them sound quite scary (apologies again for that. I don't wish to defame a wonderful creature like this!), they are not ravenous predators. They don't possess sharp teeth or really any chewing mouth parts. Instead they have a proboscis, as they subsist on a liquid diet. One of their main foods on the menu is blood, and they will get it from animals that wander through their grassy land. With their speed and stealthy movements, they are capable of hunting down beasts and closing in without notice. They will stick close to their target, but they will not strike until opportunity presents itself. When their prey stops to rest or feed, they shall sneak up from behind and jab their sharp proboscis in. Due to its sharpness and coating of numbing fluid, prey will not feel a thing when the strike occurs. Then the Razor Flea will quickly suck out a serving of blood before zipping back into the grass. In most cases, they will not drink their fill on the first strike, as their target will move and disrupt the feeding. So they will often drain away blood bit by bit through multiple feedings, only stopping when their bellies are full or when the prey becomes too difficult to fool. While their blood drinking ways sound terrifying, they don't usually kill their victims. Their targets are often large beasts, as they are slow and possess plenty of tasty fluids. When a single Razor Flea feeds on them, they may feel some drowsiness but not much else. If a Razor Flea attacks a human-sized target, they will usually only strike once and will rarely get a full meal from it. Such folk are too aware of their surroundings and are prone to moving. This makes them risky targets, so the Razor Flea will often go after something a bit slower. However, Razor Fleas can also hunt at night, where they will feed on sleeping animals. Their thin bodies will allow them to sneak up without a sound, and easily nab a drink. Many creatures make their nests in the tall grasslands, and this species takes advantage of that. That also means they may try to feed on you if you decide to set up camp within this environment. In this case, they may be dangerous, as multiple specimens may drink from you at once, which can cause anemia. This may not kill you outright, but it will leave you weakened in a dangerous land. Though it is a scary possibility, it is one that can be easily avoided. Do not leave yourself exposed if you are sleeping in the tall grass, protect yourself with some thick layers. Or perhaps don't go dozing off in the middle of cramped savanna! Get yourself to a safer location, you fool! Though blood is a major staple of their diet, they do feed on other things. Eggs are another favorite of theirs, as their proboscis can puncture the shell and suck up the yolk. Since others build their nests in the grasslands, they will search for those that have eggs. Often a parent remains close by as a guardian, so they must use their stealth and speed to sneak past. If they are caught in the act, they will zip back into the grass and disappear. If they cannot, they are quite capable of defending themselves. Though thin, they have a tough segmented exoskeleton to protect them. They will also face their foe head on so that the enemy has very little to target. They will dodge attacks and wait for an opening, looking for the right moment to pounce. When their foe is exposed, they shall use their powerful hind legs to launch themselves forward. As they jump, their speed and strength will send them spinning through the air! This acrobatic move is impressive enough, but it isn't just for show! Razor Fleas are topped with wickedly sharp spines that are tough as any blade. When they are spinning, these sharp projections turn them into flying saw blades! Those who are in their path will receive deep cuts and nasty wounds as the soaring flea shreds through their skin. Often the flea will not go for a direct hit, as they could get stuck in a large, tough target. Instead they aim for a glancing blow, so that their teeth may slice clean through and allow them to stick the landing. An attack like this usually only needs to be performed once before their foe calls it quits and runs! This maneuver is what gave this species their name, as well as some infamy. This flying shredder they become is quite intimidating, and it can do a lot of damage to a small target like us! A glancing blow from this attack can easily cut down to the bone (though some say they are capable of fully severing a limb), and such an injury can easily become fatal if one does not act quickly. This is why it is best not to provoke these creatures and corner them. If you don't want to be a meal, just scare them off and call it good. They are quite skittish, so it shouldn't be hard. Despite this, folk are quick to say that Razor Fleas do this maneuver quite often, and that this is how they kill people. If you listen to the tales, you would think these fleas are constantly flying about like a sawmill with wings! Some even say that Razor Fleas can clear away entire swaths of tall grass by shredding them with their back spines, and that is why we have short grassed savannas! Preposterous! Such a method consumes a bunch of energy, so I can't imagine them using it all day. However, I cannot ignore the fact that people have indeed been injured or killed by these creatures. The deep lacerations are unmistakable, but I argue that some of these incidents are not intentional. Sure, those who have trapped a Razor Flea will be the target of an attack, but I think stories of people be sliced out of the blue is due to another reason. When Razor Fleas jump, they do so with a lot of speed and strength. This can launch them for quite a good distance! When they attack a foe, they are well aware of the target right in front of them. However, they don't really know what is past their enemy and hidden by the walls of grass. I think that some incidents are a result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The poor soul just happened to be in the path of a flea who was sailing blindly through the air. The creature did not know they were there, but they cannot stop themselves mid flight. It is an unfortunate accident, but an accident nonetheless. I mean, I can't tell you how many people and things I ran into when traveling through the grasslands! The grass is thick and requires some force to push aside, so you can easily barrel into another traveler if you aren't careful! Bad enough that I knocked over some poor folk with my sudden entrance, now imagine what would have happened if I had knives glued to my body!     Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ------------------------------------------------------- Was thinking about fleas at one point and decided to do something with their weird flattened bodies. With such a thin shape and speed, I figured they would work as a living saw blade! Also I just realized I got to edit my entry on Arctic Wolf Fleas, because it says that there are no fleas close to the size of them. Whoops! I guess past me didn't think that through!

[orlagartlands]

everybody’s waiting for the messiah

also on ao3 here!

fandom: the gilded wolves

rating: t

pairing: zofia/laila

word count: 1,427

summary: Laila is her polar opposite: the one who always has the right words, a coy glance, the perfect lie. To see her flustered is unnerving, an unbalancing of the natural order.

~

Zofia follows the trail of cookies into Laila’s bedroom, puzzled. She’s being lured, is sure of it,  but there’s no reason why she should need to be in Laila’s room. As far as she’s aware, Severín is still scouting his next acquisition.  Their  next acquisition, she corrects herself. She takes pride in the fact that her inventions are often central to the plan.

Laila is sitting on her bed when Zofia enters, still eating the cookie that was placed right outside the door. She’s wearing an emerald evening dress with a sequined bodice that glitters in the soft light. It’s purely decorative, a far cry from the functional clothing that Zofia prefers, but she finds herself unable to look away.

She’s never been to see L’Enigme, never wanted to. Clubs, in her limited experience, are dark and cramped and full of smoke. But she imagines that the people who come away talking of nothing but Laila, the people who follow her every scandal with bated breath, must feel something like this. Zofia walks towards Laila, as if an unseen magnet is drawing her in.

Laila reaches out and brings Zofia’s hands into her lap. The dress is made of silk, and Zofia shivers at the feel of it under her hands. It’s all smoothness, no rough edges or asymmetrical hems to make her anxious. They’re standing very close now, so close that Zofia can feel Laila’s breath warm against her forehead. She counts the sequins on Laila’s bodice, not understanding why she doesn’t pull away. She’s usually uncomfortable being this close to someone, but she finds herself wanting to stay, almost pressed flush against Laila. Laila, whose heart is currently beating several times faster than any other that Zofia has heard.

“What is she nervous about?”  Zofia wonders. She is the awkward one, never anticipating what other people want. Laila is her polar opposite: the one who always has the right words, a coy glance, the perfect lie. To see her flustered is unnerving, an unbalancing of the natural order.

Laila releases her hands before placing them on Zofia’s waist. She squirms a little but waits, still wanting to figure out what Laila is thinking.

“Can I kiss you?” Laila says.  Oh. Zofia steps back, letting Laila’s hands fall away from her and immediately missing the way they had grounded her. Laila’s face is full of want, but it doesn’t scare Zofia, not like when she can feel the glances of men as she walks through the lobby of L’Eden. No, Laila is always caring; and although Zofia has seen the strange games that Laila and Severin play, she trusts Laila to understand that Zofia takes words and actions as they are given to her. She trusts that Laila’s request has no hidden meaning, no second layer.

Zofia swallows. Her throat is very dry and she wishes that she had something Forged to hold onto, to remind herself of her strength. She doesn’t know what people are supposed to say in these kinds of situations, but she knows what she wants to say. “Yes.”

Laila leans in, and the first thing that Zofia processes is that Laila’s lips are very soft. Zofia has perpetually chapped lips, another casualty of her laser-sharp focus on work, but Laila’s are velvety, the deep red lipstick she’s wearing giving them a waxy taste.

Laila doesn’t kiss her too deeply, which Zofia appreciates. When she’s kissed people before, she had enjoyed it up until the moment they tried to slip their tongue in her mouth. She couldn’t understand why that was seen as romantic, trying to be so close as to become one.

Instead, Laila presses feather-light kisses to Zofia’s skin, first to her forehead, then both cheeks, traveling down her face to her shoulders, each kiss a caress. Zofia realizes that Laila is creating a pattern, zig-zagging so that the kisses are perfectly symmetrical.

Zofia doesn’t find beauty in human faces. They are confusing, their expressions indecipherable. (Except for disgust. She knows disgust.) Add to that the fact that most don’t follow the ratios and proportions she treasures and it’s easy to understand why she seeks beauty in patterns and math. But Laila has turned her into an emblem of what she loves and as she gazes at Laila, she begins to see patterns as well.

Her eyes, evenly spaced, are full of warmth and kindness but not pity. Laila trails a hand down Zofia’s body and she studies the curve of Laila’s fingers, tracing invisible lines through knuckles and fingertips, forming perfect swirls. Even as she notices imperfections, she finds them just as beautiful. When Laila smiles, one corner of her lip raises slightly higher, and Zofia feels the sudden urge to place a kiss there. She does. Laila looks surprised, in a good way, a way that says “what you did was unexpected but I enjoyed it.” Zofia is secretly very pleased.

Her breath catches as Laila pulls the dress over her head in one fluid movement. Although it is quick, there is an artfulness to her disrobing. Zofia’s mother had once told her about panthers, graceful and sleek and every fiber of them imbued with sheer power. This is the only comparison that feels apt, though Laila is not a wild beast.

Laila is looking at her now, so Zofia takes off her work smock and turns around to allow Laila to help unbutton her dress. She’s never seen the necessity of false modesty. She may not be comfortable around other people, present company excepted, but she’s not uncomfortable in her own body. She is simply Zofia, and Laila makes her believe it’s alright to be nothing less and nothing more.

Still, the feeling of bare skin on bare skin proves to be more than Zofia can handle. She panics, despite knowing rationally that there’s nothing to fear. This is what she hates about herself the most, when she no longer makes sense to herself. Being unable to function with unexpected sounds and lights is, to Zofia, a logical progression, even if others see it as unusual. But this instinctive flinch, when Laila has been nothing but caring, defies causality.

Before Zofia can even begin to stammer out an excuse for leaving, Laila has noticed her discomfort. She leans away, breaking contact, but motions for Zofia to sit next to her. Zofia does, rubbing the velvety blanket between her fingers.

“Too much?” Laila asks. Zofia nods; the rhythmic back and forth of her fingers is taking the edge off, but she still feels as though the smallest thing could set her off.

“Okay. Do you want to go?” Zofia turns the question over in her head. She knows that she won’t want anything more than tender kisses tonight. But her room is cold and although she loves her laboratory, she can’t deny that it gets lonely, especially between acquisitions.

She finds her voice this time. “Can I stay?” Laila smiles, and it’s not seductive or all-knowing, but real and honest.

Laila walks over to her wardrobe and flings the doors open, exposing the dazzling array of clothes. Zofia waits patiently as she searches, although she’s not quite sure what Laila is looking for. Personally, Zofia is hoping it’s another cookie. Laila emerges with a cotton nightgown, which Zofia suspects is the plainest in her collection, although it still has more ruffles than she prefers. Laila extends the dress.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable,” she says. Zofia takes the gown wordlessly. She’s never sure how to thank people. Especially Laila, who seems to make it her mission to care for all of them. When people thank Zofia, she’s supposed to brush it off, even if she worked day in and day out. If that’s the case, Zofia doesn’t see the need to thank anyone at all. Plus, if Zofia thanked Laila for every kindness she’s shown, Zofia’s not sure she’d ever be finished.

Zofia dresses herself and clambers onto Laila’s bed. It’s soft and luxurious, and she thinks she could spend hours just lying here. It’s a plus, of course, that Laila is currently curled up next to her. She’s opted not to redress, and Zofia admires the svelte lines of her body. Laila pulls Zofia close, gently, careful not to touch her too much.

“This is good,” Zofia says, a response to Laila’s unasked question. She settles herself comfortably under Laila’s chin, never more thankful for her small stature. It isn’t long before their combined heat envelops and soothes her, lulling her into a blessedly dreamless sleep.

[intothestarkerverse]

Time of Our Lives (Part Three)

Based on a prompt from @geekymarvel  

Peter is tasked with an important mission that requires him to go back in time.   Finding himself at a gala for Stark industries in the 1990’s, he comes face to face with a young and incorrigible Tony Stark who considers Peter’s attempts to deny his advances a challenge.  Now, dogged by a horny young CEO who won’t take no for an answer, Peter’s task has become much more difficult….

(STORY CONTAINS ENDGAME SPOILERS)

Read on AO3

“Get on your radio. I want S.H.I.E.L.D. I want the F.B.I. I want the N.S.A. I want everyone with a god damn badge and an acronym for a name here in ten minutes.” When there was no immediate response from Happy, Tony turned to take in the other man’s embarrassed expression, barely losing a step of his meaningful stride. “Tell me you have your radio.”

“I left it in the security office.”

“Of course you did.” Tony skidded to a stop in front of the elevator, reaching for his security badge for executive override and realizing with an angry growl that he didn’t have it. The kid did. “Fine, go back to the security office and call in the cavalry then.”

“I can’t let you go down there alone, Sir, it could be dangerous.”

“See, I thought I was the boss here. My name and not yours on the building, the paychecks���Happy Industries sounds like a brothel or a pizza parlor with an animatronic rat, you know? Is this a whore house or a pizza arcade, Happy? No. Then just do what I say or hit the unemployment line in the morning, I honestly don’t care which you choose.” He turned his back to thesecurity guard and began mashing the down arrow on the elevator again and again and again as if that would make it arrive faster. When it still hadn’t arrived after several seconds, he begrudgingly pushed his way through the door to the emergency stairwell somewhat placated that Happy was not behind him and had done as instructed and gone back to get the authorities. Tony honestly wasn’t worried about the kid hurting him. If Peter Parker wanted him dead, he would have killed him when they were alone in the Men’s Room. Nah, this kid was out for something other than blood...it was just a real damn shame it wasn’t sex.

By the time he reached the incinerator in the basement Tony was a little breathless. The door providing access to the inside of the incinerator for removal of ash and debris was open and there was the sound of movement echoing from within the large metal room. “All right, Kid, you’ve got at best fifteen minutes before this building is swarming with federal agents. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll run…” Tony’s words died on his lips as he stepped into the open doorway and several things became apparent at once.

That was not the kid in the incinerator.

It was, in fact, three individuals dressed in black who were collecting a myriad of items from the incinerator that Tony hadn’t recalled ordering destroyed. Two of them did not even look up from their work, but the third individual swung his considerably impressive firearm in Tony’s direction and let off several rounds of gunfire before Tony’s words had even stopped echoing in the room.

—

There were very few times in Peter Parker’s life when his proclivity for mathematics and the physical sciences was a hindrance. This was one of those few times. As he slowly climbed down the never-ending shaft of the incinerator on finger tips and toes, his brain was busy calculating the height of the shaft, how much time it would take him to fall down it, how much damage he would sustain from the fall, and any number of worse doomsday scenarios.

Truth was, he knew he had nothing to worry about. He had pretty good stamina and his muscles weren’t even beginning to sting yet. In the grand scheme of things, this should be a piece of cake…but Peter had a little bit of trouble with very confined spaces ever since Vulture dropped a building on him. It wasn’t a full-fledged phobia. He certainly tried to avoid very tight places if he could help it, though, and this incinerator shaft was about as tight as they came. If he was any larger, he probably wouldn’t have been able to fit inside it. As it was, there was little more than a couple of inches to either side of his shoulders and his knees and ass were scraping the other sides as he crawled down. It was also exceptionally dark and quiet. All he could hear was the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat and the sound of his somewhat frenzied breathing against the mask of his ironspider suit. He really missed Karen. Being without the AI didn’t make the suit useless, it was still every bit as intuitive as it had ever been…but Karen was a point of comfort that he could have used as he convinced himself that the tiny incinerator shaft was no big deal at all.

Spidey sense came first, as it was always want to do. The familiar tingling at the base of his skull that flared quickly enough to a full fledged stabbing pain. Peter had learned over the years to take his Spidey sense with a grain of salt. Sometimes it had a habit of alerting him to dangers that were rather mundane and not at all life threatening. His reaction to the warning was more dependent upon the circumstances. In a fight, he was much more likely to duck, expecting an oncoming projectile, than he was in the middle of Calculus. Sometimes, for the sake of secret identities, it was important to let the spitball Flash had lobbed at his head hit him between the eyes. Didn’t mean he had to like it, though.

This time, Peter paid attention to his biological warning system, slowing down and taking the last few yards of decent much more carefully than the first hundred or so. He didn’t jump out of the shaft as he might have done without the warning, instead angling himself to cling to the roof of the incinerator as he poured his body out of the hole and was finally able to take stock of the situation.

Three men.

All in black. They were loading a reinforced metal crate with objects from the incinerator. One of which, he saw with dismay, was the one he had been sent to recover. This complicated matters much more than he cared to admit. Were these people supposed to steal this stuff? Could he afford to stop them completely and take the machine, or should he just try to get the machine away from them and try to avoid affecting the time stream even more than he already had? Why hadn’t Tony or the stones known about this in the first place? What was he going to do?

It was Tony’s voice that pulled him out of the worried maelstrom of his own thoughts.

Oh no.

Oh God.

Peter saw the one with the gun turn towards the doorway and his head exploded with a thousand warnings.

He absolutely could not let Tony Stark die.

The world seemed to slow down, seconds taking minutes as they passed. Spider-Man aimed for the barrel of the gun, firing a quick burst of webbing and using all of his strength to pull the gun up so that as it fired, the rounds skittered above Tony’s head and out into the basement where he hoped they would do no harm.

He left the ceiling in a graceful leap, hands colliding with the shooter’s shoulders as he pushed him to the ground and delivered a forceful right hook to the man’s masked face. Peter was used to pulling his punches. He was far too strong to hit an average person with the full brunt of his power. Not if he didn’t want to knock someone’s head off, anyway. This time, perhaps, he didn’t hold back quite enough. The guy wasn’t dead. He’d never forgive himself if he killed an actual person, but he was adequately stunned…maybe even concussed.

One down.

Two to go.

—

Tony Stark’s life did not flash before his eyes. He was more than a little grateful for that, because truthfully he had done very little worth reliving at that juncture. His only thought, in fact, as he watched the sparks fly from the end of the gun as the bullets fired, was that he was going to die without ever taking that sweet piece of thieving ass to bed. And that was a shame.

Then the bullets were whizzing overhead and he was enraptured, watching that sweet piece of thieving ass saving his damn life. If he had thought the kid was attractive before, he was gone for the boy now. Watching him fight was the best possible kind of foreplay and Tony could even forgive his little stunt in the bathroom in favor of what he was seeing now.

Peter Parker was an artist. There was a grace and a fluidity to his movements that reminded Tony of a dancer or a gymnast as he sprang and flipped and flew around the incinerator. He was flexible. Oh, was he flexible. Watching the way his body could twist and bend had Tony lost in all kinds of lascivious thoughts, imagining all of the new, exciting sexual adventures he could have with a beautiful boy who could move like that.

He was also a smart ass. Every punch and kick, every time he fired that fluid from his wrists and jerked one of the men across the room, it was always accompanied by some sarcastic remark or witty banter that had Tony smiling despite himself. Dammit. He had been determined to be angry at the kid, angry enough to deny him sex and see him carted off to a S.H.I.E.L.D. prison, but he could already feel that resolve crumbling. Beautiful boys with bodies as skilled at movement as his and a tongue as sharp were so hard to come by. No, so very, very hard to find and so very, very easy to cum by.

As Peter sent one of the men flying into the other and both crumpled into piles of shredded and discarded paperwork, he came to light directly in front of Tony. “Mr. Stark, could you…I don’t know, maybe not stand there in the open like a sitting duck? I really can’t be responsible for you dying again and I can’t stop these guys and protect you too…”

Again? “Protect me?” Tony was offended to the depths of his soul. “I do not need to be protected, Peter.”

The eyes of the suit widened somewhat, obviously surprised to hear Tony use his real name. Then, with a sigh, the mask over his head melted away and he addressed Tony face to face. “You do actually. You really do. And you can’t die, so…I’m really, really sorry about this…”

Before Tony knew what was happening, the kid had fired two quick shots of webbing, binding first his ankles and then his arms to his sides. With a somewhat gentle kick, he tipped the man over and sent him rolling away from the entrance.

—

Peter really shouldn’t have been surprised that Tony had known who he was. Tony always knew who he was, it seemed. In the future, in the past. He was just never going to be able to maintain a secret identity with Tony Stark. The man was destined to always know Peter’s deepest and darkest secrets…except for the one he’d kept closely guarded for far too long. That secret he had never intended to allow to see the light of day, but one devilishly sexy younger version of his mentor was teasing him with so many possibilities that he feared his secret desires were not secret anymore. If he only had more time…He thought he saw something, a dark look in Tony’s eyes a moment before the man fell and rolled out of the doorway. Clearly, Peter was now not the only one who’d be having fantasies about tying Tony up with webbing and doing dirty, dirty things. He felt his cheeks blush a moment before his Spidey Sense flared again and he dived before a spray of gunfire erupted behind him.

“Okay, guys, seriously…enough is enough.” Peter bounced up again, annoyed to see that the third man was not as incapacitated as he had previously thought. “I’m not letting you leave with that stuff, and in case you missed what the man said before you so rudely tried to kill him…the cops are on the way.”

“Yes, they are.”

The voice had come from behind Peter, not in front of him, and slowly the boy turned to face a new arrival. This man was not dressed in black but in an expensive tuxedo. He’d been one of the guests, then. Probably the one who’d let these guys into the incinerator in the first place. It was not the man that had Peter frozen in fear, though, but what the man was holding.

Tony was still bound, and probably would be for another hour without Peter’s solvent to dissolve the webbing. Unfortunately, this meant he was not putting up much of a fight to the man who now had a gun pressed against his head. “You’re going to let us out of here, all of us, with the contraband…or Tony Stark is going to leave here in a body bag.”

Peter held up his hands, palms splayed, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Hey, man, you don’t want to hurt him, do you? I mean, you’ve gone to this much trouble to steal his stuff…if he’s dead, how’s he goin’ to invent something new for you to steal?”

“How indeed.” The man’s gaze moved to the disguised men who were once again scrambling to fill the crate as quickly as they could. “Oh, just leave the rest. We don’t have time. We’ll have to be content with what we’ve got. Pack up the crate, we’re leaving.”

Peter watched as the men lifted the heavy crate and began carrying it out. He dropped his hands to his side as the man’s attention was on the crate for a split second, barely the blink of an eye, firing off a quick tracker that embedded in the seaming of the crate.

When the crate and the men were out of the incinerator, Peter was preparing to launch an offensive and keep that guy from putting a bullet in Tony’s brain. He needn’t have worried, though. Just as Peter was rushing forward for the attack, he felt a heavy object collide with him and send him to the ground with an indelicate grunt. Then, he heard the sound of the door slamming shut and felt his stomach sink.

Oh no.

He pushed himself up, locking gazes with Tony who had been summarily thrown into the room at him. “Oh shit.” Peter’s gaze moved from the man to the room around them as he heard machinery whirring to life. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

The incinerator was coming on.

They were going to burn the two of them alive.

Peter reached for Tony, the solvent that dissolved the webbing loosening the bonds on the other man's arms and legs.

“This whole keeping me safe thing…you’re really terrible at it, kid.”

“We don’t have time for your sarcasm.” Peter was searching the room, desperate for some way out. The chute was too small for the both of them…probably too small for Tony. His shoulders were much broader than Peter’s, an attribute that Peter had always found attractive. The chimney was likely too tall, too thin, and with too few purchases for webbing. Not to mention the fact that fire and hot air from the incinerator were going to go up that chimney faster than he could climb with a passenger. He couldn’t stop the flame, not without literally ripping the incinerator apart. That left him with only one option…

His mental calculations were interrupted by the feeling of an arm around his waist pulling him in close and then kissing him again. God, even the fire of the incinerator wasn’t going to be able compete with this heat. Peter whimpered but tried to push himself away. “If I’m going to die, I’m going to go out on my terms.” Tony’s voice rasped against his lips and Peter couldn’t help but laugh.

“Rain check. On the kissing, not the dying.” He succeeded in pushing himself away and flipped upward, watching dubiously as the fire began to spew from several pipes along the bottom of the room. Tony was backing towards the middle of the room, as far from the fire as he could get, as Peter anchored webbing a little into the shaft from which he’d entered and backed up to a far corner of the room, turning around to brace his arms, back, and legs against the ceiling.

Tony followed his gaze to the door. “You realize that’s sealed shut. It would take a hell of a lot of pressure to open it from the inside.”

“2 tons, give or take, depending on where I hit it. Already did the math. Should be easy.” Something in Tony’s eyes made Peter smirk. Had he just licked his lips like he was looking at a piece of chocolate cake…while he was looking at Peter? Oh this was bad, this was very, very bad…but all the more reason to live.

He used every ounce of strength he could muster, pushing off of the ceiling and hurtling towards the door. A moment before his feet struck it, he watched in abject horror as it swung open of it’s own accord and he had to try to slow himself down before he barreled right into young Happy Hogan. Blindly shooting a stream of webbing, it struck something overhead and he pulled himself sharply to the right, swinging in an arc and hitting the nearby broiler hard enough to leave what Peter would later swear was a vaguely human imprint. Groaning, he collapsed onto his back on the floor and watched from his new vantage point as Tony emerged from the incinerator looking none the worse for wear.

“Good job, Happy. You deserve a promotion. Personal security sound good to you? You can keep me safe, get a pay raise, show the kid how you save someone’s life the right way.” Tony crossed the basement, standing over Peter with his arms crossed over his chest. “The cops here yet, Happy?”

“Coming down any minute, Sir.”

Peter was up in a moment, ignoring the aches from his collision with the building’s heating system. “I’m begging you, Mr. Stark, please don’t tell S.H.I.E.L.D or the police what happened. They can’t know I’m here, no one else can know I’m here…or what they took or anything else. Please…Please, Mr. Stark…”

“I do love to see you beg, Beautiful, but why should I? You stole from me. You almost got me barbecued…and you’ve already done irreparable harm to the time stream, anyway.”

Peter stopped in mid sentence, his whole body completely rigid at Tony’s reprimand. Only his eyes moved as they widened considerably at the implications of the statement. “Wuh…How…What…I’m not…”

Tony stared back, his mouth twisted into a frown, brows raised. “Yeah, you did and you are. So, if you want me to keep you out of prison…you have a very small window of time in which to tell me why a future version of myself chose to send you back in time, what you needed in that incinerator, and why. Spill it, and don’t waste time on that adorable stutter.”

[meditativeyoga]

What Is Your Child`s Brain/Body Type?

Do you ever want you just had a handbook to help you comprehend your kid? As a mother, often I ask yourself just how my kid can perhaps be from the exact same genetic pool as myself. At times my little girl is just so various from that I am that I have difficulty recognizing her requirements, and also ways to finest pacify her. Several moms and dads run right into this identical problem due to the fact that the mini-me's have their own one-of-a-kind characters. Fortunately there is a really old device that can be available in helpful in assisting us out. Meet Ayurveda through the new book Dharma Parenting.

Scientists and sociologists have actually identified various kinds of people with emotional demands, INTELLIGENCE, reduced or high attachment, as well as of course the classic sorts of "very easy" or "difficult" characters when kids are just babies. Although in some cases, it seem like every mother assumes their picky babies are the "challenging" ones! In Ayurveda, India's ancient recovery technique, there are also various categories of people that have various constitutions, mental makeups, as well as physiological qualities. As well as according, to Dr. Keith Wallace, among the writers of Dharma Parenting, it is since often kids and also moms and dads do not come from the exact same classification that understanding could confirm to be difficult.

There are 3 major sorts of individuals according to Ayurveda, as well as they all act in an one-of-a-kind means. At any type of factor in the day, your kid could be in balance, or from equilibrium, with the components. Recognizing what triggers them could assist you recognize what they are experiencing and exactly how you could aid them with their reactions to be much more delighted and also successful. Right here are 3 brain/body kinds of Ayurveda and just how finest to recognize these personalities.

Vata

Children of this kind are very delicate, always altering, and very innovative. They do whatever fast: talk quickly, walk fast, eat quick, they are going a million miles a min. They are really energised, but they are not marathon runners, instead they are sprinters, with short ruptureds of power that have to be taken care of. Their energy and also moods are frequently in flux. Dr. Wallace says, Vatas are as compared to the wind-- removaling, trendy, light, and dry.

Body: Literally, vata types have the tendency to be tall and also on the slim side, or they could be little as well as delicate mounted. Like the wind, they are cool so their hands and also feet are typically great to the touch. As a parent you need to take extra like keep them cozy. See to it they have a winter hat and also handwear covers on when its also just a little chilly outside because they obtain sick very conveniently with the initial bite of cool weather.

Disposition: Their wonderfully imaginative minds are constantly going like the energizer bunny and could quickly come to be troubled. They are passionate, versatile, love adjustment as well as finding new things. In general, they are additionally quick to learn-- but also fast to forget! Their interest is constantly relocating with shiny object syndrome, so as a moms and dad it is essential to aid them reign in as well as be concentrated. Even as vata children become adolescent years, their energy levels and mood can alter swiftly from active and also delighted to unexpectedly feeling worn down as well as unbalanced. When they are young, teach them to check their energy levels by checking in routinely as well as taking remainder breaks to avoid a crash.

Vatas enjoy selection yet having also several selections can leave them absent-minded, so limit selections. They have a tendency to be spontaneous and transform their minds regularly. Keep things straightforward and don't offer a lot of selections. Nevertheless, your sensitive vata child naturally has definite sort and disapproval, go with the circulation of their discerning nature.

Vatas naturally are very conscious all stimulations, that makes them natural artists. This coupled with their supple bodies gives them an edge in dance and also gymnastics. When vata children are young its practical to always maintain art materials like crayons, colored documents, very rocks, adhesive as well as feathers around for imaginative play, rather than having an additional iPad session or playing with battery-operated playthings. Vata youngsters in equilibrium are euphoric as well as love to involve in creativity through singing, dancing, and creating art. When they are out of equilibrium, they could be high strung, worried, and scared. Films or video games that are violent or high energy can be too stimulating for these sensitive youngsters. Avoid them entirely if feasible, or at the very least keep them to a minimum and not also near to bedtime.

Dr. Wallace keeps in mind that these children are talented with verbal skills and as children are early talkers as well as the very first teenagers to obtain on the texting bandwagon. You have to be especially cautious to make sure they recognize that texting and owning do not mix.

Food: Have you ever before attempted to prepare morning meal over a campfire while its gusty? The fire is warm yet not stable. Possibly you could make s'mores or fry a quick egg yet it's impossible to earn a pot of oat meal or a stew. Vatas are conveniently unbalanced by way too much wind, which disrupts the digestion fire or agni, bring about digestive troubles. Their hunger is additionally irregular. Occasionally they're starving, occasionally not. In some cases they wish to eat a bit, in some cases a lot, and also various other times not at all. They do best with consuming smaller sized dishes throughout the day. Eating hefty carb-loaded meals of lasagna or sugary treats will block their systems. Due to the fact that the dryness of the wind could so quickly overtake their bodies, irregularity as well as dehydration are additionally things to watch out for. The finest solution for this is great deals of water, preferably warm, and also staying away from foods that are cool and also completely dry in nature. A vata child could easily obtain unwell, so equilibrate with whole lots of cozy fluids and warm foods, specifically in the winter.

Sleep: Having a solid regimen could aid vatas be less scattered. Aim to have a solid schedule for details activities like sleep, play, workout, schoolwork, as well as dishes. Rest is also essential for these delicate youngsters, so establish healthy rest routines with cozy baths, a calming tale, soft music and comforting fragrance oils.

Special Care - Movement: Taking a trip suggests a great deal of movement, and also excessive motion can be a reason for inequality for Vatas. It best to combat the added stimulation with beneficial warm, fluids and also foods, as well as staying with their daily regimen prior to as well as after the trip. Having their favored covering or toys could give protection and grounding.

Pitta

Pitta is like the summer season sunlight-- warm, bright and powerful. They are fire incarnate, which rules digestion, temperature, psychological luster, physical stamina, as well as temper. They are dynamic, and also reactive. And commonly possess sharp intelligence as well as warm emotions.

Body: Literally, pittas typically have medium builds and are physically strong as well as resistant. It's saying but these children often tend to have reddish hair, skin, and blemishes. They have whole lots of power and focus, which make them excellent athletes. Really, they require great deals of exercise to absorb all their energy!

Disposition: Pittas are issue solvers, goal oriented and also decisive. They are perfectionists and reluctant to learn how to speak as promptly as vatas. They wait up until they are sure. However when they start to speak, they surprise everybody around them with their suggestions revealed in clear, strong language. When they begin college, their stories are far ahead of their age group. School as a whole comes easily to them as long as their instructors keep their bright intellects involved and tested. They love to check ingenuity, and also remain concentrated up until they figure all of it out. The ideal video games for them are puzzles as well as puzzles instead of tinting books which their vata peers love.

Dr. Wallace creates, Pittas are also natural leaders as well as very competitive in school and also sports but their concentrate on winning can become intense aggression. If a pitta kid is unbalanced, after that they will become demanding as well as want control due to the fact that they believe they understand much better than everybody else. Their Achilles heel is that their mind as well as psychology can rapidly become agitated by two easy things: getting too hot and not eating on time.

Food: These youngsters have strong food digestion and healthy appetites. They need to eat sufficient dishes and also in a timely manner. Missed out on meals implies impatience as well as impatience is on the horizon. Since noontime is when gastrointestinal power is at optimal, it's optimal to provide them lunch as close to twelve noon as feasible. Be certain to load lots of treats, and cooling down beverages particularly if you are out running tasks to prevent tantrum in the middle of a shop. Also, pitta types like hot foods yet these are warmth triggering and also will certainly worsen their constitution so its best to prevent them altogether.

Sleep: As kids, this team provides up their naps before various other kids-- the world is so interesting, who wishes to sleep in the center of the day! Do not fret they will certainly compose this time around at evening by resting deeper and much longer in the evening. At day care, if naptime is mandatory, this time can be spent with publications or puzzles. Normally pittas drop off to sleep quickly in the evening, however sometimes they wish to figure out how the whole cosmos works before they close their eyes and can't drop off to sleep, or obtain up in the center of the evening to resolve the trouble. A service is to tell them a long, entailed, as well as laborious bedtime tale is which practically nothing occurs. This records their interest however provides their dynamic minds absolutely nothing to engage with. Its best to quit intense TELEVISION shows, video games, or research also close to bedtime.

Special attention - Warm: It could not be stressed sufficient that pittas are sensitive to heat-- hot food, intense atmospheres, as well as summertime months.

They don't such as sweatshirts as well as love the air-conditioning. When it's warm outside, make certain to maintain them in shaded areas as well as with appropriate equipment of sunglasses, hats, as well as sunblock to protect their sun-sensitive pitta eyes and skin. For strenuous yet cooling workouts attempt swimming as well as winter sports. Make certain to keep them moisturized to stop overheating!

Kapha

Kapha personifies solidity-- bones as well as muscles, fat and also sinews. Kapha resembles the planet in the very early spring: cool and moist, solid, as well as a bit hefty. These youngsters are steady and strong, physically, emotionally, and also psychologically. Dr. Wallace creates, they have the sweet taste of springtime, and like spring, they could be slow-moving to obtain going. You can count on them to show up eventually.

Body: Literally, kaphas have a durable build, are solid, have excellent endurance, and also delight in lots of physical task. Once you get them going-- which can occasionally be a challenge-- they personify Newton's First Law: A body at remainder has the tendency to stay at remainder. A body moving remains in motion. A kapha child needs physical task or they will certainly come to be sluggish. Make certain to always include regular workout, preferably outdoors, right into their routine either in your home or with team sports. With their immense stamina as well as toughness, they are best at soccer, basketball and fumbling. If vatas are bothered by the cool, dry weather condition, and also pittas are bothered by the heat, after that what about kaphas? They do horrible in humidity and wetness. Help them stay well balanced with a dehumidifier in the summer and hot tea in the winter.

Disposition: A well-balanced kapha is constant as a rock. Yet on the other side, this steadiness can slow them down due to the fact that they are intentional and systematic regarding all their actions. They take longer than the majority of kids to place on socks, shoes and also to leave your house. As a moms and dad, recognize this is their nature as well as hold your horses and also strategy ahead. They need to meticulously think their decisions, so look at points slowly offering them ample time to scrutinize whatever carefully. Simply like with vatas, its finest to limit their selections, but also for various factors. When kaphas make a choice, they are stationary. It will certainly take a charging elephant to change their minds!

They find out best by doing instead of listening. Offer them activities to discover brand-new ideas or permit them to blog about it. Just make sure to clarify actions one by one. Unlike pittas, they will not keep in mind the guidelines easily, once they discover it, they are the least likely to forget.

According to Dr. Wallace, these children are dedicated, individual, thoughtful, caring, and very easy going. It's unusual to discover them upset or annoyed. When everyone is obtaining stressed or anxious, they are steady as well as maintain their funny bone. They are frequently the ones that can maintain their heads in an emergency and also the one everybody pertains to depend upon when things become tough. Nonetheless, if they are as well less active they can end up being withdrawn and also depressed. And also when from balance, they will not do anything that needs initiative, which spirals into states of lethargy. Keep them stimulated as well as literally active. Lighten points up by adding fresh fruit and also veggies to the diet plan and also participated in social activities.

Food: Kaphas have strong hungers, but unlike pittas they can eat late or miss out on a meal with no issues. They are foodies as well as can quickly eat way too much which exacerbates their slow-moving metabolic rate as well as creates weight gain. If they overload with heavy, deep-fried foods as well as sugary foods they could easily get clogged with a stale nose and also a wet cough. Encourage them to eat lighter foods like wraps as opposed to hamburgers, or chocolate dipped strawberries as opposed to chocolate cake.

Sleep: As kids, they take longer to outgrow snoozes. Rest is kapha's buddy as well as they fall asleep conveniently and also have a far better opportunity of resting throughout the evening at a very early age after that the various other types. The only problem is getting them entering the early morning. An useful strategy is to attract there foodie detects by describing breakfast awaiting them, or invite them right into the kitchen area to prepare treats.

Special care - Obsession: When out equilibrium, kaphas could become obsessive because they don't want change. They want the same person, toy, or garments to be with them constantly. Dr. Wallace recommends that throughout this moment you have to create a steady, predictable routine. Provide them a lot of time to get used to transform. If you are preparing a Thanksgiving journey, make it concrete by showing pictures of the area and people that will be there ahead of time. Your kapha youngster and also you will do excellent as long as you remember they need a little additional inspiration and excitement at times-- and afterwards they are the sweetest of the bunch!

Want to get more information concerning your kid's brain/body type (or your very own)? Click on the link below to take a quiz!

[ridleymocki]

Control Your Fear, It’s Clear

Written for Pynch Week 17, Day 3. Prompt:  “Am I dreaming?” // “What are you doing here?” // “Dance with me”

Summary:  The day has come for Adam to begin his final exams, the culmination of all his hard work, and now that it's here, he's freaking out in the boys' bathroom, of all places. But he doesn't have to deal with this stuff alone, anymore. Ronan surprises him and reminds Adam how rewarding taking risks can be.

Notes: Apparently I just have no restraint at all because this has, like, ALL the kissing. Hopefully it has plot as well, haha.Title is from Matt Corby's 'Resolution', which, if you haven't heard it yet will probably change your life.Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

also on ao3

In twenty minutes, Adam’s future would start to be determined. In twenty minutes he’d sit at a table that would probably have a tilt in it and pour out the contents of his intellect on flimsy white pieces of paper. His hand would probably cramp, or he’d misread something and it would all go to shit. At the end of more hours than he wanted to think about, he’d hand over a piece of his soul and it would be weighed and measured to see if all his hard work had done any good. He’d do that again tomorrow and the next day until it was all over and his fate was sealed.

 “You’re being an idiot,” he said to his reflection, and growled at himself as he splashed his face with cold water again. “Everything will be fine. Stop being dramatic.” He pressed his forehead to the glass of the mirror and took deep breaths. He was usually fine with assessments, could walk in, secure in the knowledge that he’d done the hard work, and complete the task with a militant calm. But these were his final exams, and just a few weeks ago he’d been possessed by a demon and his friend had died, then been revived by a magical forest. So all in all, his stress was high. Sue him.

It wasn’t even that he thought he would do badly, necessarily. He knew he would do well, stored all the information correctly and knew how to convey it. But doubt is a tricky thing that doesn’t care about the facts at hand, self-doubt doubly so. As he scraped a paper towel over his face, Adam felt like he wanted to run. He’d spent so long running towards Aglionby and the future it promised, and now it just made him feel sick. “Stop it, stop it, stop it…”

 He was meant to have more control than this. Adam had built himself up through discipline and determination and he’d be damned if he failed now because he panicked. As he looked at himself sternly in the mirror, he felt the warring forces in him scrabble for his attention. His control usually gave him balance. The contradictions that made up his character only rested in balance because he kept them strictly apart, no mingling, no polluting. What he wanted was untouched by what he needed. What he loved was untouched by what he hated. What made him safe could never be what made him afraid. But now, looking down the barrel of his possible future, things began to overlap. Academic success was always going to be his way out, the way that he would make up for the bad of his past with an almost inevitable good. The surety of what this school and then college could do for him always represented safety – he knew the path ahead, he just had to follow. But now, he was goddamn terrified. And he didn’t know how to want something at the same time he was scared of it.

 He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to know.

 The door to the boys’ bathroom burst suddenly open, the bang of it ringing off the walls, and Adam reared back, busied himself with scrunching up the towel and tossing it, not casting the intruder a single glance.

 “You’re not freaking out are you?”

 Adam whirled. Ronan was standing at the end of the row of sinks, arms crossed but his smile smug. Adam blinked. “What are you doing here?” His heart leapt excitedly in his chest, a nice reprieve from the nervous lurching, and Ronan smiled wider at his obvious surprise. He looked good, frustratingly so, in black head to toe and his brilliant blue eyes turned liquid in the light from the window. Adam felt drawn to him by the unique gravity of that smile. And annoyed; Ronan was a unique creature that could elicit both emotions at the same time.

 “Figured you’d need a distraction,” Ronan said lowly, and began to step forward, crowding into Adam’s space. The way he moved, fluid but sharp, a coiled whip, would have scared anyone in their right mind. But Adam was a little crazy over Ronan Lynch, and as his shoulders dropped in relief at seeing him, he moved forward too, just to touch him all the sooner.

 Ronan’s hands came up to frame his face and he kissed him hard, bodies pressing immediately together. There had been a number of times over the last weeks where their kisses had managed to wipe Adam’s mind absolutely clean, and this was one of them. They wound around each other, Ronan licking into his mouth and getting a groan out of him.

 At first, when Adam had first kissed him and they’d begun this, the feeling of being circled in someone’s arms, feeling their laughter against his lips, had made Adam nervous. Too close, too heady, too vulnerable. But he’d realised soon enough it was a power all its own, to occupy someone’s attention so completely. And to occupy Ronan’s attention like this was a very powerful thing, indeed. Adam craved it, the give and take, this cherished feeling.

 He felt the movement of the muscles in Ronan’s shoulder as he slid a hand down Adam’s spine, curling his arm around his waist. Adam scratched at the edge of Ronan’s buzzed hair, the prickle of it grounding and perfect as their mouths worked to make him forget. After too many minutes and too few breaths, Ronan withdrew, but kept passing a hand up and down Adam’s back, warm and reassuring.

 “Distracted?” Ronan said, and his voice was a mess. Adam huffed, pressed another firm but quick kiss to Ronan’s reddened lips, biting at the bottom one before leaning back to scowl at him.

 “How the fuck am I supposed to do this exam, now?” He watched Ronan’s grin grow wide and pleased, his perfect teeth infuriating.

 “Same way you do everything,” he bent his head and nipped at the hinge of Adam’s jaw, “stubbornly.” Ronan continued to kiss down his neck, not seeing the way Adam rolled his eyes, though he probably knew anyway.

 It occurred to Adam as he lost himself in the fact of Ronan, the smell and shape of him, that his exams weren’t the first time he’d wanted something and been scared of it, too. Don’t break him, Adam, Gansey had said. But when Adam had first kissed him, replying to the question Ronan had left hanging on his lip earlier that night, Adam was sure that it was going to be himself that shook apart. When they lounged in silence and Ronan pressed Adam’s fingers to his mouth, Adam was afraid. No one had told Ronan not to break Adam. No one had told Adam what to do with someone’s love, how to treat it well. He’d wanted it violently, wanted it with a white hot need that he’d never felt before, not for doing well at school, not for breaking free of this town. He’d wanted Ronan like nothing else and it was still, in its own way, the scariest thing he’d ever done.

 He nudged his nose into Ronan’s throat and breathed him in, allowing himself to be held. Weeks ago, what he wanted had won out against what he feared. It could do so again, he figured.

 “I have to go,” he mumbled. Ronan made a noise of assent and squeezed him once before moving away. He still wore a smirk, but it was smaller, private.

 “You’re an idiot if you think you’re not gonna beat all of them,” he said quietly.

 Adam smiled. “Trust you to make me stop being an idiot, then.”

 Ronan clapped him on the shoulder and grinned, apparently glad he’d succeeded. Adam’s chest felt warm at the idea that his boyfriend would’ve had to drive up from the Barns – and early in the morning, too – just to give him a pep talk. It was so uncharacteristic on one level, and so predictable on another. As Ronan steered him towards the door, Adam got caught up in imagining them being able to celebrate at the end of the week, the whole group of them together and laughing, with a weight off his own mind. He didn’t think about his exam at all as they walked down the corridor towards the great hall, just enjoyed the weight of Ronan’s arm over his shoulders and his musing.

 As they approached, a few boys in the line waiting to enter caught sight of Ronan and began to whisper amongst themselves. “God, you’d think they had nothing better to gossip about,” Ronan said.

 “Well since you left they probably haven’t,” and Adam poked him in the ribs, laughing under his breath. They came to a stop and suddenly Ronan was tugging at his hand, getting him to turn into Ronan’s body and in a heartbeat he was being kissed, again. Adam heard a choked off noise from behind them but it didn’t matter, none of it mattered. They parted breathless and smiling.

 “There,” Ronan said, “they can gossip about that.” Adam laughed and swatted him away, protesting that he really had to go. He felt Ronan slide a hand down his back one more time before he stepped back. To the boys still looking over at them, Ronan gave what could only be described as a threatening nod, which Adam found quietly hilarious, and then he was off, walking out with a sway to his hips and a smirk over his shoulder that Adam vowed to pay him back for at his earliest opportunity.

 Adam joined the line, basking in the reproachful looks from a few, and checked in with himself. His nerves were all but gone, sensible concern taking their place, and the knowledge he needed for this exam felt like it was all there, just waiting for summons. He might be able to do this, after all.

 He shifted in place as he waited and frowned when he felt something in his back pocket, quickly digging it out. It took a few seconds for him to realise what he was seeing, but when he understood, he couldn’t have helped his smile if he tried. In his palm was the single, pale coloured card of The Magician from the deck Persephone had left him. Ronan must have snuck it into his pocket just before he left.

 “Bastard,” Adam said to himself, staring reverently at the card. The magician was a figure who could do anything, who harnessed everything available to him and used it well, who determined his own destiny with sheer force of will. The magician was Adam, and Ronan had driven more than an hour in the early morning just to remind him of that. “You absolute bastard,” he muttered, but his chest was impossibly warm.

[profspruce]

Pokémon in our Biomes pt. 20: Coral Reefs (2 of 2)

“I’ve recently decided to make a series of posts with hypothetical thinking and analyzing of what Pokémon species could potentially be found in the world’s biomes. Not at all relative to the games, I will be focusing primarily of the elements, design, and relativity to real life flora and fauna of Pokémon to depict where different species would roam on our big blue marble.”

This is the first biome post that I have made in over a year, so I’m really excited for this post! I’m sorry for the inactivity, but I’m back, so here we go!

This is actually the second coral reefs post, and you can find the first one here, and that post was uploaded two years ago today! In the last post, I had mentioned how there are four main types of coral reefs: fringing, barrier, atolls, and patch reefs. Since this is my first post since Sun and Moon was released I am going to try to focus my analysis more on the fringing coral reefs around Hawaii, the region that Alola is based off of.

The Hawaiian coral reefs stretch for 2000 km, and account for more than 85% of the reef systems in the United States. With more than a quarter of all of the fish, plant, and invertebrate species in the Hawaiian coral reefs being endemic to Hawaii, there is a huge diversity of life that can’t be found anywhere else. This may explain the unusual designs that many Alolan Pokémon have, and maybe I can shed some light on how their morphological and anatomical traits have evolved to help them in Alola, like so many species in Hawaii have traits that help them survive.

Let’s get started!

Staryu

Staryu is a starfish, which is a member of the echinoderm family. As you will see throughout this post, many species of Pokémon are echinoderms. Echinderms are pretty amazing, as their unusual but very primal anatomy allowed them to evolve to be the second-largest grouping of a superphylum, right after chordata in the world. Staryu is like many starfish in that it has remarkable regenerative abilities. Most starfish in the real world cannot “regenerate” from severed limbs, creating two beings or clones, so most of the Pokédex entries that say they retain the ability to regenerate from thousands of pieces as long as their core remains intact is a bit of a stretch. Staryu, like most other starfish, are diverse in their locations throughout the ocean. Perhaps species more adapted to deeper water can be found in the abyssal zone where they can evolve to Starmie.

Pyukumuku

Like Staryu, Pyukumuku is a sea cucumber, which is an echinoderm. Echinoderms have an endoskeleton which helps form their shape and adds some form of rigidity to their body. Pyukumuku, like many species of sea cucumber in real life, can excrete a white sticky substance used in self defense. However, Pyukumuku have more control over these excrements as they are the internal organs of the animal. Most wild sea cucumbers that have this ability release the sticky filaments in a random way and the animal doesn’t really have any control over the movement of these filaments. Like Staryu, Pyukumuku would feed on the detritus of other animals off the bottom of the ocean floor.

Finneon

I didn’t really go over this too much in the last Coral Reefs post, but many fish species in reef environments essentially have one of two shapes: very tall with short bodies to allow for very sharp turns among the coral, or have amazing fin designs that are used to attract mates or deter prey. Luvdisc is a great example of this trait as it can be easily related to many species of angel fish or other reef fish, but Finneon is a bit different. Finneon have unique fins that I believe would not allow for speed through the water, so it makes sense that the dual-tail fin would only aid in quick maneuverability through the cracks in reefs.

The ability to absorb light in the lines along its body may help it confuse predators at night. It would sort of dazzle predators in a way similar to how zebras have their stripes to blend themselves together to seem like a giant mass of zebra. Finneon may operate their schools in a similar way, confusing any predators that would try to pick off individual Finneon from a school. This may be a pretty effective means of defense as most predation in coral reefs occurs at night. The dazzling light show may really confuse potential predators, and should any Finneon get isolated from the school and chased down, their best course of action may be as simple as turning off the lights.

Mareanie/Toxapex

Although when I first saw these two Pokémon I truly thought that they were designed to look more like sea urchins than the crown-of-thorns sea star, however when I finally learnt more about its prey item, Corsola, it made sense. Coral is incredibly difficult to utilize as a food source because there really isn’t much to coral. Coral is essentially layers upon layers of calcium carbonate, or chalk. It is difficult to use this as a food source as there is no protein, or other vital nutrients.

However, a few animals have adapted to utilize the calcium carbonate as a fuel source, and crown-of-thorns sea stars are so environmentally catastrophic (on top of coral reefs being destroyed by humans) conservationists have begun fencing off areas of coral reefs in efforts to protect them.

I imagine that in the Pokémon world, the problem with Mareanie and Toxapex is quite similar to the conservational problems that the crown-of-thorns sea stars are giving in our world. I can assume that although Mareanie and Toxapex are quite dangerous, if they are in fact like the crown-of-thorns sea star, their skin is very fragile and their bodies are actually quite gelatinous. If the sea star is brought onto land from the ocean, the membrane is likely to break, releasing the inner fluid that provides the animal with its shape. This even renders the venomous spines useless as they don’t retain enough rigidity to pierce skin at this point.

Bruxish

Shockingly enough, Bruxish uses the appendage on its head to emit psychokinetic waves, and not light. This Pokémon resembles a number of reef fish species, like trigger fish, parrot fish, and butterfly fish. The colourful pattern of Bruxish may help to ward off predators and warn them of Bruxish’s powerful telekinetic powers.

Apparently Alolan lifeguards allow Bruxish to swim near beaches and popular tourist spots as it drives potentially dangerous Pokémon away with not only its telekinetic powers, but also its amazingly strong jaw, which not even Shellder are safe from. Unfortunately, there isn’t necessarily any compelling evidence that it feasts on Mareanie or Toxapex other than its distinct type advantage. If anything, its strong jaw allows it to indulge itself on tougher Pokémon, like Corsola.

Thank you for reading!

Hopefully for my first post in over a year this was as much fun for you guys to read as it was for me to write. I belief this is going to be the first in many new posts! Furthermore, I plan to continue extending previous biome posts to cover more Pokémon.

As always let me know what you thought, if you have any recommendations, insight, opinions, etc. Please don’t take credit for my work.

[zak-animation]

Animated Sketchbook W3 Review

This week in Animated Sketchbook, I wanted to continue developing upon the ink blot creations from last week and explore the idea of a ‘deliberate accident’ in art further as a form of independent research and to add some theory and context behind these pages.

The week began by researching the idea of ink blots further, which led me to exploring the work of Justinus Kerner. Interestingly, however, Leonardo da Vinci had something to say about this ‘If you look upon an old wall covered with dirt, or the odd appearance of some streaked stones, you may discover several things like landscapes, battles [and] clouds. Out of this confused mass of objects, the mind will be furnished with an abundance of designs and subjects perfectly new.’ Vinci understood that new things could be found within meaningless data, and that those new things could be art.

My research led me to exploring the work of Justinus Kerner, a doctor and poet who produced ink smudges on hand-written letters. Kerner would later transform these accidental blots into a ‘bestiary of grotesque creatures of chance’ in his published book Klecksographien.

Klecksographien. 1890. Justinus Kerner. 

In these pieces, Kerner would illustrate demons and creatures from these random shapes; a collection of skeletons, winged monsters and terrifying creatures. Whilst my illustrations aren’t terrifying, they are beginning to explore the idea of creature design in particular: something that might be a result of the complex shapes in the ink blots. Traditionally, animated characters and heroes follow simple shape structure and thus that may be a reason behind my primarily creature-based designs.

Despite this, I’m quite tempted to develop some of these creatures into animatable designs: simplifying the forms into basic shapes and refining some designs further in my sketchbook. Creature design is something I’m very attracted to, and I’d like to create some simplified creature designs for animation later in the project. Here, I’m touching upon the idea of exercising our visual memory and imagination through the sketchbook - a concept discussed in the brief.

In this project, we are asked to fill a sketchbook with visual exploration of our idea process, ranging from observational sketches to exercising the imagination. Whilst I’ve produced a few observational sketches for the sketchbook, there’s definitely been a focus on more narrative-driven ideas and developing characters. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as we are ultimately completing our own sketchbook. I’ve responded to the exercises set out in the few sketchbook drawing workshops, but I feel like my work moving forward will be more fantastical, as I begin to develop a sketchbook practice that’s personal to me, and my ideas. The brief asks us to consider constructing images and developing characters through designs and locomotion, and this is something I will begin to work on through the project.

Whilst I’ve begun to put a focus on the Digital Metamorphosis project, I still managed to complete a few pages in my sketchbook - primarily working on those ideas of visual memory and imagination. Last week, I explored the use of black ink to create random marks, blots and smudges and then finding characters, scenes and creatures amongst the masses. This week, I wanted to develop on this process by adding colour: and exploring how this would affect my thought and imagination process when designing and ultimately ‘decoding’ these marks.

This week developed upon the ideas of pareioldia and introduced the concept of colour theory to my work: and it’s interesting to see the results here. For this task, I experimented with a range of coloured inks in order to evoke a range of emotions. The red marks created more powerful, action-based characters and creatures, made up of sharp marks and shapes. For this, I tried a new technique of dabbing small brushes directly down onto the page using a quick, repetitive process and scrunching up paper to create a range of jagged, fast lines and ink splatter. To me, these ink splatters and blurry marks evoked a strong sense of motion and dynasm, and as such, the creatures I’ve created are dynamic beings with clear actions.

In one of these examples, however, I looked less at the shape and more at negative space - in which case our character here is wearing some type of eye mask, and has alien growths sticking out of his back. What’s also interesting is my primarily bi-pedal characters and creatures. This is likely due to my inability to draw animals, and so I tend to focus on two-legged beings. This focus is something that I want to develop upon through the duration of this sketchbook project and beyond: not being so apprehensive towards drawing four-legged-and-more beasts, something that will arise out of simply drawing animals more often.

The yellow designs were less visible, and I felt were less visually appealing. Whilst the creatures here aren’t boring or unsuccessful, I simply see these pages as less enticing than the others. This isn’t due to the connotations of the colour yellow, however - this was just because the ink hasn’t provided enough tonal variation to grab my attention.  The purple characters created characters and beasts with more of an ambitious moral sense: they weren’t overtly aggressive or passive: simply existing. The lone giant was a design that particularly interested me, and I feel like there’s plenty of character potential in most of these marks. Looking back, the red and dark pink pages were the most exciting, with some very interesting creature designs and character ideas based around repetitive brush techniques and blurry marks, something I felt evoked a strong sense of movement when drawing over them with a fine liner.

Finally, I wanted to experiment with mixing the inks and produced an earthy shade, which resulted in more mystical, calm deity-like beings. I found it interesting how my mind saw the red marks as more villainous and aggressive whilst the purple creatures seemed more morally ambiguous, and the earthy creations connoted more of a peaceful calm effect. To put it simply, this is colour theory at play: how our mind reads colours as different meanings, which are picked up through our own personal life and the environment we’ve grown up in.

As a whole, I’ve really enjoyed these last few pages and exercised my imagination skills in the process. I’ve been able to create an interesting cast of ink blot characters and creatures, some of which I think have narrative potential and would like to develop further in my sketchbook; exploring different designs, how they would move and different poses specific to each character. It was quite interesting to see how adding different colours played a role in my imagination, and I’m tempted to continue this process. The designs I’ve been able to create have created a positive audience reaction, and there’s some real interesting potential in this technique of Blotto: the process of making random marks and decoding them.

Given the newly-extended deadline, I feel like I’m going to be able to fill my sketchbook with my own ideas here and the exercises introduced to us in the workshops. However, at the moment, I’m focusing on my Digital Metamorphosis project and producing an exciting digital morphing sequence in response to brief. I can’t help but feel like the project is a little too distant to my current practical focus, and that instead of developing real sketchbook habits, I’m simply fulfilling the brief’s requirements. Whilst this is fine, I do want to use a sketchbook as a way to explore my ideas and concepts. The purpose of this project is to establish good sketchbook habits - things we would do on the regular. At the moment, I’m finding it difficult to imagine myself going out and drawing people on the train or at a cafe on a regular basis beyond simply getting inspiration for characters and narratives. This is likely a result of my main interest with animation: the ability to make exciting animated pieces with visual storytelling and impressive, fluid movement.

Through this project so far, I’m realising that there is a need for a sketchbook, something I’m getting a grasp on through my own development exploring Arrival. I’ve learnt to use a sketchbook for the place in-between reality and the imagined, as a place to work through an idea rather than decide on one. Although I do somewhat see this project as too separate to my other projects to really make an impact, I’ve been able to learn a lot about sketchbooking practise and the importance of a sketchbook as a way to feed the animation process.

Without developing these ink characters further (or even a full-on ink blot animation), I feel like I’ve reached the limit of what this process can give me. Next week, I want to move away from these ink blot creations and base my designs off existing sources, sketching real-life animals and natural features as a way to develop my understanding of animal anatomy and inspire my own more imagined and fantastical creature designs.  

[aiikko]

Saleem’s Lot (first draft)

Note: this is a very, very rough draft of this story. I’m only posting drafts of my stories on this blog, as the final product will be published as a hard copy.

Simone wanted the cojones of that bull because it reminded her of hard-boiled eggs. Soft, white eggs that unwittingly have the power to exude eroticism given the right amount of perversity possessed by the subject in question.  When she sat on it the metaphor was not lost on us— however inappropriate the act may be. But what of the matador whose eye was pierced by the bull? Does he not play a singular part in the same metaphor? When executed by a graceful matador, bull-fighting becomes a fluid show of an intricate dance between the teaser and the teased, which culminates in the final movement of stabbing the by now spent bull— the triumph of man over beast. 

In the case of this particular story, it was an eye for an eye with the matador at the mercy of the angry brute; all metaphors aside, I find myself in the shoes of that same matador as the bull was fast approaching, its horn inches away from my eyes. Would I have the presence of mind to close my eyes? Or would I stare back head on, resigned to my fate? The art of bullfighting is never in need of cowards so the option of running with my tail between my legs is out of the question. 

Where the sun shines high up in the heavens and giving out its rays like trinkets to mollify its children after a period of absence, somewhere in Madrid, the matador, me, by the name of Saleem, prepares for battle. My cape swooshes with every move, slicing into the humid air like shards of glass. The bull is still raging in spite of the daggers already stabbed on its back. I am confident of victory. A few more movements and the final blow will be dealt. But  in an unforeseen misfortune, the bull seems to have gathered all its rage to channel it upon me. With renewed strength, the beast  surged forward with the tip of its horns jutted out, aiming for what I imagine is my eye. 

  Time stopped. The sweat trickling down my forehead stalled, mid-roll and I could feel its beads hovering on my burning flesh. The sun seemed to have stopped shining as well, with a glaze of ugly bright yellow covering the skies like a filter. It is at this point that I closed my eyes. My brain curled up and took a nap but not without commanding the nerves to go on autopilot. What was left in me was the sensation of a breeze and a quiet lullaby playing on loop in my ears and creeping in on my flesh. 

That was when I decided that if I want to stall the bull’s horn from piercing my eye, along with the lullaby in my ears, I had to make the decision to never again open my eyes. 

Chronos is a despot lashing away on the horses at his chariot. I am as with the bull, at his mercy. My prayers, like a sieve, filters only the most crucial, and that is, so long as the bull is ready to pierce my eye, let my eyes be as closed for how many aeons it may take. 

My vision has always been 20/20 on the things it wanted to see, and blurry on the things it refuses to. I traverse through life with no difficulty as long as my goal is in sight. The bigger the goal, the clearer my vision gets. But when it comes to anything I’d like to escape from, darkness becomes a respite from all of my troubles. The latest of which, is the bull’s horn ready to pierce my eye. From the murmurings around me, I could tell that I was at school. It’s been only about last night since I decided to fully close my eyes, and have instinct guide my way. I could hear their whispers wondering about me, but I don’t mind, my purpose far outweighs any prattle. 

I half-heartedly listened to the teacher drone on about stories from the Bible until one detail caught my ear. It was the story of Lot who disobeyed God’s order to not look behind her, and subsequently became a boulder of salt. Once again, the eye as a metaphor. Lot dared to look and was punished. The same thing, I conclude, is happening to me. 

“Saleem, why are your eyes closed?” -they ask. 

“Saleem, is there anything wrong with your eyes?” -they ask.

 “Saleem, is this a prank?” -they ask. 

I silently let these comments roll off my back, vindicated in the thought that as long as my eyes are closed, I won’t suffer the same fate as Lot, and especially, I’ll be able to avoid the sharp point of the bull’s horn. 

For days I lost glimpse of the moon, the moon that I romanticize as the abode of the gods and goddesses, and which shines every night for me and for me alone. The paeans I dedicated to this silver enchantress lie at the bottom of my drawer, with me being afraid that I might open my eyes in the process of trying to write about the moon again. 

The eye is an egg, and the egg is an eye. This unfaithful quotation from Simone brings out the poet in me for I could enumerate lots of white, orb-shaped objects that could be compared to an eye. Although the question that needs to be answered is what is so erotic with an eye? Great thinkers have tried to answer this riddle only to submerge it back into the bottom of murky waters. What is an eye? In layman's definition, it is the organ used by the human body to be able to see. Physically, it is located below our forehead and is made up of many parts that I won’t waste time enumerating here. The eyes (and eggs) which Simone was hopelessly fascinated with were metaphors for the all-seeing eye of God. Sex is an intimate act which is supposed to be between two consenting adults and should be done behind locked doors. By making use of the “eye” in their escapades, they are welcoming the presence of God in their otherwise bleak world. Their intimacy is grounded upon violence, perversity, and death, and I suppose these “eyes” are a desperate plea to God almighty to intervene; to show Him the filth they both had come down to and their subconscious hope for a savior. 

The God possessing omnipotence and an all-seeing capability, is the very same God who told Lot never to look behind her lest she be turned to a pillar of salt. This God, and this God alone shall be the only one able to re-open my eyes. When Simone killed the priest in the denouement of a bizarre adventures of lust, she made sure that no god could ever save her soul. The priest, as God’s representative of his dominion here on earth, was violated and brutally murdered. The eye ceased to be a metaphor, it has now become a tired symbol of the intrusive nature of that all-seeing eye. Simone, an independent woman, sealed her own conviction of it. By letting the egg enter the most sensitive parts of her body, she declared war against everything holy. The egg as an eye is the all-seeing eye of God. If God refuses to get down from his pedestal, I shall introduce him to my filth. This, at least, is my interpretation of the whole thing. The weeks have passed since I last opened my eyes. Immobile in bed, I resort to counting the hours by the seconds, regretting nothing, and with joy in my heart, I dedicate this sacrifice to God. The matador in me wanted to open my eyes and face the bull’s horn without fear. To be an example of bravery in a world of cowardice. However this too, is not a good enough incentive to disobey God. 

When a new day came, they helped me wash and dress up with I believe to be trepidation present in their voices. I wondered what could be wrong but dared not speak aloud. My mother told me, sobbing, that there’s something wrong with my head. She sobbed as she told me to remove my boxer shorts and let it all hang out. 

  It was here that I remember going for a visit at the psychiatrist’s a few days ago— I remember the sound of paper on pen as she wrote down what years of experience taught her to be as that which is wrong with me. Poor creature! I may respect science and medicine a lot, but it doesn’t mean I’ll mindlessly absorb their drivel hook, line, and sinker. 

I could feel my mother guiding me to the living room, and from the sound of heavy breathing, I knew that my father was awaiting me. My father is a stout, beefy man, with a strong built, at least that’s what he was from the last time I saw him before I closed my eyes. Every second is an eternity, it is said, and who knows if my father hadn’t shrunk down since then? After a few more minutes of silence, my father cleared his throat and began to speak. The timbre of his voice could have been heard on that bull about to pierce me. It shook heavily with pent up anger and a hint of sadness. From where I was located, I could hear my father sobbing in quick little snorts, like a defeated man pleading his case. 

“Why won’t you open your eyes, Saleem?” He asked.

  I gave him my explanation as succinctly as possible. “Only God’s divine command can make me open up my eyes again.” I declared. 

My father, despite his tough constitution, has always been a man given to persuasion. I know in my heart that he will be able to understand me, and even support me on my cause. 

  Unfortunately, the subsequent strings of events would prove that theory wrong. I wasn’t able to see it, but I felt it reverberating to the depths of my core. I fell back on the carpet nursing my crotch. My father, with the conspiracy of my mother who told me not to were boxer briefs under my night shirt, has kicked me in the groin. 

“See, now your eyes are open!” 

I failed. That raging bull has pierced my eye, and as Lot, I’ve turned into a pillar of salt. That’s what’s supposed to happen, at least. 

I looked around my surroundings. Like a new born babe, everything became fairly new after weeks of self-imposed darkness The books neatly stacked on the shelves, the curtains swaying softly in the wind, up to my parents— all was fresh again in my sight. 

The terrible thoughts of turning into salt, or being pierced in the eye by a bull’s horn, all of these faded away with the light of the moon. I became a free man the moment my father performed his heroic deed. 

The moon, I must insist, is also an eye. It watches over us at night, and is able to see all our dark secrets from a distance. I welcome the moon in my being through my eyes: which could now see clearly the things that matter most. The bull’s horn and Lot’s fate are distractions, eclipsing the bigger picture of the moon illuminating an otherwise bleak life.

[evolutionsvoid]

The Swamp Basilisk is a member of the Basilisk family, as one can easily see by its many limbs and oral eyeball. While it has many similarities to the likes of the famous Grand Basilisk, this species has gone down a different path in terms of habitat and behavior. As its name suggests, these creatures live in swampy areas, like bogs and marshes. The wetter and muddier a place is, the happier they are. Their bodies have developed certain traits to aid them in this squishy, damp place they call home. While the Grand Basilisk possesses rough and tough scales, the Swamp Basilisk has made its own skin more sleek and smooth. From a distance you would believe that they had the smooth and slimy hide of an amphibian, rather than a serpent. This helps them slip through the water and mud with ease and stealth. When a Swamp Basilisk slides into the murky bog, you won't even hear a splash. With its more amphibious nature, this species has reduced its crests and spines to nubs, so that they do not slow it down or give away its presence. Their tails have flattened into paddle-like appendages, helping propel themselves as they slither through the wetlands. While the Grand Basilisk likes to boast with its impressive crests, fangs and colors, the Swamp Basilisk prefers to be seen as little as possible. After all, an ambush predator wouldn't be that great at its job if everyone knew where it was at! To acquire food, the Swamp Basilisk uses its muddy hide and slick body to sneak up on unwary prey. Their smaller size allows them to hide in the vegetation, or slither through shallow water. Some choose to wait in the muddy bogs, camouflaging itself with the wet soil and rotting plants. Others prefer to take a more active role, quietly stalking prey until they can get close enough for a bite. It is startling how silent and quick they are! It is no wonder people compare them more to snakes than lizards! It makes even more sense when you see their appetite! When a creature gets close to them (or they finally close in on said creature), the basilisk will strike. While its brethren may unsheathe venomous fangs to get the job done, the Swamp Basilisk prefers to skip that step and just swallow the victim whole. Their mouths, throats and stomachs are incredibly flexible, allowing them to stuff in prey that is larger than them. The sheer speed of their attack is enough to daze its prey for a few seconds, which allows them to press the advantage. By the time the target realizes its been attacked, half of its body will already be sliding down its throat. While smaller prey may vanish into its gullet, larger victims do not always go down so easy. To help with feisty meals, the Swamp Basilisk has a special saliva that serves as a lubricant. While it struggles with the partially devoured creature, the Swamp Basilisk will regurgitate large quantities of this yellowish fluid. The liquid will coat the victim and make it harder for them to escape, as their limbs and rough hides slip against the basilisk's smooth skin and slick gullet. The other helpful tool is their strong jaws. While they do not possess the numerous teeth that other basilisks have, their jaws are lined with a sharpened edge. By snapping their mouths down, they can deliver a rather painful bite, which can injure or incapacitate victims. They can also bite down and sink their edged jaws into their prey, holding fast when they try to extract themselves from its maw. Lastly, if all else fails, the Swamp Basilisk will unveil its own fangs. These venomous barbs are located in the roof of their mouths, and are quite small compared to the fangs of other serpents. When prey struggles, they will unintentionally jab themselves with these nasty things, and get a bit of venom injected into them. The venom of a Swamp Basilisk is a very mild paralytic, causing limbs to weaken and coordination to become slow and clumsy. Prey will find it hard to fight back as the beast sucks them into its stretchy stomach. Once their victims are trapped in their bulging bellies, they will slink off to a nice hiding hole where they can rest and digest. 

With these adaptations, the Swamp Basilisk are quite good at handling ornery meals that don't want to be digested. Though they are effective, they are not used all that often. This is because the Swamp Basilisk has a way of incapacitating prey well before they get the first bite in. Most of their victims hardly put up a fight when the basilisk comes to dine, and that is because of its powerful oral eye. Legend would make you think that the eyes of any basilisk are lethal, but this is not the case. The Grand Basilisk does indeed have a deadly gaze, but many of the other family members do not have such a power. This, however, does not mean that they are not effective! For the Swamp Basilisk, their oral eye induces drowsiness and weakness into those who meet its gaze. If you were to stare into its open eye, your limbs would seem to grow weak and feeble, and you would suddenly feel quite tired. You would swear that you were drugged, as your mind gets all fuzzy and your movements become fumbled and awkward. Breaking eye contact will stop the effects from getting worse, and eventually your strength will return, but very few are capable of tearing themselves away from that entrancing orb. Victims will simply collapse into a tired, oblivious heap, which the basilisk will happily swallow. It won't be until later when their meal will wake back up, finding itself in the beast's gooey stomach. Unfortunately, it will be too late to escape by then, as the lack of proper air and the abundance of stomach acid will soon bring a nasty end to things. Those who encounter a Swamp Basilisk should be quick to avert their gaze and find a way to dispatch the creature before it can get close. The power of its oral eye is no joke, as one of my colleagues found this out the hard way! She was studying a group of these creatures once and had situated herself in the safety of a tree. Due to their slimy, slick skin and amphibious ways, Swamp Basilisks are quite poor climbers. By sitting on a hefty tree limb, she was safe from their hungry jaws. To further protect herself, she used a rope and a harness to anchor herself to the trunk. If she were to slip, she wouldn't hit the ground and become an easy meal. As she was getting her things together, she must have alerted the creatures to her presence. Before she knew it, they had turned their attention to her spot up above and unveiled their eyes. She made the mistake of looking into them and woke up a few minutes later dangling from the branch like a sleepy pinata! Thankfully she had made sure the lifeline wouldn't hang her close enough to the ground for the basilisks to reach her! Though I can't imagine that being the most pleasant way to wake up!       While they certainly aren't as impressive looking as their regal brethren, Swamp Basilisks are quite well known by those who inhabit the swamps or travel through them. Many travelers are warned of their presence and walking through the marsh alone is highly frowned upon. Special hats and head wear are made and sold to help break the gaze of one of these creatures, though about half of them are clearly scams for the gullible traveler. It is advised that those who enter their territory keep a super sharp dagger tied to their hip. If you find yourself in its suffocating belly, you will want something close by to cut yourself free. This won't guarantee your survival, but any chance you can give yourself to escape such a fate is good enough! These creatures are also brought up quite often with the sin of gluttony, and some see them as actual demons. Swamp Basilisks get this tainted, vile image due to their odd behavior. Though predators, they give off a strange air of giddiness to their ways and movements. Those trapped by these creatures mention that they seem to cheerfully romp and undulate as they approach a potential meal. Their broad, stretching mouths also seem to always be smiling, making them appear goofy even as they try to swallow screaming victims. I have heard people compare Swamp Basilisks to mischievous puppies, sneakily doing things they aren't supposed to and then goofing about excitedly when they get away with it. Then of course there is the lazy way they pass out after gorging on a meal! Even with this silly behavior, not many locals are fond of these beasts. Marsh Dryads do not like them much, as Swamp Basilisks have the tendency to eat first and ask questions later. Though plant-based, dryads can wind up as meals to these beasts, as they pounce on any moving thing that looks tasty. Villages that are targeted by these creatures will protect themselves by hiding spikes and caltrops in the surrounding wetlands. The sharp objects will deter the beasts, though they do often find new ways to sneak into town. They are clever as they are greedy, which often sabotages their own plans. I heard a story about a basilisk that snuck into a village and devoured a farmer's prized boars. This horrible deed was discovered when the owner woke up to find the serpent desperately trying to climb over the fence with a stomach nearly twice its size! Needless to say, the greedy little thing didn't get far. At least he had quite the last meal! Though despised and loathed, Swamp Basilisks do offer some good. Their slick hides make for water-proof leather that can be crafted into boots, coats and gloves. Dried goods that are used in the swamps are often bundled up in their skin to keep out moisture. Their harvested saliva acts as an effective lubricant, working well on wagon wheels, hinges and other things. Those who hang their food in trees will soak their ropes in this spit so that raccoons and other thieving critters will slip right off! Their oral eyes are also useful ingredients, as their jelly seems to retain a bit of their power. Swamp Basilisk eye jelly can be mixed and used as an effective tranquilizer or a wonderful sleep aid! The stuff is so strong, that a mere teaspoon is enough to knock you out for hours on end. I tried some of this once, though it didn't really go as planned! During one of my visits to a Marsh Dryad town, I came down with quite a nasty case of blight fever. It was not a pleasant time, as it makes you feel like your burning up on the inside, while your outside never stops itching and peeling! I went to the local doctor and bought some medicine to cure myself, but the stuff took time to work. Rather than sitting around and suffering until I felt better, she suggested I take a sleeping draught so that I could rest and wake up after my medicine had taken affect. I agreed, as my fever had ruined the last couple nights of sleep for me. Her assistant (a new, and a bit inexperienced one, I later learned) mixed up some eye jelly with other ingredients and gave me the potion. I took a hearty swig and immediately blacked out. The next thing I knew, I was roused by a rather distraught doctor, who seemed quite relieved that I had come back to the waking world. Apparently her assistant had used the wrong measuring spoon and had given me too big of a dose of the eye jelly. She told me that I had been asleep for three straight days, and she had been worried that I wouldn't wake up ever again. I wound up getting reimbursed for my previous medicinal purchase, which happened after I spent a good while convincing the doctor not to fire and humiliate her intern right in front of me. Mistakes happen, I am well aware of that. Her assistant was also super apologetic and practically did everything in her power to try and make it up to me. Honestly, I don't know why they thought I would be so mad! I never felt so refreshed before! It was like waking up to a warm, fresh spring with a new set of bark! It was a wonderful feeling, well, it was after I made a hasty run to the nearest latrine. Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian

[absurdvampmuse]

Hungry Eyes

My first time posting a Bellarke story on here! Not the first time writing one, although it has been a while. Please read the story on http://archiveofourown.org/works/11169975 and leave behind feedback/likes to support? That would be even better than ice-cream. If there any any stories out there that I can’t miss, please let me know?! I’ve been out of the loop for a while. Thank you! 

Hungry Eyes

Because now you're the train and I'm tied to the track…

It was a surreal experience, sitting on the floor of what had once been her former cell. Compared to the earth it now felt sterile and colorless, cold even now that she had something to measure it to. Impressions she had only managed to capture in the drawings her fingers used to render almost automatically and ached for once she had finally set foot on solid ground. Naturally, the ache had faded over time, disappearing into the back of her mind as the challenges of life on earth had quickly come to overshadow what she was forced to accept as an impractical hobby.

Just like the practice, the drawing she had left behind on the floor of her cell had faded almost completely. Taken by time, although she could still make out the outlines of a pastime she had left behind on the Ark. Just like the girl she used to be. If she closed her eyes, she could sometimes still see and feel the skin she had been forced to shed in order to become the girl who survived.

Clarke could almost feel the coarse and sooty texture of the charcoal between her fingers, smell the sharpness of the paint as it entered her nostrils, see the vivid colors she always preferred when depicting the earth. She had come full circle, back in the exact spot she had started from. All because they had been given no other viable option. She still had trouble letting herself fully relax and breathe easily, the lines of her body still tight in case she had to jump into action within a single breath. Even though Raven and Monty appeared to have found – at least temporary – solutions to most of their imminent problems.

She had even been able to clean herself off and dress herself in clothes Murphy and Emori had scrounged up during their first run-through of the place. It was a pair of gray sweats and a loose dark-colored men's t-shirt, but they were soft and cleaner than anything she had brought along herself. With her hair hanging long and loose across her shoulders and down her back, she reminded Bellamy of the girl he had so callously and carelessly branded as a Princess. Little did he know that she would be riding on a white horse by his side, brave and fearless as she fully threw herself into the moment and oncoming battle.

She felt his presence as he came to stand in the doorway and she turned her head slightly so she had him in her eyesight. He was still wearing the same clothes, making sure that this place was inhabitable and would remain so first. It was the leader in him, even though his reasons had become far less self-serving and were aimed mainly at looking out for others. Looking out for her when she so recklessly forgot to do so.

"Do you need me?" she asked automatically, scanning for the boots she had left by the door.

Bellamy followed her gaze, lowering his head for a second as he attempted to hide a chuckle. "You know we'd be lost without you, Clarke, but for the moment everything's under control.

She considered his words for a few beats, but upon failing to locate the sarcasm behind them she followed his implicit demand and allowed herself, finally, to relax. Her shoulders sagged as they gave in, the tension visibly seeping from her body. Her feet, which had been both placed flat on the floor together with her hands so she could push herself upwards in one fluid and quick movement, maneuvered so they were to the side of her.

"We got this covered," he spoke as he stepped into the cell. "We got here. The rest will work out as well. The most important stuff already has by Raven and Monty," he comforted her as he walked further into the room, pausing when he was only a few steps away from Clarke.

"They deserve a break."

He smiled at her suggestion. "Already done."

"What about you?" She didn't move from her vulnerable position on the floor as she looked up at him expectantly. So different from the way she had looked up at him during their first encounters, intimidated by his long and muscled frame as it towered over her and the pride that could turn his eyes almost golden. Now his brown eyes were warm and protective, fiercely so at times, especially when it came to Octavia. And to her but those were words he wasn't ready to say out loud. "You need to take a break too," she urged.

He let out a guttural chuckle, laughing at a memory of the two of them where there had been an utterly different kind of tension between them. He ran a hand across his face before slipping it into his pocket. "Looking out for me, huh, what a far way we have come indeed."

Clarke nodded in agreement. "It helps that you've humbled yourself along the way and realized that your charm wasn't enough to turn me into one of your groupies. Remember how some of them were privileged enough to spend the night in your tent?" she asked rhetorically. "You must look back on those memories fondly." The smile she gave him was a sickly sweet one.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, yet recognizing some of the truth behind her words. He had been on a power trip when they had first landed, positioning himself into the leader role so he could reap the benefits that came with it. His own tent, more food. It was hard to believe when he thought back on it, acting just as entitled as he had made Clarke out to be.

"You're no longer that person, you know," she softened the blow as she saw the emotions flicker through his eyes. "I wouldn't have trusted anybody else with my life." She held his gaze long enough for him to snap out of it, looking away before his eyes got the chance to wander to other parts of her face.

"Yeah, you are a bit of a control freak." It was a light-hearted remark, perhaps even a compliment, an acknowledgment of one of her strengths that had pulled him through when it had become even too dark for him to see the way out. His eyes landed on the faint lines in front of the blond at his feet, tracing them in an attempt to see what she saw.

"It's hard to picture how this place used to be bustling with life," Clarke broke the silence before it could go on for too long. "With people. Even harder to think about all the ones we've lost."

Bellamy nodded even though she wasn't looking at him. "Do you ever think about them?"

Clarke gave a single nod. "All the time. So I don't forget. Finn is the one that crosses my mind the most." Her eyes glazed over as some of her memories with him played themselves out in her head, like a movie that you'd seen one time in your childhood and had instantly become your favorite.

He leaned over and placed his hand on her shoulder for a handful of seconds. She briefly touched her fingers to his hand. "He was the only one I let close to me. Personally, intimately. Just wholly." she admitted out loud. "More than just the physical comfort I deem to be enough now."

"Imagine how hard it must have been for me," Bellamy quipped.

"Oh, come on, you've never had trouble fulfilling that part." She had meant to give the comment flippantly like it was something that had come to her mind out of the blue. Instead, the words had an edge to them, conveying an ugly emotion she had never intended to come to light. The jealousy had been there ever since the beginning - of the ease at which he could wrap even the fiercest girl around his finger, even though she knew that she was more capable than all of them. They had all failed to hold his attention for more than a few days, while he always kept her in his sights. The green-eyed monster barely managed to scratch her skin at first, but now she could practically feel it clawing at her heart.

"Well, believe it or not, I would also like something more than that."

Clarke shrugged up her shoulders in response. "It's not hard to believe. I've always known it was just an act." Her eyes touched on his as she shared a small smile with him as if referring to a secret between the two of them. "But we endured so others could live."

"Survival was on our minds," he agreed.

Her fingers went back to the drawing before her, her eyes straying as well. And he crouched down to take a closer look too. He followed the lines her fingers traced as if she was guiding him. She felt like a different person sitting on the floor next to him with her hair loose and guard down. It was a feeling of calmness and security even that settled over them, the weight of the world lifted off their shoulders for a few breaths.

As if instinctively aware of the sensation, Clarke confessed, "I trust you, Bellamy."

And while he appreciated the gesture and what it symbolized, he could only shake his head with almost a wistful look in his eyes. "Not fully."

"For as much as I can then," she admitted. "It's a defense mechanism."

"Armor," he chimed in.

Clarke nodded, the wistfulness audible in her voice as she went on, "I used to have an open heart, at least according to my mom." She gestured at the drawing as if it would prove her point.

"I remember you making these in here. And seeing you around the Ark, clothes splattered with paint or fingertips black…"

"Charcoal," Clarke filled in for him. She caught his eyes with her own. "It was a bitch to get off."

He gave her a few moments before replying to her earlier admission. "And it's okay that you don't trust me completely. Or the others." He nodded at the door behind them. "It doesn't mean that you care about, us, me any less. You do keep them closer to you."

His words showed her that he had been paying attention from the very beginning and that he was far more perceptive than she had given him credit for. A sudden feeling of yearning came over her, filling her from the inside out. It was a frantic sort of energy that resulted in her blurting out, "I missed you." A faint blush colored her cheeks, a shade he rarely got to see anymore now that the world had gotten a hold of her. She couldn't look at him and it made his lips twitch with delight. "Every time we wouldn't see each other for a while, I would miss you," she tried her best at explaining it to him. "Just you being around and all the things you contributed when you were. The comfort, strength, assurance, safety. The intimacy," she finished her list with almost a whisper, afraid to so much as glance over at him. It was silly and unfounded but she had this fear that he would simply get up and leave, despite still feeling him beside her. His proximity burned into her skin now that she time to really center on it.

"That's a compliment coming from the all mighty Wanheda."

She rolled her eyes, finally looking over at him, at the audacious grin plastered on his face and eyes glittering with faux coyness. "You and nicknames."

"You've come a long way, Princess. We both have." He tilted his head slightly so some of his unruly curls came tumbling over his forehead, almost long enough to fall into his eyes.

She curled her fingers inwards as she fought against the sudden longing she had to reach out and touch the dark locks, wanting to feel their satin-like texture between her fingers. In the same way, he had experimentally brushed his fingers against her skin not so long ago. Just the thought sent a shiver down her spine, a spark of electricity that could so easily cause a reaction if it came into contact with so much as a sliver of his skin. They would both short-circuit on all that excess current. She managed a weak nod, eyes downcast as she disclosed to him, "And despite coming so far, I still miss being up here sometimes. The memories."

Bellamy placed his hands on his thighs and pushed himself back up into a standing position, his features setting instantaneously and turning hard, strenuous to read. "I wish I could say the same, but things weren't as pleasant for me. Or Octavia."

His expression changed into a pained one and Clarke was compelled to grab his hand with her own. And she did. "You will see her again," she assured him. "She's a warrior. A survivor."

A wishful smile cracked Bellamy's exterior. "Speaking of metamorphoses… I remember how she used to hate getting dirt under her fingernails…" He trailed off affectionately and Clarke squeezed his hand.

He looked down at her, his smile widening at the awkward position they were in. "I say we find the others and figure out sleeping arrangements."

He pulled her up effortlessly and she leaned into him intuitively. Bellamy let her, hyper aware of where her hands made contact with him as feelings that been pushed to the back, suppressed, were stirring.

A burst of startled laughter escaped him, holding her attention. "Sometimes I forget."

"Forget wh—"

"That we're of the opposite sex."

Her brow crinkled in confusion.

"That I'm a man and you're a woman."

"Bell—"

"And how close we actually are"

Clarke couldn't help but smile at the silliness of his revelation. "Well, opposites do—"

"Or like calls to like," he cut her off.

Her eyes lit up with amusement, though she wondered if it was merely a guise, an artificially added layer kept in place only to act as a safeguard of sorts. "The Princess and the brute," she said the final word through a soft laugh, pressing her palms down against his chest as if it would somehow emphasize her point.

Not wanting to scare off this more accessible side of her, Bellamy reacted just as playfully by gently squeezing her sides. Clarke giggled, reacting to the tickling sensation of his fingers as they skimmed her ribs. She covered her mouth in surprise at the sound; it was one that belonged in the past and had no place in this harsh and bleak reality. Her eyes shot up to Bellamy's face, but he repeated his action and elicited the exact same reaction as before.

Clarke squirmed against him in her attempts to create distance and escape his hands, but she only succeeded in backing herself up against the wall.

His body covered her, its proximity affecting her more than it should have. They were used to being in close quarters and even the occasional comforting touch from one another. But this felt different. There was no pressing matter to discourage them, no reason for them to overthink. What would the worst of the consequences be of their impulsivity?

"All this time and you tell me that all it would've taken to defeat Wanheda is—" His train of thought was disrupted as Clarke's hands found his abdomen and she now touched her fingers to his ribs.

He didn't react visibly, which was the reason for Clarke's huff of frustration, but he was holding his breath.

Not one to give up, Clarke's second attempt was more vigorous and vicious as she slipped her hands beneath the shirt he was wearing, fingers now brushing directly against his bare skin.

Bellamy sucked in a breath at the contact and Clarke moved to pull back, retreat as she misread his response. However, Bellamy clasped her upper arms and kept her hands right where they were.

"It's been a while since I've had someone, anyone touch me like that," he shared. Every part of him was reacting to her closeness and every inch of him was incredibly sensitive to the feeling of her against him, beneath him.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, but then seemed to rethink her words and sunk her teeth into her bottom lip instead. A flush tinted her face and his curiosity was almost too much.

"Clarke, tell me."

She stubbornly shook her head, though the words came out anyway. "Have you ever thought about us like—" Unable to finish her thought, she bit her tongue.

Bellamy had been on the edge, ready to jump off with her and let his body freefall. Teetering right there on the edge was the sweetest of sensations as the anticipation was all that was preventing his plummet into the unknown.

"Have you?" he asked as both his grip and gaze intensified, his eyes now the shade of hot chocolate and smoldering. He brought his body closer to hers as he took note of how she still hadn't moved her hands from his stomach. "If it would make you more comfortable, Princess, I have no problem being chivalrous and speaking on that first."

In his brashness, Bellamy made the first move, something about words versus actions going through his mind. One hand remained on her hip while he cupped her face with the other. He held his hand there as he leaned over her until she could feel his lips against her collarbone. A single, gentle press of his lips before they trailed over to the hollow in her throat, this time sucking delicately. Clarke let her head fall back against the wall, one hand creeping upwards to keep him in place, fingers applying light pressure on the back of his head. The fingers of her other hand splayed out against his abdomen as she held on.

"Is that a yes?" Her tone was just a little cocky, making him smile against her skin.

Her nails dug in just enough to elicit a groan from him just as his tongue against the hollow of her throat evoked a moan out of her.

A shudder passed through him, or maybe through him. She could swear that they were short-circuiting, or that lightning had struck them both. Either way, it didn't matter. Her eyes fell closed just as he paused a second to look at her, his lips hovering a fingerbreadth from hers.

He exhaled and she inhaled.

If she had believed in magic, she would have chosen that word to describe what was happening between the two of them. And if he had believed in fate, he might have used a word similar to that to characterize this moment.

The stars had aligned themselves for them.

Still, perfection was mythical, especially for Bellamy and Clarke.

So they had to put it on hold when they heard the approaching footsteps and nearing voices, yelling out their names and something about how there was enough room to go around.

This time she exhaled and he was the one to inhale as both came to terms with what had just taken place. Bellamy released her, retracting so there was space between them once more. Clarke watched as he adjusted his shirt.

Feeling her eyes on him, he flicked his upwards with a smug smirk. "I think you might have to take back your words. The ones about how my charm didn't work on you."

Clarke rolled her eyes, silencing him by giving him a firm shove. "You're already making me regret this." She headed for the exit, fingers briefly brushing against where he had kissed her throat.

"Whatever you say, Princess," Bellamy replied from behind her.

She didn't need to look back at him to know that his eyes were on her.