#pristine developers image

[ajitsinghpune]

The Lords By Pristine Developers At Baner- Pashan Road, Pune

The Lords by Pristine Developers redefines luxurious living on Baner Pashan Link Road. This exclusive residential project presents meticulously crafted 3 BHK and 4.5 BHK homes & penthouses, designed for spaciousness, modern aesthetics, and stunning vistas. Spanning 3.2 acres, it seamlessly blends contemporary architecture with tranquil surroundings, offering an ideal mix of comfort and sophistication for those aspiring to a premium lifestyle.

[talonabraxas]

Solar Body Talon Abraxas The solar bodies are well mentioned throughout the literature of Theosophy. And we are going to address the nature of the solar bodies in relation to the path, which is the path of the Self-realization of the Being and the complete development of the human being. This path and the solar bodies are well explained within the Christian, Buddhist, Sufi doctrine, through all the world religions. As we are going to elaborate today, Master Jesus of Nazareth, Master Aberamentho, explains the nature of the solar bodies, in detail, in his gospel. We also have in this image, Padmasambhava, who is known as the Second Buddha. He originally brought Tantrism to Tibet. Now he is recognized by having documented The Tibetan Book of the Dead. He taught the nature of Dzogchen, which means the Great Perfection. So, we have here, in this image, Padmasambhava with his consort, the force of the vehicle of Tantra. Sexual union is how we create the soul. Let us remember that Master Jesus never taught that we have soul. He said: "With patience will possess ye your souls” (Luke 21:19). The soul or the solar bodies are vehicles through which God can manifest and express. These are only created precisely through tantra: pure, pristine, chaste sexual connection or union, and the transformation of one's vital principles. When we talk about the solar bodies, we also need to talk about the nature of mind, because there are many misconceptions in spiritual circles between the consciousness and the solar bodies. We emphasize that the solar bodies are merely vehicles that can transmit light, in the same manner that a lightbulb transmits light. The bulb is the vehicle. The light is Christ. So, in the path of Self-realization, we need to create the solar vehicles. We need to become solar beings, pure souls that can transmit the light of Christ, without blemish. This path has been taught in all the religions. And we have a saying by Padmasambhava about the nature of this path. Dzogchen is the secret unexcelled cycle of the supreme vehicle of tantra, the true essence of the definitive meaning, the short path for attaining buddhahood in one life. ―Padmasambhava

[veryinnovative]

@jegulus-microfic | january 2, prompt: fire | word count: 1.575 featuring older ceo regulus black and younger intern james potter

“A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries? What does that even fucking mean?!” James shouts into the receiver as he winds through the busy masses of bodies crossing the roads, the traffic light across blinking for him to hurry. “Can’t I pick up something for him from Burger King or something? You know, like a normal human being?” 

On the other end of the line, Barty snorts a derisive sound. “Yeah, you try feeding him cheap chain franchise slob and see how that plays out for you. The fucker thinks Versace is a low-class brand, James. He probably doesn’t even know what the inside of a Burger King looks like. Besides, that place is fire. They have good shit.”

Groaning, James picks up the speed and sets out for a sprint, having missed the bus to Howick and resorted to the most reliable way of transport—his two sets of healthy, always moderately trained legs. 

“Are you running? You better not be fucking running, Potter. You’re going to come back all sweaty and with creases in your cheap-ass button-up and then I’m going to be the one getting shit for not driving you and ruining the image of Regulus Black’s executive assistant—”

“Suck a dick, Barty,” James bites back after barely evading a car, its tires screeching at him in warning. He throws the driver an apologetic smile.

“I’m serious. You meal-prepped, Potter! Asked where the fucking office microwave is, are you out of your mind? Lunch is on company credit, for fuck’s sake. You’ve got an image to uphold now you’re working for Black Enterprises!”

“The cafeteria is too rich for my taste. Besides, I like meal-prepping. It’s calming.”

“Your fucking tuna stinks up the place.”

“Maybe that’s just your big bullshitting mouth.”

“Listen here, you piece of—”

“Oops, entering a tunnel, hear that?” James cups a hand over the receiver and makes a low, grating sound—mimicking the static rasp of a bad cellular connection. “See you!”

He tucks away the phone before entering Beauxbatons, the restaurant Barty had told him to go to because Regulus was craving his guilty snack, which, to James, sounded like an item right off a witch’s menu. Then again, he was a poor twenty-three-year-old who had just had a gap year fresh out of university, lived in a run-down apartment tucked in Southern London, and knew nothing of the expensive tastes a man like Regulus Black possessed. Thirty-something years old and not a single skin blemish. Must be all the fucking truffle and caviar and whatever Boiron guava puree he eats.

“Welcome,” one of the employees asks. Of course, all of the staff are also wearing pristine clothes and have perfectly sleeked-back hair.

“Hi,” James answers, now all too conscious of the developing sweat marks below his armpits and the dampness cooling on his back. “I’m, uh, here to pick up lunch? Sorry, I forgot my order so let me have a peek at my messages…”

The employee blinks like James has grown a second head. “Take-away? Sir, this is a dine-in restaurant.”

Good thing James has come prepared. He shuffles through the contents of his bag, phone in the other hand and tip of his tongue peeking out in full concentration. “Oh, that’s alright. I brought something to carry it with me. I also got some Tupperware if you don’t mind rinsing it beforehand.”

“No, sir, it’s not a matter of containers,” the employee starts, her lips pursed into a tight line. “We don’t do takeaways.”

James stops and frowns, bag half slung over his shoulder. “Isn’t this Beauxbatons?”

“It is.”

“My boss sometimes has people pick up his lunch here.”

“You must be mistaken… We do not lend any type of service like that.”

James sighs. Great. Amazing. Just what he needed. “Right. Do you mind if I make a call? I’m sorry, there must have been a mistake then.”

The employee, undoubtedly taking pity on him and his disorderly state that suggests he’s been running the past ten minutes, nods. “Of course.”

Heaving a sigh, James scrolls through his contact list and taps on ‘Regulus’, never mind that he has been firmly instructed to only call him during emergencies. But considering the sort of day he’s been having, he considers this one.

Regulus picks up after the third ring. “Potter?”

It’s been two weeks and he still won’t fucking call him by his name, going off on tangents about formal office conduct and etiquette. Potter this, Potter that, bridling when he’s called by his first name for a change in an environment that would kiss the soles of his feet if he’d ask. “Hi, I’m at the place you sent me the address of but they don’t do takeaways so I wanted to know what you want to eat. You cool with Wagamama?”

There’s a pregnant pause—all too telling of how Regulus is probably taking a deep breath and doing the thing where he either pinches the bridge of his nose or rubs his eyebrows. “Have you mentioned the takeaway is for me?”

“No, I haven’t.” What difference would it make, James wants to ask. But in a world where Regulus Black is pretty much revered, he is confident it would make a little difference at least.

“Do that, Potter.”

James rolls his eyes before returning his attention to the employee. “He wants you to know his name is Regulus, by the way.”

Her eyes widen. “Reg—Do you mean Mr. Black?”

James clicks his tongue. “That the one.” The employee doesn’t look convinced and James holds up his hand just above his chest. “About this tall? Curly black hair? Probably in one of today’s morning tabloids, not hard to miss. I could put him on speaker if you’d like?”

There’s the frantic wave of her hands, head shaking vigorously. “Oh! You should have told me from the start, Sir. Please, what would Mr. Black like to eat for lunch? I—I’m sorry. We are very exclusive in our service and are most honored Mr. Black has once again chosen our humble establishment—”

“Just,” James sighs, skimming over the menu laminated standing on an easel by the entrance, not possessing the energy to listen to someone go off on tangents about his boss again. Not like he does so internally at night, anyway. Absolutely not. “A truffle wagyu burger with hand-cut fries.”

“Not fries, a salad—” Regulus reminds him over the phone, but James has decided that he will just about eat whatever James decides on.

“Potter—” Regulus tries again and James flat-out hushes him. To his surprise, Regulus actually shuts up.

The employee nods, over-excited. “Oh, of course, an excellent choice. How would Mr. Black like it to be cooked?”

James shrugs. “I don’t know, on a grill?”

There’s a faint garbled noise coming from Regulus that James will definitely tuck away in his memory.

But the employee is too thrilled to be serving someone as pompous as Regulus to notice the lack of culinary terminology James possesses. “Oh, I meant the cook of the meat!”

“The cook of the meat?” James repeats. “I don’t know, whoever is on shift? Regulus, who do you want to cook your burger?”

The employee makes a high-pitched sound at the same Regulus sighs in a very exaggerated, exhausted manner. “Just tell them medium rare.”

“Medium? What is this, a video game difficulty?”

“Medium rare!” the employee chirps, her smile wry. Strands of hair stick out of the previously perfectly pulled-back bun like the situation has created plenty of static to dishevel her updo. “One medium rare wagyu—”

“Don’t forget the fries,” James adds, unable to fight off the grin cleaving his face. This, he loves most—fucking with rich people. ‘Who do you want to cook your meat?’ he’s a genius for that one, an absolute innovative mastermind. Make him head of corporate next at this rate.

“You had to call me for this?” Regulus asks him as James watches the poor girl scurry off to the back, undoubtedly to ring in the order and gush about the perfect, rich, hot-looking Regulus Black on the phone by the restaurant’s hallway.

“It was an emergency. I get you the wrong order and you, I dunno, bite off my head like Miranda Priestly.”

“I don’t know a Miranda Priestly.”

“No? Shame. Would’ve loved her, a real feisty woman that one. She works in the fashion industry, though.”

“Potter.”

James tries not to bark out a laugh. He can’t help it, Regulus is just too easy. “Yeah, I’ll get you your overtly expensive A3-grade cut of meat that could pay for my weekly rent. Didn’t take you for the type of man to get burgers, by the way.”

“That’s why I’m asking employees of a lower tax bracket to pick them up for me.”

Okay, that’s kind of funny. Regulus Black can be fucking funny if he wants to, he just rarely chooses to. James barely masks his snort at it. “Got me there, boss.”

“Get a cab back to the office. And stop calling me boss.”

“My bad, Sir,” James drawls, knowing that Regulus reacts particularly well to this specific formality. 

A second of silence that stretches on for a little too long. James clears his throat, wondering if the line cut off. “Regu—”

“See you soon, Potter,” Regulus speaks, faster than usual, almost like he’s flustered, and with a strange pitch to his words before he hangs up.

[plagueddead]

Technoverse - A guide for interaction roleplay and insert wise.

This was EXTREMELY requested

This blog exceeds to help newcomers to my AU environment. This blog will be updated over time if I see fit to change how this works interacts with itself. This blogs images will be updated over time if I find more suitable matches.

Photos have been found through Pinterest and art station. I will try and credit the source if I can.

This is an AU inspired by Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. This is a free to join au. Major canon characters are prohibited from being claimed. Villains are up to discussion.

This is a isn't the backstory post of the turtles but the world they live in.

THIS AU CONTAINS TOPICS OF RACISM, ILLEGAL SUBSTANCES AND ACTIONS, AND VIOLENCE. Though I've done my best to try and make it as friendly as possible. This AU is a 16+ story due to these warnings.

Current AU time

25 years after the ROTTMNT movie.

AU Theme

Cyberpunk dystopia

Fantasy

Dark fantasy

Major city settings within AU

New York, Hong Kong, Tokyo, Seoul, London

City Summary

After the integration of Yokai as independent civilians and free citizens world wide, and with the collaboration of their technology as well as krang salvage, a new system of buildings and interlinks have been created to accommodate citizens. Buildings stacked overhead that pierce the clouds, the old world was left to turn into slums and poor living areas on ground zero. Due to permanent clouds caused by pollution and overhead cities, these major empires are in a permanent state of darkness. Neon signs often light these cities to create a spectacular aroura of lights and designs. Though with a permanent overcast comes with a cost, as rain clouds mix with polluted smog to create a toxic like rain that causes many illnesses. It's common among every citizen to keep an oxygen mask at all times in case of rain.

City main inspiration and reference: Altered Carbon

Major cities as listed above are unique as floating SSC (Solar System Cosmopolis) Cities cover most of the dense populated area. These floating cities serve as purpose as secured homing for politicians, celebrities, and mostly the rich. Though they are also engineered mega labs founded by Barron Draxum and Donatello Hamato. They serve to bring back and study extinct species, cultivate cures for major diseases, and help improve on already futuristic technology. They spin very slowly and resemble that of a solar system. Hense the nickname.

These cities are held afloat by a self sustainable gravity generator that uses the gravity of a man made miniature star; created by Donatello Hamato (age 20).

Main inspiration from CMD Studios recent project!!!

Hidden cities

These main cities are focused world points for another reason. They rest above other hidden cities in which they have their own theme and setting.

New Yorks hidden city belongs to Big Mama, a spider Yokai who deals in illegal gambling and the distribution of illegal mystic items. NY Hidden city remains as a hub for traveling species of Yokai from all around the world.

Hong Kongs hidden city belongs to [REDACTED TBA]- A Dragon Yokai who deals in illegal sales of mystic items and krang salvage from the old battle.

This hidden city is less developed than the others, as most accomodation plans have been denied to preserve its pristine buildings and history. This hidden city resembles deep mountain caverns with buildings built into the sides. Common mystical creatures from Chinese mythology live within this city and rarely travel. Humans are not allowed.

Main inspiration by David Noren!

London's hidden city belongs to [REDACTED TBA] A plant like fairy Yokai who often helps with creating forged ID's to help Yokai find a better place to live. She also is known to sell potions that aren't approved by the hidden cities overlords and FDA.

This hidden city has developed slowly over time, but due to quick overgrowth of plants and trees. Most buildings have been built into large glowing trees that hang over the city in beautiful rainbow colors. The ground is a great hub for growing fruits and herbs for medicines. The Yokai in this hidden city are spirits from English folklore. They have spread over different cities over time.

Main inspiration found on Thin blue line on Pinterest!

Seouls hidden city belongs to [REDACTED] a Polar Bear Yokai who deals in illegal weapon distribution and species trafficking.

This hidden city is up to date and mostly in an indoor environment due to this hidden city being within a freezing temperature climate. More artic themed Yokai live within, but this hidden city is popular as a summar retreat by humans and other Yokai looking to stay cool for the summer. But this hidden city isn't as welcoming to humans as the others.

Main inspiration by Annabale Siconolfi!

Tokyos hidden city belongs to Yeosobai. A jellyfish Yokai who deals with handles most black markets and distribution of illegal substances.

This hidden city is completely underwater. Surrounded on a deep voided ocean under Japan, pod cities have been added to accommodate air breathing citizens, though most buildings were air tight even before. This hidden city is also a large hub for tourists due to its underwater appeal. This city distributes most seafood around the county. Known for its large amount of attractions and adult clubs, it's also a very crime ridden city.

This is also where Current Donatello resides.

Main inspiration creator unknown

Human and Yokai stances

With the sudden booming population of mutants and Yokai integrating into human society, of course tensions and protests by humans were bound to happen. A world they were so used to was building into something unknown before their very eyes after all. And so, tensions between species rose.

Humans with a deep dislike towards other species either hide their hate, or become extremists. Often getting tag as cultists as over years hate crimes toward Yokai and mutants became a world wide situation. Yokai were often kidnapped from their homes to be found barley recognizable by their attackers. Yokai would retaliate, and after much tension, civil wars broke out. Protests for safer living for both species were in demand, and so most governments integrated an artificial intelligence police force that contained mostly droids to prevent race picking. Most countries have adapted this form of law enforcement.

Cultists are still a major problem though their numbers have thinned.

The term Mutant has become a word to target Yokai and mutants in a hateful way, and this word soon became outdated. All non humans are now under the identification of Yokai. This includes mixed races between the two.

It's common for Yokai and humans relationships! Often by now the first generations of Yokai and humans hybrid children are born!

There are even schools for these rare breeds as they are still being studied as a new species.

It is illegal for most countries to have discrimination between species. No Yokai only or human only living spaces, restaurants, or shops.

Though within most slums there is a secret rule to separate the species as mostly disgrunted humans and Yokai live here.

And now we're here!

I want my character to join the au, but I don't know what's allowed!

This part of the blog aims to help you adapt your character into this new universe.

What should my character wear?!

It's really up to you! Most humans and Yokai wear mostly cyberpunk themed clothing! Often I find Pinterest as a source of inspiration. I think your character would fit better if it comes from a certain part of the world. Armor and glowing clothes are welcome and encouraged! Get creative!

I want my character to have cool robotic limbs and mods in their body! Is this allowed?

Yep! And encouraged! This is a futuristic setting! So modifications to the body aren't uncommon!

Can my characters have cool unique weapons?

Of course! And I'd love to see them!! 🔥🔥🔥

Do I have to ask before joining this AU?

Nope! But I'd love to see/read your creation! Or see that you're inspired to join!

Does my character have to be human?

Nope! Any species welcome!

Can my character already know personally main characters?

That's up for discussion. Current time Donatello isn't open to being known nor talkative to strangers. I'd like it if you didnt. He's playing dead unlike the rest of his brothers. Leo's up for discussion but with Mikey and Raph, they are more social and I can see them having multiple friends. Leo's treated more as a police officer and doesn't have a lot of friends due to his work.

Can my character work for the main boss Yokai of the hidden city.

Yes! I'd like you to stay close to what they do in terms of how they run things!

Can I claim ships with these characters?

NO.

Claiming ships with only your characters and main cast is prohibited. That's why Y/N is created as a medium for all 18+ participants that want to ship their characters with main cast. Ships are fun and welcome! But you cannot claim it as a you only ship.

Thank you for reading what I have for now! More to be added!

[bug66]

My collection of V.ii Snail Images (Snimages) 🐌 to go with the Vesper lineup i posted earlier

I like him because he sucks and I want to see him suffer more <3 I want to throw bricks at him <3 Rusty in the back give him the steel chair <3 also a yelling Michigan and puppy 621 to balance out the immense negative aura here

Snail Design Notes under the cut for anyone (?) who’s interested-

I choose to interpret his continued augments as making him a 50 year old who looks like a 30 year old twink because that's objectively funny

His superiority complex probably has contributed to a concern with appearances- which is why he looks so pristine and scar-free compared to everyone around him (and I like how by comparison he looks unusual).

Has a skincare routine that would make a regular human’s face slough off.

Honestly what does a guy need to go through to develop a superiority complex like that?? He’s such a freak lol

Still need to properly design the arquebus plug suit since it’s very rebuild of eva 3.0 here and didn’t reach the very specific idea I had for his neural jack.

I just like the idea of him having the most fucked looking neural jack- a device with multiple points on the spine with the only scarring he’d have being from its dermal wiring between those points. I ought to probably draw it but that means drawing him naked which is scary.

I think he likes wearing the body glove a lot bc it’s so Arquebus (he likes the sleek aesthetics), but he’d never admit it. Who looks more or less caked in the Arquebus body glove is up to you :~)

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Offer me the deathless death”

Andromache the Scythian x Female Reader

request ( found here ) by @nightly-polaris

|･ω･) go wild, you said and go wild, i did. i included as much of the provided details as i could. hopefully, you’ll find it agreeable

cw : 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ 18+ // dubcon-ish // ✂️ ✂️😼 // overstimulation

casually quoting hozier for all my andromache fics. that fight scene on the plane and the way she grabbed nile by the jaw tho 😩 wanted to incorporate it in a fic ever since i saw it, and fucking finally did

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Hallucinations. A fever dream.

Anything but reality is what you tell yourself, and what a job you have been doing thus far! Fantastically foolish if nothing else. Cocooned in a bubble of lies that spill forth none other than your lips, and illusions that are carved by your very mind itself, you harbour not a droplet of doubt that the reality in front of your eyes is nothing but bona fide.

People after all are the most masterful at fooling themselves.

Ensnared in a web of deceit weaved by your fingers lie no hapless preys, but you, yourself, who revel in the sweet taste of false security as you do in the richness of the creamy warm chocolate drink that coats your tongue.

Even though business in your shop today is notably satisfactory if not the most profitable, it is not the digits that matter to you the most. Your little shop is borne purely out of your profound passion and desire; obligation is out of the picture. It is where you feel the most at home, doing what you love while bathed in the aroma of freshly ground coffee and cocoa.

Amidst brewing a cup of americano as per the order of a customer with stylish sun-glasses and a striking jawline, your dress is accidentally soiled. Little do you know, the scatter of black and bitter constellations along the pristine white of your sleeve is merely the dawn of a darker, more bitter happening.

──────── ༻✿༺ ────────

Finding you has been relatively easy.

When the familiar dreams begin plaguing her usually dreamless nights, a telltale sign of a new immortal on the horizon, Andromache has half a mind to ignore them altogether. Had she not seen the places that stoke recognition amongst the wild tapestry of images, she certainly would have. But alas, her target, as it so happens, is no stranger to her. By no means does the Scythian know you. Nor you, the Scythian. New immortals bring together with them an assortment of risks, one of them being the exposure of their secret. It is with such knowledge in mind that Andromache feels obliged to set out for you despite her reluctance. You living in the neighbourhood of her temporary place of residence only makes the search all the more convenient.

Being a warrior for many a millennium has developed a vast array of tactical traits into personal trademarks. Those that once upon a time had had to be mindfully exercised, now occur as easily and effortlessly as breathing, involuntary more often than not. Beneath the dark shades of a spectacle perched on a well-defined slope of a nose lies a pair of sage green eyes, scanning the vicinity of wherever she goes like an eagle on a hunt. They have landed on it then, during her visit to a store, standing adjacent to it is a cafe in the name of “Trouvaille”. The Scythian is not one to be easily intrigued, but what a lie it would be to say that the charming building with its vintage air and curious name had not tickled her fancy. Or its owner whom she has noticed is all sweet smiles and dulcet eyes.

Eyes which she has only seen from afar then, now she stares directly into them. Protected by the shades, the intense greens study you with brazen openness, roaming all over your frame, from the tiny clips that decorate your cascading hair like colourful Christmas lights to the butterfly pendant that dangles from a simple silver chain, hovering directly above the dip of your throat, from the little flower prints on your dress, the skirt of which softly caresses your thighs, to occasional glimpse of seemingly soft flesh that teases the Scythian, left uncovered by a pair of white thigh-highs.

It is retrieving you that is the hard part.

Immediately upon arrival, Andromache has read your features for perhaps a trace of recognition. You paying the Scythian a visit in her dreams can only mean one thing after all: that she, too, must have appeared in yours. Yet, no widening of your eyes greet her, only a smile that does not waver.

“Hi, welcome to cafe Trouvaille. What can I get you?”

“Americano will do. Hot.”

Beside the fact that it is broad day light, a few people roam the place. As capable as Andromache is of manhandling you, it is not in her best interest to attract attention. The situation calls for patience. Rushing will spell only more trouble at best. Wait she must, and so, wait she does.

Leisurely, the Scythian sips her coffee, studying you periodically as she does so. It is after some minutes have ticked by, the cup of coffee sitting on the table, empty and cold, that she decides to fish a book, leather-bound and well-worn, out of her backpack. Thumbing through old pages, Andromache spends the better part of the wait indulging in literature, until one by one, people start trickling out of the shop.

In due time, it leaves only the Scythian and you.

The sky has taken on a deep orange hue by the time she stands to approach you. She eyes you surreptitiously, and upon confirming that she is not at the receiving end of your attention, the Scythian moves to lock the door. Ever the diligent wielder of caution, she does not forget to flip the little dangling plate. The letter “We’re closed.” that is carved into the wood will help ward off potential visitors.

Even as she walks towards the counter, you do not seem to notice her for you are kept occupied by the book in your lap, fingers busy scribbling onto paper. It is the tinkle of porcelain on marble as she drops the cup and saucer atop the counter that finally has your eyes zeroing in on her. She watches you watch her. Backdropped by the sunset with her shades finally tucked away into the pocket of her jacket, the sight of the Scythian brings about a subtle shift in your mien. Although fleeting, the furrow of your brows that must have been imperceptible to others, does not go unnoticed.

“Hello, again. I hope you’ve had a good time.”

The smile that you give her is sweet, if not the most genuine.

“Why don’t we save the pleasantries, hm?” The smile that touches her lips, in contrast, has a hint of sourness. “You’ve seen me before.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe I have.”

Your answer only brings about a twofold increase in the Scythian’s irritation. Judging by the slightest delay in your response, she knows that you are well aware that she has not meant it as a query, and so, she says as much.

“It wasn’t a question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must have mistaken me for someone else.”

The adamant denial from you has strong, slender digits tightening around the strap that is slung over one shoulder.

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? You died, and then you woke up, saw a bunch of people you had never seen before in your dream, including me.”

“But, that was- No. Surely it was-.”

“Look, kid-” Forming into a thin line are Andromache’s lips as she takes a moment to compose herself, slowly huffing out an exhale through flared nostrils. “-I know you’ve got questions but I need you to come with me first.”

“No. No, I don’t think so. This isn’t real. None of this is real. Leave, please. I need you to leave.”

Lips that slowly curl into a smirk and a chuckle that comes out dark and dangerous. “It’s cute that you think you have a choice.”

Battered boots that come to rest just shy of polished loafers.

“You know…your folly is, dare i say, commendable. Reality is not just something you can rewrite, and yet, you managed an impeccable job of tricking yourself into thinking what you believe to be the truth is the truth.”

One foreboding frame that looms like a predator and the one that cowers like a cornered prey.

“Alas, I almost feel bad for shattering your little illusion. But then again, I’ve done a great many questionable things in my life having lived as long as I have. What significance would it make to add another?”

“What I saw in my dream. They really happened.” It is a question albeit not being voiced like one. The Scythian does not find the need to answer. Why bother when the answer already lies in your hand?

At her silence, a look of horror dawns on your features. “You’re a murderer. You and your friends. I’ve seen them. I- I’m not- I can’t.”

“Oh darling, a rose without thorns is but a weed, easy to be plucked, to be trampled on. You’re one of us now. You will come with me whether you like it or not, and you will do so this instant.”

Every single step you hesitantly take back is met with an immediate footfall of boots as they fall right onto the place that your loafers have just vacated. It goes like this for a while, you actively ruining the close proximity, and Andromache rectifying it, until there is nowhere for you to flee, and your hips collide with the counter edge.

“Why me?” She parries your plea with a nonchalant shrug, face impassive. “Beats me.”

“Please, I-” Tears glisten in your eyes, murmuring beseechingly. “Let me go. I can’t kill. I know nothing about fighting.”

While her hands grip the counter on either side of your waist to cage you in strong arms, her lips lower to the shell of your ear, breath warm as she speaks. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You can kill. In fact, anyone can. You just have to listen to me.”

“No! Let me go! I don’t want-” Yells dissolve into a yelp by way of digits seizing your jaw.

“I’ve gone out of my way to exercise great forbearance, but it is running terribly thin. It would do you well not to try it any further.” She husks threateningly, feeling the softness of your cheeks giving under the roughness of her battle-hardened fingers. Salty droplets drench her digits as tears start spilling in rivulets down your cheeks.

“Go on, bite me with those baby teeth. Scratch me with your little paws.” She taunts. “Why, would you look at that! All bark and no bite. How pathetic.”

It is as she says this that your teeth sink into the palm that is pressed tightly against your mouth. The unexpected retaliation has her stance faltering, and although you manage to break free from her bodily confines, the Scythian, being far more nimble and dexterous, hardly has to break sweat in recapturing you.

“You're a stubborn little thing, aren’t you? Two can play that game, although don’t say I didn’t warn you. Breaking men, after all, is considered one of my fortes.”

Wrists locked behind your back in her iron grip, and body bent over the marble counter, Andromache revels in the quavering of your body beneath her own as one wicked hand, like a sneaky serpent, slowly slithers up your thigh.

“Are you-” A whimper flies past your lips when your arms are pulled taunt, shoulders craning uncomfortably. And then, she yanks, hard and unforgiving, until you are forced onto your feet, back colliding with her front. “Are you going to kill me?”

Andromache cannot help but laugh at your question, a rich throaty sound that brings about the erection of soft little hair on the nape of your neck.

Your wrists are released at the cost of your cheeks bearing the brunt of her ire as rough fingers dig into your flesh. They flee from their cage between the two of your bodies to take sanctuary on her forearm, soft fingers grasping the sleeve of her jacket. “Where’s the fun in killing you when I can just have my way with you, hm?” Her hold around one of your thighs remains unrelenting while the hand on your jaw coerces you into craning your neck. Your head rests on her chest with a grunt, and you drown, held spellbound by the intense green of her eyes. “I’d rather enjoy the view of you crumbling beneath me than watch you bleed out only to come alive again.”

Although it douses you in shame, you have to admit that you are not entirely immune to the woman. How can you when she oozes charisma, frighteningly beautiful even as she looms over you with all the grandeur of a great menacing panther.

And then, too many things happen all at once; fingers that crawl into a forest of hair to grab a fistful, with a yank to the side, a throat that is bared for the predator above to conveniently sink her teeth into, the frenzied little flutter of a pulse beneath the flat of a warm tongue, chocked sobs that dissolve into a strangled gasp as a cold hand journeys into the waistband of an underwear.

Previously, your hands have found home on her thighs, fingers grappling fabric, but upon feeling wandering digits inside your underwear, one of them flies towards the offending hand, locking around a wrist.

“N-no. You can’t.”

“You would do well to remember that I am in control here.”

The Scythian’s growl is not only heard, but also felt on your skin as teeth nibble, mouth suck, and lips soothe the stings that afterwards will linger on your body in the form of dark blues and bright reds.

Horror and humiliation dance a wild tango whereas fingers waltz delicately along your folds, a condescending tsk echoing off your nape when they come away wet. Betrayed and backstabbed by your own body, mortification colours your face as not one but two of her sizeable digits sink into your heat with little to no effort. Although sudden, it does not hurt, though it stings, leaves you breathless still. Dewdrops bloom on your lashes and they drop down your cheeks when fingers in your core bury knuckles deep, abuse your tightness. You feel them in the very depths of your body, filling you so deliciously that when they wiggle so much as a little, it is more than enough to sucker-punch a breath out of your lungs.

Between her hot mouth kissing your neck all rosy and sore, her fingers cleverly caressing your insides, and her hand toying with your breasts beneath your dress, it is no surprise that your undoing greets you with a tidal wave of pleasure.

It is, however, a surprise to find yourself being shoved back-first onto the table, legs being pulled wide by fingers twining round your thighs. You are still suffering through a series of aftershocks from your first orgasm when her mouth attaches itself to your quavering folds, that wicked tongue immediately slithering into your hole. It does a cruel little nudge and your fingers wind up entwined in her hair. Instead of a reproach, it is a hum of satisfaction that you earn as the Scythian grabs a handful of your buttocks and devour you like a starved man.

By the seventh one, you are well beyond exhausted, brain foggy courtesy of being fucked into oblivion, and body agonisingly sore, littered with deep hues and teeth marks. Somewhere between third and fourth, if you recall correctly, she has stripped you bare, bar your thigh-highs, and completely rid herself off clothes, magnificent muscles coming into display. You have ogled them with barely restrained awe until your attention is swayed elsewhere by her mouth leaving traces of herself all across the expanse of your body.

Now, once again, you marvel at them, entranced by the impressiveness of her muscles that ripple with every roll of her powerful hips.

You barely recognise the face that is staring right back at you, reflected in the surface of sea green eyes, or the sounds that are oozing out of your lips. Sweat clings to the forehead of the woman towering over you as it does to yours. One of your legs is slung over her shoulder, and the other lies limp and useless between her thighs, as she rubs herself into your core with wild abandon.

“I- I can’t. Too much. It’s too muc- ah!”

“Yes, you can.”

She has taken the hand that goes to rest on one of her hipbones only to weave her fingers with yours. Now, they hover in the air, tightly intertwined, suddenly made much tighter by the white knuckled grip of your hand.

“Slow- nghh please! Be gentle.”

“You do as I say. Not the other way round. Is that understood?”

The desperate nods of your head is met with a bite to the succulent inside of your thigh just above the brim of your sock.

“Answer me.”

“Yes!”

“My word shall be your command, and you will dance to my every desire, won’t you darling?”

“Yes! Yes, I will.”

“You are mine after all, aren’t you? Mine to do with what I please. Mine to use how I see fit. Don’t you agree?”

“I’m yours- ngh- all yours.”

“Good girl.” She moans, movements escalating from lazy strokes to untamed gyrations.

“Andy.” She rasps breathlessly. “I want to hear my name dripping down those pretty little lips when you fall apart.”

And hear she does. Andy. Andy. Andy. Andy. Her name is all you can cry out as your juices mingle with one another’s, the combined essence soiling your thigh-highs as well as the couch beneath you.

Back curving, toes curling, you soar high, high into heaven, swimming amongst clouds, drowning in euphoria. And then, you plummet, down into the pit of hell, down into another one of those little deathless deaths. An intense blinding white replaced by an absolute dark.

When you awake, it is to the heart-melting sensation of lips softly caressing your forehead. You find yourself on the same couch that you have passed out, cocooned in toned arms, face tucked snugly into a warm, musky throat. Reflexively, you begin nosing the soft underside of her jaw before you are startled by fingers wandering down your very naked thigh.

“Look at me.” Obediently, you oblige, reluctantly leaving the pleasant warmth of her neck to do what she desires.

“What have I told you?” All too delicately, or as delicately as the callouses on her hand will allow, the pad of a thumb grazes the apple of your cheek.

Fighting against the urge to slip your eyes shut, you sigh dreamily instead. “That as long as I remain a good obedient girl, no harm will befall me.”

“That’s right. And are you?”

A nod as an answer prompts a pat of a forefinger on your cheek, and then, another. You know what she wants, so you give her just that.

“I’m a good girl.”

Not only do you see the smirk on her face, but you also feel it on your skin as she leans down to drag her lips across yours. “You forgot to mention whose, darling.”

“I’m a good girl, Andy. Your good girl.”

“And will my good girl obey my every command like she had promised?”

“Mmhm.”

A breath catches in your throat as her lips journey down down down, admiring the traces of none other than herself until that ravenous mouth adjourn to your hip, sucking the tender spot on your hipbone to make it all the more vibrant.

Although it has not been the main purpose of her doing what she has done, it is without doubt that Andromache gets a sick sort of pleasure out of seeing you covered in her marks. Every inch of your body and soul, all irrevocably hers.

You have said it so yourself, willingly given yourself up to her. That being said, it is purely her own greed that has her craving more and more and more of you. The scent of you that is sinfully sweet, heady and uniquely yours, makes her ache. The sight of you, like the dewy petals of an exquisite flower, pretty and pulsating, makes her mouth water.

It is with this insatiable hunger swelling inside of her that the Scythian sinks to her knees between your luxuriously smooth thighs.

“One more, darling. Give me one more before we leave.”

And you do, oh how you do even as one bleeds into two and two into three, because a good girl does what she is taught, does she not? And you are a good girl, Andy’s sweet little good girl to do with what she will.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

[ofbluesandyellows]

In Rainbows - TASM! Peter Parker / Reader

Summary: Peter Parker as the colors of the rainbow.

Word count: 5,191

Warnings: swearing, kissing lol idk, it’s mostly fluff. So yeah,

a/n: this is a little something that came to me two weeks ago, hope you enjoy it. Tried to edit it but maybe there are a few errors there, lmk if you see them. Have fun :)

Meeting Peter had been a happy coincidence. 

Red was all you could see while the photographs became from white pristine paper into an unknown image. Some were already hanging from the thread up your head while you waited. Fortunately enough you had chosen a moonless night to work on your photos at college. So when the door swung open there was no risk of ruining your work.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Thought it was empty.” A voice said at your back.

“It’s alright, I’m almost done.”

The person stood beside you, eyes scanning your work and you turned to him just in time to see a smile appear on his lips. 

“Those are great shots.” He nodded with his head at the photo that was already developing in the transparent liquid. “I was there that night too, they’re a powerhouse.”

The Strokes had an unexpected gig on Wednesday and you had the fortune to get tickets and stand right in the press area to snap a few photos of them. You were really happy with what you got. It made you fill up with pride to hear someone else appreciate what you captured.

“They totally are, you took photos too?” you asked, turning to him, fully looking at the tall boy by your side. 

He seemed quite familiar now that you noticed. 

“No, a friend got us tickets, just went to have a good time.” He shrugged, putting his backpack on the floor with a thud. “What’s your favorite song of theirs?” 

He hadn’t stopped smiling at you. He started to put all his things out on top of the table. His camera, strap still on, the rolls of film and his phone. The screen was crashed and the edges of it battered, it had personality just like him; with his jumper and his tousled hair as if he had run just to make it there in time, as if he knew you could be leaving soon and didn’t want to miss you.

Of course you wanted to pretend that was the reason for his sudden rush a moment ago. 

“Well, I’d say the classics of course, YOLO and Welcome to Japan are just gems but I guess from their last album I really enjoyed Ode to The Mets. What about you?” 

And it started a full on conversation on your favorite The Strokes’ songs, it was easy to talk to him about music, about art, about playlists and pastries. With each word exchanged you could feel him getting closer to you, arms brushing, laughs shared, eyes making excessive staring, heart beats speeding and hands sweating. 

The boy finished hanging his photos, you could see friends laughing, dogs and incredible landscapes of the city. He had a good eye you wanted to tell him but he beat you to it with a new thought.

Casually, he leaned his side on the desk, arms crossed over his chest, pushing his biceps out, yeah you noticed. 

“They are doing another show in Brooklyn tomorrow… I got an extra ticket if you… you know… if you wanted to go… I could—we could meet there… I don’t know.” He said eyes going from your face to the rest of the room. 

You weren’t sure how but you could notice his whole face going one or two shades darker. It was hard to see under the red lights but the invitation made you feel funny inside, matching with all the rest of your body reactions during the half an hour you’ve been there. You balanced the options; he was sweet, and he was nervous and you were nervous too and you had nothing to lose really.

“Sure, I’d love that.” 

And he beamed, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes twinkled. “Great! Cool, so it’s in Brooklyn Steel. There's a subway nearby. If you live in Manhattan I could wait for you there or outside the venue, you tell me, it’s your choice.”

“I mean you can come pick me up, I live in Greenwich… and if you like we could have dinner before.” You felt your heartbeat in your throat.

“Oh…Yeah! Yeah sure, of course I know a pizza place, if you like Pizza of course.”

You chuckled. “I do love pizza, so it’s a date?”

His whole body filled with air and sudden pride. “It’s a date!”

“Cool,”

“Cool…. by the way my name is Peter Parker.” 

He laughed, extending his palm, which got your smaller one wrapped perfectly. 

You told him your name. “Great to meet you Peter Parker.”  and he grinned boyishly. 

•••

Orange wasn’t a color you often found yourself leaning towards, it never meant much to you, but it had been six months since you and Peter started to date in a very serious way. So you wanted the day to mean something, an unconscious choice,that was being expressed in an orange outfit, you tried it on and unexpectedly it looked good on you. 

Still the color meant nothing much, nothing until he said: “I love you.”

His lips were on the shell of your ear as you waited in line to get some gelato. Peter had his arms wrapped around your middle, he squeezed you a little tighter as his words reached your ear getting seared in your brain, the moment was typical almost ordinary, but it was golden hour and the sunbeams were casting a film of orange peachy tone, your heart somersaulted, belly twisted, and your lips turned upwards in the widest smile you’ve ever given to anyone. 

“I love you too,” you responded, turning in his arms, and you kissed Peter on his soft lips, he tasted like honey and something completely Peter’s. 

The sunset was upon you. Cherry and choco mint gelato flavored kisses. Peter left a peck on your forehead as he turned up to the sky while you walked down the busy streets of New York, a grin on his cold lips. 

“Look, you match the sky.” He pointed.

Furrowing your eyebrows you looked up as peachy skies started to turn slightly bluish on the far end. Peter gave a light tug to the fabric covering your ribs.

You indeed were matching the clouds and the day. From that moment on, orange made you reminisce about the first ‘I love yous’. 

Meaning was found in color.

•••

One night as the tv showed the film ‘Big Fish’ Peter found you crying on the couch to the scene where Ewan McGregor’s character had finally found the girl he loved and showed her how much she meant to him by flooding the outside of her house with flowers. The most beautiful act of love you’ve seen in a movie. 

You gasped when on your birthday the rooftop of your building was covered in yellow flowers, they probably weren’t as many as the movie had but you loved how the variety of them left a scent of sweetness and freshness in the air as Peter settled a picnic in the middle of the improvised garden, daffodils, roses, daisies, you weren’t even sure how many of them were there but you loved it.

“Over here,” With a flourish he showed you the path to the picnic and you followed him, fingers intertwined.

“Peter Parker you shouldn’t have,” hands on your chest and inevitably your nose tingled, your eyes watering.

Peter gave you a sweet smile.“Of course I have to! It’s your birthday honey, you deserve all the nice, most beautiful things there are in the world and I know the quantity of flowers isn’t near as the ones in the movie but the budget’s a bit tight this week.”

His face went a bit pink as you sat down the plaid tablecloth. 

Your heart squeezed. Reaching for his hand, his attention fully on you. 

“I love it, everything, even the mismatched set of plates and the fact that you are wearing the most horrible pair of socks I’ve seen.”

Yes, they were also yellow, they had tiny bright green cars printed on them. You snorted as Peter sent you a sharp look.

“What!? These are my good luck socks, I wore them when I met you, that has to mean something.” He smirked, “They're special.”

“That doesn’t mean they are pretty nor cool.”

Peter scoffed, he threw a napkin at your face, “I’ll let it pass because it’s your day. And I love you and respect you too much to start an argument over my styling choices.”

Another snort on your behalf and you didn’t see it coming but Peter launched against you. You both laid on the cloth as Peter held his weight on his elbows to not crush you. Kissing the tip of your nose, then kissing your lips. Soft lips over smiles and low chuckles.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

“Thank you for being the absolute best.” 

And all you saw was Peter’s chocolate eyes, the light freckles forming on his nose thanks to the summer time and a halo of yellow all around you.

•••

Peter had been so scared, literally he thought of cancelling last minute but a talk with May served him well. He loved you and he needed to show a bit of support, especially knowing your family would be there and this was the first Christmas you two spent together. 

You two took the subway all the way to Queens. Your mom’s side of the family had this pretty lovely house with a huge garden and one of the biggest kitchens Peter has set foot on. 

Peter wasn’t into Christmas but knowing it meant so much for you he made an effort, besides he wanted the rest of your family to like him, to love him if possible. So when your cousin asked you both to babysit littler Tommy while she put her new born baby to sleep, Peter couldn’t say no, and there you three were in the middle of the kitchen decorating gingerbread cookies with the five year old Tommy who had found a liking for Peter very quickly.

Maybe he could feel his Spidey senses too, kids had that kind of ability too sometimes, to predict stuff and shit. Well, Peter read that once so maybe it was true.

Sitting on the kitchen island Peter handed little Tommy a cookie as you put different color frostings on display for them to start their artsy gourmet pieces. 

Peter went for something that made him feel too clever, you’ve known for a while anyway. 

Red and blue, black lines, white eyes.

“A Spider-Man cookie, really Peter?” your voice was a bit judge-y but Peter saw your smile as you shook your head, and it made him chuckle. “Smartass.”

“Well… It made you smile. But it’s not just a Spider-Man cookie, it’s a Christmas Spidey, right Tommy?”

You laughed as Peter showed Tommy his Spidey-cookie, a Santa hat badly shaped on top of the masked hero. Tommy let out that childish giggle that made the both of you beam at the kid.

“See, Tommy boy appreciates my art, you should do the same, baby.” 

Rolling your eyes Peter smirked and continued on decorating cookies with the little boy in front of him.  

It warmed your heart seeing Peter getting along with kids, it made you think of the future, and in that moment the thought of a little Peter didn’t sound so bizarre.

“Can someone bring the little bunny I left in the car?!” you heard your cousin call, and just as an instinct you turned to Peter.

“Go ahead, we have it under control right ,Tom?” the kid probably didn’t know what you were talking about but he still gave you a nod.

So Peter saw you leave the kitchen. 

At some point during the decorating session, Peter needed the color green to complete his Christmas tree cookie. He only found green frosting inside a transparent plastic bag. With a shrug he took it between his palms.

“It can’t be that hard right Tommy.” The kid with those big doe eyes, grinned at him.

“Do it!” Tommy squealed. 

Peter laughed and started doing the edges of this tree. 

But the doorbell rang, Tommy jumped in his spot startled, Kiki the dog started barking, everything happened within the same five seconds and Peter– with incredibly enhanced reflexes put a little too much pressure on the bag. 

The next thing he and Tommy saw was green, green splashed everywhere in the kitchen specially Tommy’s face and Peter’s shirt. 

“Oh,” Peter said in awe.

“Uh oh, you are in trouble!” Tommy said singsonging, pointing at Peter’s shirt. And a second later he started maniacally laughing.

Peter couldn’t help but laugh too. This was definitely not the way he wanted to impress your family but at least Tommy knew how to lighten the mood.

Steps were heard as the two boys in the kitchen cackled louder while they licked their green fingers.

You appeared on the threshold, agape as you saw the explosion of color, snorting you went ahead to try and help the little kid, who only laughed harder at your face.

That was a moment in time that your family always reminded Peter of. Peter felt like he belonged right there and then when everyone made fun of him and Tommy’s green face.

•••

Coney Island was shining prettily against the darkness of the night, Peter had texted you four times to meet him there. He went to check near the cotton candy stand, you weren’t there.

He had been working his ass off for Jonah the whole week, so now that he had free time, he wanted to do something different and fun with you, and what could be more fun than going to Coney Island and getting on those rattly dubious carnival rides? 

The carousel was packed with parents and screaming kids, as loud music blasted all around, you weren’t there either, so he kept on walking. A man with a bunch of blue balloons was falling asleep on his spot near a trash can. 

Peter’s brain had an idea. He brought a balloon and wrapped it on his wrist. Took his phone out of his jeans and snapped a quick selfie.

Sent it to you instantly.

Peter🕷

I’m the guy with the blue balloon. Hurry up baby I’m starving :(

Two seconds later his hand buzzed and there you were, another selfie you had a blue balloon too.

You 🍯

Matching, now let’s see who finds the other first. 

Loser buys dinner. 

Peter smirked, he had missed you so much the whole day.

Peter 🕷

Deal. You are so gonna lose,

Forgot I got enhanced sight x

You 🍯

Too much talking Parker

We’ll see about that.

Peter loved a good challenge, and meaning he was getting free food and probably a bunch of kisses was enough incentive for him to start looking.

Five minutes and Peter decided to cheat a little. Hopping on the ferris wheel had been the worst idea ever, his eyes tried to focus on blue balloons but the colorful lights caused the opposite effect, overstimulation to his poor eyes, Peter felt dizzy.

When his ride ended, shoulders slumped, and a defeated sigh escaped him but it didn’t matter. He ran to your arms. Balloons tangling between one another, and Peter didn’t care if he had to buy dinner, he was just so happy to see you there.

“I won!” you grinned, as Peter’s hands found place on the side of your face. 

“Yeah I let you.”

“Nah, I saw when you went in there,” you smiled, as he caressed your cheeks with his thumbs. 

Peter leaned in to kiss you, it was sweet and full of love. 

“I sabotaged myself with those lights, so yeah I let you,” you rolled your eyes and Peter chuckled. “Come on, let’s get rid of these,” he punched his balloon, hitting your face with it.

“Hey!” 

He snorted, and kissed your forehead, “Sorry.”

“Just because you are buying dinner, but let’s keep them. This was a good idea to find each other in the crowd.”

“Blue Balloons seem to be better than GPS, right?” 

Peter tried to put his arm over your shoulders but the threads of the balloons were too twisted, thread tugged at your wrist wrong, you yelped and Peter grunted.

“Not very practical when I want to hold you closer.” Peter quivered his brows, but neither made the effort to unravel the knots of ribbon. 

You simply intertwined your hands and walked down Coney Island ready to eat your weight on hotdogs.

•••

“But baby my love my everything, this is so cool! I can go to work, get there faster, pick you up. We can drive to visit May, your mom! We can go on a weekend trip!”

Your face was a mix of fear and curiosity. The bright motorcycle was parked just outside your apartment building, it was indigo blue and it sparkled when the sun hit the paint. You couldn’t lie to yourself, it was a pretty motorcycle, however…

“But it’s dangerous!”

“But it’s convenient!” Peter put out a helmet from his backpack. “Look, I even bought you one! Come on, let's have a little ride, it’ll be fun.”

“Peter-“

“Don’t Peter me, c’mon”

With his doe eyes Peter persuaded you to do the unimaginable. You hated when he swung you places, the momentum of the web slinging made you want to vomit and you didn’t enjoy fast rides so this felt like a mixture of both things. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably as you put the helmet on.

“Hold onto me, if I go too fast let me know, okay?”

Your hands surrounded his waist, you weren’t too sure about the motorcycle but you trusted Peter with your life, so you nodded against his back.

“I got you baby.” 

The roar distracted you from the sudden movement, eyes closed tightly you felt Peter’s abs clench when he made a sharp turn or when he had to make a stop.

“You okay?” 

“I guess… so far,”

“It isn’t that bad, try to enjoy it.” 

You both were speaking loud to hear the other through the helmets, but Peter could sense your shaky hands against his stomach and the way you tensed your body on the curves.

But a few minutes later you started to loosen your grip on his body. Your eyes wandered as you moved between the city… Some streets were less trafficked than others but it was nice to feel the wind and the passing by colors. You didn’t even notice when Peter added a bit of velocity, you were immersed in the sensations.

The Brooklyn bridge was ahead, the view of Manhattan was breathtaking at the hour, some street lights were already turning on but the sky still reflected itself on the skyscrapers, mirroring the view.

“Move in with me?”

“What?”

You weren’t able to hear him because of the wind and the helmet.

“That you should move in with me!” Peter shouted.

“What movie?”

“For fucks sake,”

Peter mumbled as he came to a stop. His motorcycle roared still, but the noise was a lot less. Taking the helmet off, he turned around and took yours too.

“I said… move in with me”

Your eyes grew big, a little shocked, “Oh,”

“I mean we already spend pretty much all the time together so I thought… um, never mind, it was just an idea.”

You grabbed his shoulder, “I’d love to. I was just surprised you asked me all of a sudden. But yeah, let’s do it!”

Peter felt relief and a wave of euphoria. He hopped off the motorcycle, helmets hanging from the handlebars. He nestled your face between his hands, kissing you deeply, he smelt like sun, leather and spandex, with a touch of lemon thanks to his shampoo.

“I have everything planned, we can move my desk to the other room and we can make that an office for when you work from home, we definitely need to throw out my mattress, yours is way bigger and more comfy. Oh and we could get a dog, you like dogs I like dogs so why not.”

You were beaming at your boyfriend as he kept on rambling about the new accommodations of the apartment, what breed of dog and if he even had to buy new cutlery. 

“It’s alright, we can figure that out later.” The wind swirled around you and it all felt right. Even the oh so horrible motorcycle felt less wrong, like it had to be part of your trip or this decision. “We can also get rid of this indigo monstrosity too,”

Peter furrowed his brow, “I just bought it, come on, it's so cool.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “It is not, it’s dangerous and you won’t even use it.”

“Oh I definitely will, I look so hot on it.”

Rolling your eyes you gave him a good reason to not like the motorcycle, “that’s why I don’t want it, people will be looking at my boyfriend a little too much.”

Peter smirked, “oh so you agree I look extra hot on the motorcycle, huh. Knew you liked it, kinky.”

“Oh shut up!”

“You love me, don’t try to deny it.”

You grunted, but a smile slipped on your lips. Peter took the helmet and was about to put it on your head again. 

“Love you.” He kissed your forehead sliding the plastic thing, he gave the top of it two knocks, making your head rattle.

“Ouch.”

“Oops,” he put his on and there you were again on the road back to Peter’s apartment, your new home.

•••

Lazy Sunday, as Peter liked to call them. They were pretty much that, after a long night of patrolling, he finally slept until his body couldn’t stand being in bed.

There had been five months since you moved in with him and he couldn’t be happier. You threw a party a month after you were settled in. May made meatloaf as if an army was about to arrive at the apartment, you and he had to eat that for two weeks straight until the last bit disappeared. 

Peter didn’t want to see or hear the meatloaf again, like ever in his life.

So lazy Sundays for him consisted of sleeping, working on his laptop, kissing you as many times as he could, washing dishes and watching basketball games. Sometimes he would change a burned out light bulb or fix the sink’s pressure but that day Peter decided to do laundry, it was his turn so he put everything in trying to finish the task as fast as possible.

When you came back from the bakery, with a fresh baguette and a slice of lemon pound cake for Peter, he went into the kitchen to prepare milkshakes at noon.

“We should wait until after lunch time, Peter,” you pointed as you put the dishes in place.

Peter grunted, “we can have early dinner instead, come on you love my strawberry milkshakes.” 

And with pouty lips and twinkly doe eyes how could you say no to Peter Parker.

“Fine… but I want mine to be extra creamy!”

“Your wish is my command, baby” 

He kissed the top of your head and started to work.

Two hours later Peter was trying to fix some of the coloring and contrast of his photos to send to The Bugle. Kendrick Lamar played through his laptop speakers as he nodded along.

“PETER!”

And Peter flinched on his spot, he sank deeper on the couch, pretending he hadn’t heard you shout his name. Kendrick did a good job trying to make this more believable.

“PETER!” 

Shit shit shit

Peter was panicking, he didn’t even know what he had done to get that tone from you, but he wasn’t risking it.

Maybe that was a bad move on his behalf, because when you appeared in the living room with  puckered lips and flared nostrils he feared for his life. Not literally but he knew something was coming down.

“What did you do to the washing machine?” you asked him, pretending you were totally chill, calm, but it was obvious you were about to lose it.

“Uh… fabric softener?” 

“What else?” your brow cocked and Peter wasn’t sure what his answer should be.

“I—um… clothes…” you sigh didn’t help him solve the puzzle, “listen honey, I don’t know what happened, I just did what I saw you doing, what May taught me.” 

Peter half shrugged. 

Crossing your arms over your chest you pivoted on your spot, “come see what happened.”

Peter winced, knowing that whatever it was was worse than he imagined.

The little room where the washing machine and the dryer machine were, had all the clothes on display just for him to see. Peter’s eyes widened.

“Oh.” he said. Hands on both sides of his hip bones. 

“Yeah oh, now what are we gonna do?”

“I… don’t know, baby.”

Your eyes turned to him, seeing his whole face contracting as he tried his best to not laugh.

“Don’t dare laugh Parker, this isn’t funny, those right there were my best pair of shorts!”

But Peter couldn’t hold it, he snorted and started laughing, until tears were forming on the corner of his eyes. Immediately afterwards you let yourself get involved in the same stupid feeling.

The clothes were violet, not lilac or pink, bright violet. Peter’s suit was the only cloth item that remained in its true colors, red and blue. 

“I shouldn’t have done that.” Peter was trying to stop laughing but the more he looked at the scene the funnier it became.

“Yeah you shouldn’t have, but you did it.” a little smile tugged at your lips, “at least you’ll have to use violet shirts too, and socks, I mean you wear those horrible yellow socks anyway so I don’t think that would be an issue for you.”

“Oh, not this again,” Peter was grinning, “but yeah right, I don’t care about the socks, violet isn’t my color tho, but it’s what I deserve.”

“Next time wash the damn suit alone”

“I will…” Peter saw you collecting the clothes, his whole body—even when he felt a pang of guilt for the damage he cause—felt alive, happy and eased, this was the most mundane thing that could’ve happened to him today and he was almost grateful for it, because he loved having moments like that with you. Homey, normal and funny. 

He loved spending life with you, no matter what happened or what color his underwear was, his life was technicolor since you were in it.

“Did I tell you the same happened to me a couple years back, I told May I washed the American flag, just so she wouldn’t suspect of me being Spider-Man…”

Peter said this between laughs, reminiscing of the past.

“And why didn’t you put it in the washing machine alone..”

“I forgot… I’ll buy you another pair of shorts I promise!” 

“Ugh, shut up spider boy!”

•••

Black was all you saw, lying in bed next to Peter as the rain pelted on the windows. His chest was pressed to your back, you being the little spoon.

Peter kissed the back of your neck as his arms wrapped your middle, putting you as near as your bodies could ever be. 

You didn’t need light nor words to express how much you cared for him or him for you, it was all in the actions, in the deep breaths he took to inhale your shampoo scent and the still lingering perfume notes on your skin. 

It was in the way he made tiny little circles on your stomach, his hands finding a way under your shirt and his lips brushing the skin of your shoulder. You felt his heartbeat at your back and you smiled, Peter made you smile when he was falling asleep and all of a sudden he jumped on his spot, that feeling of falling off the bed when you are getting swallowed by sleepiness. 

He grunted and snuggled against you.

Of course he felt your belly wiggle with the silent laugh, but Peter didn’t care his lips only turned upwards, enjoying just the feeling of you between his arms. Your hands found his, fingers tracing the shape of his fingers and the edges of his hand, his trapped yours and it  made you giggle, his index and thumb found the new addition in your ring finger. 

In the darkness everything felt more personal, this was a reminder of what the future held for you two, secret actions no one needed to know, so you twisted to face Peter as he fixed himself to let you. 

The pitch black room wasn’t an impediment, on the contrary it gave you permission to brush your knuckles over Peter’s jaw where a stubble was forming. Your lips found his naturally, Peter was almost out but he let you kiss him, only his hand giving your hip a light squeeze.

Rain was the soundtrack you fell asleep to. Peter your comfort, and darkness, the witness of little moments of joy and love.

•••

White were the balloons, the tablecloths and your wedding attire. 

The flowers decorating the space were yellow, they had to be. 

Seeing Peter dressed in black with his bowtie and teary eyes at the altar, all you could think of was how fortunate you were, how much you loved him and how happy your life became the moment you saw him under red lights.

Forever promises were made, with more I love yous than one could dare to count, and a bunch of kisses once they let you kiss one another. 

“I’ll forever be here for you, you are the joy of my life, the light, the sun, the stars, the moon, my compass and my reason to be who I am.” Peter kept on whispering even after the ceremony. With each word your heart grew a size, you couldn’t believe you felt this strongly  about someone.

First dance with Baby I’m Yours by the Arctic Monkeys in the background felt like the right call. Peter made you twirl and you sang to him, as he hid his face on your neck, kissing it lightly.

You saw your mom and May crying at some point; little Tommy became the ring bearer and was even more fascinated by Peter when for his birthday he got a lego collection of none other than Spider-Man. 

Cake was lemon sponge and they served strawberry milkshakes along with other alcoholic beverages. Peter and you danced until your feet couldn’t take one more step. 

“I love you!” 

“No, love you more!”

“Lies,”

“I asked you out, remember? I have dibs.” Peter pinched your nose.

“But I accepted, so I have the last word.” 

Peter rolled his eyes, pressed his forehead on yours, eyes connecting with your own. He leaned in, eyes fluttered shut and there; lips collided with so much care, love and softness you could feel fireworks inside you, colorful, fiery, bright and alive. 

Loving Peter Parker was like every single one of the colors, everything merging together, forming a rainbow inside your heart.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Autumn in Northern Mongolia

Autumn arrived in a blaze of color in north-central Mongolia. The montane forests surrounding Lake Hövsgöl, the country’s largest lake by volume, took on golden hues in late September 2024, while high mountain ridges nearby sported a layer of bright white snow.

At an elevation of 1,645 meters (5,397 feet), Lake Hövsgöl (also known as Khuvsgul and Khövsgöl) sits at the foot of the eastern Sayan Mountains, near the border with Russia. Along with shrubs and grasslands, forests consisting primarily of Siberian larch (Larix sibirica) blanket the hills around the lake. Larches are deciduous conifer trees, meaning that they have cones and needles like conifers, but they change color and drop their needles in the fall like deciduous trees.

The result of this seasonal transformation was captured by the OLI (Operational Land Imager) on Landsat 8 on September 26 (above, right). For comparison, an image acquired about one month earlier by the OLI-2 on Landsat 9 (left) shows much greener vegetation.

Lake Hövsgöl, which has existed for over 2 million years, is one of the world’s ancient lakes. It measures approximately 137 kilometers (85 miles) from north to south and is an important water resource for Central Asia, holding about three-quarters of Mongolia’s freshwater. Researchers have described the lake as “near-pristine,” with minimal development in its watershed. Its waters are oligotrophic, or low in nutrients, and very clear. The only outlet from Lake Hövsgöl ultimately feeds into the much older and larger Lake Baikal, about 200 kilometers (125 miles) to the east.

Fall is a relatively short season in this part of northern Mongolia. Ice can start to form on Lake Hövsgöl as early as November and persist into June. Reaching thicknesses up to 1.5 meters (5 feet), the ice once supported truck routes across the lake. Driving on the ice has been prohibited for decades due to environmental concerns, and efforts are underway to retrieve vehicles that sank while attempting the crossing.

NASA Earth Observatory images by Wanmei Liang, using Landsat data from the U.S. Geological Survey. Story by Lindsey Doermann.

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Chapter 1 - The Devil, Upright

Hong Kong has long since been known as the epitome of technological development and pristine services of all kind, so it was no wonder it attracted the youth of every age, no matter their background or studies. Nobody looked at another with judgemental eyes, as anyone could become the newest genius researcher, or the big shot CEO. Thus, a young lady with exceptionally long, luscious hair of scarlet velvet found herself enjoying a light meal and a cup of tea, reading a book. She was absolutely gorgeous, and even the waiters wanted to flirt with her, despite her intimidating appearance. She was dressed in black, a crop top and high waisted pants and boots with platform, and over, a haori of evidently expensive silk - It was black, patterned with red spider lilies and embroidered with shiny gold thread.

On the table, a half oni mask, like that of a Samurai, was resting, that too, black with gold teeth and fangs - Yet on her head, the black straw hat with horns and tassels was undiscarded. She didn't seem to actively attempt to hide her identity, nor did she seem to outright show her features to the world - Even so, her gorgeous vixen-like make up made her look like a seductive temptress, her glowing emerald green eyes looking more precious than the most expensive jewel. Her jewellery also, very expensive and made of gold, emphasising her elegance with ease, against the colour block of full black. She sipped her tea calmly, unbothered by the door of the restaurant opening and closing every now and again. She remained aware of her surroundings, yet not enough to bother about what other groups of people were doing.

That is, until she heard her mother tongue being spoken at a table closer to her own, which made her shift her gaze towards them. The young woman gasped softly, raising to her feet and attempting to rush over to their table, but she was too late, for this silver haired Stand user attacked them and provoked them to a duel, outside of the restaurant, but not before the one with the Fire-using Stand lit up the whole place.

The red haired beauty followed close behind, walking up the stairs to some kind of open space with statues and trees all around. The Fire-user was the one supposed to respond to the challenge of the Frenchman, but he was rudely interrupted by the lady who flicked the katana sitting idly at her hip, and attacked the challenger, slashing at his torso with one swift move, and making him grovel on the ground dramatically. "Stop being so dramatic. You'll live." the girl spoke in a whispery voice, looking down at him with a passive expression. "For now."  "O, ma belle mademoiselle! Ma fleur! Such a beauty, so deadly!" he stopped his complaining, and got back to his feet, applauding her. "Tell me everything you know about Dio." she said, placing the blade at his neck. "I am not above killing you." "I will tell you all you wish to know - If only you can defeat me, cherie!" all of a sudden, the man towering over her appeared to be floating in mid-air, though it was obvious his Stand, Silver Chariot, which shed its armor, was holding him up. Talk about dramatics. "You seem surprised, cherie! Well, it would be dishonorable of me to defeat you before I explained my previous move. It's only fair, after all." "Your Stand just got faster after shedding its armor. If you can pride yourself with such basic knowledge, you are lesser than a worm." the woman tsk'ed, stepping backwards, watching the Stand create what looked like duplicates, but no doubt, they were after-images left behind from that speed. She could hear various gasps of all kinds, wonder, fear, speculation of what was going to happen - Some were yelling at her to get away from there, that a normal person can't defeat a Stand User, though a rougher, lower voice told them all to shut up. She wasn't a regular person, if she was knowledgeable enough to mention Stands and know strategies. 

At once, the Stand went to attack her, while the Frenchman remained rooted to the spot, commanding Silver Chariot. She readied her katana and awaited the momentum - It was all about initiative, that was one of the first rules of a samurai; rules which she held to her heart since very little. A single slash addressed towards the Stand, and the Frenchman was bleeding heavily, whining and whimpering on the ground. The Stand disappeared. The girl sheathed her sword and stepped next to her opponent, looking down at him with bored eyes. "Are you going to tell me about Dio, or should I just kill you?" "Je suis desole, cherie. I was conceited. I was sure my swordsmanship was superior! I will die a honourable death - Since you were able to defeat me, I'll accept my fate, out of respect. Anything else would be dishonorable!" the woman sighed, slapping her face in annoyance and crouching by his side. She stole a quick glance at the party, before placing her hand over his forehead and revealing the manipulating flesh bud controlling him. With some difficulty, she channeled her Stand's power onto her hand to extract the bud, only to slash it with a karate chop.

Though the overly dramatic Frenchman was perfectly fine, he only babbled on and on about someone with two right hands and weird things like that. Having given up on getting any kind of useful information out of him, she got up and stepped towards the party who looked quizzically at her, and they were even more confused when she rose a hand up and... Slapped Kakyoin so hard over the face that he stumbled on his feet. Only to then grab him by the coat of his uniform and bring him into a tight embrace. Everyone was too shocked by the weird behaviour of the girl, that they were unable to speak.

It wasn't until they saw Kakyoin wrap his arms protectively around her that they realised they at least knew each other. "That hurt." the boy said with a chuckle. "Worrying over you hurt more." she muttered, burying her face in his shoulder. "You disappeared one night. Everyone was worried." her voice was soft and light, unlike her tight grip on the boy. "Forgive me, Kisara, I didn't mean to worry everyone." Kakyoin sighed. "I got captured and manipulated by an evil man called Dio... Though I suppose you gathered that by now already. I had a flesh bud like him too." he explained, laxing his hug. "I know. I met others like you. And I met Dio also. It was how I was able to track you down, all the way from Egypt. Mind you, it wasn't easy." the lady spoke, her hands cupping his face as though she was searching for injuries. "It's okay, I'm unharmed." he smiled tenderly at her. "Thank you for worrying about me, but you should go home. We are on a quest to kill Dio. I don't want to endanger you." instead of earning a nod of agreement, he received a light-hearted slap on the back of his head.  "Did you think I travelled half the globe to find you, just to return home without you? Don't be ridiculous. I am your older sister, who else but me is supposed to take care of my defenseless baby brother?" she smirked, crossing her arms and rejoicing in the embarrassed blush painting his features. "Whoa - Kakyoin, you never told us you had a sister!" the old man behind them gasped. "You never asked." Noriaki shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Everyone, this is Kisara, my sister. Kisara, this is Jotaro. He was the one who saved me from Dio's flesh bud. This is Mr. Joestar, Jotaro's grandpa, and Avdol, his friend." Kisara nodded her head at them, tipping her straw hat slightly. "Thank you for saving my baby brother. He can be helpless sometimes." the girl said. "Especially you, Jotaro. Thank you." the young brunet man towering over her - Like everyone else surrounding her - Simply hummed and looked away. Not much of a talker, it seemed. "I suppose everyone has their reasons for wanting to kill Dio. Our end-game wishes align. I can only guess we're going to Egypt, yes?"

Thus, Mr. Joestar began telling her about his daughter, Holly, and her affliction from the Stand that was trying to kill her - A manifestation of Dio's re-awakening from his hundred year slumber. Not only that, but he wished to eradicate the world of all Joestars, the lineage of his eternal rival from his youth, before he become immortal.  No doubt, it was a ridiculous story, but given the circumstances, she was unable to dismiss the weird story. With the Frenchman now back on his feet, he, too, joined their party... And it became rather colourful and energetic, much to the introverted girl's dismay.  Mr. Joestar said he hired a crew to sail them across the ocean, so they should go towards the port; As he explained that he charted a ship from the Speedwagon foundation, the Frenchman once again crossed their path, under the premise of thanking the group for freeing him from Dio's mind control. "Don't thank us. Thank Kisara." "I don't need your thanks. It was not altruism, but self-interest." the red head tipped her hat, already fed up with the foreigner.  "It was a kind thought, but it seems to have fallen on deaf ears." Avdol shrugged his shoulders.  Polnareff cringed a little from the woman's cold demeanour. "As you say. I've no desire to come off as heavy-handed." he sighed in acceptance. He then approached the party, asking Joseph to reveal his left hand, covered by a glove. 

The Frenchman explained he was looking for the man who murdered his sister, and the only information regarding his physical appearance was the clue of him having two right hands. With Joseph revealing that his left hand was entirely robotic from an incident occured fifty years prior, he encouraged the young man to speak his story.

Three years in the past, his sister was killed when she was returning from school - First, the culprit sliced her friend's chest open, as if with a sickle, then turned to his sister, abusing her before strangling her to death. The man wanted nothing more than to torment the two young ladies. Somehow, despite her heavily bleeding injury, the friend escaped and was able to tell the whole story to Polnareff, who was now hunting the criminal high and low, all over the Earth. Nobody believed her, except for him - He was sure the culprit had a power much like his own. A Stand Power.

I see something in the crystal ball. It is a vision - Not from my heart, but from yours. The man you seek, the pain you hide, my power only brings it into focus. What do you say? Why don't we become friends?  You are distressed. You are suffering.  Join me, and your suffering will soon be a thing of the past. The image in the globe is what pains you, no? Lend me your strength. I, too, am suffering. I have been denied the Sun's embrace for all eternity. That is why I need your strength. Allow me to find him for you. 

"Then I was ordered to kill you all." said Polnareff. "I felt it was the right thing to do." "The flesh bud is partially responsible, but it seems he's quite the manipulator." concluded Avdol. "Indeed. And judging by that story, I would wager that the man with two right hands is already his underling." Kakyoin rightfully guessed. "That's Dio, alright." Kisara let out a breath of amusement. "He did the same to me also." "Wh-What?!" her brother gasped at her comment. "How do you know of Dio?" "How else do you think I could find you?" Kisara scoffed lightly. "Dio is unable to manipulate me, no matter how hard he tried. It was worth listening to his attempts though." such a notion attracted Jotaro's attention, who eyed the girl carefully. Any information regarding their arch-nemesis was vital, no matter of what kind; And at least she seemed much more reliable than the obnoxious Frenchie. "What do you mean? I and Polnareff got manipulated with those flesh buds, and Avdol got threatened also." Noriaki spoke with some alarm. "Ah, I see - No wonder Dio knew how to guide me to you." the single woman of the group chuckled dryly. "I just have a simple trick, of which you are unable of putting into practice, due to the nature of your Stand, that is all." Jotaro concluded easily that this woman, although not showing it, must be having quite a reliable Stand, with an out of the ordinary power. His own Stand was good at close combat, though it had perfect accuracy and quite the sight, much like himself. He saw Kakyoin and Polnareff in battle, and their Stands also were fighting-orientated, with some personal twists. Avdol, he remembers, could use Pyromancy tricks of different kinds, much like the mage of a party.

Could Kisara's Stand be as peculiar as Gramps' weird, thorny stand? Although, Jotaro only knew that he could punch a camera and find a location of interest, so not entirely useful in battle, but good enough for their quest. No, she couldn't have such a lame-ass, useless Stand, could she? If Noriaki, her brother, has a Stand like that, she too must have something useful. Hopefully, he will see it soon at work; He wanted to know everyone's weaknesses and strong points, so that they could all be taken into account when formulating strategies and what not, should the simple Ora Ora punch approach not go as planned.

As Kisara smirked at the group that so easily fell prey to Dio's charm, two young girls marched up to Jotaro, all cutesy, asking him to take a picture of her, as they are tourists and want a nice memory to take home. Alas, their blatantly flirtatious demeanour quickly angered Kujo, who started yelling at them to shut up and leave him alone. The Frenchman, however, got in between them and took the girls away, complimenting their looks and taking a ton of pics of them... Mainly, their long, slender legs. What a pervert.

"His personality is mystifying." Avdol admitted, watching the man's shamelessness with bewilderment. "His emotions change on a dime." "More like, he's got two brains, and the one downstairs suddenly started calling the shots." Joseph's comment made the girl bite her lip in an attempt to hide her amusement, while the others felt outright defeated. "Salope." Kisara's snark, in turn, made Joseph only gasp and start giggling like a schoolgirl. The audacity of calling someone a 'whore' in their own language, how sassy.

Their journey will only feel significantly longer, now that the Frenchman's overly extroverted and talkative self joined the group, though at least it might save some awkward silences. Once boarded on the ship, it will take three full days at sea to get from Hong Kong to Singapore. Hopefully, some peace and quiet will do them good. With how hot it was, Joseph took off his coat, sweating in the white and red striped tank top. He looked in deep bewilderment as Jotaro and Kakyoin kept their full school uniform on, lounging leisurely on the chair; Whilst Jotaro was 'Sun-bathing', the red head boy was reading a book. Weren't they overheating? What was with them? Were they reptiles or what?

"Can't you do something about those school uniforms?! Are you gonna stay dressed like that the entire time? Aren't you hot?" Mr. Joestar asked, almost as if he was flexing. "Well...They ARE pretty hot." Kisara chuckled in amusement, not wanting to let the opportunity go away. "Don't let that get to their head!" Joseph whined a complaint - Only to look at the girl who dared speak, though her situation wasn't much better. Sitting on the railing of the opposite side of the boys, Kisara was enjoying the soothing sea breeze. Her straw hat was down, and her long carmine hair was dancing as graceful as a river around her, almost as if she was a fairy of sorts.  Her comment attracter the attention of the two boys; Her brother smiled at her warmly, knowing very well how much she loved the feeling of freedom she was only ever able to get from the sea or mountains. She truly looked happy, which was a rather rare occurrence for the otherwise highly stressed girl - Granted, she usually does like stressing herself with the most silly things... Not that he was any better, for the most part. It must be a twin thing.

When Jotaro looked, however, he saw the someone other-worldy, as though Kisara was not a member of humankind, but some nymph-like being. Was it that untameable fire-like hair, swaying around with the breeze? Or was it that relaxed, genuine kitten smile, looking up at the azure sky with the clouds lazily passing by, and the bright Sun highlighting her beautiful face?  How very peculiar, Jotaro thought. Perfectly bizarre. Since when did he care about women, anyway? They always annoyed him to the point of forcing him to yell at them, and even curse. Even his mum would oftimes irk him with her clingy, affectionate actions and sweet words.

Was it because Kisara looked like a serious and reliable person, who only spoke when needed? Or was it the meticulous and sure approach which she displayed when interrogating and defeating Polnareff? Perhaps, it was the clear fright she was feeling with her brother's disappearance, the boy her slender body trembled almost invisibly upon seeing Kakyoin and embracing him with such care and worry. There was something about her, and Jotaro was going to find out exactly what it was that made his eyes linger on that seraphic grin of hers. "We both are students, and students should dress as students. Though we might be pushing it." Kakyoin explained simply. "I see. Japanese students are so uptight." Joseph shrugged. "I see... So this is what they call Bushido." Kisara couldn't help but hum, hearing Avdol compare the Samurai code to the rigidity of the two students. "Like they say, clear your mind and even flames feel cold." "You know, girls aren't gonna fall for uptight guys like you." Polnareff joked. "If only you knew the amount of girls that flock around my brother." Noriaki let out a breath of amusement, though his ears did warm up a little from the embarrassing comment.

Though deeply engulfed in their light conversation, the quietness was broken by a rather aggressive growl and the loudness of a struggle. "Let go! Let go of me, you big lug!" there was a kid, less than twelve years of age, Kisara approximated, who kept screaming and trashing around in the arms of one of the sailors. "Oi, I thought I said no passengers!" Joseph scolded the sailor. "Sorry about that, it's a stowaway. This brat was hiding in the lower storage area." the sailor explained apologetically, as the party lazily gathered around the commotion. Who would have thought that such a small, unruly child could create a headache of this proportion. "Come at me, then! C'mon and fight me! I'll break your balls!" the kid tried to break free, though his strength meant nothing compared to that of a hardened sailor like himself. "How vulgar..." Kisara sighed deeply, looking at the display in disgust. Her whole mood was now ruined, and the calmness was destroyed. The fight between those two continued just as aggressively, with the sailor taunting and pinching his cheeks, and the little boy biting his arm like a dog... Until the little one jumped in the ocean, garnering everyone's shock. The only one completely uncaring of the situation was Jotaro, who didn't budge from the lounge chair even by an inch, nor did he share any kind of concern for the child.

"Leave 'em. The kid must be a confident swimmer to brazenly dive in like that." Jotaro noted in a most bored tone. "Not even an Olympic Swimmer can keep himself afloat when there is no land in sight, and the water is infested with dangerous sea creatures." Kisara shrugged, hopping off the railing and fixing the hat back on her head, looking down at the brunet delinquent, who stared right back at her. She looked so different with that ronin hat on her head; No longer was she a fairy, but she gave off the passively-threatening aura of a samurai of the caliber of Miyamoto Musashi himself. Positively aloof, yet very much dangerous. "Oh no, this is bad! Sharks!" Kakyoin spoke his concerns out loud, along with the others. "Hey, kid, come back here! It's dangerous!" Joseph shouted after him. "Sharks! There are sharks out there!" Polnareff, also, yelled his worries, not wanting to see a live-action of Jaws. "You are all yelling, yet neither of you is taking any active steps in rescuing the child." Kisara looked weirdly at the men.  "Well, what can we do, anyway?!" with the Frenchie yelling in her ear, Kisara groaned, seeing the outshape of a shark, lurking around the boy.  "... Why am I always taking care of the little brothers?" the girl leisurely hopped off the railing, and much to everyone's surprise... She landed on her feet? And was walking on the sheen of the water? Was was going on, what kind of Stand Power did she have that she could do such a thing?

The men up on the deck watched as Kisara grabbed the boy from the water, holding him up by the neck of the outfit;; The boy let out an ear-piercing screech right in her ear, so high-pitched that she thought her ear drum ruptured - All because the shark leapt at them. Silly boy. "Quiet." Kisara hissed at him, effortlessly kicking the shark away from them, and beginning her catwalk back towards the ship with the child in her arms, cradled like a baby. "One second thought." she looked down at the brat, blowing the hat off his head, revealing a cascade of dark hair, poorly taken care off. "I'm caring for a little sister now, I see." "H-Hey, I'm not a child! How dare you patronise me like this!" the child tugged on a strand of her hair, only to freeze and start shivering at the glare received from those cold, empty green eyes of hers. "I hate children." the older girl's harsh comment made Anne feel small and insignificant, afraid for her life more than with the shark.

Behind them, the bloop of a large water bubble being broken caught Kisara's attention, and she briefly turned to see what was happening, in case another shark were to approach. Her eyes widened in surprise realising that the noise of the water surface breaking was indeed from the shark she hit earlier... In a large spot of blood, it's carcass split in two perfect halves. "What the hell..." "Katrina, get back fast! Something's attacking from underwater! It's not a shark! And it's racing towards you! Hurry!" Joseph's alarmed voice called out from the ship. "Nori?" the red head extended her arm upwards when she calculated the perfect distance. Her heart was pounding hard against her chest; She could see the silhouette of the monster of the depths. It was definitely a Stand. "This distance is perfect!" her brother unleashed Hierophant Green's tendrils, and with impressive speed, Kisara and Anne were snatched back on the deck to safety, just as the Stand wrecked the saving lifeline closeby the spot she was standing previously. "Kisara, are you okay?!" Noriaki embraced his sister as soon as she threw down the little girl. "I am fine." she patted his head. "But we are in deep trouble once the Stand User reveals himself." "An Aquatic Stand...Even I have never seen such an ability such as this." Avdol declared, nervously, still staring at the ravished lifeline.

The men kept trying to ponder over the possibility of whether or not the little girl could be a Stand User... Though incredibly pathetic, looking like a drenched stray cat and heavily panting on the ground. Seeing them all staring down at her so intently, Anne shakily stumbled to her feet, taking out a pocket-knife and threatening the party. "Don't underestimate me, okay?! You're gonna regret this!" neither of them reacted to her words. "One-on-one! Come at me, I dare ya! My demon blade wants to slurp the blood of its 340th victim!" "Haven't I told you to shut up? Do I have to rip your tongue out?" Kisara sighed, stepping in front of the girl and snatching the knife away. "I hate loud brats like you." she flipped the knife to hold the blade before bonking the child on the head with the handle. "Now keep quiet like a good child and I will think twice about throwing you back to the sharks to fend for yourself." Anne shivered, looking up at the woman towering over her maliciously - She was so cool! Anne wanted to be as intimidating and strong like this miss also! Instead, Anne gulped, looking down like an obedient girl. "Y-Yes, Ma'am."

The party looked at each other, and agreed the girl couldn't possibly be the Stand User - But that only begged the question of who could be Dio's puppet lurking from the shadows?  As if called, the very captain of the ship appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the young girl so tight that it seemed to hurt her. Jotaro lit up a cigarette, stepping away from the commotion. Joseph seemed to be verifying the true identity of the ten-people crew on this ship, and no one seemed to be suspicious of the man at all. It only made Kisara wonder, her eyes fixed on the leisurely captain. He was tall and built well - He seemed to be playing the role of a captain good enough also. 

"Jotaro." Kisara stepped towards the boy who seemed to be analysing the new-comer as well as she was. "I am getting bad vibes from the captain." "Me too." he puffed some smoke, making the girl cough a little. The two shifted their attention back of the captain, who seemed to have ended his conversation with Mr. Joestar, who he strode rather hostile towards them. In one move, so fast and intimidating that even Jotaro was surprised, he grabbed the cigarette, reprimanding the highschool student.  "Please refrain from smoking on this ship. What were you planning to do with the ashes and butt when you finished? Were you going to toss them into this beautiful ocean? You're a guest on this ship, so you must follow her rules, Mr. Outlaw." everyone around gasped at the disrespect as the Captain put out the cigarette on one of the golden accessories on Jotaro's hat, before throwing it in his uniform jacket's pocket, which left people speechless. "You got it?" he let a small, amused breath before turning back to the girl who was being held hostage by two other sailors. "There was no need for such rudeness." Jotaro was surprised at the strict tone which Kisara used in defending him. "You may be the Captain of the ship, but your arrogance is unwarranted when scolding one much younger than you. For an adult, you have much to learn in terms of social etiquette and manners." "Hold it." Jotaro spoke out to the Captain, as he put a hand on Kisara's shoulder as a silent thank you gesture. "Don't be a condescending prick about it, you asshole." Jotaro spoke in a hostile manner to him. "Hey, you two! Quit being rude to the captain! It was your fault anyway!" Joseph warned them, but Jotaro paid his grandfather no mind. "Kisara is a well-mannered woman, but I'm not done being rude just yet. I figured it out. This guy's not the Captain. He's the Stand User!" Jotaro declared, making everyone gasp in shock at his bold allegation. "Sta...Nd? What, pray tell, is that?" the Captain played dumb, while everyone in the party took his side. How could a Speedwagon-certified captain be the hostile Stand User attacking them? Working with Dio to bring their demise, no less? The man was even acting cluelessly to a fault, impressing all around him. "I figured out how you can tell a Stand user from a normal person. That is, if a Stand user inhales even a little bit of cigarette smoke, a vein pops up on the tip of their nose." Jotaro declared dramatically, and it made everyone, except for the young girl, touch their nose in surprise. "You can't be serious, Jotaro!" Polnareff cried out in a pitched voice. "Yeah, I was lying. However... It looks like we found our dumbass." Jotaro explained, which made the Captain's dark aura become even darker than before. "Jotaro, how did you become so suspicious of him?" Joseph asked, surprised that his grandson could pick up on an enemy's hidden intentions, while he, with much more experience behind him, never even suspected the man in the first place. "I didn't. I had no suspicion at all. Kisara was, so I thought I would try this with every man on board, beginning with him." Jotaro spoke calmly, glaring down at the foe caught in the middle of the Stardust Crusaders. "You're cold. Goddamn, you're ice cold. And I fell for it! Hats off to you, boy." the enemy took off his hat. "I'm not really the Captain. The real Captain is sleeping with the fishes at the bottom of the ocean in Hong Kong." the villain grinned smugly. "Then I'll make you sleep in the depths of Hell!" Jotaro threatened, with a strong sense of justice.

"Ah-!" through the horribly tense silence hanging down around them, Kisara's rather adorable squeak broke the ice with her being startled - Something had roughly grabbed at her ankle and dragged her outside of the boat, keeping her hostage in a painfully tight grasp; So tight that she could feel her lungs burning from the lack of oxygen. The Aquatic Stand revealed himself, as the Blue Monster of the Lagoon; The Dark Blue Moon Stand. Trouble on the water; Lies and betrayal. The Moon card represents the fear of the unknown, which the depths of the ocean always garner from even the bravest of souls. 

"Even for a guy like me, taking all of you on at once would be a bone-breaking task. Which is why my plan was to stay hidden and take all of you out one-by-one. Woman, since you were the smartass to figure me out, I guess I have no choice than to kill you first! Getting you first, so easily, is a sign that my luck is changing. I'll just be jumping into these shark-infested waters with her. Of course, you'll end up following us in, to save her! If we fight in the water where I have the advantage, I can beat all six of you at once!" the Captain boasted, his Stand holding her arms behind her back painfully tight. "I heard your Stand, Star Platinum, is pretty fast. I'm not trying to brag, but my Dark Blue Moon is really fast in water. It can swim more elegantly than any fish in the sea." the enemy continued bragging shamelessly. "S-Save... My hat..." the party could see only a small flash of pure white light flicking her hat back onto the ship for her brother to hopefully rescue.  "Go on, act tough while you hide behind a hostage." Jotaro threatened, stepping up to confront the enemy. "It will take a lot more than that to shake me up!" "It's no act, it's a prediction. Follow me... If you're prepared to choke to death on all the seawater you're about to swallow!" the enemy jumped from the rail, along with Kisara and her flame mane. 

Without budging a single muscle, Jotaro sent his Star Platinum to attack the Stand and its User mid-fall, giving it a good beating and catching the girl's hand firmly around half-way down the distance to the water. As the party was outright denigrating the enemy, Kisara gulped, looking up at Star's eyes with concern and awe. Star had the exact same gorgeous eyes as Jotaro. How beautiful, she thought - Though it was not yet the time to get bewitched over a pretty boy, when not only she, but everyone was in danger.

"Jotaro, let go of me! The fight is not over yet!" Jotaro was suddenly pulled harshly towards the railing, almost toppling over, were it not for all the men holding onto him. "You were right, this isn't over. He attached these to me earlier when I hit him. They keep multiplying! My Stand's strength is being drained." the poor boy was sweating buckets, just keeping hold onto her body. "Let go of me, I will be fine!" Kisara hollered up at him, trying to slip her hand from his Stand's hold. "I wouldn't be sweating like a freaking pig if I could!" realising that the barnacles were making his whole hand bleed and they were stuck in this hold, Kisara had to call the power of her Stand, manifesting only throughout her own hand.

Jotaro could only see a bright aura engulfing Kisara's and Star's hands, and mysteriously, the girl was released, falling into the depths of the water. He couldn't understand how she managed such a feat; She hadn't severed the barnacles, let alone destroy them, yet somehow, she got away.  She fell down, and descended even further down, until she could barely see the light of the day protruding through the sea, and her back hit the bottom of the ocean. She was surrounded by corals, and about to get viciously attacked by the enemy, who was at a great advantage to her. 

She felt calm though. Why did she feel calm? Her muscles felt free of any fatigue, caressed by the gentle coolness of the water embracing her like a form-fitting silk dress; Her hair was floating around her as though she was an enchanting mermaid, and she was smiling - Yet all the same, she was glowing white like a seraph, and looked the par.

What a strange woman, Jotaro thought, plunging into the water and seeing her unmoving form. If she couldn't swim, she would be freaking out, so why was she so calm in the face of adversity. Moreover, as soon as he approached her, his arm reaching out to her to grab her to safety, it was she, who grasped at his hand, pulling herself into his embrace and clinging onto him, charming him like a Siren's song for a sailor bold. "Keep close. You can breathe and speak if you maintain this proximity." "What the hell is your Stand Power anyway?" Jotaro gruffed, holding onto her carefully, one arm keeping him close to his side, while the other was keeping them swimming. "Let's just say..." Kisara grinned like a mischievous little vixen; The enemy attacked them, and though Jotaro tried to block the attack with his Stand, he felt no kind of pain or physical trauma. "As long as you keep close, there is no physical force that can harm you or Star." the young man took a quick look at the girl clinging onto him, wearing such an alluring smile, and he scoffed lightly, looking away. "Yare Yare..." he mumbled to himself as the nasty captain and his arrogant words, denigrading the two. "So, what will it be? Tell me what kind of fish dish you want to be. Fish paste? Or maybe some sashimi? I'll make one hell of a meal out your Stand." "You're tough brother, but I know what you're thinking." the captain glared at them, a wide smirk of victory on his face. "How long can this guy stay underwater? I could probably last two minutes, tops. Could he last longer?" he laughed boastfully. "Well, guess what! My lung capacity is three times that of a normal human! And I've been training too; My personal best in six minute and twelve seconds! You must be dizzy just hearing that number."  

The Aquatic Stand sliced through the water with great swiftness with sharp, screw-like rotations, creating a whirlpool that spun so fast that Kisara had to dig her fingers into the boy's coat, her mind going in disarray with vertigo. Ah, how she hated spinning around, especially to such intense speed. She wasn't a piece of clothing, so why must she get the washing machine treatment? Not only that, but for the Captain at least, it seemed as though the barnacles were deeply attached to a vast surface of their bodies, yet for some odd reason, Jotaro couldn't feel the same pain and discomfort from earlier. Was it Kisara's Stand Power that kept it at bay? She did manage to part them prior, was it something similar now too? It almost felt as thought those things weren't even touching him... Like there was a soft membrane covering his body, protecting him like a shield.

Realising the great advantage they had over the enemy, who thought the barnacles were draining his life energy and strength away, Jotaro sped up, pretending to swim towards the surface, for his lungs were burning with deep need for air; Dark Blue Moon intensified the whirlpool surrounding them, and razor-sharp shells and barnacle pieces were supposedly tearing away at their flesh. 

From up on the ship, the party watched in horror as the otherwise calm water turned into a veritable mayhem, with Jotaro and Kisara both still very much caged in the underwater tornado; They took their Stands out and dived in the water, only to slashed away with the scales - Were they to actually get in the water, they would become minced meat. 

"Keep dead-still." Jotaro briefed her on the plan, and with a hum of approval, Kisara clinged on him like a koala bear on its mother, and they both allowed their bodies to grow completely lax, limp, devoid of any reaction or opposing strength in this tornado.  Those watching from above seemed terrified for their well-being, thinking them dead - All, but Joseph, who seemed to be thinking that his grandson had a master plan, shrewd much like his own, that he could find a way to destroy the enemy as only he knows best. 

The smell of blood made Kisara open her eyes and react again, as the young man took the captain by surprise. "Turns out it was you who was turned into Sashimi." Jotaro's punchlines hit as hard as his punches. "What's that? I can't hear you well underwater. Speak up!" he shouted angrily. "But your power was being drained... You went limp on purpose... " the evil man hollered in defeat. "Wrong. What I was thinking was... How fucking gross it'll be when I kick your stupid ass and you piss yourself - I'd be fucking disgusted since we're underwater, old geezer." Jotaro's last taunt made Kisara chuckle a little.

With one last punch to the face, the Captain went to sleep with the fishes, and Jotaro swam up to the surface. "Had fun?" Kisara smirked, leaning onto his shoulder. "Hardly." he gruffed - Though initially his eyes bore sternly into her own, not necessarily appreciating the closeness - He couldn't help but chuckle along with her. It actually had been a rather comical situation; And it wasn't like she was going out of her way to come hard onto him in an overly-flirtatious way, she seemed to as carefree as her brother. Yeah, he could definitely see how they are related. "You haven't shown your Stand." "Should I have?" she hummed, watching the ship go up into flames, as all those still on board let down the life boats and embark them. "I will, if the time comes and I need her." "You did use her Power." he noted as they swam towards the boats. "A small fraction, of course. I only need to take her out if I need her full power - Which, mind you, never happened before." she chuckled, flashing the brunet a mischievous smile.  "You seem to have overconfidence in her strength." Jotaro noted as he got in the boat, helping her up also. His hands lingered on her body a little longer than he should have, he realised. How shameful of him. "It is not unbased." Kisara thanked him for the help up, settling cozily next to her brother. "I might think, some day, whether I want to let you in on our little secret." she leaned on Noriaki's shoulder, and perhaps thanks to their sibling connection, the lad knew what she was referring to, and matched a pose with her. "My sister's Stand is really cool. I think you'd like it, JoJo." if even Kakyoin could say something like this... It only left the Kujo boy incredibly annoyed with this veiled mystery. "Yare Yare Daze..." Though their little teenage bickering, all in good faith and light-hearted, ended as soon as the little girl spit out the only bit of fresh water they had left, out of the extreme shock of sighting something akin to a ghost ship appearing from within the mist, and right towards them, floating lazily.

It was a freighter, and they were rescued. The distress calls must have been answered. Finally, some good news for the Stardust Crusaders.

... Or so they thought ...

Next Chapter >

[erzatz3117]

@vvindication sorry for tagging you, but I thought you might like this other piece of my writing I translated *stares into the sky, waiting for a punishment from the heavens for my arrogance*

November 17th, 741, 7:23 AM. Rodgaard, Pervorodina. The Founding Stone. Anton Wladomojski, President of the Republic of Czarnovia-Sevraport, is walking down a winding, completely empty corridor. He is intently watched from the frescoes on the walls by politicians and bureaucrats, warlords and apostles leading faceless rabble. Like waves following celestial propulsors, the human masses consumed every obstacle on the path set from above - the Elven civilization, wiped out to the last tribe, the renegade states that defied the supremacy of Rodgaard and Divine Sevra, the socialist and anti-colonial forces of the recent past, trampled by measured economic pressures.

The pristine twilight of the millennia-old chambers, the dusty and unmoving air pressed tangibly on the President; the image of the Founding Stone, built up over centuries of human statehood, suggested to anyone entering the palace only one thought: the history of civilization is entirely woven from the aspirations of its greatest representatives, and therefore those who entered the palace through the front door could hardly expect anything.

The asymptote of the corridor finally approached its limit - room №1002. The metal plate with the frightening inscription "COMMITTEE OF MESOECONOMIC ARBITRATION" was unpleasantly out of the surrounding antique surroundings, which made Wladomojski feel even worse.

The redwood parted with a rumble, and the servant of two nations found himself in a room flooded with painful light. Its ringing emptiness was interrupted only by a huge oak table, which strongly resembled the cathedra of a courtroom. The resemblance to a punitive chamber was reinforced by five immovable men in black robes who had already taken their rightful places.

- Anton Wladomojski, right? Czarnovia-Sevraport? Please have a seat, - the sucralose voice of the chairman of the arbitration committee sounded from somewhere in the center of the room, - I hope you got a good night's sleep, *pan prezident*.

The president's eyes still hadn't gotten used to the bright light, so he couldn't make out the faces of his judges or the minor objects of furniture. Fortunately, by the grace of an invisible assistant, another anachronism - an uncomfortable aluminium chair - was beneath him.

Wladomojski was drowning in the green-pink ripples of nervous tension, suddenly feeling acutely his senile weakness, undoubtedly aggravated by alcoholism.

- Some vodka, Mr. Wladomojski? For courage, - a woman's voice and a leaden crystal rang out from his left.

- Thank you, but let's get straight to the point, - Anton Borisovich felt that he was one drop of alcohol away from a heart attack.

- As you wish, Mr. Wladomojski.

The rustling of thick reports and muffled whispering suddenly filled the office, but stopped just as abruptly after the chairman's laconic request:

- Enough. The decision's already been made.

- So what is it?

- Let's go through the entire chronology..... Last December, the Republic of Czarnovia-Sevraport requested a loan of 4 billion reserve kupon-karbovantsy from the Interbank, pledging to repay the amount over the next five years. Interbank reviewed your request and offered you a draft of a loan with an initial interest rate of 10% and an annual increase of 1.70% up to and including 18.50%. You declined, citing, uh, "the unthinkable audacity of compound interest" in your address to your citizens this March. Of course, hardly anyone in Rodgaard would condemn a healthy dose of populism, but you never offered a more reasonable proposal.... We met you halfway, and developed a new project, which implied a reduction in the rate increase to 1.20%, in exchange for pledging part of your state property - first of all, PAO Alchemmach, PAO Simfolijsk Tractor Factory and PAO Thaumenergo. You refused this offer too, demanding a constant interest. And here we are. We have only one offer left for you.

- I'm listening.

- A 12.50% fixed-rate loan in exchange for... 51% of stocks of Alchemmach, Simfolijsk Tractor Factory and Thaumenergo.

- You're... asking for a lot. I'm not sure Simfolijsk will approve of this.

- You can still decline. But we all realize that you *need* that money.

Wladomojski closed his eyes. The pleading faces of Republican ministers emerged from the flickering painful darkness. Without Anton Borisovich, Czarnovia-Sevraport would never have existed, and so the nation still hoped that their president could lead the country out of crisis...

- Miracles don't happen, Mr. Wladomojski. Economic modeling shows that if you refuse our conditions, you will face inter-sectoral economic disintegration. In other words, total decay, - the arbiter of fate seemed to have read the old man's mind.

The president was going through his recent memories as if scrolling through a diafilm. Desperate ministers, deputies understandably blocking the reduction of welfare spending, furious civil servants and workers, who have been starving for months.... ancient monuments of Simfolijsk, his hometown, forgotten and neglected by his own government.

For the tiniest moment it seemed to the father of the nation that he could still turn around it all, immediately cut all ties to the Rodgaard scavengers and save the dying Republic without bargaining with conscience, but the nerve pathways were already burned out on his isocortex - too much time was spent on lavish festivities, talks about "integration" and copious infusions of ethanol. It was too late.

In Wladomojski's hand was an extremely incommodious pen with ink of the traditional crimson color. It traced several quivering lines on the snow-white paper like a wounded, bleeding animal.

- It's a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. President. Come again anytime you need.

[cadet-aviator]

Development (3)

We were like furniture. 

But not just any kind of furniture. The staff running these events would be hypercritical of our appearance.

We would have to be there an hour before, and usually the staff would check every fibre of our uniform, every hair on our head, every breath we took.

These inspections took a long time. When one inspector had finished another did the whole thing again.

It would happen that there were eight of us, and only four were deemed acceptable. They would enter the room where the party was held for a few hours.

The others would have to stand and wait, often with their face to the wall, for the entire time. They had to be ready to join at a moment’s notice, so they could not move about and have their pristine uniform messed with.

You wanted to avoid that, so you would be absolutely maniacal about your appearance. There were weeks where I went for a haircut every Saturday, just to be 100% perfect. Boys who were left out always found themselves reprimanded and saddled with demerits.

It happened to me too: I once stood for three hours, waiting, trying to keep cool and calm, only to be marched off home and find a reprimand in the mail for 'presentation unsatisfactory', ordering me to copy out four chapters of the cadet manual, something like 800 lines, to be handed in Monday morning at 6.30. That took me all of the following Sunday to do and I got a surprise inspection visit by my sergeant, who went over my entire uniform wardrobe, asking me quite severely 'What went wrong, yesterday?'.

But here’s the strangest thing of all: I never complained.

Even when I spent the afternoon looking numbly and stupidly at bricks in a wall, I never felt this was wrong.

I understood what was happening, I understood that cadets whose appearance was below par were put on hold, like this, I even felt annoyed at not having been perfect – so even when standing there like a bit of surplus furniture I was completely focused on being an excellent cadet, anyway.

I had internalised the rigors and the discipline.

And then things took a strange turn.

(All images are AI-generated)

[alparlaboratories]

Gonna ramble about Inyssa for a little bit.

Is it conceited to make a post about your own character's themes and stuff? Maybe. Whatever.

@inpurpleandred has been rereading and commenting on CoT and some of the stuff they said gave me ThoughtsTM about Niss, so here they are under the cut. It's long, and y'know... warning for all the stuff Niss goes through.

So you know that tumblr post that goes something like 'I'm probably X (trans, queer, bi, etc.) but I got much more pressing shit going on to deal with that at the moment'? That's how I viewed Niss'... everything while writing CoT. Partly because yeah, Niss really has so much shit going on that more urgently requires her attention during much of her story, 90% of it being Shadi's fault of course.

And she does deal with a good amount of it during the fic itself, mostly regarding her own self-worth, her feelings about her family and her own warped view of strength and heroism. And it's only near the end and the epilogue that she can even begin to consider anything else about her life.

And I think in that time, in those years between CoT and my future story, Niss does think about it, and tries things out, experiments and tries to find a place for herself in herself. And she realizes that she both has severe self-image issues and also some gender stuff going on maybe, but they're not actually related.

During much of the fic, Niss sees her body as separate from herself, as early on as the first chapter. It's a form of detachment that allows her to be angry at herself in self-harming ways that -in her head at least- don't clash with her vow to never hurt herself again like she did in the past.

And she is very, very angry at her body. It's a bitterness that keeps boiling under the surface of her skin whenever she's unable to do something she feels like she should. She sees her body as just a thing covering the real Inyssa, and feels like a chick who never got to break out of its shell. And though she tries not to admit it, one of her biggest fantasies is to literally rip herself apart like a molting snake and for the 'real' Inyssa to come out of the dregs, pristine and perfect.

And in a way, it's true, but it's not her fault. It's both Shadi and Johanna's (And Sarah's too, but for different reasons). Who is the most to blame is debatable, but regardless, it's because of them that Inyssa feels this way.

Because yeah, as one of my readers once said, the Dawn family is full of women who are made of stick and stones, but Inyssa takes that to an extreme. There's a chapter where Barry mentions that Niss was once noticeably taller than him, and she was! And she would've continued that trend, eventually growing as tall as Shadi if not taller, if she'd had a normal childhood.

But she didn't. Johanna neglected both of her daughters, and partly because of that -and her own bad tendencies- Shadi ended up doing much worse, especially psychologically, to Inyssa. And then she left. So Inyssa was left severely depressed and gaunt for arguably the most important years in terms of physical growth and development. Johanna says so herself; she practically starved herself, eating only as much to keep herself alive and not doing anything else. And she kept getting worse, and worse, until eventually she attempted suicide. Which, of course, only made the situation worse.

And by the time she was forced to start taking care of herself, it was too late. Her body was frail, and the malnutrition she'd suffered caused invisible scars that stunted her growth for the following years, making Inyssa feel like there was a disconnect between how strong her willpower was compared to her actual body. And so she went on hating said body, cursing it for all her problems because she didn't know who was really to blame.

It's also an endless spiral, because she could've gotten better if she'd taken better care of her body, but why would she, from her own perspective? So she treated her body worse, and it inevitably got worse, so she got even angrier, etc. It's only when she goes on her trainer journey alongside Barry, someone who cares to help her, that she starts getting better. And of course, following the end of the fic and the Epilogue, she's actively trying to eat and sleep more, to treat her body more kindly, like it always tried to do with her.

And it's only then that she has enough time and peace of mind to think about herself, her gender and all that. Now, Niss has always been bi. One of the few good things about Johanna as a mom is that she was unapologetically bi herself, and supported her daughters in learning their own sexual identities, Niss coming out as bi eventually, and Shadi as a lesbian.

After that, I think Niss would happily try new things, whenever she got the time. And though she would keep doing so even years and years after the fact (well into this new Hoenn fic and beyond) from an author perspective I think she'd eventually see herself as a baby butch, a pretty boygirl who loves wearing suits and ties and looking like she's straight out of a visual novel full of bishonen men.

And I love that for her, honestly.

[talonabraxas]

Solar Body Talon Abraxas

The solar bodies are well mentioned throughout the literature of Theosophy. And we are going to address the nature of the solar bodies in relation to the path, which is the path of the Self-realization of the Being and the complete development of the human being.

This path and the solar bodies are well explained within the Christian, Buddhist, Sufi doctrine, through all the world religions. As we are going to elaborate today, Master Jesus of Nazareth, Master Aberamentho, explains the nature of the solar bodies, in detail, in his gospel.

We also have in this image, Padmasambhava, who is known as the Second Buddha. He originally brought Tantrism to Tibet. Now he is recognized by having documented The Tibetan Book of the Dead. He taught the nature of Dzogchen, which means the Great Perfection.

So, we have here, in this image, Padmasambhava with his consort, the force of the vehicle of Tantra. Sexual union is how we create the soul. Let us remember that Master Jesus never taught that we have soul. He said: "With patience will possess ye your souls” (Luke 21:19). The soul or the solar bodies are vehicles through which God can manifest and express. These are only created precisely through tantra: pure, pristine, chaste sexual connection or union, and the transformation of one's vital principles.

When we talk about the solar bodies, we also need to talk about the nature of mind, because there are many misconceptions in spiritual circles between the consciousness and the solar bodies. We emphasize that the solar bodies are merely vehicles that can transmit light, in the same manner that a lightbulb transmits light.

The bulb is the vehicle. The light is Christ. So, in the path of Self-realization, we need to create the solar vehicles. We need to become solar beings, pure souls that can transmit the light of Christ, without blemish. This path has been taught in all the religions. And we have a saying by Padmasambhava about the nature of this path.

Dzogchen is the secret unexcelled cycle of the supreme vehicle of tantra, the true essence of the definitive meaning, the short path for attaining buddhahood in one life. ―Padmasambhava

The Solar Bodies and Bodhichitta:

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe Rating: Teen Audiences Words: 900~ Summary: Steven can’t help but dread the undefined cocktail of emotions that trigger this newest power… 12 shorts, each delving into Steven’s developing opinions and feelings about his “pink mode” in SUF.

Chapter 11: A scene straddling Homeworld Bound/Everything's Fine

Yup, I'm getting back into the saddle. Have some more SU fic.

Enjoy! <3 __

Everything around him is spinning.

Distorting.

Twisting into horrifying, incomprehensible shapes within the soggy mires of his tear-stained vision as the unfathomable whims of the warp stream whisk him away.

Far, far away, out of space and time’s conscious bounds, out of all thought and reason, out from under the thumbs of all the people who act like he’s just another problem for them to fix, that if all his inconvenient little issues could simply be solved, their happily ever after would finally be perfect.

And isn’t he such a hypocrite? Isn’t this how he treated everyone else, fixating on the deepest roots of their emotional strife and butting in to every single one of their interpersonal conflicts as if he could single-handedly save everyone from themselves?

Isn’t he such a fraud? Expecting the very best from everyone else… preaching the joys of non-violence and peaceful conflict resolution to the whole galaxy… while he himself— cast in a pallid, unnatural pink glow— fantasizes about venting his anger through his fists and shattering diamonds… it’s wretched, unforgivable behavior. Entirely unforgivable.

And so, everything he recognizes as himself is crumbling.

Splitting at the seams.

Swelling like a wretched illness within him— all these caustic, volatile emotions— as he tumbles between what is and what was, between the shadows of two homeworlds as different as they are alike.

But without indisputable conviction, without wholly lucid intent, he’ll never reach either of them. That’s the shameful limitation of warp technology, he dimly recognizes amidst the wreckage of all this turmoil… to bend light around oneself in this way, to ride the wake of the warp stream across this endless cosmic sea, one’s own path through this universe must be pristinely clear.

And shamefully, Steven’s path in life couldn’t be any further from that goal right now. Instead, all the images sinking their poisonous claws into his mind right now are dim, fuzzy at the edges, soaked in shadow and anger and pain. He curls in tight to himself, betraying his own splintering facade as fat, bitter tears splash across his cheeks and all the way beyond the boundaries of the stream, where they’re destined to drift aimlessly in the empty unknown for the rest of their days. And really, doesn’t that sound like a merciful end? Doesn’t that sound infinitely more alluring than his alternatives?

(Where is it you want to go, again?)

That’s right, he thinks.

Away.

Just away.

_

Not even he knows how long he aimlessly drifts in this space, nothing but a long string of genetic data and light and abstract emotion dangling just outside all tangible reality.

(Don’t think about it.)

(Don’t think about all the harm you’ve caused. Don’t think about how you ruthlessly shattered Jasper in your spar, don’t think about how janked and downright messed up it is that you’re capable of simply waving your hand and healing her gem and erasing your crimes and pretending like they never even happened, don’t think about Homeworld, don’t think about White, don’t think about intoxicated you momentarily were at the fantasy of her gemstone pulverized into dust at your feet—)

Too late.

The horrid impulse in question plays out within his head in spellbinding detail once again, and he’s powerless to stop his pink-wreathed form from rippling out of control. A pained sob hitches in his throat as he rides out this latest swell, his fingers tangling within his hair, his heart nearly leaping into his extremities as his body morphs into grotesque proportions and conformations he never imagined were possible.

The swelling almost feels… different this time, though.

It feels almost as if there’s something else lurking there… right at the corner of his periphery. Something primal and altogether unfathomable. Something just itching to squeeze its way past all the bruised and battered defense mechanisms of his consciousness and assert its full control over him like he’s never even had a hand in his fate a single day in his life. Something like…

Dread—?

His breath catches in his lungs before he can make a full exhale.

Is that what this is? Is that why he’s been stuck in this stream for so long, unable to make mental contact with any destination point? Is it just… dread?

Of what, then? Dread of his hypocrisy being fully unmasked to his family, dread of his vengeful thoughts becoming known?

The Gems, though…

The Gems don’t know.

The Gems don’t have to know.

The swelling begins to subside. He’s still glowing a blistering pink, but he finds his body relaxing into an upright position once again, and his mind focusing on the galaxy warp back home. Maybe… just maybe… he can patch this mess up yet, like he always did in the good ol’ days. He can bury it, and that way they won’t have to worry about him anymore.

He’ll show them. He’ll show everyone—

It’s all good.

He’s good. His gem’s instability? Just peachy! All these scary, violent urges he’s harboring? What’s even the fuss? He’ll figure it out in no time just like every other problem on Earth and beyond he’s solved, and when it’s all over?

don’t leave me behind don’t let it be over don’t solve everything cant solve everything can’t be what they need, need purpose need stability need to FIX need to be helpful— i… i need—

It’s fine, he thinks, an empty, watery smile passing wide across his lips.

Everything… will be fine.

[mediaevalmusereads]

Making Comics. By Lynda Barry. Drawn and Quarterly, 2019.

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Genre: self-help, art guide, pedagogy

Series: N/A

Summary: Hello students, meet Professor Skeletor. Be on time, don’t miss class, and turn off your phones. No time for introductions, we start drawing right away. The goal is more rock, less talk, and we communicate only through images.

For more than five years the cartoonist Lynda Barry has been an associate professor in the University of Wisconsin–Madison art department and at the Wisconsin Institute for Discovery, teaching students from all majors, both graduate and undergraduate, how to make comics, how to be creative, how to not think. There is no academic lecture in this classroom. Doodling is enthusiastically encouraged.

Making Comics is the follow-up to Barry's bestselling Syllabus , and this time she shares all her comics-making exercises. In a new hand-drawn syllabus detailing her creative curriculum, Barry has students drawing themselves as monsters and superheroes, convincing students who think they can’t draw that they can, and, most important, encouraging them to understand that a daily journal can be anything so long as it is hand drawn.

Barry teaches all students and believes everyone and anyone can be creative. At the core of Making Comics is her certainty that creativity is vital to processing the world around us.

***Full review below.***

CONTENT WARNINGS: mildly disturbing imagery

This is another one of those books that has been on my TBR list for way too long. I love Lynda Barry's work, and back when I thought I had a shot at being a teacher, I figured this would be a good guide for the classroom.

Turns out this book is a good guide outside of it as well, and it motivated me to take up my pencil and start drawing again.

I love that Barry focuses not on developing artistic skill but in breaking down barriers when it comes to making Comics. Barry doesn't lay out how to draw action poses or how to do speech bubbles effectively; instead, this book is all about finding your own voice and learning to do away with inhibitions. Barry praises the artwork of children and demonstrates the relationship between stories and images, and as someone who struggles with not feeling good enough, I felt like I was invited to throw myself into the process of making comics, skill level be dawned.

I also really loved that this book felt like a composition notebook filled with doodles (which it probably was, at some point). It's not a clean, pristine how-to guide with step-by-step instructions, but it is clear while also not being afraid to be messy, silly, and spontaneous. Most of the images are taken from student drawings, and there's a charm to them that I love more than professional pieces.

And lastly, I love that this book uses basic, inexpensive materials for its exercises. Barry does not insist that students buy special paper or pens - composition notebooks and felt tips will do. This also helps lower the barrier to entry so that readers don't feel like they need fancy equipment in order to draw.

All that being said, I do think this book will be harder to use if you're on your own or don't necessarily have any interest in comics within a classroom setting. Barry's book is designed to outline what her comics courses look like, and though you can probably do most of the exercises at home, a lot of them will need partners or groups of people. So just be aware going in that this isn't necessarily a how to draw manual for the lone self-taught student.

TL;DR: Making Comics is a wonderful overview of how to teach comics in a classroom setting using hands-on drawing exercises. Barry is a master at lowering the barrier to entry and encouraging students to find joy and expression in art, regardless of skill level.

[turbulentscrawl]

No idea if youve seen it yet but thoughts/opinions on the new surv Matthias that is coming? Do you like his desing or the trailer and what do you think his backstory may be?

If there's one thing I can do in this world, it's run my mouth. Of course I have thoughts ;)

Firstly, the puppet is creepy...but I am glad this survivor leans into the horror aspect of the game so much! I've watched the trailer a few times and I have three ideas about the relationship between Matthias and his puppet. But first, a few general notes from the trailer.

First, Mattias's father was a vintriloquist. He uses the line "a puppet without strings," but we do in fact see the puppet being manipulated by strings at the beginning of the video. "No strings" is relevant only to a shot of the puppet sitting on his father's lap.

Second, I think Matthias likely has schizophrenia. Most of the idv characters have a mental disorder of some sort, and this would fit him for several reasons. The first being that auditory hallucinations are common, and Matthias's father being a vintriloquist may exacerbate his struggles with this. A man who specializes in throwing his voice onto other subjects, with a son who hears voices? His mentioning of "a nightmare" may hint at certain delusions as well, which i'll get into more below. Additionally, though this may be a stretch, people with schizophrenia are sometimes characterized with "unusual movement" which may be nodded at by the shot of Matthias being jerked around by puppet strings.

Third, there was an actual fire at some point (that Matthias either set or took the blame for.) There's a LOT of fire in the trailer, and it's not just symbolic. Near the end we can see part of a newpaper at the bottom of the screen, with the headlines "Major...Accident" and "The Puppet...Collapse" with an image of a building up in flames.

Now for the ideas about the puppet itself.

Matthias believes he is the puppet. With this one, Matthias, for some reason or another, feels replaced by his father's ventriloquism puppet. To cope, he develops a delusion that the puppet is the REAL him, and his human body is the puppet he's controlling. In this theory, I think Matthias damaged his own eye as a form of self-mutilation. Children tend to treat their dolls in a way that mirrors their sense of self-worth. Matthias developed such low self worth that he needed to become the more valued puppet to survive. As a result, the puppet is kept in pristine "health," and Matthias treats his real body--the "doll"--accordingly. With this one, the fire may have occurred before Matthias had fully accepted this delusion and was still fighting against projecting himself onto the puppet. OR, he set the fire to "rescue himself" from a life on the stage. The ending shots with the puppet and Matthias switching places in the box represent him switching which body he identifies as his real one.

The puppet is a surrogate for a deceased sibling/twin. This part hinges on the fact that the doll looks like Matthias but has a different name, "Louis." In this case, Matthias may have caused the fire when he was much younger. His sibling did not survive, and maybe his parents didn't either, and so he's stuck with survivor's guilt and a delusion about keeping his sibling "alive" through this puppet. For this theory, any camera shots of Matthias with two eyes is actually meant to be his sibling (Matthias lost an eye in the accident), and the shot of him setting fire to the puppet is just symbolism for Matthias accidentally causing the death of his sibling when they were younger. This would also explain the symbolism of the puppet being kept in a coffin-like box, and Matthias being in one at the end--he feels like he should be the one who died. The dates flashing at the end of the trailer may be specifically chosen because they have some significance to his sibling, rather than at random to show the passing of time.

Matthias believes the puppet is evil/possessed and is in some way forcing him to do bad things. (This one would likely make him a nod to Chucky in Child's Play, as he was recently added to Dead by Daylight.) The trailer really tries to set it up that Matthias is being tormented by this living doll in some way, but as far as the actual canon goes, netease is rarely that upfront with eldrich and paranormal events. So I think it's unlikely that the puppet is actually alive or conscious in anyway, and instead this is all caused by Matthias's own mind. In this case, he has auditory hallucinations of the puppet speaking to him. His hallucinations are reinforced by his father's ventriloquism, so Matthias is even more vulnerable to the delusion that this puppet is conscious. Maybe he set the fire because it told him to, or because he wanted so desperately to be rid of the puppet that he didn't consider the method and the casualties it would result in. Either way, both he and the puppet survived, but only one of them was unscathed.

As far as his gameplay goes, it's hard to guess what he'll be able to do without being too close to Mechanic or Journalist. But I think it would be neat if he and the puppet existed on the map at the same time, with the exact same stats, but only one can be controlled at a time, similar to the mechanic's doll. BUT as a Hunter, they both look exactly the same, and you only know which one is the puppet when you chair them because it either falls apart or launches immediately. Maybe the puppet and Matthias have to stay within a certain range of one another too?