shirohebihime-blog-blog

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               || 人間スンスン || —       “  I am sure you can. But if I am disposable, I will be in the kitchen.”

                So mature, it almost hurt. A discreet smile appeared on her lips as she gave a light shrug and moved away from there as a silent, ‘you asked for it’, but also quite sure that if he truly was to talk to her, he would come shortly after. While not, she took her time sitting in a chair to eat an apple. 

                 Who knew when would he decide to cut it.

Untitled || Human Verse

                                   ❝'Ya know. It’s amazing I can SURVIVE                                        without you even here— boredom is so                                        cruel to me, Sung.❞                Sarcasm  drips  from his voice like venom, knowing she was well                acquainted with the double meaning of his wording. It was CHILDISH                to call her off the oh so important shift that kept her mind & body away                from  him,  those  poor  people  that  would  have  to suffer without her                presence  surrounding them. Nnoitra’s GAZE finally twitched to her form,                one of which could be perceived as judgemental, who knows; it probably                was. Not  that he  gave a damn  in the  first place. Lips now forming a well                known grin, ideas flooded through the perverted mind he owned.                                                                 ❝ —- I can think of allot                                                                       of things actually. . ❞ 

#|| V : Human || #despairingmantis

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        || 白い蛇 || —      For a moment her glance was down, reflecting about how one could express abstract feelings using words. It seemed quite easy for humans in their books, but an Arrancar’s reality was quite different from it. 

        Feeling Halibel’s blue eyes at her, Sung-Sun moved her head a little higher, in order to reply the glance with a rare, almost never seen confusion on her own eyes. 

         “The only thing I am assured is that as long as we stay around you, it is absurd for the others to think that they can win us without a strong resistance.”

Head would turn to fully face the snake, the shark looking at her for the first time since they spoke.

     “Then give me your honesty. That is all I ask of you.”

For honesty was what would allow them to survive the war and remain united from the carnage.

#deosaquam #HA H ATHIS IS SO LATE #sorry jovi bae #I swear I will buy cookies for my absence

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Ps.: It means I want the very same thing here on Sung so y’all can do the same 

Bad bitches, Mommy is back.

        Hey hey hey! I am here to announce I will be back at Dita. I have now a Lisbeth Salander Blog, but I WANT MY OC BBY BACK. I am back to work on her bio/blog and I will do a mass unfollow of people who don’t interact/are toxic/I dislike. Ops! Don’t even care </3         And In second news: Whomever wants to become part of DITA’S  HELLISH MOTOR CLUB OF RELATIONSHIPS can like this and I will contact you on skype or via fanmail~~ 

#|| Out Of Serpents ||

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#|| Snakes || #|| Queued In The Sands ||

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Pantherophis obsoletus lindheimeri

#|| Snakes || #|| Queued In The Sands ||

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                     ❝     these people are my family.                                        & if you hurt them in any way —— i will kill you.     ❞

#|| Musings ||

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#|| Snakes || #|| Queued In The Sands ||

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Brand New | Mene | radiicvl edit

#|| Snakes || #|| Anaconda ||

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         || 白い蛇 || —      The serpent, in her newborn innocence had no awareness of her vulnerable condition until he mentioned clothing. She knew, obviosuly, what it was, but in no moment within her memory of the centuries behind she recorded ever needing to use it. She was a beast back then, but now, now something in her mind was forming a judgment against her nudity, was pointing at it as inappropriate and shameful. 

         A female was not supposed to reveal herself. Something from another times, encrusted on her subconscious, told her that she wasn’t for anyone to admire. Her skin shouldn’t be ordinary to one’s eyes, instead, it should be a tiny miracle, a shared secret with whomever had the honor of touching her. And starting from this idea that some idea started to take form in her mind.

         It should be long, but allow mobility, like a serpent’s tail. It should be like a second skin. Not loose. Her pale, thin new hands should be hidden, as a part of the puzzle that Sung-Sun wanted her appearance to be. 

         “Milord, A dress. A long dress with oversize sleeves . The details I would leave to the tailor’s experience, if it is allowed.”  There was no hesitation on her words, once her mind was quite sure about what her, now petite, frame should look like. 

          There was a word that echoed : Grace. There was no doubt that he, as a god, would understand the meaning of it more than anyone else. It was like the dawn of a new age. It was like staying in balance between being a cold, primitive existence and having, and pursuing, a new knowledge, a reason and a purpose. Was to evolve and be one side of the coin that composed the universe’s two biggest forces. 

        “What comes next?”, she asks, and he suffocates a scoff. It’s these sorts of inquiries, which divide a shepherd from their flocks. The unenlightened writhe within darkness, grasping feebly at their pseudo-senses of reality as though construing shadows cast from a flame, while the illuminated ones have long since ventured forth from that allegorical cave of restriction and innocence. Not once have those words – “what comes next?” – leached through the dark, tempting soil of Sōsuke Aizen’s lips; nor ever shall they, for every event within the next infinitesimal millennia to come has been foreseen, and preordained, by the sublime deity unto whom Cyan Sung-Sun, and her species, now address their veneration. 

        'You’ve done very well,’ the great Father commends, the fallacious veil of gallantry and benevolence something, he imagines, to be quite unusual in Hueco Mundo. While she arises, Phoenix-like, through the ashes of her former self amidst cleansing, white vapour, there should be not a whit modesty – she is without garb, without protection; yet he looks upon her with negligence upon this fact, as a parent would upon their newborn babe. It is quite frankly put when one might say the Lord of Las Noches does not care, for his inclinations are beyond the covetable carnalities of flesh; they lie metaphysically, heaven-bound…

        ‘The two Fracción with whom you were found, Emilou Apacci and Franceska Mila-Rose, are both safe, and currently reside within their temporary accommodation,’ that is, Lord Aizen notes to himself, until Tier Harribel undergoes her evolution – a most excellent replacement for the now-absent Nelliel-Tu Odelschwanck, whose presence is neither particularly lamented nor forgivable in its weakness. The Vasto Lorde, the last amongst the quartet of newcomers, will be a most intriguing development; the last he had taken into his midst was Ulquiorra Cifer, and he anxiously awaits to see which of them exhibits the most tremendous of abilities.                    – Perhaps even a rival for His Majesty, Aizen muses, condescendent.

        ‘You may eliminate those subconscious fears,’ he offers, as if even thoughts are beneath his domain. ‘Come with me. What’s next, dear Arrancar, will be suitable attire for service.’

        It is a regime through which multiple dozens of her kin have already treaded – the Fifth-Fourth and Fifty-Fifth respectively, as well – and it is the ritualistic clothing ceremony, whereby Arrancar, under the guidance of an arachnid Hollow by name of Katyss, tailor appropriate, unique designs which adhere to their personal comforts. This, although supervised by Lord Aizen himself, is a relatively pacific and private conduct, which serves to emphasise the cardinal laws of decorum and civility the recently evolved are expected to obey.

        ‘Tell me,’ he’s colloquial, lifting from the confines of his kosode a small pebble, which he disintegrates with latent exertion; it’s customised bait, which swiftly summons the frenetic, scrabbled texture of the spider Hollow’s numerous limbs. It’s an abhorrent sight, a relic of what, perhaps, Sung-Sun views as her previous life, like a primordial phantom, it moves in static, glitchy patterns through the atrium threshold and into the gloomy, antenatal chamber.

                                           ‘– What style holds closest to your heart?’

#foscifer #|| V : The Beginning ||

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  (  UNDER estimating

                M E—–

              is the last thing you’ll ever do

#|| musings ||

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             Can you please calm down. I meant it in a good way.

                           excuse me.

#That is so not the way to be thankful for me missing you... #despairingmantis

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          || 白い蛇 || —      ”Poetry also catches my eyes. I share of your interpretation of it’s importance and meaning. They are also an accurate display of how humans can show a wide range of emotions around something as simple as a plant.”

Ram || Rheysmau

       “I suppose I understand…I prefer poetry over other pieces. They are like…mysteries. Sometimes they speak louder and reveal more–other times, you must piece them together. It’s beautiful in a way.”

#rheysmau

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           || 白い蛇 || —      “Not exactly, Milady.” 

           She did feared war, as everyone should, but her fears weren’t about the event as a whole, but about it’s consequences. But, if it were in their hands,  they would fight against it, they would protect each other as fiercely as their bodies allowed them to.

“… Do you fear this, Sung-Sun?”

     The unknown that crawled its way with sharp claws      that threatened to rip out their throats was, truth be      told, worth trembling over but she would not back      down from this battle.

Nor would her girls.

#deosaquam #<3 omg yes. b u t we gonna have novella things I promisse you okie?

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                      Finally. 

                           silently crawls out of grave. .

#DON'T BE MEAN #despairingmantis

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#|| musings || #|| Bestias || #|| Queued In The Sands ||

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          || 白い蛇 || —      It had begun excruciating. Her scales torn apart, her skull and mask as if having been cut in half, her whole body compressed. It was agonizing, however, there was no option but to silently accept the pain as a blessing, to embrace it as a natural part of being one of them. She couldn't expect benefit without suffer. However, it didn't took long. The Serpent could barely remember of the torturous process after it was over.

              There were lights, and in some faint memoirs, there was an odd noise. But it did not mattered now. The lilac eyes slowly opened themselves at the sound of his voice, first focusing on the floor, and then, on her hands. It was strange. Thin fingers moved themselves, as a mindless test to see if it was reality or not. It obviously was real. After this brief moment of self-discovery, her name was heard, causing the serpent to nod, and look at his figure, respectfully avoiding his eyes.

              "Lord Aizen." Her form was obviously different. She was smaller, but blatantly stronger than her old and large snake form. Finally, she stood, bowing her head gracefully at the shinigami who was now their leader.

              At first, Halibel had not put her faith in their natural enemies, but with one single meeting with this man, the blonde was convinced enough to make her follow him into the fortress that once had belonged to Barragan. Sung-Sun, following the one who was her rescuer, had also submitted to this man, Aizen. His promisse of power was the dawn of another kind of hope: Being worth to compensate the Shark for all the years of protection.

              "What comes next?"

shirohebihime—;

       The calamity is at an end. 

       Reptilian features, flesh tapered to a serpentine head, those hostile, yet equally forlorn torches imprisoned within a misshapen skull, are no more. There is a maelstrom of intense light, a conflagration of will, of evolution, of betterment. At first, the process is violent; chaotic lances of energy convulse and kink erratically, a thunderstorm confined within a chamber of glass. The sphere of vehemently gyrating mist is colourless; not even God himself is privy to the intimate details of what might pry away and skin the anaconda’s scales of ivory, nor what gruesomely recedes its exoskeletal matter within the compact, organic tissue of living flesh.

                              Alas, she is Arrancar Fifty-Six.                         And Sōsuke Aizen knows this: the process is excruciating.

       Thus he awaits, the torturous revolutions of smoke compressing another Hollow’s individuality into a simple, minuscule utensil of metal. It might be considered cruelty; lured in by promises of amelioration, of strength, community, or other such fantasies the Deceiver has enraptured these base creatures with, the Lord dresses hope within the beating hearts of ostensible humanity, aspects many of whom among their kin have long since fought to neglect from memory. In his world, however, “cruelty” does not exist: its name, is judgement.

       The vortex abates, and at last, within viscous, unclean plumes of industry, Cyan Sung-Sun is given rebirth. The source of this divine genesis steps forth, his gaze as that of the sun.

       ‘It’s done,’ Aizen declares, in absolute neutrality. ‘A successful metamorphosis.                                        — You are free to stand now, Cyan Sung-Sun.’

#foscifer #|| V : Before the War ||

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(submitted by multilateralmask)

#|| Queued In The Sands || #|| musings ||