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thefanciestborrower · 2 months

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The Devouring of Prometheus

Ohh boy this fic has been over a year in the making and by golly am I proud of it. It was mostly an attempt to imitate Mary Shelley’s writing style while adding more classic lit vore into the world cause oh boy do we need it. This fic is a little darker than my usual fluffy stuff because. You know. It’s Frankenstein. But everything is still safe despite what Victor thinks. Anyways, please enjoy and let me know what you think!

Warnings: Contains soft, safe, unwilling vore, mentions of digestion, mentions of dying, mentions of cannon character death, minor injury, and vomit

Characters: Victor Frankenstein and the Creature

Word Count: 2,830

Mankind has no greater fear than that of being devoured. It is an instinctual fear, engrained deep within our very beings from the moment we are born, as it is in every living being, and yet it is perhaps one of the most uncommon fears to experience in its true, unaltered form. We are quite familiar with the notion of being killed and eaten by a wild beast, since such a thing, while not terribly common in the more civilized parts of the world, is often talked of in books and by explorers returning from long voyages to strange, wild lands. It is a threat to be sure, but perhaps not the most fear inspiring one. A hungry lion might indeed pounce upon you with his teeth and claws bared as if to shred you to ribbons while you lay awake in agony, but in truth he is far more merciful than even most men and will end you swiftly with a bite to the neck before he ever starts to feed. The fear of being eaten in this way, then, is diluted by the promise of a swift death at the claws of a creature who bore you no more malice than you do a butchered duck.

The terror of being consumed lies not in the act of consumption, but in the method. Stories full of giants and ogres who devour men whole and alive fill the countryside and take captive the minds of all who hear them, filling their dreams with images of gnashing teeth and slavering mouths, capable of sending a grown man down, kicking and screaming, in a single swallow. I must confess I never heard much of these tales growing up, aside from a few Clerval was so fond of telling, and when they did reach my ears, I simply scoffed, laughing such frightening images away in the clear light of day when nothing could seem more ridiculous. They were children’s tales, I thought, simply meant to frighten and entertain, for nothing, man or beast, could swallow whole a living man. Oh, how I wish I had been right.

He came for me in the night. I was asleep, or nearly so, when a sudden noise at my window startled me awake. At first I assumed it to be the scratching of a branch or perhaps even some night creature making its rounds through the garden outside. After all, I was far more unfamiliar with the Oxford landscape than my dear friend Clerval, who had spent much of his afternoon exploring the grounds, so I felt there to be no need for concern. Indeed, I had nearly turned over to drift back to sleep when I saw his eyes. Those wretched, sunken, yellow eyes staring as if into my very soul through the dusty window I had neglected to lock in my naivety. I might have screamed had fear not grasped my throat and strangled my voice, and though I longed to run, terror turned my legs to lead and forced me to watch as the fiend pried open the window with a delicate ease that seemed almost laughable compared to the rest of his hulking mass. I pulled my sheet up to shield my chest like a child might, entertaining fantasies that perhaps this was simply a nightmare, and if I remained still in my bed then he would be unable to harm me, but when he began to climb through the window with the elegance of a lion stalking his prey, eyes never once leaving me, panic settled over my heart and I realized this was no mere conjuring of an overworked mind. The beast was here, looming over me in my chambers as I trembled in bed with naught but a thin sheet and even thinner night clothes to protect me.

“Devil! What do you want from me!” I cried at last, terror loosening her claws from my throat. “I have not forgotten our agreement, so why do you insist on tormenting me so!”

I received no reply, the beast more than content to simply stare at my trembling form. Perhaps he enjoyed how weak I must have appeared before him as his eyes flicked over me, almost sizing me up for reasons I could never have comprehended in that moment. Cold and yellow as they were, I could see an inkling of some mysterious emotion behind those eyes, but it’s identity I couldn’t say. Nor did I care. My thoughts were quickly preoccupied as he advanced upon me, padding forwards like some great and terrible cat, until he stopped just shy of the side of my bed, so close I could have reached out and touched him.

Again, I saw that strange emotion flicker behind his dead eyes, but before I had time to ponder it he wrapped his hands around my chest and lifted me from the safety of my bed with terrifying ease, like one might lift a small child or a doll, and while I screamed and writhed in his hideous grasp, his hold only tightened. My ribs creaked and complained under the pressure and my cries became strangled and choked. With a ghastly popping sound he opened his grotesque mouth, jaw hanging at an angle too wide for any human to achieve, and to my upmost horror he quickly stuffed my head inside with the terrifying efficiency of a ravenous beast. The slimy muscle of his tongue lapped against my face and my body convulsed in disgust as I desperately fought not to be sick. Revolting as my situation was, I did not wish to add my own vomit to the mix, even if it might have disgusted the fiend enough to free me.

I could see nothing but darkness, each desperate gasp for oxygen only supplying me with the barest sliver of foul air. Teeth ringed my neck like a terrible collar, and for a moment I entertained ideas of those teeth, the very same I had picked and sorted by hand, crashing together to sever my head from my body like some terrible executioner. Before my thoughts could spiral much more in this direction, his grip changed and I was suddenly shoved against the slick, fleshy opening of his throat. My blood curdled and, with a sudden, crushing pressure, my head was crammed downwards in the most painful manner which caused me to cry out in despair. My skull felt as though it would shatter, and I screamed a horrible, terrible shriek of agony and terror as my shoulders were crushed down after me, the tight gullet of the beast threatening to break them into splinters. My vision swam, stars of pain and lack of breath sparking and dancing before my eyes, and though no light followed me into my hellish prison, I could still see the blackest pitch wavering at the edge of my vision, threatening to drown me in its inky embrace. For a moment I wished it would, if only to keep me from the terrible suffering I knew lay before me, but fate is a cruel mistress and before I could sink into that comforting ocean of darkness a terrible pressure bloomed upon the crown of my head and forced me into an open pocket of stinking, putrid air.

Coughing and gaging I struggled to draw even a single breath. My ribs, now horribly compressed, creaked and shuttered terribly under the pressure of the creature’s throat, and though my legs still flailed outside, and my hands desperately scrambled for a hold on what I felt to be his chin, I did not dare move the length of my compressed torso for fear of inflicting more damage upon myself. Another painful swallow jolted me down, my face jamming roughly into what I presumed to be the bottom of the creature’s dreadful stomach, and the grotesque flesh not only yielded to accept my presence, but did so with an almost pleased sounding groan, if stomachs can be pleased, as if I really were simply a morsel of food to be consumed and forgotten. The sound filled my heart with a terror I’ve never known, and I cried out, though my voice was quickly silenced by the slick flesh as more of my body was squeezed through that terrifically tight ring of muscle and forced to bend and twist to fit my new prison like some sort of contortionist.

I know not how long it took the devil to consume me: the darkness of my surroundings and constant pain dulled my senses and left me disoriented to the point where I no longer could even tell up from down. I remember no longer feeling the cold air on my body after some time, my entire being now encased in sweltering heat, and searing pain as my legs were crushed down against my ribs. Finally, it was all over. My entire body had been fully compacted into the creature’s stomach, and although this new development was arguably a much worse position than my previous one, I was far too preoccupied with gulping down precious lungfuls of oxygen to care.

Then, all at once, the reality of my situation came crashing down upon me and with the fervor of a cornered beast I began to lash out and fight, twisting and turning in the confined space in hopes of causing my captor at least the slightest bit of discomfort.

“Fiend! Devil! Release me at once!” I panted, gnashing my teeth in fear and anger. “This is no way to treat any man, let alone your maker!”

I had no doubt that he could hear my cries and feel my struggles, confined as I was, and yet no answer came. Despite the nature of my location, I was completely and utterly alone, for what man pays attention to his food after he’s eaten it. Again, I tried to call out, to plead for release as I fought against the smothering flesh, and again I was ignored, save for a light pressure against my back from which I hastily jerked away. It was his hand; I knew it instinctively. The brute was no doubt relaxing after so fine a feast of human flesh, and that touch was nothing more then the satisfied gloating of a predator now sated with a filling meal that would last him far longer than any morsel of bread or wine. I was merely something to be enjoyed, digested, and forgotten.

How many more, I wondered, would be lost in the same way once I had perished. Clearly my current location indicated my captor had grown fond of the taste of human, and with a heart wrenching shudder I suddenly realized I had no way of knowing wether I was the first victim of the monster’s appetite, or if he had already glutted himself with other gentle country folk, just as he had done to me, and I was now resting in their grave. The thought was too much for my already distraught and troubled soul, and the disgust which filled me suddenly became too overwhelming to sustain. With a thick heave I proceeded to retch onto myself, my sick mixing with the beast’s own bile, and I sobbed bitterly for my home.

“Oh, my dear mountains and precious lake. Will I truly never again delight in your sweet air and radiant beauty? Am I to perish so far from all that is fair and wholesome, without even the cold stars to bare witness to my demise?” I lamented; my voice thick with the grief of a man who believes he is to die isolated from everything he once held dear.

The spongy flesh seemed to mute my voice effectively as a heavy curtain might, and my words fell upon deaf ears, for no reply came from my creation. My captor. My killer. Was I really to meet my end as nothing more than a meal? My last breath tainted by the stench of bile and vomit? The pressure to my back returned, and although the touch revolted me, I was far too exhausted from my fear and the quickly thinning oxygen to do more than twitch in protest. What difference would it make anyways, my fate was already sealed.

Each breath I drew grew more ragged and gasping with every passing second, my panic having done nothing but quickly use up what little air I had in the stale cell, and in some fever, I realized that, although my air was quickly thinning, I had not yet begun to feel the slightest tingle of digestion. Oh, what sweet twist of fate was this! I still would meet my end as nothing more than a morsel of food this was true, but I would be long since unconscious and perhaps even suffocated before acids truly began to work on me and thus spared the sensation of digesting alive. It was a small assurance, but so consumed was I by grief and terror of my fate that even the small mercy of a painless death brought me comfort. It was more than a man like me deserved after all I’d done. The innocent blood on the creature’s hands stained mine as well, and I thought bitterly of poor darling little William and dear Justine. Their blood has been spilt on my account, and yet, while their deaths had been horrific tragedies, I took solace in knowing they had left the world far quicker than I would, and that I would be seeing them again soon.

My vision swam before me, and with one last shuddering sigh I slumped against the slick walls, no longer attempting to catch my breath, for what would be the point in trying to breathe when there is no air left to fill my lungs. The stomach clenched around me with a disgusting squelch, smothering and squeezing my helpless form as it worked to knead what I presumed to be caustic acids into my sodden clothing and soft flesh, preparing for the undoubtably difficult task of liquifying my un-masticated body. With a gasping, barely audible sob I pressed a trembling hand out against my churning prison walls, cursing my creation and praying my end would be swift. Then the darkness engulfed me, and I knew no more.

Due to the circumstances in which I had fallen unconscious I fully expected to never wake again, so when I started awake some unknown amount of time later in the very bed I had been snatched out of, I could seldom comprehend what was happening. My first thought was that my horrendous experience had been naut but a dream; an apparition brought upon me by the dreadful task I knew I would soon be required to complete. Then I became aware of the disgusting film of sticky, foul smelling sick coating my body and the dull, yet throbbing pain in my ribs, and my blood ran cold. It had been no dream. My creation truly had assaulted me in the night, swallowed me whole and alive, and, by some miracle, vomited me back out before his digestive system could process me. In fact, aside from my ribs, which were badly bruised, I appeared whole and unharmed. Not even a drop of acid had singed my clothes, and my skin was fair and unblemished as it had always been. I pressed a hand to my cheek as if to make certain of my unharmed state, and then, to my own surprise, I began to laugh. It was not a mirthful laugh, but rather one of incredulous shock and relief as I grasped at my warm and unharmed skin. So certain had I been that those final moments filled with slimy blackness and foul reeking air inside the creature would be my last that the cold air of my room and the sting of my nails against my face might well have been gifts from Heaven itself. Even now I marvel at my incredible escape and wonder what could possibly have prompted the monster to give up as filling a meal as I surely must have been. I do not think I shall ever know, but judging from the healthy nature which I possessed upon waking, I can only assume he realized he could not process me as he intended and his body expelled me, though wether such an expulsion was voluntary on his part I still could not say. Nonetheless I knew I was no doubt incredibly fortunate to have survived such an encounter and my resolve had the been strengthened. Where before I had postponed my promise, I vowed to not do so again, for who knew how long the wretched beast would be content to wait and leave me and others be. As soon as I was able, I would set to work creating another who would contain his terrible urges and put this dreadful encounter behind me forever.

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rottmnt-residuum · 1 year

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"At the end of it all, what's left of you?"

The long reaching ramifications of an alien invasion… it all starts here. After the Kraang were defeated, the boys have taken a back step from their usual activities to heal. Which has been surprisingly easy due to sudden lack of activity from their rogue gallery. At least, until Donnie disappears.

yay, i finished the cover! :)

#rottmnt #rottmnt rapheal #rottmnt leonardo #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt michelangelo #rottmnt april o'neal #rottmnt residuum #residuum #tw blood #tw minor injury

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dianadeadwing · 5 months

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I vote for Tina as Belcher kid most likely to get into a fight. Now Louise would absolutely fight as well if she had to but I think she’s more into long term psychological warfare. Gene, of course, is avoiding conflict at all costs (maybe hoping things will dissolve into a rap battle?). Tina though, just hit one of her berserk buttons at the right time and she will throw down immediately.

[ID:

Digital fan art of Tina from Bob’s Burgers. She sits in a green plastic chair in a school environment with her arms crossed over her chest, one leg crossed over the other with her eyes cast down and expression irritated . She has red scrapes on her her knee and cheek and a bandage on her elbow.

/end ID]

#bob's burgers #fanart #artists on tumblr #procreate #digital art #my art tag #tina belcher #injuries #tw injury #minor injury #tw minor injury

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raccoonsrummagerostrum · 11 months

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Comforting Chris Redfield After a Mission

Chris Redfield x GN! Reader

Word count: 1075

Warnings: reverse comfort, shower, mentions of injury, infection, and bugs. Cuddles, food, mentions of first aid, mention of minor character death, angst, slight ptsd for Chris

Summary: Whenever Chris comes home after a mission he has a checklist that the two of you follow

A/N: I’m so excited to start posting about Chris! I am so excited for Death Island!

You and Chris always had certain rituals for when he would leave for, and return from missions. When he left it was all about you. He would spend the few days before leaving taking you out on dates, pampering you, and running errands. As well he would pick up chores and odd jobs around the house in preparation for you taking over all of it when he was gone. He didn't always have prior warning to when he would be leaving, but he always spent whatever warning time he did have with you. When he returned, that time was for him.

The transition back to civilian life was always hard for him, it had been his entire career. Even back when he was in the air force coming back home was often more stressful than active service, but you made it easier. Much easier. Whenever possible, Chris would call you ahead of time to let you know that he was on his way. Sometimes you had days notice, other times you had just a few hours. However much time you had you always made sure that the house was clean, and usually had a meal prepared. To be honest Chris didn't really care either way about the state of the house, or the presence of a home cooked meal, but he did appreciate it greatly. It helped to free up space in his mind so that he could focus on comfort.

Once Chris was in the door you had a checklist. This was extremely important to help him with the transition. For him it was like a reset for his body and mind. That checklist went as thus:

1. A hug. Extremely important. He needed to know that you were there, that this was real, and that he was back home.

2. Food. If there is one state in which Chris can not function properly, it's hunger. Even though cold, wet, and injured he could still push through and focus on the task at hand, but if he was hungry then nothing else was going to happen until he got some food. Sometimes he would have had something on the way, but if not then you always had something ready. Eating with you also helped him ease back into a domestic mindset.

3. Shower. More than likely he had gone the entire mission without a proper scrub. There might have been running water and a bar of soap, but he had more than likely been far from the creature comforts of a hot shower, with a messaging nozzle, and moisturizing body wash with a good scrub from a luffa.

4. Body check. More often than not, you would join him in the shower for the body check, where you would meticulously search his entire body for anything. Cuts, scrapes, bruises, injuries, ticks, mites, lice, and or infections. Anything that needed to be addressed. Usually he would have been looked over by some kind of medic before he came home, so any major issues would have already been taken care of. But this was much more thorough. You were the only person he would ever let get this close. And the fact that you trailed little kisses around his body didn't hurt.

5. First aid. You had learned some first aid specifically for this. You learned to treat all sorts of minor issues. Dressing and redressing wounds, removing ticks and mites, treating infections, and you would dutifully care for any issue that arose from the body check.

6. Cuddles. It didn't matter if he came home in the middle of the day, or the middle of the night, this man is gonna need cuddles. Curl up on the couch or in bed, it doesn't matter. Depending on how the mission went and how Chris was feeling the cuddle position would change. If he was feeling more insecure and scared he would be the big spoon and hold you close, protecting you. If he was feeling more sad, and helpless he would lay on top of you, allowing you to rub his back and play with his hair. Cuddling was usually done in silence as he preferred to focus his attention on you and your breathing, but he wouldn't complain if you wanted to play some music or watch TV. The more physical contact the better.

7. Don't talk about work. During the transition back into civilian life, Chris would be very sensitive. He would be very quiet, hypervigilant, and skittish. It wasn't a good idea to talk about his mission during this time. So you two had agreed that you would wait one full day before talking about it. And you two had agreed that one full day was one wake up to the next. Which sometimes resulted in more than 24 hours before talking about his mission, but that was fine with the both of you. Even after one full day you never pressured him to talk if he didn't want to

8. Talk about work. This last step was not part of the original list. In Fact when the two of you first started doing this he hated talking about work. He would avoid talking about it at all cost, and even when he did he only gave sparse details. But as Chris has gotten older he's found that talking about work can actually be really cathartic. He now finds it important to talk to you about what happened during his time away. The good and the bad. He's gotten more emotional over the years as well. At first he tried to stop it, but you let him know that it's ok to be upset and angry, it's ok for him to cry and to shake. As he talks, you're there to guide him through his emotions, and then to bring him back to reality when he's done.

With the checklist complete you still keep a close eye on him for the next few days. He might have injuries that need to be treated, and emotional scars that need attention. You're always there helping him along his way. Eventually he settles back into normal life, and the two of you cohabitate once again.

This checklist has helped not just him but you as well many, many times. Especially after Jill's supposed death, her return, and Piers' death. But the list was put to the ultimate test after Chris returned from Romania.

To be continued…

#writing #fanfic #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil #chris redfield #chris redfeild x reader #x reader #comfort #reverse comfort #tw minor injury #tw minor character death #tw first aid #tw shower #tw mugs #tw ptsd #ptsd

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sunsetcorvid · 2 years

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Four does dumb shit and gets adopted (real)

#miles' art #splatoon #splatoon 2 #marie cuttlefish #marie splatoon #agent 4 #very much NOT a ship btw just adding that just in case #tw minor injury

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elleashling · 6 months

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“otherwise you’ll be aaaaaall alone in prison.”

:::::

i love tcoaal it makes me deeply uncomfortable i want to dissect it .

a little unsatisfied with text bubble proportions but thats ok they were an afterthought

why does little leyley dress better than me

i like this game 👍

#the coffin of andy and leyley #andrew graves #ashley graves #tcoaal #tw minor character death #tw minor injury #p sure i will be making more art of them at some point #wanna draw julia too her design is cute

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kodieshmodie · 1 month

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POV: you’re caught in a cave-in but some blonde guy promises to get you out in one piece.

I did the Evil Artstyle challenge on Twitter (asked my followers what my art style traits are and tried to draw without them), and this is my attempt! No hair shines or blush, and I had to use thicker more textured lines. Definitely not the best attempt, but it was still very fun to try! 🤩💖

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warriorrazor · 6 months

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When you just manage to escape a hellish cave by the skin of your teeth

(They can do it with the power of friendship! Probably. Maybe.)

Part 2

#pikmin #captain pikmin #Olimar pikmin #pikmin Olimar #Louie pikmin #pikmin Louie #pikmin art #pikmin fanart #tw minor injury

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runawaycatwalker · 7 months

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Part 24. Misaligned Approaches (Oni-Chan 2.0, part A)

< First | < Previous | Next >

Bonus: The bread lesson Rolland teaches Adrien immediately before this page takes place that I had to cut to save space.

Description below the cut

Alya sits on Marinette’s chaise lounge looking at her phone. Marinette looks upwards, clenching her fists in vindication.

Alya: Preliminary results about Catwalker are in. Verdict: Pretty skeevy.

Marinette: I knew it! Tell me everything!

Alya scrolls through the messages on her phone.

Alya: My informant doesn't have any concrete evidence yet and most of this is just vibes, but...

Alya: Catwalker did specifically mention you by name.

Marinette: What??

Alya: When confronting my informant, Catwalker got defensive and asked if 'someone Marinette knows' sent them.

Marinette places her hand on Alya’s shoulder, looking shaken. Alya looks up at her with a look of uneasiness.

Marinette: Does that mean he knows you're Rena?

Alya: Or he might be on the verge of discovering your identity. Either way, I'm certainly not comfortable working alongside him anymore.

From behind, we see Marinette hold a hand up to the sky and clench her other hand in a fist in resolution.

Marinette: Because of Mayura we can't just fire him, but we can contain him. We'll rely on the rest of the team for all battles and restrict his interactions with everyone. If he steps out of line, all bets are off and we treat him like he's another akuma. And we keep investigating. I just know that he's up to something terrible right now and we've got to put a stop to it!

Rolland shuts a book between his hands entitled Pain. Adrien holds up a hand and offers a wishful grin. Behind them is the cabinet of things in Rolland’s living room, including the Lost flyer of Adrien, which is draped over a box.

Rolland: So: Shall we bake?

Adrien: I sure wouldn't mind if you showed me how to make baguettes...

Rolland: Bahaha! Baguettes! You are in no way ready to bake baguettes! No, we start with something far more traditional: the boule!

Rolland holds up a finger.

Rolland: But first: you must wash your hands.

Adrien: Of course!

Rolland: And take off that ring.

Adrien: Wh—what's wrong with my ring?

Rolland grab’s Adrien’s hand and points at the indentations in his ring.

Rolland: Just look at it! Flour is going to collect in all of those crevices! It is much simpler to just take off your ring while baking.

Adrien looks at his miraculous in thought. Behind him is the sink with the handle of a knife poking out of it.

Adrien (internally): I shouldn't take any chances of being caught without wearing my miraculous. But maybe if I don't stop wearing it...?

Adrien kneels on the ground and uses a knife to cut through the front rubber part of his shoe.

Rolland: What are you doing?

Adrien: Making a hole in my shoe! If I can't wear my ring on my finger... I can still have easy access by slipping it on my toe instead!

Adrien turns his knife aside and uses his other hand to slip his miraculous through the new hole in his shoe. Rolland’s hand reaches down from above dangerously close to the knife.

Rolland: You are using one of my knives to cut through rubber?!

Adrien: I'll clean it after I'm done, don't worry.

Rolland: That is not the point!

The knife’s edge cuts the back of Rolland’s hand.

Rolland: Give that b—Aaack!

Adrien touches his hands to the bottom of his face. One hand is still holding the knife, which now has a small spot of blood near the tip.

Adrien: I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—! Please don't fire me!

Rolland: Oh, hush. It's barely a scratch!

Adrien: I'll get the first aid kit! Where's the first aid kit? Do you have a first aid kit?

Rolland: I'll handle that without you.

Rolland waves his hand grumpily.

Rolland: You just worry about washing up my knife! Without cutting anything that is not food this time!

Adrien: Y-yes, sir!

Rolland slams the doors between the kitchen and living room shut, so that Adrien is alone in the kitchen and Rolland is alone with his collectibles.

Rolland (internally): Don't lose your temper, Rolland. Baldy's still a child. He's probably never been in a kitchen before. Whoever raised him had no idea how it's done. Teaching him that is your job now.

Rolland digs through the box on his cabinet, one hand picking up the Lost flyer to move it out of the way. As he does so, Oni-Chan teleports behind him with her sword pointed over his shoulder.

Rolland (internally): Now where did I put those banda—?

Oni-Chan: Where are you keeping Adrien Agreste?

Oni-Chan grabs Rolland’s shirt and holds her sword above his head threateningly. Rolland is still holding onto the flyer and looks panicked.

Rolland: Aahhh!

Oni-Chan: Tell me where Adrien is before I strike you right where you stand!

Rolland: You mean the missing angel boy? I don't know! What does a Chinese monster want with him?

Oni-Chan swings her sword.

Oni-Chan: I'm not a monster!

Rolland has now become frozen in place, covered in splotches of white, red, and black. Oni-Chan stands behind him, looking back over her shoulder.

Oni-Chan: If anyone else stands in my way, they're getting petrified too. And for the record, I'm Japanese.

Oni-Chan kicks down the doors into the kitchen. No one is there, only a slight movement of the window drapes in the background.

Oni-Chan: Hi-yaaah! Shadowmoth! He's not here!

Shadowmoth (over akuma connection): The old man must have seen Adrien somewhere.

Oni-Chan: The only sign of Adrien anywhere is on the flyer that man was looking at! Wait...

Oni-Chan, a butterfly light mask in front of her face showing her communication with Shadowmoth, grabs the Lost flyer and slices through Adrien’s face with her sword.

Oni-Chan: I was promised the ability to track the last person who saw Adrien, but these powers sent me to someone who was just looking at an Adrien picture!

Oni-Chan throws up her hand in frustration. There is also a closeup of Shadowmoth (also with the butterfly light mask) from his lair, holding out a hand negotiatingly.

Oni-Chan: Do you have any idea how many people are looking at pictures of Adrien?

Shadowmoth: Millions every day. ...I presume.

Oni-Chan: I will not sift through millions of people merely because you gave me unusable powers!

Shadowmoth: Would you rather I take your powers away and leave you without any leads at all?

Oni-Chan: No! No, I'll keep my akuma. But I'm not going to try to get Ladybug and Catwalker's miraculouses for you until after I find Adrien. You want me to help you? You help me first.

Shadowmoth: I could create a sentimonster to destroy all instances of Adrien's image until you find the real one.

Oni-Chan: Then do that!

Shadowmoth: I'll need time to prepare the amok.

Oni-Chan starts to teleport away, her expression resolute.

Oni-Chan: Well, I'm not wasting my time waiting. Have your sentimonster summon me when it's ready.

Cut to Adrien and Plagg outside Rolland’s residence, watching as the light of Oni-Chan’s teleport flashes through the window curtains. Adrien still has the knife and replaces his miraculous back on his ring finger.

Adrien: Do you think Oni-Chan really came here because Rolland saw me on Marinette's flyer?

Plagg: Probably not. Akuma powers usually work however the akuma expects them to and Rolland was the last person to see you.

Adrien: But her expectations just changed. So maybe people seeing pictures of Adrien will be tracked by her powers now?

Plagg: Even if you do turn out to be that lucky, you're still better off being Catwalker instead of Adrien.

Adrien: Right. Plagg, claws out!

Bonus Scene:

Rolland holds up a hand invitingly.

Rolland: Baldy, you have returned from your morning walk! Now we can begin your lessons in flour!

Adrien: Yeah, okay.

Rolland: What do you mean 'okay'? I thought you wanted to be my apprentice?

Adrien pulls off his beanie, looking discouraged.

Adrien: Sorry, I just saw a friend and he... Never mind. It's nothing.

Rolland: Nothing?

Adrien: Bread is the most important thing, right? Teach me everything I need to know. I'm... ready.

Rolland: You are not quite ready yet. First...

Cut to Adrien taking a bite of bread, happily going ‘nom! nom! nom!’.

Rolland: ...You must eat!

Adrien: Ooh!

Rolland: It's from yesterday, but it is better than nothing! We French know the value of bread, for we remember the days when we did not have it!

Rolland holds up the book Pain : pour les enfants! and reads to Adrien as he finishes his bread.

Rolland: This is today's lesson: how wheat shortage caused the Revolution! Wheat gives us flour, flour gives us bread, and bread is life! And when the wheat harvests failed, we survived by eating whatever awful bread from bran we could afford—if we could even afford that!

Rolland points to a picture of Marie Antoinette holding a purple rose in the book, which has the caption “Qu'ils mangent de la brioche”.

Rolland: But who wasn't starving? The nobility! They still ate fancy Viennese breads made with refined white flour! And while France suffered, Marie Antoinette had the gall to tell us ‘Let them eat cake!’

Adrien holds up a correcting finger.

Adrien: Isn't that quote apocryphal?

Rolland: What?

Adrien: No one ever verified that it was Marie Antoinette who said that. And even if she did, she would have been just a kid at the time.

Rolland: Bah! That’s not important!

Rolland holds up the book in front of his face. On one page, a pie chart with 75% blé (wheat) and 25% seigle (rye). On the other page is a guillotine surrounded by bread and centering the French flag, below which is the caption “Pain d'égalité”.

Rolland: The point is that the people of France revolted because of this, because of bread! And once we got rid of those pesky nobles, France could have one bread: the bread of equality! It would be made from all our grains, from wheat to rye, and everyone would eat it!

Adrien: Sounds much simpler.

Rolland: Very simple! But it wasn't to be. People still want their fancy flour.

Rolland holds up his wooden peel in one hand and his metal peel in the other in a pose reminiscent of the painting Liberty Leading the People.

Rolland: But once there was no more shortage of wheat, the government decreed that bakers must follow strict rules. You want to make a baguette? It must be the right size and made with the right ingredients! You run a boulangerie? You must make your bread on-site! And you must never close shop without warning! We do this so no one will suffer the pains of being forced to eat terrible bread—or no bread—ever again! Because here in France, that is how it is done! So: shall we bake?

Below are the same images as above, only without text:

#runaway catwalker #adrien agreste #rolland dupain #oni-chan #kagami tsurugi #shadowmoth #marinette dupain-cheng #alya cesaire #akuma #bread #what do you mean this took 9 whole weeks to post? i thought it's only been 6???#the first month alone was just blocking out all the pages for this fight and the aftermath #hopefully that means that the next few pages will be faster to finish #again thank you everyone for being so patient #tw minor blood #tw minor injury #letadrieneat2k16

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