#// >:3c drawing for my threads again

[emmetrain]

Starter for @ypokosmo-theos

Someone had been seen in the caves, a rumor passed. Whether it would be real or not, useful or not, dangerous or not mattered not to Emmet. It was a lead, as empty as any he had all these years. Every single day, an agony. Every single day, the probability of Ingo returning safe and sound decreased.

And Emmet could do nothing but watch, trapped in this hourglass against his will; the sand suffocating him and any hope he clawed and thrashed so hard to hold onto.

The clothes cut out of the identifying stripes and symbols of the gear station hung onto his thin, malnourished body loosely as Emmet drew near the cave. The mask hiding the smile that was nailed onto his face. His hair, a mess, but not enough to hide the sunken, lifeless eyes he carried.

Even if this was not a lead, it would be someone doing something illegal. Someone fair game to take out his frustrations on. Anything to take his mind off the misery, of the torture of waiting around useless.

Haxorus and Eelektross kept a summon away, as he stormed the cave, reflective eyes piercing the darkness.

"Face me, and no harm will come to you. I have questions," Emmet addressed the emptiness reflected in his soul, his voice as low as the slight growl in it let him. "Try me, and you won't like it."

When did he become so cold? He knew not.

Only thing for sure: he would not leave without some answers.

[funky-sea-cryptid]

ough okay hi everyone i'm finally fucking posting callakirsch for lyra's 1k halloween event @blackclover-emc

interactions are welcome but don't feel pressured :3c

word count: 704 words

pairing: kirsch x oc (calla m. eucidot)

summary: calla and kirsch go to a halloween ball, and calla is nervous about it.

“For the last time, it’s not a costume party,” Calla said, getting out of the carriage. “There’s no need to dress like that, you know. You’re going to embarrass me in front of God and everyone at this god-damned ball.” 

“I look fabulous,” Kirsch said, delicately lifting his cloak as he followed his husband out into the snow. He was wearing a peacock themed mask, which would’ve been fine if he hadn’t themed the entire rest of his outfit around the bird. Calla took a deep breath in, and counted to ten, silently begging whatever God had informed his husband that it would be a good idea to dress like that would bless the rest of the party with that opinion. He tugged at his blue-green suit. The necktie had too much pattern. 

How the hell had Calla gotten roped into this?

It was a sort of crisp night, making the little magical lights outside the venue sparkle. Calla felt distinctly uncomfortable. He was nervous about noble venues, and the last time he’d been to one of these, it had been before Sherry was born, and he’d been too nervous with anticipation that someone would start talking or mention him, that he’d had no fun at all. 

Speaking of Sherry -

“Are you coming out, Sher?” Calla asked, and then his child stuck her head out of the carriage, grinning. Their copper-gold hair had been pulled into a low braid, threaded with peacock feathers and he had managed a very fancy suit-dress combination. 

“You look very nice,” he said, and kissed his child on the cheek. She giggled. “Very fancy.” 

“Thanks, Dad. Why are we dressed as peacocks again?” Sherry asked, and Kirsch lit up. 

“Well, I’m the squad captain,” Kirsch said. “We have to represent the Squad, of course!” 

“Dad was a Praying Mantis,” Sherry said. “Why don’t we dress like bugs?” 

“Hey, yeah,” Calla said. “Why didn't we dress as bugs? You wouldn't have had to dress up.” Kirsch gasped so loud that half the arrivals turned to look at them. 

Great start. Calla adjusted his bow tie. 

“I’m gonna go see if anyone cool’s in attendance,” Sherry said. “I’ll see you guys inside!” With that, they bustled off, lifting his skirts. Calla swallowed. 

“Are you nervous?” Kirsch whispered. 

“Now you gain emotional intelligence?” Calla whispered back. Kirsch sniffed and pulled his cape tighter around himself. “Well. None of my friends go here. It’s all a bunch of high society - and y’know, Sherry -”

“Sherry’s going to be fine,” Kirsch said, and offered an arm. Calla took it, clinging to his husband like a lifeline as they headed toward the venue. “And you’re with me, so you shouldn’t worry.” Kirsch tossed his hair. 

“God, right, I’m with you,” Calla bemoaned. “And you’re dressed like a bird. Nozel Silva is calling, he wants his aesthetic back.” 

“You are so cruel to me!” Kirsch gasped, and Calla laughed at the comical expression on his face. 

“You’ll survive my cruelty, y’know,” he said, and Kirsch huffed. 

“Nobles and royals are crossing the class divide more,” Kirsch said, and Calla bit his lip. “You’re not going to be out of place.” 

“I guess,” Calla said. “But y’know, I’m-” 

“You look like you fit in,” Kirsch said. “Because we match.” They did. Matching set. Plus, Calla loved teal and he didn't have to wear pink. “You’re going to do great. And if we make it through,” they made it to the top of the stairs, to the door. “We’ll go to one of the common realm’s parties next year.” 

“Deal,” Calla said, and leaned up for a kiss. Kirsch delivered, whipping a cocoon of blossoms around them - meant for privacy but just drawing more attention to the both of them. The gesture was nice. 

“Mr. and Mr. Vermillion?” the poor doorman said, and Kirsch dissolved the cocoon, holding out their invitations with his free hand. 

“Sorry about him,” Calla said. “It’s Kirsch-” Kirsch gasped again, and Calla squeezed his husband’s arm. 

“Our child’s inside,” he finished. 

“Welcome to the party,” the doorman said, and held open the door. Kirsch smiled at him, and Calla swallowed, took a deep breath, and smiled back. 

I’m going to have a good time.

[defendersoath]

[ this is a starter call from a new(?) independent lancelot rp blog! if you like granblue fantasy and dweeby knights that Try Way Too Hard, you’ve come to the right place! 

like this post and i’d be honored to try to shove some content your way! ]

[rayshippouuchiha]

Since you expressed some interest in my aideku, Doctor Strange reincarnated as Izuku Midoriya idea, I have no choice but to tell you all of my plans (minus spoilers, probably) >:3c  I have titles and quotes and everything, for at least 2 of the 3 stories planned.

So, first one is called Who Takes to the Road. “I could not say what creeps and whispers through the branches and down the threaded Road, but I hear it, and I am not afraid.”

Dr. Strange reincarnates as Izuku Midoriya. He’s kept the memories of his past life since birth, and has no idea why or how. He’s in a completely different universe, not even one of the many alternates or parallels more familiar to his past life. Which means different rules of magic, natural law, maybe even physics and science. The freeflowing magic/dragon tracks/ley lines are certainly much weaker and less dense than the Earth of his past life, for example. And because of this world’s different position within the multiverse, he has to adjust how he draws on interdimensional powers and which he draws from, as well as becoming used to having less power at his disposal (he discovers eventually that this world also doesn’t have nearly the same amount of interdimensional/mystical threats as his last). And he is very careful about never being caught, so while the quirkless ‘diagnosis’ is a bit disappointing, he’s seen far too many quirk drawbacks to be too upset about it. And because of an off-hand comment he makes that results in extensive genetic testing to be sure, he has no intention of passing sorcery off as a quirk when that would turn him into some sort of genetic/medical miracle.

He’s seen enough to recognize a dystopian society when he sees it, thanks. He’s not about to put himself in some mad scientist’s lab, and the HPSC is a little too reminiscent of SHIELD/Hydra for his tastes.

Izuku realizes too late just how bad the discrimination against the quirkless is, though. But he’s a grown man mentally, even if a child physically. He transfers to online classes when the treatment starts getting bad and breezes through them. It leaves him plenty of free time (and child bodies have way too much energy, what the heck), to take up hobbies (programming and hacking will be useful at some point, he’s sure) and to train his body in preparation for the threats he knows are out there, and whatever this world intends to throw at him. Also, to gain maximum flexibility and mobility while still young to minimize the pains of old age.

Izuku doesn’t have any intention of being a pro-hero (he didn’t even really consider himself a hero in his last life; a guardian or protector, maybe, a healer, definitely, but not a hero like the Avengers). He’d chosen sorcery in his last life because he could save more people that way than he could if he’d gone back to being a doctor. But here, there are practically no mystical/interdimensional/extraterrestrial threats. There is a glut of pro-heroes to take care of ‘villains’. He can do more as a doctor, and better for the quirkless community as a prominent, quirkless doctor prodigy. Plus, some part of him aches to return to surgery now that he has steady, undamaged hands again.

Time passes, it requires some finagling (and maybe some hacking) to get around institutional quirkless prejudice, but as a young(ish?) teen he gains his PhD in neuroscience, while his MD is temporarily stalled when his residency is delayed [some research into MD requirements may be necessary, or I may just end up making things up]. In the meantime he sets up a quirkless clinic in the slums, heavily warded to make it a safe space and prevent anyone who means harm from finding it. Izuku will treat anyone who needs help, of course, but it is first and foremost for the safety, comfort, and healing of the quirkless.

One night, Eraserhead ends up dropping on his doorstep, passed out from blood loss and dangerously close to dying. Izuku fixes him up and then kicks him out once he’s well enough to walk away. Shouta is intrigued by this extremely young doctor, surprisingly competent but with a horrible bedside manner that he suspects was made worse to get him to leave quicker and never come back.

Joke’s on Izuku, Shouta is like a cat. He’s caught his attention and his interest, and trying to get rid of him is more likely to get him to stay. And Shouta does keep coming back.

Plus, he eventually figures out that Izuku is the not-vigilante that Tsukauchi will sometimes complain about. Because Izuku might have no interest in heroics, but he’s certainly not going to look the other way when innocent people are being threatened and harmed right in front of him. And he lives in the bad part of town, and is possibly even more of a trouble magnet than he was Before. Vigilante charges won’t stick, it’s always self-defense, and he never goes on patrols or anything. The local police know him very well, and Stephen gets to point where he could fill out the paperwork/follow procedure in his sleep.

It's not just fighting the criminals either. Once Shouta knows what to look for, what to listen for, he hears the rumors about Izuku just talking down a good number of would-be criminals as well. Thinking back on his smart mouth, he can’t be too surprised.

Slowly, as they spend more and more time together, their walls are bridged and they become closer (and Shouta notices more and more strange little things, but he settles back to observe rather than demanding answers outright for the most part). Izuku even ends up doing an internship with Recovery Girl at one point. Mainly because he needs the hours and they’re one of the few local places that would accept him. He has absolutely no inclination, however, of making a career as a school doctor. Bottom of the list. He’s determined to become a renowned neurosurgeon once again, with the added challenge of quirks.

Izuku happens to be present when 3A is attacked at the USJ (Mirio has OFA here). A random craving places him in Hosu during Stain and the nomu attack, he stumbles upon and basically kidnaps Eri at some point, and for whatever reason he’s passing through Kamino when All Might and AFO have their final showdown. That’s where he discovers that there is a significant demonic threat present. And despite all of Izuku’s practice, it is the first actually significant mystical battle he’s participated in since being reborn. Practice is well and good, but he’s rusty when it comes to actual battle, and that could easily be a death sentence. He doesn’t even manage to figure out what the threat is, specifically, and it’s luck that Shouta finds him on UA grounds in time to get him to Recovery Girl.

Life progresses as usual while Izuku desperately tries to figure out what the demon is doing and how to defeat it. All while trying to keep what he’s looking for secret from the entity and dodging whatever safeguards it might have set up over the decades, or maybe centuries. Eventually we get to the war arc (I think it’s called?) where Shigaraki is upgraded by the doctor, or whatever, and AFO takes over his body (I haven’t actually seen or read Bnha except for a ton of fanfiction, so all of my canon knowledge comes from that and maybe a couple of wiki articles). There’s a twist I build up to with this climax, and hopefully do well enough to shock readers, but safe to say that Shouta is not having a good time.

But these two idiots do finally get together, so there’s that.

Wow, this ended up being a lot longer than I thought.

(Book 2 and 3 ideas to come eventually. Maybe even soon. Maybe this will give me the motivation to actually start writing).

[ineffablegame]

“It’s over. They’re not going to hurt you again.” :3c

I’m sorry this got so long!  Also at my Ao3.

-

Aziraphale is not, as a general rule, overly fond of children.

Oh, they’re wonderful, of course.  They’re wonderful as a concept.  Aziraphale may not be in Heaven’s best books, so to speak, but he still subscribes to their beliefs regarding children.  ‘For the kingdom of God belongs to those who are like these children,’ ‘you are all children of God,’ ‘the riches inherited by God’s children,’ et cetera.  Gabriel may have called Adam Young a brat, but Above is – at least officially – in favor of kids.

Broadly speaking, Aziraphale loves children.  He’s an angel, after all.  He loves everyone, and that includes children.

Less broadly – in the narrow confines of his beloved bookshop, for example – Aziraphale is happy to keep them at a distance.  So, when the Them show up at the front door on a cool, crisp day in late October, the angel is understandably alarmed.

“Hullo,” says Adam Young.  He holds the lead for Dog, who stands stock-still beside him, eyes flashing incarnadine.  Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale flank him.  

Aziraphale fends off a full-body shudder with every scrap of angelic willpower he can muster.  Adam Young may be a normal boy at heart, but the rest of him remains very much the occult equivalent of ten million nuclear warheads.  The intensity of his focus is unsettling.

“A-ah,” the angel stammers.  “Adam Young. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Is that him?” Pepper demands.  She eyes Aziraphale, lip curling.  “He doesn’t look like a demon.”

“I never said he was the demon,” Adam replies. “He’s the demon’s friend.”

“Actually, I don’t think demons can have friends,” says Wensleydale.  “Because they’re evil.”

“Yeah.”  Brian wipes a mud stain – the origin of which is a mystery – on his shirt.  His eyes widen and he grins.  “Maybe he’s possessed by the demon?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s quite the case,” Aziraphale fumbles.  He does wish the children would quiet down a little. If Crowley hears them speculating about who’s possessing who, he’ll never let Aziraphale hear the end of it. “You’re… looking for Crowley?”

“Uh-huh.”  Adam angles his gaze past Aziraphale, into the near-empty bookshop.  “He’s here, right?  We need to ask him for advice.”

“Whatever could you need—”  Aziraphale begins, only to fall silent as a familiar demonic presence crowds his senses. He turns and sees Crowley sauntering toward him.

“Angel, there’re a pair of tourists looking quite keen about the Ian Fleming books,” he says.  “I’d get them to clear out if I were you.  I keep telling you, move the Bond books to storage.  You might think they’re drivel, but they have some serious—”

Crowley looks back toward Aziraphale and catches sight of the Them. He draws up short.  “Oh!  Uh. Hey, um, kids.”

Pepper looks even less impressed than before.  “This is him?  Seriously?”

“Yeah.”  Adam strolls past Aziraphale into the bookshop with Dog and the Them in tow. Aziraphale watches the procession pass in bewilderment.

Pepper cuts straight to the point.  “We need you to teach us how to be devils.”

Crowley darts his eyes from the Them to Aziraphale and back.  “Um.  What?”

“For Halloween,” Adam clarifies.  “We’re going as devils.  But we don’t know how to act properly evil, so I thought, why not ask a real-life devil?”

“M’a demon, actually,” Crowley mumbles, apparently immune to the irony of Adam’s statement.  He considers the Them, head cocked.  Then, much to Aziraphale’s horror, he nods.  “Yeah, all right.  Why not.”

“Why not?” Aziraphale echoes.  “My dear, surely you can’t be—”  He freezes when Adam turns and pins him with a speculative look.  Mellowing, the angel stammers, “W-well, perhaps if you took your… er, tutelage outside…”

Adam shrugs.  “I dunno. I think right here is fine.”  He looks around the shop.  “Seems to me that you spend a lot of time here.  Might help you teach us better in your nat’ral environment, right?”

Aziraphale directs a withering look at Crowley, who averts his gaze.  “Uh.  I guess.”

“I really think…”  Aziraphale trails off; he knows when a battle is lost.  He threads his fingers together, knuckles white.  “Please be careful of the books.  They are quite valuable.”

He spins around and stalks toward the counter, intent on taking his wrath out on the first customer to cross him.

The next hour is an exercise in tolerance.  Crowley gets right down to the business of teaching the Them how to be proper demons, his gusto belying the apologetic glances he keeps shooting Aziraphale’s way.  From what the angel can gather in his covert eavesdropping, demonic work mostly amounts to being a nuisance.

“Another good—er, bad act of evil is never replacing the loo roll,” Crowley says. “That one’s a sure-fire win. Never fails to drive the humans mad.”

“I do that already,” Brian says proudly.  “And I never flush.”

Crowley winces.  “Yeah, you’re a proper demon, all right.”

“This is boring,” Pepper says.  “Don’t you do real evil stuff?  Like, killing people and all that?”

“There’s more to being evil than killing people,” Crowley says with startling patience.

“I don’t see why you want to celebrate Halloween at all,” Aziraphale says, stopping by their gathering with an armful of books – a clever pretext on his part, if he may be so bold.  “It’s only a new-fangled American holiday.”

“Actually, you can’t own a holiday,” says Wensleydale.  “America doesn't own Halloween.  Holidays are for everyone.  As long as they’re not religious.”

Aziraphale is sorely tempted to tell the little know-it-all to shove it, but Adam Young’s focus hones in on him with hawkish intensity, so he restrains himself.  “Of course,” he says coldly.

Brian plucks a book off the shelf and leafs through the pages.  “Is folding the corners demonic?  My parents hate it when I do that.”

“Ye—no,” Crowley says, catching Aziraphale’s warning glare.  “Nah, s’not really evil.  Nope.”

Adam glances between the angel and demon.  “Sounds right.”

Pepper looks at the book in Brian’s hand with disdain.  “Ugh.  Peter Pan is so sexist.”

Aziraphale’s temper slips its bonds.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  It’s a children’s book.”

“It is!” Pepper counters.  “It’s all boys doing the fun stuff and Wendy has to be like their mum!  And Tiger Lily—”

“What about this?” Brian says, clearly still stuck on demonic acts against literature.  He jams one finger up his nose and pulls it out, a yellow-green gobbet clinging to the dirty nail.  Then, much to Aziraphale’s horror, he smears the bogie on the inside cover of a first-edition Peter Pan.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chokes.  He’s never fainted in his entire existence, but there’s a first time for everything.

Crowley, much to his credit, keeps a flimsy veneer of composure as he swipes the book from Brian’s hands.  “Books really aren’t the way to go,” he says.  Aziraphale feels the fabric of the universe pop a stitch and re-knit as the bogie dissolves into nothingness.  “Not enough people care about them.  The effect isn’t widespread.”

“Not enough—”  Aziraphale sputters, indignant, only to stop dead when he sees Dog sniffing a shelf with Intent.  “Adam, dear boy, if you could please take, ah, Poochie outside, I would appreciate it ever so much…”

Adam considers the former hellhound.  “Think I’ll keep him with me, thanks.  He’s not used to the big city.”

“There’s a fenced-in yard outside,” Aziraphale says, a trifle desperately.  There wasn’t one a moment ago, and miracling around the logistics of Soho was a trial, but the angel is growing more and more desperate.  “Surely it needs to relieve itself?”

“Nah,” says Adam.  “He’s properly trained.  He won’t make a mess.”

In a feat of truly miraculous timing, Dog cocks a leg and wees on the shelf. Aziraphale’s heartbeat slams in his temples.  Dumping his books on the nearest open shelf, he hurries over to the little beast, waving his hands at it.  “Oh, for pity’s sake!”

“Got it,” Crowley says quickly.  He miracles the puddle out of existence with a snap of his fingers.  “See?  Not a stain, angel.”

“Cor!”  Brian is amazed.  “Can you show us how to do that?”

“Actually, I don’t think we can,” says Wensleydale.  “On account of we’re not real demons.”

“Shoo!” Aziraphale hisses at Dog.  “Shoo, you—you little mongrel!”

“Hey,” Adam says, and while his tone is mild, the rumble of irritation that sweeps through the bookshop is not. Aziraphale should heed it, really he should, but he can’t stand idly by while children run riot and infernal dogs eject fluids in his shop.  He waves his hands closer at Dog, intent on fending him off.  Dog’s lips peel back in a snarl.

Crowley’s voice is strained.  “Angel—”

Too late.  Aziraphale shrieks as Dog’s teeth sink into his hand, flowering fires of pain.  He yanks his hand back and clutches it to his chest.  Dog growls, eyes glittering red.

“I’m sorry,” Adam hastens to say.  “I didn’t think he’d do that.”

“Actually, Mr. Fell,” says Wensleydale, “it was a defense mechanism. Little dogs like Dog have a high prey drive and you got into his space.  Actually, you should have known not to do that, because growling is a warning that…”

“Ugh!”  On the other side of the shop, Pepper tosses a book to the floor in disdain.  “The Iliad is even worse than Peter Pan! My mum says…”

“Look at this, Mr. Crowley!” Brian calls.  “See that book, with the fancy cover?  I bet I can hit it from all the way across the room!”  He hawks deep in his throat.

Aziraphale has never killed anything before, but, frantic, furious, and helpless, he suddenly sees the appeal of cold-blooded murder.  “That’s quite enough of that!”

The Them ignore him, and several things happen in swift succession.  Dog squats on the floorboards.  Pepper pulls a copy of The Odyssey from the shelf.  Wensleydale keeps talking.  Brian spits a wad of saliva and phlegm.

The few remaining customers vanish, dispatched outside the shop with no memory of the past few minutes.  A blazing white light erupts from Aziraphale and floods the room to press, incandescent, against the dust-coated windows.  The dowdy, bookish angel suddenly looms, menacing and full of holy wrath, flaming sword raised to strike.  His eyes glow with the searing heat of Heavenly justice.  Crowley cowers behind the nearest shelf; Dog cowers behind Adam’s legs; the Them stare, spellbound.  Brian’s loogie evaporates with a hiss like grease on hot metal.

“THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH OF THAT,” Aziraphale says.  His voice resonates, multiplied and overlayed like a screaming horde of berserkers.  “STEP AWAY FROM THE BOOKS, PLEASE.”

The Them obey.  They cluster around Adam, eyes wide, mouths ajar.

“NOW.”  Aziraphale sweeps the flaming sword toward the door, which obediently flies open.  “GET.  OUT.  OF MY BOOKSHOP.”

The Them look to Adam, who nods.  “Yeah.  C’mon, I think we learned enough.”  He leads them to the open door, ushers them out.  He gives the angel and the demon a thoughtful look.  “Sorry.  I’ll leave you two alone now.”

He leaves.  The door snaps shut behind them, locks clanking into place.  Aziraphale sags as the holy wrath leaves him, his sword – a mere illusion – melting into the air.  He feels ready to burst into tears.  Or to smite something.  He hasn’t decided which.

“Angel.”  Crowley’s voice is gentle, the tone one might use to soothe a wild creature.  “They’re gone.  It’s over.  They’re not going to hurt you again.”

Aziraphale wraps his arms around himself.  “Don’t tease.”

“Sorry.”  Crowley slinks closer, still wary.  “Gosh. I thought your lot were all for suffering the little children.”

Aziraphale sniffles.  “Well, my dear, I c-could only suffer so much.”

“Ah, angel.  There, there.”  Crowley’s tone is sneering, but the concern in his eyes is genuine.  “Let me see.”

“Wh-what?”

“Your hand.  That little beast got you good, didn’t he?”

“Oh.”  Aziraphale holds out his trembling hand.  “I-I suppose it did.”

Crowley’s fingers enfold him, delicate but sure.  Aziraphale stares at the floorboards as his vision swims and the demon presses gentle touches to the bite marks.  “Didn’t break the skin, but might as well…”

Aziraphale swallows thickly.  The pain evaporates in prickling warmth.  “Thank you.”

“Nnh.  No problem.” A beat.  “I’m sorry.  For letting them stay in the shop.”

“We didn’t have a choice, really,” the angel mutters.

“I don’t know.  Adam Young’s not all bad.”

Aziraphale mangles a laugh.  “I suppose not.  For an Antichrist.”

“Aziraphale…”

“I hate them, Crowley.”

“You’re an angel.  You don’t hate anything.”

“But they’re so loud! And messy!  And annoying!”

“They’re kids.  Trust me, adults are loads worse.”

Aziraphale sighs and wipes his eyes with one hand.  Despite having healed the bite, Crowley still holds his other hand, and he is reluctant to take it back.  “Oh, I know, dear boy.  Please don’t think less of me for it, my nerves are just so…”

“Don’t worry,” Crowley says.  “Tell you what.  Let’s close up shop and open up that Talisker you’ve got squirreled away, yeah?  The eighteen-year one.”

Aziraphale gives him a watery smile.  “My dear, that would be wonderful.”

They close the shop.  As Aziraphale locks the front door, another miracle sings through the air, a plucked harp string vibrating through reality.  He blinks, unlocks the door, and opens it.  A new sign has appeared.

‘No dogs allowed.’

The angel closes the door and locks it again.  He turns, beaming.  Crowley smiles back.

-

That Halloween, the Them go trick-or-treating as angels.

[renofmanyalts]

(Did someone say offering for Maati? :3c) [A flower crown, based with the branches of sycamore and walnut, entwined with southernwood; tucked in are daisies, ragged ladies, and meadow lychnis; hidden under the larger flowers are coral honeysuckle and scarlet lychnis. A wristlet, as well, made of stems and blooms from milkvetch, linseed, and forget-me-nots; atop a leatherbound book of riddles printed with the images of clematis and kennedia flowers. It is left with a basket of figs and currants.

Ye gods, man, that’s a pile and a half of symbolism you’ve got there. Gave me a lot to chew on, so please forgive the long post!

THE FLOWER CROWN

The base: oak and sycamore, twined in southernwood - curiosity, intellect and strategem, banter and jest and pain .    .   .  (dye, ink, medicine -- discernment... stalwart woods twisted up -- lad’s love and maid’s ruin) 

The adornment: daisies, ragged ladies, meadow lychnis - innocence,  wit, perplexity .  .  .  (he loves me, he loves me not; day’s eye on the graves of children -- love in a mist, burning)

The concealed message: coral honeysuckle, scarlet lychnis -  the color of my fate, sunbeaming eyes .  .  . (red, red, red -- a sweet disposition draws the honeybee)

Keen intellect entangled in sharp humor, fascination, bewilderment -- plucking petals and staring into bright eyes the sun to scry for one’s fate, bumbling closer: that these questions might have answers.

  .  .  .  For the question to be known without the asking. 

THE WRISTLET

milkvetch - Your presence softens my pains .  .  .  (nurturance, to soothe hunger)

flax - domestic industry, kindness -- utility .  .  .  (the thread of fate, not yet dried, beaten, and spun)

forget-me-not - loyalty, memory .  .  .  (feelings unaltered by distance and time)

Vines and long grasses twine and spread, encircling, entreating with upturned blue blossoms -- the past clings, haunting memories and old wounds and wishes: that the present and the future might be softer. 

  .  .  .  For comfort, persisting.

THE BOOK OF RIDDLES

The cover: clematis (leather flower) and kennedia - mental beauty, artifice

The content: riddles - the application of logic, searching for answers

Hidden meanings and man-made problems -- half of a conversation, inviting joy in engagement: that those things which are hidden might be unraveled.

  .  .  .  For time well-spent, and keen insight.

THE BASKET

Figs - argument, longevity .  .  .  (sweet interchange, seeds that stick in your teeth - born from the death of wasps; knowledge that comes at the price of innocence)

Currants - thy frown will kill me, thankfulness .  .  .  (tartness, astringency gentled by sweetness - oft served with lamb, to cut through the fat)

Produce of the age-old garden: wisdom through questioning, probing, contrast and comparison -- a revelation, unsettling: that these labors might bear fruit.

  .  .  . For delight in one’s work.

The blessing granted...?

Maati’s priest does her best to dissuade the petitioner from leaving flowers. Written words would be a better offering: have you not listened to the doctrine? she chides, baffled.

Come back again when you can speak plainly, she says. Maybe then Maati will hear your request.

The flowers are confiscated, and the petitioner is sent away with fruit and book still in hand. 

-----

The flowers end up in the compost bin: the crown molders away, but the wristlet is retrieved by a kitchen maid. She unweaves it, separating the components and hanging them to dry. Moons later, the forget-me-nots are worked into an incense blend burned in the sanctuary.

Meanwhile, the book of riddles meets a strange fate: the cover’s leather peels away in the petitioner’s hand, the glue having apparently gone brittle. When the body of the book hits the ground, several of the leaves end up folding in on themselves, almost as if they have been dog-eared. In the frustrating process of trying to unbend them, the petitioner cannot help but notice that the riddles on the folded pages all seem to be based on double-entendres. Here’s one such:

First you jerk me by my ear Then kiss me on the lips. You say I'm hot and hold me near, Then laugh that I lack shapely hips.

Up and down your silly game Your passion stirred already, Whether mood be light or dark - Just try to hold me steady!

As for the fruits... perhaps they were eaten, even enjoyed?

---------------

Why the rejection? 

Maati would be familiar with the symbolic meanings, of course - the Ul’dahn upper classes are all for the blatant display of wealth and coy deniability that floriography entails, and botanical motifs are naturally very common in art, architecture, and design. However, she hates the idea of spending exorbitant amounts of money and time to encode and decode a message -- and dislikes both vague flattery and veiled threats, furthermore. She maintains that if a message is fit to be conveyed, then it should be given in plain text -- then, at least, it can be catalogued and analyzed and brought out again and again. She retains these same feelings as the deity of argument and rhetoric.

(This ended up SO long that I will go into Maati-as-deity’s properties in another ask response.)

[froginvader]

My url >:3c

Goo’s hot dump(lings) on you || Accepting

@gentletwin 

My Opinion on;

Character in general: Woocus??? He’s been my baby boy since I was introduced to him in Brawl. He’s???? So cute??? I’d paddle boat my way to Nowhere to slap down my adoption papers for him and his bro bro.  How they play them: H...Are you sure this isn’t canon? I’m pretty sure this is just Lucas’ live blog NJKERLGNKJ. But seriously, its wonderful, I love seeing your interpretation of him on my dash and skimming through your threads is *chef’s kiss* The Mun: I LOVE YOU NEG. Sometimes I forget how long we’ve known each other ( back when I rped Ninten???? Good golly that feels like 50 years ago ). You’re so cool and wonderful and I adore how you draw your own icons....LOVELY ART BTW <33 Maybe one day I’ll bring back Ninten or Claus and we can vibe again with them.....

Do I:

RP with them: Not really besides through asks LOL. THAT’LL CHANGE---Does Link coming in and taking over Kero’s blog to say hi to Lucas count as a thread? NGKERLGJKEGNJK Want to RP with them: I’m all bark and no bite, sorry fam :/ jkjkjkjk ofc I want to <3

What is my;

Overall Opinion: Yes

[jadeywrites]

Writer’s Month | Day 1: Tattoo Artist

[Masterlist]

Alright, here we gooo

This one’s a long one, but I expect this to be a rare occurrence because I won’t be able to keep up if I always write ones these long.

This is a snippet from a world and characters I’ve made in my head, but never really got around to writing due to all the plot work that would need to be done first. I’ll tag it as #wip: two cities anyway, in case I end up writing more related stuff.

I realized I misinterpreted the Tattoo Artist/Flower Shop AU prompt wrong. I thought it was a choice between “tattoo artist” and “flower shop au”, but apparently it’s a specific thing that’s sometimes seen in fanfic. I don’t write fanfic so I wasn’t aware of this, and had this written already before last night my brain went oH wAiT. I kinda like this so I won’t be deleting it, but I’m not 100% sure if it still counts or not.

Word count: 1,480

Everything about what he was doing today was… not necessarily illegal, for it wasn’t illegal for a Cryx citizen to visit Downunder, but definitely out of the ordinary. What he was doing was ill-advised, El decided. A very bad idea, if you were to ask anyone on Cryx. Those who had been born on Cryx did not venture down to the lower level of the city, where the lesser-born lived. Go down there, and you would never come back up. 

Downunder was a “necessary evil”. 

Having grown up in Cryx, discomfort stretched tightly across El’s skin as he walked the dim streets. It was harder to breathe down here, and there was a stink of… what? The combined tang of metal and sweat filled the air, a scent that didn’t vanish completely even if you stood right next to the giant ventilators spread across Downunder to keep the citizens provided with enough fresh air.

Where were all the people? He could hear clanks, echoes, distant voices here and there, but he had only encountered a grand total of five people in the hour he had been down here. He had been lucky, that each time no one had looked close enough to see how he was a piece that did not fit.

Reaching an intersection, El glanced up at the faded street signs. Ouro Gul, read the sign to his right. Where had these strange names come from? Was this the dead language of old Cryx, before it had become the Downunder of today? El turned onto the street, keeping his steps brisk. He wanted to stop and stare at everything. The stained gray walls. The dimly glowing bulletins, most of them turned off or broken, but a few advertising products that were already old news up in Cryx. Up in Cryx. Buffering skies, he really was standing underneath the city he had grown up in.

The street narrowed. The buildings, the shortest ones five stories tall, loomed over him. A part of him worried that they could tumble down at any moment. El tugged his worn jacket closer around his shoulders and began to scan the sides. Many building fronts were unmarked, some had signs with more words he knew no meaning of. Then, there it was. Above a door to the left, engraved in the--brick?--were the words “Grist Jul: Kapi Relnuten”. On the door hung a sign, thankfully in the language he knew: Shelm’s Tattoos. Open.

There were no windows on the ground floor to peer in. All El could do was turn the handle, and push.

The door opened into a small room, similar to a reception area. The lack of modern technology was atrocious. No AI seemed to register his appearance. No welcome greeting. The room was lit with one of the styles that had been a fad ten years ago--the entire ceiling glowing uniformly to provide light--but the blue color was harsh and the light wobbled. It tinted the illustrations of different tattoo designs on the wall, the intricate swirls, bold lines, little tattoos and large ones spread across ones back. 

A desk was placed across from the door, wooden and clear of any objects. A chair behind it. A line of five chairs along the right wall, presumably for waiting in. There was a large screen built into the left wall, headlines scrolling across in 3-D lettering.

Thusian’s Factory holding interviews for floor manager

Sector 7G governor announces new guidelines for product 4B8W53 manufacturing

Breakdown in 3C causes mass-exodus

El frowned at the headlines. They were far from what he was used to seeing in the news. He reached out to tap on the last headline for more information, but the click-click of shoes on hard floor made him pause. There was no one in this small room, but--

A section of the wall beside the desk swung out into the door, and El started. He hadn’t made out the outline of a door, not in this lighting. From the dark hallway he could glimpse beyond, a woman stepped out into the blue light.

El’s gaze flitted over her appearance. Chin length straight hair, tinted slightly blue by the light, framed an also slightly blue face. A pointed chin, flat nose, and thin eyebrows over narrowed eyes surrounded by black makeup. Her attire was odd: geometric patterned tunic over black fitting pants, and a leather jacket with studs that reflected the light.

She did not look as pleased as someone greeting a potential customer should. She didn’t look surprised to see him either, so… on second thought, there was at least one hidden camera in this room.

El tried to place his features into an expression that could be interpreted as less “nervous as hell” and more… smooth. “Gre--”

Ah, buggers. Not formal. He wasn’t trying to out himself as not belonging here. El cleared his throat and tugged on the bottom of his jacket. “Hey,” he tried. “This is the place for tattoos, right?”

She gave him a long, unimpressed look. His heartbeat sped up. “Yes. Obviously.”

“Great. Are you the… manager? I’m El--by the way.”

“Not the manager. Not in. But the tattoo artist? That’s me.” She stepped forward and closed the door behind her. He gave it a glance, noting how it was indeed difficult to spot if you didn’t know exactly where to look. A smile curved her lips, but despite her next words it wasn’t a friendly one. “Nice to meet you, El.”

He knew his next words mattered. Well, every single one of these words mattered, but--the next ones were particularly important. Searching hadn’t turned up much information, but there were two common threads that had come up through all his Searches through the database. A tattoo shop--this one--and a certain symbol with a lot of circles. How these related to magic he had no idea, but he had to try. For his sister, he had to try.

El cleared his throat again. “I’m looking to get a tattoo.”

She leaned back against the door. “Shoot.”

“I have a design in mind. It’s--a lot of circles, kind of like...” He traced a pattern in the air, but from the raise of her brows she was getting nothing out of his gestures. “I can draw it for you if you have a screen.”

“Mm-hmm.” She pushed off the wall and stepped towards him, boots clicking across the floor. It only took her a few steps before she was close enough for him to feel distinctly uncomfortable. She was taller than him, too. “I’ll be straight with you, boy. No one here is going to serve you.”

El stiffened. “I just want a tattoo--”

“No.”

“Just let me draw it for you. Then you can decide.”

Their eyes met and held, and in his head El counted the seconds as he struggled not to look away from her glare. Six, seven, eight.

Surprisingly, she looked away first, with a scoff. From her back pocket she pulled out a thin device about the size of her palm. An old eNotes. After the screen booted up, she presented it and a stylus to El. He took it, and set the point down. His artistry skills were subpar, but he’d been staring at that design enough over the past few days to memorize it. He sketched the design out, making sure to get every overlap and sizes correct. When he presented it to her again, she only glanced at it once before pocketing it and staring El down again.

“Someone’s been trying to do research.”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

“The answer is still no. Get out.”

He couldn’t keep the shock and hurt from flashing across his face. Had he got it all wrong? No--her comment about research had to mean she knew what he was getting at. “No, wait, you don’t get it. I’m looking for--”

In a flash, one of her hands cupped the back of his head while the other pressed across his mouth. Her hand was cool and soft, but her nails dug into his cheek. Her smile curved wider. “Quiet, boy. Don’t argue.”

It suddenly occurred to him that he should have backed off. Who was he to think he could enter Downunder and come back out alive? And if there really was still magic here, those who knew about it would be protecting it by all cost.

“As I said, the manager’s out. She’ll be back in around… oh, five hours. If you want to take up business with her, you’re welcome to do so then.” She paused, then dropped her hands and stepped away. “Although… I really don’t think she wants to do business with you.”

As she turned and clicked back across the floor, her voice took on a sing-song quality. “See you in five, El. If you dare~”

She swung the hidden door back open and stepped through. It shut quickly behind her, leaving El standing stunned, with the finality of the door’s click still echoing through his head.

[chysgoda]

GAME OVER >:3c

From the Game Over prompt

I sat on the steps of the capitol building and watched the shades go about their business in Emet-Selch’s dollhouse of a city. The irony of bringing this battle here tasted like bile but it was the safest place to hold the battle should my attempts at parlay fail yet again. The young heroes, called under false pretenses, had not listened to my pleas for caution. “Ardbert” had torn down my words at every turn, slowly casting my concerns, my weariness in the light of a villain. 

“One fool to another…” I murmured to myself echoing Adbert’s words from years ago. My fingers absently traced the vambrace on my right forearm feeling the quiescent aether that would mold into the shape of a shield when I awoke it. I’d forgone my heavy armor and dressed for the blood sands instead. My lips quirked remembering the black humor of the sands, always make sure you’ll look good as a corpse. And there would be a corpse today, death was an old friend to me and I could feel it hovering near. 

Movement caught my eye and drew it upwards to a grey bird. I watched it with a frown, it was that damned shoebill. I pulled a whetstone from my pack and turned my attention to my blade, no doubt it would find a cozy place to watch. I settled into the ritual of sharpening and caring for my blade. When the grey bird landed in front of me I paused. When it began to change I turned my head, while the shape-shifting was hardly the most disturbing thing I’d seen, I also had no desire to nauseate myself. 

“Art‘imis Chysgoda, the savior of Eorzea, Liberator of Doma and Ala Mhigo, Champion of the Source.” Emet-Selch’s voice was smooth and dramatic as it ever had been in our short acquaintance. He invited himself to sit next to me. “A rather different perspective from this end is it not my dear Warrior.” 

I finished the movement I’d paused in and set the blade aside. “Does Elidibus know that you survived our battle?”

“Given you don’t seem surprised to see me I doubt he would be.” Emet-Selch shrugged. “So you have lived to see yourself become the villain of this doomed star to which you granted a reprieve. Granted, Elidibus helped rather a lot with that. Even mortals don’t forget such debts quite this quickly.”

“You are rather chipper for a man believed to be dead.” I stood to stretch my back and secured my blade’s scabbard to my belt. 

Even sitting Emet Selch did not have to look up far to meet my eyes. He chuckled, “And you lack the appropriate drama to be the final villain of a story.”

I snorted and started to make my way down the over large stairs. Emet-Selch was waiting for me at the bottom smug smirk and spread hands saying that if I had just asked for assistance. I looked him up and down, entertaining the idea of taking out his kneecaps. “I do not intend to be the final villain of this story.”

“No, in the end, it is Hydaelyn that is to be the final villain in the story.” He reached out as if stroke my hair and pulled his hand back as I stepped away from him. “She stopped using the souls of her summoners as her pawns after the third rejoining. Since then she has sought out the souls of those who would make us heartsick-“

I rested my left hand on the hilt of my sword and pulled it so that a few ilms of shining metal gleamed in the blue-green light and the blade would draw easily when I had need of it. “Appeals to a woman who no longer lives will not sway me to your cause Hades.”

“I know my once love.” The air cracked as he snapped. Behind me, I felt a disturbance in the aether and turned to face it. There were two portals from which two black-clad ascians stepped out. 

From behind me, Emet-Selch struck like a snake and a dagger dug into my left side just above the waist. It was a deep wound and one that would kill me slowly. My healing magic would not be enough to heal entirely before a fight. He twisted the dagger viciously before pulling from my side. I lashed out at him, “Coward!” 

Emet-Selch tut-tutted at me as I awkwardly drew my sword. “Were you not the one who called honor in battle merely a way for the powerful to stack the deck? And Hydaelyn is so very good at stacking the deck in her favor and calling it the right thing to do.” 

The three Ascians started circling me widdershins forcing me to move constantly to keep some semblance of an idea of what to expect. Emet-Selch summoned his crystal staff to him and the glowing, red, flowering hovered around his opposite hand and forearm. The other two Ascians summoned weapons as well, one a great sword and the other a short sword and war hammer. I forced myself to breathe evenly, I’d fought injured before, I could do it again. I reversed the grip on my sword and slammed it towards the ground as I bent my will to bring down blades of light around me. The Ascian with the great sword hissed, but there were no other reactions.  

“For millennia the crystal mother has snatched the souls of those dear to us from the very lifestream in a desperate attempt to discourage our great work,” Emet-Selch spoke but I could only half pay attention to his words as I raised my aether shield to deflect the hammer blow from one of the other Ascians. “Deprived us of tangible hope that our plans would come to fruition. Forced our hands to kill the flesh of those we sacrifice everything for.”

Fighting one Ascian with a full strike team of eight was risky. Fighting three by myself was folly. I wove my blade and shield around me, called up spells of defense and maiming. The two weapons masters worked together seamlessly and I could not take the time to cast any kind of spell to knit the flesh Emet Selch had cut. I took a blow from the great sword on my shield but the pressure forced an awkward bend to my knees. I pushed back and sidestepped away from the arc of the sword only to step into the arc of the war hammer. 

I felt time expand. The hammer moved with painful slowness and I simply could not move fast enough. When the hammer caught me it was just above my tail, scales tore and I felt something break. I fell to my knees which then collapsed. Then the pain caught up to me. A blinding knife of pain all through my spine and radiating out from there. The two materially armed Ascians stepped back as I tried to push myself up. It was getting harder to breathe. I was able to raise my upper body with my arms but I could not get my knees up no matter how I strained. 

It was several moments of straining before I realized that I could not feel my tail lashing in agitation as it normally would have. I stopped breathing and focused. I could not feel my tail, or my knees, or my toes. I changed focus, tried to curl my toes in my boots but I could not feel the stretch or contraction of the muscles. I sucked a breath of air in as panic and terror swarmed through my veins like a flash flood I mumbled denial under my breath. Anything else I could defeat or if I couldn’t by myself I would have a friend that could help me. This, there was no mending this. There was no….

Gentle hands with long fingers turned me over on to my back. Emet-Selch caught a flailing fist and trapped it against my side as he wrapped an arm around my ribs and pulled me into his lap. “Shhhhhh… this shall pass soon my dear warrior.”

“I am not your dear warrior,” I snarled, wriggling in his grasp. It did me no good but I couldn’t just give up. 

The hand with the aetheric vine wrapped around it motioned like a stage magician and a purple crystal appeared between his forefinger and thumb. I’d seen its like before in the crystal that Lahabrea had collared Thancred with. I began to struggle more but his arm shifted and fingers dug into the stab wound he’d given me. “Enough Lilith! I will not be forced to do this again! I will not lose you, Hythlodaeus, Idunn, or Ananke to her again! I will not! I will keep you close until the ardor” 

I flinched away from him. There was desperate madness deep in his golden eyes. “I’m not her, she’s gone. Even if you succeed, your Lilith is go-“

“NO!!” I closed my eyes against the rage there. The pain was stealing my will and blood loss was draining my strength to resist. He pressed the cool crystal onto my chest above my heart. “This will be washed away, not even a bad dream to haunt you, after all, is said and done.”

I shook my head in denial, letting tears fall as I felt something hook around my breastbone and tear. I screamed scrambling to hold on to consciousness, to memory as I was being torn away from it. I cursed him in every way I knew. I begged for reprieve. I-

Hades watched as amber veins grew and threaded through the purple crystal. He blocked the Warrior’s screaming out of his mind; this malformed mind would be shucked away from his beloved’s soul shortly. Now that there were nine shards joined together, her soul was weighty enough that he could capture it. When the broken body went slack he stood and vanished the blood from his robes with a snap. He motioned to Fandaniel and Pashtarot to follow and they left the first to its fate. 

[emmetrain]

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

Thank you all so much for your patience with me this year. I was super slow due to my thesis (which, I need one more term to complete, f me) but I love you all and Emmet muse is as strong as ever!

Highlights of this year both ic and ooc;;

January: IC AITA posts (Emmet adores those), Amogus Emmet and all the amogus I drew for other muses, Emmet and Volo enemy to brothers.

February: Shiro's Splendet Astra discord server, me unleashing Emmet on all other muses on Discord, making new friends and getting to know the community more. Emmet and Ingo's apartment made in Sims 4, Emmet adopting a cutiefly thanks to Kei's muse (with adorable drawings), Prof Sada is a new muse of mine.

March: DULSEM!!!!! Emmet and Dulse ship sails in discord and it is the most precious thing ever, I adore them. Kittu brings meinto Ultra Space fandom. FLORGES BALL. Emmet gets stung by Nihilego due to stupid optimism (Discord thread).

April: Dulsem ship art, also the cool Emmet and Eeelektross fanart I did.

May: JOHTO MOON FESTIVAL, cool alternative clothes for Emmet. Emmet and Dulse engagement ;A;;;;

June: PRIDE MONTH!! The surprise art I did for my beloved mutuals (10 drawings a day from yours truly, I had so much fun). Tera fest hype. Emmet secret powers post.

July: Emmet plushie stand in Tera fest, Daichi/Groudon becoming a new Rain muse, lots of plushies and gift art.

August: I start dying in thesis hell, Baldur's Gate happens so I am out fr.

September: Muse Bingo dash game (Emmet's right here).

October: HALLOWEENMET .

November: >:3c Emmet server on discord, he has opened a batte subway forum. Thesis hell + Tumblr soft-ban in my country (it only resolved last week? Hell.)

December: New Year's Em, VB Holiday Fest. TUMBLR BAN IS LIFTED I HOPE?? I AM HERE.

Overall, with the ban finally gone (I didn't realize at first, thought Tumblr was slow due to adblocker etc etc), I hope to be more active once again. You can always catch me on discord (moots can message me) and/or Emmet's Battle Subway Forum discord server.

Real-life had its weird ups and downs, but here's hoping new year will be much better :D I love you all SO SO MUCH. Thank you for sticking around.

[moonlightscholar]

1-10 shipping meme :3c

1 - are you open to on-the-fly shipping with your muse?

(On the fly shipping? Honestly I don’t know entirely what that means. Some ships do sort of happen without planning, but in the same manner it does take some good amount of chemistry. But I just won’t ship him with just anyone?)

2 - what sort of things does your muse look for in a partner?

Honestly, he does place a high value of individuals that are independent and thus really don’t need to rely on someone or a partner to run their life. It was that independence that actually drew him to his first partner despite the rough initial meeting they had and the agreement that came thereafter. Also, he doesn’t mind someone that has a pretty good head on them too. They don’t have to match or rival his degree of knowledge, but he does like someone he can have an occasional good discussion with.

3 - what sort of things does your muse AVOID in a partner?

Despite how protective he is of his partner, he doesn’t like someone that is entirely helpless or would rely on him for everything in that regard. Which pretty much goes with what I said above that he values those that are independent. Also he takes loyalty very seriously, and thus he would absolutely avoid anyone who would flirt with other individuals or even cheat on him.

4 - what is the lowest and highest age person you’ll ship with your muse?

(There is no maximum age for ship with my muse, considering in his main verse he is already 500+ years old. But as for minimum age, they at the very least have to be of age and not a minor.)

5 - how easily does your muse fall in love?

(Honestly he isn’t supposed to be one to easily fall in love with another. He has his own fears of robbing someone of a more normal relationship, especially since there are many things he would be incapable of doing or providing as well due to his undead status. Not only that but he does still have a major degree of loyalty towards his former partner as well. But considering how lonely it does get being basically ‘alone’ in a sense, it is possible to still work one’s way into his heart and his desire for some form of companionship again.)

6 - has your muse dated before? if so, how long did those relationships usually last?

(Yes he has, though it took quite a long time before he ever had the courage to actually open up to someone. Though the relationship lasted for a good long while, at least for them to be able to get married and for her to be able to live out the entirety of her life with him. So you could say that he is the type of individual to want a partner for life, even if his lifespan usually would be many times longer than his partner’s.

7 - would your muse ever get married?

(Yes he would and he has actually even though it wasn’t actually legally ‘documented’. Actually he still wears his wedding ring even now)

8 - does your muse usually take the lead in relationships?

(Yes he does.)

9 - who are some characters you ship your muse with?

Honestly, his main ship has always been with Belle Hickory, an OC that belongs to an old friend of mine, and thus is also the character that I have written as being his long-deceased partner as well in this verse. As for other ships, I’ve had a few that could be in development with @welcome-to-our-domain (Though honestly I don’t know the status of those ATM, and honestly I haven’t had much of a chance to really write much in terms of threads that would help any of those feelings properly come to him or even actually allow it a chance to build to it.) Also Cheza of @sphinxsmuses is something that I’m starting to ship even though it may take quite a few times for him to start to realize it.

As for other major ships, that I don’t know ATM in that regard. Depends on how other individuals feel in regards to that.~

10 - do you tend to write more romantic ships, or more platonic and familial ships?

(Honestly on this blog I have done a lot more platonic and familial ships since I’m honestly picky as to who he would actually be romantically shipped with. I like not just chemistry, but a good amount of build into it as well, a way for him to actually develop out those feelings with the individual since it takes more than just a specific ‘type’ to draw him to someone.)

[kbstories]

@danudaine commissioned me to write a blind!Arthur AU :3c all aboard the angst train, choo choo!

The Weight Of Us

Tags: Arthur/Charles, Canon Divergence, Angst, Near Death Experiences, Blindness, Aftermath of Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery

Content warning: The thoughts/opinions expressed by Arthur about his (temporary) blindness are quite harsh, and don’t correspond with my own.

Set in Chapter 6-ish. Beware spoilers!

>>Read on AO3!

☕ Ko-fi ☕ (Commissions currently closed)

Once, in one of those quiet, few-and-far-inbetween moments when the fires are burning low and the last of the whiskey is gone, Arthur had wondered what would be the last thing he'd see.

A gun, perhaps, and whoever finally had enough of him pulling the trigger?

It's a hard concept to grasp, with a future as uncertain as his and a head full of dreams too precarious to think of too much. Death is coming, as sure as the sun shines and the birds sing – an inevitability written in the margins of his journal, more and more prominent each day.

Then came Blackwater, the Grizzlies, Colm on the plains, Guarma... and Arthur realized death, once it catches up with you, isn't a straight-forward business. It's a messy shot in the head, strong and unrelenting hands around your neck, a run-in with a boar or a sickness settling deep in your lungs, and it doesn't let go until the heart beats its last.

On the day Arthur hears the hiss of a burning fuse, turns to run, too slow, catches sight of a sharp smirk, too late, he thinks death has crossed his path for the final time.

A second, a fraction of a moment– Then Arthur's world lights on fire, the ice in Micah's eyes filling his vision until he knows no more.

*

Ears ringing, breaths stuttering in used and abused lungs. Arthur comes to utter chaos assaulting his senses and pain, absolute and all-encompassing, licking his skin with flaming tongues and leaving it scorched.

“Arthur!”

Distant, a faint echo of a shout. But Arthur can't respond, can barely find enough air to dispel some of the dizziness swirling within him; he blinks, blinks again, reaches along gravel and splintering wood towards that voice he'd recognize anywhere–

Arthur wheezes out, “Charles”, a weak groan compared to the booming of guns and rifles that doesn't stop, not for him–

Then Charles is there, comes into being by his side with strong hands and gentleness in his voice. “I'm here”, he says, and “Stay down”, and it's not like Arthur has much of a choice with his body heavy as stone, pulling him down and under...

All is dark around him, dark and muted and aching. Arthur drifts, loses track of time – searches for Charles's voice again and finds it, an eagle circling the skies, too far away to be certain.

“Stay with me, Arthur, please–”

There's words on his tongue, words and things he's kept away from Charles: how beautiful he looked, with the morning light gliding over his naked back like liquid gold; how Arthur's fingers had itched to draw him just like that, to trace every line and detail until his profile became as familiar as his voice.

In that void without shape or definition, Arthur thinks of the depths of Charles's eyes, warm and softening with a smile – moisture slides down Arthur's cheeks. I was afraid, he knows now, that you wouldn't love me back.

There's hands cupping his face, the tender touch of a forehead against his. Charles whispers, “I know”, sounding choked. “I love you too, Arthur. Hold on for me?”

Arthur manages a nod, light-headed with it all, and presses a kiss to his palm, the closest part of him he can reach.

*

“What the hell, Dutch?!”

It isn't the first time Arthur has woken up to those exact words out of John's mouth. Before, it used to be accompanied by Hosea's weary sigh and countered by Dutch's stubborn reassurances: a strategy that carried the four of them year after difficult year, one that worked, back when things were easier.

But Hosea's dead and gone, six feet under for months now, and Dutch... Dutch is Dutch, only what exactly that means, Arthur isn't sure of anymore.

Silence follows, a devastating totality. Sighing, Arthur sits up, ignoring the rustling of movement from across his cot to focus on the warning rumble of “Cool it, Marston” – Bill? – and a scoff that must come from John.

“Oh shut up, Williamson. What, we're all just gonna pretend this ain't happenin'?”

To his credit, John tries to keep it down. That rough-gravel-voice of his begs to be heard, however, much more so now that–

“Arthur's been blinded, for Christ's sake. Can't see a fucking thing and we're letting that rat stay – yeah, 'm talking 'bout you, Micah Bell, keep walkin'!”

A laugh, uniquely mocking. Micah. “Or what, tough guy?”

Arthur's thread of patience has snapped before he can properly get ahold of it. “Gonna start hopin' that explosion took my hearin' too”, he bites out, “if y'all intend t'keep yellin' like that.”

Around him the camp grinds to a standstill. There's no satisfaction to this either; Arthur doesn't need his sight to feel everyone's eyes are on him, a pack of wolves attracted by the wounded yelp of one of their own. And just like wolves they will soon move on and roam the wilds without him.

Ever the obstacle in their way. A small obstacle, to be sure, an ever-shrinking obstacle.

“Well, well–”

“You heard the man, Micah.”

Javier's calm timbre steps over whatever teeth-grinding thing the man wanted to say, the veiled threat behind his words like one of those knives of his, sharp and deadly – and something in Arthur eases, an entirely different set of doubts soothed by having it wielded for and not against him.

Everything's just so... fucked. Sitting there in ever-present darkness, Arthur is suddenly aware of so much of it: John fighting his fights, more than the scrawny spitfire kid Arthur met him as; the days and weeks it's been since he talked to Dutch, properly talked to him like they used to; and now, he can't even get up to take a piss without help.

Arthur wants to rubs at his eyes, those useless things now covered by bandages, itchy against the raw skin underneath. Susan's presence is enough to deter him, uncharacteristically quiet though she's been – the truth is Arthur can't take it, to hear the worried way she calls his name every time he forgets, for a brief moment.

“'s okay to take a break, Miss Grimshaw”, he mumbles then, sensing her close enough to hear. “Ain't gonna get up to nothin', you got my word.”

Her fond chuckle is unexpected, rare as it has become. “Somehow I don't quite believe that, Mr. Morgan”, light and teasing. Then there's a hand on his knee, stopping it from bouncing with tension.

“Besides, it ain't you who's causin' the trouble. Seems like some peace and quiet has become too much to afford 'round here.”

She huffs, dripping with disdain. It pulls a smile out of Arthur – he can picture the exact expression on her face perfectly.

“Guess so.”

Exhaling slowly, he leans back, resting his back against the wood of his wagon. Maybe not everything has changed.

Susan pats his knee and, after a while, the soft click click of her knitting needles can be heard.

Charles returns to Beaver Hollow in a whirlwind of hoofbeats.

Neck white with lather, Taima worries her bit endlessly, the metal working and working in her mouth even after he's dismounted. Charles's heart aches for her; she's always been sensitive to his moods and with the tension of the past few days, she's as restless as he feels.

Charles takes a moment to pat her damp shoulder, to push a few wayward strands of her mane back in place. “I'm sorry, girl”, he mutters quietly, making to take off her bridle. “Rest now, hmm?”

The crunch of gravel sounds behind him. Charles's hand is on his knife without conscious thought, shoulders squared to one rigid line.

Javier stops in his tracks, eyes flitting to the movement before meeting his gaze. “Easy.”

Charles doesn't relax and Javier doesn't seem particularly surprised by it. A hard man to read, him – yet he's open as a book right now, which begs the question why.

A glance to camp, Charles can't help it. Is–

Javier's expression softens. “Arthur's fine.” He sniffs, shakes his head. “As fine as he's gonna get, I suppose. Figured you'd wanna check up on him so I thought...”

A gesture towards Taima, without the usual flourish. Ah.

“Why do you care?”

The question is all hard edges, no minced words. The truth is Charles is tired, tired of watching those Arthur considers family turn their backs on him. It's why he barely leaves his side anymore, why he hurries back when there's no other choice but to.

There's something like remorse on Javier's face but what does it change now?

“I'm not heartless, Charles.”

A quiet admission of guilt, genuine. Charles shakes his head, turns, keeps his fingers gentle as he coaxes the bit out of Taima's mouth. Javier stays, though, and he must know Charles is considering leaving him there, to wait an eternity for that glimpse of redemption they all crave, deep down.

In the end, that haunting moment of what if wins, the incessant gnawing of worry at the back of his mind. The bridle's leather is slippery with sweat but Javier's fingers close around it with certainty.

Charles tells him, “Then act like it”, staring into the almost-black of Javier's gaze for a moment longer before he walks past him.

*

The walk through camp is a straight line, no distractions, no time to dwell on anything other than Arthur.

Today marks a week since the incident but it seems like eons to Charles, that explosion that changed everything haunting every step he takes. The hours that followed were a chaotic mess of soaked bandages and desperate pleading for Arthur to stay awake, don't leave me – it was when he regained consciousness a day later that the extent of the damage done to him became clear.

And Arthur... accepted it with a small nod of his head, smiled towards where he could hear Jack's upset cries.

Only Charles bore witness to his tears that night. There had been nothing he could've said or done to change any of it so he just held him, repeated the words that might've otherwise been lost to gunfire, and watched Arthur shatter apart in his arms.

None of them had slept much that night. Charles still doesn't, not really, can't escape the memory of Arthur's blood on his hands every time he closes his eyes.

It's that same helplessness that drives John's incessant pacing out of earshot of Arthur's wagon now, all frustrated anger with nowhere to put it; another day of Dutch holed away in his tent, Charles guesses, pausing just long enough to exchange a look with Abigail.

He's sleeping, she mouths and Charles nods, grateful.

The scene he steps into is peaceful: Tilly sits in the spot usually inhabited by Susan Grimshaw, idly flipping through a book, watching over Arthur who is indeed asleep, napping by the looks of it, back propped against his wagon and hat pulled down far enough to keep the light out.

An old habit rendered pointless, and the ache in Charles's chest grows.

“Hey”, he mumbles, smiles a little at the silent wave Tilly gives him. She motions for him to take her seat, collecting her things without a sound; her hand brushes Charles's arm on her way out, squeezing in a gesture of comfort, and that alone calms him more than he wants to admit.

Here, with Arthur safe and resting, Charles finally allows himself to breathe. They needed the supplies, badly – the skirmish that caused it all didn't just take Arthur's sight, but a decent chunk of their ammunition and medicinal inventory, too – and he had believed Arthur on the spot for who's to blame.

For the rest of his days, Charles will never forget the rattling of Arthur's lungs as he tried to draw enough breath to warn them. Needless to say, Micah has avoided the ground Charles walks on like the plague ever since.

Charles shakes his head, shooing away those thoughts that wait for a moment to strike like hungry vultures. There's no point in wasting energy on Micah when Arthur is right there, snoring away under his hat.

There's still room by the foot-end of the cot; it's not the first time Charles squeezes himself into it by Arthur's side, although the circumstances are something else entirely. Arthur's sleepy grumbling when he moves his legs into a more comfortable position is the same, though, and Charles hums, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over his knee.

“Charles...?”

“Yeah. Sleep, Arthur.”

Arthur's hand reaches out and Charles meets him in the middle, interlacing their fingers gently. Arthur asks, “Everything okay?”, worry starting to seep into the cracks of his sleep-roughened voice.

Always concerned for everyone but himself. Charles bends down to kiss his knuckles, letting him feel the smile on his lips. “Just missed you”, he tells him quietly, about to return the same question when he notices the slack-jawed surprise on Arthur's face.

“Arthur?”

A moment later and Arthur is clawing at the bandages over his eyes, knocking his hat down in the process. By the time Charles finally reacts, shielding the tender-red skin of Arthur's temples from his nails, they're dangling around his neck like a broken halo, tattered–

Heart thundering in his throat, Charles demands, “Talk to me”, trying to catch Arthur's eyes out of habit–

Eyes that flicker left to right and back again, widening gradually.

“Can you–?”

“Fuck, Charles”, Arthur laughs until he's wheezing, a few tears slipping out the corner of his eyes, “you're a damn sight for sore–”

“Don't you dare finish that sentence”, Charles growls and hugs him, the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders.

>>Read on AO3!

[mamabearlarusso]

October 2018 Thread Masterlist

Oh, how we have grown...

FEAR. PAIN. DEFEAT.

Samantha’s Drawing

Ali’s Back in the Valley   Leg 2   Leg 3

Kata on the Lake

Flashback Friday

The Day My Circus Opened

Avocado Toast

Feeling Better   Leg 2   Leg 3

Sunday Pancake Breakfast 

Girl on the Train

Just Breathe   Leg 2

Making Plans

Blackmail Photo   Leg 2   Leg 3   Leg 4

The Damn Pizza

Insanity

Bottle of Jack   Leg 2   Leg 3   Leg 4   Leg 5

Morning Cleanup

Soaking In Some Tunes

Music to make Dinner By

Counting the Days

Love is a Condition...(Quote)

Bad Days...(Quote)

Don’t Start...(Quote)   Leg 2

The Worst Thing...(Quote)

Making Plans for Lunch

Checking in on a Friend

Getting to Know the Doc

Chatting with the Hubby

Finally Sorted...(Harry Potter)

On the Road to Making Healthier Choices...?

Well, This Fucking Happened...

This Day is Looking Up

Anger (Quote)

Morning after the Hospital

Letters From Robby

The Doc’s Going off the Radar

That Stupid Kid      Leg 2

Hunting Johnny Down   Leg 2   Leg 3   Leg 4

Maybe Home is...(Quote)

Every Fresh New Day...    Leg 2   Leg 3   Leg 4   Leg 5

Missing Robby Already

Breakfast and Netflix

Johnny’s Shower

Nice & Easy Breakfast

A Lunchtime Conspiracy

Throwback Thursday   Leg 2   Leg 3   Leg 4   Leg 3B   Leg 3C   Leg 3D

In Case You Forget... (Quote)

Weekend Sunrise (Picture)

Louie’s Delivery   Leg 2

Spaghetti Dinner With the Boys   Leg 2   Leg 3   Leg 3B

Iron Man (Movie Night)   Leg 2

Happy Birthday, Johnny!

Ali’s Yard Sale

Destination: Daniel Larusso’s House

Breaking Out a New Journal

Ali Needs Advice (about Pablo)

Waking up in the Den (Private)

Back to the Journal...This Time with a Bottle of Jack

Journaling...Without the Booze (Private)

Fresh Air (Private)

Letter to Amanda (Private)

Hopefulessness (Music)

Going to the Cemetery (Private)

Text from Ali

Phone Call to Amanda (Private)

Dinner Out with the Kids (Private)

Avocado Salad with Ali

Maybe There’s Something You’re Afraid to Say...(Quote)

Yes...Again...(Journal)

The Home Stretch...It’s Hardly Ever Easy (Journal)

The Home Stretch...It’s Hardly Ever Easy Pt. 2 (Journal)

Helping Robby with Ami

Text from Robby

There is Unpanned Gold in Every Soul You Run Into...(Quote)

Tacos with Robby

Ali’s Coffee with Pablo

Tennis with Ali

Halloween Costumes with Ali

We Need To Talk (Private) [Talk With Johnny]

Picking Up the Pieces (Private)

The Scientist (Music)

[alterlifes-a]

tag muns you want to know better; repost - don’t reblog.

What inspired you to try/create that muse/s: well , if you’ve been with me long enough then you know that tooru started out as an AU ! o.ikawa t.ooru, where instead of attending s.eijou , he went to s.hiratorizawa ! to be honest , i kind of just wanted to try my hand at writing that kind of thing ? it was the very first time i had made a tumblr rp blog , so i had no idea that people rp different verses of the same character on one blog !! i originally rp’d on deviantart , and it was very commonplace to have different blogs for different verses ... i had over 70 rp blogs on there and most of them were literally the same 2 characters but in different AUs LMAO ... so imagine my surprise when i saw people rp’ing different AUs on one blog ... RP’ing multiple muses on one blog ... !! but i kinda just stayed with my iteration instead of playing canon ! kawa anyway , since i didn’t really see the point in starting over . as tooru developed more , though , i began to use him as a venting tool because this was a part of my life where i was really depressed . but as time grew on and i eventually made him into an OC , he became a much happier character . he really is my best friend ; he’s been there for me through it all , and even though he’s just fictional , i really owe him a lot for helping me out during rough times .

What is inspiration for that muse/s: well , currently , a lot of things ... lots of music , japanese culture + religion , and also my own experiences . in general , i have a p.interest board for him , so ... maybe you could say i draw inspiration from that , too ! i also rly enjoy the band MILI . their songs really fit tooru , like ‘ bathtub mermaid ’ . i’ve also been listening to hello , again and am planning on drawing something based on it for him ( + the song’s prequel , “ goodbye ” ) . i mainly tend to daydream while listening to songs , so ... yeah . as for characters who serve as inspiration for tooru ... well , i think that’s an artist meme , so i might just fill it in in lieu of answering this properly lol ... but two i can think of off the top of my head are leon from f.ire e.mblem e.choes and n.eferpitou from h.xh ! 

Thread/AU that made you really happy: B.NHA AU ... !! i’m hyperfixating sm on that one ... idk , a lot of planning and plotting goes into it , esp since a lot of my mutuals are in the fandom . in particular , i love love love the story i’ve created with @noquirk . i literally cannot envision a more perfect plot for tooru in this verse . heck , it’s literally my main go - to timeline when i draw / write for it . tooru is , quite literally , not very much in this AU without deck .

Something really special on your wishlist: sh ... more ships ... ships to draw and animate and make animatics to ... also i need to get my butt into gear and finish my JRPG AU group lol .

Something you are looking for in short future for your muse: blease tooru help me get thru the school year ... also i have some animatics in the back burner so i’m looking forward to getting those done !

Share something related to your muse!: his canon story , in parallel motion , deals with existentialism and alternate universes . ultimately , it’s a story that serves as a physical manifestation of my own struggle with depression , and while it’s sombre in tone , i want it to tell whoever’s reading it , “ you matter . ” it’s why tooru is placed into so many marginalized groups ; he’s fat and trans and biracial and bi and suffers from bpd + depression + anxiety but he’s a good person through it all ... his story is tragic because he’s not allowed to exist and will be forgotten when he dies , but his existence impacts so many other characters’ lives ... it’s a butterfly effect kind of thing . because you exist , you’ve made so many peoples’ lives better . and i understand it’s rough and i understand depression + sucky real life aspects try to convince you otherwise , but just ... think about it . there’s an alternate universe where , because you don’t exist , something huge was probably impacted . and even on a smaller , more intimate scale --- if you hadn’t existed in another life , then one of your friends might not be here . they might not be as happy as they are now , because you make them happy . life can be awful . but it’s wonderful and beautiful , too . that’s what i want tooru to be to others . someone to look up to and relate to , and someone who tells you , “ it’s okay ! ”

What do you think about character’s design/how do you came up with this: he’s ... kinda generic LOL mainly cause he’s based off of o.ikawa looks - wise due to his origin ... but part of his looks also derivate from an old ask blog muse i had :

i just really like that bangs - over - one - eye hairstyle ngl ... also i have no idea how / when his hair became maroon - brown since o.ikawa’s hair is chestnut brown , but ... yeah . also have no idea when he gained red eyes HDKJSFS,,,, i find fangs appealing on a character though , so that’s why he has fangs and does the :3c ... honestly i think i kinda just slapped together what i like in a design and put it on him , so even though he may look like an NPC ( lol ) , he’s still appealing in my eyes .

What your muse taught you: how to love being alive ... ( i’ve actually written an essay for a class about how he’s helped me through depression haha ... he means a lot to me , can you tell ? )

What is roleplay for you: all of you are awful and yet here i am anyway so really this says more about me than anything else .

Just say something nice about other mun!: @onfaith you are my ANGEL you mean sm to me and i wish u all the best with your studies  /  @tikkvn i love u sm cass ur an amazing person n a wonderful existence never forget that  /  @juuheart notay is my fave bleach chara also ur art is so cute  /  @wuvlite if i die all my money goes to u so u can keep drawing holy SHIZ ur art is #inspiration  /  @queznak ur very interesting and charismatic as a person  !!!  /  @uzvisen idk how to spell ur url this took me 3 tries but also ilysm  /  @conhnhaketon i also cant spell ur url but i hope ur doing well n ur eid was good , ik we’ve both been busy but i would live for u  /  @quirkthief ur one of my fave ppl i will forever tag u in shibes also i’ve supported u in u saying afo was hot even when he looked ugly n now i get to watch everyone who made fun of u writhe bc he is rly rly hot hahaha  /  @noquirk you’re so talented pls never stop what ur doing  /  @aerve you’re rly cool !!! 100% support u in everything u do ! >:0  /  @starbooms aries ur so creative ugh ... ur mind !!!!!! ik we don’t talk much but ur v fun  /  @bendsair i forget what other blogs ur on but chris ur the coolest #TalkRomania2Me  /  @creatied we don’t talk much either but ur graphics r so aesthetically appealing wowzers !!  /  @daimnas i’m wuv you amari !! also my french sucks but uhhh comment ca va ( i’m too lazy to find the accented ‘c’ dsfhi ) ??  /  @soarsun i’ve only known u for a few weeks but if anything happened to u i would kill everyone on this website n then myself  /  @quirkgifter nanners is the coolest n nana is the best grandma in town  /  @natsutodoroki im so jealous u got a canon url as ur rp url LMAO but also ur rly cool n fun even tho we dont talk too frequently !  /  @lechors​ LINNEA I WILL DIE FOR U RIGHT HERE RIGHT N---  /  @ YOU READING THIS BC I’M ABOUT TO FALL ASLEEP : YOU’RE AWESOME AND GREAT !

Tagged by: stole it from @queznak Tagging: whomstever 

[actual-cryptid-leshy]

The one where they skate

uuUUUUHHH HEY @charamandern00dles ur a good egg

The world is quiet. It’s the kind of quiet only achievable when the ground is covered in snow, and the sky is covered in clouds. White fluffy clouds. Like the world has been carefully wrapped in cotton, when all the hustle and bustle of the city has been laid claim to, gently shushed until every last person is quietly shuffling along with their daily lives. Content to bundle themselves away fromt he cold as best as they can. And the snow keeps falling. Large clumps of snowflakes drifting gently to the ground like white feathers. This is the world Jeremy wakes up to. Soft and silent. Cold, but from the comfort of his bed the world seems nothing less than endlessly forgiving, endlessly welcoming. The light shining trough his window, stretching out across his bed, is a dull comforting gray. He turns over, closes his eyes against the gentle light, content with letting such a quiet morning remain quiet until it wasn't technically morning anymore. Just let himself drift in this space, untethered, floating along the streams of consciousness as it trickles by. His phone buzzes once. He turns away from it. It buzzes again. He ignores it. As it buzzes a third time he gives up, groaning into his pillow as he reaches for it almost blindly he almost knocks it off of the bedside table before finally managing to grab it properly and bring it to his face.

From: Player 1

SNOW

Jeremy smiles. He sees the shadows of the snowflakes falling outside his window, and the previous drowsiness melts away into giddy excitement as the texts keep coming. A warm ball of joy nestles in his chest with each incoming text. The enthusiasm is infectious.

From: Player 1

SNOWSNOWSNOWSNOWSNOW

From: Player 1

it’s a miracle the gods heard my prayer there’s a white paradise waiting for us jere n it’s oUT THERE

From: Player 1

it’s time to get Fucked Up

From: Player 1

and by that i mean Cold as Fuck

From: Player 1

jere

From: Player 1

JERE

From: Player 1 JEREMY JOLENE HEERE U BETTER B AWAKE

From: Player 1

DONT MAKE ME COME OVER THERE

To: Player 1

you’ll come over here anyway tho

From: Player 1

I can’t read suddenly

To: Player 1

i’m awake, un-twist ur boxers

From: Player 1

un-twist your attitude

To: Player 1

what attitude??

From: Player 1

u kno what i mean

To: Player 1

:3c

From: Player 1

no

To: Player 1

>:3c

From: Player 1

i want a divorce

To: Player 1

i’ll b ready in 1 hr

From: Player 1

see ya! <3

To: Player 1

<3

Jeremy smiles to himself, puts his phone down and breathes in deep. There’s a slight chill in the air, it fills his lungs. When he breathes out he feels the last threads of sleep unwind. Shaking off the last bits of drowsiness he stretches out as far as he can, reaching his hands up and flexing his toes. He curves his spine back and lets out a satisfied hum as he collapses back onto the mattress. Then he throws off the covers and makes a run for the bathroom. As predicted the air is even colder without the warmth of the duvet, and his feet protest as they patter along the cold hallway floor. Luckily, the tiles in the bathroom are warm. He feels his shoulders sag as he closes the door behind him, though he shivers a little still. He goes straight for the toothbrush, humming to himself. He pauses as he realizes which on he’s humming.

‘’Jolene.’’ he sings out loud, softly, starring himself in the mirror. His face breaks into a grimace.

‘’Dammit Michael.’’ he curses, but even though Michael isn’t there Jeremy can’t help the small smile that breaks trough. He keeps humming as he brushes his teeth, occasionally letting a few sung words out not the air. When he’s finished he sheds his pajamas and heads for the alluring promise of warm water that the shower offers. He turns the water on and cranks it to Very Warm. He lets out a small shriek as it proves to be Too Warm, and then quickly adjusts it back down. With he water back to a survivable temperature he keeps login with his one man performance of the most emotional and dramatic rendition of Jolene the world will never see. He turns the water off and grabs a towel from the hook on the wall, wrapping it around himself securely. There’s a knock at the door.

‘’Morning son! Seen the snow?’’ his dad asks trough the door, an obvious chipper note to his words. It brings a smile to Jeremys own face, one tat’s audible as he answers,

‘’Yeah, Michael’s picking me up in like thirty minutes.’’ he hears his dad hum a gentle laugh.

‘’That means you’ve got time for breakfast.’’ he says, and Jeremy can hear the steady sound of his footsteps as he turns to walk away.

‘’Thanks dad.’’ he calls back. He lifts the towel to his head and dries his hair. When he pulls it off he faces the mirror and smiles at his own terrible hairdo. He wraps the towel securely around himself before braving the cold hallway once more, chiding himself for forgetting his clothes in his room. He walks with quick steps back t his room, grabs the first and best outfit he can get his hands on, and hurries back to the warm confines of the bathroom. He drops the bundle of clothes on top of the closed toilet lid, and finishes drying off. He pulls on his boxers and jeans before grabbing the hairdryer. He lets the warm air hit his face for a moment before he begins drying his hair. It doesn’t take very long to air dry his hair, but he likes the fluffiness it gets when he uses the blowdryer. He runs his hand trough the short red strands, appreciating the softness of it, before putting the blowdryer away. He grabs his binder and pulls it on, then puts on a light blue turtleneck. The previously just right temperature in the bathroom tips over into just a little too warm in his fully clothed state, so he opens the door. The cool air of the hallway feels refreshing, though the tip of his nose turns freezing. He rolls the slightly too long sleeves up to his elbows and fixes the collar in the mirror. He gives his hair one last once over, trying to ignore the acne he sees in the mirror let he starts picking on it, and when he deems the fluffy red mess presentable he leaves the bathroom. He swings by his bedroom again to pick up some socks and his phone. Digging trough the drawer of socks he finds the blue pair with weed motifs that Michael gave him. The socks are thick and soft, so he pulls them on. He wiggles his toes just a little as the slight chill from the hallway floor leaves them once again. He checks the time. Ten minutes until Michael gets here. He heads for the kitchen. His dad is sitting at the table, still in his pajamas, reading the newspaper. A cup of coffee on the table in front of him, two plates of toast, and a cup of tea. Jeremy sits down and takes a long sip of the tea. It’s just the right side of too warm.

‘’What’s the plan today?’’ his dad asks him over the top of the newspaper.

‘’Ice skating. Traditions, y’know.’’ Jeremy says, taking a bite of the toast. There’s a decent layer of strawberry jam on it. Something occurs to Jeremy, he swallows the bite of toast.

‘’Do you remember where I put my skates?’’ he asks, his dad furrows his brows.

‘’Didn’t you let Sam next door borrow them? I think they’re out of town this week.’’ he says.

‘’Shit, yeah.’’ Jeremy says. His dad shoots him a look.

‘’Sorry.’’ he says, and his dads eyes soften a little around the edges.

‘’We’ve still got your old skates?’’ he offers, like a compromise.

‘’The dancer ones?’’ Jeremy asks.

‘’Yeah, if that’s…?’’ his dad trails off, a note of worry in his voice. Jeremy smiles.

‘’Yeah that’s fine dad.’’ he assures. He takes another sip of his tea. The radio is playing some sort of chill tune, it’s on low volume and fills the air with the notes of something as calm as the morning air. Jeremys phone buzzes.

From: Player 1

omw

He pockets his phone and heads to the hallway closet to dig out his skates. He pulls the stepping stool from the corner over in front of the open closet, steps up on it to reach the small shelf at the top. He grabs the edge of the shelf and stands on the tips of his toes to peek over the edge. He moves a box labelled ‘STUFF’ and pulls out an innocent looking red shoebox. He securely tucks it under his arm before hopping off the stepping stool. Jeremy sets the box down on top of it and flips the lid. The skates are stark white, the sole and heel of it black. The blade glints from beneath the bright blue guard. They look pristine aside from a few small scares here and there. Of course they do, he hadn’t worn them too often. They were too big when he got them, with the promise of ‘growing into them’. But then he’d begged for hockey skates instead. He has missed them, a little. They feel different to hockey skates. He picks one skate up, pulls the guard off the blade and inspects it. No rust, luckily. It looks pretty sharp still. He gently traces the toe picks, the jagged edges like a row of shark teeth. He puts the guard back on, ties the laces together so he can sling them over his shoulder once Michael arrives.

‘’Getting ready to go?’’ his dada asks from the doorway to the kitchen.

‘’Yup.’’ Jeremy says, wrapping a grey scarf around his neck, making sure it can cover his mouth and nose. He grabs for his winter coat next.

‘’I made some hot chocolate for you guys, I’ll put it in your bag.’’ his dad says, turning around and heading back into the kitchen with a small fond smile Jeremy barely catches.

‘’Thanks dad.’’ he says, pulling on his boots. He checks the coat pockets for his gloves, but can’t find them.

‘’Shit.’’ he mutters, turning back to the closet and rifling trough the small plastic bin of various hats and scarves. Nothing. He checks the pockets of his other jacket, thinking maybe he left them there. Nope. He mutters irritably to himself as he tries to remember where he had them last. His phone buzzes.

From: Player 1

got ur gloves btw

thanks

‘’Riiiiiiiight.’’ he says to himself, drawing the sound out.

‘’What?’’ his dad asks, stepping back out into the hallway with Jeremys bag in one hand.

‘’I lent Michael my gloves yesterday.’’ he explains, typing out a quick ‘thanks!’ in reply and sending it.

‘’He’s brining them then, I assume.’’ his dad asks, and Jeremy looks up at him in confusion.

‘’Well, yeah?’’ he says, asks really, because it should be obvious.

‘’Good, can’t send you out into hostile territory without the proper equipment.’’ his dad replies, smiling goofily and holding his bag out to him. Jeremy groans a little as he grabs it, feels the extra weight of a thermos. His annoyed expression goes into something half annoyed half thankful. A car horn blares out in the street, the familiar shriek of a good old trustworthy (most of the time) PT cruiser.

‘’Bye dad.’’ Jeremy says as he settles the skates over one shoulder and turns to the door.

‘’Have fun.’’ his dad says, barely managing to get it out before Jeremy is closing the door after himself. He listens to the crunching of the snow underneath his boots as he approaches the car, buries his face as deep into his scarf as it will go. His nose is still ice cold as he opens the passenger side door.

‘’Hey.’’ Michael says, the warmth of the car wafts out and hits Jeremy in the face. He hurries to get in and close the door, throwing his bag and his skates in the backseat.

‘’Hey.’’ he says back as he settles against the seat.

‘’Get ready to break your ass.’’ Michael says as he pulls the car back out onto the road, setting the course for the ice rink. It’s only a twenty minute drive away.

‘’I feel like you forget I’m the one with the most skating experience every time we do this.’’ Jeremy says, a slight smile on his lips even as his exasperation bleeds trough.

‘’No yeah, I meant get ready to break your ass as you try to prevent me from breaking mine.’’ Michael amends, grinning like he’s the winner in this scenario. Which, in all fairness, he might be. Because Jeremy will definitely try to catch him if he falls. And he will definitely end up falling himself. Jeremy sighs in defeat.

‘’Point.’’ he concedes. Michael just keeps grinning. The drive is over before they know it, time passed with idle chatter and joking. Michael finds a parking space and they step back out into the cold air. It nips at his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and suddenly he wishes he’d brought a beanie or something. Oh well.

‘’Here.’’ Michael says, throwing the bundled up gloves at him. Jeremy fumbles but manages to catch them. He tugs them on before following Michael to the rink. There are a few people there already, not many. Mostly kids. They find a bench close to the edge and sit down to get their skates on. Michael smiles gently as he notices the socks Jeremy is wearing.

‘’Did you get new skates?’’ Michael asks him as Jeremy ties up the laces nice and tight.

‘’Nah, they’re…old. They’re dancing skates. They’ve got these spikes on the front for sharp stops and turns. Y’know like, figure skating.’’ Jeremy explains, pulling the guard off of the skate he’s just tied to his foot before starting on the other one.

‘’Oh, cool. Do you know any tricks?’’ Michael asks, eyes on his own skates as he shoves his feet in, focuses on lacing them up.

‘’Not really.’’ Jeremy admits. He does know how to spin…kinda. But nothing advanced.

‘’That’s not a no.’’ Michael goads, leaning forwards to look Jeremy in the face.

‘’We’ll see.’' Jeremy says, cryptically, as he pulls the guard off of the other skate. He shoves them in his bag and gets up. Michael follows suit, and together they make their shaky way to the rink. As Jeremy steps onto the ice he realizes how much he’d missed it since last year. He digs the toe picks into the ice and kicks off, gliding effortlessly across the smooth surface of the ice. He turns sideways to stop and look back. Michael had made it onto the ice and is, at least, standing upright. An improvement from the first time they’d done this. Jeremy kicks off again, gliding towards Michael at a relaxed speed. He makes a turn behind Michael, coming to a stop next to him.

‘’Show off.’’ Michael mutters underneath his breath, but there’s a giddy smile on his face. Jeremy offers him his hand. Michael takes it without hesitation. Together they gently skate along the the rink, keeping to the edge and going at a leisurely pace. Jeremy can feel the muscles in his legs working to keep him upright, and the slight burn feels amazing. The skates are stiff, but he relishes in the feeling. He didn’t think he could have missed them they way he apparently did, but it feels nice getting to wear them again. Each time he kicks off with the toe picks he remembers being younger, accidentally planting them straight into the ice and face planting. Before he’d gotten used tot hem. Michael wobbles and Jeremys hold on his hand tightens to keep him upright.

‘’Thanks.’’ Michael breathes out as he finds his footing again. He turns to Jeremy with a bright smile, more blinding than the sparkling white snow around them.

‘’No worries, I got you.’’ he promises, feels the words echo from somewhere deep inside his heart.

‘’I know.’’ Michael says, as simple as that. Jeremy feels a surge of bravery. He lets go of Michaels hand. Michael turns his head with an inquisitive look, but Jeremy only smiles. He looks ahead to make sure the way is clear and takes off. He builds up speed with three, four strides, and then he makes a sharp turn. He lets the momentum carry him into the spinning motion, raising onto the tip of his right skate. It’s fast, and he only makes it a couple of times around before he wobbles. He puts his other foot down to steady himself, throwing his arms out a little to help. He looks up to lock eyes with Michael again. Michael face is black for about a nano second before he’s grinning, drifting over to where Jeremy has stopped.

‘’That was amazing!’’ he exclaims, throwing his hands up and almost overbalancing in the process. Jeremy laughs as he reaches out, steadying Michael again.

‘’That wasn’t even good.’’ he argues, but he’s wearing a smile matching Michaels, not being able to help himself. Michaels face turns serious.

‘’Teach me.’’ he says, face dead serious and eyes determined. Jeremy feels his heart stutter to a halt in pure terror.

‘’What? No! You don’t even have the right kind of skates!’’ he argues, but Michaels face doesn’t even change. He just stares at Jeremy, mind made up. Jeremy holds his breath.

‘’Swap with me.’’

‘’No!’’

[ateamforumsfanworks]

Anyone wanna art trade!? ;3c

NOTE: Pictures uploaded by Al!as and by some other artists are no longer available. However, there are some art made by other people that are still accessible in the original thread. I’m going to compile them all in this one post instead of multiple posts. This means I will tag all included artists.

04-16-2016, 07:56 PM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User: Al!as

TRADE STATUS: [ CLOSED ] ( THIS THREAD IS STRICTLY FOR HANDING OUT QUEUED TRADE HALVES) (i loVE YOU ALL BUT IM VERY BUSY, I APOLOGIZE) Also, I really appreciate gifts but I must [clenches fist] tell you not to give them to me, I FEEL VERY OBLIGATED TO DRAW FOR YOU WHEN YOU GIVE ME SUCH BEAUTIFUL ART

IN PROGRESS : AlicetherRipper [✓] & Jabby [ ] - Fullbody flat - - - - - - - - - - - - COMPLETED : Raku [ ✓ ] & Jabby [ ✓ ] -Bust Colour Miki[ ✓ ] & Jabby [ ✓ ] - Bust Sketch Red [ ✓ ] & Jabby [ ✓] - Bust Shaded Catfire13 [ ✓ ] & Jabby [ ✓ ] - (part 1/2) Waist Up Sketch Minha [ ✓ ] & Jabby [✓ ] - Headshot Sketch Valen [ ✓ ] & Jabby [ ✓] - Bust Sketch Vash [ ✓ ] & Jabby [✓ ] - Bust Sketch Catfire13 [ ✓ ] & Jabby [ ✓] - (cont'd 2/2) Waist Up Colour Sakuto [ ✓ ] & Jabby [✓ ] - Headshot Sketch Ravenella [ ✓ ] [ ✓ ]& Jabby [x] - Headshot sketchx2 Orcelito [ ✓ ] & Jabby [ x ] - Fullbody Shaded Soshiki [ ✓ ] & Jabby [✓ ] - Bust Shaded

04-18-2016, 07:56 AM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User: Miki

I'd love one ^_^

04-28-2016, 08:08 AM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User: catfire13

Here's the line art! (Im working on coloring digitally right now)

05-04-2016, 01:40 PM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User:  Swan

and here is the f i l t h (would've colored in eyes but I tried and then it turned to trash)

05-05-2016, 01:42 AM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User: MochaMocha

This is my only art talent I have ;~; but I hope you appreciate it :3

05-07-2016, 03:22 PM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User: Valen

Am I too late to trade? I've never actually posted anything in here, but I'd like to! ^,^

05-09-2016, 03:26 PM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User: Sakuto

@Al!as I know you're closed right now, but I'll go ahead and get in line :P. I know it's not that great >.<

05-09-2016, 03:50 PM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User:  Ravenella

I know you're closed, but Jabby is so cute i couldn't resist <33 1.

(i tried to color in the skin for this one, but it ended up looking terrible.) 2.

05-15-2016, 08:34 AM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User: Specimen One

well finally it took me like a month to finally upload it buT HERE YOU GO <3 im so sorry it look really not good. ; w ;

05-18-2016, 08:26 PM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User: Soshiki

FINALLY! I can draw what I want again (finished my project but still have finals, yolo). Anyways, I know you're not accepting requests and I'm not asking for one with this. I just wanted to draw your character 'cuz he's cute. I hope you don't mind and that it's reason enough to have drawn him.

05-20-2016, 01:16 PM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User: catfire13

AHHGGGGGG OMG IT'S DONE. WHOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! (love me aliassssssssssss) I'm not sure how big this will turn out tho. (I did this with a laptop trackpad, and my freinds said that is hard of something. . . oh well)

05-29-2016, 11:21 AM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User: Orcelito

...!!! sorry all of this is too cute and everything's really nice (so naturally i had to jump into the boat lol) um anyway i hope you don't mind this random onlooker submitting something for you as well! i know you're closed, but i'm not particularly seeking an art trade or anything, this is just bc i wanted to c: also i simplified the outfit bc my perspective sucks, i hope that's ok

06-03-2016, 12:31 PM

Originally Uploaded by Forum User: WereKat

THE PREFACE OF THIS IS I WANTED TO DRAW FLOOFEH HAIR! AND SINCE YOUR ALIAS IS SO CUTE I COULDN'T RESIST! PLEASE FEEL NO OBLIGATION TO DRAW ANYTHING, IF ANYTHING YOU SHOULD BE ANGRY THAT I STOLE AND DREW HIM WHEN YOU SPECIFICALLY SAID NOT TO. *phew* Okay, now that capslock is over, I hope I didn't ruin your beautiful precious baby ;-; Also, sorry that its huge xD