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kryptznnn · 2 days ago

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Can't get this off my headdd!! Katsuki having a partner with a snow leapard quirk that gives them the appearance of ofc a snow leapard and also have like an ice quirk?? How would he react to that? You can write it on how you like I just want to be fed😋😋

♡- Different

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

➸ INTERESTS; -mha! katsuki bakugo x f! quirk using reader

➸ BACKGROUND; - (requested submission) Fascinating was probably the best word to use for you when describing what you were. For Katsuki it was perfect, you were perfect, it's as if there were so many great qualities your quirk had given you his curiosity had grown into affection. He hadn't mind watching and studying you from afar, but when he felt a distance come between you two, he took action.

➸ WARNINGS; - wc. 1.5k, fluff, romantic tension, observing lover, indecisiveness, romantic confusion, kissing, friends to lovers' kind of trope.

➸a.i; - I know this is short and im so sorry ugh, i really enjoyed writing this though, I hope you enjoy it!!

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

Maybe his peers were right about you prior to getting close with you. He had heard about you, your features and your quirk being the reason why you seemed that way. He knew your features and personality sounded familiar as someone from his past, but when you walked into his class, he knew exactly who you were.

Y/n L/n, he had known you prior as a child, before you had moved away after being bullied for your quirk and appearance. He never hated it though, he always found it appealing. He had always been drawn to you out of curiosity by it, looking like an exotic animal.

The way your eyes flashed with different colors, popping out as the black lining around your eyes was sharp, your inner corners and waterline dark. He could tell you had applied some makeup to hide majority of the spots and patterns that decorated your face, but he didn’t like it.

He liked being able to see your entire face, and for the most part as he knew your quirk had been in effect for as long as you wanted. As the patterns took effect onto your skin it hadn’t changed the fact that the word snow within snow leopard was literal, also able to control it.

Overtime the two of you went from exchanging small glances in class to actually speaking to one another, as your friend groups clashed. He was happy to say the least, and his friends could tell from how he acted around you. Katsuki was quiet and focused on what you would do, treading carefully and even doing as much to not curse around you, making you laugh every time.

He never really liked looking into your feline-like eyes, it felt as if he was falling into a trap or unknown territory. Even if it was something simple as you waving or smiling at him with your eyes he would look away, his head resting on his hand before smiling softly. His favorite thing about when you would laugh, or smile because your canines would poke out and your ears would flap around.

He took into deep account everything about your physical appearance, studying the way you talked, walked, and even fought in battle. He couldn’t deny you were very flexible and strong, let alone when you used your ice type powers within practice.

What he wasn’t fond of was the fact that it seemed your relationship with him was becoming distant as you began studying with Todoroki. He understood why the two of you were close and had no other reason to study with one another as you shared similar quirks, but the feeling didn’t sit right with him.

He felt as if he was running out of time with you before things had even properly begun. He cherished the small times you two spent together alone, hoping you felt the same way. The times everyone would go out as a group and the two of you trailed behind as you spoke of everyone else, good and bad. He would say or do anything to make you laugh, seeing your canines or how your patterns crinkled slightly up to your eyes, you looked pretty-

No, you looked beautiful to him. The same type of way he watches his parents interact with one another and his father showers and serenades his mother with compliments such as ‘beautiful’ or ‘gorgeous’, maybe even ethereal. He was never sure on how to show you or tell you the way he felt, or the way he wanted you to see yourself how he did.

He had always thought that repeating the same things his father did was cringey, and how you spoke of cringey stuff all of the time there was no way he could set himself up. It seemed as if it was suicide if he even thought of doing so, so when he mustered up the courage to tell you it had apparently been too late.

You cancelled on him last minute as you were supposed to train with Todoroki, again. As you always had nearly twice a week every day for the past 2 months. It drove him insane truly, he hadn’t liked Todoroki any better beforehand and now it seemed to have gotten worse. Even when you all hung out as a group you were quick to speak about what you had practiced or learned from him.

It had kept everything within Katsuki to not cause a fuss and blow up in everyone’s faces, literally. He would just leave without explanation every time, going out and taking a breather before going straight to his room and going to bed. The best part of him was that everyone knew he wasn’t going to just give up or forget about you, one thing he loved more than being stubborn was a fight, and it wasn’t hard fighting for you if he knew he was set to win.

So, when you made it known to him you were free for the day and had nothing to do, he nearly jumped out of bed. Quickly getting ready and damn near sprinting out of his room, making his way to yours. Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath before knocking on your door.

He was nervous, for some odd reason, he never had been before, not for anything. So then why was he so nervous when it came to you? You were his friend, as he was yours, and he just wanted to tell you how appealing you are to him and that you were very nice. Friends don’t do or say the things he wishes to do or say to you though, silly him or not knowing that already.

You were quick to welcome him inside, opening the door fully as you stood at its side from inside as he made his way inside. You ushered him to the small decor you had in the center of your room past the bathroom, a large fuzzy carpet for the two of you to sit on. You were quick to speak first engaging in conversation between the two of you. He had barely answered, only taking in your figure and body features as you spoke.

When you were speaking about something you were passionate about you spoke quickly, your tail moving rather rapidly behind you as your ears never perked lower. You would speak with your hands too, as if reliving the moment as you wanted him to understand it better.

He thought to himself he must’ve looked crazy just staring at you while nodding, not even smiling or laughing at your remarks. He was focused on your words and actions yes, but he was also thinking about what he was going to say to you. Thinking to be gentle and sincere with you when he began until you began to speak of your training with Todoroki.

“And it was so funny because he fell and-“

“You talk about him a lot.” He deadpanned, now cutting off your statement as he really didn’t want to hear any further of him. You stopped and looked him in the eyes now, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s my friend, and we train all of the time with one another.” You said, now looking away at Katsuki’s intense eye contact. You weren’t used to it in all honesty, usually he was quick to pull away or look away from you, now things had changed.

“I’m your friend too, right? Do you talk about me a lot too?” He asked, his hands planted behind him as he sat with his legs crossed, his eyes never leaving your as he moved in closer. You backed your head away slightly, taking in his subtle flirty tone and looked away, your ears flattening slowly as your lip perked to the side.

“Yes” you said in a hushed tone, now looking down into your lap as your tail had remained still, the patterned prints and thin fur on your face now being tainted with a shade of pink. He took in your expression with a surprised look, as he had never seen this expression before.

It must have been embarrassment, or maybe you liked him. Whatever it was he wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass, as now seemed like the perfect time to do what he wanted too. More like what he needed too, it was like a nagging feeling in his stomach and chest telling him too.

Without a second thought as you picked up your head he leaned in and kissed you. After a couple of seconds, he pulled back, looking at your shocked expression. He was going to apologize, but as he opened his mouth a split second later you had already jumped back onto him, kissing him back.

His hand was quick to make its way to the center of your back, giving you support as he nearly toppled over. You soon broke the kiss after he had kissed you back, looking at him with a large smile, your canines showing.

"I think you're a lot more to me than just a friend."

⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆⋆༺𓆩⚔𓆪༻⋆

✴🕷 please do not copy, plagiarize, edit, or translate any works submitted by me. all works are originated and all other pictures used within those works are online images. thank you!! @kryptznnn

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canarydarity · 2 years ago

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Hard to tell how indicative the bones on the floor are of anything about the catacombs themselves being how, every few minutes, Pix kills another skeleton adding to the collection. He swipes his sword through the one before him, and it collapses so readily into a pile of bone—like it was made to, like it was just waiting on his sword—that he has to wonder, not for the first time, what was holding it together to begin with. The bones rattle and clatter against those already littered around, and Pix sighs at the further disturbance to the scene as it was when he had entered; accounting for the damage likely done by mobs was going to make this hell to study.

He grabs another torch and sets it inside one of the empty sconces that still adorn the walls, readjusts his grip on his sword—he can hear more lingering around the next corner; the low hiss that means a spider is near, the groan or two of a zombie.

Pix picks up a chunk of cobble from the ground and tosses it down the hall, waits. Sure enough, out scuttles a spider. He disposes of it quickly enough, but it seems he’ll have to venture down the dark hall to goad the zombies. He glances at the clock he placed in his hotbar before embarking on this mission (it’s hard to tell how much time passes underground—something he learned quickly in his line of work). There’s still a good amount of daylight left, and he wants the catacombs cleared; he has other projects he has to move on to, things he needs to finish; he’ll just get through a few more halls—it won’t be an issue, surely.

But the new corner he rounds remains dark even as he places a torch behind him to mark the way back. The groans can still be heard, but a zombie is yet to lumber his way, and so he has to wonder what's beyond his admittedly limited sight. Pix shuffles another foot or so forward, a torch in his non-dominant hand now as well, hoping for light, for vision. The research part of him—the logical academic—knows that it shouldn't still be this dark with the torches placed behind him nor the one in his hand, and that part is so much louder and more important than the one that knows this means something is wrong, the part that says turn around.

The torch is lit, he can feel the heat of the flame as he observes it flicker in and out but cast no shadow on the wall behind—a wall Pix can’t even see but knows is there all the same. The circle of light provided extends no further than an inch or two out from the flame itself—comparable more to that of a birthday candle than a lit hand torch. If he hadn’t been staring directly at it, he would’ve assumed the fire snuffed out.

He feels his eye twitch and his brows furrow. Academia liked concrete answers, things that could be explained and reasoned away—unequivocal proof. But Pix had always had a soft spot for the inexplicable, the ineffable. It was nice when he studied something and found an answer, it was riveting when he didn’t. How much more exciting to study it again and again, a riddle that begged not to be solved. (How much sweeter the prize if he were the one to figure it out in the end).

His interest was piqued. He could feel it, the way his attention focused and his surroundings blurred and left him; his body on standby, his sword hand lowered almost subconsciously.

In other words, it was entirely his own fault when the zombie grabbed him. Panic is never a good thing to welcome into a fight, but it likes to show up uninvited anyway. Pix's entire career revolves around studying human behavior, about how human nature cannot be fought against though it oft leads us to our own downfall and ruin. He finds it uncanny when he's reminded that this is a phenomenon from which he is not exempt.

In haste, he elbows the zombie behind him and turns, back now to the darkness—the one not even his torch could dent. It’s an ugly bugger, eyes soft and misshapen from decay and skin so leathery it’s as if it's been treated and is ready for use as a saddle or armor. Logic replaced by horror, before he can run it through it advances, arms out, and Pix drops his sword to reach back, holding it at arm's length itself; their arms interlocked, pose not unlike meeting an old friend again for the first time in a while. His hands grip the woven fabric of what's left of its shirt, too old and worn to be from any time close to recent, and, despite the very real danger, his mind takes the time to process the period-accurate fabric, the hand-stitched design. He blanches again as he looks into its horrible milky eyes—this zombie was from the capital.

Not sentient enough to know why it’s not actually getting any closer to Pixlriffs, the zombie makes a noise that sounds frighteningly human in its frustration and steps forward, and in his distraction, Pix lets it. The push seems to make his brain function yet again, and he shoves the zombie backward a good few paces away, but the momentum sends him stepping back himself, and his foot finds not purchase but, instead, the disturbing lack of solid ground, and with nothing left to do, he falls.

He hits the ground with a thump and a crack and a lot of other sounds he would rather not describe as he feels they were likely very undignified. Winded but, it appears, still in one piece, he grabs another torch and strikes it against the wall, holding it up above him when it lights and shines this time as torches normally do. He buries the part of himself that is disappointed at this—the part that wants to panic and complain finally louder, now, than the part that says hmm.

He didn’t fall too far, it seems. Now that the torch is lit he can see the gap he’d fallen through, just under a dozen feet or so above where he lays. It's obvious even looking from below how the stone floor had crumbled away, taking maybe one or two hits too many over time from overcrowded mobs or shifts in terrain or pressure aboveground. He tilts his head back but sees only another dead end behind him, and ahead looks like a further, deeper hall of the tomb he hadn’t uncovered yet, though the path is obstructed by debris from above; a net of spiderweb blankets the pile of stone and dirt, but no spider seems to be left guarding the web.

His friend above seems to have lost interest now that he’s fallen out of sight, and its moans and groans get further away by the second.

No immediate threat, Pix lets his head fall back onto the ground and takes a breath. He knew the crypt would be full of mobs, he knew it’d be hard, but still…

No, it’s worth it. It will be worth it. He has a job to do.

At least he isn’t defenseless—it’s more than he can say for the dungeons. Not a weapon to his name, fists wrapped in tape so red you’d never believe it’d been white to begin with; knuckles so raw and scraped and beaten by the time he’d made it out that they’d scarred that way—permanent marks of the fighter he was, of the fighter he’d proved to be.

There was a fear there, too, at that very real and physical understanding of permanence. His studies proved expert in providing examples of what was permanent and what wasn’t, and where people weren’t, things were. He’d spent enough time studying what could be learned about a person by the things they left behind to begin to wonder if anyone at all would’ve remembered him if he’d died in those dungeons—not a singular weapon or item for him to leave behind and tell his story.

Pix stops wallowing. He sits up and reaches over his shoulder for his pick; he isn’t shocked to find that the shaft had snapped in two from the fall, it having been strapped to his back. He sighs, tossing it aside as useless. He’ll make another.

He takes the time to remind himself again that he knew it was going to be difficult, and that difficulty was no reason to not continue. But it didn’t just feel difficult it felt…inhibiting. Dissuading, deterring, impeding. It felt deliberate. It felt like, stay out; like, we don’t want you here; like, leave us to our rest.

(it wasn’t, it was something far more sinister. An idea he’d never thought to consider; like a torch was giving off too-little light in the hallway of a dark, long-forgotten crypt, he couldn’t see any farther than what was right in front of his own face. How cliche it’d be, in the end, when it came to pass—the academic too invested in their own research, too dismissive of the present danger posed until it consumed them. He’d have a moment to laugh about it later, when the dread had settled in and all options—or lack thereof—exhausted. While on the topic of permanence…

It was not go away that the tomb was saying, not a driving force out that was being enacted upon the archeologist, but a more frightening call of stay. A threatening but desperate find…become…join…

No, if it were trying to keep him out, why would it keep pushing him deeper? Add this to the list of things he’d realize too late.)

He stands and dusts himself off. The wall is thick and overgrown with glow lichen, and he grabs the nearest vines and tugs one, twice, three times before deciding it won't give and hoisting up. It takes a few minutes and a fair amount of huffing and puffing to get himself to the top and over the edge but he does it, collapsing on higher ground once again and taking a minute to slow his pulse. When he left the dungeons, he dove back into the studies he’d been missing and decided he’d had enough fighting to last a lifetime—this was not without consequence, he’s not nearly as in shape as he used to be.

His sword is still on the ground where he’d dropped it, so he reequips and readies himself to push his way back out; he’d have to make time to come back and clear the rest another day. He would be back, and he hoped he would be welcomed.

“I don’t mean to disturb you,” he says into the quiet blackness of the catacombs. He doesn't dare speak above a whisper, for there were still mobs around and his voice carried enough as it was, bouncing along the empty stone and quiet graves. “I'd like to tell your story.”

There's nothing to hear but for the scuttling of various creatures far off in the dark, the shrill whistle of stray wind through small openings and holes. He raises his voice only slightly, a bit bolder. “Don’t you want me to do that? Will—would you allow me to do that?”

Silence, and then—the rattle and clatter of a skeleton. It sounds like only one; he lit everything up pretty well on his way in, getting out should be easier. Striking another torch against the wall, Pix prepares to go. For a second, the light is brighter than it should be, its circle of light illuminating the hall completely, the hole he’d fallen into, the distance to the other side. He leans back to avoid the heat of the flame, and he sees it.

The other side of the cave-in leads not to another tunnel but to an alcove, and empty it is not. His torch, though many feet away, sheds light on the scene; the heavily wax-encrusted stone above a pile of used candles and burnt wicks, the coin and other offerings of gold overflowing from bowls and chalices and any other orifice they could be piled upon, and her.

He recognizes her immediately. The tapestry covers the majority of the wall, and though it's faded for certain, the lack of direct sunlight has done wonders at preserving what it could. The colors are familiar to his research, the subtle and light greens under warm oranges and yellows. He’s too far, he cannot see any detail; the background, what she's holding, her face—but he knows her. She’s their patron.

The skeleton wanders closer, its bones clicking and clacking down the hall. Pix swallows.

“I’ll return for you, I will.” It’s a promise. She’s holding a secret, he knows she is—he’s going to figure out what. Pix turns just in time to face the skeleton as it rounds the corner, and soon its bones join those on the floor, new and old alike.

His words still echo off the caverns and crevices of the catacombs after he's left and gone, and though not possible to have been heard by human ears, the crypt whispers back good.

~-~-~-~

Far below even the hole the archeologist had fallen in, leagues underneath the surface of the earth, buried perhaps the furthest underground of anything left behind from the ancient capital—so deeply you’d have to wonder if maybe it was done on purpose—the crown sits in a chest, waiting patiently to be discovered. It’s not a matter of if, but a nice decisive and quiet when. Eventually, the echo of the archeologists' words falls upon it where it sits, and slowly it begins to emit a soft glow. It says stay, it says find, it says become, it says join.

It says soon.

#me when i dont write anything for almost an entire month and then inexplicably come back with 2000 words of pixlriffs fanficiton #all of which is completely self-indulgent #if you couldn't tell by tags on my recent reblogs and by this hey im doing so bad about pix being fucking dead and all #the blind academic...to be so invested in your work that it consumes you...#to disregard danger for the sake of being so close to what you believe is an answer #he studied the past so hard that he became it #hahahaha.#good thing he enjoys his work #because now he can never leave.#okay sorry not to write a 2000 word fic and then also write like another 300 in the tags #but also its mY POST!! GET OFF MY LAWN!! IM ALLOWED TO DO THAT! WAH IM SAD!#last thing but i have so much more to say about pixs background being his weaponless playthrough of mc dungeons. so.#someone talk to me about this /please #i lied. new last thing. now that this is out of my head :) hey :) all my fic planning is done im gonna start writing sentinel species #worm writes #empires smp #empires smp fic #empires smp fanfic #pixlriffs #pixlriffs fic #empires season 2 #esmp season 2

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