#Phira

[bihanspookies]

NEW OC QUESTION (for realsies)

Does your oc use nicknames/terms of endearment for friends/loved ones?

[omg-ame-chan]

pro tip the longer it takes a phira chart to download the better the chart is going to be because holy shit

[douyinvids]

不眠之夜 (Version 2.0 PV song) on Phigros

by TKTB @ TKTB25102

[luna-di-fuoco]

A mini story about BlueSteel for @bihanspookies based on these intimacy prompts! I wanted to be brave and share my writing on here, so I hope you guys like it!

WORD COUNT: 600+ RATING: T / 13+ WARNINGS: Suggestiveness, Implied Nudity

•─────────────────•°•☾ ◯ ☽•°•─────────────────•

The crack of dawn paints itself along patterned sheets. Despite not having an alarm set, Steve’s internal clock ticks, causing him to awaken from his peaceful slumber. Squinting against the harshness of the sun, he softly grunts as he sits himself up.

Deeply exhaling through his nostrils while running his hand through his hair, he looks over to his side. There, nestled under the sheets with her back upwards and her face towards the sun, was Phira.

Staring deep into the etches along her skin, Steve’s eyes grow soft as he leans in towards her. For him, it was no secret that she rarely slept in a position that wasn’t on her back; something about “needing to be ready at all times,” as she once worded it.

But here? She was comfortable. She was safe…something he always wanted for her.

Lightly sighing, he reaches over and gently brushes away the few locks of hair that cover her nape. Muttering something inaudible under his breath, he places his index finger along her neck and begins to run it down her form, her skin responding to his touch ever so slightly.

As he reaches the small of her back, he hears a soft but tired hum, causing him to stop. Pulling back, he watches her turn towards him, her eyes foggy from being in a daze. As she begins collecting herself, her gaze lingers up towards him, her lips forming into a gentle smile.

“Mornin’, love,” he greets, his voice low. “Morning,” she reciprocates.

Staring at each other in silence for some time, the moment is lost when Phira’s curiosity gets the better of her.

“What time is it?” She asks in a somewhat sleepy manner. Turning over and grabbing her phone from the nightstand, she observes that it’s a few minutes before 5:00.

Getting lost in her phone screen as she remains in a slight daze, her eyes begin to lower when she feels something warm along the back side of her body and stomach. Looking over, she meets Steve’s gaze again, his chin resting along her shoulder, his hand gently pressing into her as he holds her against him.

“Sorry if I woke you,” he apologizes, his nose brushing along the crook of her neck.

“It’s all right,” she assures while putting her phone back. Leaning into his body, she feels his warmth meld with her own, offering her a sense of comfort.

Feeling gently peppered kisses against her skin, she closes her eyes and stifles a laugh.

“Hmm~? Was last night not enough for you?” She teases, feeling his fingers push into her just enough for her to flex into him more. Turning her head to look at him, she meets his gaze and kisses him, letting him guide her onto her back as they kiss some more.

Feeling him break away, she opens her eyes and stares at him, the exposed parts of his body being kissed by the sun.

“You’ll always be enough,” he tells her, causing her heart to pick up and her face to flush. Getting a bit flustered, she averts her gaze briefly. Sensing her subtle hesitation, his eyes begin to narrow.

“I mean it, Phira,” he says, this time with a bit more seriousness as she returns her attention to him.

“I know,” she smiles, growing soft while reaching for his face and cupping it in her hands. “Thank you.”

Sharing one last kiss together, the couple stares at one another, their lips perched into wide smiles as they decide to take a bit more time to lay in bed and cuddle before starting their day, the energy of the room tender and light.

•─────────────────•°•☾ ◯ ☽•°•─────────────────•

[rgrectangle]

マシュンガンポエムドール (Machine Gun Poem Doll) - AT Lv. 16 - All Perfect

No multifinger, just REALLY FAST 2k for 2.5 minutes

[orchurisarts]

Catching up here; first post to this blog. Other posts will be made directly to @orchurisarts LOL

*badly-written wheatley voice* so i have been gone for a frankly unreasonable amount of time again! have some doodles

LOTS OF DESIGNS!! plus Cyberstrike gets their own tile because i fucking love them ok /silly Reciprocity (Oleander, Ixe, and Liora) are my original story and theft will be reacted to with the same force as theft of any of my other ideas/characters. That is to say, don’t steal. ty!! and below the cut is LOTS of misc whiteboard doodles!!

ft. some contributions on one of the doodles from @pricklythepearcat and their cube Calypso :3c

[thehightiefling]

Tavrakas | Lich Grandpa | Necromancy? NAY. Goblinmancy wizard Phiramoira | Forest Gnome | Feisty bard

IDK how often I'll play these two but I just needed something goofy and very D&D esque to cope at the moment

[the-ghost-bird]

I was supposed to say customer service

[svyatoiy]

no one is going to hurt you here. / phira ....

though no stranger to being dropped headfirst into unfamiliar places filled with a myriad with unfamiliar faces, the freshly claimed daughter of hyperion could not claim to feel settled amongst the demigods just yet. mere days ago her existence had been a simple routine of waking, running from the monster lurking in her shadow, and if lucky sleeping a few fretful hours before repeating it all over again. even in the safety of the camp her heart continued its panicked arrythmia, so accustomed to adrenaline & fear it had become the norm. forgive her if she was hesitant to take the girl's words of comfort to heart. ❝ is that really a promise you can make? ❞ came her harsh retort, dark gaze finding her companion's with precision. but what she found was not a look of pity or amusement, and in response to her own assumption guilt swelled in her stomach.

❝ I'm sorry, that wasn't very nice of me. must have lost my manners somewhere along the way from the pavilion. what I should have said is thanks. ❞ apologetic both in words & in manners, her cheeks were flushed red with embarrassment and her gaze had softened and hesitated to meet the eyes of @fospherus again. ❝ my name is alina. have you ... been at camp long? ❞

❴ ⟢˚ ˒  PROMPTS  ⊰   ACCEPTING!

[bihanspookies]

NEW OC QUESTION

Does your oc use emojis while texting?

[douyinvids]

Dragonflame (龙焰) by Kirara Magic

custom chart by 银星杂货铺

by MV are the Miselable @ phixiaom666

can you name all the references? this is so cool.

[luna-di-fuoco]

Another BlueSteel piece for the beloved @bihanspookies! This is actually the first story I wrote for them some time ago, and it was really fun to do!

WORD COUNT: 1.6K RATING: E / Everyone

SUMMARY: Steve and Phira have a stay-at-home date and bake some sweets while reflecting on past memories together.

•─────────────────•°•☾ ◯ ☽•°•─────────────────•

“Protein cookies?”

Hearing Steve’s mixture of curiosity and surprise causes Phira to nod her head with some confidence. “I thought they’d be fun to make. A sweet treat that offers nutrients. Plus it’s hard to find stuff that doesn’t taste like old shoes.”

“Not all of it does, luv,” is Steve’s counter. “I find some to be quite tasty.” “You can’t always eat jerky, Steve. You know how high in sodium that is?” “True. But I'll burn it off.” “Uh huh~”

As much as she finds his teasing to be a bit nonsensical at times, she can’t help but be charmed by it. Offering a bit of a crooked smirk, she shifts her attention towards her work station. Lined in front of her kitchen counter with pristine care are her ingredients, her work tools, and a baking sheet.

Peering over her shoulder and seeing everything neatly lined up and ready for action, he hears her speaking to herself (though admittedly, her volume is loud enough for him to hear) as her tone reflects determination.

“It'll turn out better this time,” she swears. “This time for sure.” “Are you still upset about last time?” Steve questions, getting her attention. While the eye contact is minimal, he can see right through her as she offers a tiny pout and turns away.

“| don’t know why you ate any of that...garbage,” Phira astounds in a monotonous tone. “Oh that wasn’t rubbish,” Steve assures. “Trust me—what you made was miles better than some of the tripe I’ve had.”

“| know you're just saying that to make me feel better.” “I’m not! Honest.” “Whatever you say,” Phira sighs as she grabs the printed out instructions she had specially prepared. Reading it over carefully, she places it down and heads towards the set of aprons she bought herself some time ago.

Giving them her attention, she notices Steve moving in her peripheral. Curiously, she pans her eyes over to watch him lean against the counter, his eyes on the recipe sheet. As her lips curl into a small and gentle grin, she picks up one of the aprons and tosses it to him.

“You might want this,” she voices aloud while watching him look over and grab the apron in time. Seeing him offer a smirk her way, she grabs an apron for herself and ties it around her figure. Satisfied, she makes her way back to the counter when she sees Steve eyeballing his apron.

“I’ve got a shirt like this, y know,” he admits as he stares at the flower pattern adorning his apron. “Perfect for summertime.”

“Do you, now?” Phira asks with the subtlest hint of playfulness. “Mm. Maybe I'll model it for you some time,” he winks, only causing her to stare at him. Knowing that it takes her some time to warm up to any sort of flirtation, he softens up as he claps his hands together.

“Right! So. Where do we start?” “You'll handle the dry ingredients. I'll take care of the rest.” “Working in tandem, eh? | like it.”

Smiling a bit, Phira shifts her focus on the ingredients. Grabbing the eggs, applesauce, butter, and honey, she places them inside one of the mixing bowls before bringing them towards her. Just when she thinks everything’s gathered, she sees the small bottle of vanilla extract left behind and snatches it.

_  _  _

With all of the wet ingredients mixed together, Phira finds her lips curling into a smile. Looking over briefly, she takes some time to observe Steve work on the dry ingredients. The way his eyes sharpen when focused. The subtle furrow of his brow and wrinkle of his nose...the subtle popping veins running along his hands and arms, the subtle trickles from his scar gracing his left arm.

Feeling a set of eyes on him, Steve continues mixing while panning his focus towards Phira. Offering her a playful glint in his stare, he returns to the task at hand before he feels his work is done. Stepping away and wiping his hands along his apron, he watches his silver-haired companion grab both mixing bowls, pour them together, and go to town on the dough.

A bit surprised by her enthusiasm, he hears her ask him for the chocolate chips and cherries. Moving with finesse, he grabs the final ingredients when he notices the amount of flour residue and dough splats running along Phira’s face and arms. Not wanting to break her out of her mojo, he steps back while witnessing the final touches of the dough preparation.

With a bit of a determined smirk, Phira finds a sliver of pride work its way through her when she notices the aftermath of her mixing firsthand. The puffs of residual flour resting along the counter. The chocolate chips and cherry bits that were flung out of the bowl. The dried up dough that trails along her hands and forearms.

“Ah geez,” she mutters to herself as she turns on her faucet. Washing her hands quickly, she turns it off, wipes her hands along her apron, and grabs a spare towel to wipe up her mess.

“It’s not like you to get so messy,” she hears Steve note in a playful way, causing her to look at him like a puppy who got reprimanded.

“| shouldn’t have been so careless,” she confesses as she breaks eye contact and drops the towel upon finishing her first task.

With her attention focused on cleaning herself off, she doesn’t notice Steve moving towards her—at least not until his feet are a few inches in front of her own. Looking up with a bit of a confused expression, she feels her heart pick up a bit the moment his finger grazes her cheek, sliding off a stray speck of dough.

“You missed a spot.”

Watching him pull his finger away and taste the cookie dough, she watches him nod in approval.

“Good flavor,” he smiles the moment he makes eye contact with her. “Thank you,” she acknowledges before backtracking. “Wait, are you talking about the dough or—”

Softly chuckling to himself, Steve leaves her to speculate before grabbing a towel to assist her. The moment she’s fully clean, he offers a satisfied grin.

Placing the towel over her shoulder, Phira reciprocates with a small smile of her own before returning to the cookie dough.

“You wanna help scoop this out? Four hands are better than two,” she nods. “It would be my pleasure,” Steve grins, standing beside her as she places the bowl in the middle of them.

One by one, they scoop little balls of dough out of the bowl and line them along the baking sheet. Finding himself growing a bit nostalgic, Steve softly chuckles.

“It’s funny,” he begins, getting Phira’s attention. “This reminds me a lot of my mum.” “It does?” Phira wonders.

“Mm. Baking was one of her hobbies,” he confesses. “She made all kinds of things: cakes, pies…anything Pops was in the mood for. She’d ask for my help a lot, so I’d knead dough or flatten things out with a rolling pin. It’s…one of the better memories I have growing up."

Knowing full well what he’s alluding to, Phira’s aura grows a bit remorseful when she hears the timer for the oven’s preheat go off. Shifting gears, she grabs the cookies, opens the oven, and places them in.

Closing the oven door, she sets the timer for a couple of minutes shorter than the suggested baking time. Admitting to herself that she did enough research to know that baking times can be off once and a while, she trusts herself to leave things be while undoing her apron.

Looking over her shoulder, she asks Steve to hand his over so she can throw it in the hamper. The moment he tosses it her way, she takes it with ease and heads for the closest laundry bin she can find. Dropping them in, she wipes her hands clean and returns to the kitchen.

_ _ _

After letting the cookies cool enough and brewing a fresh pot of tea, Phira feels her heart begin to beat in her chest. While the cookies looked perfectly fine, her innate fear of them turning out vile was slowly getting the better of her.

Brushing this aside, she grabs one of the cookies and goes for it, silently giving herself some encouraging words. Taking the first bite, the flavors of chocolate and honey reach her palate. Widening her eyes a bit, she finds herself a bit surprised.

“It's good,” she tells herself while seeing Steve grab a cookie of his own. Taking a bite and letting the flavors dance along his tongue, he nods in approval.

“| told ya,” he grins. Noticing how relieved she appears to be, he takes a tiny milk container and adds some to his tea. “You did a good job.”

A bit taken back by his compliment, Phira sits with it before expressing her gratitude and eating the rest of her cookie. The moment she finishes, she looks at the plate of remaining cookies while playing mental ping pong on whether or not she should have another one.

Feeling similarly, Steve comes up with an idea. Grabbing one of the cookies, he breaks it in half and holds a piece out.

“For you,” he tells her. Seeing the gentle gaze in his eyes, she softens her expression and takes it. As the two finish their little treat, they discuss what else they could do on their date. As multiple ideas bounce back and forth, the duo feels something gently linger between them—a sort of dance, almost a waltz of tenderness.

For the first time in a long while, they feel comfortable. Safe. And for now, that’s all they can ask for.

•─────────────────•°•☾ ◯ ☽•°•─────────────────•

[serene-ly]

Hum sar phiron ke saath koi sar phira chale!!

[gacougnol]

REINE BRIAC (1898-1964) et RAOUL CELLY (1902-1975)

Phira (Santorin) contre-forts de la cathédrale

15 septembre 1937

[mehreenkhan]

kya zamana tha ke hum roz mila karte thay

raat bhar chaand ke humrah phira karty thay

jahan tanhayian sar phorh ke so jati hain

in makanon main ajab log raha karte thay

kardia aj zamane ne inhain bhi majbur

kabhi ye log mere dil ki dawa karte thay

dekh kar jo humain chup chap guzar jata hai

kabhi is shakhs ko hum pyaar kia karte thay

itafaqat-e-zamana bhi ajab hain Nasir

aj wo dekh rahy hain jo suna karte thay

-Nasir Kazmi

[phiralovesloki]

It is not ableist or classist to say that it's antithetical to the NaNoWriMo challenge to use generative AI to "write" your story for you.

Socioeconomic class can impede your ability to write. It can mean that you don't have the money for a decent computer to write on, or you don't have consistent internet to use to do research. It can mean that you literally don't have time to write because you're working long hours to make ends meet and when you get home, you can barely feed yourself before you go to sleep.

Disability can impede your ability to write. It can that your hands can't write or type easily, due to pain or muscular atrophy or tremor or missing digits or limbs. It can mean difficulty or inability to position yourself comfortably enough to put words on the page. It can mean exhaustion or pain or brain fog that leaves you struggling to write. It can mean that you struggle with spelling, or with reading your sources.

Disability can also impact your socioeconomic class, and vice versa. Maybe you struggle to concentrate on writing because you can't afford your ADHD meds. Maybe you can't afford to replace your computer because your SSI payments are pitiful. Maybe you live in pain or suffer from debilitating depression, all because of a job that you can't lose because it would mean no food, no shelter.

Not a single one of these situations is resolved or improved with generative AI. Many, if not all of these situations could be resolved with money, whether the money means not needing to work yourself to the bone to make ends meet, or being able to purchase adaptive or assistive tech to help you write, like voice-to-text software or a more comfortable writing desk or your prescribed medication.

"Phira, but what if I use generative AI to write a best-selling book, and it results in me making lots of money, and then I use that money to solve all my problems so I can actually write?"

I mean, you might as well be asking, "Phira, but what if I steal someone else's hard work and take credit for it, and use that to make a lot of money ..."

Because that's what generative AI does. It's a language learning model that barfs out what it approximates to be what you asked for, using all of the real work produced by real people as its basis. It's not writing. It's not yours. You didn't make what it spits out.

People have already made wonderfully incisive points about how no one is entitled to be GOOD at something. I'm hoping that we can also see that it's not "leveling the playing field" for disabled people or poor people. Giving people money and healthcare does that, but generative AI does not.