#bad reflexes for a crow..

[thevaelguard]

One flatbread Lucanis coming up!!!

[justliketoreadsowhat]

Lucky Catch ☆

⚠︎︎; 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐚/𝐧; 𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐈 𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐫. 𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"Out Of All The Games You Chose To Go To This One?"

Your mind swiveled with 2nd thoughts as you sat way up in the nosebleeds, hopelessly watching one of your favorite player Nika Muhl sit on the bench for yet another game.

After spending endless nights contemplating on catching a flight down to Seattle, you finally gave in to your impulseive thoughts and went for it.

It was fitting that you bring along your best friend Ella for moral support, although she was never quite as interested in sports, she would never turn down supporting your passions. Even if that meant flying half way across the states to see your girl keep the bench warm.

A sigh escaped your lips "At least we're winning" Barely. "Maybe we should start moving down to the floor to catch some autographs" In the back of your mind, you knew there was a slim catch of getting on all the action, but nevertheless you were determined to leave here with something other than countless pictures and videos.

"No- we can't leave just yet, they're about to do the t-shirt toss!!" her hands pointing at the jumbotron that displayed a huge countdown with less than 2 minutes remaining on the clock.

This scene was all too familair to you, the cheerleaders come out dancing, grab a handful of t shirts and throw them about 5ft into the front crowd.

It was pointless.

"Please be so for real right now, There's no way those t-shirts are coming our way when we are all the way up here" Your eyes glanced down to examine the depth of how high up the two of you were "We're better off overpaying for a shirt at the concession stands".

You began to gather all your belongings and the nachos that were now cold. Standing up to your feet the crow noise suddenly erupted in the arena. Frantically you scanned your surroundings, eyeing the jumbotron your eyes grew wide.

This was most definitely a life or death situation.

The gold and green lights grew dim as the jumbrotron screen grew impossibly brighter as no other than Paige Bueckers stood before the sold put crowd, smiling and waving gracefully as she clutched a t-shirt in her dominant hand.

"I told you we needed to stay for the toss" she jarred, urgency more prominent than ever before. "Lock in for me because it looks like she's throwing it this way"

How could anyone see from this far up anyways?

Before you could squint to see from down below, an impact struck you right in the shoulder. Your reflexes quickily reacted, catching the object before it hit the ground.

You caught it. The crowds attention glued to your seats in disbelief

Shit.

"She threw that like her life depending on it, come on y/n don't just stand there!" Shock was taking over your body. "We gotta get down there to see her"

✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩✩

"Did you see who caught that?"

"No not really, but what I did see was you chucking the t-shirt way over yander" Evina laughed, playfully nudging Paige in her side.

"imma professional what can I say?" her hands positioned together ready to initiate her rizz hands for the 10th time tonight.

"Put. Them. Down." she groaned rubbing her temples. "It's bad enough you got all of those girls screaming your name with every step you take".

"Mm.. you sound like a hater"

"And you sound like you'll be catching an uber home by yourself"

"Alright Alright not too much now" Paige jolting her hands up in self defense, Evina quickly smacking them down.

"Please look like we like each other because I think we found your lucky catch" pointing in the direction of the two girls being accompanied by one of the many security guards.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

"Damn she's way taller in person" you muttered to your best friend, only to find her walking away from you, leaving you to fein for yourself in the heat of the moment.

The grip you had on the shirt tightened as you got closer to her. "That was a tough catch" she beamed, her blue eyes sparkkling with glint.

Drop Dead Gorgeous is all that ran through your mind. Her blonde hair slicked back perfectly, not a hair our of place as her earrings sparkled with every turn of her head, as her tucked chain mirrored the same action. Envision of how nice it would look dangling in your face.

"Why thank you" you smiled warmly "You definitely threw a cannon" glancing down at her large hands that had veins spread all throughout like wildfire. Her laugh echoed throughout your body causing small goose bumps to form.

"I'm just happy you caught it because I for sure thought it was gonna hit that beautiful face of yours" her hand gently grazing over your chin.

The feeling of your heart fluttering off rhythm was enough to make you fold in front of everyone, including the cameras who began to swarm the two of you, bright flashes evaded every corner.

You prepared to see this moment plastered on your timeline, yet nobody could prepare you for the cost that came with it.

[xhollowfaerie]

Disease

(So I accidentally managed to bug my previous post that was the prequel to this. It got lost in the Fade. This is the follow-up of Rook also trying to find some relief after she gets very riled up watching Lucanis cook, inspired by this, of course! Here is the fanfic with all these snippets on my ao3! Tags: Lucanis being extremely hot, nsfw, masturbation (not too graphic), demi4demi Rookanis, inexperienced Rookanis

-

Rook felt her chest tighten as she watched Lucanis, his skillful hands chopping away; occasionally wiping on a soft towel, dripping with the juices of a lemon; the tiny amount of flour leaving a kiss on his alluring, sharp cheekbone… 

He looked so good in that apron, dashing, his gorgeous hair neatly tied into a bun; she could see the tiniest streaks of gray, digging her nails into her thigh with a muted hum. 

Her breath caught in her throat as his nimble fingers grabbed a chunk of meat, pushing it down onto the cutting board, holding it in place… she noticed the faint trace of veins on his hands; the wetness of her tongue darting over her lips left a cold sensation, making it all the worse.

Lucanis expertly slid the knife across the meat, slicing it into thin sections. Kore pressed her legs together, trying to subtly fan herself with a stray napkin. He washed his hands off before jotting down a note.

“Ah, perfect. Now, you said you wanted to help? I was going to ask if you could- Rook? Are you alright?” When he glanced at her, her entire face was blooming; the rosy shades of her hair blended so beautifully with the redness in her cheeks; she seemed bewildered, taken aback when the Crow addressed her. The elf let out a small gasp and covered her mouth bashfully. He could swear he saw a drop of sweat roll down her clavicle. Did she have a fever? He was definitely going to offer her his coat next time they went to the Anderfels.

“Kore?” His brows furrowed and he placed the pen down, taking a step towards her; she backed away in sync and gulped, shuddering wordlessly. His soul ached.

“... Lo siento. Have I done something wrong?” Rook’s heart thrashed in her chest at the innocent look of a kicked puppy plastered all over his breathtaking features. She knew she was being unreasonable, but all she could think about was seeing that face between her legs.

“No” she managed to choke out, finally peeling her hungry gaze off of him. “No, Creators-” it was too late, she already said it reflexively, even if she meant to stop using that word- “no, never, you’ve never wronged me. Not for a second.” He was so incredibly confused. Spite circled from behind him with an evil grin. ‘Rook lusts. Shaking. She wants us.’

The Crow’s eyes widened, a faint blush dusting his face; he cleared his throat and tried to wave Spite away. “Whatever it is, I can help. Do you want me to stab someone? Tell me what you need, Rook.” Kore looked as if he had just slapped her (little did he know), and she somehow got even redder. She felt the room suffocate her. Instinctively, her hands scrambled to undo a button on her shirt. Too hot.

“I- I-” 

She looked at him again, and her legs wanted so badly to move towards him; her hands clutched her clothes, and he felt his own resolve begin to tremble.

There was… no way Spite wasn’t just messing with him.

Right?

He inhaled slowly, studying her face. His jaw clenched ever so slightly, his eyes narrowed.

‘Yes, yes. Take her, Lucanis. She craves us.’

His fingers twitched. He tried to spur himself on, find the courage to approach her. Maybe… Just, maybe - “I’ll- be right back!” she squeaked before bolting out of the dining room. As soon as she was out, she leaned against the door, sliding halfway down. She lowered her damp forehead and breathed heavily, closing her eyes. She stood there for a second, clutching her knees.

“This is so bad” she whispered, hands covering her face in shame.

“Trouble in paradise?” Neve teased with a knowing smirk, scaring the ever living crap out of her. Rook jumped in place, clutching onto the door for balance.

“N-Neve?!” “It’s okay. I won’t tell.” “N-No, w-what? W-We weren’t, I-”

“Oh, spare me, Trouble. Whatever you’re worried about, I’m sure Lucanis can handle.”

The detective left Kore with a wink, which did not help lessen her condition any.

This must be what they call a walk of shame, Rook thought as she headed to the communal lavatory in order to splash some cold water at her face.

Her trembling hands held onto the shell-shaped marble sink, glaring at her own reflection. “This is so… so inappropriate! I… No, he is a dear friend, my closest-”

Her own voice cut itself off. She shook her head and squealed, tapping her face repeatedly. “No, no, stop it, this is- I can’t think like this, not with Lucanis ! Not with- S…Spite!”

Maybe she just needed a second to cool off.

. . . 

“L-Lucanis!” she mewled into her palm, squeezing her eyes shut in embarrassment. She felt so humiliated, despite the intimacy of her own bedroom. This was so wrong. How could she ever face him again? 

Bitter and sweet, like a kiss goodbye .

Gods, she loved his voice, his accent; she was so enamoured with all of him; he had her falling in love with Treviso, getting so close to the Crows they treated her like one of their own; she could never touch a drop of coffee again without picturing his lips on hers. His rare, precious smile. 

She wanted to protect him so dearly. Rook wanted to hold his hands, to cradle him, to lay his head on her chest; to run her fingers through his dark hair, to feel his beard on every inch of her skin. It was genuinely distracting how obsessed she was with his hands, with his fingers, with the little playful twink in his eyes. The way he freaked out over the Gods and their ancient magic, his dynamic with Taash; he always made Rook laugh so easily. Lucanis was so, so careful with her, as well as the rest of the team. She had never expected him to be so expressive, so charming.

His expensive, elegant clothes, always so neat, so proper. His collection of daggers, his knives. His tone when he got cocky. How he looked when he cooked, when he was focused. When he was angry. The few moments of softness between them. The intensity in his eyes, the bags beneath… His humanity. Every single thing about him.

When they met, she wanted to say she was scared, but despite his reputation, the first time she laid eyes on him, all she could feel was a thrill . 

A thrill for danger.

You like to walk a little close to the edge .

He didn’t scare her. Neither did Spite. She was intrigued. Or rather, she was enthralled.

She knew she was a lost cause when they went on a little shopping trip through the market in Treviso. Every time he spoke of another companion, so concerned with buying each of them a gift, her heart swelled. Kore remembered the way the spices in the market overpowered her, how handsome he looked in the twinkling lights. She had bought him the wyvern dagger on a whim, a compulsion, moved by whatever was stirring inside her; so desperate to show him he was needed. That he was a good man. That he was loved, and he deserved the world. Honey and lavender cream. Sweet, intriguing.

She wanted to show him more. She wanted to kiss him for hours on end, to worship him; to make him forget, the Ossuary, Zara, Illario, the Crows, the Vints, the Antaam, the Gods, she wanted his mind to be empty of everything, everything except for her. She wanted him to feel safe. She wanted to help him feel whole.

She wanted to see his face engulfed with pleasure.

S-so, so close-!

Something must be wrong with her; not only had she never experienced this before… it was so unbearably strong , so intoxicating. Her desire for him, her affection, they weaved around her so tightly, he never left her mind.

Releasing her pent up feelings like this wasn’t even the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. It only helped for a brief moment… terror swirled inside of her as she wondered how much more of this it would take before he found her out.

Would he be upset? Angry? Disgusted? Would he despise her? Would his eyes turn purple…? Would he grab her by the throat, pull her hair- or, maybe, he’d just kiss her neck, lovingly pin her thigh down, keep his gloves on as he slides his fingers in- 

Tell me what you need, Rook.

“Have you guys seen Rook?” Taash’s voice outside her room made her freeze in horror, painfully biting into the side of her thumb to calm her panting.

“Lucanis is trying to find her. Said she just ran away outta nowhere.”

Rook let out a quiet groan of regret.

“I’m so terrible” she whispered, sinking into her own shame.

‘Yes, you are. Terrible. What should they do to you?’

Dread Wolf’s asshole - that voice, again! Luring her, taunting her. The voice of a siren.

At that point, Kore had already figured it out, even though she denied it so vehemently.

“Lust” she whispered shyly. “Please, I… I love him. Don’t make me ruin everything.”

‘So innocent. You know you won’t be able to focus, not unless you finish.’

Kore didn’t even know how to deny it. She was right.

I want. To talk. To Rook!

She really was sick, even fantasizing about Spite… But Kore had never felt so needed , before; she adored his excitement, his fervor, his passion, his attention, his determination. His desperation , for her, and her alone…

Her fingers trembled as they forced the pillow over her face, arching her back helplessly.

“Mmf-fuck, S-Spite, L-Lucanis…! IAh- A-Ar lath ma…!”

. . . Spite kicked his feet, sitting on the counter next to Lucanis. He was lost in deep focus, attempting to nudge Lucanis’s coffee cup off. He let out a small noise of frustration. It wasn’t working! “What are you doing now?” Lucanis spoke to nobody in particular, his voice echoing in the dining room as he continued to brood over the boiling pot. Before Spite could open his mouth to answer, a shiver ran down the length of his spine. The demon thought he heard Rook’s voice calling out to him… moaning for him. Elated, he jumped off the counter, taking Lucanis’s coffee with him to the stone floor. “Ay, pendejo! I just made that…” Lucanis grumbled, grabbing a rag to wipe the spill.

‘She called for me!’ Spite grinned, kneeling down next to Lucanis. ‘Spite felt.’ “I’m sure she did” he muttered.

‘I. Miss. Rook! Go find! So boring. Without Rook. Lucanis, no fun- Wait!’

Spite shot up again, aggressively sniffing around the two of them.

“Mierda, you really are just a dog” the Crow sighed deeply, straining the rag into the sink with a look of disappointment. He tried to inhale the delicious scent, as if it would be enough to keep him awake.

‘Smells. Like. Lucanis. Coffee. Eugh. But. No, no! Something else! Sweat. Want . Like Rook. But different . More… intense. Vanilla. Amber. Spices.’

Lucanis wanted to ignore him, but his eyes blinked harder than usual. Itchy.

He turned around sharply in realization, scanning their environment. There was no way. Spite was the only demon there. He near enough stopped his own heartbeat, just to better hear even the tiniest noise around them.

Nothing, other than Spite’s grating voice.

‘Pink! Hungry’ he pointed, but before Lucanis could notice anything, any trace of it was gone.

“Humor isn’t your strong suit” Lucanis groaned in exhaustion, reaching for the nearly-empty jar of coffee beans. Maybe Spite had been pulling a dumb prank, but he was still on edge. Even the smallest chance of Kore being in danger made every hair on his body stand.

‘But-’

The imposing doors creaked open, and a streak of pink locks peered through, voice meek.

“Sorry…! I’m back. Still need me?”

Lucanis felt every muscle in his body relax. He replied without thinking.

“Always.”

Lust smirked, her claws digging deeper into Spite as she covered his mouth from behind, purring into his ear.

‘Shhh. Hush, now. We both want the same thing.’

[raps-hellion]

six of crows in pjo:

kaz brekker — son of mercury (roman)

powers:

ability to manipulate locks, deadbolts, touch/face identification on devices, etc. can also correctly guess pin numbers, security questions, captchas, etc.

money is drawn to him — loose change, wallets, credit cards, etc. he can also create small amounts of legitimate-looking counterfeit currency from any country from a provided example.

is gifted at persuasion and deception, and can haggle/bargain effectively to achieve his desired outcome.

inej ghafa — daughter of nemesis (roman)

powers:

opponents are also similarly injured when attacking/striking her (ie. arrow ricochets back into its shooter, sword shatters and cuts its wielder, etc.). the severity of the retributive attack is always equal to what inej receives initially

ability to alter someone's luck/fortune — can change good luck to bad and vice-versa, but only if they deserve it

always has perfect balance, whether it be in battle, on a high-wire, upside-down in a handstand, etc.

jesper fahey — son of apollo (greek)

powers:

perfect aim when shooting a firearm, bow, crossbow, slingshot, etc.

can put curses in the form of disease or sickness on his ammunition. whoever is shot will be plagued by the disease until the sun sets

can 'see' into the immediate future for certain minor outcomes (he would describe it as more of a 'divine hunch'), such as in blackjack, three card monty, roulette, rolling a dice, flipping a coin, etc.

nina zenik — daughter of hecate (greek)

powers:

can manipulate the mist to cast glamours/illusions upon people to make them appear different and trick both mortal and non-mortals alike

has the innate ability for magic and can cast any spell she's capable of; the power and effectiveness of the spell depends on her confidence and health

can control and summon certain types of dead, such as spirits, ghosts, or souls of the damned (necrokinesis)

matthias helvar — son of mars (roman)

powers:

higher stamina, speed, and strength than the average demigod. has faster reflexes and can dodge/parry otherwise lethal attacks that would kill/injure anyone else.

able to perfectly wield any weapon he chooses.

can bond and commune with wolves, mars's sacred animal.

wylan van eck — son of hephaestus (greek)

powers:

can create small sparks and explosions with his hands like lit gunpowder or firecrackers/fireworks

can detonate explosives such as grenades, landmines, bombs etc. from a range of 1500-2000 feet by reaching out through a form of telekinesis and triggering them. can similarly disarm any explosive

innate understanding of mechanics and electronics.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Lance gets red around him a lot.

It’s strange.

It’s different from when they first started. (First met? Keith’s not sure. Lance is so insistent that they’ve known each other since they were twelve, but Keith thinks he’d recognise someone like Lance, someone who smiled that brightly and laughed so loud. But he doesn’t, and he doesn’t understand why he doesn’t, so he doesn’t think about it. He pretends in his head that they met saving Shiro and that’s that.) When they first started learning each other (that’s a better way to put it), Lance went red all the time, but Keith knew exactly what that was about, could read the hard set of his jaw and the anger making his dark eyes steely. Sometimes he would grin to himself and make the flush on Lance’s cheeks deepen on purpose; say something incendiary and challenging in the most casual one of voice he could manage, just to watch how furious he got, how indignance straightened his spine and squared his shoulders and made his cheeks glow.

He called Lance Rudolph, once, and he went ballistic. It was the first time he ever won a spar of theirs, and half of that was because Keith was laughing too hard to breathe. To this day no one believes Lance when he insists it happened. (Keith does feel bad about that, a little. Everyone seems to think it was just Lance who egged Keith on in the beginning, just Lance who purposely made things difficult, but Keith is grown enough now to admit that he had as much fun pissing Lance off as anyone else would. Well, grown enough to admit it in his head.)

Keith still makes Lance go red all the time, now. The issue is that he doesn’t know how he does it.

They still compete. Obviously. It’s fun and it’s easy and Keith is a fan of things that are fun and easy. That’s why he’s into demolitions. And pod racing.

But the competition no longer has that flare of genuine rage. Lance himself had admitted it, sniffing pompously after a late night spar and informing Keith that he had, apparently, “sucked all the fun out of hating by being endearing or whatever”. He also mentioned something about Keith’s “stupid fucking big round pouty eyes and depressing backstory”, but Keith doesn’t know what to make of that so he shoves it back into the recesses of his mind like many other things, including the first time someone other than his Pa said they loved him, Shiro’s safety lectures, and any and all calculus lessons he has ever sat through.

(It’s a mess back there.)

Keith, too, can admit that the animosity is gone. He no longer wakes up and hears Lance’s voice and considers drop kicking him into a black hole. Sometimes he even hears Lance’s voice and realises he’s smiling on reflex. Now he and Lance hang out. Voluntarily, and a lot. They spar. They swim. They harass Hunk. They harass Pidge. They harass Shiro. They harass all their friends, really. Sometimes Lance uses manoeuvres he’s learnt in sparring to pin Keith to the ground and force weird products onto his face and hair, dodging Keith’s attempts to bite him, preaching about their cleansing qualities or whatever. Sometimes Keith even does it without hissing and generally being a nuisance.

Sometimes Keith follows Lance quietly to the observation, late at night, and sits with him while he cries. He can’t decide how he feels about those nights. He’s not sure if he’s allowed to think about them outside of when they happen.

In all of this, though, Lance’s ruddy face has stayed pretty common. Keith can excuse it when they’re sparring, because it’s admittedly a lot of cardio, but at the same time Keith doesn’t get that red and he’s way paler than Lance is. He can almost kind of excuse it when they swim, for the same reasons.

He doesn’t get it any other times, though. He doesn’t know why Lance goes red at the most innocuous things, like when Keith tells him his hair smells good or his laugh is pretty or he’s actually really good at that nerdy math game Pidge likes, holy crow, I didn’t know you were that kind of smart. Nerd. He doesn’t understand why Lance goes red when he trips and Keith catches him, ‘cause he’s a big klutz, you’d think he’d be used to it by now (it’s not like Keith is going to let him fall. Well, usually not). He doesn’t get why Lance goes red when Keith compliments him in training, because usually when Lance gets complimented he gets a big head about it and preens for an hour.

It’s just strange.

Mostly, though, it’s not that big of a deal. Maybe Lance is just a blushy kind of person. He’s taken to teasingly calling Lance Red, because it’s better than Rudolph, and also because Lance goes scarlet every time he says it, so it’s kind of like he’s a wizard who can make Lance flush on command. Which is cool. Other than that Keith mostly just pretends it doesn’t happen. They hang out too much for Keith to bother. If he questioned it every time, he would go bananas.

“You have icing smeared on your face,” Keith comments on one such hanging out occasion. (They’re plundering the kitchen for the cupcakes Hunk made and specifically forbade them from touching. But Hunk allegedly broke into Lance’s room last week and stole the last of his toner, whatever the hell that is, so fair’s fair.)

Lance pops the last of the cupcake into his mouth then turns to face him. “Where?”

“Here,” Keith says, tapping the left side of his own chin.

Lance, like a dumbass, makes a swiping motion on the left side of his face, instead of mirroring where Keith touched. He misses the icing entirely.

“Left side,” Keith says, exasperatedly.

Lance scowls at him. “That is the left side.”

“No — the other left.”

“There is no other left! There’s only one left!”

Rolling his eyes, Keith reaches over to wipe the icing off for him. There cannot be any evidence on them, after all. When Hunk has a conniption over his missing cupcakes they must play the plausible deniability card so they can snicker about it later.

He swipes his thumb under Lance’s bottom lip, trying to scrape the icing off with his thumbnail. Lance inhales sharply.

“Sorry,” Keith murmurs, softening his grip. He must have scratched him. The icing didn’t come off, though, so he switches tactics and slides off the counter, shifting so he’s standing in between Lance’s open legs and cradling Lance’s cheek in his palm to tilt his head. He rubs his thumb much softer on the stubborn streak of whipped sugar, and that works a little better. He keeps rubbing until finally Lance’s skin is clear, all the half-dried icing now spread on the pad of Keith’s thumb. He licks it off without thinking.

It’s sweet.

Lance makes a strained whimpering noise. Keith flicks his gaze up to meet his face again and is less surprised than he should be to see a flush glowing across his cheekbones, making his freckles seem much darker than they are. His pupils are dilated so wide they nearly swallow up the brown of his irises, and Keith can’t tell if he’s looking at him or through him.

He sighs heavily. “Dude, do you have a condition?”

It takes Lance a long moment to answer. By the time he finally does, his gaze has moved firmly to his lap, neck bent so that Keith can’t really see his face. His ears are still read.

“I’ve got a fuckin’ heart condition,” he mutters.

Keith furrows his eyebrows. That’s weird. He’s seen Lance’s medical scans before — he’s in the pods a lot. You’d think that kind of thing would be on there.

“It doesn’t show up on your med scans,” Keith points out. “Is it, like, a genetic thing?”

Slowly, Lance picks his head back up, squinting at him for several long moments. Keith begins to squirm.

“You’re actually slow,” Lance says with an almost awed tone of voice. Which is mean. “Like, genuinely, actually slow. I think there are bubbles in your brain.”

“Hey,” Keith protests, pouting. “I help you commit cupcake heists, and this is how you treat me?”

Instead of answering, Lance continues to stare at him. He almost looks bewildered, which does nothing but make Keith more confused.

Eventually he lets out a long, tired sigh. It is not the first time Keith has heard that sigh. That is a sigh he hears when Shiro finds him throwing up his guts after eating a tub of ice cream out of spite. That’s the kind of sigh he hears from Allura when Keith ignores instructions and boulders through the shocks from the invisible maze to get it done faster. That’s the sigh that says I wish I had a trebuchet to strap you to it and release you into the sun. Keith is very familiar with that sigh, although he usually makes it happen on purpose, or at the very least understands how it’s warranted.

Right now he is completely lost.

“I am going to go bother Coran,” Lance says finally, pushing himself off the counter and walking towards the door. “You are not invited. I will talk to you when I want to strangle you less. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” Keith calls out, head tilted in confusion. He watches Lance go until he disappears down the hallways.

“He is so confusing,” he announces to no one, then walks out the kitchen himself.

[suzukiblu]

For wip Wednesday Love the vibes of “weird Kryptonian bonding rituals” especially if it’s superfam

. . . I am just gonna blame the fact that I haven't really worked on this WIP in a minute for how "write you three sentences" turned into "write you 1k", cough cough.

Clark gets into Superman's suit and leaves the Daily Planet building at inadvisable speed, probably, but manages not to break the sound barrier anywhere too obvious, he thinks. He follows the sound of that thrumming heartbeat and voice, and finds himself blocks and blocks away, hovering in the air a few hundred feet above a food truck being operated by a woman with dark skin and bright pink hair in her mid-twenties, and the single customer standing on the sidewalk in front of it as assorted civilians pass by in one's and two's.

The single customer is the thrumming heartbeat's owner, and he's about fifteen or sixteen, with pale skin and dark curly hair and bright and eager and inhumanly blue eyes behind a pair of round sunglasses. He's wearing a loose-fitting black leather jacket and heavy black boots and a tight bodysuit, all blue and black and red and yellow and with the exact same "S" on its chest as the one Clark's wearing himself.

The kid looks up, takes one look at Clark, and absolutely lights up.

Clark feels several very new and strange feelings, then charges straight down into the kid and sends them both skidding into the empty street. Hitting him, touching him, is like . . .

Clark barely even remembers to be careful, but the instinct is ingrained too deep to ignore even as they crash into the pavement together.

And then the kid laughs delightedly and throws him off.

Actually throws him.

Clark comes to a stop twenty feet up in the air, blinks down at the kid still beaming up at him, and then bolts back down and smashes him into the pavement again.

"Shit!" the food truck worker shrieks in alarm. "Don't hurt him, Superman, he's just a kid!"

Clark . . . pauses, then looks up from said kid that he is currently pinning into the street as he struggles underneath him.

"'Hurt him'?" he asks in reflexive confusion, and then realizes how batting a teenager around like a person-shaped cat toy and pinning him to the street hard enough to crack it probably actually looks to an outside observer.

. . . um.

Whoops.

"Um," he starts awkwardly, and then the kid slips his pin while he's distracted and throws his arms around his neck with a gleeful laugh and a bright grin.

"Dad!" he crows triumphantly, and hugs Clark harder than literally anyone has ever hugged him before, except maybe, like, Ivo in the fullest and most vicious version of his Parasite suit while trying to crush him to death. It's . . . kind of adorable. Although also Clark can't really breathe very well now. "I found you! Hi, hi, I totally found you!"

"You did," Clark agrees reflexively and slightly out-of-breath-ly, patting the kid's back as he shoots the food truck worker and the several other staring civilians back on the sidewalk all an apologetic smile. "Sorry, ma'am, didn't mean to worry you. We're just playing."

"Oh my god so there was this lab and these doctors and they were all such jerks so I maybe kinda just broke everything and I guess maybe that was bad but they all sucked and they deserved it, I promise, I hope they all lost all their data and their personal files and their customization settings when I smashed up their stupid computers and stuff," the kid half-rants, hanging off Clark like a super-strong but also undeniably floating koala, and Clark straightens up and pats his back again as he listens to his excited and also-adorable ramblings. The way the kid talks actually reminds him of a much younger kid, oddly–even younger than Flip and the rest of the newskids, despite his appearance–but that doesn't exactly hurt the "adorable" impression. "Also there were some really annoying guys who were bothering the way cool chick in the truck over there so I threw them in a dumpster but did you know chili fries were a thing because they are so good, seriously, you should get some!"

"Are you asking me to buy you more chili fries, kid?" Clark asks wryly, and the kid somehow finds a way to perk up even more.

"I mean, no, but if you wanna . . ." he mentions, grinning hopefully.

"Two orders of chili fries please, ma'am?" Clark requests, sparing the food truck worker another smile. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Yesssss," the kid cackles delightedly, hanging heavier off his neck again as he somehow actually manages to hug him tighter. The food truck worker stares at them both for a moment, then reaches for an empty fry basket.

"Uh, sure," she says slowly. "No problem. Uh. Sorry, Superman, but do you . . . have a kid? Is that, like . . . what's happening here?"

"Yes," Clark replies reflexively, patting the kid's head.

. . . wait, that's not–

Then the kid beams at him again and nope, never mind, apparently that is right, he guesses he's just a dad now. Oh no, he and Jimmy are gonna need a bigger apartment, and Clark really hates apartment-hunting and doesn't even know how he's gonna afford his half of a bigger apartment, though at least he knows Jimmy can after selling Flamebird so he guesses that's something, and besides, what, is he gonna make his kid sleep on the couch? No way. The kid can have his bunk, heck, he'll sleep on the couch 'til they can sign a new lease or something. At least he's not an intern anymore, that's been a bit of a financial improvement, so that'll help.

". . . well okay then," the food truck worker says. "How do you even age, are you–um. I'm just . . . gonna make those both double orders, then. No charge. Congrats on, uh . . . congrats? Like, fifteen years late, apparently, but congrats."

"Thank you," Clark replies politely, smiling at her again as he walks over to her truck, the kid still happily hanging/floating off him. "We can pay, though, that's really not necessary."

"Dude. My dad would literally fire me if I ever made Superman pay for freaking chili fries," she says feelingly. "Like. Fire me so hard. Unto our family's next three generations, would he fire me."

"Thank you," Clark repeats, still smiling at her, then pulls a couple of twenties out of his belt and tucks them into her tip jar. Only seems decent, he thinks.

"Oh my god how are you even real," the food truck worker mumbles under her breath as she drops both double-orders of fries into the fryer.

[bookloover35]

The Edge of the Blade- Zoro x Mihawk daughter reader.

The waves lapped lazily against the hull of the Thousand Sunny as the Straw Hat crew sailed through calm waters. Roronoa Zoro leaned against the railing, arms crossed, his swords resting at his side. His thoughts wandered, as they often did, to training. The hunger for a worthy opponent burned in his chest. Little did he know, that hunger was about to be sated.

The call came from the crow's nest.

"Ship ahead!" Usopp yelled. "And... someone's standing on the mast!"

The crew gathered at the deck as the ship came closer. A sleek black vessel approached, its mast adorned with the symbol of a hawk in flight. Standing at the peak was a figure shrouded in black and gold, a long cape billowing in the wind. When the ship drew close enough, the figure leaped effortlessly onto the deck of the Sunny.

Zoro's eyes locked on her immediately. She carried herself with a lethal grace. Her dark hair framed a face that was strikingly familiar, and at her side, a sword gleamed in its scabbard.

"I'm here for you, Roronoa Zoro," she said, her voice calm but commanding. "I've heard much about your skill. I'd like to see it for myself."

"And who the hell are you?" Sanji asked, stepping forward, though his leer faltered under her intense gaze.

Her lips curved into a sharp smile. "Y/N Dracule. Daughter of Mihawk."

The crew collectively froze, their gazes darting to Zoro, who stood motionless, his expression unreadable.

Zoro took a step forward, the corner of his mouth twitching. "So you're Mihawk's daughter, huh? Makes sense. You've got that same annoying arrogance."

Y/N's smile widened. "And you have the same cocky bravado as they say. Shall we see if it's justified?"

Before anyone could protest, Zoro drew his swords. "Fine. Let's do this."

The fight began without ceremony. Y/N moved like liquid lightning, her blade cutting through the air with a precision that made Zoro's instincts flare. He blocked the first strike, sparks flying as steel met steel. She didn't relent, forcing him back with a flurry of attacks that tested his reflexes.

Zoro's grin grew. "Not bad. But let's see how you handle this." He twisted his blades, launching a powerful Onigiri. Y/N countered effortlessly, her blade moving in an almost lazy arc to parry.

"Is that all?" she teased, her tone light, but her eyes sharp.

The crew watched in awe. Luffy, sitting cross-legged on the figurehead, grinned from ear to ear. "Zoro's got his hands full, huh?"

"She's amazing," Nami whispered. "It's like she's dancing."

Zoro felt the strain of the fight but pushed harder, his swords whirling in deadly arcs. Yet Y/N matched him, her movements fluid and measured, her blade finding the smallest openings in his defense. She wasn't just fighting to overwhelm him; she was analyzing him, learning his patterns.

Then she struck.

Her sword slipped past his guard, the flat of the blade smacking his ribs. Zoro stumbled back, eyes wide. She didn't stop there, delivering a series of strikes that sent his swords flying from his hands.

Zoro dropped to one knee, breathing hard. Y/N stood over him, her blade pointed at his throat.

"You're strong," she said, her voice softer now, "but you rely too much on brute force. If you don't learn to refine your technique, you'll never surpass my father."

Zoro glared at her, his pride stinging worse than his ribs. "Tch. Don't think this is over."

Y/N sheathed her sword and offered him a hand. "I hope it isn't. You have potential, Zoro. I'll look forward to our rematch."

That night, as the crew shared dinner, Zoro sat apart, replaying the fight in his mind. He hated losing, but something about Y/N's skill—and her unshakable confidence—ignited a fire in him.

Y/N sat nearby, polishing her blade. She caught his gaze and smirked. "Next time, don't hold back."

Zoro smirked back. "Next time, I'll win."

For the first time in a long time, Zoro felt the thrill of a challenge he couldn't resist. And as the moonlit ocean stretched endlessly before them, he knew one thing for certain: this wasn't the last he'd see of Y/N Dracule.

End.

[kogane-twst]

"Heyy! I'm here to beat some villains! Here comes your beloved Lady d'Or!"

Kogane joining the MagiKey AU by @quartztwst

Kogane was living a somewhat peaceful life, working in her family shop as always with her father, working hard to pay her mother meds because she's always easily sick, and during these weeks, she was again in a bad state.

She became a magical girl at 14 years old, so it's been two years she's one, and that's how it happened:

One day, coming back from errands, she heard some meowing in a tree.

It was a cat stuck in a tree, one with gray fur and blue eyes.

Kogane watched it, then she started walking away again.

What? She's not some hero, she totally doesn't feel guilty about this.

..

...

....

Why is she climbing the tree, you ask?

Don't ask stupid questions!

Now, she has one question too.

Why is the cat running away from her?!

Kogane grumbled out loud, "Hey! I'm trying to save ya, dumb cat!"

The cat looked at her, blinked, then..

"Meow!"

Kogane didn't understand cat language, but hey, it was definitely mocking her right now.

She glared at it and climbed on a branch close to the one the cat was sitting on.

She tried reaching for it, but it only got closer to the end of the branch, which was only twisting under the cat's weight.

"Hey, careful, you're gonna—"

Too late. The branch cracked, and broke. Then as a reflex, Kogane jumped and caught the cat before it fell, only cushionning its fall and landing on the grass beneath the tree.

"I should've never played the hero." she huffed.

"Oh my, but you'd be a wonderful one!" exclaimed a stranger's voice.

She sat up, looked left, right, no one's here, except a weird key on the ground.

"Ha? Is the key talking now? Am I developping schizophrenia?"

"Why, no! Above you!" said the same voice.

She glanced up, a sorta small pigeon flying above her.

"Uh... Well.. Still schizophrenia!"

"Oh, come on now! I'm here to tell you that from now on, you have powers!"

....

....

"I ain't doing this shit." she said blankly, looking right at him. Even the cat, not interested, ran away.

"Ahem! I'm afraid you don't have a choice, you're the chosen one, chosen by the most powerful mage!"

"Which is?"

"Me, of course, Dire Crowley."

"Uh huh. A pigeon. Sure."

"I'm a crow!"

Kogane sighed, looking down at the key. She rubbed her temples before an idea passed through her mind.

"Hm.. I could sell this." she muttered, her voice barely audible.

"For what? You could have a lot more money if you just accepted being a MagiKey user."

"How much?" she instantly eyed him again, an intense look in her eyes.

Crowley was a little surprised, but played along.

"Why, depends on the work you do!" he answered, his voice cheerful as ever.

Kogane's expression hardened, becoming grumpy again.

"Ugh.. Why me tho?"

"You're... Uhm.. Ahem.. generous! Helpful! And I see potential in you!"

Kogane scoffed, frowning.

"I think you mistyped me with someone else. Or maybe you're just in lack of magical persons—"

"AHEM! This is off topic!" he shouted, cutting her off. Then spoke again.

"By my great kindness, I offer you this power, make sure to train and master it! And when you'll be ready, I'll explain you the rest and what will your job be." he explained, his voice keeping a sing song tone.

"Ah, because there's other things? Great. No but just great." she whispered to herself.

"..Fine, fine! I'll do it! But you better pay me well, yeah?" she asked as she glanced up at him.

"Of course! Now, listen, I'm going to teach you how to transform!"

Kogane nodded, and then he ranted on and on about the power, the agency and the rules. Saying he shortened the explanations, and that, again, once she'll be ready he'll explain it all. (This day never came, he was lazy. She figured it out herself.)

Kogane was at first surprised to see her power was based on light, sunshine and goldy things. Like, she's always been called evil, shouldn't evil be like dark? Though, she understood later that her power reflected pretty well her personality because she's a sparky person even if she's sometimes evil (i mean, she's an ENTP so yeah).

She first mastered the Light Cage, but she thought it was lame. So when she discovered the Sky Swords, oh boy she LOVED it. It can be aim at anyone and everyone! Chaos! Just how she loves it! Though, if it aims at her, she'll avoid it, and protect the innocents if they happen to be aimed.

When she discovered her most powerful ability, she was skeptical. But she ended up liking it, even though it takes her a lot of mana, she can only use it once in a while.

She's actually well paid, and she has fun kicking villains' asses, that's a win for her!

Thanks for reading my yapping! Idk if I did it right so please correct me if I wrote nonsense! 🙏🏻

Kogane is well liked by the people she rescues because she's powerful and confident (sometimes arrogant but it's fun.)

Edit: I got a lil inspired by Clotted Cream Cookie from CRK. I think you can guess where!

[calmcoldevening]

Ashe Corven (The Crow) x reader

TW: hurt/comfort, maybe a little angst because of Eric, love triangle

for @violet-alessan-1999; I hope you'd like it, have a good day

Eric is used to your constant presence. There was something comfortingly pleasant and gentle about you that always made him come back to your gentle embrace. You've always been by his side for as long as he can remember. As a child, at school, in the moments when he told you about his girlfriend. And even then, when he was literally a living dead man, you did not disdain, but took him into your soothing gentle embrace, hugging him and stroking his tense back. Why didn't he notice before how delicate your hands are? Gentle touches? Warm skin? Soft smile? All this realization came over him like a wave in an instant. The young man pressed hard against you, burying his nose in your neck and inhaling the scent of such skin. You were always there for me, always taking care of me. Maybe it's fate? Eric only wanted you for himself.

Eric started giving you little little gifts and compliments. He talked about your beautiful eyes, like an inviting cosmos, and your delicate hair. The guy was often there so that you would never feel lonely and not be afraid of anything.

But you didn't care. You still saw him as your childhood best friend, your comrade, practically part of the family. He was like a caring older brother with whom you could spend a lot of time all day long.

It hurts.

The sun was hidden behind a gray mass of clouds, and a cold November wind was blowing through the streets. Although this city has always been very cold. The overcast, dreary sky was now perfectly combined with the greyness of the dirty streets and alleys. There was almost no one around, so you felt calmer than usual.

You buried your nose deeper into the collar of your hoodie, hiding your hands in your pockets. You walked straight at a slow pace, occasionally glancing at Eric walking next to you. He was smiling and telling you something very quickly and enthusiastically, gesturing actively. You liked that next to you he could openly show emotions. At least this way he remained in a certain mental balance after the death of his fiancee. You didn't blame him for the lack of visible grief for his beloved, after all, you knew that he had a big bleeding wound in his heart from loss.

Your feet moved almost reflexively along a long—learned road - you've lived in this city all your life. Suddenly, something slammed into you. You stumble back, but you grab it with your hands. It was a boy. Those big brown eyes looked up at you with curiosity and fear at the same time. He carefully clenched his hands into fists, squeezing out of himself in a quiet voice: "Sorry.."

You smiled, trying to assure the child that nothing bad had happened, but after a moment your eyebrows furrowed on your face.

This city has never been safe for people because of the large amount of crime. Especially for children. Especially such small ones. He couldn't have been more than six years old. His hair was tousled and his small lower lip was twitching nervously.

"Why are you alone here, mm?"

"..with daddy"

You gently squeeze the boy's shoulders and squat down to be about the same height as him.

"You're with daddy, eh? Where's him?"

The boy doesn't say anything, just looks at you with his big eyes and blinks slowly. Finally, when you wanted to ask the child another question, you heard a voice approaching. You lift your head up and raise your eyebrows questioningly.

"Danny! Why did you run away from me?"

The boy's head instantly turns towards the man. He was a tall and sturdy man with shoulder-length dark hair and soft features. The boy was clearly the son of this man, because the similarities in appearance were enormous, although the boy still looked more innocent. The child approaches his supposed father and asks for his arms, to which his father only smiles and takes his son in his arms.

"Thank you for finding him. I was afraid something could happen to him," the man says with a warm smile. The boy in his arms looks at you askance, continuing to hide his face on his father's chest. His voice is hoarse but pleasant, and his tired eyes look at you with an unusual kindness that is not typical of this city.

You nod in response, also smiling slightly and looking at the stranger. You were immediately pulled away by another hand. Turning back, you met Eric's displeased face. His lips were pressed tightly into a tense line, and his eyebrows were pulled down to the bridge of his nose.

"Let's go, Y/N. You seemed to need to go to the store, didn't you?"

"Yes, sorry to interrupt you," the man replies with slight awkwardness, hugging his son tighter, "Thank you again."

"Have a good day," you answer them after the man heads in the opposite direction from you.

***

Eric has been really obsessive lately. It was as if after your meeting with that man with his son, something turned him upside down, from which Eric became protective and almost controlling. It annoyed him when you were talking to someone other than him, when you were walking alone and all that. It's like he always wanted to keep you around. If at first you didn't blame him, then over time you began to worry about his behavior.

And so, during your next little quarrel on this topic, you left, slamming the door.

You walked slowly through the park, the yellow and orange leaves crunching unpleasantly under your shoes. The wind caressed his face, and his thoughts were somewhere far away. What was your surprise when you saw the same man on the playground, on one of the benches. He sat hunched over a little and looked at his son playing with other children with a tired smile.

You sat down next to me with your arms crossed over your chest. After all, right now all you wanted was to take your mind off the recent conflict with Eric. The man turned his head in your direction and his face instantly took on a surprised expression, and then some embarrassment.

"Oh, hello. I didn't think I'd see you again," he muttered with a slight smile that made slight wrinkles run across his tired face at the corners of his eyes. A few strands of dark hair fell carelessly over his face, but it definitely made him even more handsome.

"Yes.. I don't come here often. There are usually too many unhappy moms here," you reply with a note of displeasure, which makes the man give a light laugh.

"It's true... That's why we don't come here during the weekend."

An awkward silence followed, although it wasn't that unpleasant, it was more like each of you didn't know how to approach each other's huge wall of trust. Finally, the man holds out his hand to you with the same kind smile.

"By the way, Ashe. Ashe Corven."

"Y/N," you replied to the handshake, and you noticed how his tense shoulders relaxed a little. He turns away, muttering to himself something like 'beautiful..' At that moment, Danny ran towards you, his face instantly brightened when he saw you. The boy came up to you, putting his hands on your lap.

"Daddy, I don't want to play anymore! They are evil," the boy said with a slight resentment in his head, pointing at the other guys on the playground. Ashe sighed, his body returning to its former fatigue, and he got up from the bench, grabbing his son's little hand with his own.

"Okay, let's go home. Y/N, I'm sorry, what-" before he can finish, Danny is happily babbling, "Can Y/N come with us? I'll show you my drawings!"

The boy looked up at you with hopeful eyes. His eyes were blinking rapidly, and his lower lip was trembling in anticipation.

"I'm sorry, kid. But I still have things to do."

The boy's face visibly clouded, and the grip of his father's hand on his own became even tighter.

"It's all right. Take care of yourself," Ashe said in the most dispassionate way he could manage and walked with his son to the exit of the park. Danny turned back from time to time, waving at you, and smiling his slightly toothless childish smile.

***

About six months have passed since that moment. Spring came, and it was no longer so dreary in this gloomy city. You and Ashe have become quite close all this time. You often met in the most ordinary places, whether it was a park or a store near your house. The man was always friendly and pleasant to talk to. A couple of times he even brought packages home for you so that nothing would happen to you at night. Also, sometimes you sat with Danny when his dad had to work hard. The boy was very happy to spend almost the whole day with you, you played and drew. Out of the corner of your eye, you even noticed a small drawing on Danny's wall. There were three little men holding hands. 'Me', 'daddy' and 'Y/N'. On top was a large neat inscription "my family". You found out that Danny didn't have a mom. And although you knew that Ashe did not miss that mysterious woman at all, but fatigue and sadness were clearly expressed on his face for the fact that his son does not have a second parent. From time to time, Ashe would even give you small trinkets or flowers. Corny, but he always found bouquets that could 'highlight your wonderful eye color.' In each of his actions, you could read the cares and that cherished warmth that made your heart beat faster.

Eric gently touched your cheek with his hand, stroking your skin with the rough skin of his fingertips.

"What am I doing wrong?" He asked in a whisper, and you heard his plaintive voice almost crack.

"Eric.. I'm not her. I can't replace her for you," you replied. It sounded much more confident and convincing in your head. But it was true. You didn't know why, but you were sure that Eric still loved Shelly and saw her in you. It wasn't something external, rather, your kindness and demeanor gave him reason to think so. You loved Eric, he was your best friend since childhood, but it hurt that he only noticed you after the death of his fiancee.

Eric stepped back. His hands clenched into tight fists, causing his knuckles to turn noticeably white.

"You're wrong.."

"You know I'm right. I started living with you after she died so that you wouldn't be so lonely. But do you think I don't hear you crying into your pillow at night? Do you think I don't see how longingly you look into the coffee I make you in the morning? She was doing the same thing, wasn't she? Or with what pain do you look at that coffee near our house? After all, she loved this coffee. Just like me. But I'm not her, Eric. Don't try to replace her with me, please. I'm a completely different person."

It hurts. It hurt to say such words, but maybe it would have sobered his mind. Eric was like an older brother to you, and you didn't want to change that.

"You have magical hands," Ashe muttered sleepily, closing his eyes and smiling.

You were sitting on the couch, Ashe's head resting on your lap while you gently massaged his hair. He's been very nervous lately, so you decided to give him a head massage. The man smiled in a relaxed way, exhaling slowly and folding his arms over his chest. Danny was sitting by the couch, drawing another picture. He liked that you spent a lot of time with his dad. You were always kind and brought Danny a lot of sweets. The boy really wanted you to be with his dad, to live with them and be his second parent. You were nice and funny and gentle with Danny and his dad.

"Daddy, can Y/N live with us?"

Ashe visibly shuddered, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at his son.

"What are you talking about, Danny?"

You giggled, seeing how the man's ears turned red.

"But I want to live together! I will be able to play with Y/N every day and eat sweets together!"

Ashe looks away, covering his mouth with his hand, and clears his throat, "Only if Y/N wants it..."

[dewdr0pz]

hey friend! tis me back again hahah

this is gonna sound so random but anyways i was thinking.. reader coming home to hear wilbur shouting away in his room (he’s streaming for once LMAO) and deciding to just chill in the living room/bedroom for a bit. and then when wilbur’s finished and he surprised to see reader and he’s so happy to them and just aah :,) 🫶 and i had the idea of smth like a cozy night in with wilbur?? and i was wondering if u had any thoughts on that or if u wanted to write about it maybe! no pressure at all to do any of that tho <3

i hope ur having a nice dayyy! 💕

💗 You're Back! 💗

a/n: stopppppp this is so cute!! also why did my writing get really good during this

summary: read the ask

contains: excited Wilbur, tired reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pet names, kissing, & silly Haunty shenanigans overall

words: 702

tags: @zuuriell @somebody-v @vibestillaxxx @ax-y10 @joviepog@themonsterunderurmom @ogelizasoot @wilburstan@smolsleepykitten@funnyreally2009@crows-death@dykepunz@aresriiots@0miamor0@defonotval@chipch0p@mazzistar16@unmellowyellowfellow@thosecolorfulsheets@vopix@aine-lasagna@merianakross@veeislost@urfav-sapphic-siren@shazbaz58-blog @wifiatthetrainstation@mcr-pr-fob@shd454@rqvii@idioticion@m0thza@artistphantom @lexx-the-gay-rubber-ducky @finleyforevermore @poraphia @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @mysticalsoot @21-cats-in-a-trenchcoat @strangleetomz (let me know if u don't or do wanna be tagged)

At around 5pm, you finally got home after an exhausting day at work. You, of course, loved your job; it was your dream job, after all! Some days were more tiring than others.

You took your shoes off & put them near the door next to Wilbur's scuffed, untied Dr. Martens that had lost their shine years ago, unlike your darling boyfriend, who always seemed to have some sort of lively spark about him that nobody could quite have for themselves, which is rather peculiar, since he writes incredibly heart-wrenching songs nowadays. The shoes were massive compared to yours, almost like a clown's.

In the office, you heard shouting & laughter. You didn't think your boyfriend would be streaming, since he hadn't streamed since October, & he never mentioned any upcoming streams. Maybe he was treating the livestream like he treated Mammalian Sighing Reflex & did it unannounced to surprise people. Not wanting to interrupt him, you walked into the bedroom to take off your work clothes & change into sweatpants & Wilbur's brown hoodie that still had the smell of earthy, soothing cologne & petrichor lingering on the soft fabric. You checked yourself in the mirror. You looked okay, except for the fact that your eyes were drooping & you looked almost like you were going to collapse & fall asleep on the floor if you did any excessive movements. You yawned & stretched your arms above your head, hearing a few cracks & pops as you did such from not cracking anything all day. You then cracked your neck & knuckles, & both of them made loud pop & crack & crunch sounds. You finger-combed through your hair, tugging through the knots while wincing. You looked very dead. Abandoning the rule you made for yourself not to bother Wilbur during streams, you slowly opened the office door just a crack, making sure not to make any loud creaks.

"So, I think that'll be all today, chat!" Wilbur smiled. "Thank you all for coming. I'm so sorry I haven't been streaming as much, I've just got Lovejoy things to do. We're all very busy all the time. Here, let's have you all raid...Philza. Go raid him. Bye, chat!" He clicked the "Stop streaming" button on his PC & sighed. Since his spinny chair was still facing the PC setup, you were able to come around & hug him from behind.

"Hello," you mumbled sleepily. "I'm back."

"Angel! You're back!" Wilbur sprang up from his seat & picked you up & spun you around, causing you to laugh. When he stopped, he sat down on the chair with you in his lap. "How was work, love? Everything go okay at work?"

You shrugged. "It wasn't bad, per se, but it was just exasperating. Nobody was rude or crass to me, but I'm just really tired." Wilbur made a small "ah" sound & nodded.

"Do you want to go cuddle in bed & drink some tea?" Wilbur asked, playing with your fingers. "Do you want to do that? Or we could do something else."

"Tea & cuddles sound nice," you said. Wilbur nodded & picked you up & walked you to the kitchen. He still kept you in his arms while he made tea, softly asking you which tea flavor you preferred & which mug you wanted, or if you even wanted a mug or if you just wanted a glass. You two waited in the kitchen while the tea was being prepared, with Wilbur rocking you back & forth to a symphony only he could hear. When the whistling of the tea kettle echoed through the kitchen, he poured the two mugs of tea & handed you one as he grabbed the other & walked back to the bedroom. He cautiously placed you on the bed to make sure neither of you spilled the tea onto the soft white sheets. When he sat down on the bed, you immediately scooted over to him & cuddled up to him with his arm over your shoulders & your head buried in the crook of his neck. & you two just stayed like that for an uncountable amount of time.

Thank goodness you came back.

[ashenquillalso]

Did someone ask for me to info dump about my characterization of Grian? No? Well, too bad, you’re getting it anyway

The way I organized this is based on the character study document I made like, a year and a half ago, so some of the details matter and some of them don’t. They’re all gonna be included anyway, though, because I said so :]

His full legal name is Grian H. Dreamslayer. Why? Because Scar said so LMAO. I literally have no clue what the “H” even stands for (Hermit?) but like. Does it really matter? Idk man he’s just some guy so I’m not gonna think about it that much

He is an avian hybrid, with traits specifically derived from crows. He also has “Watcher” traits, which are manifested visually as pink/purple-y feathers & an Evo symbol on his forehead. He also has “void magic”, which is basically the ability to harness the void and bend it to his will. However, he doesn’t like his Watcher traits, so he uses the void to hide them! He can make permanent darkness cover his feathers so all of them look black, and casts his forehead in shadow to hide the symbol. He also tends to hide his headwings, which he does by creating a sort of “rift” around them so they aren’t visible.

Grian is very reactive to his environment. He’s willing to be proactive when the situation calls for it—especially because he’s a natural leader—but, he usually prefers to see how things happen naturally. He’s somewhat complacent out of reflex, but when he’s in his right mind, he hates taking orders & is not fond of authority figures. With small/everyday things, he can be really argumentative against things he disagrees with. In important situations, however, he typically airs on the side of caution. Grian likes to pry for information, but isn’t always the most tactful. He knows knowledge is power, but sometimes he’s too conspicuous about gaining said knowledge, and people can be tipped off by it.

A few other details about him:

Smells like: wind, spring air, clean/fresh

He is street smart: has special knowledge of hunting & foraging, as well as close-quarters combat

Likes: tea, pastries (big sweet tooth)

Dislikes: coffee (he drinks it anyway and whines the whole time)

Passions: flying, studying magic

Habits/”quirks”: his wings are very emotive, he bites his nails & pulls his hair when stressed

Special, plot-relevant skills: gunslinger, knife enthusiast

He has a terrible sleep schedule (night owl)

Idk how to end a post but that’s all for now! I’ll keep posting stuff about other characters to here, I think :]

If you’re interested in reading my fic, it’s This Profession is Not Scar-Safe on AO3! Beware of hermitshipping, as it’s a Scarian-centric fic.

Thanks for listening to my drabbles :]

[isa-ghost]

My friend

I am gonna do it

WHAT ARE YOUR Q!PHIL HEADCANONS MY FRIEND

YESSSSSS

Here's Set 1 and Set 2

Now M O R E

He won't do it without prompting because he'll feel like an ass giving nobody else room to talk, but if someone got him on the topic of like. Exploration or flight or something, he could talk for hours. He's extremely knowledgeable and passionate about stuff like that, most times because he has centuries of experience

I don't want to diagnose cc!Phil or whatever bc I know he doesn't like when people do that, but to me his rp character is free reign. And as a psych major with ADHD who's focusing on the study of neurodivergent disorders: this man is hella ADHD coded. He's told too many personal stories that are relatable to me for me to be silent about it. I'm 🤝🏻 this crow man

In his case this isn't a nd trait but instead a crow one, but he experiences echolalia sometimes. Funny things or certain noises he hears just scratch an itch in his bird brain real good, he can't help but repeat it for a while

The way to Phil's heart is good food, fun to be around, and kicking ass. If you can tick those 3 things off for yourself, you're Phil Approved

He'll say he doesn't fall for peer pressure, and often times he's right. But on rare occasions someone like Fit or Etoiles can convince him to do smth he maybe wouldn't at first. It's easier to win him over when he's drunk

cc!Phil has talked abt how he gets a weird confidence boost when he's drunk as shit. That's real for q!Phil too. He could be staggering slurring speech drunk and still snipe something like 50 blocks away. It makes Fit and Etoiles want to kiss him about it

He has intentionally made almost his entire wardrobe varying shades of green, which he pairs with black, red & gold. He thinks it's funny to have a branded wardrobe like an anime character

Idr how canon dsmp is to q!Phil but he still has the friendship emerald charm hanging from his hat. Perhaps it's from the Antarctic Empire days instead. Idk, I just like the character design of Dangly Thing On Hat Brim too much to exclude it from his design in my head (I should rlly attempt to doodle my Phil beyond the random notebook ones I've done. Maybe I'll post those if asked idk)

Don't underestimate this man's ability to get dramatic. Tallulah ain't the only one in the family that can go hard

I wouldn't say he has a bad temper. He's very well-practiced at self-control. However, there are certain things that set him off so severely, he throws self-control out the window. Those things aren't worthy of him trying to be "the bigger person." They deserve their ass handed to them right here right now (see: The Codes pre-current lore).

In a similar vein, when the situation isn't one of those special Fuck This incidences, he still doesn't have a temper, but when he finally snaps, he SNAPS. Like on a The Polycule be like "mark me down as scared and horny" level of snap. When you get on the Angel of Death's last fucking nerve he let's you KNOW.

I'm self-projecting here: this fucking idiot man has a detrimental habit of insisting on handling stuff like anxiety alone. He hates when people see him without his composure. It's not even like an embarrassing thing, it's just very uncomfortable to him. So when a panic attack hits or he finally concedes and let's himself cry, it's alone. And sometimes that makes it worse. But even that doesn't make him change his mind. "Keep it together for the kids," right? :')

Having a stroke about thunderstorms is a reflex. Even on Quesadilla Island, the second he hears thunder he reaches for a trident like a dork.

He near-obsessively preens his wings because he doesn't want the Federation, or anyone else for that matter, getting ahold of his feathers when they shed. He doesn't know wtf they could do with those and he doesn't wanna find out.

And yet somehow Missa and Lullah both have a couple feathers that he's shed and he has no idea. Lullah wants to make a necklace out of them.

[bbu-fan-blog]

Is there any kind of facts that you found about Aristotle?

I have some, yes!

Aristotle is Billie's mentor: decided to take up this task amazed on how much she is like her father, and out of the desire to relieve the glory days.

Aristotle goes by he/him and they/them, and is gay.

He and Arthur, for all intents and purposes, were married, just not in the traditional sense.

Aristotle's gem (yes, the purple brooch on his cape is one of the gems) is a magic booster.

This makes Aristotle REALLY powerful; but they're still an axolotl, which means that, despite their magic power, he gets easily hurt.

He's made a name for himself at Dutch's hotel, having tried so many ways to get the wolf's gem. That's why Dutch has wanted posters of the axolotl everywhere, making them enemies. Ari doesn't know which gem Dutch has.

Ironically, Ash ships them as an "enemies to lovers" kind of thing.

Katie and Ash want to include book extracts that Billie can collect during the game, and one of them is a book wrote by Aristotle and Arthur, titled "The ABCs of Magic Casting". This suggests the two of them wrote books about magic together.

And as you can see, they shared a last name together.

Aristotle likes eating worms.

The symbol on Ari's forehead is meant to be an infinity symbol. Specifically, it's meant to represent the iridophores that axolotls have on their skins, that create a sparkly effect when exposed to the light.

In the fandom he's officially known as "Rad Magic Dad"!

In the first concepts, Aristotle was supposed to be calmer and more reserved; the devs made him more akin to goofy yet fun dad since he came off as too boring. Also, apparently he used to be a crow before Ash officially made them an axolotl.

He also used to constantly float in a bubble.

On Mario Kart he'd choose Luigi because they'd feel sorry for him.

His favorite Halloween treat is chocolate covered crickets.

Aristotle is autistic, and he stims by swinging his hips from side to side while waddling the finger, and tends to walk by keeping his hands inwards.

When overwhelmed, he tucks at his gills as if they were hair.

Apparently one of the characters who inspired Aristotle was none other than Pikachu!

He's also inspired by game characters like E.Gadd from "Luigi's Mansion" and Toriel from "Undertale".

He's very talented in magic, and can make magic spheres he'll juggle with.

Apparently he's never met Barnaby.

He loves food and cooking; apparently the devs had in mind to have a cooking minigame with him, but I don't know if that's still going to happen.

Despite being powerful at magic, Katie believes he'd have slow reflexes.

He'd love ice skating!

He's also definitely ticklish!

Will happily recieve hugs, very soft and squishy!

Despite his calm and friendly nature, he's got flaws too: as in, he can be petty, overly confident and sometimes rash. He's been compared to Pearl from Steven Universe, and Ash thinks it's a pretty accurate comparison.

His name is a reference to Ace Attorney!

His go to instrument would be a concertina.

Would be friends with Glamrock Freddy, according to Ash!

He can stand on an orb made of magic, just like Raz from Psychonauts with his levitation orb.

If he owned Pokémon, he'd mostly have a Fairy Type team.

He'd never swear; he's the kind that would go "LANGUAGE!" if he'd hear someone say a bad word.

His way of speech has some Weird Al elements to it.

This is what I have, for now! 💜

[starwarsmum]

Day 14! I've got you and we're back to A Black Cat in America

Part 1 Part 2

@maribatserver

Their streak with bad luck of coming across villains continued. It gave plenty of opportunities for Alya to video the local heroes though, so Adrien didn't complain when she could hear him. But since she spent most of her free time cuddling with Nino, that left him plenty of time to bemoan his woes to Marinette.

“I don't know what to tell you, Chaton,” Marinette said one evening while they were in New York. She was messaging people as she spoke, thumbs flying across the screen and it made him pout. He knew she was still in charge of their itinerary while they were in the states, and that the frequent attacks were probably making changes to said itinerary, but still. “At least we don't have to suit up and help out.”

“Bug, did you say we have a day at Style Queen headquarters tomorrow?” He asked in an attempt to get her talking about that. When she only hummed in agreement he let out a huge sigh and threw his head back dramatically. “I really thought this trip was supposed to be about forgetting my breakup, but everyone just keeps leaving me to my thoughts.”

“Oh my god, you're right and I'm so sorry,” Marinette said looking contrite. “Yes, Chloé heard we were coming to New York and asked me to add the building in so she could see you.”

“And you agreed because…?”

“Because she apologised for being mean her entire life and begged me to help her see you,” she said simply, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. She motioned him to come and sit next to her and brought up the messages. “See, she-”

A new notification popped up and she swiped it away far too quickly to be casual. He squinted at her and noticed that a blush was spreading up her neck. Not an unusual occurrence but getting a text was hardly a reason to be embarrassed.

“Bugaboo, what was-”

“Nothing important,” she squeaked before clearing her throat. “Like I was saying, here are the messages she sent about it. I never thought I'd see the day she would apologise to me, but she did. She still insults me a little, but she's trying and I-”

“Why isn't it important?” Adrien demanded, growing ever more suspicious when she blushed harder. Before she could get more than a spluttered denial out he yanked her phone out of her fingers. Flying to her messaging app, he crowed in triumph before stopping to stare. “Mari, why is who I can only assume to be Damian Wayne messaging you?” 

“No reason!” She shrieked, launching herself at him to claw the phone from his grasp. Fortunately, with his catlike reflexes, he flipped backwards off the sofa and used his height advantage to keep it out of her reach. “Adrien, please, those are private!”

After a few more minutes of tussling, the room to Alya and Nino's part of the hotel suite opened. Alya looked annoyed and Adrien felt a little bad that they might have woken her. Not bad enough to give Marinette her phone back but he did give the reporter an apologetic look.

“Why are you two making so much noise? You're gonna get us kicked out.”

“Adrien stole-”

“Marinette’s been flirting with Damian Wayne!” Adrien interjected, making her shriek again and give up on her half hearted attempts at fighting. She leapt onto his shoulders, scrambling until she was seated on them and locking her phone. 

“It's not- I haven't- Adrien that's an invasion of privacy-”

“Wait, seriously? I thought you were just messaging about the publicity thingy,” Alya said, eyes flashing with excitement. 

“We were!” Marinette shouted, throwing herself off of Adrien. She fell in a heap on the sofa, face still a bright red as the rest of them teased her.

_ _ _

“Adri-kins!”

That was the only warning Adrien got before someone just about bowled him over. Only his training as Chat Noir kept him from dropping the person, who pulled back seconds later.

“Oh, God, I'm so sorry,” Chloé said immediately, taking an enormous step back and glancing at Marinette. “I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?”

“Uh, I guess not,” Adrien said, blinking at her. One of the reasons he'd always dreaded seeing Chloé again was because she would never read his ‘don’t touch me’ cues. Having her back off willingly and apologise…well, it was strange. “Hey Chlo.”

“Are Césaire and Lahiffe off being tourists?” Chloé asked, though without the scowl that he was accustomed to seeing on her. Marinette nodded but was perusing an art portfolio of someone called Kyle Rayner. “Hmph, I suppose they were not overly interested in running into me after all then.”

“They wanted to sightsee long before I told them we were seeing you,” Marinette corrected her, tapping her fingers against a page with swirls of colour. “Hey, do you know if this Rayner guy is available to chat with? I like his art and it's giving me ideas.”

“If anyone knows, Lisa at the front desk will,” Chloé said immediately. “I can go and ask if you want, Dupain-Cheng.”

“No no, I can do it,” she replied, waving the blonde woman off. “Adrien's here to catch up with you, I can network without you both for a bit. Call me when you want to get lunch, yeah?”

And then she was off, a whirlwind of paper and pink, disappearing to the front desk. Adrien smiled fondly after her for several seconds. She was always like that, disappearing when she had a fit of inspiration and blocking out the whole world. 

“Ugh, please don't tell me you're still in love with her,” Chloé said, though she sounded more concerned than disgusted. Adrien rolled his eyes at her, apprehensive now that she was only on her best behaviour around Marinette because she knew she didn't have a choice. “Adri-kins, you deserve someone-”

“Chloé, if that sentence ends with ‘better’ I'm going to have to end this-”

“-who looks at you the way you look at them,” Chloé said loudly, pouting. She looked hurt and Adrien felt a little bit of guilt pool in his stomach. “Adrien, I know I was horrible as a teenager but I've grown up a lot since then. Do you really think Dupain-Cheng would have arranged for this if she didn't believe I had?”

“You're right,” Adrien said, smiling apologetically. “Besides, I'm not in love with Marinette anymore, I'm getting over a break up with Luka. Marinette has her eye on a different person anyway.”

“As fascinating as I'm sure that is, I'm here to catch up with you, Adri-kins. So, tell me everything.”

_ _ _

When Adrien left the Style Queen office that afternoon, he had Chloé's new number and a promise to video chat at least once a month. He'd had a really good morning getting reacquainted with her and was looking forward to getting to know his oldest friend better again.

“I'm glad you had fun with Chlo,” Marinette said with a grin. “She's really changed since collége and when she messaged me to see if she could apologise I was kind of blown away.”

“Weren't you worried she was only doing it so you would get her in touch with me?” Adrien asked, amazed all over again by how forgiving Marinette could be.

“If she'd even once mentioned you during her apology I'd have considered that,” Marinette agreed, fingers flying over her screen again as she presumably messaged Damian. “But she didn't. All she did was say she was sorry for everything she put me through and she understood if I never replied. But her therapist said she needed to reach out to help with her healing so she did.

“It's strange, we're actually kind of friends ourselves now,” she added thoughtfully, putting her phone down to smile at Adrien again. “She was telling me all about her new girlfriend and said she wants us to meet her while we're in New York.”

“What're you two gossiping about?” Alya asked as she slid into the booth they were in. Marinette gave a quick summary while Adrien looked over the menu properly. “Huh, when you told me she messaged you last year I guess I thought that was the end of it.”

“It would have been if she hadn't asked me how things were going,” Marinette shrugged, smiling at the waitress who came to take their orders. “But it's been nice. Her mother has been just as present as she always has so she had to grow up a lot.” 

Adrien nodded along, impressed with both Chloé and Marinette. The former had worked hard to overcome her childhood and the latter had chosen to forgive. If Marinette, who had been the primary target of Chloé's insecure rage, could forgive her old bully and forge a new friendship, he was optimistic about his own renewing friendship too.

“No matter what happens, I've got your back, Chaton,” Marinette said with a sunny smile. He grinned back, comfortably reminded of how well she knew him and his thoughts.

Part 4

[magixfairyix]

Trix & OC Core Incorrect Quotes 01

After S.S.S. (as in far after) Iorda is consensually kidnapped into the coven as they'd (and the Winx) been friends for four years at this point, and Iorda had gone fully from fairy to a witch a year prior.

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Darcy: It was in the third year when you and Icy were fighting, cue crow's dust, and she said 'Now, what am I going to do with you.' Right? >:)

Icy: hOw CaN YoU qUotE tHat?

Darcy: I have a book of your homosexual quotes with Bloom. I had a guess you'd bang/makeout with each other at some point and I decided to keep a book so when you two did relieve the sexual tension I could chuck it at you

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: Hey um... I might've fucked up

Icy: What did you do? Is everyone alive?

Stormy: Technically we both fucked up so...

Darcy: 'Fucked up' by whose standards?

Iorda: 'Fucked up' as in you three will likely approve

Darcy: Alright spill the tea

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Icy: It was his fault. He should've been grateful it was Iorda because we all know if Darcy and I was there he wouldn't have been able to walk out of there with his limbs intact

Iorda: Yeah that's what we call illegal Icy

Darcy: BSH fucking with someone's pain reflex is illegal

Iorda: OH FUCK OH SHIT PLEASE TELL ME YOU'RE JOKING

Icy: They are don't worry. Darcy stop scaring the child

Iorda: Darcy, fuck you. I thought I just did something illegal

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: Since Darcy and I are immune to poison does that mean we can't get intoxicated to death, stung to death by poisonous animals, or get poisoned from drinking human blood?

Icy: Iorda, the hell

Darcy: Eh I don't think human blood is poisonous it just fucks with your body. Also the first it's not necessarily poison. The second though...

Stormy: One, why did you assume we would know?

Iorda: Eh ya'll tried to kill me via poison I thought you'd know

Stormy: Nuff said. Secondly, what the fuck is wrong with you?

Iorda: A lot of shit

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: Yeah turns out it wasn't a daemon, it was Death

Stormy: ... excuse

Iorda: Don't worry I'm alive. Wait... does this add a ninth time considering I 'interacted with death?'

Stormy: ... yeah no shit you're alive. You're talking to us

Iorda: For all you know I could be possessed sthu

Icy: Darcy! You're girlfriend is going fucking insane and please tell me you didn't know that DEATH is real!

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Icy: ... You scare me

Stormy: Oh yay mom is back

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Darcy: ICY WE JUST FOUND SOMETHING OUT!

Iorda: Acually get your ass on here this is revolutionary!

Darcy: ICYYYYYYY

Icy: What is revolutionary and what did you two do?

Iorda: Your ice doesn't melt in blood! ^^

Icy: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU TWO DO?!

Darcy: Remember when Iorda got stabbed and got a free chiropractic appointment?

Iorda: ... shit my back issues actually disappeared for two years after that so not far off from the truth

Darcy: ... not even gonna question that, but anyway

Stormy: Wait wait wait, what happened after the stabbing?

Icy: Darcy what did you do? (five years too late)

Iorda: You didn't tell them? DARCY THE HELL

Darcy: Damn. Well after that happened a bad migraine hit from the emotion feeling thing so I forgot, so, yeah I didn't tell them. Oops

Iorda: You didn't tell them you broke every bone in my body? Priorities

Stormy: WAIT WHAT DID YOU DO

Icy: YOU DID THAT AND YET SHE DIDN'T DIE!? (Respectfully)

Darcy: I thought she would

Iorda: Cackling rn holy shit

Stormy: And you did that when you could feel her emotions?! Darcy?!

Darcy That's why I got a hell of a migraine and nausea after. Felt like shit

Iorda: yOu felt like shit?? I was dYinG 

Darcy: Fair, you win

Icy: ... I told you to like, kill her mind or something not bReAk hEr bOnEs

Darcy: Yeah I know I'm a perfectionist ;)

Stormy: Musa is laughing her ass off at this conversation

Iorda: Tell them that they are a traitor

Stormy: Done, they flipped you off. And by the way, I just remembered that were used to compare you to a cockroach because of your inability to die

Icy: Perfectionist my ass. You didn't even finish the job. This is why I'm the coven leader because you all are insane

Iorda: It's not their fault I'm a badass cockroach

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Icy: That's also not likely. That'd only happen if Iorda didn't get her blood and magic energy cleansed 

Iorda: .. do what?

Icy: Get your blood and energy cleansed. You know, to get all the curses and whatnot out of your body so you can use your magic properly. Otherwise, you could have difficulty using certain parts of your magic, sleeping, also a sense of paranoia and unease

Darcy: Iorda please tell me you're just you and that you did get your blood and energy cleansed for the love of-

Iorda: And where do you find this information? Just asking~ 

Stormy: They teach us this second year of Cloud Tower, common knowledge. Though it's not taught to faries because it's not relevant and... You didn't go to CT second year, did you?

Icy: Iorda answer

Iorda: ... so tHaTs why I'm shit at psychic magic

Darcy: GET YOUR ASS TO ZENOTHE RIGHT THIS SECOND

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Stormy: So we can't speak because otherwise the Ariste will hear us. Only communication is through this chat while we search for potion ingredients

Iorda: The what now?

Stormy: Creatures that'll eat our skin if we make noise

Iorda: TF DID YOU BRING ME FOR

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

Iorda: FUCK YOU STORMY AND YOUR DAMN HEELS IF I DIE IT'S NINE FOR NINE AND I DON'T HAVE ANYMORE FUCKING LIVES LEFT!

Stormy: JUST RUN!

Iorda: I'M GONNA GET MY SKIN EATEN FUUUUKKKKKK. FUCK YOU I CAN SEE WHY ICY IS THE IMPULSE CONTROL OF YOU THREE!

Stormy: RUN BITCH WE'RE ALMOST AT ALFEA

Iorda: WHY WOULD YOU CHOSE TO WEAR HEELS IN A SWAMP YOU'RE WORSE THAN STELLA!

Stormy: SO I COULD BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF ANYTHING THAT TRIES TO KILL US!

Iorda: THEN BY ALL MEANS BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THE ARISTE

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

[helloescapist]

Describe It to Me | Gyomei Himejima

Word Count: 1761

Setting: Gyomei x gn!reader (reader is a kakushi)

Content Warning(s): mentions of gore/violence, angst

Summary: a tap at your window, an emergency request delivered by a kasugai crow leads you to to devastation and a man you had not seen since the Final Selection.

A/N: full disclosure, I lost where I was going with this, and just cut it short. 🫣

Cries echoed into your ear drums, the stanch scent of iron that threatened the earth beneath your feet. Tarnished soil, dragged and muddled across gore and destruction. Limbs that tangled beneath their own weight, splintered, and shattered in the depths of the dark. The night robbed of light, the moon shied away from the horrors that you bore witnessed too. As though the sight were far too much for the gentle spirit to bear, the devastation littered throughout the landscape.

Trees torn from their roots, evidence of their once productive life, snubbed out with a single thrust.  Trunks threatened to smash to bits, the mass majority of branches fractured. Only the occasional splintered branch worth consideration of mulch in the years to come. Left ruined amongst the forest floors. Foliage robbed of any chance of survival, crunched beneath zori. The embroidered mark of the slayers before you as you pressed forward, bundled together in a close knit as kakushi often traveled. Averted eyes that struggled to process the bloody scene. The ache of your heart upon your sleeves, the stench of death that left you unsettled and uneasy. An unusual nightly excursion to a devastated area, the call having been one of desperation begging for aid, a large quantity at that. A Kasugai crow that rattled against your bed window. Rose you from your slumber, leaving you with little time to process the severity of the situation. His delicately obsidian feathers were immaculately maintained soothed only by the night wind. A shadow amongst the cover of the trees, the distinct caws assisting with guiding you amongst the terrain. Small scowls you had been quick to decipher as attempts to assist your travel in the depths of the night. Shooed away any doubts, and anxieties that may have begun to fester in the pit of your stomach, and urged the others of your group to remain steadfast to the cause. Though they were less than tactful at tucking their emotions away, despite the clothes that clung to their features. A final cowl from the Kasugai. You had arrived.

              Iron that threatened to spirit away your senses, overwhelming taint that threatened the vile in your stomach. Eyes that followed the trace of gore, and the eyes that met your own. Trembled from the faint glow of the lanterns you bore. Momentarily stunned, and confused, regardless of the time that passed you always found your feet. Bared your weight when your body threatened to give out, carried you regardless of how your heart hesitated. Fingers that weaved and picked through torn uniforms, the furrow of your brows as you patched small scratches, grazed over the smallest of blemishes.  Several of the slayers falling in the mizunoto, new recruits that appeared dazed and confused. Dazed to the point that they neither flinched, nor registered the way your hands skated across their craniums. Evaluated their response, their reflexes. All well intact, the flutter of their chests, and raps of their breath as  though the air threatened to abandon them. Their heartbeats rattling into your fingers, throbbed in veins and dashing beat, painfully aware of the clammy state of their skin devoid of color. “What happened,” your pressed, their eyebrows at the met of their tone betraying their frustrations.  Snubbed of the greet of the teeth, it’s surprising how little the uniform shielded slayers from the wrath of the bearer. Taro’s bad temper once again straying him to rash decision making. A fairly recent transfer, he had indicated the desire to try his hand at caring for the wounded, and assisting their travels to the Butterfly Estate though his bedside manner betrayed any such sentiments. Whispers that the boy had merely wanted to avoid shuffling swordsman to the smithing village not without reason. The youth was tall, and barrel chested, so much so that his uniform left little to the imagination, nor did he take into consideration the way his size towers over the newer recruits, “OI! Answer me.”

              “Shock,” you sighed, allowing yourself to draw to your feet. The patches of bandages secured to your patient’s face. The skim of the other kakushi readily at work before cutting your eyes at the kakushi at your side. His annoyance beginning to fester to the point that his fingers had caught at the brows of the patient, threatening to draw them to their feet should they not answer. “A patient that exhibits symptoms of shock should be treated with care—he’s not going to answer you,” the drip of warning poised in your voice. As sharp and lethal as the dagger secured at your hip. All too aware that the cloth shading your features to the night would not protect the inexperienced kakushi from your wrath.

              The pitter of voices, fallen into trembled tones. Shook with e ach word that parted from dry lips, guided by the beckoning way of a subordinate. The frantic touch, drawn to rush to their side. Eyes that met the scratch of blood that had met at the top of the skull, being tended to with delicate fingers as the words threatened to overflower. Rattled mumblings of demons, and surprised attacks. The shatter of bark, and the sickening moan that it had released. A giant that could bear the weight of trees, yielded them as mere weapons no more than a means to combat a beast of the night. The tremble of the victim’s eyes and dilated pupils, telling symptoms of hallucinations. Concussions. The passing thought to review their status before the feathers ruffled near your ear. Perched a small creature that threatened to consume the entirety of your shoulder, its little beak peppered through your hair. It’s frail voice near begging, near mournful of its pursuits. The little crow who had dared the darkness of night to seek assistance. “Is this Kasugai perhaps yours,” you whispered to the ramblings of a madman. Ignored, and threatened to send the individual into a state of panic. The threading of their fingers through their hair,  scratched into the aches of their scalp murmurs that were incomprehensible. The kakushi at their side, rattled by the sudden lurch of their body. Fumbled and anxious cries that bellowed, drew a finger to your side. Caught your eye at something that emerged from the ground. As though it had splintered the earth. A stone—no, the oddity of the shape a blade of some sort. The nudge of the crow in your ear, feathered through the strands of your hair at the insistence. Hefty, an abandoned blade amongst a battle field, far too aware the severity of such a loss should incur. Lifting upon it, caught amongst muck, an unholy mixture of dirt and blood that threatened to confine the remainder of the weapon. Chains that emerged like the dead from its pull. The sickening staunch of a scent you rarely had interactions with. Brain matter that clung to speared ends. Metal that formed tips, and edge upon the end of the chain. A ball marred by the spikes that bore casualties, the opposite of the hefty discovery clenched between your fingers. An axe and flail, and the weight your heart threatened to stop. The bit of your body stumbled to bear its weight. Giant. Fear taking over the better part of your senses, the distant reflection of a man. A mountain of a main carved from stone by the gods, the callous of his hands curiously embracing the touch of wisteria petals unheeded by the blood at his fingertips. Delighting in the presence of such beautiful fragrance though he would never know the sight that marveled before you. His mere presence the only reason you had survived the Final Selection, and the whisper of his voice, deep and soft, “Describe them to me.”

The only payment he had requested in return for your life.

The rush of feathers fluttered against wings as the shrieks of a scaw rang through your ears. Threatened your senses and drew you to muster what little strength you could manage. Strained muscles shook your core. Numb to the weight, leaving little choice but to draw the tug of the chain. The spike far too much for you to heave as it dragged through the blood-soaked dirt. No time to acknowledge the tears that edged their way to your eyelashes.

“T-Take me to him,” you demanded.