#feral glacier

[treepsap]

Banter turns to flirtation?

[mist-fire]

"The Doctor's companion should be a history major!"

Yes. But have you also considered: ✨geologist✨

Imagine the Doctor befriends some random person, they get along pretty well, but through some events or another, they realize/get taken on a trip in the TARDIS, and they're just staring at the Doctor, eyes absolutely fucking huge. Their voice is desperate and disbelieving when they say, shaking a bit:

"You can travel in time?"

The Doctor is bemused and just goes, "yes?"

Their eyes get even wider if possible, and then they ask: "Can we go to the Permian?"

Once again, the Doctor's a bit baffled, but hey, who cares, might as well take a trip a few hundred million years into the past. The person gives them specific coordinates, which is also a bit weird, but makes it easier to navigate, so who are they to complain.

The Doctor flings open the doors, and the person just looks outside at the massive incised valley on the coastline and just starts sobbing. They're a PhD student. Their entire thesis is about the fluctuations in sea level during the Permian, and the mass extinction at the Permi-Triassic boundary.

They've just been proven right.

And hey, the Doctor likes the geologist well enough, and likes them even more after they start asking intensely theoretical questions about the deep past and future, so they take them as a companion. They visit the Grand Canyon to discover that, yes, the Western side is only 6 million years old. They jump to the future to watch plate tectonics.

When they go to other planets, the geologist is of course curious about the culture, but even more curious about the geochemistry of the planet, and how was that mountain formed over there, and do they have plate tectonics, is the geomorphology the same if the gravity differs on each planet? And the Doctor is thrilled because look, someone new to info dump on, and they seem to be understanding almost everything they're saying about the composition of the crust, and the different types of rocks on each planet.

Like, you can't tell me they each wouldn't love that. I would love that, so.

[lazlolullaby]

If we get HTTYD 1 and the "changes" that Dean is talking about work. AND. They still have the balls to go for the whole trilogy.

I want the original villain for HTTYD 2 to show up. Valka. Cate Blanchett can stay or go, IDK if she can do action, up to her. But Evil Valka was a killer conversation about Dragons VS Vikings + what Hiccup could become if he didn't have human support.

Keep Drago where he is as the 2nd antagonist. If you like Grimmel, throw him in as a companion villain for Drago, make it extra personal for Toothless and Hiccup.

Valka can be an ally for HTTYD 2. but after she's seen her estranged husband die, fought against trappers, seen her son go mad with grief and hoard dragons - she makes up her mind.

Have Valka turn away from the Vikings + try to take the Dragons from Berk to the Hidden World. Have Hiccup be absolutely torn between protecting the Dragons by being with them or letting them go.

[ronithesnail]

Guys my polyninja ass is gonna be so obsessed with oppositeshipping until part 2 comes out and they tell us where they been hiding cole and jay

[0bticeo]

mark grayson | takeout misshap

summary: mark stumbles in, looking wrecked—bruised, bloody, barely holding himself up—but guess what? he still has a takeout bag. the paper’s stained red, but he just grins like an idiot and goes: "still hot." priorities.

(requested by one lovely anon <3)

tw: none! diabetes inducing amounts of fluff, mark gets all the hugs and kisses he needs for the traumatic shit he's been through, blood and bruises, mention of invincible events but no spoilers (also ik there's only two variants in the wasteland dimension but. but viltrumite mark survived bc he's my bby)

you love mark grayson. from the bottom of your heart, to the moon and back, through hell and back. you love watching him geek out about the new seance dog episode, because you don’t understand , they perfectly adapted this one bit from the comics, and the VA’s performance made it sooo much better. you love watching the small crease of his brows when he focuses on his algebra homework. for all his complaining, he’s a good student. 

you love invincible. you love watching mark suit up, coming up to him and adjusting his mask for him as his hands rest on your waist. you love watching him take off, flying away like it’s the most natural thing. and it is. he’s told you, fingers stroking your hair, that to viltrumites, it was like breathing. 

“i wish i could fly sometimes,” you had whispered, craning your head to look up at him. 

a soft peck on your forehead, on your eyelids - left, right. on your nose.

“i can take you flying, if you want.”

you had smiled.

“yeah. i’d like that.”

it was easier, back then. when all you had to worry about was making it into college. three years later and you’re both twenty-one, with the weight of the world on mark’s shoulders. viltrumites are wolves. no sheep’s clothing needed to hide themselves - nolan grayson had been a predator through and through, his glacier blue eyes cold enough to cut you down to your marrow. 

you’re lucky you’re still alive and breathing. you’re lucky you get to see mark come home to you, bloodied, broken, bruised, but alive . it’s messy, sometimes. there’s blood on the carpet, stains ingrained in the fabric, unwilling to leave. there’s exhaustion. frustration on both your parts - you want. you want to enjoy a lazy morning in your boyfriend’s arms without that bastard cecil stedman’s call ripping him away from you. he wants to be there for you. that’s why you both rent a small little flat - hero work had him dropping out of college, and he couldn’t bear to watch you deal with it alone.

so you make it work. it’s not perfect, it’s messy - mark’s eyes are growing sadder and sadder, bags deepening under his eyes until he breaks down under the weight of it all. 

(he came to you. after thraxa. after levy. after his variants. after conquest. he came to you, bloodied, half-mad with grief, a feral dog seeking its master’s tender touch. you’re no master of his, but your hands are the gentlest things he knows, so he buried himself in your arms and let himself break , knowing you’d pull him back together.)

you make it work. 

doesn’t mean you’re still not eyeing the clock, frowning a little. you’ve rummaged around in your closet until you found the outfit, changed said outfit because it was too much for a date at that small, homey italian restaurant that mark organised, then changed it back because it was too casual. you are not spending your three year anniversary in your hoodie. well, mark’s hoodie. finders keepers.

so here you are, pacing back and forth in your living room under the watchful, curious gaze of nero, one feline eye half-opened on the couch. an hour passes. two. you settle on the couch and run your fingers through nero’s fur, the cat purring as he settles on your lap. three hours and all restaurants are closed. three am stares you straight in the eyes, the clock on the wall ticking away minute after unforgiving minute.

mark is late. 

you’re not mad at him - dammit, he’s a superhero. that’s his job, and you’re proud of him for it. you are mad at cecil for not allowing him to rest after sending him on four back to back missions in a week right after he almost got stranded in a sordid wasteland dimension with three of his other variants.

a rasp at the window. 

you jump on your feet, immediately dashing to the window to open it. in stumbles mark. blue and yellow suit in shreds, bloodied, bruised, one broken arm hanging limply at his side, two teeth missing, the plexiglas of his broken goggles having dug in his skin, a small shard embedded under his eyelid. 

in his free arm, takeout. 

the bag’s stained red from the blood coating his hand, slowly seeping into the brown paper.

he looks at you with a little smile - a little hiss escaping him when his split, swollen lips stretch painfully.

“hey,” he croaks, floating towards you, feet brushing the ground. “happy three years to us.”

then, after looking at the bag:

“still hot.”

you sigh fondly, cupping his face, watching as he melts into you, nose brushing yours. priorities. gently, you manage to dig out the small plexiglas fragment, earning a mournful sigh from him.

“m’sorry, m’staining the carpet again.”

“fuck the carpet.” you gently peck the spot under his ear, the only patch of skin left unbruised. “i’m just glad you’re alive.”

“mm. managed to snatch take-out at the italian before it closed. ordered your favourite.”

“aw, baby… you’re an angel.” 

you peck his nose, lips a soft breeze over the crooked slope of it, taking the bag from him and setting it on the coffee table. nero purrs, tail rubbing over mark’s calf. mark is watching you, mask in hand, gaze soft. he makes a move to drape himself over you and stop, wordlessly looking at you, big brown eyes imploring.

“don’t wanna mess up your outfit.”

your heart melts .

“fuck my shirt. c'mere.”

your fingers close on his valid arm and you pull him towards you, giggling as he effortlessly slides in the air. mark thinks he’s never seen you look this beautiful, eyes sleep-soft, love pouring out of your heart straight to his. you’re happy, he realises. happy that he gets to come home to you. to come home at all. 

he drapes himself over you, chest to your back, still careful not to put blood on your shirt- oh , you’re pulling him closer, craning up your neck so your cheek brushes against his. his hand rests on your waist, fingers hesitantly laying on the silk of your shirt until you press your hand against his, until he feels the warmth of you blooming under his palm like his blood on your shirt.

“love you,” he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

“love you too, baby.”

you feel him against you, body relaxing, melting into you as you pull out the clothes he’s laid out for himself before heading out, six hours ago - black slacks, black shirt. he eyes his limp arm, his shattered knee, and bite back a groan, forehead pressed to your nape, sweat-slick hair brushing the sensitive skin. not having both hands for that will suck. unless-

“look inside the pocket,” he mumbles.

you hum, intrigued, and comply, reaching for his pocket - you freeze when your fingertips brush the corner of something small. 

you pull out a small velvet box, eyes wide. 

“mark?”

he smiles, reaching out from behind you to open it, taking advantage of you holding it. 

“yeah.”

gently, he takes the box from you and floats in front of you, half-kneeling, smile bloodied and unbearably soft.

“marry me?”

you think you’re crying. you might have tackled mark into a hug, then profusely apologized as you effectively crushed his bruised ribs. nero meows, confused.

“yeah. yeah, mark.” you kiss him. "i wanna marry you."

tagging: @tokoyamisstuff @gaiasmight

[windyengel]

DCXDP Ghosts mate for life (and dead)

It is logical to think that when a ghost finds their partner, is for the afterlife.

Ghosts are basically the souls of those who died and passed to a better state of being, striping them of all the things that could restrain them from following their obsessions.

And even Neverborns, they are ideas given enough power to develop a soul.

So it is logical to think that when a ghost finds their partner, when their core identifies them as their selected partners, is for the remaining of the afterlife.

Sure, they don't have to be lovely dovey the whole time. They fight, "break up" maybe even try to kill each other.

But at the end of the day they get back together.

Danny thought he wouldn't have to worry about that until he went fully dead. He thought that even though he had a ghost core, he was human enough.

He dated Val and Sam and he didn't get ghost attached to them (aside from the protection obsession, but that's mostly because he thought of them as his people)

Then he fooled around with Tuck and even Dash and he didn't form any kind of intense, over the top attachment.

(He still will go feral if someone ever dared to even threaten them or hurt them, but when Tuck and Star started to date he was the first to celebrate for them)

So Danny thought he was save.

That is until he was in his first semester of College in Gotham U, when he was walking back to his dorms at night and someone tried to mug him.

Now, normally he would easily deck the mugger and go his merry way. But this time, before he could do anything, someone fell from the roofs directly on top of the mugger.

And as Danny sees this vigilante take down the mugger, his core does a little purr and pull towards the man, and Danny can only think oh shit and now what do I say to my possible soulmate

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

Tim has never felt more embarrassed in his entire life.

He had been following this guy since he saw him walking alone through Gotham a couple of weeks ago.

At first it was because he was worried that the guy will get mugged working so close to Crime Alley.

(He did get robbed, but decked the man right across his face so hard that the mugger got knocked down)

Then because Tim was curious, full detective mode about this guy and his ability to fight.

Then just because.

He figured out his name was Daniel and he worked in a small coffee shop, and attended the Gotham U aerospace program on a Wayne scholarship.

He figured out he came from a tiny town and was Vladimir Masters legal heir

He discovered he liked to eat midnight burgers and eleven shots of espresso on a coffee cup.

And he knew, now that he was right in front of him, that he had the clearest blue eyes he has seen. It was like seeing deep into a glacier.

Damian had found him stalking following the guy to keep him safe and had pushed him off the roof. And now he was right in front of him.

And he had no clue what to say.

[aenramsden]

The following is not my idea; it was the original brainchild of a friend of mine named Omicron, with help from various others including EarthScorpion, TenfoldShields, @havocfett and ShintheNinja:

So, you know what I want to do one day? Run (or play in) a D&D campaign in which the Big Bad Super Dragon that is fuckoff ancient and unfathomably powerful and whose actions have shaped history and bent the course of nations and had repercussions on the whole culture and society in the region where it's set; the Bonus Special Boss for some endgame optional quest after you defeat the direct BBEG and win the campaign...

... is a white dragon.

To explain this for people not deep into 5e monster lore; D&D dragons are sapient beings, and known for their instincts and tendencies, and whenever you meet an big evil dragon that's really old it's usually this ancient creature of terrible intellect Smaug-ing it up all over the place.

Except white dragons are fucking stupid. Like, they're still capable of speech and thought! They're just… feral, hungry morons. And you almost never see them portrayed as ancient wyrms for that reason; they lack majesty. Critical Role did it, yes, but even then, Vorugal is explicitly the most bestial member of the Chroma Conclave, and the others are the more intelligent planners and long-term threats. An ancient white as a nation-defining endboss, though; not a thug for a smarter master but as the strongest and biggest threat around is just not the sort of thing you tend to see.

Adventurers: "Oh wise Therunax the Munificent, gold dragon of Law and Good, what can you tell us adventurers of the evil dragons which rule this land?" Therunax the Munificent, 500-year old Gold Dragon: "Good adventurers, know this: this land is torn apart by the evil of Tiamat's spawn. The eastern marches are the dwelling of Furinar the Plague-Bringer, black dragoness whose hoard is a thousand sicknesses contained in the body of her tributes. The southern volcanic mountains are the roosting of Angrar the Wrathful, the fiery red dragon, who brings magmatic fury on all who do not worship him. And the northern peaks are home to Face-Biter Mike, the oldest and most powerful of all, of whom I dread to speak." Adventurers: "F-Face-Biter Mike???" Therunax: "Oh yes, verily indeed; two thousand years has Mike lived, and his eyes have seen the rise and fall of five empires, and a hundred and score champions have sought to slay him; and each and every one he bit their fucking face off."

Like... I want to see a campaign where Face-Biter Mike is genuinely the most powerful dragon in the region, if not the entire world. Where sometimes he descends on a city to grab himself some meatsicles and causes a localised ice age by the beat of his vast wings and the frigid wastes of his mighty breath and by the chill his mere presence brings to everything for miles around him, and everyone just has to deal with that for the next decade. An entire era of civilization comes to an end, an empire falls, tens of thousands starve in the winter, all because Mike wanted a snack. Where his hoard is an unfathomably vast mass of jewels and artefacts and precious stones frozen in an unmelting glacier, except he is a nouveau riche idiot with fuckall appraising skill, so half of his hoard is coloured glass or worthless knicknacks, and he doesn't give a shit.

"Your Draconic Majesty, this crown is… It's pyrite." "Yeah, well, it's brighter than this dusty old thing made out of real gold, it's my new best treasure. Throw the other one away." "…throw the Burnished Tiara of Bahamut, forged in the First Age of Man, your majesty???" "See? I can't even remember its fucking name." "But my lord-" "DO YOU WANT TO BE A MEATSICLE" "…I will fetch a trash bag, your majesty."

But at the same time, he's not stupid, he's just simple, and in some ways that makes him more dangerous than the usual kinds of scheming Big Bad you see in these things, while simultaneously justifying why Orcus remains on his throne (because he's lazy). Face-Biter Mike doesn't make convoluted plans or run labyrinthine schemes; he just has a talent for violence and a pragmatic, straightforward approach to turning any kind of problem he struggles with into a problem that can be resolved with violence. Face-Biter Mike has one talent and it's horrifying physical power, so his approach to any complicated problem is "how do I turn this into a situation where I can fly down and bite this dude's face off?" with absolutely no regard for the collateral damage or consequences of doing so, because those are also things he can turn into face-bitable problems.

"My lord, the dread necromancer Nikodemion is using his undead dragons to attempt a conquest of the eastern kingdom; his agents are everywhere, his plans are centuries in the making, what can we do against such a mastermind?" "I'm gonna fly over the capital and eat the eastern king." "M-my lord???" "The kingdom will collapse without leadership, Nikodemion will win his war, he'll take the capital and crown himself king." "And that helps us… how?" "Once he does I'll fly over to the capital and eat him." "…" "This is why you advisors all suck. You're all about convoluted plans when the only thing I need to win is know where my enemy is so I can fly down there and eat him. Stop overthinking things."

And, like, yeah, it's a simplistic plan, but when you're several hundred tons of nigh invincible magical death, you don't need brilliant strategy; the smartest way to win a war is, in this case, the simplest. He's not even all that clever at figuring out the consequences of face-biting, he's just memorised the common consequences of doing so.

(If you want to go all in on Mike being the major mover and shaker in the region; Nikodemion only even has a pet zombie dragon because Mike killed the last dragon to show up and contest his turf but wasn't going to eat a whole dragon by himself. Nikodemion got to stick around and amass that much power because Mike ate the Hero of the Realm while he was adventuring because he figured the Hero would come and try to slay him at some point. Nikodemion got started because Mike ate half the leadership of the Academy of High Magic who typically keep evil wizards and necromancers in check. And then eventually this product of Mike's casual, careless actions becomes a big enough problem to bother Mike personally, at which point Mike eats him too.)

He doesn't even really fail upwards, either! He is regularly reduced to nothing but the glacier he stores his hoard in, but he's Face-Biter Mike so nobody wants to commit to actually ending him forever lest they get their faces bitten the fuck off. And his hoard's in a huge-ass magical glacier so nobody can get to it without running into the Invading Russia problem; it's hard to wage war when everything is frozen over and you're both starving and freezing to death. Once he's been beaten back to his central lair and has lost all his holdings… I mean, he's still a problem, but he's a far away problem. So he loses his assets and spends a decade in a cave brooding it up while no one dares risk trying to actually kill him, and then a generation or two later he flies down to a kobold colony and gets himself some minions, or a dragon-worshipping mage comes to offer his service against a pittance from his hoard, or a particularly stupid cult starts thinking they can get in good with him and leech off his power, and then he's (hah) snowballing again.

He's also got a very… well, the kind of weird Charisma that Grineer bosses do. Like Sargas Ruk, who's a malformed idiot, but oddly charismatic. As he's a dragon, that makes him a natural sorcerer and thus Charisma is all he needs. He's pretty relaxed when he isn't in a face-biting mood, and he's kind of infectiously optimistic, because his life has taught him that he will succeed as long as he perseveres. So he just believes it.

And sometimes that's really refreshing to work for, as an evil minion of darkness! It's like, you're coming to your Evil Dragon Lord with terrible news; you've worked for evil overlords before, you know how it goes. You fall to your knees weeping and tell him that you've failed to seize the incredibly powerful magical artifact, you think your life is forfeit. And he's just like "Eh, it's okay, these things are all over the place. Better luck next time. You remember the guy who took it, right?" and you go "Y-yes, oh great lord!" and he's like "Sweet tell me his name later and I'll grab it" and then eats a frozen adventurer he kept around as a snack.

His followers tend to quickly realise that if they fail him, bringing some temple's silver or a sack of brightly coloured beads or a couple of dead cows means he's super forgiving because at least he's got something out of the day. "Oh boy, cows? It's been forever since I had those, ever since the Orc Steppe Nomads took over it's all about goats and onions. Today is a good day." He's a master of delegation by dragon standards, in that he just tells you "Just go get it done, I don't care how" rather than micromanaging you and constantly appearing as an image in smoke or taking over your campfire.

The key part of Face-Biter Mike as a threat to players (because he exists in the context of a D&D campaign) works well in that you can rely on several known quantities:

He will not pull sneaky shit that you don't see coming

He will not make convoluted plans that you must work to unravel

He will consistently attempt to come down and wreck you personally if he finds the opportunity and you are a threat to him

You cannot fight him head-on (at least not until the last leg of the campaign, and ideally as an optional boss rather than mandatory)

So as long as you are good at staying under the radar, thwarting his minions (whom he gives broad orders to with almost zero oversight) and not putting yourself in face-biting range, you can deal with him. If you succeed, it won't be the first time Mike has lost his assets and had to go brood in his glacier for a decade or two before rebuilding. It happens; he can deal with it. And that's a win for you within the context of a single campaign, so take the win.

And if you're not going to use him as an enemy, he works pretty well as a quest-giver, too! The costs for failure are obvious and straightforward, and "do whatever, just get me mine" means that players have a lot of freedom in accomplishing their goals. As far as evil overlords go he is actually one of the least dangerous to work for; his pride is relatively subdued by draconic standards, his goals are simple and typically achievable, and he is easily pleased.

(There's also a good chance he is the forefather of any draconic sorcerer in your party, because Face Biter Mike is a deadbeat dad.)

[i2rizz]

pls could you make a ness version for bachira's 'no way he pulled that' concept but with a girlfriend that's very darkly beautiful like femme fatale vibe but fond eyed for only alexis who's sunny around her if im making sense :(

Yall ask and i deliver girls:>

@yoursssxtrulyyy also requested this concept w ness so how can i not write it?

No Way He Pulled That Pt.2

Nobody believed him.

Not Reo, not Nagi, not even Rin who usually didn’t bother to get into people’s business. Ness had been going on and on about his girlfriend for months. He talked about you with the kind of energy that didn’t match your supposed “vibe”—a gorgeous, dangerous, untouchable beauty that Ness, sunshine incarnate, had somehow bagged.

“She doesn’t even look like she belongs on Earth” he once said dreamily while icing his ankle after practice.

Everyone thought it was a joke. Even Kaiser rolled his eyes every time Ness brought you up.

So, when Ego scheduled a rare beach day for NEL’s top players to unwind and bond before their next training phase, nobody expected a thing.

Not until Ness went unnaturally still.

He’d just been bragging about the new sunglasses he’d bought when he froze like a man possessed. His magenta eyes locked onto something—or rather, someone— playing along the shore.

You.

You were in the middle of a beach volleyball game with a group of people, smirking softly, focused but effortlessly graceful. The ball flew wide, bouncing toward the water, and you jogged after it, the sun catching the curve of your hips. As you went to retrieve it near the shoreline, that's when Ness saw you.

Your skin glowed like polished obsidian under the sun, framed by a draped sheer cover-up that danced around your legs like smoke. The strings of your swimwear peeked out from under the mesh, and your sculpted figure was framed like some Aphrodite carved out of shadows and honey. Your long lashes cast a siren’s gaze, the kind that could crush empires and melt glaciers. You weren’t just walking. You were gliding—deliberate, catlike, each step crafted to leave echoes.

The ball tucked under your arm, you turned.

And then you smiled.

Ness took off running. No warning. Just bolted across the sand like a man possessed. The others turned in confusion—

Then chaos.

“IS THAT HER!?”

“Wait—NO WAY—”

“Bro. That’s not a girlfriend. That’s a Bond villain in love”

Kaiser’s mouth was hanging open. Reo nearly choked on his smoothie. Nagi sat up—sat up—from his towel, eyes wide. Rin furrowed his brows like he was trying to rationalize what he was seeing, while Isagi simply blinked, gobsmacked.

You opened your arms casually as Ness skidded to a stop in front of you, and he practically melted into you.You cradled his face in your hands, pressed a slow, lingering kiss to his cheek, then murmured something too soft for anyone to hear.The volleyball long forgotten on the floor.

And Ness beamed like you’d just crowned him king of the world.

“...He wasn’t lying,” Reo whispered.

“He wasn’t,” Rin admitted with the tone of someone rethinking everything they knew.

Barou turned away with a snort. “Tch. She’s gonna eat him alive”

But Ness didn’t seem to mind.

He took your hand and led you back to the group, his usual dramatic flair tempered by a surprisingly calm confidence. Like having you beside him made everything else irrelevant.

Everyone watched in disbelief as you joined them, settled beside him like a queen on her throne—untouchable, terrifying, and yet…

You only had eyes for Ness.

You ran your fingers through his hair like he was something delicate, precious. He whispered jokes in your ear and you laughed—a soft, musical sound that made the boys around you go feral with shock.

She really does smile, they thought.

But only for him.

[robo-milky]

Dynamic Swap 1: What if Rook fell first?

Now Cloche is the one who’s nonchalant! Rook would still run from her, but not out of fear (yippee?)

I love my expressive and confident Rooks out there… bUT I WILL FOREVER HC THAT ROOK FINDING HIMSELF FALLING DEEPLY IS A VULNERABILITY TO HIDE AND HIM GETTING NERVOUS LIKE HE’D WITH NEIGE (just a tad)

[Ramble]

• How Rook would’ve caught feels for Cloche is by being there to observe the small glimpses of herself when she thinks she’s alone. Like a glacier melting, Cloche warms up to let the little smiles turn the corners of her lips or exhale too heavily to be anything else but frustration. Rook knows that if he reaches out, Cloche will revert back after unwinding, so he’d rather bask in her presence from afar. Rook also feels special for being the only one to read her so accurately and understand her true intentions (as opposed to Cloche freaking Rook out because she figured him out and he couldn’t read her back.)

• Instead of the first encounter where feral! Cloche attacks Rook in the school forest, Cloche calls Rook out for being “voyeuristic” when he was there, hidden behind a wall, and watching the whole time she was roughed up by bullies. Cloche didn’t know it was the Vice Dormleader of Pomefiore she was calling out to, but was vaguely aware that the presence of a master remained even as she was left alone. Instead of Rook’s usual dismissals of scathing remarks to his character, this one from Cloche makes him reflect just a little. After all, he’s never once stepped in once to help, having seen that Cloche took all the pushing and shoving just fine.

• Now, he slips little treats for her where he goes. Sometimes it’s a 50 Thaumark bill, or a new handkerchief that could replace the one Cloche just lost. Rook knows that Cloche will pocket them, and if anyone tries to harass her over it, he’ll swoop in gaslight them that the lost item was originally Cloche’ and she must have dropped it herself. Before Cloche would even realize Rook helped her, he’s gone.

• Similar to how he’d write Neige poems and letters, Rook would send them to Cloche too. To be inconspicuous, Rook signs each letter with “H”.

• Rook is partially accepting of this crush, yet is also in denial, waiting for it to pass soon. All this excitement and giddiness might just make him spill something he might regret.

• Since Cloche doesn’t idolize Rook in this AU, unfortunately she’d think of him of a sucker that’s overly sentimental. She’s more indifferent to Rook than trying to avoid him.

[theartofcollapse]

The gif that you left as a gift for us before your exams give me a really good ideia for Casey x Reader

Reader just get horny for every little thing that Casey do

did she fix her car? poonani reward

did she make dinner? poonani reward

carrying heavy boxes? poonani reward

pulling out her wallet full of ADA money to pay the bill? poonani reward

gives reader foot massage? poonani reward (if you want to add other things...)

Until she sees Casey playing and goes totally FERAL

Sweaty and panting Casey is the best Casey 🥵

a/n: thank you for requesting, love! summary: read it above pairing: Casey Novak x female reader warnings: 18+! fingering (reader receiving), scissoring, dirty talk word count: 2.4K

masterlist

Every Little Thing You Do - Casey Novak

You considered yourself a logical person. Rational, level-headed, not one to lose your composure over trivial things. But that was before Casey Novak.

Because somehow, the woman had turned you into an absolute mess of desire. Every little thing she did had your body reacting before your brain could even process what was happening. You’d tried to play it cool - tried to keep your thoughts from wandering - but you had absolutely no defenses when it came to Casey.

It started small, or at least it felt that way at the time. The first instance had been your car.

The damn thing had refused to start one morning, leaving you stranded in your apartment parking lot with no idea what to do. You’d barely had time to call Casey before she’d shown up in a pair of jeans and a leather jacket, toolbox in hand.

“You called the right person,” she said, her tone casual as she walked over to pop the hood.

Her sleeves were rolled up just enough to reveal the lean muscles of her forearms, and the focused furrow of her brow as she examined the engine nearly made your knees buckle.

“It’s just the spark plugs,” she’d explained, using some tool you didn’t know the name of to twist things into place. “Easy fix.”

She glanced back at you, a smudge of grease on her wrist and a satisfied little smirk on her lips. And that was it. You were done for.

You’d thanked her later, of course. Thoroughly.

Then there was the time she made dinner.

You’d come home after an impossibly long day at work, ready to collapse on the couch and order takeout, when you found her in your kitchen. She’d been in an apron, her hair pulled back into a messy bun, stirring something in a skillet with the confidence of a professional chef.

“You’re home just in time,” she’d said, turning to flash you a smile that could melt glaciers.

She’d plated the pasta, poured you a glass of wine, and pulled out your chair for you to sit. The domesticity of it all - the casual, effortless care she put into making sure you were fed and relaxed - made you want to crawl across the table and devour her instead of the meal.

She’d noticed, of course. Casey always noticed.

“You’ve barely touched your food,” she’d said, her voice low and teasing. “Distracted by something?”

You hadn’t even answered her. You’d just grabbed her hand and pulled her into the bedroom.

The pattern continued.

Casey could be doing the most mundane tasks - moving a heavy box, paying for dinner, massaging your feet after a long day - and you’d feel that familiar heat rise in your body.

Like the time she pulled out her wallet.

You’d gone out to dinner at a new upscale restaurant downtown, and Casey had insisted on treating you. When the check arrived, she casually reached into her clutch, pulling out her ADA-issued paycheck like it was nothing. Her movements were slow and deliberate, her posture relaxed, and her confidence so palpable it made your stomach twist in the best way possible.

“Casey…” you’d started, your voice soft and a little shaky.

She looked up from the receipt, amused. “What?”

“You’re so—” you’d trailed off, flustered, earning yourself one of her trademark smirks.

But the worst - the absolute most dangerous moment - was when you saw her play baseball.

It had been her idea to invite you to her league’s game. “It’s just for fun,” she’d said, brushing it off like it was no big deal. But when she stepped onto that field, bat in hand and her snug jersey clinging to her in all the right places, it became a very big deal.

Her hair was tied back under her baseball cap, and her sleeves were pushed up just enough to show the sinewy muscles of her arms. When she stepped up to the plate, planting her feet firmly and gripping the bat, you could feel your pulse quicken.

The first pitch came, and Casey swung with precision, sending the ball flying into the outfield. The power behind it, the way her body moved with such controlled grace, it was hypnotic.

She took off running, her legs pumping hard as she rounded the bases. The jersey clung to her back, her pants highlighting every curve, and by the time she slid into home base, her grin triumphant, you were absolutely feral.

The crowd cheered, but all you could hear was the sound of your own heartbeat.

Later, as she jogged over to you, her face flushed and damp with sweat, you barely held it together.

“You were amazing,” you said, your voice low and shaky.

Casey cocked her head, that teasing smirk playing on her lips again. “You okay? You look distracted.”

Without another word, you grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the car, ignoring her protests and the curious looks of her teammates.

“What’s gotten into you?” she asked, laughing as you shoved her into the backseat and climbed in beside her.

“You,” you said, your voice breathless. “Every time. Every damn thing you do.”

Casey’s brows rose, her smirk turning downright sinful. “I think I’m going to need specifics.”

“Oh, you’ll get specifics. Care for a ride?"

The question hung in the air, charged with a double meaning that made Casey laugh immediately. 

"You were so intense," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Is that a good thing?" Casey asked, a hint of a challenge in her tone.

Your eyes never left her profile, watching the way her jaw tightened. "It's incredibly sexy," you replied, your voice thick with desire. "I've never seen you like this before."

Casey's eyes flicked over to you, a smoldering look that made your stomach flip. "There's a lot you haven't seen," she said, her voice low and gruff, as if she was holding back something primal. 

With a swift movement, Casey leaned over, her hand sliding up your thigh. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut. Casey's fingers danced higher, reaching the apex of your thighs, and you felt a wetness already pooling there. "I can feel how much you want this," Casey whispered, her breath hot against your neck. "How much you want me."

Your hands trembled as you reached for Casey's, not to push her away, but to guide her further. "Take me," you breathed, the words barely escaping your lips. Casey's smile grew predatory.

Her fingers slipping under your skirt to find the drenched fabric of your panties. She ripped them away swiftly. You gasped, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and pleasure. Casey's hand was unyielding, her fingers pushing into your heat without preamble. The sudden intrusion was almost too much, and your body arched off the seat, a moan escaping your throat.

"You're so wet," Casey murmured, her voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. "So fucking wet for me."

You couldn't form a coherent response. All you could do was pant, your body responding to Casey's touch in a way that was both overwhelming and exhilarating. You felt Casey's thumb brush against your clit, and you bucked her hips, desperate for more. "Please," you begged, the word barely a breath.

Casey leaned in closer, her sweat-dampened hair tickling your face. "You want me to fuck you with my fingers, don't you?" she murmured, her voice a seductive whisper that sent a shiver through your core. "You want me to make you scream right here in this car."

You nodded, unable to form words as Casey's fingers began to move in a relentless rhythm, plunging in and out of you. Each stroke was punctuated by a soft gasp, the sound of skin on skin music to your ears. Casey's eyes never left yours, the intensity of her gaze as powerful as the sensations she was creating.

"Say it," Casey demanded, her voice a gruff whisper. "Tell me how much you want it."

Your eyes locked onto Casey's, your own voice thick with desire. "I want it," you moaned, your breathing becoming more erratic with each stroke. "I want you to fuck me hard."

With a smirk, Casey leaned in closer. "Is that what you want?" she whispered, her thumb circling your clit with a maddening slowness. "You want me to make you come all over my hand?"

Your hips rocked against Casey's touch, your body begging for release. "Yes," you managed to gasp out. "Please, Casey."

Casey chuckled darkly, her fingers picking up speed. "You're going to come for me," she murmured, her voice a sweet promise of the pleasure to come. "You're going to come so hard, and I'm going to watch every second of it."

Your eyes rolled back in your head as Casey's thumb applied more pressure, her other hand reaching up to unbutton your blouse. She was greeted with the sight of your pebbled nipples, and she didn't waste a moment before taking one into her mouth, sucking and biting down gently. The dual sensation was exquisite, and your cries grew louder, echoing in the enclosed space of the backseat.

Casey's fingers worked faster, curling inside you with a practiced skill that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. "You're so fucking tight," she groaned, the words vibrating against your sensitive skin. "I can feel you clenching around me."

Your nails dug into the leather, your eyes screwed shut as you fought the orgasm building within you. "I'm going to..." you gasped, your voice trailing off into a whine.

"Come for me," Casey urged, her voice thick with arousal. "Come all over my hand like a good girl."

Your body was a live wire, each touch from Casey's fingers sending jolts of pleasure shooting through you. Your breathing grew more ragged, your chest heaving as the tension coiled tighter and tighter. "I'm... I'm...," you panted, your words lost in the haze of desire.

"Come on," Casey encouraged. "Let go for me. I want to feel you come apart." Her thumb flicked over Y/your clit in a rapid rhythm, and your hips jerked upward, your thighs squeezing around Casey's hand. The pressure grew unbearable, and with a guttural scream, you shattered, your orgasm ripping through you like a wildfire. Your body convulsed as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, leaving you boneless and trembling.

Casey didn't stop, her movements becoming more erratic as she watched your face contort in ecstasy. She could feel the wetness coating her hand, the proof of her power over this woman she desired so much. The sight of your breasts heaving, your skin flushed with passion, was almost too much to bear. With a final, deep thrust of her fingers, Casey sent you hurtling over the edge again, your screams of her name filling the car as you rode the crest of your climax.

Your eyes snapped open, meeting Casey's, and you could see the raw need in them. Without a moment's hesitation, you reached down and pulled Casey's sweatpants and panties down, exposing her slick, swollen sex. The sight of her made your own desire spike, and you didn't waste a moment before moving in closer, your bodies tangling together in a frenzy of passion. You settled into a scissor position, your legs intertwined as you ground your hips against each other. The friction was heavenly, sending sparks of pleasure through both of you with every movement.

Casey's eyes never left yours as you found a rhythm, your hips moving in a dance of desire. Your hands roamed Casey's body, exploring every inch of her skin. Casey's breath grew ragged as she felt herself getting closer, her hips bucking more urgently against yours. "Fuck," she growled, the word a guttural sound that resonated in your ears.

Your eyes locked again, and you could see the hunger in Casey's gaze. It was a look that spoke of a woman on the edge, a woman who was about to lose control. 

You reached between your bodies, your hand sliding over Casey's clit in time with your grinding hips. Casey's eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out a low, keening sound.

Your movements grew more frantic, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the car. The scent of your arousal mingled with the sweat and leather. Casey's hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you took the hint, your tongue darting out to taste the sweetness of Casey's skin. The contact was electric, and Casey's hips bucked against you, pushing her closer to the edge.

"Fuck," Casey groaned, her eyes squeezed shut. "I'm going to come."

"Do it," you murmured, your voice low and seductive. "Come for me, Casey. Let me feel it."

Casey's eyes flew open at the words, and she stared into your eyes. With a final, desperate thrust of her hips, she let go, her body shaking with the force of her climax. "Ahh yeah," she cried out, her voice hoarse with passion. "Fuck, you feel so good."

Your own breath hitched at the sight of Casey coming undone, her body tightening around you. You watched as Casey's face contorted in ecstasy, the cords in her neck standing out as she threw her head back. "Fuck yes," Casey moaned, her voice a low growl that seemed to resonate in the very air around you.

As Casey's orgasm subsided, she slumped against the seat, panting heavily. The sweat on her skin glistened in the dim light, and you couldn't help but lean in, kissing along the line of her neck and tasting the salt of her exertion. "Fuck," Casey murmured, her voice still thick with pleasure. "That was really good."

You chuckled, your own breathing still rapid. You pulled back, taking in the sight of Casey's flushed face and the way her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath. "Looks like you're not the only intense one around here," you said, your voice teasing.

Casey's eyes opened halfway, a lazy smile spreading across her face. "Oh, I know," she murmured, her voice a little raspy. She leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both gentle and possessive. When you broke apart, she pulled you closer, your bodies still slick with sweat. She had never felt so alive, so alive and so connected to someone. And she loved every second of this feeling. 

[treepsap]

Cutesy moment between the bbgs

Translation:

*Out of Character*

Scout?…

I’m sorry, my love…

[npdzane]

I'm currently on ~300mg of caffeine and 32 minutes of sleep. Take some zane npd & bpd proof with yapping. And like..a pinch of glacier. Ty @diino8081 for posting the full comic so i can tweak out momentarily.

Do you see how absolutely insane he is going without her??? He is literally risking death for a 5% chance of seeing pixal again. FIVE. PERCENT. ZANE WOULD ACTUALLY KILL HIMSELF FOR PIXAL. ARE YOU SERIOUS?? You can read how anxious and desperate he is for her. Like i seriously think if Pixal comes back we're going to have a scene of Zane being ungodly clingy.

I actually think we're going to get another Zane fake death where he hurts himself accidentally really badly trying to find Pixal. And it WILL make me go feral. If he's willing to hurt himself for Pixal, who's to say he won't risk other people's lives for her? He already risked Kreel and Lobbos life in this god damned comic that has me in a chokehold. If DR s3 ends up being Zane focused, we're absolutely going to get scenes of Zane being completely obsessed with Pixal.

Do i really have to say they don't have a healthy relationship at ALL???? Pixal said herself she wants to be useful so Zane doesn't hate her. Zane is..fucking batshit over her. They are NOT healthy for each other.

Also, ITS NOT A HEADCANON ANYMORE!! ZANE IS CANONICALLY ATTACHED TO HER!!! IM SO FUCKING RIGHT!!!!! He doesn't care about her. He cares about the idea of Pixal. He doesn't care what happens to him or anyone else he literally only cares about her. He says it himself the only reason he lives is for her. And his judgement is clouded when he thinks of her? THATS. THATS LITERALLY. A FP. COLE I BEG YOU THROW HIM INTO THE PSYCH WARD BEFORE HE TRIES TO KILL HIMSELF AGAIN 😭😭😭😭

While Zane will always be a narcissist to me, there are also some borderline traits he has. It's possible for him to have both, yes, but I don't want my perception of him to be solely mental illnesses. Because I notice a lot of the ninjago fandom tends to see characters less of actual people and more of lists of diagnostic criteria. So I'm trying to find a balance. For now though, I definitely do see him with both. He fits traits of both (I will cover more in the future, but for now just for some examples: fear of rejection, Pixal is literally his FP, excessive need for admiration, poor self esteem). But he is his own person with more to him than just that of course. He has interests and hobbies and is more than a punching bag. Again, I'm trying to find a balance between him being a genuine actual person and him also having a lot of mental issues that do need to be considered when I talk about him. This is one of the main reasons I have yet to write anything with him, because I want to figure out how to not make it seem like i see him as nothing but his narcissism and bpd.

Anyway. Cole calling Zane dear im literally fujoshing out/j (YES I KNOW HES NOT ACTUALLY CALLING HIM DEAR AHUT UP LET ME HAVE THIS ONE THING)

[normalest-sskk-fan]

i don't know what I'm doing with my life but I've made a list of crane wives songs that feel atsushi coded or akutagawa coded or shin soukoku coded and I need to unleash it on the world. hi there overlap of 2 people who like bsd and listen to the crane wives

- easier is dead shin soukoku. "the only peace i have ever known is the peace i made with you / i won't move but i can't stay here so what the hell am i supposed to do." I know the song is about someone's partner leaving them BUT it could also I feel like be seen as one's thought process after the other's death?

- shallow river. for some reason. i dont know why but its just them. specifically each of their thoughts after the other dies? guilt over falling for each other? this one I don't have specific lyrics for you just need to trust me (OR LISTEN TO THE SONG)

- glacier house is Also very akutagawa. "you sought to hold yourself in, wait out the weather / close the door on love forever." the last line being "i am not one to live with regret" also calls to minds both "he wished to live life so intensely that he could die at any moment without regrets" (the life of a stupid man, akutagawa ryuunosuke), and "in days gone by I never repented of my acts. I was sorry always only for what I didn’t do" (light wind and dreams, nakajima atsushi) (the second quote also was included in bsd, translated as "I've never regretted anything I’ve done. I’ve only ever regretted the things that I didn’t do.") (i do in fact have all of those quotes memorized!) plus its a companion song to tongues and teeth

- tongues and teeth. it quite literally opens with "I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel, it's all that I can give to you, my dear" and that mixed with "i know that you mean so well but i am not a vessel for your good intent" makes this The Akutagawa Song Ever. him seeing himself as a bad dangerous violent person, the heartless cur, unable to be rehabilitated or fixed, unable to love or care.

- back to the ground. feral noises. book imagery first of all, and second of all "little buds make their graves as the warmth inside us fades, but i still don't know shit about letting go" feels so. akutagawa being like i cant move forward until i kill atsushi but at the same time being so attatched to him. 55 minutes enjoyers how we feeling

- the entirety of how to rest. just look up the lyrics youll fucking seeeeee. "love's the only thing worth being alive for" THROWS MY PHONE OFF A CLIFF. ITS LIKE. THEIR SACRIFICES. THEY WOULD RATHER DIE THAN SEE THE OTHER DIE, THAN LIVE WITHOUT THE OTHER

- hard sell is so atsushi. "the world is hostile and i'm fragile and i need / someone to kiss the cuts and tell me to keep trying" plus how a lot of the lyrics are about unraveling yourself in pursuit of perfection. he doesnt value himself and thinks he is bad and terrible plus the self sacrificial nature

- can't go back is the epitome of sskk's hypocracy!! each telling the other that they're worth something while believing they themself are worth nothing. "all the self-loathing in the world won't change a thing". the line "'cause you can't go back, darling / the time has come for moving on / you can't be always trying to dig up what you've already buried" is also about the dredging up the past and the terrible way they were both treated, and how it affects them now even though they both have proof of their value as people.

- CURSES. are there any doomed gays that AREN'T curses coded??? just go read the lyrics. or listen to the song. can't point out specific lyrics for this one but the full song feels pretty representative of their partnership and how they've begun to rely on each other

- turn out the lights feels atsushi to me. its "hey maybe stop hating yourself" the song. specifically "a running list of all your doubts and your dead ends, and when you pull yourself out of bed you taste them on the tip of your tongue / and in the morning when you're standing in the shower, with the water pouring down, you dwell on all you ever done wrong" feels atsushi to us.

- know how, sort of? dont know how to explain it. it just feels sskk. atsushis sacrifice maybe? his thought process? this song is also probably about coming to terms with being queer so theres smth there when it comes to sskk and their feelings

- scars is so both of their backstories coded. just take out the part where the other person in the song gives a shit about them / their well-being. also its sort of. them to each other? "was i born with a hole in my heart? a fatal fault at the start?" its very 'my circumstances have made me unfit for love or for care or for relationships or for you' and well. that's just sskk

[shiyorin]

Animal instincts

#Just romcom in 40K

#Today's menu: Leman Russ and Lion El'Jonson

#Primarchs x Reader, Reader is Imperial Agent

#Late Christmas gift and early New Year gift

Leman Russ

The endless snows of Fenris stretched as far as the eye could see, blanketing mountains and wilds alike under pristine powder. You found yourself overwhelmed at the awe-inspiring landscape, so different from your world upbringing. 

But greatest curiosity lay with one who called these frigid wastes home - Leman Russ, Primarch of the Space Wolves. You observed him now, surrounded by his warriors yet apart, a lone towering figure contemplating the white void. 

His austere features seemed carved from the very stone and ice encasing this planet, immovable yet holding untold depth and power beneath granite exterior. Thick fur-lined armor and coarse pelt draped his massive frame, like the predators ruling these inhospitable wastes.

But as Russ turned toward some comment, face transforming with gruff laughter at his pack's roughhousing, you saw not an impervious demigod but something familiar. Great shoulders shook in mirth like immense boulders slipping loose, blue eyes alive with warmth despite frigid surroundings. An involuntary thought slipped through, that in this moment, he resembled not conqueror but some canines, mighty and playful. 

Shaking off fanciful musings, you continued observant tasks, keeping distance respectful between yourself and the lords of this domain. But later as briefings commenced, Russ stopped his gigantic form before you, breath curling like frost wolves from a mouth curled in question. 

You blinked up into eyes keen yet gentle, all rational thought scattering like snow on gale winds. Impulse surged before discipline could rein it, and you found hands rising of their own accord to Russ' massive brow, carding gloved fingers through coarse hair as one might a trusted hound. 

Silence descended, thick as the powdery drifts. Russ' features slackened in blank shock, pale eyes blinking owlishly. "Lass..." he rumbled, uncomprehending. 

You started as if slapped, jerking hands back so swiftly your wrist protested. "My lord, I..." Words fled, face aflame to your hairline. What folly had possessed you so?!

Yet to your surprise, Russ laughed, a booming, resonant sound like glaciers calving. "By Fenris's ball, lass, yer got the spirit!" 

His tone held no anger, merely bemusement. But when you swallowed apologies, you glimpsed what may have been wistfulness flickering through feral eyes, gone as swift as the thought that spawned it. Had his invisible tail genuinely twitched to wag? Definitely you are crazy or something.

"Aye, lass. Well, if the fur satisfies yer hands, s'pose I'll oblige." 

To your shock, he leaned nearer once more, an unmistakable invitation dancing in blue eyes. Hypnotized, you carded soft locks obediently, finding they are softer than you think. Russ sighed, almost seeming to lean into your touch. An absurd image flickered of an immense wolf nuzzling against your hand, tail wagging invisible yet content. Smiling softly, you traced strong jaw and was rewarded with a look of such warmth and longing, all of your rational thought dissolved. 

Lion El'Jonson

Your survey of the growing threat in Caliban's wilds brought you regularly to the Lion's tower, poring over maps and missives seeking the root of corruption's spread. This eve found you and him yet at work as dusk deepened, twin flames bending over parchment and discourse. 

A lull arose as analysis hit dead ends once more, frustration mounting. You sighed and stretched tired limbs, risking a sidelong glance at your lord. The Lion remained absorbed, strong brows furrowed, stroking his trim beard absently as strategic mind raced. 

A strange thought struck then, in this dim shuttered space, with dusk masking Caliban's savage beauty, did he not seem every inch a great cat himself? Powerful yet graceful, thinking moves ahead with predatory cunning, alone yet bound to wilder instincts doubtless few witnessed.   

Before rational thought could intervene, curiosity overruled. Stepping softly, your hands found scratching points along Lion's bearded jaw and throat. Beneath your ministries his eyes slid shut, muscles unwinding with a contented sigh. Success! Like any feline such attentions soothed.

Encouraged, your nails lightly raked his scalp, eliciting a startling response, a primal rumbling purr trembled his massive frame. His relaxation vanished in an instant, eyes flying open to stare at your in wild-eyed alarm. 

You stumbled back several paces, own eyes round as moons. Had Lion just...purred? Like some overgrown house tabby? Your mind reeled, seeking logical explanations amongst unfathomable strangeness unfolding. 

Lion's pupils elongated before your gaze, resembling nought cat-like slits in green eyes gone feral-bright. His confusion melted into predatory stillness, fixing you with an eerie stare that raised all hairs standing on end. What strangeness possessed them?

For long moments you and him remained suspended, breathing halted, shock and unnamed sparks passing between hands dropped limp to sides once more. Then all broke at once, your stammered excuses and the Lion retreating to the shadows of his tower, retreating from… what?

That night, your sleep proved fitful, your mind restless with possibilities. Had you gone too far when crossed a line with Lion that afternoon, awakening forces better left slumbering? 

Morning comes, dread coiled cold and heavy in your gut. Open the tower's door with trepidation, you froze at the grisly sight awaiting just beyond threshold. A massive deer carcass lay splayed, crimson pool already attracting swarms of flies. 

Your breath caught in horror, had Lion's frustrations boiled over in vengeance? Was this brutal warning of what further torments awaited should your act overstep once more? Shaking, you backed hurriedly inside, thoughts whirling. 

Meanwhile across Caliban's wilderness, Lion admired graceful flickers weaving between ancient trees, oblivious to turmoil sown. Inhaling your lingering scent lost to the mists. Pride swelled that his token gained your notice, for what better way to proclaim your worth and pique your interest further? 

He would await your next visit, gifting further demonstrations of prowess to stoke your regard. In time, you would see none matched his prowess for providing and protecting what he deemed most worthy.

Extra:

Russ: Pat me, pat me, woof woof!

Lion: If I give a bigger prey, will the agent love me more?

[a-hundred-musings]

You know, here's a small rant from me: I hate it when Celebrimbor is shown to be a "softie-boy" or a "naïve child" or just... someone condescending and stupid. Like, yeah I'm guilty of it too (who isn't?) but it just makes me wonder why he's presented as that in fics anywhere.

I read this fic on AO3? Celebrimbor is a stupid duck. Or he's just very naïve and easy to prank. I read another fic? Celebrimbor is a whiny baby who can't stand up for himself. I read another one? He's a man-child.

Look, I get why he's presented in that way, but can we not do that? Especially considering the things this boy has gone through which really wouldn't make him a "child-like" person, but more of a mature adult who has experienced things no one should ever experience.

Before and during the First Age, he's experienced so much:

Nerdanel and Feanor falling out -- that basically messed up entire Aman back then, but mainly their kids, so imagine how Curufin would have reacted to that.

The feud between Feanor and Fingolfin and Finarfin

The time when Feanor threatened Fingolfin

The time when the Two Trees were destroyed

The time when Melkor killed his great-grandfather Finwe.

Feanor going Mad™

The uprising of the Noldor

The First Kinslaying

His grandfather going feral and his father and uncles swearing an oath on a literal suicide-mission

One of his youngest uncles getting burned and basically died (or lived, depends on which version you follow)

A time of literal darkness. Like, no light at all. It really messed up the psyche of so many people.

Feanor abandoning his brother on the shores of Valinor -- that would mess up anyone really.

A literal battle. Like, more blood is being shed -- not only of elves, but of other creatures Tyelpe has probably never seen or heard of before.

His grandfather being so consumed by his fire and spontaneously combusting. That too, he either saw or heard of Feanor literally bursting into flames -- that is pretty traumatising.

The crossing of the Helcaraxe -- no seriously, that would mess anyone up knowing that people they love are literally walking on glaciers and over deathly waters with a 50% chance of survival.

Maedhros being crowned King of the Noldor, and an unspoken fact that there is more than one king of the Noldor -- the political implications here...

The abduction of Maedhros. Need this be explained further?

His uncles and father being concerningly close to starting a whole world-war

The rising of the Sun and the moon (like, what are those big spheres in the sky? Are they something from Melkor? Are they a sign of the End™? What is it?)

The arrival of Fingolfin's group, with more dead and furious people.

The mental health of everyone deteriorating. No, I won't explain because this era was filled with bad times.

No one knowing what to do now, since Maglor was naturally crowned the Regent King of the Noldor, and he has his own problems.

After 34 years of wondering what on earth has happened to Maedhros, he returns scarred with no right hand, and presumed torture marks.

Everyone literally holding their breaths for what will happen next.

Maedhros surrendering his crown to Fingolfin. That would hurt bad like a blow.

Literally only a few years of peace filled with tension.

Fingolfin decides to kick Melkor's arse and dies.

The Nirnaeth Arnoediad.

The Second Kinslaying.

The Fall of Gondolin

Making the decision of abandoning his father and uncles, going on his own separate path.

The death of so many of his family members and father and uncles. That is messed up. The amount of psychological trauma he's already been through...

Like, imagine his guilt of not being there with his father, imagine how much he second-guessed his actions...

The Third Kinslaying. The deaths of more elves, his uncle (or uncles), and really, just more death.

The crown of the Noldor being passed on so many times until it reached Gil-Galad. Imagine the humiliation and just the shock of the realisation of the number of people who have been crowned within a span of a few centuries.

The kidnapping of Elrond and Elros. While it probably wouldn't harm Tyelpe's psychological health, it must have been pretty messed up to find out that your two remaining uncles have committed a few more war crimes.

The War of the Wrath. Now, while it was mainly against Men, there is no doubt that some elves have been killed due to the war (given Gil-Galad's camps etc), so imagine him getting into some stray fights with the orcs or those Men who follow Melkor.

The Fourth Kinslaying. No need to further elaborate.

The death of Maedhros, and Maglor becoming a cryptid. Who wouldn't that mess up?

Surviving the First Age. Like, give this Tyelpe the recognition he truly deserves. Give him a few rings and trophies for enduring so long and he still hasn't gone down to insanity. That too, all this happened within the span of like, 600 years.

The Second Age:

Beleriand is under the sea

His "cousins" (Elrond and Elros) going their separate ways

The death of Elros (I think this is pretty self-explanatory, given the numerous HCs on the twins and Celebrimbor)

No one has any idea what has happened to Maglor. Is he alive? Is he dead? Who knows.

Rumours of a sinister evil lurking in the shadows and really, some tensions are visibly arising.

He finds this very powerful and alluring stranger who knows quite a bit about the art of smithing. They collaborate despite warnings from Galadriel, Gil-Galad, Elrond and a few others.

After giving thought to make powerful rings, Annatar watches over as Celebrimbor makes the rings for Men and Dwarves.

Newsflash: Annatar wants the rings, and he tainted them.

Celebrimbor makes the 3 Elven Rings in secret so Annatar can't get to them, but he gets kidnapped and tortured.

Like, really badly tortured. Annatar wants those 3 rings.

Celebrimbor eventually is killed, and is impaled on a spear, then given to Gil-Galad's camp after years of torture.

He went straight to his family. Can't tell if this will add to his trauma, but still.

While he didn't survive the Second Age, this boy went through so much pain, and... really, I feel like he doesn't get much of the appreciation he deserves.

Thank you for coming to my little rant as to why we need more fics that paint Celebrimbor as someone who isn't a stupid and naïve child, but more of a wiser version of Feanor and Curufin. He is not a tantrummy baby, for Ilúvatar's sake!

[c-casu]

As it’s been happening for the last 15-20 million years the planet has been slowly cooling down, and now, 30 million years after the Anthropocene mass extinction, it has finally reached a point when it can be defined as in a true ice age, and now we have reached the Campleocene epoch.

In the heart of Eurasia, extending all the way back in North America, an environment resembling the Pleistocene mammoth steppe has started to flourish again in the glaciers’ shadow, inhabited by vast herds of herbivores, whose grazing and stomping, along with the high aridity of the biome, didn’t allow for many plant taller than a bush, with only a few isolated trees scattered across the plains. This environment, the borroth steppe, named after one of its most charismatic inhabitants, hosts an incredible biodiversity in both fauna and flora, helped by the mountain ranges, the Altai, the Pyrenees, the Carpathians, … , and the patches of forest that fracture it and result in plentiful reproductive barriers.

The most common grazers across these plains are lagomorphs and even-toed ungulates. Heers (the deer like descendants of Eurasian hares) , and to a lesser extent jackalopes (similar to the former but more browsing and horned), more common in forests. They travel in small gender-specific bands, ten to twenty individuals at most.

The even-toed ungulates that inhabit these steppes are quite varied in niche and size, going from animals reaching a ton in weight to lanky 20 kilos runners. Most of them come from African ancestors, descended from grysboks or dik-diks, although there’s many Eurasian locals too, with saiga descendants, Saiginae, now having become almost llama or camel like and are a common sight from Spain to British Columbia, and feral goats descendants, previously only found on mountains, now having come down to the lowlands thanks to a more favourable climate for them.

The smaller mammals populating the steppe are mostly rodents and lagomorphs, relatively unchanged from the Holocene, with lemmings, voles, mice and hares being quite common, and the only real addition being ratjacks (Rattopus descendants), jumping rats that like goats came down from the mountains thanks to the change in climate.

There’s a wide variety of birds inhabiting these plains. Other than passerines the most common birds are fowl, both gamefowl and waterfowl, along with cranes, who are most common around marshes around the borroth steppe, but were able to exploit the variety of low growing plants and expand into it.

Some of the largest herbivores of these lands are giant hyraxes, part of yet another lineage originating in the mountains, who now sport on their snout a pair of, usually straight, horns that they use to fight amongst themselves. Weirdly enough, even though they live in a grass rich environment, most species in this lineage seem to prefer eudicot plants, with many being functionally browsers of low bushes

The largest animals here, though are the borroths, holophants part of the tribe Borrothini, there’s currently five species of them, two mountain ones, the Himalayas (Cryoborrothus orientalis) and Caucasian borroths (Plioborrothus pygmaeus), and three steppe ones, the Mediterranean (Euborrothus meridionalis), Common (E. vulgaris) and Beringian borroths (E. cryophilus).

They’re extremely generalist herbivores that are willing to eat most plants they encounter, grass, bushes, trees, moss, lichens, etc… , though, similarly to their ancestors they prefer the carbohydrate and lipid rich foods, like tubers and berries. Another similarity to their suilline ancestors is their social structure, as sows and farrows live in close knit family groups, while males live in bachelor groups, though they tend to part ways as they age, especially during breeding season, as they become extremely territorial, especially in resource rich areas, in order to attract female herds.