#fight circle
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
big-bishop · 2 years ago
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
deadpool, agent of chaos,'s 2023 birthday week celebration ;
> day six (feb. 18), the fight circle, kings and queen
if we fall, we fall together.
6 notes · View notes
beebfreeb · 4 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
To all my long-term followers: You have to look through all of my art and deduct exactly what's wrong with me. I know you can do it by now.
2K notes · View notes
kizzer55555 · 9 months ago
Text
DP x DC: The Most Dangerous Card Game
Ok so Danny has essentially claimed earth as his. And he is fully aware that there are constant threats to the planet. Now he can’t stop a threat that originates on earth (that’s something he’ll leave to the Justice league) but he can do something about outside threats. Doing some research on ancient spells, rituals, and artifacts, he cast a world wide barrier on the planet to protect it from hostile threats so they cannot enter. This will prevent another Pariah Dark incident. However, barriers like this come at a price. You see, there are two ways to make a barrier. Either make one powered up by your own energy and power (which would be constantly draining) or set up a barrier with rules. The way magic works is that nothing can be absolutely indestructible. It must have a weakness. The most powerful barriers weren’t the ones reinforced with layer after layer of protective charms and buffed up with power. Those could eventually be destroyed either by being overpowered, wearing them down, or by cutting off the original power source. No, the most powerful barriers were the ones with a deliberate weakness. A barrier indestructible except for one spot. A cage that can only be opened from the outside. Or that can only be passed with a key or by solving a riddle. So Danny chooses this type of barrier and does the necessary ritual and pours in enough power to make it. And he adds his condition for anyone to enter. 
Now the Justice league? Find out about the barrier when Trigon attempts to attack, they were preparing after he threatened what he would do once he got to earth. How he would destroy them. The Justice league tried to take the fight to him first but were utterly destroyed, so they retreated home to tend to their injuries, and fortify earth for one. Last. Stand. Only when Trigon makes his big entrance…he’s stopped.
The Justice league watch in awe as this thin see-through barrier with beautiful green swirls and speckled white lights like stars apears blocking Trigon and his army’s advance. The barrier looks so thin and fragile yet no matter how hard the warlord hits, none of his attacks can get through and neither can he damage said barrier. That’s when Constantine and Zatanna recognizes what this barrier is. Something only a powerful entity could create. For a moment, the league is filled with hope that Trigon can’t get through yet Constantine also explains that it’s not impenetrable. And clearly Trigon knows this too for he calls out a challenge. 
And that’s when, in a flash of light, a tiny glowing teenager appears. He looked absolutly minuscule compared to Trigon and yet practically glowed with power (this isn’t a King Danny AU though).
And that is when the conditions for passing the barrier are revealed. And the Justice realize that the only thing stopping Trigon and his army from decimating earth. The only way he can get through….is by beating this glowing teenager in a card game. 
Not just any card game though. The most convoluted game Sam, Danny, and Tucker invented themselves. It’s like the infinite realms version of magic the gathering, combined with Pokémon, and chess. And Danny is the master. So sit down Trigon and let’s play.
(The most intense card game of the Justice league’s life).
After Danny wins, this happens a few more times with outer word beings and possibly even demons attempting to invade earth, yet none have been able to beat the mysterious teenager in a card game. Constantine might even take a crack at it and try to figure out how to play. He’s really bad though. Every time this happens, the Justice league worry that this might be the time the teenager looses. Yet every time, he wins (even if only barely). 
Meanwhile, Danny, Sam, and Tucker have gotten addicted to the game and play it almost daily. Some teachers might seem them playing the game are are like ‘awww how cute’ not realizing this game is literally saving the world. Jazz is just happy they aren’t spending as much time on their screens playing Doomed.
#DPxDC#Kizzer55555 ideas#Danny makes a card game to save the world.#Technically he worded the ritual so that they had to ‘beat’ him as those are the most powerful barriers and most reliable.#keys can just get lost or stolen (like the one to Pariah’s Coffin)#A riddle would be useless once someone figured out the answer. Like how no one takes the sphynx seriously anymore.#(Sorry Tuck. But it’s true).#And there is NO WAY Danny is just leaving a hole open for anyone to pass through. No thank you!#So…beating him. But it’s not like Danny wanted to fight so…he edited the ritual a TINY bit. Card games are good. Much less painful too.#Danny Tucker and Sam made the most complicated card game they could imagine.#It’s based on their strategies for fighting ghosts. Capturing them in thermoses. And MUCH based on a on field battle strategy.#It often requires spontaneous thinking on the spot. So Danny? In his ELEMNT. It doubles as practice for his actual ghost battles too.#They had SO much fun making this.#Sam added an entire series of plant cards that act as traps and healing ointments and duds that just take up the field.#Tucker added legitimate hyroglyphics combined with Latin as well as English and ghost speak.#Yes. You actually have to speak that language to play. With proper pronunciation. (Amity Parker’s think the three are talking gibberish.)#I headcanon Sam and Tucker are fluent in Ghost.#Constantine WILL figure this game out SO HELP HIM!#Some of the cards also have combinations related to constellations either in name or placement on the board.#By the way the board is based on a Hexagonal summoning circle with Rhunes along the edges#And the placement of the cards on the board and on what rhune MATTERS.#Also the cards move disintegrate and have certain abilities. Think of Harry Potter Wizard Chess.#But they are normal when Danny plays at school. This is just for ✨effect✨ Against invaders.#Danny faces multiple opponents. He also halts alien invasions.#While Danny COULD stop crime on earth he’s not sure how to fight a normal human and hold back so he sticks to ghosts.#The Justice league are going crazy trying to figure out who this entity is and after deep research are convinced this is some sort of#Ancient being who has protected earth for millenia. They have paintings on ruins and everything.#Danny is not aware they think this.#Raven starts praying to Danny as if he is a god and wrangles the other Teen Titans into doing so as well. Danny is still unaware of this.#Danny is not a King or an ancient. Just a very VERY strong ghost.
2K notes · View notes
the-meme-monarch · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
look i want to have some grace for gideon bc he’s. 10 years old. and it seems there’s something wrong with him. but i didn’t like that mabel had to just play nice and hold his hand in the finale after he Never learned that “I’m not interested” means I Am Not Interested. and the symbols are not drawn in consistent places in some of the times we see the cipher wheel anyway. so,⬆️
like if he wasn’t going to Actually Learn this was the least he deserved
679 notes · View notes
wellfine · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
sunlit-mess · 7 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
best friend day but it's my #1 hater
477 notes · View notes
florencemtrash · 10 months ago
Text
The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Sixteen
Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader
Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.
Warnings: Lucien Vanserra could kill me and I would be honored. Cannon typical violence. Some angst. Lots of fun
The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist
Masterlist of Masterlists
Tumblr media
Lucien stood in disbelief, mouth opening and closing. Words stuck in his throat.  
You knew as his eyes roamed over your features that he was hunting for some mark of Helion’s that you’d inherited, whether it be the set of your eyes, the curve of your jaw, the slope of your nose, or even the tilt of your sharp ears. But he came up empty. Whatever features you did share with Helion could have easily been shared by two strangers. It was how you’d gotten away with working with him at the Day Court and attending balls by his side. 
But there were some things that went deeper than skin and bones. He could barely make it out in the hum of your power and the faint, charming glow in your eyes. It was something that spoke of warmth and sparkling intellect. A sliver of the sun given form. 
You were Helion’s daughter. 
You were… you were his sister.
You cleared your throat and looked away. “I understand this must be a surprise. Perhaps not the kind of surprise you were hoping for.” 
“You’re my sister,” Lucien finally breathed out, and the wind, so harsh and biting before, ceased.
“Half-sister… technically.” 
“I don’t go by halves.” 
The sharp, sudden rush of cold air into your lungs had you shivering. Lucien noticed and without thinking he reached out with his power, wrapping heat around your body until you may as well have been perched in front of a roaring fire. His magic smelled like woodsmoke and balsam.
“You’re my sister.” He repeated the phrase a few more times, finding it more believable with each swirl of the words around his tongue. 
Elain had known this was coming and had given him a cryptic warning, but that did nothing to lessen the excitement spreading in his chest with each passing second. 
You watched him wearily, hands clasped over your body and eyes furrowed, like you couldn’t tell if he was upset. Which was ridiculous. How could Lucien ever be upset by this?
“You’re my sister!” 
A sharp laugh exited his body that grew and grew until you felt like you were floating on the waves of his happiness. He rushed forward, hoisting you in the air and spinning you around like you weighed nothing. Wind rushed past your ears as the world blurred. 
He gently deposited you back on solid ground.
“How old are you? How long have you known about Helion? Where have you been all this time?” He asked the questions in rapid succession, heart hammering away in his chest. 
He had a sister. A sister. 
“I’m three hundred and forty-three.”
He smiled. He’d always wanted a younger sibling. A younger sister to be exact that he could teach to fight and hunt and ride with more support than he’d ever been afforded. 
“I’ve known about Helion since I was little.” Lucien’s smile slipped at that revelation. “And I’ve been in the Day Court in one of the athenaeums. It was my home up until the point where Koschei burned down my house and I got saddled with Beth’s book. I’ve been here ever since. Although I never expected for any of this—” You gestured vaguely at the House, the sky, at Lucien, “to happen. Not that I’m upset!” You added quickly. 
“What was it like? Growing up in the Day Court?” He looked you up and down again, searching for scars or broken bones that had never healed right. But from what he could tell, you were whole. 
He clenched his fists tightly until you answered.
“It was safe. Lonely, but safe.” 
“Good.” He breathed out in relief. “Good.” 
Azriel watched everything from the deck that wrapped around the back of the house. The wind carried the tang of salt, opening his lungs and easing the pain in his chest that wrapped around him like a vice. He kept his wings pulled in tight and hands clasped behind his back. He was a slice in the fabric of the universe, unmoving and still. 
And he missed you. Gods did he miss you. 
“We shouldn’t stand so close,” Azriel murmured. 
His voice was ragged, filled with more gravel than the walkway that snaked through Elain’s garden. Weighed down with secrets that felt more like anvils. 
Elain dropped the empty bucket onto the deck followed by the clang of her spade. The shovel lay discarded in the field, the ground marked by neat lines of overturned earth. She cupped her hands and blew into them, breathing life back into her stiff fingers. 
Twenty minutes ago he’d seen you run beneath his window, racing towards the Sidra with your robes hiked up to your knees so you could try and keep up with Lucien’s long strides as he pulled you along by your hand, red hair streaming behind him like a bundle of ribbons. 
You’d been calling out for him to slow down, your voice loud and breathless.
And after everything that had happened, the things he’d seen, he couldn’t stop himself from walking down to the deck to watch you. 
Now you stood at the water’s edge with your hands outstretched, dutifully holding onto every stone that Lucien plucked from the river. Your head tipped to the side in curiosity.
His childhood in Autumn had not been kind, but that didn’t mean there hadn’t been happy moments sprinkled in amongst the sorrow. There in the woods with bejeweled treetops and diamond glass rivers he’d learned how to swim and fish and hunt. He’d wrestled with his brothers, fallen in love, and gained the confidence and freedom to eventually travel the Courts and make his own way in the world. 
But you’d been lonely your whole life. Trapped indoors with nothing but your books for company. You’d never learned how to swim. You’d never dug through the soil for slimy worms to go fishing. You’d never fallen asleep beneath a glittering sky, fire smoke curling in the air and the taste of chestnuts lingering on your tongue and filling your belly. 
It had been a different kind of sorrow, but no less real. 
Lucien aimed to change some of that. Your mere presence beside him, as hesitant as it was, filled him with a happiness he couldn’t name. 
He had his trousers rolled up to his thighs revealing powerful legs and freckled, caramel-brown skin. He didn’t mind the cold waters rolling over his hands as he tracked the riverbed for the smoothest, flattest stones. Every time he looked back you were either watching him or examining each stone with narrowed eyes like you’d find some algorithm carved into their edges that would tell you what made them so special for the task at hand. 
Azriel couldn’t hear what you two were saying, and he didn’t send his shadows out to investigate, but soon you were tugging off your boots, then your socks, and tying the long length of your robes around your waist. You gingerly dipped your toes into the river and immediately leapt back. 
Lucien’s laugh rolled over the earth, full of warmth and joy. He was grinning so wide Azriel could see the whites of his teeth and his shaking shoulders.
Inch by inch you walked into the river up to your calves and Lucien dunked his cupped hands into the cold water. 
“Don’t you dare! Lucien!” 
Then you were shaking your head, slapping Lucien’s hands away with a shout when he tossed the water at your face, and threatening to launch the black stones back into the river for him to fetch. Your toes were already starting to go numb.
Azriel’s heart gave a painful lurch, even as he smiled softly at the sight of you. 
“I don’t… I don’t want to give them the wrong idea.” Azriel swallowed and turned his gaze down to where a plump sparrow was digging around in the grasses. 
Elain ignored him, dropping her arms onto the wooden railing and staring out. She let out a lovely, longing sigh and Azriel just knew she was strumming the bond within her chest to feel Lucien on the other side. 
The red-haired male looked up to meet her gaze and smiled softly. You also looked up, and then immediately looked away with rosy cheeks.
“Lucien knows where I stand. He… he’s finally beginning to trust me again.” 
He’d been so eager to give her his heart the first time around, and she’d crushed it beneath her dainty shoes, too angry at the life that had been torn away to look at the one she’d been given. This time around she was determined to earn Lucien’s love, no matter how easy he made it for her. No matter how many times he told her it wasn’t something that had ever needed to be earned.
“It took some time to gain that back.” She shifted. “But then again, we were lucky. We knew what we were to each other. You still haven’t told Y/n you’re mates.” 
“You know about that?”
Elain rolled her eyes as if the answer were obvious, because it was. 
“I don’t think I can tell her, Elain.” 
“And why not?” 
Azriel hesitated. 
Here was a truth he hadn’t been able to express to his brothers — the truth they didn’t understand: They were good, decent males, and when it had come to their mating bonds they’d treated them with the respect they deserved. They’d been patient. They’d never tried to force a hand that wasn’t theirs. 
But Azriel was… wrong. In so many ways he was wrong. 
He either waited too long or he moved without thinking. He fell into obsession like a starling with clipped wings. He scrounged for scraps of affection where he wasn’t supposed to and brooded when it inevitably blew up in his face. He’d been trying to take his time with you. He’d been trying to do it right. He was… 
He was already in love with you. 
He’d been in love with you for some time now.
Elain smiled, still staring towards the river. 
She had loved Azriel once. Not in the way she loved Lucien and not in a way that had been good for them, but still it had been love of some kind. She could feel the waves rolling off his body as he came to his quiet realization, and it felt very different from the way he’d felt about her and very similar to the way she felt about Lucien. 
“I love her, Elain.” He whispered the words like they were fragile as spun sugar, ready to dissolve the moment they left his lips. 
“She’ll say yes to the bond. I’ve seen it.”
Azriel let out a broken, strangled noise and looked at Elain, begging for more. “Even after—”
“Yes. Even after what that boy made you do. Even after what she learned when she touched your hand.” She looked down at Azriel’s hands, leather gloves worn and supple. She gave them a squeeze. “A year ago I had a vision of a white bird flying out of the sun with a golden ribbon tied to one of its feathers. Its wings were dipped in ink so she could leave a trail along the ground for a beast of shadow to follow.” 
Azriel went still as death. “And then what happened?” 
Elain looked up at him, eyes glittering. “She flew to the base of a mountain, laid down, and has been waiting ever since. She’s been waiting for you. For someone who understands what it means to be lonely and what it’s like to hope for more.” 
And Azriel did exactly that. He hoped for more. 
More time with you. More unrestrained touches. More midnight conversations until your eyes were threatening to shut. 
Something changed then. Elain’s brown, doe eyes turned misty and flat. Her voice dropped and the hand she reached out to grab hold of his arm was cold as ice. 
“You need to be careful, Az,” she warned. “Don’t let her go into the mirror. She may not come out.” She clawed at his arms. “Az, you need to be careful. The mirror…” 
He gripped her shoulders, stabilizing her as she swayed on her feet. 
“Elain, what—” But her vision was already gone. No matter how hard she tried to hold on it was like trying to keep water in a cracked cup. 
Lucien kept his arm perfectly parallel with the earth, drew back, and snapped his wrist at the last second. The stone flew out over the glassy river and kept kissing the surface in weakening arches before it was eventually swallowed up in a dollop of salt. 
“Eight.” 
Lucien looked at you incredulously. “I counted nine.” 
“Eight skips,” you argued. “Males always overestimate.” 
“And what experience do you have with males?”
None. Except for that one glorious day you’d clung to Azriel like the world was finally peaceful. It was nowhere near the level of experience you suspected Lucien must have after centuries spent bouncing around from Court to Court. Nowhere near the level of experience Azriel or the others had when it came to touch. 
You bristled. “Enough.” 
Lucien smirked like he knew you were lying and held out his hand for another stone. Soon it too was lost to the river. 
“How many this time?” 
You twisted your lips to the side, but had to admit, “Nine.”
He was grinning. 
“Come on.” He held out his hand for you, beckoning you deeper into the river. “Your turn. Just like I showed you.”
“This is a terrible idea.” 
“Come on!”
“I will kill a fish, Lucien.” 
There was a playful roll of his eyes. “Y/n—”
“I’ll end up throwing a rock so hard into the water I’ll give an innocent, unsuspecting fish brain damage.” So what if you were being melodramatic. That did nothing to counter the fact that your hand-eye coordination was shit. 
“Y/n, you’ll be fine. I promise.” 
Wrong.
You were gods awful at this. 
You tried your best to mimic the bend of Lucien’s spine as he let go of his stone, tried to mimic the way he curled his fingers against its rounded edges. But every single one of your throws was either too strong or too weak. Too high or too low. 
You chucked the last rock in your hand but the spin on it — or rather lack thereof — was abysmal. It plopped into the river three yards away with a splash. 
Lucien chuckled, shaking his head as you stomped back onto the beach, swearing with every step as your robes dragged through the water behind you. 
You whirled around and kicked up river water in his direction. 
“Stop laughing!” A smile tugged at your lips even as you said that. 
“You’re doing very well!” 
“Don’t be condescending.”
“I’m not!”
 “I didn’t grow up in the backwoods of Autumn. I’ve never done this before,” you grumbled, your words tinged with embarrassment. 
And thank the Mother you hadn’t. Yes, Lucien had always wanted a sister, but he flinched just to think of the horrors you would have faced if you’d both shared a mother instead of a father. The ways Beron would have bent you until you broke, especially as a female. Sold to the highest bidder and forced to have as many children as possible. A high-end, noble-blooded breeder.
Suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore. The smile slipped off his bright face. 
You stiffened. Some of the scars on Lucien’s body took on new meaning. 
“I’m sorry, Lucien,” you said. The fun of the afternoon, as embarrassing as it had been for you, fell away. “I wasn’t thinking.” 
You’d only heard whispers of the way Beron treated his children. Which could only mean that they’d endured infinitely worse. 
Lucien shook his head and more of his scarlet hair came tumbling out of his braid. He looked so much like Helion in the sun that you were surprised more people didn’t know. They had the same strong noses, the same build with their tapered waists and strong legs. They even had the same dimple on their left cheeks. 
But maybe Beron and his brothers had known, or at least suspected that he was different, and that had added to Lucien’s torment.
“Maybe one day you could show me though,” you asked hopefully when the silence was on the verge of becoming too loud, “I’ve never been to Autumn — I’ve not been to most places, actually — but I’d like to see it. I could show you the Day Court too.” 
He shook his head slowly, rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t think that would be a good idea — visiting the Day Court.” 
That was the issue you’d been tiptoeing around the last two hours. You both knew about Helion, but he was only aware of your existence, not Lucien’s. And it was one thing for you to be revealed as Helion’s daughter — there’d be gossip, attempts on your life, and countless marriage proposals. 
But for Lucien? He’d suddenly find himself face to face with the weight of a crown and an entire Court on his shoulders. You wouldn’t blame him for trying to avoid that fate.
Still, you couldn’t help but ask, “Lucien… Why haven’t you told Helion yet? Beron’s been dead for years now, and I’ve heard only good things about Eris. That he’s honest and fair. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d punish you if you claimed your right to Helion’s Court.”
His bright eyes turned bitter, all laughter disappearing. He dipped his hand into the river, picked up a rock, and chucked it back in. Its edges were too ragged anyway. 
“What makes you think he doesn’t already know?” 
You straightened up as if the answer were obvious. “Trust me, he doesn’t know. If he knew you were his son, he would have found ways to see you grow up. We might have even grown up together.”
 It was a pathetic daydream, but one you’d been thinking about. 
“You’re wrong!” 
The outburst was so sudden, so unlike the Lucien everyone else spoke of that you had to take a few steps back. Smoke rose from his clenched fists and his skin pulsed, glowing with an inner light like he was more ember than fae. 
He blinked rapidly then swore, brushing his salt-stiffened hair back. 
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but…” He shook his head. “He wouldn’t have come. He didn’t come. He just left me and my mother there with that monster. He must have known what it was like — the things he did to her and the rest of us — but he never showed up. Not for my mother. Not for me.” 
“He didn’t know.” 
You repeated those words with the same conviction you had for everything else you knew to be true. You stepped closer and with the slope of the beach you could face him eye-to-eye. 
“Do you want to know how I know? My mother wanted nothing to do with him when she found out she was pregnant. He had to hear it from one of the healers.  And when I was born she forbade him from visiting, forbade him from even laying eyes on me, but he couldn’t stay away. He found ways to be in my life and protected me as best he could, and when Mom died and I was left on my own, he gave me projects with purpose so I wouldn’t crumble into nothing.” You stabbed your finger against your chest. “He did that for me. Is he a great father? Absolutely not. Is he a decent father? Maybe? Probably not, he wasn’t there most of the time. But he’s trying. I know it’s not the same and we’re still strangers and I understand if you don’t forgive him for abandoning your mother — I wouldn’t — but he would have gone for you.” 
You were breathing hard now. Lucien just stared with shiny eyes and unclenched fists. 
“And I think after everything you’ve been through, you deserve to know what it’s like to have a father who at least tries.” 
The world was too small right now. It was too big. The Sidra had soaked through your skin and your robes were growing heavier and heavier by the second, weighed down by salt water and time. 
“Would you at least consider telling him? Please?” 
Because another pathetic daydream you’d been thinking of recently was that one day it might be you and Helion and Lucien. An imperfect family, but a family nevertheless. That you might not feel so alone anymore. 
Lucien’s throat bobbed and he turned away from you long enough for the crisp wind to dry his tears. 
“Take off your robes. They must be soaked by now. I’ll make sure you don’t go cold.'” His voice was strangled. He cleared his throat. “And I’ll look for more stones. No sister of mine is going to go through life without learning how to skip stones.” 
He threw that word around so casually — sister — like saying it over and over again would somehow make the hundreds of years you’d both spent on your own disappear. 
Clouds gathered steadily overhead painting the world with a wash of grey. But that did nothing to diminish the faint light that emanated from you and Lucien as you waded through the shallows and finally learned to skip stones. Lucien whooped, red hair streaming behind him, and you smiled as your last stone skipped twice over the river before disappearing beneath the surface. 
You leaned back in the tall, dying grasses and sipped on the cardamom tea Elain brought down from the House, listening to the many stories Lucien had gathered over centuries spent traversing Prythian and the Human Lands. You told him about The Alcove, Cherp, your mother, and the books you read, and he listened like it was the most epic tale he’d heard in his entire life. 
Sometimes you both went quiet. It was sobering to think about what you’d both endured alone without your true family. But still… it was good to have one another now. 
When you walked into the packed dining room — barefoot, salt-stained, and rosy from the cold — Lucien pulled out the seat next to him for you, surprising the grey Ione.
Elain dropped gracefully into the chair across from her mate, a knowing smile on her face. 
“Good day?” 
You and Lucien glanced at one another. His golden eye whirred and his russet eye gleamed mischievously. 
You folded your arms over your chest, forcing down the smile that threatened to make its appearance. “The worst.” 
“You’re just upset because you lost,” Lucien teased, casually draping his arm over your shoulder. 
“It was hardly a fair competition. You must have — what? — five-hundred years of experience against me?”
He clasped a hand over his chest. “You wound me, sister. Although, if you must know, I’m four hundred and seventeen.” 
“I’m surprised you’re not a sack of bones on the floor.” 
“I’m not that old.”
“I think I see a few grey hairs here and there.” 
Lucien scoffed, but everyone noticed when he absentmindedly touched his long red locks as the last of the dinner plates materialized on the table. Feyre reached over from beside Lucien and squeezed his hand tightly under the table. 
It wasn’t the drop of Helion’s magic that caused The High Lady’s eyes to glow so brightly. She was just happy. Lucien squeezed her hand back even tighter. 
Azriel was the last to arrive, appearing in the hallway in a swath of shadows like he was stepping out of one of your dreams. He must have flown home today. Mist gathered into droplets that clung to his skin and hair and eyelashes like a thousand diamonds. Not even the faint shadows beneath his eyes could distract from his beauty, and you felt that familiar wash of comfort flow over your body when you caught his scent. 
There was only one available seat left at the table. The one directly across from you and Lucien… and right next to Elain. 
Your stomach dropped. 
The seating arrangement was truly a horrible coincidence. One that no one seemed to recognize until it was too late and Azriel’s chair was screeching over the wooden floor. Both he and Elain shifted in their seats, quietly pulling them further apart. It should have made you feel better that Azriel was trying so hard to distance himself from Elain, but the only thing it emphasized was that they’d used to be so close. 
Cassian looked over nervously at his brother, but Azriel was as impassive as always. The room fell into uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the sounds of chewing and the clinking of silverware. If the House was a person, they would be sweating buckets. 
Cassian coughed and sipped his wine. “So… lovely weather we’re having.” 
Lightning cracked across the darkened sky, followed by rain that began plummeting to the earth in heavy sheets. 
Rhysand leaned over and smacked his brother on the back of his head and Cassian couldn’t even feign annoyance at that. 
“You never fail to have incredible timing, Cassian.” Lucien drank his wine deeply and some of the tension seemed to lift from the table when everyone noticed how happy he still was. The terrible things in the world had not lessened, but Lucien felt lighter than he had in decades.
In proper Helion fashion, he kept the pleasant conversation spinning over the table, ensnaring you with the stories he tossed back and forth with Feyre. 
“How was I supposed to know you’d be crazy enough to try and capture a Suriel?”
“What? Like it was meant to be difficult?”
Lucien smirked and crossed his arms. “Beginner’s luck.”
“What were the second and third times then?” 
“The Suriel being a terrible busybody who was bored and wanted to spill gossip.” 
Feyre flipped him off and he winked in return. 
Azriel did what he always did and sat still and quiet as a mouse, eyes tracing over the flow of conversation like he knew who would speak before they’d even opened their mouths. But his eyes kept lingering on you, a smile tugging at his lips whenever one grew on yours. 
Lucien noticed it the third time it happened. Then the fourth. Then the fifth. Until he found himself watching the Shadowsinger almost as intensely as Azriel was watching you. 
His grip tightened around his silverware. 
“I am not nearly as uptight as Gwyn says I am,” you muttered, pushing around the potatoes on your plate. 
You’d sunk into your seat when, to your embarrassment, the conversation had steered in your direction. Azriel had been the one to do it, casually dropping a comment about how much time you spent in Cagniv Library and the ways in which you’d already influenced the priestesses who operated there. It was the first thing he’d said all day. 
“You made a fifth year apprentice cry.”
“That’s a lie, Nesta, and you know it.” 
Nesta did know it, but you’d been so quiet the past few weeks. She wanted to poke fun if only to make you smile. 
“Fine, that was an exaggeration. But you interrogated Farrah like she was a war criminal. Azriel would have been impressed.” 
“She’s the only expert on Cyerion Age Bauldish folklore and she was missing half the citations for her thesis! It took me ages to track down some of her sources.”
“She can’t cite a book that’s over 2,000 years old with no identifiable author. Or title. Or publishing date.” 
You grumbled under your breath. Something about, “Your library gives me anxiety” and “You’re making me look bad in front of Lucien.”
“Hmmm? Sorry?” Lucien tore his eyes away from where one of Azriel’s shadows had slid under the table and was now wrapping around the leg of your chair in an effort to gain your attention.  
You shook your head. “Nesta’s just trying to make me look bad.” 
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Azriel said softly, so softly he probably hadn’t even meant to say the words aloud. He looked up from his plate, shocked to hear his own voice continue on. “Maybe after this is all done, you could take on the task of reorganizing Cagniv. I’m sure you’d be saving the next Librarian more than a few headaches.”  
Your wide eyes met his across the table and for a brief moment it was like you two were alone and teasing each other over tea in the middle of the night like you used to. Two shadows illuminated by candlelight in a Court that never slept.
You sat up a little straighter. “Is that a challenge?” 
Azriel smiled faintly, “Maybe. Although I’m sure Bryaxis would give you a run for your money.”
You furrowed your brows. “Bryaxis?” 
Rhys smirked, “He’s the resident shadow demon that lives on the bottom floor of Cagniv. He flew down once on a dare and he high-tailed it out of the abyss white as a sheet. He still doesn’t talk about it.”
“Fuck you for bringing that up, Rhys.” Cassian’s hand trembled as he brought his fork up to his lips, “You’ll never let me live that down will you?” 
“You… you have a shadow demon living in your library?” Your face twisted in horror and you slammed your knife down on the table, “Is that why a third of the catalogue is missing from the shelves? I’ve been searching for ages!”
And there it was — that faint twitch of irritation in your eyes that told Azriel you were already contemplating going down to confront Bryaxis yourself. He could imagine how you’d stand there with a hand tucked into your robes, swinging a lantern from the other as you bullied the monster into letting you move the volumes someplace else. How you’d lecture him on the importance of controlling humidity when it comes to parchment preservation, and perhaps how you’d begrudgingly agree that the creature’s darkness had protected the fragile books from light exposure. 
“I knew that’s what you’d focus on,” Azriel said. His voice was deeper than an ocean, and just as full of hidden meaning. He shook his head in disbelief, a small smile gracing his lips. “You just learned you spent months studying with a monster lurking nearby — a monster that has Cassian trembling in the corner—”
“I am not trembling—”
“And you’re not afraid at all. You’re… you’re incredible, Y/n.” 
You pursed your lips, tamping down the delight that threatened to spill over inside of you like champagne bubbles — light and airy and lovestruck. With only a handful of sentences, Azriel had you wishing that everyone else would just leave. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks as Azriel kept looking at you. It was a quiet, intimate undressing without an inch of skin needing to be revealed. 
A tendril of shadow creeped up your arm and tugged your hair. The rest hovered shyly over a bag you recognized as Azriel’s, as if they knew they’d done wrong by ferrying it over from their master’s bedroom. But the timing was so perfect, how could they not? 
With you watching, they tugged open the strings and spilled the contents on the floor. 
To Lucien’s surprise, Azriel’s notorious stone-face went flush with color when he heard the thud of books and realized what his shadows had done. 
“Wait—Y/n—” His chair groaned in protest when he shot to his feet.
But you were already holding them in your hands. 
The Natural Trials and Tribulations of Leonora Bedroot, Three Knocks for A Kiss, and A Touch of Cinnamon. Your favorite books in the entire world. Two copies each. One brand new, and one whose pages were already flared, leather spines lovingly wrinkled. 
Your breath caught in your throat when you flipped through Three Knocks for a Kiss and saw Azriel’s delicate scrawl on every page. Passages had been circled and underlined with his comments left in the margins. Small tabs of paper poked out with more handwritten notes. 
Azriel’s been reading these over and over again for months now. He bought them a week after you came to Velaris because he remembered you liked books that are well loved and full of memory. The nights he couldn’t sleep and dream of you, he’d perch on his windowsill and read until morning came. You’ve given him a peace he’s never known before. 
A kind of peace you thought you’d been alone in feeling. 
The scent of night-chilled mountains and parchment paper filled your nose. 
Azriel bowed his head ever so slightly, eyes focused on your hands now clutching the books like they were gold. 
“I remembered seeing them in your apartment. I was going to give them to you at some point but…” Azriel trailed off, then whispered. “I remember what you told me about your mother reading them to you.” I remember everything you’ve told me. 
“I can keep them?” Your voice was a hush over the room. 
You cradled them protectively against your chest, as if at any moment they’d be torn away from you. You’d been hesitant to buy new copies after the original ones had been burned down in the Alcove. Part of their charm had always been the memories of your mother reading them aloud like they were flowers growing from her lips instead of words, buzzing and honey-laden. The books felt different now, but they still felt like something. They weren’t sterile and blank. They were filled with Azriel and all the good memories he carried with him. Few and far between as they were. 
“They’re yours,” Azriel breathed, “All yours.”  
Lucien looked back and forth between you two, focusing on the blush of your cheeks and the wetness in your eyes and the thinly veiled adoration in Azriel’s face now that you were looking back at him. A sick, knowing feeling had been building inside of him throughout dinner, but he’d repressed it. He couldn’t repress it any longer.
No. Absolutely not. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way.
He let his shock flow through the bond and looked to Elain for confirmation. 
Please tell me I’m wrong. He begged silently. Anyone but him. Literally anyone but him.
They’d yet to accept the bond, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t read each other like an open book. And right now Lucien was doing nothing to hide his seething temper. 
Elain bit her pale, pink lips and nodded, confirming what he already suspected. Then, in a move of silent permission, she slid her chair six inches away from Azriel’s until she was practically sharing a seat with Nesta. 
“Here we go again,” Nesta groaned and looked at Cassian. You want to get her?
Yeah I got her.
You straightened up, pressing the books to your chest in confusion. What had started off as a graciously uneventful dinner had turned into a moment of beauty that you wanted to preserve for a little while longer.  
But everyone around you parted, leaning back in their chairs and pulling glasses of wine off the table before draining them in one long chug. Even Ione held her plate in her hands, popping a tomato in her mouth with interest. Mor looked nervous clutching a sweaty bottle of wine against her chest. Feyre and Rhys looked resigned and Lucien… Lucien looked livid. After all, he owed Azriel for the Blood Duel.
Cassian hoisted you out of your seat with his arms wrapped firmly around your middle and stepped back and out of the way.
Your eyes widened when Lucien stood up, skin rippling with light and power. He calmly rolled back his sleeves revealing muscular, scarred forearms, then took off his rings one by one and dropped them on the table. 
Clink. Clink. Clink. 
He wanted to feel it when he beat the Shadowsinger to a pulp.
Oh… Oh shit. 
“Wait—Lucien!”
Lucien gritted his teeth and launched himself over the table. 
Azriel didn’t flinch. His hazel eyes didn’t even flicker in surprise. In fact, you swore you saw them flutter closed in acceptance. 
In another fight, Azriel might have had the advantage of wings and height, but Lucien had the wider build and the fucking motive. He slammed into the Shadowsinger’s chest and together they disappeared beneath the lip of the table before landing in a sprawl on the floor that knocked the air out of Azriel’s lungs. 
Cassian winced when he heard the first of Lucien’s blows land. 
“Let me go!” You kicked and squirmed in his grip, but you would have had more luck fighting a mountain. “Cassian, what the fuck?!”
“I’m really sorry, Y/n. But even I have to admit he had this coming.” There was another bloody crack. “Oh damn that sounds like it hurt.”
“Honestly, I didn't know he had it in him,” was Nesta’s only comment. Ione moved to stand beside the eldest Archeron sister so she could get a better view, a faintly amused smile on her face. 
“I did,” Elain said simply. That was one of the many things she and Lucien had in common. Their general patience and understanding could only stretch so far before snapping. “Ione, perhaps you should go upstairs.”
The older woman looked offended. “Why? This is the most fun I’ve had in ages. Such drama.”
When Helion had fought Azriel, there’d been an elegance to it — something altogether noble about the event as the two stared each other down as equals. 
This was nothing like that. 
Lucien was pissed and even Azriel had to admit that he really, really deserved this one. 
Lucien’s chest heaved, every blow of his fists against Azriel’s face punctuated by snarling words. 
“First you go after my mate—” Punch. “Then my sister—” Punch. Punch. “Are you—” Punch. “Fucking—” Punch. “Kidding me?!”
The last blow sent Azriel’s head snapping back hard enough to crack the floor tiles. Blood splattered from his nose like a spray of paint lobed at a canvas and Azriel knew from his sudden inability to breath that it was broken. 
“Lucien! Stop it!”
“We just redid the tiles,” Rhysand groaned, rubbing his temples. 
Lucien growled and grabbed Azriel by the front of his leathers, throwing him over and onto the table. The long mahogany table, shiny and expensive as hell, snapped in two with a deafening bang. Silverware flew into the air, catching the light like holiday tinsel. Porcelain plates shattered and Azriel finally groaned in pain from the harsh twisting of his wings. The fearsome Shadowsinger and Spymaster of the Night Court could only lay there as green peas rolled down on top of him, gravy sinking into his hair. 
“Not the table too,” Rhys whined. He’d had it specially commissioned for the River House. 
Lucien dragged Azriel off the glorified heap of wood chips before tossing him back onto the floor, fist raised in the air. 
“Alright! That’s enough,” Feyre said with a loud clap of her hands. “If you two want to fight, do it outside. I don’t want anyone breaking my house. Again.” 
The River House sighed in relief. 
Lucien paused just long enough for Rhysand to haul the redhead off his brother with little regard for anyone’s pride. 
“Get off me,” Lucien snapped, shoving Rhys away. “I can’t fucking believe this.” 
When Cassian finally let you down, you rushed over to Azriel’s side, swiping the handkerchief Rhys held out for you as you passed. 
Azriel sat on the floor, face impassive despite the brutal angle of his nose and the blood sprayed over his face and neck. You cradled his face, gently nudging it this way and that as you surveyed the damage. 
“Oh Azriel,” you breathed. 
Bruises bloomed over his cheekbones, muddy as paint water. His right eye was almost swollen shut, and his split lips bled anew when he gave you a tentative smile. 
“Hi,” he murmured reverently, leaning against the palm you cupped beneath his jaw.
Lucien gagged. “Can someone rip my eye out again? Both this time, please?”
“Damnit, Lucien!” You held the handkerchief up to Azriel’s nose, trying to stem the flow of blood before it could continue dripping from his chin. “Don’t be an asshole.” 
“Really, Y/n?! You’re defending him?!”
Azriel wrapped one arm protectively around your waist, eyes narrowed in a glare. With the blood coating his face he looked positively murderous. Like he’d done the beating and not Lucien. 
“Don’t yell at her,” he growled, his voice dangerously low. 
“For fuck’s sake.” 
It had been a momentary outburst — a rare occurrence with Lucien that held no anger towards you. But you still felt the flare of Azriel’s power as shadows wrapped around you in a layer so thick you couldn’t see past your waist. 
“Azriel—” You didn’t want another fight. “It's ok.” 
“No. It’s not.” 
Lucien was a mixed bag of emotions and he felt a dozen of them go off at the same time like fireworks. There was rage at the male who had the audacity to lay a hand on you, who’d hurt you if the rumours in Velaris were true. A bitter desire for revenge that still lay heavy on his hands after the utter hell he’d gone through watching Azriel and Elain for years. Protectiveness over you — his sister. And a tiny sliver of shame that grew every time you prodded the Shadowsinger’s bent nose and winced. 
“Do you know?” Lucien’s voice shook. 
“Do I know what, Lucien?” 
He swore and looked at everyone in turn. The members of the Inner Circle were trying their damned hardest not to meet his eyes, nervously angling their gaze towards the ground or out the windows like the evening fog was the most interesting thing they’d ever seen.
Fucking hell. You didn’t know.
Lucien reached down over your shoulder, grabbed Azriel’s nose and shoved it back into place with a loud pop. 
You cringed at the sound, but Azriel didn’t react. He was well acquainted with pain and knew how to hide it. 
He breathed through his reset nose, touching the swore flesh gingerly. “Thank you.” 
“Shut the fuck up.” 
“Lucien!” 
He clenched his teeth so hard he thought they might crack. Elain chose that moment to quietly slide her hand into his from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder so he was surrounded by the smell of wildflowers. She tapped the center of his chest, right where he’d told her he felt anchored by the bond, and then looked pointedly to where you kneeled on the ground in between Azriel’s legs. 
And Azriel… Azriel looked lost to the world. Centuries spent relegated to the shadows as a Spymaster had wiped away his feelings, at least outwardly. But everyone could plainly see the way he kept his hand on your arm, thumb brushing circles over your warm skin and the settling of his breathing the longer you held onto his jaw with careful fingers. 
Of all the people. It had to be him. 
“The Mother works in mysterious ways,” Elain whispered so only her mate could hear.
“Unfortunately for me.” 
Lucien took in a ragged breath and clenched his fists, waiting for the worst of his anger to fade away before he collected the books back into the discarded bag and held it out for you. 
A peace offering. 
You pulled Azriel back onto his feet, keeping one hand firmly clasped in his, and glared at your brother. “That was completely unnecessary.”
“I’m sorry, Y/n.” And he meant it. 
Your lips flattened. “Shouldn’t you be apologizing to Azriel?”
His mismatched eyes flared with irritation when they flickered to the Shadowsinger. 
Azriel stood quietly at your side, his face a motley of red, purple, and blue. Still handsome though, much to Lucien’s annoyance. 
“I’m not going to apologize for that. He deserved it. I’m just sorry you had to witness it.” Lucien hesitated, then said, “Y/n, I’m not usually like this. I don’t want you to think poorly of me just because of… him.” It was taking everything within him not to use more colorful language to describe the Shadowsinger. “It won’t happen again… unless you ask me to… which I hope you do.” 
Lucien wasn’t sure what to expect. He didn’t know what anger looked like painted on your features, or sadness, and he didn’t want to. So, it was a pleasant surprise when you only rolled your eyes and muttered, “First Helion and now you. Fucking males,” before slinging the bag over your shoulder and tugging Azriel towards your room. 
The Shadowsinger trailed after you without a second thought, heart hammering away in his chest. 
<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->
______________
Author's Note:
LET'S GO BIG BROTHER LUCIEEEEENNNNNNNNN
Tumblr media
Y'all I had so much fucking fun writing the Lucien/Azriel fight scene. And to think that for a hot second I considered not writing it because I was worried it would be too repetitive to have Azriel get his ass beaten by both Helion and Lucien. Azriel, you poor, poor man, I'm sorry to have put you through all this. But also I'm not sorry at all.
Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! As always, please feel free to send me your thoughts!
1K notes · View notes
elytrianicarus · 1 year ago
Text
INFINITESIMAL!
1K notes · View notes
ruporas · 2 years ago
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
asking and receiving (bonus below readmore)
[ID: A black and white, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood. In the first panel is a close up of Wolfwood's mouth as he says, "Vash". Accompanying it is a close up shot of Vash's eye, widen and cheeks flushed. Wolfwood presses a knee against the open space between Vash's legs and says, "Tell me everything you want from me." Wolfwood's face is equally as flushed. He continues to say, "I'll give it to you. Everything." As he talks, a wide shot shows the both of them in white space. Vash is sitting, leaning a little back with both hands pressed against the surface he's sitting on. Wolfwood is in his white dress shirt, stripped of the blazer. He's still leaning in with one knee in between Vash's spread legs, his right hand touching Vash's lips and his left hand behind his back.
The shot closes in on Vash's mouth and Wolfwood's hand against it, pressing down on the lower lip as he says, "You have to ask though. Go on." His hand moves down to Vash's chin, gently holding it. With a shy and uncertain expression, Vash hesitantly asks, "Um... K... Kiss... Please?" Wolfwood, without wasting a second, leans in and kisses him and indulges by pressing deeper, eliciting a small noise of surprise from Vash.
Wolfwood moves away from Vash first and with a smile, asks, "What else?" Vash tugs on Wolfwood's left sleeve, wordlessly budging Wolfwood to give him his hand that was still behind his back. In the next panel, Vash utters, "Hold me..?" He's holding Wolfwood's left hand with his own while his right hand is reaching for his waist. Wolfwood complies, moving his left hand to Vash's shoulder and his right hand continues to touch Vash's cheek. Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"
More comfortable now, Vash leans in to kiss Wolfwood. Wolfwood catches him immediately, pressing his thumb against Vash's lips to stop him before demanding, "Hey. Ask." Vash looks back in surprise and Wolfwood meets his eye with a quiet, insistent look. They're quiet for a moment before Vash leans in again and curtly requests, "Kiss. Me." Wolfwood says "Good", smiling as he lifts his hand away, and meets Vash's lips. In the next shot, Wolfwood had adjusted his position, sitting on Vash's thigh. The hand that was once on Vash's cheek has moved its way to Vash's nape, pushing away the collar of his jacket with his pinky. His other hand continues to grip on Vash's shoulder. Still kissing, Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"
In the next shot, Vash is starting to turn, moving Wolfwood with him. Vash asks, "Let me on top of you?" Wolfwood says, "Mhm" before asking again, "What else?" The next panel shows a close look of Vash's face. He's looking down, flushed and shy just as he had been at the beginning, but now, more decisive. Vash asks, "Wolfwood... Let me have you..?" A panel of Wolfwood taking Vash's hand into his, pulling it towards his chest. The next panel shows Wolfwood lying down where Vash had laid him. Vash's hand is on Wolfwood's chest, covering the cross of his rosary while Wolfwood's hand lingers against his, loosely pressing Vash's hand in place. He looks up at Vash with a shy smile of his own, flushed cheeks. He says, "All yours."
A panel shows a close up of Vash's tender gaze before he leans down to be closer to Wolfwood. The final shot is a front view of their positions, Vash's face turned away from the viewer; Vash is leaning over Wolfwood who's lying down with his right leg draped over Vash's legs. Wolfwood's left hand holds onto Vash's left arm. With finality, Vash says, "...Mine." End ID]
Tumblr media Tumblr media
[ID: A follow up bonus comic in a looser, sketchier style. They're laying comfortably in bed when Vash asks, "What was that earlier?" referecing to the start of the previous comic. Wolfwood glances away and says, "To get you used to it. Asking. And getting what you ask for. Since you're alwasy hesitant about it." Vash's eyes widen, tight lipped. Wolfwood continues, "Knowing you, it'll be a tough habit to break..." When he says this, Vash can't help but laugh, unable to deny it. Wolfwood slowly brings a hand to Vash's cheek and continues to say, "So I'll keep trying -- whatever ways I can... to get it through your thick skull." Vash takes Wolfwood's hand with his, kissing the the palm gently. Wolfwood's eyes soften and holding onto Vash's cheek, he leans in to try for a kiss. Vash says, "Hey..." before stopping Wolfwood's lips with the back of his hand, a smug look on his face, "Ask." Wolfwood's embarrassed and with little irritation, asks, "Really?" Vash smiles, saying, "You're in need of practice too." They pause for a moment, Wolfwood looking contemplatively, before he's leaning in again, asking, "May I please kiss you?" Vash looks him in the eyes and says, "Yes." The comic ends with a "chu", indicating an off-panel kiss. End ID]
#vashwood#vash the stampede#nicholas d wolfwood#trigun#trigun maximum#it took me so long to post this even after getting clarification about the maturity warning and stuff#bc i am so shy about it. SDGMKDSGMKSD I LIKE THIS COMIC BUT IM ALSO SO LIKE... AUGHHHH....#when i posted this on twitter though it was like... a few days after ep 11? ive always had the thought circling about vash deserving of#asking for things... and getting what he wants bc he never gets both. doesn't get the opportunity to ask and hardly does he get what he want#maybe the results can go in his favor but at some point along the way he'll still lose something bc nothing can ever go perfectly for him...#and he's usually the one begging and pleading with people to not. do something. it's not even asking at that point it's just straight up#please believe me. please trust me. please don't shoot that person. please don't kill anyone. please don't do it.#and wolfwood.... it was not always this lovey dovey ok. he wouldv noticed this habit miles away and they got into a fight about it the first#time they talked about it bc wolfwood is being hypocritical too. as he always is!!!! but i think as they get more intimate#wolfwood finds ways to make vash understand. smth smth insatiable want and love and desire for wolfwood that makes it much easier to ask.#wolfwood can also just be so compliant. sometimes. which is also an issue in of itself that id love to explore at some point#but he also just enjoys giving into vash fully and completely.#bc he loves him a lot. but anyway#i hope the id is comprehendible.... please lmk if there's something wrong with how im doing it asfdgkdsmgs#ruporas art
3K notes · View notes
thebrainrotsreal · 8 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK!!! I want to be coherent about this season but please picture me foaming at the mouth and running on the walls. S2 being what if Mark's just like his Dad? Insanity. I love this show. Anyways, AU where an Evil!Mark tries to make Our!Mark worse, and Our!Mark tries to make the other better. Something something confronting your idea of the worst version of oneself. Plus, tweaked black and yellow costume because I saw it and immediately went murder hornet lookin' ass and knew I had to draw it. Evil ass Mark. Horrible. I think he should be dragged kicking and screaming into redemption.
#mark and the fact he is fighting for this fucking life to avoid the Many Bad Endings???? im pacing. getting out the red string.#when the season is about who you are and what you could become. when trying to be good is an active choice and a struggle.#RAHHHHHHHHHHH#chewing on the bars of my enclosure...when every mark is evil OUR mark is the outlier. the exception. the OTHER. RAHHHH#dog poetry being mark poetry because how often can you kick a dog before it starts snarling before you raise your hand?#how often can you beat it before it rips into you without mercy? when it bites not at your hand but at your neck?#when does violence for survival and violence for vengeance start and end? when your opponent is down and you keep drawing blood?#circling and pacing and losing my mind over this btw if you care#anyways self vs self gets me going crazy. did you know i loved the end of atsv? because it shows.#i think o!mark would lose his fucking mind at what evil wasp looking mark has done + this mf wasp would LOATHE mark's kindness#they both see the other as the WORST version of themselves and they can't stand it. They can't shatter the mirror but they think they can--#--change the reflection.#evil mark seeing mark and seeing what he USED to be#mark seeing what he COULD be#CAN U SEE THE VISION??????#digital art#invincible rotating in my mind#invincible fanart#fanart#mark my beloved#mark grayson fanart#mark grayson#invincible s2#invincible show#mark like hello this is my secret twin and he is NOTHING like me hahahaha anyways wanna debate about having mORALS and LIFE#mark grayson vs the urge not to accept every responsibility as his own#he's batman coded that way#ok im done yapping#if this happened in the comics in any way shape or form dont tell me JACK SHIT or i will PUMMEL YOU with my SHOES
486 notes · View notes
excitementshewrote · 11 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media
921 notes · View notes
oldschoolfrp · 2 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
Stone altars and painted statues surround a pentagram within a magic circle on the floor, from which rises a writhing column of smoke (Jon Glentoran, "The Temple of Testing" by A E Arkle, Warlock, The Fighting Fantasy Magazine #7, December 1985/January 1986)
199 notes · View notes
aseuki · 1 year ago
Text
Tumblr media
Some photo fun!
Had a little Too much fun wandering as an orb squad with @humming-fly @nymphofnovels and @alagaesia-overlord a couple weeks ago so here's a fun lil drawing to commemorate it!
And lest you worry a knight got forgotten...
Tumblr media
(He's fine)
1K notes · View notes
circlesuponcircles · 3 months ago
Text
Tumblr media
You stand before the door. The silence is deafening.
Siffrin steps forward, reading the text above the door. They open their mouth, and say... something...?
A quick sting of pain shoots through your head. You can't be bothered to ask anymore.
You hold your breath as you watch it open, revealing the almost pure darkness inside, almost spilling out of the room like water that's been kept still by a dam for too long. Cold air and the unpleasant scent of metal and salt hits you, mixing with the unbearable smell of caramel to create a dreadful combination.
Tumblr media
🎀: ...Loop? Hello?
A light flickers inside, cutting sharply through the darkness. You almost don't hear the footsteps, a rhythm quiet and yet familiar. But before you realize why exactly you know that sound, the way it would only come from someone who's learned to be quiet, who's supposed to be fast and stealthy-
You see... another shade, in the darkness. One that hurts to look at, one that feels wrong, as if the world itself was not meant to contain it. You feel sick.
Tumblr media
You avert your eyes as you hear them get closer.
Tumblr media
✨️: ...Oh, Mirabelle...!
✨️: You're finally here to join us! How wonderful~
✨️: But... why did you bring them with you? Is this some sort of joke?
🪨: What... are you?
✨️: Oh you wouldn't know me.
✨️: But don't you worry, Fighter~ Soon enough, you won't have to think about anything anymore!
You grip your rapier tightly.
Tumblr media
✨️: My, my, that's no way to treat an old friend! Don't you remember, Mirabelle? How I helped you? How useful I was?
✨️: Helpful Loop, here to help you with the loops!
✨️: ...Or, I would've been, if it wasn't for a certain someone.
Your family looks at you. You look back at them, concerned.
✨️: Your little wanderer here could have freed me much, muuuch earlier, you know.
✨️: But they chose to forget, instead! I suppose that's always the easier path, hm?
Siffrin is silent.
✨️: But! That doesn't matter anymore, does it? No, not~ at~ all~~
✨️: Because I'm not alone anymore! I have my little family, and now that you're here, we'll all be together again! I can... we can finally go home...!
✨️: All you have to do is just ditch those pesky little copies of your real party and join us, Mirabelle! It's just that easy!
🍳: Wh- copies!? We're not copies!! We're real!!!!
...Family...? But...
🎀: ...Didn't you say you were alone?
✨️: ...I was. But not anymore.
✨️: Now, if you could just come here and-
Loop takes a step forward. You step back, tightening the grip on your rapier. Your family gathers around you.
Tumblr media
🔷️: You will not be taking her.
🪨: Yeah! We just got her back, and we will not lose her again.
🍳: YEAH!!!!!!!
⭐️: ...
🔷️: If you continue this behavior, we will be forced to fight you.
Loop freezes, looking at you.
Tumblr media
✨️: You... you want to fight me?
...They're... laughing...?
Tumblr media
✨️: You..! You want to fight me! Hahaha!
✨️: Why, of course~ I'll happily take an excuse to finally snuff out your miserable little existence~
✨️: But... oh, my, would you look at that! It seems I'm outnumbered! Why, that's just so unfair!
The darkness behind them begins to move.
Four figures emerge from the living void.
You know who they are.
Tumblr media
✨️: Perhaps I should introduce you to my own little family~
228 notes · View notes
imageingrunge · 5 months ago
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
DA: Sims pt.2
233 notes · View notes
utterlyazriel · 5 months ago
Text
whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)
Tumblr media
a/n: not gonna even acknowledge the time break between chappies... all i'm gonna say happy cassian chappie ! <3! i hope u all enjoy it mwah thank u for reading
word count: 3.8k
synopsis: Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.
CHAPTER NINE :: FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)
Whoosh.
Training staff gripped tightly in your calloused hands, you swing with a muscle memory built over decades, the stick whistling as it cuts through the air with deadly precision. Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard.
You're going through the motions. A simple warm-up, running a drill that you've done enough times you could probably do it in your sleep. The movements are familiar, easy. Routine.
If you close your eyes, you could almost imagine you're still in Exordor.
Except... there's no familiar wind current to perform its melody in the early morning, dancing through the mountainside trees. No frozen chill to the air around you. No crunch of snow beneath your feet to throw your balance. No bound chest to chafe your skin.
No looking over your shoulder in pure panic at every unexpected noise.
Well, not quite that last one. It's a habit you're dedicated to breaking for the sake of your shot nerves — but evidently failing, considering how you straighten up and whip around when the door leading out to the training ring shudders open.
You hold your breath on instinct and clutch the training staff tighter.
Stepping out into the early morning air, the dawn still unbroken, is another Illyrian warrior.
Mother, how many of them were there around here?
You hadn't got to meet anyone else after that encounter on the balcony, almost exactly one week ago. Hadn't exactly wanted to either.
You hadn't even wanted to see Azriel again so soon after the churning, sickening twist of emotions you had barely managed to stumble through after your severe reawakening.
He hadn't come to see you.
You hadn't asked.
Besides Madja, Rhysand was the only new face you had come to know. He had taken to coming by your room a couple times over the week, checking on the progress of your healing, particularly sympathetic on the state of your wings. Revealed his own with a polite flourish.
He was... different than you were expecting. Perhaps you were learning that rumours are not everything — certainly it's clear that there is more to Rhysand than what first appears.
As Highlord, he had to discuss your potential living situations once you were healed enough to leave the infirmary.
I meant what I said. He had said, violet eyes kind as he hovered at the end of your bed. You're no prisoner here. You'll be free to go wherever you wish, even back to Exordor if that's what you decide.
And if I don't? You had whispered, your gaze fixed on the fine sheets of the bed. If I decide that... I have no home there anymore?
Then you'll have a home here. For as long as you would like.
And though it overrode every single instinct you had learned to trust, everything that had kept you alive this long, you chose to take his word for it.
Rhys said no harm would befall you in Velaris and you would be welcome here for as long as wanted.
But... that didn't mean you were exactly looking to make new friends.
Staring the newcomer that enters the balcony with much less grace than that of usual Illyrians, you watch him closely, not quite daring to take a breath.
At a first glance, you had thought it might be Azriel—heart leaping up your throat—but that was quickly washed away. Something in you knew from the hair standing up on the nape of your neck, before you even saw him properly, that this male was utterly unfamiliar to you.
He's taller, you realise. His hair is a longer and he doesn't quite move with the grace of the Shadowsinger — though, perhaps you are just so unused to seeing a male so relaxed. So caught off guard, in fact, that when he turns he gives a little yelp in surprise.
"Fuck!" He says, one of his large hands jumping out and clenching into a fist —his whole body switching to a fighting stance, you realise— before he relaxes again. His fist uncurls into a less threatening open palm.
"I- sorry, just didn't realise anyone else was out here." His fighting stance melts away, open palm still extended. He gives what you think might be a friendly smile.
You don't respond, only gripping the training staff a little tighter. Every hackle is raised, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, and your entire body winding itself up to prepare to fight, if it comes down to it.
The male seems to realise this as his next move is to raise both hands, palms out, the universal signal for surrender. They're large, tanned, and void of the scars you've come to know on Azriel.
However, where there are usually shimmering cobalt blue siphons, this newcomer has dazzling ruby red ones instead. You count each of his. Seven.
Your throat tightens — like all of Illyria, you've heard of this warrior too. The Lord of Bloodshed.
He doesn't exactly look so fearsome at the moment, his expression easy-going, even friendly, from behind his raised hands.
He seems to be waiting for you to make a move or to speak but after a moment, he realises neither are going to happen.
"Rhys said there might be another Illyrian around." He says, taking a tentative step forward, in the direction of the training ring, letting his hands drop to his side. You notice how he tucks his wings in a little more, like he might be trying to be respectable. Polite.
He's watching you closely. "Didn't mention you were a female, though."
Instinct makes you want to sneer in response — the only time Illyrian males bother bring up the differences in sex is to make some nasty comment about the biological weakness of females.
Not born to be warriors. They spit. Fragility is bred into them from the moment they're conceived. Breakable. Less than. A female in the training ring has as much place does as a male does in the kitchen.
But this male... says female in a way you've never quite heard before. As though he's somewhere closer to awe.
"My name is Cassian," The male introduces himself, his tentative steps becoming more of a stroll as he wanders across to the weapons stand. He eyes them halfheartedly, his focus still on you.
He turns lightly, tucking in one of his wings to peer back at you. "And yours is...?"
You still haven't moved, only tracking his movements with a slight shift of your eyes. Part of you wonders if he already knows your name and he's simply being polite.
Cassian nods as though you've spoken, despite the fact you haven't made a sound.
"Okay, not a big talker, I get it." He dips his head in a little nod, giving you an easy smile, then a quick wink. "Promise I don't bite."
No reaction. You’re not entirely sure if that’s a joke or not.
Either way, Cassian turns and focuses on his selection, pulling one of the training staffs off the weapons rack into his strong, sure grip.
Despite Rhysand's promise, your heart begins to rabbit wildly.
You wonder if this is some sickening game of cat and mouse—if he's perhaps going to tire you out before he selects his true weapon. If he wants you to know he can best you, even without a blade at his disposal.
You're a decent fighter—hell, a great one even—but you know better than to expect to come out on top against the Lord of Bloodshed.
You finally force yourself to move; shifting your feet to face him, you sink into a fighting stance, staff poised to face him, prepared to bare your teeth.
Cassian blinks. It takes another moment for him to realise that none of his friendliness is working to thaw your iciness. He quickly sets the training staff back down with a clatter, raising his hands once more.
"Woah," He says, giving a small shake of his head. "Not looking to fight. Unless you and I are in that ring—" He gestures to the training ring behind him. "I will never try to fight you. And... I hope you can say the same for me."
You don't even realise you've released your breath until you deflate a little, relief coming in small, incremental waves.
He doesn't want to fight. There's no proving yourself, at least not today.
Maybe some day in the near future, he'll demand you get in the ring to earn your space here—because that was the first thing you ever learned as an Illyrian warrior. But not today.
Reluctant and relieved all at once, you lower your training staff.
Your hesitance or silence doesn't seem to hinder Cassian. In fact, he smiles at the motion.
He's quite handsome, you note. In that rugged way, not quite so classically handsome as Azriel. The unexpected thought makes you flush. You shake it away with a shiver.
"You have your reasons for your unease I bet," Cassian continues, his hands drifting back to his sides. His wings have begun to spread out a little more, as if relaxing.
"And if you want me to piss off, I certainly will. My goal is not to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. But... well, I do have just one question."
He pauses, as if waiting for something. Permission, you realise faintly, which surprises you enough that you give a rather jerky nod, permitting him to ask his question.
A brilliant smile spreads across Cassian's face. "Did you really stab Azriel with a fork?"
The question takes you by utter surprise, fresh bewilderment rippling across your features. You shift back almost awkwardly, stepping out of your fighting stance. The memory from months ago rises up inside, the first meeting in your lonely shelter.
How did he know that? He could he know that?
"I—" You trip over the words, not entirely sure how to answer the question. You can't quite tell why he's asking—is he assessing you as a threat? Your voice is tentative and guarded as you murmur out, "...yes?"
You don't think it would've mattered how you answered truly, as the moment you confirm it, Cassian roars in laughter, his head thrown back and his hand clutching his belly. He laughs loudly for a moment, shaking his head with a fond smile.
"Holy shit, I thought Rhys was kidding! Cauldron, what I would've given to see that." His hazel eyes glitter brightly, as though he's excited. "Was he surprised? I bet he was. Where did you stab him?"
His easy tone, like he's talking to an old friend, takes you back. You find yourself responding with an unexpected ease. Looking back on it now, it is a little funny.
"He was," You nod, nearly smiling at Cassian's enthusiasm. Your lips twitch and you gesture to your neck, somewhat awkwardly, miming the motion. "In the neck."
Cassian laughs again. "Oh, and I bet he'd deny the whole thing if it ever came up."
You don't know quite what to say to that—Azriel hadn't ever brought it up and you certainly weren't going to remind him of it. You tilt your head to the side a bit, an unknown feeling making itself known in the pit of your stomach. An anxiety of an entirely different kind.
The male before you is not an enemy. He's not an ally either... and you can't understand what he gains from talking to you.
You can't even fathom the idea that he might just want to be your friend.
So, you turn. Tighten your grip and resume the exercise that had been interrupted. Muscles groan as you work through their achiness, slowly becoming warmer as the hot blood pumps around your body.
Despite what Madja had said a week ago on that balcony, today was actually the first morning you were allowed to train.
For the last seven days, the exercise you were restricted to was mere stretches; only enough to ensure each of your wings could extend fully and that your limbs could move without serious cause for concern.
It had driven you stir crazy.
The only time you ever skipped so many days without training was during your cycle—something you had mercifully missed the end of this time around, hidden away in your unconsciousness.
So, at the first opportunity, when you rose from your bed this morning and Madja hadn't given you that pointed stare and instead gave you directions, you had found the training area. Began with old routines, if only for the fact you don't know who you are when you're not training.
Inhaling now, the wood of the training staff creaks beneath your iron grip. You're trying desperately to use it as a tether, to some semblance of normal for yourself. It's difficult when there's so many changes lurking.
The solid stone makes you sturdier than before. There's no snow beneath your feet to sink your boots into, to find your balance on. But your injuries aren't entirely healed either.
The pain is not fresh but it's still hindering enough to be a nuisance. Your left ear still twinges from time to time—sometimes it seems to hum so loudly you can't hear clearly, others it dulls altogether. Neither are particularly pleasant to experience.
Pain, however, you have plenty of experience in. Gritting your teeth and pushing through it is practically standard for the Illyrian way; especially when you know your body. You know how much it can take. You know it's been through worse.
But the pesky problem with your ear keeps you off balance, just enough that it shows in your motions.
You keep stumbling around like a goddamn fledgling with every new attempt, footing clumsy, which makes you burn in humiliation because that's what you learn first. It's impossible not to feel unendingly frustrated as decades of training all get shifted slightly to the left.
It doesn't help either that there's still those holes in the edges of your wings.
Fae healing is incredibly advanced but even so, there is only so much magic can do.
Lacerations can be healed, stabs and slices stitched up with ease — but a hole, torn forcibly in and through the delicate flesh of Illyrian wings? You know that you should be thanking the Mother that they even still work in their complete capacity.
The skin around where the stakes had been forced is puckered and stiff, whitened by the scar tissue and trauma. It had been sickening the first time you had curled them close around you and realised with a faint horror that you could technically see through them — a irregular circular gash preserved in either wing of how you'd been pinned down.
The air passes through them as you shift, causing an uneasy shiver. They don't catch on the wind quite the same as they did before.
You haven't taken to the skies yet. You're torn between your eagerness to fly again, to prove to yourself that they can still, and the sinking fear that that's something new you'll have to relearn as well.
So, instead, you run through the training drill for the nth time, trying to get back in sync with your own body. Trying to push past where it seems to falter and trying and failing to not care that your wavering movements now have an audience.
Watching him subtly out the corner of your eye, Cassian appears to be running drills of his own, a gentle warmup. He stretches his toned arms above his head, the motions limber and easy. Briefly, your mind wanders to Azriel's own morning training —never mind that you did have experience training with him over many mornings — and the most peculiar fluster flows through you.
You bite your cheek and rein in your drifting thoughts, gripping the staff tighter.
Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard. Your left eardrum squeals, jumping abruptly in volume at the motions, and though you manage to contain yourself to a wince, your twist goes off kilter.
Your wings stretch out to counterbalance but they don't catch the wind as well as you're used to. Your feet stumble to realign and all you can think is how fucking easy it would be decimate you in a fight in that second.
Something awful starts to grow in your throat and it takes a full moment to realise its the urge to cry, clawing up your throat.
You inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the stone beneath you, and will them away. You weren't a crier — but then again, never had you ever felt quite so utterly hopeless as you were right now.
You've always had this—always had the fight from within your bones, always had your body, always relied on your dexterity to push you forward.
Shadow covers the stone before you. Your head shoots ups, that same panic you can't shake jolting in your chest.
"Hi." Cassian says, giving a little two-fingered salute. He smiles kindly. "Cassian. We met maybe, uh, 5 minutes ago? Remember that?"
You blink at him, not even noticing how the distraction sends away the urge to cry. Swallowing thickly, you give a tentative nod.
"Fantastic. Great memory." His smile melts into a grin and though it sounds like he's teasing, you don't exactly feel like it you who's being made fun of. "I— I have no doubt you're an excellent fighter, especially considering you managed to land a hit on a warrior such as Azriel."
Cassian seems to hear his words only after he's said them and gives a minuscule frown. "Wait, don't tell him I said that. He'll never let me live it down."
When you don't react in amusement as he was aiming for, Cassian changes his tone again, more serious this time.
"Look, I might not be exactly sure what happened that meant you ended up here. I know it might not seem like a welcome change of pace but— well- and what I mean to say is— I can see your missteps."
The admittance of your failings makes humiliation swell up within you. You avert your eyes. Cassian, aware of his awful blunder, barrels on.
"But I can see you're getting your feet again." He adds, softer than before. "After whatever happened to you and your wings, I can tell you're already doing better than most Illyrians would. I also know that everything is easier with a little support."
Your gaze tugs back to Cassian's face as his sentence ends, the offer within it leaving you momentarily dazed. He wants... to help you?
You open your mouth to say just that—but instead, say, "They... didn't tell you?"
Something foreign yanks on your heartstrings. You can't say you had expected privacy, not when Rhysand was already generously providing you with both medical aid and a place to lay low and recover. You were in no position to ask for more.
Suddenly, you become hyper aware of your wings and their gaping, obvious scars to pair with the thin white lines of the lashes adorned across them. You rein them back self-consciously, keeping them tucked close against your back. There's relief in that simple motion alone.
"It is not their story to tell." Cassian nods, grave and serious. "And, just as important, sharing it is not a requirement to be allow yourself a little support."
You don't have to tell him, if you don't want to.
Before you, an Illyrian male, like so many that you've detested all your miserable life, and he doesn't know a thing about you. He doesn't get to know what happened unless you decide to tell him.
You taste his words, mulling them over in your mind as you try to figure out what he means. In the heart of it, you can't understand what he truly stands to gain from this offer of support.
"What... kind of support?" You question warily.
Unthinkingly, your grip tightens on the training staff once more—a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of baring your vulnerabilities. It had been well-trained out of you. Connections of any kind risked exposure... and well, the one time in your life you had given it a go, it had only been proven true.
"Whatever you wish." Cassian grins, as if pleased you had asked that exact question. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and rattles off his list easily, with a slight shrug of his armoured shoulders. "Friendship? Training? Someone to listen when you need it or to drink your sorrows with? I've had plentiful practice with all."
He sends you another wink, teasing and easy like everything else about him. It's disarming actually, just how different he is from what you had been expecting from only the rumours around Exordor. Lord of Bloodshed. He's so...casual.
After another beat of silence, Cassian clears his throat when it becomes clear you aren't exactly jumping onto any of his initial offers. The caginess you exude is palpable and something ragged in Cassian's chest tears wider at whatever his mind conjures up about what might be lurking your past.
True to his word, Rhys hadn't delved into your story or how you came to end up here at the House of Wind.
All Cassian knew for sure is that Azriel had talked of training with a bastard some months ago and now, you were here. A female warrior from Exordor.
Cassian thinks that Azriel likely would've mentioned it if the bastard he was working with was female—but he hadn't. There's much more to your story, he can tell, and it seems to ripple from the edges of your wary, dangerous form at just a glance. Almost a full picture for him to realise, to see clearly.
But... these things were earned.
If Cassian wanted to be your friend, to know your story, he would do it the honourable and hard way.
He would become someone that you could trust in this new, unfamiliar place and he knew it was possible because what Cassian knew lay within him was reflected in you. The one clear part of the picture.
A warrior who knows themselves best when they're fighting.
"Train with me. Please." Cassian tries once more, ready to relent if it was too much, too soon. "There is a lot we can teach each other, I'm sure."
That seems to catch you by surprise, your brows jumping a fraction up your face. You school the expression away quickly but not before Cassian catches it. He nods.
"What do you say?" Cassian grins again, holding out his hand, palm up. Nonthreatening as can be. "Friends? Allies? Reluctant rooftop sharers? I'll take any happily."
You eye his hand, that still cautious air in your gaze, but Cassian can see as something settles within you. Tentatively, you reach forward and put your hand in his, giving it an awkward, stilted shake.
"I'll take allies for now," You say, somewhat demurely. It's taking a mountain load of trust for you to do so, Cassian knows. He does not take that trust lightly.
Cassian grins. "Allies it is."
[NEXT PART: SHADOWS]
tags below!
@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover
@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco
@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee
@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13
@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa
@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5
@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere
@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios
@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale
@aomi-recs @letmejustreadthanks @problemfinder @sevikas-whore @doodlebugg16-blog
@meandmysillywriting @justingnoreme @krowiathemythologynerd @hanatsuki-hime @sunny747
@coffeebeforewater @kalulakunundrum @marina468 @moonbirde @yellow-birdy @sheblogs
@shinyghosteclipse @randombibitch @itsjustwinter @emryb @books-all-the-way13
@thatsassyhufflepuff @rem-ie
231 notes · View notes