#more of a drabble than a starter but

[forgottenvalentina]

" how long have i been asleep? " (cassimir x valentina)

"How long have you--!"

Valentina turned stormily towards the window. She'd just prodded him awake with the end of a broom she'd snatched from Eithne in confronting her. The upstart little minx had remained firm. But Valentina was about to hear it refuted.

Whatever happened -- even if he had, indeed, caved in a moment of weakness (men were horrifically weak in such matters, after all, it could surely be forgotten, erased, perhaps in time even...forgiven) -- she would still hear it put to rights, at the very least. Yet, upon being poked awake through his bedsheets, Cassimir hadn't darted up in horror, as she'd somewhat vindictively hoped, he'd grumbled something into his pillow which had nothing whtever to do with the matter which most preoccupied her, a fact which made fury an incandescent glow upon her alabaster face, shining in the dark of his room.

With an exasperated growl, Valentina stormed to the end of the room, ripping the curtains away from the windows to allow brilliant sunshine to pour in. She watched him flinch from the light with some modicum of satisfaction. She hadn't raised him to be a fool, but now he was showing: even her beautiful boy was his father's child. She hurled the broom down upon the floor before marching back to his side.

Exhaling slowly, Valentina knew well she'd need to manage herself in order to best manage him. She strolled forward, seating herself upon his bed, a touch more serene than she'd been mere moments ago. Still, she made no bother to conceal that she was cross. A little of that would do her argument good, she had no doubt.

"A most alarming bit of scuttlebutt has reached my ears." She paused, letting her words soak in. "Is it true that you wish to throw away you entire future?" Valentina leaned forward, cradling her son's face in both her hands. "I want to give you the world. That's all I've ever wanted." Her hands dropped away, she straightened. "But there are others who wish to take everything away from you. My son, you do not know the whiles of women. You are a good person who sees the good in others, even when it is but a shadow of hope -- a callow reflection of your good in another. Nothing more. Do not be taken in."

She paused. "Though I know you could never be so foolish as to be beguiled by so obvious a counterfeit of goodness as that which your eldest stepsister flounts about," she began, coolly arching her brow. "I have nevertheless heard it said that you have promised away all your life and hopes and future to that conniving little slattern. Tell me the truth, my darling, darling boy," she added, placing her hand upon his, eyes and voice turning now to pleading. Tears prick her eyes and she was glad. Let him see what he had done to her. "Tell me this is an awful mistake. Whatever may be, we can still make all things right."

[helldustedstories]

Tonight had been a disaster. He had been so excited when Blitz called, had asked him on a date, his first ever! Stolas had fully expected to spend the evening alone, watching his Hell-a-novelas, maybe reading one of his latest books and imagining himself and Blitz in the roles, but that had all changed with a single phone call. He'd gotten all dolled up and ready to go, made sure that he had the perfect outfit, that he looked….as good as he could, considering the canvas he was working with, and he'd portaled over to Lust, not wanting to keep Blitz waiting.

Who had taken him to Ozzie's, of all places, only one of the most exclusive spots in all of Hell, let alone just Lust! Blitz had pointed out that he was overdressed, which had flustered Stolas a little bit, but he'd known that trying to dress up such dull plumage had been something of a lost cause from the very beginning.

Still, he wasn't going to let that dampen his spirits, especially not when they headed inside and were shown to their table. While he'd heard quite a bit about Ozzie's, Stolas had never been inside, and seeing it for himself was quite exciting! It was decadent and luxurious, built to encourage the sensual, and he was here with Blitz!

But Blitz….didn't seem that interested in their date. Stolas had tried to engage him, to ask about his business, to get to know more about his life outside of their arrangement, to show him that he wanted to know him more, that it wasn't just about the sex.

And then everything happened.

One of Blitz's associates had chosen to sing a ballad to his wife, and Asmodeus himself, the Deadly Sin of Lust, along with his star performer, Fizzarolli, had made a mockery of the other imp. Blitz had stood up to defend Moxxie, and suddenly the attention was on him.

Stolas hadn't known what to do, and before he could come to a decision, he was the one in the spotlight. Asmodeus brought up the fact that, to the outside world, it looked like he had broken up a perfect marriage, a perfect family, to have an affair with Blitz. Never mind the fact that he and Stella had been arranged, that they'd never loved one another, never mind the fact that she was cruel and insulting, and he did everything he could to insulate their daughter from her.

It had been the spectre of Octavia that had really gotten to him, though. Stolas was used to being the victim, to not defending himself, and he had hidden behind his menu instead of standing up for Blitz, instead of showing him that he cared, that he meant more to him than just their monthly arrangement, that he wanted more. He had been ashamed of himself…., but he made Blitz think he was ashamed of him.

They had left then, and he had tried to fix it, to invite Blitz in to talk…, but Blitz reminded him that the only thing between them was their arrangement. And Stolas hadn't known how to tell him otherwise, hadn't wanted to push…., and he'd given Blitz his space.

He had sat on the stairs of the palace after that, emotions finally catching up with him, and he had sobbed, letting out everything he hadn't been able to show when he actually needed to. Stolas was so used to bottling everything up that it finally just broke something inside him, and the dam of tears washed over him until he felt raw, hollow.

It was at that point he'd gone for the absinthe, drinking himself into a stupor. Because if he was drunk, he wouldn't feel as much. And if he didn't feel as much, it wouldn't hurt as badly.

But that had been a mistake, too.

He'd woken up several hours later, on the floor, empty bottle next to him, surrounded by his plants, with a pounding headache. He must have gone to the greenhouse to pour out his heart, the way he usually did when he couldn't keep things inside anymore. It wasn't as though he had anyone to talk to here, after all. Octavia would probably listen to him, but this wasn't her burden to bear. She was his daughter; she didn't need to know about this. He would put on a good face for her, and shield her from how utterly miserable he was.

If he was going to manage that, he needed to get up, to take his pills; he was pretty sure he'd forgotten them a couple of times this week, what with everything that had happened.

With a groan, he forced himself up off the floor, head pounding, and made his way into the bathroom. He looked even more of a mess than usual, with his makeup all smudged, but he dutifully took his Happy Pills, absently wondering if his dosage needed an adjustment.

Stolas checked his phone, to see if anything was new, and ended up scrolling through the pictures of Blitz he had, noticing just how …. miserable he seemed in all of them. He had wanted to commemorate their time together, so that he would have something to look back on between when they met up, but….maybe he'd been fooling himself.

He'd looked at it before, but even as he was talking to himself about everything, working through things he couldn't talk about outside of in his heart of hearts, he pulled down Asmodeus' book, opening again to the page about the crystals. If there was going to be any hope for him and Blitz to be together…., then something needed to change. They couldn't keep going on like this…, and he was the one that needed to fix things, needed to give Blitz the opportunity to choose what he wanted. Stolas couldn't have more with Blitz with the book between them, his ability to ruin Blitz's life at a moment's notice if he so chose hanging above them like the Sword of Damocles.

The owl knew he had been just���.going through the motions of his life until Blitz had shown back up. He had brought Stolas something he hadn't even known he'd been missing, had brought light and life and passion, had shown him that there was more to life than fulfilling his duties and continuing on for his daughter's sake.

But had he ruined all of that tonight, in one moment of inability to properly communicate, the way he always did?

"Prince all alone upon your throne, your power is so frail," he said, mocking himself, his desire to speak out against his circumstances. That hadn't helped him before, but….., things had changed. "You raise your voice, you have no choice, inside your gilded jail," he mused, gazing out into the garden from the balcony, remembering the night Blitz had changed his life, how he'd stood up to Stella for the first time after that.

And then, as though his thought had summoned her, Stolas heard the clacking of Stella's heels behind him. He didn't turn around, just kept looking down at the garden below, remembering another time he'd actually been happy in this house, twenty-five long years ago.

"The fuck are you doing?!" Stella screeched, having apparently heard him talking to himself.

"Reflecting," Stolas responded, knowing that no matter what he said, it wouldn't matter.

"Well, stop!" came the shout from behind him, and Stolas practically flinched. Her sharp words usually came with some sort of violent action, and with the tone of her voice, he didn't doubt that that would be coming too.

"It's annoying to hear you screeching your silly woes all the time!"

Stolas' back was still to Stella, but he heard her approaching. Normally, he wouldn't say anything, would just take her abuse, the way he always did, but he had finally had enough.

"Why are you still here?" he asked, turning around to face her. "You leave with Via on weekends, but then you stay around the house, despite everything."

Stella didn't even hesitate. "I like tormenting you!" she told him, closing the distance between them. "I want to keep reminding you of what you did," Stella leaned forward, putting herself in Stolas' space, forcing him to either back away or hold his ground.

And this time, he didn't back down. "I know what I did!" he exclaimed, pulling himself up to his full height, refusing to take a step back, for the first time in a very long time. "I would feel bad if I hurt you," he added, "but we both know I didn't do that." There couldn't exactly be a betrayal if there was no love between them, when she had already hated him long before Blitz had come back into his life. "You and I were arranged for one reason: to birth a precautionary heir to the Goetia family. Nothing more!" he reminded her.

Stolas took a deep breath, but he wasn't done. There was so much he hadn't said to Stella, had been biting his tongue to try to keep the peace, but he was beyond finished with that.

"I tried, so many years, to make it comfortable us, to have this family, but it was never enough!" and he had been trying on his own. If they could have come to some sort of agreement, they could have worked together, could maybe have at least been friends. "The only reason I have endured your constant insults and cruelty was for that girl" he gestured towards the house, where Octavia was presumably still sleeping, "to have a normal life!"

And after another breath, he knew what he needed to say, needed to do. "I cannot do this anymore! I want you out. Now!" he said, pointing, attempting to get her to leave.

"What do you mean out?" Stella asked, her eyes narrowed, fists clenched, everything in her posture and tone screaming 'danger.'

"I mean out!" Stolas repeated, his voice raised, stronger than he thought he could be, "Out of this palace. Out of my life. We are getting The. DIVORCE." He should have done this a long time ago, but he had never had the courage, never had any reason to stand up for himself. But a lot had changed in the course of a year, and he wasn't the same person he was even that long ago.

"How dare you!" Stella shouted, poking Stolas in the chest, forcing him to step back, trying to get the upper hand once more, the way she always had with him. "What do you think the rest of the Goetia family will think? And Andrealphus--" she lifted her hand to strike him, not for the first time.

But this time, Stolas saw it coming. This time, he caught her before the blow connected, keeping her from hurting him yet again.

"I don't care what your arrogant brother thinks!" he shouted, standing straight, refusing to back down, "And the only thing the Goetia family wanted from our marriage is already seventeen, so it's over. I'm done!" It had taken him far too long to get to this point, where he could stand up to her, but he meant every word. He couldn't do this any longer, not when he knew there was more now, not when he felt like he could actually breathe without suffocating when he wasn't with her.

For a moment, he thought she was going to try to strike him again, and he braced for the blow. But instead, she pulled away from him, eyes still narrowed.

"Fine," she spat, trying to save face. "I have no desire to stay in the place of a traitorous embarrassment. You have fallen from what little grace you had. And I know you'll pay for it," she declared, but quite frankly, Stolas didn't care what she thought, what she threatened, as long as she left.

And after another moment, she turned on her heel, making her way back through the house.

The second she was out of sight, that he was certain he was alone once more, any bravado he had left him, and he slumped down on the railing of the balcony, exhausted, alone…..the way he always would be.

@madefate // plotted starter drabble thing

[ask-kei-machi]

Kei had been working on a painting for the past several days, staring at it, painting over the original one too many times and restarting on a new canvas to the point he's torn through one of the canvases due to his anger (and stabbing it with a butterfly knife, but nevermind that detail). He was stressed, he wanted this painting to be absolutely perfect, so WHY couldn't he get it right!? What is he doing wrong!? Is it the proportions? Wrong paint colors?? The reference!?!?

WHAT'S THE PROBLEM!? WHY CAN HE NOT GET THE THING HE'S ASKING FOR!?!?

His hand shook, inhaling, then slowly exhaling as he let out a groan. His hands tug at damaged hair, the abuse in the fragile strands evident in the uneven lengths.

“It's fine, everything's fine. So what if the proportions are off? It adds character!” They mumble, biting on his thumb as he paces back and forth. Their teeth continued to dig into the thumb, deeper and deeper into the graphite-stained skin until it broke.

“Or am I saying it to make myself feel better? I don't even believe in my own words.”

[avichor]

answering some memes rn and plopping them into queue! i'm focusing on mutuals i have no threads with yet and they will be considerably shorter just to get started <3

[spirestar]

@heartinhands : [ shock ] (suzalulu teehee)

First real friend? What a joke their lives are. No, it's even worse than that--Suzaku played the joke on himself when he stepped into Lelouch's trap. Was it always lying in wait? When they were small, the world grinding itself to dust in their periphery, two hands intertwined and his sister's on their backs off and on. It can't have. Even with his cold heart, he can't believe that. Not entirely. Maybe he set the trap with his own two hands and his childhood friend only had to trigger it. See where caring will get you, Kururugi?

Today might be the last day he can be this sentimental. Moving forward, there's only the plan. Each move preconceived with expert precision like another one of Lelouch's stupid chess games. He'll win again. Like always. Suzaku can't keep his eyes from the live newsfeed on the large screen in Lelouch's quarters, where he's been sequestered for days now. C.C. abandoned him hours ago, 'It won't end any faster with us watching,' she'd said, and Suzaku knows she wasn't wrong. But he can't look away. It's his funeral, after all--With his worst enemy giving his last rites.

There's something so frightening about being dead. It's a necessity, their wish won't be fulfilled otherwise, but he's so powerless this way. His death is nothing, it won't bring any peace, meaningless in its banality as a casualty of war. Kallen will celebrate, won't she? Gino, too. Perhaps all the Black Knights will. Their enemies will hardly have enough time to rejoice that Lelouch's closest pawn was lost before everything tumbles to nothing. It's the death he deserves. But seeing Lelouch alone on the stage is--Terrifying. He matters. Suzaku feels sick just thinking about it, but if something were to happen when he can't be there--

As the smooth whoosh! of the door opening sounds, he's on his feet. There's always a grand delay with the feeds. Events end hours before they're fully broadcast and the Emperor has a hundred other duties he must perform to appear as disgusting as they need him to. The relief Suzaku feels at seeing him in person isn't surprising anymore; Your majesty is their promise and all the hate he feels for Lelouch is twisted into the real love Suzaku has held for him for so long, the poison in his veins that serves as his life's punchline. It must be that repulsive sentimentality that constricts his throat like a vice and puppeteers his arms to embrace Lelouch as the door shuts behind him. He burrows his face into the stupidly opulent fabric of Lelouch's clothes, embroidery and jewels he's never been good enough to touch now feeling the touch of tears he does his best to hold back.

Suzaku hates himself more than anyone else: He can't even say thank you. Thank you for mourning me when no one else will. No one else ever will. He can only dig his fingers into Lelouch's sides and arms and pray that it hurts enough to pretend this means nothing. Lying to himself again and again.

[rosetintedgunman]

"we're two sides of the same coin, right"

(tfw both are sunshine babies)

@xshatteredreflectionsx (Prompt from here)

-

"I'm glad I've gotten ya ta takin' my point of view."

Was it March? Were they sitting on a park bench eating ice pops? Absolutely. How could Wilford resist? They were colourful! His - pink, obviously (because it's strawberry flavoured, obviously. The colour doesn't matter!) - was waved at Morgan as though it was an extension of his own hand.

"It's not easy ta get ta this point, but I think it's th' better place ta be. People'll look at ya an' think that yer all chirpy an' cheerful all th' time, so that means yer stupid or oblivious. They don't know it's not always th' way." A half-hearted shrug accompanied this. "Still, life is better when ya look up. See th' clouds up there? That one on th' left looks like a pineapple. But if ya resigned yerself ta feelin' nothin' but doom an' gloom, y'd just see it as a cloud, y'know?"

[delanuit]

[ smile ] for Little Jammes to smile at Erik from across the room, a sincere smile, even a grateful one, as if seeing him as a good man for the first time.

word prompts — accepting.

From the shadows, across the lobby, Erik watches the young girl and her mother. The older woman is bent, excitedly showing an envelope to her teenage daughter. Inside is a sum of money the girl could not have hoped to make in a year, donated by a generous philanthropist who had preferred to remain anonymous. Someone who only named themself, in the letter, as a ' concerned party ' who saw how hard her daughter worked and hoped that this could ease their burden.

Erik knows that Jammes would never have accepted the money directly, but with her mother so enthusiastically expounding their good fortune there is no way she can decline. He watches as the girl shakes her head in disbelief, casts her gaze around as if to find someone to thank, or blame.

“ This opéra pays their ghosts far better than their ghost hunters. ” He speaks in a low murmur, but throws his voice so that it will sound directly in her ear. His tone is light, mirthful, “ But they should pay their ghost hunters, and their dancers, much more. ”

Erik can pinpoint the exact moment her eyes find him in the shadows: invisible to other passersby, but not to her sharp eyes. He half expects her indignant rebuke, for her to storm across the room and yell that she didn't need charity from someone like him. But that is not what he receives. Instead, her face lights up and splits into a tentative but genuine smile — a sincere smile, even a grateful one, as if seeing him as a good man for the first time.

And strangely enough, this phantom finds he cannot help but offer a small smile in return.

[magiicxkiingdcm]

belle tag drop

── ★ || belle || i want much more than this provincial life || visage

[aetherose]

A white figure levitated countless feet up in the air, as wind blew past. The dreamlike girl's expression was hard to read, but there was a certain air of tension. A slight furrow in her brows, as golden eyes gazed out at her surroundings.

From up here, Luna was able to see quite a wide span of the wasteland that surrounded the Ascendants' base. The only real things of note were the Corrupted that littered the landscape and the ruins of structures from the Golden Age, left ravaged by the Punishing Virus.

Oh, but why was the girl pallid as the moon up so high, choosing to look upon featureless wilderness, when she surely had so much better things to do?

It was simple.

She was vulnerable; frustrated and anxious, and retreated to the sole place none could ever reach her- the sky (though still not high enough to not hear any who may call for her from below). Consumed by thoughts of the past she longed for yet simultaneously despised, and of the present she was unsatisfied with. Those times with her sister when they were young and happy, and then when Luna messed it all up by being far too kind for her own good.

When she was gullible and weak. A foolish child who through her naivety ruined everything and got herself and her sister into this mess she never wanted, never meant to cause, but was now forced to carry the burden of.

A burden that weighed on her, but a burden she also deserved. A burden she would not dare attempt to force any other to carry.

If not for herself, then she wouldn't be dealing with this frustration atop it all...regarding her sister. Alpha. How she refuses to confront the past, how she had become so different from how Luna remembered to a point Luna failed to fully understand her. She tried to help Alpha, but she found that there wasn't much she could do, and it angered her.

She became what she is to help her sister, and yet her sister feels so far out of her reach still. Despite how much more powerful Luna now was, she couldn't do a thing for the person she gained all of this power to create a better world for.

She hated it.

She hated feeling helpless so, so much. And she hated that this was all her own fault. Sure, even when they were kids, Alpha always took on the load, and always was a bit hard to understand. But back then, Luna felt like she understood her more than she does now...even if she was just as helpless to do much for her, and the one time she tried to do anything for her, everything fell apart.

And even now, it feels like she can't do anything for her sister besides continue reaching for her dream, for that paradise for her and her family to live happily in. That's all she could do, and it was at least something, and yet...

Luna finds herself curling up into a fetal position as she levitates, all of these thoughts overwhelming her M.I.N.D. as she shook her head, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs as she tried to focus on...well, anything other than her thoughts that continued tormenting her.

[vartouhix]

❛  We'll see each other again soon.  ❜ // it's what junjie always tells vartouhi before he leaves for his duties when they were kids & then he says it again when :(

soft angst sentence starters ; accepting

The breath of the planet's contented sigh kissed her cheek, tousling her pink hair. The wind turned the red grasses around them into a sea, waves undulating in perfect, lazy rhythm. The sky was turning purple as the sun sets on the day--a hard one, for Raeynia Vartouhi.

Becoming queen years ago had been unavoidable. Aram had fallen in battle, sacrificed himself to further their cause, to fight for freedom of their people. He was a hero, commemorated in the form of a glorious statue in the courtyard of the Knights Academy, forever a symbol for hopeful trainees to aspire to. Grief was no longer part of her day-to-day life. That monster had quickly been forgotten with all that had served as a distraction. But in quiet moments of remembrance, it made itself known again, its claws constricting around her heart.

Despite her years of experience being queen on another planet, Siran had refused to take up the crown. It made sense; her home was no longer on Balah. She had a family waiting for her, and she did not want to uproot them and force them to unlearn everything they had come to know to make room for a new world, a new culture. Afzal had developed post-traumatic stress disorder. Even if he had wanted to rule, he would not be fit. The time for Kohar to wed her many fiancés had finally come, and she could no longer stay on Balah. Lusine did not want the responsibility of the throne, used to helping the people with more freedom and autonomy, not to mention a sparser schedule. And Anoush sat in the dungeons for her treachery against her own home. Her powers taken away, she would never be the same unless Vartouhi deemed her rehabilitated. Even after all these years, Anoush still curled her lip in disdain and hissed her words at her sister whenever she visited, so it did not seem likely to be anytime soon.

Raisa and Zhirayr were gone. Had been, since the initial invasion; Raisa trying to save her lover and Zhirayr taking to the streets to help evacuate the civilians.

So it had been Vartouhi's duty to ascend to the throne. With her full power realized, it may have been the inevitable outcome, even if all the other factors surrounding her siblings had been different. She ruled justly, and with the aim of nurturing their planet back to peace and harmony. Of course, it was easier wished for than done. Junjie had stayed by her side all this time, and had been her rock in times where it all felt so overwhelming.

"We'll see each other again soon."

Pink brows furrowed above eyes full of confusion. Her head whipped around to take in the sight of him. He wasn't looking at her; his gaze was on the stars starting to peek out of their hiding places among the cosmos. She studied the expression on his face, searching for the secret she knew he must be hiding. "I relieved you of your duties for the week, because it's your birthday..." she explained slowly, carefully, as if his words had made her doubt her own actions. He looked at her, then, and his eyes were sad, a bittersweet smile just barely tilting the corners of his lips. "Junjie..." She felt chills wash over her entire body, like she was back on Earth and had stepped out into the cold of winter. Vartouhi could sense that something awful was coming.

She leaned forward, hands finding the dirt to prop herself up. Hesitated for a moment, before crawling over to him and climbing into his lap, arms wrapping around his neck. It was sort of an open secret that Balah's queen favored her most trusted guard. A maid had caught them in a similar position in her wing's personal library once, and the rumor had spread quickly. It was a testament to the respect her people had for her that no one thought less of her for it. On the contrary, some civilians and palace staff had bets on how long it would take her to wed him.

Vartouhi came closer, pressing her forehead to his. Her eyes began to glow, and it all flowed into her mind--all of his secrets, his memories, everything. When she recoiled back, eyes wide and bewildered, tears had begun to fill her waterline as the light flickered out of her eyes, her telepathic powers dismissed. She looked at him for a long moment, the tears building up until they overflowed, silently falling down her cheeks. Vartouhi cupped his face in her hands, shaking her head in tiny little movements. "Don't go, i'hlaya*," she begged. Quickly, she pressed her mouth to his, lips quivering with the effort not to sob into the kiss. It was soft, gentle. She was afraid pouring the entire depth of her feelings for him would only make this harder. "Please don't leave me behind." The words whispered across his lips, her own brushing against them as she spoke. Unable to hold it in anymore, she buried her face into his shoulder and wept.

Another breeze swept past the two, and she felt his posture go stiff in her hold. "Princess...?" He sounded confused, as one might sound after coming out of a dream. His hands came to her upper arms and carefully moved her back, as if he didn't know how to handle her. Upon seeing her crying, he looked alarmed, flustered, confused. "This isn't-- appropriate. Why-- why are you crying?" He scooted back, out from under her, and stood, dusting himself off with a clearing of his throat. "Come now, this behavior isn't befitting of a princess. We should get back to the palace. I'm sure someone is looking for you." But she didn't move. She just sat there, that monster called grief gleefully devouring her broken heart.

Her Junjie was gone.

[mystiika]

misc tag drop

[metalfeather]

9. for sparring to turn into sex

NSFW Prompts

Theirs was a dance practiced and performed for over countless lifetimes, a frenzy of adrenaline and sweat. A means of connection, of conversation, unspoken, but felt.

A smile is seemingly fixed to his features as he dodges the swipe of her wing, bending over backwards, using the momentum to kick up at her direction. " You're getting sloppy, Shayera." A painfully incorrect statement, made for the express purpose of pressing her buttons.

" Want me to show you a few moves?" He charges in, shoulder-first, feigning a body check to navigate his way to her behind, grappling a wing and pinning her against the wall.

He lets them stay there for a moment, letting the adrenaline settle and course its way through their body. His breath is hot against the back of her neck, a hand pressed gently on her wing while another came to rest on her hip, on the edge between what was a normal touch of support and a clear copping of a feel.

"I promise I'll be real thorough."

[burnedself]

papers. our muses getting frisky in an office / work setting.

USFW Prompts ft @sonicme

Ah, the routine tedium of academia. A part of her misses it, really. The day in and the day out, 9 to 5, experiencing time linearly, trying to expand young bright minds. Except for that bit Professor Ayers was busy doing, the grading. How could you put a number to one's intelligence? By putting a bunch of questions on a paper and mistaking remembering well to true learning?

That's why his classes were largely symposiums, near impossible to remember, leaving an impression, rather than tangible fact.

Shame Doctor Basil Disco disappeared on a trip to the Amazons. A truly tragic tale. She'll send the family flowers.

She lounges on one of River's chairs, bouncing a small, rubber ball against the wall a few times before getting bored by it. She needed a break-- They needed a break. River seemed to be hunched over her desk for the past week, it felt like. Then, flash of a memory, something River had done to him oh so very long ago. Feeling of being bored behind the desk, the approach of dark, curly, and mischievous. Hands, too many to count.

That was one way to kill the time.

So, she gets up, making her way to her desk, to stand behind her, hands placed on her shoulders. "You seem awfully overworked, professor." She speaks all too sweetly, innocently, leaning down to have her breath hot against River's ear, hands starting to slide down from her shoulders to the front of her shirt.

"You deserve a break, darling."

[virtualized-vocalists]

The scent of iron was heavy, suffocatingly so… That which was once hot with the flow of life, now steadily cooling… A wet, icy feeling upon his skin-- The worst of it, however, was something else entirely. Once dear faces now frozen, gazes vacant… And so much red-- Such a deep crimson, that seemed to coat almost everything--

The vision of this scene was abruptly shattered away, however, as Len jolted awake. The blonde's small form bolting upright as teal hues darted about the room for a few moments. Only to be greeted with the sight of his bedroom walls… Hesitantly, that gaze shifted down toward his hands… Palms shaky, but with no traces of that suffocating shade of red…

Be that as it may, though-- This didn't stop the wave of emotions that soon crashed over the small blonde. Tightly curling inwards on himself, fists clutched at the blanket now cocooning him, as a choked yet pained sob echoed off the empty walls. Even if the reality of what he'd been seeing had long since faded, that wasn't going to stop the past from haunting him… A fact that Len was painfully aware of, even after the years that had passed by at this point.

[idolsummons]

[ teach ] ( Ren and Modern verse Nobu. Can I request something music related ?)

affectionate gestures ･ﾟ✫ @nobuverse

[ teach ] - for receiver to help sender learn something / how to do something

'I'm not much of a teacher.' Ren stopped talking to finish tuning his bass guitar, making sure all strings sounded right to his well-trained ear. 'Y'know, I've never taught anyone before, so if you can be patient, I'm happy to teach you what I know.' It wasn't so much that he'd hate teaching. It was something he'd considered in the past - it would be so much more fun and rewarding than his barista job - but it was in the throes of a few bad weeks that he realised he didn't have the mental fortitude to keep it up as much as students would deserve. Spending time one on one with, at most, a friend or, at least, someone else with the same passion for music he had could work out, as long as she was willing to exhibit patience. 'But you should know that I'm more of a funk and jazz guy than rock n' roll. I can teach you, but a lot of what you'll learn from me stems from those kinda genres. You good with that?'

[critterbitter]

The twins and their starters may have grown slightly taller, but their love of shenanigans have tripled, no, quadrupled in size.

On that note did you know Eelectrik has a glow animation?? Perfect nightlight eel. Absolute gold standard for creature. Click here for the masterlist!

Bonus shitpost under cut ft @birdsaretoddlers’s incredible take.

(plus a fanfic drabble that birds did while we were discussing in chat! Check out their funny writing @birdsaretoddlers) “Lam lam pentttt. Lam.”

“Language. I am not calling them that. This is a civil discussion about the capacity of a 284 Berkshire’s firebox, not a playground argument.”

“Lammm Pent.”

“If you possess my phone I will have to put you in time-out in your ball, and neither of us will like that.”

The argument over a literal online flame war was cut short by the door flying open, one of the hinges breaking off with the force and flying somewhere into the aether, never to be seen again. Or at least, not without a strong magnet.

Emmet stood there, proudly, holding his newly-evolved Eelektrik, his grin a mile wide. Ingo picked his heart up out of his femoral artery, where it had lodged itself, and gently removed Lampent from where she hid, hanging over his shoulder. Emmet stood there, eyes twinkling, clearly ready to perform the coveted Bit. Ingo opened his mouth, got halfway through a word, and his twin took the proffered delight of cutting him off.

“I am Emmet and I discovered something INCREDIBLE. INGO LOOK.”

Ingo looked, because what else was he going to do? He would allow his twin to complete his circus act, it was only proper and polite. Eelektrik trilled with delight. Emmet twirled like the best of Nimbasan runway models, clearly wrestling his eel, cooing platitudes to it as he writhed and squirmed to get it into position.

“Me beautiful slimy baby, my beloved pool noodle, my beeesstt conductor!~” Doing something that could generously be called ‘dislocating his shoulders’, Emmet managed to get his eel flipped up and around his neck. He flopped forwards, bonelessly, tipping his hat and giggling madly. He was grinning harder than normal. Ingo was a little scared.

“But now, Eelektrik can do MORE. OBSERVE.”

He threw his shoulders back, standing up as tall as he could, somehow not throwing himself ass-first onto the floor as the fifty pounds of eel he was currently deadlifting remained stationary over his neck. Emmet’s arms flew upwards and out, rocking back and forth in jazz hands. Eelektrik frilled its fans, made another happy little buzz and-

"Eelektrik boa."

“DRAGONS ALMIGHTY. THE EEL GLOWS.”

There it was, clear as day. Eelektrik flashed it’s spots in natural bioluminescence, blinking like a neon sign. Bright beautiful yellow and clearly charged, Emmet’s hair stood on end, pushing his hat an inch off his head. They blinked in a rhythmic, pulsing manner. It was almost hypnotizing to watch, in a way. Ingo snapped back to reality, realizing his mouth had dropped open and Lampent had ceased questing for his Pokedex. Recognizing Emmet was looking for a response, he threw his arm out in a thumbs-up so fast his arm hurt, snapping his suspender against his neck.

“Brrravo! Ten out of ten! Majestic eel scarf!” He praised, Emmet’s expression only growing further full of himself and his achievement, which was well deserved. Lampent echoed the sentiment, flashing back at Eelektrik in response.

Now that both Pokemon could glow, they’d never have a problem in the caves again!