#project sweets

[potassiumsworld]

Dr. Pepper dragon done! Got a weak off, so.... Soda dragon incoming!

Also...why he do be looking like Clifford the big red dog 🤣

(Kinda wanna make a Violet dragon too now...)

[greykolla-art]

Charlie: “I’m so glad my most villain-coded friend is at full power again! 🥰💕”

*throws this to you angst goblins like raw steak* ❤️

(No I will not do a part 2!❤️)

[kaffkanya]

you KNOW they fucked after this. like, you wouldnt want to be their quarters neighbor that day. i know it was NASTY. i just know it.

[cacaocheri]

i need them equally obsessed with each other

[mayordea]

legacy of lunatic freakin kingdom

[kiwiplaetzchen]

Character Sheet / Student ID

With the help of some cute Gremlins, I was able to create a Character Sheet / Student ID with different designs for each house for your Hogwarts (Legacy) OC/MC!

Please feel free to use it and share your character(s)! :3 💚💙💛❤️

[choccy-milky]

clora's fav time to tease seb is when they're busy or in public and he has to restrain himself......girly knows what she's doing😇 (from my vellmore oneshot^^)

[egophiliac]

Wait, did you put a photo of Vil and Neige as kids in Eric’s office??

oh good, I was afraid that wasn't going to read properly and people would just be like "what is this supposed to be". :') but yeah! I like to think Eric was pretty fond of Neige as a kid! single dad sees orphan child approximately the same age as his own son and goes "hmm. okay, you guys are going to be friends now." (this did not go as well as he'd hoped.)

(also I do love how it's kind of a running joke that everyone loves Neige except for Vil, who's standing over in the corner and just seething with furious irrational hatred. someday maybe he'll find someone who doesn't think Neige is the best thing since cinnamon rolls.)

[wesstars]

crush

cairo sweet x fem!reader (no pronouns used)

summary: when cairo goes home, what comes to mind are thoughts of you. wc: 2.3k tags: explicit, minors DNI!! all characters 18+. university au. masturbation, smoking, non-linear narrative. reader is cairo’s teaching assistant, reader described as masc presenting. a/n: let me know what y’all think :) for the vibes

masterlist

“Is Professor Miller not coming?” Winnie had just dropped into her unassigned assigned seat next to Cairo, two minutes before Greco-Roman Literary Theory started. The flipping of pages punctuated the chatter of other students waiting, a comfortable sound.

“He said he’d be gone today,” Cairo replied absently. “There’s a ‘guest lecturer,’ our teaching assistant.”

“Oh, right. Who’s that?”

Cairo shrugged. “Who knows.” 

As if on cue, the door swung open. Cairo didn’t even look up—Miller mentioned that he kept a handful of research assistants that would be there to help with the advanced reading. But honestly, Cairo wasn’t sure what they could tell her that she didn’t already know. A melodic hum fell through the air for just a moment, a chorus. 

“Good morning.” At your lilting voice, rough with the edge of 10am, Cairo started. She watched you set your messenger bag on the desk. Your white shirt pulled over your shoulders; there was a glint at your collar, a necklace peeking through. A thin watch adorned your wrist. Winnie, along with some of the class, echoed your greeting, and Cairo blinked.

Late spring afternoon draped across the furniture in Cairo’s room, the quickly waning light giving easy way to a blue hour. Dropping her bag at the door, she tore off her shirt and skirt with the confidence of one standing before a crowd. Running a hand up from her sternum to her neck, she stretched languidly, sinking down onto her bed. After so many uneventful days—when she applied to Yale, she didn’t think that there would be any uneventful days—she finally had a story to turn over in her mind. 

You. You were a mystery. Even as you had started the class with an introduction, telling Cairo you’d graduated from a middle-of-nowhere college in California and sought a writing career in Vermont before delving into research, she longed to lay out the details and pull them out from under the rug. Where did you learn to teach? Did you like to drive, or be driven? Mountains, or the sea? Where did you grow up? Was there coffee or tea in your cupboard? Cairo’s stomach burned to know. Her dark eyes burned the ceiling with smoke signals, searching for you even though you were god knows where in that seaside state.

Arching her back, Cairo let her hand travel down, palm flat against her stomach, to trace the seam of her upper thigh. As the class had progressed, your keenly observant nature did not elude Cairo. Maybe listening was something that your pedagogy instilled in you, but the way you held each student’s question in the cant of your head, an answer in your crinkling eyes, listening seemed to be in your nature. It was meticulous, the way you picked apart the class text, weaving in references and tying it all in. In that two hour lecture, Cairo learned that you watched the same way you listened. 

Balmy as it was, the humidity made her dark waves cling to her skin, and she shivered as she brushed them back, thinking of a different pair of slim hands. Your scrutiny of each student had an intention that she couldn’t quite place; a determination that thrilled her. Cairo imagined that you’d observe her the same way, that she would be the one you were most fond of. It was only natural that her own attention would draw yours onto her. Holding the weight of your envisioned gaze made Cairo’s core twist, a pleased little flush that she prayed you could see. Your affected impartiality didn’t bother Cairo—in fact, it pulled her into your shadow. In her bed, she rolled onto her stomach then her knees, shaking her hair out. 

Her hands were steady as she reached for her bedside table, thumb rolling on the wheel of her zippo as she held the cigarette to her lips. Cairo took a drag, blowing out neat smoke rings as she settled back on her heels. The skin of her own fingers was cool against her lips, and when she took the smoke away, she studied the pattern of her lipstick on the white paper as she had so many times before.

She’d watched, unabashedly and unafraid of being caught, as you drummed your fingers on the chalk tray. Would your fingertip be soft or work hardened if it pressed down her tongue? Would your skin carry the stain of her red lip as deeply, as obediently, as the malleable wrapping paper?

“Alright, class,” you cleared your throat, turning slowly around the room to make eye contact with each student. “As you know, Jonathan’s away on a conference today. I’ll start with a bit of roll, just so I can learn your names. Not many of you come to my office hours, I know.” You smiled easily. It was so guileless, Cairo mused, nearly childlike. You had the class go around the rooms with names and majors, a circuit that Cairo gave no attention to other than your lilting rhythm of hums, the tapping of your foot on the floor, the way you flicked the corner of the role sheet with your thumb. Your gaze was soon on hers, waiting expectantly. She looked right back with a blink.

“Cairo Sweet. English major.”

“Cairo.” Her name rolled off your innocent little grin, making her cock her head. “Wonderful.” Fascinating. Would you whisper midnight black desires in her ear, so deep and dark they might be murmured into the ink of your own empty room?

You continued, circling back to the front and easily transitioning to the lesson plan. You had an awfully effortless way of grasping the class’ attention, holding gently and never forcing. It wasn’t like Professor Miller, who always seemed to hasten through the lecture so he could return to his research. She could tell you liked the woods of the text, to fall down into the depths of each word, feeling its weight in you and letting it rock. Just like Cairo. 

She sighed into the warm air prickling up her skin, the curl of your voice around her name making her nipples harden in her bralette, even in retrospect. Exhaling around her cigarette, Cairo brought her hands up to palm her breasts, feeling the drag of her rubied nubs on her palms. Was it the high of the nicotine, the blur of smoke ridden air that made her float straight up into the lofty space you’d created in her mind? Though the feel of her own fingers scraping the lace against her skin was familiar, she found herself keen to think of your soft or callused hands. She was wet already, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten wet so fast.

The weight she imagined of your touch on her flushed skin was completely, deliciously foreign. Unbidden but intimately welcome, Cairo wished that your caress would find the map of her chest as familiar as a classic, something you had searched a million times over yet always managed to find something new. Shamelessly, Cairo trailed her fingers down her stomach, nails catching on every rib as she arched her back in the spilled moonlight. The mystery in the crossing of your long legs as you’d leaned back on the desk climbed up her belly, curling in the thump, thump, thump, of her heart. The uneven roll of your sleeves clung to the corners of her eyes, eidetic and oh, so, tempting. She had watched you so ardently—did you like to watch? Would you watch? 

The space between her thighs was achingly empty, craving the set of your narrow hips. She was comfortable there, and she remembered the taut stretch of wool as you dropped into your chair and set one ankle over your knee. There was something endearing about the way your trousers had pulled up to reveal slouchy black socks, and darker her mind went as the material pulling creases around your lap made her shudder and—she reached behind to pull one of her fluffy pillows under her, smoke billowing into the air. 

Cairo gave her hips an experimental roll, imagining it was the soft fabric of your slacks against her aching cunt, and grinned around her cigarette. Unlike the pillow, you would be ever so solid under her, grabbing for her thighs like a dog yearns to please. Were you more likely to bruise her skin, yanking her into you without care for blood—or would you guide her gently, make a home in her innocence and hold her more dearly than life ever could? Either way, your desire for Cairo would be so apparent that you couldn’t help yourself.

The dip of your tongue in her navel, the little smirk you’d undoubtedly wear as you went down further—would you go for her throbbing clit first, or would your lips press so warm—she didn’t know. She didn’t have to, content with all those different versions of you unfurling before her. In her bedroom, each time she moved her hips, it became easier to imagine you guiding her actions, the bump of your nose on her folds, damned if not addicting.

Cairo grinned as she fell onto her forearms, hips pushing into the soft pillow without abandon. The slide of her panties soaked with slick against her sensitive clit felt like the delicate press of your splayed hand on her desk as you’d passed, eyes occupied by the text you were holding. It had only been a split second, but it was enough for her to memorize every crease, every vein. Cairo let out a whine, a demanding little sound, as her movements grew erratic. Looking up into the heaven where you must be, she imagined that you’d murmur to her, “I’m here, I’m here, how could I be anywhere else but here?” as you traced the dip in her back. Her arousal took her down every sullied path she’d ever dreamed of, but her mind stuck on one gesture that made her mouth go dry. 

She remembered the way your shirt got just a bit untucked when you stretched during the class break. You’d instinctively tucked it back in, quick as you surveyed the class. Cairo thought that you’d dress yourself back up the same way after you bent her over the desk after class, pushing her skirt up and shoving your fingers into her, painting bruises onto her hip bones with how tight you held her.

The two of you would share a mutual understanding that she wanted this, wanted it bad enough for you to take it whenever you saw fit. Cairo decided that today, this time, you’d be as rough as you pleased, a cup of pens clattering to the ground as you pushed her down, forearm across her shoulder blades. Your necklace would be cold on her warm skin, would it be cold on her tongue? You’d put two, three fingers inside, humming in that absentminded way you did. She thought you’d nuzzle into her ear, all lips and sharp teeth, asking if she’d sprayed your favorite hair mist of hers because she hoped you’d notice—she did—and take her, break her, whatever you wanted. 

You’d send her plummeting down towards a deeper hell (or was it higher, up to your majestic heaven?), already knowing everything that her body needed. Cairo imagined herself coming so helplessly around the stretch of your fingers, so high strung from nights of trying to mimic the press of your touch on her clit, unable to reach the same heights you sent her to. As she held back tears, eyes on the ceiling in reverence, feeling herself drip to the floor, you’d sigh as your mind wandered to other things already, carelessly running a hand down her back. 

Cairo gasped, dropping her nearly finished cigarette in favor of gripping the bed sheets. The white fabric wrinkled around her fingers, reminiscent of your shirt creasing as you’d rolled your sleeves up. This was something new you could show her, just how fast she could come and just how wet it made her. It was a marvel, feeling the fabric cling to her cunt, almost as good as how you’d feel. Resting her forehead in the crook of her elbow, she murmured your name over and over again, a little susurrus of a litany, so similar to your preoccupied hum. Panting, Cairo giggled in her bliss, soft and bright as Californian oranges clinging to rich leaves. You were dark enough to be tucked into the wrinkles in the soft pillow, dark enough for Cairo to love, as a journal loves a secret.

Sated, Cairo grabbed her phone and typed your name in. The results spilled out, and she scrolled, looking for all of the details in the background of your social media posts, curiously drunk on the year’s gap in your CV. Cairo noticed the perfect little circle where the cigarette had burned when she dropped it, and she brushed away the remnants. The gesture smeared the ash on the sheets.

—

Walking into your office with barely a knock, Cairo took in the familiar room of an academic, but with your unfamiliar knick knacks around the place. A lighter, a leather wallet, glasses and wired headphones. You didn’t look surprised as you glanced up from your laptop. Instead, you smiled. 

“Cairo, isn’t it?” 

A flush of pleasure shot straight into her—you remembered. She nodded. Your shelves were covered in books and stacks of reviews, the morning’s leftover cup of coffee sitting on one of the ledges. Did you smoke before, or after your coffee? The terrible, terrible want to replace the taste of smoke on your tongue with the taste of her gave Cairo just the confidence she needed. 

“What can I do for you?”

Cairo leaned over your desk, watching the way your eyes dropped to her burgundy lipstick. “Would you be able to help me on the Aristophanes reading?” She pushed her copy of The Clouds towards you. “I can’t seem to grasp it.” Your eyes met hers. “Of course.”

--

a/n cont'd: can you read my mind, i’ve been watching you… there’s just something about you, baby… ♪ / hope you enjoyed @woewriting :)

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

[mohntilyet]

illario as the grandchild that is most like caterina is something i'm loving to chew on. the grandson that took her lessons to heart the most. kill anyone who sees your face and knows your name, "we are not revolutionaries", the first out of the two to prioritise the contract. power at any cost, and the only one to lean into the unnecessary abuse that their grandmother told them was tradition. why is anyone surprised he allied with the venatori? and then there's illario's considerable skill in infiltration and manipulating any mark, he has always had the charisma that lucanis lacked. illario isn't attached, he has/can/will use someone and immediately drop them; "that does free me from promises i don't intend to keep". he can lie about how much he cares so well that he fools a magister into believing he loves her. he kills zara without hesitation to cover his own tracks, meanwhile lucanis blindly promises a young girl in the middle of a siege that he will help her find her father. even the lessons about family stick with him, and in this entire messy power struggle, he never actually orders anyone to directly kill caterina or lucanis, not until he's backed into a corner.

and even after all that. despite even lucanis believing illario should be first talon, lucanis is still the better killer. illario is not strong enough to be the brutal assassin caterina needs him to be. so when lucanis seems to fill the role his mother left, grief and love for her dead heir apparent remains, and any of the other qualities caterina needs in her next talon doesn't matter. whatever his mother was, lucanis has to be. what illario does doesn't matter, because he will always be second best to caterina's memory of her favored daughter.

[oobbbear]

Short film

The core of anger is deep sadness

Design sheets

[potassiumsworld]

I made some more spirits! Meet Breeze and Flauna.

Breeze is a windspirit. They like the music they call a small breeze. Is a very calm spirit.

Flauna is the more daring one of all nature spirits. They will attack if they feel in danger. Likes dancing and hopes to form a group with Wave as the singer.

[beaglesbites]

realised the prosecutors badge looks like a cross!

[kakajaa]

precious memories

[vasira96]

friendship is witchcraft???

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

katsuki hates black coffee. it's so obvious it's almost painful. the face he makes when it's done brewing, the way it takes him taking a deep breath and chugging the entire thing in one go to finish and the deep, deep sigh he let's out afterwards.

it's obvious, too obvious. you know it, he knows it.

but he insists on drinking it every single day.

every morning he makes it exactly the same and you just cannot understand why. and you're determined to find out.

today you're both off work. it's been happening less frequently and you couldn't be happier to spend time with your man today. he must've been dead tired, because you woke up before him and his alarm, that he has even though he always manages to wake up before it rings, so you sneakily turn it off and escape from his bear like grip to sneak to the kitchen.

like the great, amazing, loving partner you are, you decide to make him breakfast in bed. you know that despite him not liking overly sweet foods, he still likes him some sugar. you make him pancakes like you know he likes, a family recipe you still haven't told him. you know it's a bit petty, but if he found out he'd probably be able to replicate them to a t immediately and you like taking care of him, and you like the feeling that bubbles in your chest when he groans happily when the food hits his tastebuds and he gobbles it up.

your secret stays safe with you for now.

tray in hand and returning to your bedroom, you're surprised but definitely happy to see him still asleep when you're done. you smile, he truly does deserve the rest after all the work he'd done. you place the tray onto your night stand, running your hands over his eyebrows and slowly running over his messed up hair, thumbing at his hairline. his eyebrows slowly furrow as he tries to lean into it, cheek smudged against the pillow.

"baby.." you sing, katsuki grumbles, shoving his head into his pillow.

"katsuki.." you giggle, running your hand over his back to ease him into waking up. he flips around in an instant, raising an arm up and stretching, his other arm reaches for yours. you give it to him, he squeezes your hand and runs his other one through his hair.

"hi.." you chirp sweetly, katsuki grunts in response, squeezing your hand again in greeting.

"..how long've you been up ?" he asks, voice still deep and gruff from just waking up.

"about an hour.." you respond quietly, easily talking and not in a rush for once. katsuki's eyebrows furrow in confusion and his head whips towards his phone, grabbing it and checking his alarm that had been mysteriously turned off. he turns to squint at you and you giggle, he pinches your thigh and mutters out a "dummy.."

he sniffs the air when he registers the smell of pancakes, and his head quickly zips over to the tray you'd placed there for him. his ears turn pink "you didn't have to do this." you notice how he refrains from adding an affectionate insult towards the end of his sentence, you laugh.

"i know, but i wanted to. now eat up before it gets cold !" you grinned. katsuki sighs, a soft smile pulling at his face before he ducks his head, grabbing the tray and placing it in his lap. his eyes close the moment he gets a bite and your heart beats hard against your chest.

"you seem to be enjoying that." you say cheekily.

" 'm gonna get that recipe outta you one day." he vowed, pointing his fork at you, he groans when he gets another bite "so fuckin' good.." he mutters to himself between bites. you chortle.

after swallowing a few bites in silence, katsuki smacks his lips before he talks again "you just gonna watch me eat ?"

"i'm liking this view," you respond, leaning against your hand and sighing dramatically. katsuki rolls his eyes, an unmistakable blush crosses his cheeks before he's beckoning you over with a 'come here' motion, picking a piece of pancake onto his fork and placing a hand underneath the other as he brings it closer to your lips. "open up," he orders, and you do, tasting your work. you hum happily, and he watches you intently as you do. his eyes drift over to the mug still untouched on the nightstand.

a mug of coffee. black.

he frowns almost immediately, you don't need to look away to know why. you see how he tries to fix his face immediately, you assume so as not to hurt your feelings, your heart warms just a bit more. but you can't help but tease him.

"better drink it before it gets cold.." you sing, trying to sound unbothered. katsuki's grunt borders on a whine as he places his tray to the side. he picks up the mug, making sure to scowl at the black liquid inside, he inhales, before gulping it up quickly.

only to stop, eyebrows furrowing curiously at the flavour.

"it's--"

"good ?" you smile knowingly, you lean back a bit, pressing your legs to your chest and wrapping your arms around your legs. you swing slightly side to side.

katsuki slowly blinks at you "what d'you.."

"i put some sugar in it." you admit, you see how katsuki's face drops, eyebrows flying to his hairline. "katsuki, we both know you don't like it plain black. i don't see why you can't just have some sugar in it." you shrug "i know you've got your diet, but it won't kill you."

he leans back, shrinking into the headboard like he'd been caught committing a crime. his lips pull up into a frown.

"i know that, that's not the problem.." he downs the rest of his drink and he sighs afterwards, it almost sounds like a sigh of relief. it makes you snort. "then what is ?"

"i dunno..hadn't had it in a while and figured i'd try it again, see if i like it."

"but you clearly don't."

"i'd get used to it then." he shrugs.

"katsuki.." you sigh, "you don't have to, you know. nothin' wrong with a little sugar." you tease. honestly, you found it cute. you know he's stubborn and he doesn't give up, even against his own body. you'd seen it happen multiple times, but with something so simple as black coffee was pretty funny.

you think, maybe, he's trying to be more grown up. you remember he tried black coffee back in high school and hated it so bad it ruined his mood for the entire day. maybe, he thought he should like it now since he's graduated and he's an adult. it was sweet, just like how he liked his coffee. and it was so him. you want him to know he doesn't have to change a thing, he's perfectly okay and adult as he is now, coffee plain or sugary. with cream or without or with a sweet treat from the bakery next door.

"course i know that." he mutters after a while, smacking his lips when the taste of his coffee still lingers on his tongue. he places it and the tray back on the nightstand. he grabs your hand, pulling you closer to have you sit in his lap. "so come give me some." he smirks at your flustered expression. one hand reaches the back of your neck to pull you closer, his other hand at the small of your back for the same purpose.

"you just ate and you still haven't brushed your teeth, mister." you run your finger in circles over his chest. he gets hot quickly in the night so he likes to sleep shirtless, your hand runs over the shape of the scar on his shoulder. katsuki snorts, sharp teeth on display as he smirks.

"so ? you know you always wanna kiss me." and he smirks because he knows he's right. you huff, but lean down to kiss him anyway, muttering a quick "shut up," before silencing him. he snickers against your mouth and it doesn't take him long to deepen the kiss, you squeal when he flips you over, laying you right back in bed.

"thanks for breakfast." he says against your lips, leaning back in before you could respond "you're not gettin' away anymore, though. you're gonna spend the day here with me, where you're supposed to be." he drops onto you and you let out an "oof !" at the pro hero mass dropped onto you. you grip his shoulders as he kisses from your cheek to your ear.

"d'you like breakfast ?" you breathe out.

"you know i did, don't make me say it again." he grunts out, biting your cheek when you giggle "now i'd like to spend some time with my girl." he mumbles against your shoulders, voice muffled. you giggle, bring his head up to press your lips to his again.

and they taste sweet, just how you like them.

taglist (finally!!) if your name is pink i unfortunately couldnt tag you :((( : @napbatata @andysdrafts @queenpiranhadon @jastoo46 @cecelia77

@katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba

@moonshuul @erenstitanweave @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam

@aspiringwriter1111 @sugurusmoon @redvelvetstan1

@niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia