#scythes just look so cool!!!

[groovynightsky]

I did another gacha redesign, this time of reaperess Magy! I gave her a white shirt and this short of shorter jacket, white boots and made the hair bows black. I think it's from the designs I changed the least tbh, I always liked Mary's design

2nd and 3rd art by Luni

[darija-morgan]

I can't help but adore that there are not one, not two, but six gods of death in FR lore!

Like...

God of Death

In pretty okay grim reaper way

God of Death

In bloody stabby stab way

God of Death

In dominant daddy bbc way

God of Death

In chaotic stupid bullshit way

God of Death

In fair unbiased judge way

God of Death

In insidious alien insect mummy way

They warms my dark soul in an inexplicable way :3

[alyimoss]

LMFAO "SHUT UP. GIVE ME YOUR SWAG"

[worrywrite]

You've lived a long and fulfilling life. You've done a lot of good, and while you're ready to move on now there's still one last thing you'd like to do. So you wait.

And then the day comes. You feel you're heart beat its last. And then they appear, clad in robes like night and leaning casually and comfortably against their scythe. Their skeletal face bears no expression but the gentle tilt to the side and slow seeping breath that escapes is boney face is strangely comforting.

"You have lived a good life, but it is time to go. Are you ready?"

"Not quite. There's something I've always wondered."

"Oh? Something I can tell you, perhaps?"

"Is it really possible to challenge you for my life?"

The calm and kind posture shifts to one more rigid and wary. This is a common question, surely. Death passes through many people every day, it is not unreasonable to assume some challenge him.

"You have a right to challenge me."

"Oh, good, cool. I'll go with you no matter what at the end, I'm really just curious if you could win or not."

Some of the kindness returns. You are unusual among its challengers. And they are willing to risk your challenge although they are perhaps now more wary than before.

"Name your challenge, I accept all games of chance and skill and tests of wit. And should you comply with your word to surrender regardless I will gladly take part."

"All right then, folks! Looks like it's time for a Game Changer!" You shout to an apparently invisible audience as you pull the level by your chair.

The walls rise up around you, your rip off your tearaway clothes to reveal a suit and tie, and you stand from the chair you were inches from death on before and flip it around to reveal a podium.

POV: your are Sam Reich and you are about to produce your last episode of game changer featuring Death. Guest appearance by Zac Oyama's tortured soul and Brennan Lee Mulligan's brain in a jar.

[satoruhour]

a/n: jjk 236 spoilers, mentions of suicide from reader’s side, no comfort, cry. around 1.4k. tagging @jabamin @hyomagiri @saiki-enthusiast @arminsumi @shotorus @satohruu so yall can suffer w me

the first signs of grief manifests in you when there’s a bright light that signifies gojo’s disperse of cursed energy, the familiar hollow purple that obliterates half the buildings around the two strongest sorcerers — one from the heian and the other one from our times. surely, your lover wouldn’t do something as foolish as involving himself with the blast, but gojo satoru is always one to take risks.

when he took up the job of taking care of megumi and tsumiki at just eighteen years old and providing all the things they needed to fluorish. gojo is risky as he convinces a kid with a terrifying curse to make some friends and learn about cursed energy. he sometimes puts himself in danger when he takes up more missions he can shoulder just to show the higher-ups that he can kill them any time.

gojo satoru has the world of jujutsu in his hands; how his birth had changed the trajectory of the society, altered the balance of the world and now—

“satoru!” you call out once the smoke clears and he’s still there, intact, smiling a sick smile like the many times you’ve seen him done at megumi and after burning french toast. you brief a sigh of relief and the pounding of your heart calms down momentarily before sukuna emerges and he’s missing a hand and a leg and your heart pulls lower and lower seeing the kid you raised be such a ragdoll for sukuna’s entertainment. but there was always the hope to isolate the king of curses’ soul and save megumi somehow. shoko and you had discussed it, you know it to be true, it has to be true, until there’s a sharp noise that cuts through your ear drums.

it’s high-pitched, like a flash of light that shines in your eyes too abruptly and you have to cover them. but it blinds you as much as it deafens; an attack from god knows which end and you swear you hear the reaper’s scythe.

gojo thinks you look beautiful like this; hand on your cheek and head in your hand as you watch him and the melodic sounds of the knife hitting the cutting board. you’re so concerned about him cutting his hand again that you’ve dragged your chair all the way into the kitchen to watch him closely, which was counterintuitive; the whole reason why he had bled in the first place was because he was looking at you so much.

he admires the way you curl into yourself on the beanbag in the apartment, a book on your lap on how to get to know your teenager better, hair falling over your eyes and the reading lamp not even helping that much in illuminating the words. gojo skims over your features and the way your chest breathes slowly, like everything good in the world. he hopes he’s able to get that with you in this life, for as long as he lives.

you feel it before you see it in the screens that the fight is broadcasted from — something is missing. a light has switched off, satoru has stolen the blanket at night and left you freezing again, seeing your favourite snack missing from the fridge. and you run. past the students you’ve raised, past the bright blinding screens and into the battlefield, past the debris and each crunch of cement under your feet brings a fresh bout of tears to your eyes. the tokyo winter is cool, snow starting to slowly fall upon you and the saltiness on your face seem to crystallise and harden and you’re not even sure any more. there’s a tingling feeling in your feet, in your finger tips and a pull of your heart. you know where gojo is before you see him.

“s— satoru…” you mumble, eyes welling up with more tears when his bottom half stays standing, baggy pants stained with red, red and more red and you’ve never hated a colour like you do now. you hate it, you hate it, you hate it even when he’s proposed to you with a red velvet box and gotten you valentine’s day chocolates in that same darker red and there is just too much blood.

and then it’s like the hierarchy of grief doesn’t matter any more. all those articles you’ve read preparing yourself after gojo’s fated meeting with death at sixteen, and then after shibuya — you think you can’t handle any more of the collecting and patching up and crying and headaches and holding a finger up to your chest and hoping you’d kill yourself with your own technique. the only time you’d accept the absence of the bright blue on his face is when he was sleeping and his chest moved with even breaths, not like this.

not like this. 

“satoru—” your voice cracks and you cannot even see. tears and tears and mucus and the fresh crunch of snow under your feet as you step closer to his severed body.

“baby…” he mumbles, barely above a whisper, hand twitching and reaching out in the direction of your voice because this is infinitely worse than getting stabbed in the neck by toji fushiguro, perhaps a little worse than seeing your best friend of your high school life get manipulated by a cursed user. satoru wants to demote all of that and say that seeing you stumble to your knees in front of him while you hyperventilate and sob hurts the most. 

“d-don’t move, ’toru, we— we’re going to get you b-back, okay?” you’re playing with god now. “shoko!” the doctor stifles a sob at your cry, broken up by the feedback of the sound system. she knows you’re trying to defy god.

“i don’t think—” the light is slowly dying. the world’s light, the student’s light, your dawn and dusk. “m-my love, everything is…”

“satoru, please, you need to—!” they say the last sense to go is touch and hearing. you crouch to his face to see him react to your warmth, eyes moving an inch to where he thinks you were and puts all of his cursed energy into one hand just so he could hold your cheek. you, warm as always as the sun and everything good in the world, a new rush of warmth overtaking his hand when your tears flow over his battered, tired hands, the same hands that has drawn over his love time and time again over your body and you are a canvas made of gojo satoru’s endless, unconditional ardour.

“i-i’m…” it fades out, his voice box is almost gone and you wail again and the snow from below wets your knees. his name is all that leaves your lips and you think if you can’t play god, you can only beg, even if your religion is solely gojo satoru.

“no, no, no no nono, satoru, c’mon, baby, stop it!” you scream in his face, words all mushed together when you feel the breath of life leave his chest, the blues die out in his eyes, “i love you, i love you, darling, i love you—” your lover barely manages to muster a small smile and you scramble all over his chest, clutching at the tattered black t-shirt and his hand that is starting to go cold and he has the energy to mutter out a stupid remark like gojo satoru always does.

“i’m sorry i got y-your favourite outfit stained with red, princess…” satoru whispers and that breaks the dam fully. you sob and groan and cry and wail until your voice is hoarse and you cannot speak any more and gojo wants nothing but to full heal himself again just so he could stop your crying. perhaps hold your face in his hands and kiss your forehead and nose and lips and embrace you until you couldn’t breathe. perhaps even to tell you he loved you more than anything and everything; more than poems and that foolish line he just had to say at the end and kikufuku and waking up next to you.

but in what world will gojo satoru ever get repose and a normal life? you hope for every other universe to have him be a preschool teacher, or maybe a florist, or even a superstar. but not in this one, no.

the hand that caressed your cheek is replenished again with cursed energy.

satoru gives you three squeezes.

[yjcorefourenjoyer]

I have no idea if Tim has ever had a scythe or if his Bo staff could ever turn into one but in my head I just needed to see Tim’s Bo be a scythe, so I just made this myself

Just imagine Red Robin with a scythe!! He’d look so scary and cool!

also ignore how horrible this looks I made it in under 30mins

[snoopledrooplecheesedoodle]

Fall Yandere Prompts

Fuck Me I put prompts on the other thing at didn't actually put prompts, I suck anyways here are a few prompts made by yours truly. Others are free to use them just please tag me. Thanks. I'll make more Halloween ones if people like these.

Apple Cider: A sweet yet tangy that leaves a warm feeling. Your eyelids start drooping after drinking every drop.

Bonfire: Dry sticks and leaves are so easy to burn in high bright flames. Be wary of what the light attracts.

Crows: Inky black birds with a glimmer of intelligence in their eyes. You feel a dozen pairs of eyes watching your every move.

Dry Leaves: Crunchy and brown and always fun to mess around in. You hear a second set of feet slowly trotting behind you.

End: Autumn signifies the end of Summer and a change in season. It also signified the end of your freedom.

Flannel: The warmth of this fall apparel is so comforting in the crisp weather. Don't you like it, they picked out just for you.

Grain: Bountiful and golden, shaking in the cool breeze. You meet a friendly stranger standing in the grain field, holding a scythe.

Harvest: Fall provides us with a bountiful harvest of corn, pumpkins, apples, pears, and grain. Such bounty requires a sacrifice to be made.

Indoors: Why go outside when you can snuggle under the covers and keep warm? Just because it's your home doesn't mean you are safe.

Jack-O-Lanterns: Grinning gourds light up the night, carving them is a fun activity. They want to participate but got a little too creative.

Kettle: Boiling water for a hot beverage on the stove is so nice. The water isn't quite done but you still hear whistling.

Leaf: Colorful trees make such wonderful leaves they look good pressed in a book. You see one on your bed side every day, they have a distinct metallic scent.

Mushrooms: Clustered together they're a fungi to be around. More seem to grow near you each day in strange patterns.

Nutmeg: Fall spices are aromatic and make every dish warm with flavor. If your running low the next-door neighbor might have some, might as well come inside while they look for what you need.

Orchard: Fruit trees tended to with tender care, baring crimson fruit. Picking just one won't hurt.

Pie: Steaming goodness wrapped in a golden shell. Have another slice there's plenty to go around.

Quiet: Many an autumn night is filled with sweet and calming silence. It feels a little too quiet tonight, might want to retire early.

Reaping: How to harvest the crops grown, you reap the rewards of the Earth. Someone has come to take you or your soul, they're not very picky.

Spider: Dainty legs weave beautiful webs, enticing as they are dangerous. Any prey they catch, they won't let go.

Tree: Majestic and tall these ancient plants reach up to the dwindling sun with aching branches. Haven't you seen that tree before, you must be hopelessly lost, perhaps that's better than being found.

Umbrella: The cold weather makes rain extra chilling; with a warm smile you share your umbrella. No good deed goes unpunished, as the storm outside isn't what you should be worried about.

Vermillion: Beautiful shade of red found plentifully in the fall, its beautiful yet it can be a dangerous color too.

Wind: Rattling trees and blowing the leaves to the ground, the wind tickles your ears and nips at your nose. It carries with it the unhinged words of a person you never want to see again.

Xenial: Being most hospitable is a must during autumn. This does not change when a stranger shows up at your front door requesting shelter.

Yarn: Soft threads of vibrant colors used to create warm clothes, blankets, and other things. The string prevents you from moving while someone knits in the corner, eyes focused on you.

Zipper: Better zip up when it's so chilly outside, wouldn't want to catch a cold. You also might want to zip it before they hear you.

[silverseaming]

Summer drifts in on a warm wind, the heat climbing so subtly at first that it was hard to notice. By the middle of the harvest, though, the rays beat down with such intensity that man, beast and flower wilt beneath them. Only the wheat is uncowed, tall and golden as a sticky breeze runs ripples through the fields. It’s almost bearable in the morning — beautiful, even — when the sun only peeks over the mountaintops, glazing the crops orange as the sunrise. The stalks are still heavy with dew, Chestnut’s feathering shining with the moisture.

At midday, however, it is decidedly not beautiful. Despite setting out at dawn and having the help of the Mellors and Gillis boys, the need to harvest while the dry weather lasts means Kit can’t avoid the worst of the heat. By now his shirt sticks to his back, calluses throbbing on his palms. Even the faithful Chestnut has abandoned him to amble down to the creek, not that he can blame her. Each pile of straw tossed increases his longing for the sweet relief of cool water. It’s hard work, yes, but it must be done. This harvest, just like their first harvest, cannot be allowed to fail. Not when he’s risked so much for this, not when they need this, need— well, not even only the money. The success, the small joy of all the crops being gathered in, a bounty in one area of their lives, when others have been painfully barren. And enough to buy a Johnson self-raking reaper, he thinks, as he fiddles with the latest knot of twine. At least then Chestnut would have to pull her weight, rather than leaving everything to Kit and his scythe.

Just when he can’t take any longer, sustenance arrives in the form of Meg and Daisy, laden with freshly baked bread, jams, lemonade, and all sorts of other delights. This little ritual has quickly become Kit’s favourite part of the day — not just because of the welcome meal they bring, but for the view of watching them walk over the field, the moment before Daisy’s sticky hands grab at his where they come close enough for him to see their smiles. It makes something tighten in his chest. Gratitude. Guilt. The two never seem too far apart these days. Looking at Daisy it’s easy to forget, simply lose himself in her innocent happiness. But there are moments of sadness he catches in Meg’s eyes that bring up a whole new guilt, the old crashing harder in its wake. It’s all for them. That’s what he tells himself. It’s better Meg doesn’t worry. Not now. “Thank you, love.” Kit says, pulling Meg a little closer. “It’s no trouble,” Meg smiles, “And this way Daisy gets to be out in the fields with Pa, without driving me to distraction.” “Well, you two are my saviours all the same.”

[sytoran]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟕 — 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘

kinktober day 007 | bimbo!wanda x ghostface!reader

for years on end you've chased sweet revenge. from being your high school bully to the fount of your desires, wanda maximoff is your esteemed salvation and utter demise. today, you plan on taking it all back.

rating ♤ contains explicit smut, 18+

warnings ♤ mentions of violence, self-harm, homophobia, suicide. elements of non-con. read with caution. heterosexual sex (🤢) (it'll be worth it tho i swear)

word count ♤ 2543

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

It’s an eerily quiet night in Woodsboro.

Perhaps the odds are falling in your favour, for once. Your black robe gets dragged along the concrete pavement of Elm Street as you silently make your way towards the desired location. The metal handle of the scythe is cool in your hand, and you twirl it around in anticipation.

In the third house on the street, the light in one of the bedrooms is still switched on, and faint noises are emitted from that vicinity.

You approach the window of that bedroom, lurking in the shadows. The sight that greets you is sickeningly fantastic.

In the dimly lit bedroom, a male figure is bent over a female one. He’s entirely undressed, emitting low grunts of pleasure while chasing his own high.

“Shit, Wanda, you feel so good,” the male voice gasps, driving his hips into the young woman with shallow thrusts that could hardly elicit pleasure for her.

A sadistic smirk crawls up on your face behind the mask.

Wanda Maximoff.

She was your high school crush, your unrequited love, your hate-filled vengeance, and now your esteemed salvation.

Ultimately, Wanda was the fount of your desires.

Then, she had been unreachable, completely out of your league, condescending and sadistic towards you. The bratty cheerleader dubbed as ‘Queen Bee’, perched atop the school’s social hierarchy for her parents’ connections and wealth, being waited on hand and foot by just about everyone.

Now, she was lying under that miserable excuse of a high school quarterback, suffering through less-than-mediocre sex.

Who’s the one winning now, sweetheart?

You watch in unbridled glee as Wanda’s disinterested eyes flit across the room. She’s still half-clothed — you don’t take that for granted, a cool gaze gliding over the fragments of her exposed skin, a gaze with an underlying quivering rage to mark the pretty skin up — and she has a blank look adorning her half-illuminated features.

Wanda’s body moves with each of Vision’s thrusts but you can see it in her eyes that she’s not feeling any pleasure, and you grip your scythe a little tighter.

Look at me, pretty girl.

Almost as if Wanda could hear your thoughts, her gaze finally floats towards the window where you’re standing and her entire body stills.

You look back emotionlessly, your ghastly mask facing in her direction, the light of the streetlamps reflecting off your blade. You stare at Vision, then, and your heart rate rises, as it always does, in some kind of sick excitement at the prospect of taking a life.

None the wiser, the blonde man continues to fuck into her, oblivious of the looming danger that is your presence. Wanda’s mouth opens, terror draining the blood in her face, but you merely raise a gloved finger to your lips.

The threat goes unsaid. Wanda squirms under Vision with widened eyes, but she slowly closes her mouth.

Good girl.

It’s second nature for you to pry open the window. You almost scoff at the fact that it’s unlocked. The wind from outside rushes in, and it creates enough noise for Vision to get distracted from what he’s currently preoccupied with.

You look back at Wanda, raising your scythe, and she swallows harshly.

Wanda tugs Vision’s turning head back to her breasts, dragging her fingers over his scalp. “It’s nothing, baby,” she chokes out and looks back at you pleadingly. “Just fuck me.”

You imagine those three words are directed to you, and you can barely conceal your sadistic excitement. It’s lecherous, the way desire swells within your otherwise blase self at Wanda’s breathy little gasps.

You’re now standing tall in the confines of Wanda and Vision’s room. You reside in the corner, and Wanda’s eyes never leave you. Her eyes are wide and dancing with fear, but you swear you’re not imagining the hidden layer of sexual excitement beneath them.

You tilt your head to the side in expectancy, and Wanda looks frightened and confused, devout of understanding.

Stupid little girl.

Using the tip of your blade, you point towards Vision’s desperate form, his back facing you. You can see the embarrassment flush Wanda’s features once she understands your request.

You make an open gesture with your free gloved hand. Go ahead, it reads.

Albeit warily, Wanda wraps her legs around Vision, hands shakily combing through his blonde hair. “You- you can continue, Vis,” she murmurs, locks of hair falling into place. Heartbreakingly gorgeous was what she was.

“Oh- okay,” Vision sounds slightly winded already, stupidly enough. That man should either be on his knees in reverent worship of the threshold between her legs, or substantially rougher to draw out those pathetic little noises. There was no in-between, not with Wanda Maximoff.

Though you much rather preferred the latter, wishing to see Wanda relinquishing all control, Vision instead opts to continue those shallow thrusts as if he’s doing something. You tilt your head in slight boredom as Wanda’s body moves meaninglessly on the bed.

If you were Vision instead…..

To kill or not to kill. Was it really a question, in this situation? Did you have to consider your options, weigh the possibilities, and contemplate using your moral compass, when the answer was so blatantly clear right in front of you?

You’d never felt so alive.

Your heart raced beneath the confines of your earth-bound ribcage, pulsing with the sole need to chase that dopamine rush and adrenaline high. Wanda seems to acknowledge the change in the atmosphere of the room, looking up at you with fearful eyes as you approach the bed.

One step. Two steps.

You could always turn back, and navigate your way back to calmer times with the guidance of the angel on your right shoulder.

That was boring, though.

Three steps. Four steps.

Wanda lets out a choked scream as you raise your scythe. You can smell her fear, taste it, palpable and unyielding and the most delicious kind of terror you’d chanced upon. Her mouth was contorted, probably trying to plead but not being able to find her voice.

In for the kill.

The last thing Vision sees is the stricken look on Wanda’s face, frozen into submission, frantic and desperate, before your glimmering blade strikes.

You plunge your scythe into Vision’s back. The pieces fall into place like a demented symphony: the blade enters right from the centre of his back, and emerges from the front of his chest. Crimson blood spills freely from the wound like a faulty fire hydrant, spraying onto Wanda’s front.

His body falls limp in slow motion, rolling off to the side, leaving you to stare blankly at a completely vulnerable Wanda Maximoff.

“Who-who are— what are you?” Wanda trembles, her voice shaky.

Deathly satisfaction slugs inside of you as you watch her vulnerable form. It was everything you craved, finally getting back at your high school bully.

You remember locking yourself into a dismal bathroom stall, curling up into a ball, tears streaking your face. The jeering taunts of the girls outside had you shaking, but only one voice rings in your head.

“Come out, we wanna have some fun!” Wanda calls out in mock playfulness, and her stupid little giggles has your fury vibrating beneath the surface of your skin. “Coming out for the second time can’t be harder, right?”

That was just one of the many times Wanda had made your life a living hell.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” you answer, the mechanical voice changer inside your mask giving you a robotic tone that was humanly unrecognizable.

Wanda doesn’t seem at all eased by your dismissive response, and opens her mouth to retaliate, but she freezes when you raise the scythe again.

This time, you’re not seeking bloodshed. Instead, you let the sharp tip of the blade run across her bare skin, not hard enough to draw blood but firm enough to raise goosebumps.

Wanda swallows as she realizes she’s still completely naked in a room with her dead boyfriend and a cold-blooded murderer.

“Stop, please,” Wanda breathes shakily, her heart rate rising even further as your blade runs over her stomach. The cold metal sends tingles throughout her body, all the way south to between her legs.

“Oh, you want me to stop?” You ask with faux sympathy, the scythe stilling right above her cunt. A smirk washes over your face behind the mask as Wanda clenches her thighs shut.

No, a tiny voice in the back of her mind says. But that would be completely absurd and immoral, so Wanda nods hesitantly. “Stop, please.”

You pause, seemingly entertaining the idea of actually stopping. You can see from Wanda’s eyes that she’s been lulled into a false sense of security, as your blade relaxes against her skin.

But then your free gloved hand forces its way into the threshold between her legs, and Wanda lets out the most pathetic squeal.

“If you want me to stop then why’re you so fucking wet?” you growl heatedly, right next to her ear, two fingers easily sliding past her damp folds and sinking inside.

Wanda mewls at the intrusion, eyes going wide as your thick fingers stretch out her cunt. She’s embarrassingly wet, coating your fingers with slick, staring up into emotionless eyes.

Then it hits her that she shouldn’t be liking this, and Vision’s dead body was on the floor, and the stench of blood was invading her nostrils.

Tears prick at her eyes as she claws at your wrist, mouth wanting to voice out her disdain but only moans fall out. Your fingers are deliciously thick as they plunge into her sodden cunt, the fabric of your gloves adding to her simulation.

Yet, you’re unnerved by Wanda’s sharp nails digging into your skin, and then the cold metal of your scythe is taut against her neck.

“Try anything like that again and I’ll slice your pretty little neck off.”

Wanda gasps, and she feels so dirty because your filthy words cause another gush of arousal to flood her pussy. You, of course, notice it, and you press the blade a little harder.

Wanda chokes out a breath, because if her neck moved even a millimeter further you would draw blood. It’s so sick, but she’s so wet, and you’re the devil reincarnate.

You remember the blood on your arm as you held an army swiss knife in the other hand. You were shaking, shuddering, as Wanda stared at you with a crazed look in her eyes.

“I didn’t ask you to cut yourself, stupid litle bitch,” she barks out, staring at the blood dripping down your arm. You’d do it again for her. “You’re insane, fuck.”

“Fucking little slut, yeah?” you grunt, curling your fingers harshly inside her tight walls. Wanda’s teeth sinks into her lower lip to prevent more embarrassing sounds from escaping, but you don’t seem to like this.

You use the blade to tilt her chin up so her eyes are level with yours. “Asked you a question,” you say dangerously. “So you fucking answer.”

Wanda shouldn’t like this, she knows, but there’s something so alluring about your mask and your commandeering demeanor.

“Yes,” she responds tentatively with teary doe-eyes that are oh so pitiful. “Y-yes, I’m a… slut.”

“Mhm. Good girl,” you approve, and then your hands finally start moving again. Wanda keens at the praise with a helpless buck of her hips.

As if sensing her inner turmoil, you greedily push another finger against the opening of her dripping cunt. Wanda’s high-pitched moan turns into a breathy gasp.

“I- I can’t—”

“You will.”

Wanda sobs, three thick and gloved fingers stretching out her pussy. You’re merciless in the way you explore her sodden pussy, finding her sweet spots all too easily.

“Better than your asshole of a boyfriend?” you ask, already knowing the answer. Each of your calculated thrusts fills her up perfectly, and her velvet walls clench around you so tight.

“Y-yes! Please, more—”

Like you’ve flicked a switch, your gloved hand jackhammers into her sodden pussy so fast and so hard that Wanda can only let out the wettest, filthiest, little ‘uh’ sounds with every thrust.

“Oh, God, I’mna come,” Wanda mewls, rutting her hips against your palm in a devoted search of her ever-closening high. Sensations are flying all over her body, and Wanda’s head helplessly loll to the side.

“I know,” you respond smugly. Seeing your fated enemy unravelling before your very eyes brought a different kind of satisfaction, something so toxic and poisonous but so rewarding.

“Come like the little fucking slut you are,” You spit in the most degoratory tone known to mankind. You move the smooth metal part of your scythe to press against Wanda’s hardened bud, and that last sensation has her coming undone.

Wanda arches up against you with a broken cry escaping her throat, pebbled nipples pressing against the cold metal of your scythe.

Her hands twist into the fabric of the bed she once laid in with her boyfriend, but now her heated cunt was chasing your thick and talented fingers.

“Oh, fuck! Please, please, please, oh God, please—”

You drown in the filthy moans Wanda lets out, eyes burning in glorious victory. You grip her hips like it’s a forsaken altar, forcing her to choke on that pleasure and go to hell with it.

The pleasure, in question, is overwhelming, nothing like Wanda had ever experienced, lighting up every one of her nerves. Her body was alight, whipping flames tearing at the cruel night sky.

You bask in Wanda’s shaky breathing as she comes down from her high. You want to keep her vulnerability and lock it in a jar, hang it on your bedroom wall like a prized possession.

As Wanda regains her senses, you decide it’s time for the final piece of your grand plan to fall into place.

Slowly, you take off the mask that gave you the identity as Ghostface. You shake the hair out of your face, and Wanda’s breath constricts in her throat.

“Y-Y/N?” she chokes out, and you can see the million little things that flit through her mind.

The bullying. The boyfriend. The blood. All her fault.

You remember standing at the ledge of a very tall building, cold wind whipping in your hair. You remember thinking about Wanda’s poisonously breathtaking face, wondering whether she was worth it. You remember thinking that falling would be easier than seeing her again.

“My beloved,” you whisper with a deathly smile. “I hate you. Every cell of my being screams with burning rage for you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.”

You may have lost the battle, but you won the war.

No one could ever know your identity. How you had been spending the past years running around Woodsboro as Ghostface, killing all traceable contacts to Wanda Maximoff. Clawing back your dignity back piece by piece.

And it had all led up to this very moment.

Wanda can’t even tear the petrified scream out of her throat in time, before you raise your scythe again, for the last time.

“Goodbye, my beloved.”

A shining blade and crazed eyes are the last thing she sees before her final demise.

Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.

GUYS I THINK THIS MIGHT BE IN MY TOP 3 FAV KINKTOBER FICS I'VE WRITTEN..... reblog? pretty please? ☹️

fun fact: i've never watched any of the scream movies HAHA i'm just writing based off what i have in my head. (let me know how i did!)

@33-mrvl i know u were looking forward to this one, hope i did good 😉

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

[edgeray]

Hello 🍉anon again, hope you’re doing okay and I hope my writing is not atrocious for this request. This idea has been on my mind for an Arlecchino x dragon reader(similar to Neuvillette). So, Arlecchino receive a report from her operatives that an unknown creature is lurking in the shadow near Poisson, that keeps on attacking the others fatui members and stealing their rations. She tells them that she will look into it eventually as she doesn’t want their ressources to be stolen. She starts to investigate to gather information on this creature and possibly locate it and by a twisted turn of fate, stumbles into a dragon(secretly the reader)that look awfully hurt and almost on the verge of dying. Arlecchino took pity on the rather tiny looking dragon (tought it seems to be an adult one) and brought them to the house of the heart to treat their wounds.

As the times pass and Arlecchino started to grow fond of the dragon, she see in the corner of the room, a human. Visibly confused, she starts to draw her scythe ready to impale the person in front of her should they pose a threat. Then the reader just go up to her and nuzzle into her as if it was the most natural thing in the world and it was at this moment that she realized it was the dragon she had rescued. They start to bond and eventually grow more intimate with each others.

My Little Fire

(Arlecchino x GN! Reader)

A/N -  Hi 🍉 Anon! Nice to see you again <3. Sorry this took so long. I just spoiled you guys with dragon arle, but how about dragon reader? Great idea, anon. Y'all really love dragons huh? Dragons are cool af, I don't blame you guys.  Unfortunately, I dunno a whole lot of genshin lore, so how genshin dragons work, idrk. I made you a Pyro Dragon, because bonding over fire abilities >>>  Dunno why I was so braindead while writing this, but that's why this took me an extra day to write this. By the way, the title is the english translation of the last three words. I headcanon that Arlecchino can speak Fontainian (French).  Content warnings / info - monster x human, reader is a dragon, reader is referred to ‘it’ for the most part, not second pov until the middle, arle's pov, reader is gn!, 1.7k words

Arlecchino didn't typically deal with these sorts of outings, not when her job typically dealt with information gathering and diplomacy. However, she couldn't turn a blind eye to this report in another Fatui camp situated in Poisson. Purportedly, rations have been going missing despite attempts to secure and protect them. Fatui operatives have been injured, and while Arlecchino does not doubt that some incompetence may have come into play, she does not believe that they are truly that incompetent. The operatives confirm that it is some type of creature, given the claws marks and the teeth indents the harmed operatives detailed. Whatever it was, it was too quick for the members to see, and so she now had to deal with it. 

Arriving at the camp, witness accounts didn't prove to be very helpful in terms of identifying the troublesome critter. However, the storage room, where the rations were stored, provided an interesting story to her. Unsurprisingly, clawed scratches littered around the containers of food, though she notices the indentures were caused by rather small paws. Despite the suggestion that the creature was rather tiny, it did not mean that creature was not weak, able to cut through solid metal. Interestingly enough, scorch marks also surrounded the area, even though there were no burns recorded in the injury accounts. The creature also seems rather famished. Each occurrence it raids the storage room, a considerable amount of food was stolen. Fascinating. Arlecchino can think of very few creatures like this but all of them seem implausible. 

However, there was a pattern to this creature’s visits. Every three nights, it came, wrecking havoc to whatever was in its way, but Arlecchino is sure that she'd be successful in capturing the beast tonight. She orders that no operatives are around the area–the last thing she desires is some inept fool getting in her way–and then she waits outside. 

It's near midnight when she first sees a glimpse of the creature's silhouette, about the size of a cat, but she can make out a long tail with spikes. Just as she anticipated, the creature appeared, flying through the open window she purposely opened. It pauses at the entrance, as if observing the lack of guards, but not questioning it as it dashes across the floor. Either this isn't a very smart creature, or its desperation for food outweighs the risks. Regardless, it just made a mistake. 

She uses her speed to enter the room before the creature has time to react, standing in front of the window it entered through. She closes the window, her eyes narrowing down on the now cornered beast. A scaled creature, with horns and wings. Its ears flattens against its head and their wings press against its body, imitating the fearful behavior a mutt would display. The longer she observers the creature the more she realizes that these traits match those of a dragon, albeit a very small dragon. She wonders if this was just a hatchling. 

The small dragon snarls at her, and a blaze emanates from its spine, the flames coursing down to its tail. The bright flames illuminate the dragon's features more, and it's when she notices that blood is spewing from a gruesome cut on its leg. 

An injured Pyro Dragon? It's terribly small, and she can't imagine how this one is still alive given its injury. Although the fire is an indicator it's a mature adult, the size is a cause of concern. What a pitiful thing.  

Arlecchino’s eyes flicker over to the box that the dragon tried getting into. As she approaches it, the dragon snarls, tensing its body to lunge at her at any second, however, she simply ignores it. Opening the lid, she's met with thick cuts of raw meat. She takes several cuts of the meat from the insulated container, before holding it out in front of the dragon. If the dragon needs raw meat, she has a particular selection of premium raw meat for herself that she could use for the dragon. 

“Eat,” she demands as she offers the food. The dragon, still maintaining its anxious behavior, stalks closer, sniffing the food before it latches its teeth on the steak. 

“I have as much meat as you could want, better quality as well. I'll feed you, shelter you, and take care of that cut for you. Come with me.” She says, offering another slab of meat. 

The dragon doesn't respond, nor stop eating, but its body relaxes. By the time it reaches its last piece of meat, it's eating out of her hand. Arlecchino uses the close proximity to examine the dragon's injuries. The dragon nudges its head against her hand, and Arlecchino strokes the dragon's head. 

“Will you come home with me?” 

The dragon gives her an affirmative croak. 

—

The dragon did not grow any larger even in the months it stayed with her, nor did it transform into its human form yet. Its wound had been festering for quite a while, however under her care, it is healing remarkably quickly. Arlecchino proposes that the dragon is using its energy to heal from the wound. Had the dragon not done so, it would have surely met an agonizing fate. This continuous depletion didn't allow for the  dragon to grow in size, transform, or use its powers and it would have continued in that state for years had she not rescued it. 

It must be because of this that the dragon does not take long to get attached to her.

The dragon always sticks near her, sometimes physically on top of her. If it's not on her shoulder or head, then it's on her lap. Getting accustomed to how clingy the dragon is was a struggle, but she soon learns. 

If she'd allow it, it'd follow her everywhere. It's almost endearing. 

It only took three days for the dragon to sneak into her bedroom. The morning after, she awakened with an unfamiliar weight over her torso, and she found that the dragon was nestled on top of her. The next night that she slept, it was nuzzled against her neck and sprawled over her right shoulder. She'd be lying if she said it was an unwelcome sight, and it became a nightly occurrence. 

Often the dragon would play and entertain the House of the Hearth children. Sometimes, it'd accompany her outside, but only on certain missions. After all, she needed to test the dragon’s abilities in its current condition, and who better to test it on than the scum of Fontaine? 

Something else she finds intriguing is that the dragon devours fire, much like how the Iudex fancies his water, though the dragon is particular to her blood flames than any typical flames. On occasion, she uses her powers as a treat that the creature happily indulges in. 

Arlecchino only wonders what more she would learn once the dragon finally transforms. 

—

Arlecchino returns to the House of the Hearth after another irritating Harbinger meeting, rather exasperated and irked by some of the impudence and dimness of her ‘coworkers.’ She reaches her bedroom, exhaling a sigh. Before she enters, she hears scuffling from beyond her bedroom door. Her door is slightly cracked open, implying that someone had entered during her absence. From the small opening of her door, she catches a glimpse of a figure. Instantly, her eyes narrow and she withdraws her scythe. 

Intruders have no place in her house. She knows that no children are inside, as it's one of the first things she's instilled when they first come: stay away from her room under any circumstance. So who is this audacious soul that dares trespass into her chambers?

Upon opening the door, she does not expect the speed of her assailant, as a figure crashes into her, wrapping their arms around her neck, face pressed against her neck. Arlecchino is momentarily stunned by the action, but for some reason, it feels familiar. The body is abnormally hot, too warm for a human being. This isn't someone she recognizes, and she was about to throw the being off of her when she paused. A purr erupts from the other person's throat, the vibrations coursing through the Harbinger. 

“Arle…” the person murmurs, the name making Arlecchino hesitate. They lean away, tilting their head and glancing up at her, and then her breath hitches. Vibrant, slitted eyes stare back at her, that gaze only belonging to a certain dragon she knows. 

“You're the–”

“–Dragon. It's finally nice to meet you, Arlecchino,” you say, as you finally uncoil your arms around her. Arlecchino observes you for longer, her scythe disappearing. Now that there's no threat, Arlecchino takes the time to observe your human form. 

“Are you fully healed?”

You nod, giving her a soft smile. “I am. Thank you. I'm indebted to you. I'm sure you know of this, but I would not have survived for much longer if it weren't for your help. If you'd allow me, I'd like to work under you as a repayment. I'm sure you'd like what I have to offer.” 

Arlecchino closes her eyes, a ghost of a smile appearing over her lips. “Very well.” 

—

Arlecchino learns many things about you. She learns of your favorite food, which happens to be her blood fire. The way you favor your meat served and how you're incredibly food-excitable. She learns that your wings and tails are incredibly sensitive underneath her fingertips and she is well aware that she abuses this knowledge. She learns that your presence lifts her heart and it’s only you that can appreciate her curse. 

Your favorite touch from her is your head. Everyday, she'd pat you on the head the same way she did the night she saved you. Kissing your forehead and carding through your hair are close seconds.

She learns that there are some things that don't change even with your new form. While you never return to your small size in your dragon form, it does not mean you still do not linger around her, sitting in her lap when she's at her desk. You still play with the children, often acting as the ‘Mother’ role that the children did not have. And every night, you return to her bedside, embraced in her arms. 

There are a few things that have changed with your new form. Arlecchino feels as if you've rekindled her, your love is another flame in her veins that doesn't scorch her being, but instead, you warm her soul, consuming her cursed blood flames. 

It's what inspires the name that she always calls you before you drift to sleep. 

“Mon petit feu.”

[livefromthedas]

That Time Flirting Accidentally Worked

(Also up on AAO3, here)

Summary:

Rook Ingellvar, famously a dumpster fire amongst Mourn Watchers, manages to fall face-first into dating one Emmrich Volkarin.

Nice.

Notes:

I swear to God I intended to start DATV fanfic writing for my Lucanis/Rook playthrough... but this came out instead. Strike while the hyper-focus iron is hot, I guess.

I tried to write this Rook (F, Mourn Watcher) as vaguely as possible while still making sure she was reflection of the character in my head, so hopefully that works for readers.

Please note that while I'm utilizing quite a bit of canon knowledge about Navarra and Navarran culture, here, there is also a ton about the place that we just do no know, so a lot of information here is extrapolated (aka, pulled directly out of my butt.) I had fun though, at least, exploring more of the place, and creating my own little pocket of extra romance content for Emmrich and Rook as well.

And yeah, this will probably get spicy. Just a heads up.

———————————

Chapter 1: Hot Date for a Hot Mess

The needling fire of over-exertion kept a purposeful momentum in Rook’s stride the entire journey home from their latest magic-riddled battle with the Venatori in Arlathan.

That fight, deep in the autumn hewn forest - an apparent ambush - had been jarring and brutal. Had Davrin not been with them, with Assan to serve as their own surprise attack from the sky, Rook was quite certain that, for all of their combined competency, she and Emmrich Volkarin may very well have met a swift, very bloody end that day.

There had just been so many of them - Scarlet scythe’s crackling with arcane energy, and corrupted magic churning in the air like a turbulent storm. Then again, when it came to Venatori, there always seemed to be a limitless supply.

Rook breathed in deep as she strode through the Vi’revas - the eluvian unique to the Dreadwolf’s hideaway in the Fade - close on Emmrich’s heels. One moment they were in the Crossroads, wild and untethered to reality as it was. The next, they were striding into the cool, dark nethers of the Lighthouse.

“Ugh,” Davrin grumbled, reaching to pull something that looked suspiciously like viscera from his hair as he strode through the eluvian’s surface in the pair of necromancers' wakes, “I’m going to go wash up. See you two at dinner?”

Rook smirked bemusedly - of all of the blood the Gray Warden was soaked through with, Maker forbid a bit of viscera get in the handsome elf’s hair. She nearly went to nod, when Emmrich spun on his heels to face the pair of them.

“Actually,” the Professor poised, hands clasping before him as his bangles glimmered in the unnatural light of the corridor, “Would you be so kind as to let Lucanis know to be expecting two less settings at the table this evening? Rook and I will be dining in Navarra.”

Rook’s eyebrows rose curiously - this was news to her.

“Yeah, no problem,” Davrin grinned. He gestured a hand over one shoulder as he made for the door, “You kids have fun.”

Kids . The word lingered humorously in the air - Emmrich barely stifled a chuckle at it, even in the gray warden’s absence.

“A trip home is a nice surprise,” Rook mused, mischief and curiosity a glint in her eyes.

The senior necromancer, dashing as ever, offered her an arm, and she was quick to place a hand at his elbow as he guided them from the room, and up the stairs.

“Forgive me, darling, I had hoped to ask you properly once we were settled in,” Emmrich said, gloved hand resting warmly upon the slender hand she’d offered him, “Reservations at the Pnemoix are scarce at best this time of year, and I received word of an opening just prior to our departure to Arlathan.”

“Yeah, that got chaotic rather quickly,” Rook admitted, ever as tired, but relieved they were alive to tell the tale at all. For all of her raised hackles that needled up her spine over the ambush in the woods, a tickle of excitement wiggled its way into her belly, “And I’ve heard of the Pnemoix!” Her sudden excitement was palpable. Word amongst her peers back at the Necropolis had it that the Pnemoix was one of the most exclusive- and enchanting - dining experiences in all of Navarra City. It was not far from the city’s main entrance to the Grand Necropolis itself, in fact. Emmrich could scarcely stifle the humorous glimmer in his eyes as the bounce in her step hastened as they strode. He finally slipped a chuckle when her expression then screwed with uncertainty, “Aren’t they ridiculously expensive, though?”

“Hardly any concern of yours, my darling,” Emmrich laughed.

Cresting the top of the stairs that overlooked the Lighthouse’s eerie library, the Professor stopped before the long hall that led to his study. Rook watched curiously as something shifted in his demeanor - warm laughter settling into something warmer still, slender hands and their menagerie of golden rings gracing her arms with an almost reverential care.

“I had hoped, should the temptation arise,” Rook felt a wildfire blush ignite to the tips of her ears at his sudden unusually intimate word choice, before he’d so much as finished his sentence, “We may enjoy the privacy an overnight at home might afford us.”

Emmrich’s grin broadened at the blatant blush that flooded the young woman’s typically cocksure expression, a softness in his gaze despite the hint of mischief that lingered there, “You so scarcely find a moment alone in the Lighthouse, my love. You’ll forgive an old man his selfish desire for attention undivided.”

“I-I… of course,” Rook managed, despite her blush, a dizzying flutter in her chest and her tongue-tie of nerves.

“And the decision is entirely yours,” her breath caught in her throat as he pressed a kiss upon her forehead, one hand affectionately upon the back of her head, “But do consider it, darling, hmm?” He seemed absolutely tickled at Rook’s uncharacteristic shyness as she nodded, green eyes alight with racing thoughts. This was hardly a woman prone to speechlessness, after all. “I’m going to change, and request Neve look after Manfred until we return. Meet me at the Vi’Revas when you’re ready.”

Rook managed a nod before Emmrich swept off airily, stride as confident as ever.

——————-

“Okay… Oookay,” Rook finally managed to breathe again once the ancient chamber doors of her quarters sealed shut behind her. Gaze darting around the dancing light of the aquarium that dominated the far wall, she huffed a ragged sigh, palm to her forehead.

Embarrassment immediately flooded her veins.

“He finally brings it up and you… freeze? Seriously?” She groaned morosely.

At best, Rook was disappointed. It was hardly how she’d imagined reacting to such an opportunity, after all. The Rook of her imagination was unflappable in her confidence - *she* surely would have managed an air of alluring …. *Something* in response to such a proposition. A wicked flirt. A lingering kiss. A clever quip of any make or model at all.

But no. Only overwhelm. Rook had been flooded with a timidness utterly foreign to her usually fearless brogue.

Scythe-wielding Venatori, raging demons, blighted gods… Such larger than life dangers too surreal and too vast to seem anything shy of absurd? That she could handle with a finesse and fearlessness that defied logic. It was precisely why Varric had brought her into the fold in the fight against Fen’Harel to begin with.

“But actually have the fellow you’ve been pining over for the last decade make a pass at you, and your brain breaks ? Maferath’s balls.”

The sordid swear she’d picked up from Varric early in their journeys together at least managed a smile from the woman. She shoved off from the door, kicking off muddied boots and unbuckling the patina’d gloves of her Mourn Watcher gauntlets as she went.

Rook had had little choice but to be honest with the Professor once her shoot-for-the-moon flirtations had, to her own genuine surprise, actually succeeded in swaying his interest so many weeks prior.

This was all… very new to the junior Mourn Watcher. So much of her time growing up had been spent clawing desperately for a sense of self. For the sort of identity that a complete lack of kith, kin or clan denied her for the whole of recent memory. Certainly until one Varric Tethras had swaggered his way into her life and corralled her under his wing.

Something as complicated as dating just never found its foothold with her focus, amid so many years of simply trying to find herself.

She was an elf in a largely human community, a non magic user - despite her endless fascination with the craft - in a society that prized its mages above all. Both facts of which pushed many of her superiors throughout her collegiate studies to blow off and even mock her ambitions towards more magic-focused areas of study.

Rook was an academic at heart - A voracious learner and reader. But for all of her passion, she was still very much an outsider. She was the foundling discovered abandoned deep within the Necropolis - lucky to have been found alive at all - Taken in by a kind and doting pair of elderly Mortalitasi, Gunter and Eloise Ingellvar, who had even gone as far as bequeathing their inheritance to her upon the last of their dual deaths some years later.

But they had gone too soon - Rook had barely been 12 when the old woman had died - and she was once again left as a ward of the Necropolis and its Watchers, who seemed to see less value in an orphaned elf with no magical talents to speak of. Frequently outright denied access to her preferred areas of study due to their prized and limited availability (such courses should be reserved for mages who might make the most use of them after all, and the university’s donors were rife with promising young mages as heirs) she was relegated, instead, to training as a fighter. A protector. A watcher of the Watchers themselves.

Just one extra corpse between demons and the ones whose work actually matters, more like, she thought. She swung open her ornate wardrobe, eyes scanning her limited choice in clothing critically as her thoughts poured from one memory to the next.

Those days were rife with turmoil. Rook had volleyed equally between hours of grueling fight and defense training, classes in basic sciences, necromancy, anatomy, funerary preparations and the Fade, and time dedicated purely to stirring up shit in the streets of Navarra City.

Fights. Petty theft. Stirring up chaos in the market square with a prank or three - one of which had, to her own amusement and pride to that very day, saw a surprisingly large number of bees in a leading role.

Throughout her years of collegiate learning, Rook carried the rage of a clever mind stifled and of dreams dashed, and it had landed her under the threadbare patience and steely gaze of the headmaster more times than she could count. That the Mourn Watch had been tasked with her care as much as her training was likely the only reason she hadn’t been thrown out for good.

It also hadn’t hurt that Rook had proven incredibly adept at combat despite her general lack of interest in the task (outside of a good tavern fistfight, at least.) There was also the curiosity that was her study habits. Her grades in basic courses were passable at best from sheer lack of interest, yet when time and little pockets of determination allowed, she could be found holed up in the Necropolis’s expansive library for hours, even days on end, pouring over every tomb her low-level clearance would allow, creating many tombs further of dense, meticulously detailed notes.

She was at least trying, in her own way, her superiors knew. And where their interest in her full potential failed her, her own thirst for learning minded the gap. Even if she was denied the chance to pursue her major of choice… lectures in the Grand Necropolis’s halls of learning were as free and frequent as the availability and seating of its various expansive lecture halls would allow.

Those educational sermons were hardly for the faint of heart or feeble of mind. They required many dedicated hours, copious notes, and a level of existing understanding of necromancy, the occult and Navarran history as a whole that *should* have been enough to bar a student of Rook’s study tract access by sheer lack of access to advanced classes alone.

But Rook had done the work. Had soaked up every scrap and parcel of knowledge she could, entirely on her own. And in each and every lecture, perched dutifully in the shadows at the back of the room, she soared.

Which was precisely where the good Professor had graced her peripherals, time and time again.

Even nearly a decade prior, Professor Emmrich Volkarin was something of a legend on campus. Prodigiously intelligent and equally skilled in both oration and genuine fondness for the eager young minds he fostered, Rook was hardly immune from the childish swooning over the otherwise utterly unattainable genius that captivated his students with every speech and demonstration.

“Volkarin’s hangers-on.”

Johanna Hezenkoss’s recent jeer at Rook’s expense still made her cheeks run hot. Rook had never been that - certainly not as the insult Hezenkoss intended.

But Rook and Emmrich were both well aware of whom the half-Litch referred to.

Hair a little darker and warm eyes a little bit brighter then, The Professor was too clever and adept at reading people around him to have remained oblivious to the fact that not only were the large majority of doe-eyed students trailing him from office to lectern and back largely of the female variety, but they were also almost always a bit more coy than was comfortable to be sharing a room with for too long. It was always impressive, then, to Rook, just how coolly and kindly said attentions were quite unanimously blown off by Emmrich himself.

He was never once cruel or condescending, but ever the consummate professional. He paid his students’ motivations no mind outside of whatever question he was fielding, or what knowledge he wished to impart, either.

Rook later overheard whispers among a gaggle of gossiping young mages in the privy that, apparently, “half of the fun” of flirting with the man to begin with was trying to “find a crack” in their charming yet unflappably stoic Professor’s perfectly tailored facade.

Of which there was nary a one, as far as Rook knew at the time. The man simply did not budge.

Which was why, despite never having had the stones to so much as approach Professor Volkarin with a question before meeting with him in the catacombs with Bellara months prior, and with nearly ten years of confidence that only incredibly hard work and some life experience could provide, Rook was genuinely floored when her own good-humored and (mostly) unserious swings at flirting with the man *actually worked.*

Rook had only dared shoot her shot with the man with the full confidence that in all likelihood (and at absolute worst) he would simply glance past the attention with his usual jovial kindness. She took a swing at it for younger-Rook, who would have thought it the coolest thing ever, future-Rook finding the sort of confidence her younger self found so foreign.

And the man actually expressed interest. Just fully (warmly as ever but with a degree of coyness Rook had no idea actually existed prior) stated that if, in fact, her projected interest went beyond mere flattery… he was down.

“Hell of a bullseye on the first draw, there, Ingellvar,” she had mused to herself and inevitably shared with Emmrich multiple times since, much to the Professor’s amusement.

Rook pulled the only pretty, non-Mourn Watch related article of clothing she owned - a deep purple gown and its immaculately tailored overcoat - from the wardrobe, before clipping the doors shut with her heel.

Naive shock aside, it wasn’t as though Rook hadn’t been equally delighted by Emmrich’s unexpected response. She had become even more enamored with the fellow in the past many months, as he spoke with her not as a student but as a colleague. An equal.

He adored her thoughts and her intellectual curiosity, and had said as much - often. He was ever the academic, as enthusiastic about answering any question she had as she was to learn the answer. But he was also genuinely interested in all of the knowledge she had gathered in the past ten years - Her interests in Navarran archeology within the ever-ancient Necropolis halls. His in Necromancy and the Fade. It had become a frequent, deeply adored line of conversation between the two of them, in fact - just how often their individual fields of study crossed in application.

Emmrich Volkarin was every bit as charming as his passionate yet professional demeanor would imply. But what Rook came to learn very quickly upon reconnecting with the man was that, on a personal level, he was one of the most compassionate individuals Rook had ever met. He cared deeply, about everything - particularly, it seemed, about the ragtag troop of adventurers she and Neve had since managed to assemble. At 52 years of age, he also, as it turned out, had zero qualms about dating someone - regardless of gender persuasion - over 20 years his junior. He’d simply taken his work as an educator far too seriously when he was young enough to find any interest in university students, let alone misuse the power dynamic between teacher and pupil - and they had, decades later, well since lost their appeal.

So, now, here she was. Two months into the most absurdly romantic courtship she could imagine, given the sheer chaos that surrounded them otherwise.

Fancy dinners. Time spent exploring the Necropolis to feel more grounded - that little bit of home going a long way to keeping them both fixed on the battles that just kept on coming. A recent night stroll through the streets of Navarra City during the ancestral pageants, their darkly artful city glistening with lanterns and wisps.

Emmrich Volkarin was ever a man of his word, too. Early on, when a bashful Rook mentioned her lack of experience in any such relationship, he had promised they’d take things slow, and they absolutely had. Endeared and warm as they were, his kisses were chaste, and his presence around her respectful of her space and autonomy. It had only been since she had started pushing boundaries that he had reciprocated in kind.

Longer, deeper kisses. Tousled hair. Hands wandering with far more bravery - and far more urgency - from both parties, amidst long nights full of even longer conversations.

The cracks in Emmrich Volkarin’s perfectly tailored facade were showing. And, Rook grinned to herself despite the blush reaching her ears, they were admittedly * delicious.*

Rook fastened the copper skull-shaped buttons upon her overcoat before fishing for Varric’s shaving mirror and checking her hair.

She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d expected the acceleration of their relationship to go. Perhaps more spontaneously, and likely in the Lighthouse, despite neither of them having particularly comfortable quarters - his with little more than a cot to sleep on that was otherwise hidden away, and her own space often as chilly as being overlooked by an enormous deep water aquarium would imply.

She certainly didn’t expect it to turn into a Pnemoix-worthy event.

It was, frankly, the first time Emmrich had taken the lead on the direction of relations between them. He had planned every romantic gesture their messy schedules and frequent travels would allow, sure, but every acceleration where intimacy had been concerned had been entirely on Rook.

But, it felt right, the timing.

She wondered if this was his way of saying he felt the same.

Rook slipped on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses (her vision never had been the best, but she’d only just taken to wearing them more faithfully at Emmrich’s encouragement, and insistence that he thought them, “Positively charming.”)

With a flutter of excitement in her chest Rook spared a careless hope that she might make it all the way downstairs to the Vi’Revas without any of their friends asking enough questions to rattle her nerves anymore than they already squirmed.

——————-

The journey was quick and blessedly uninterrupted. Punctual as ever, Emmrich had already arrived. He turned to greet her as she strode his way, having been surveying the towering Eluvian with an air of curiosity just moments before.

Lean and immaculately dapper as ever, golden rings and bangles over luxurious shades of black and jade, a smile swept his features so genuine that it stole a smile from her own.

“Rook,” he mused warmly, “You look exquisite.”

“Could very well say the same to you, Professor,” Rook teased, hand once again gracing the elbow he lent her.

“Shall we?”

[justaaveragereader]

10.26||GrimReaper!HongJoong

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: MeanDom!Hongjoong, Sub!Reader, Scythe Play, CNC, Rough Sex, Degradation, If I Missed Anything👀👀Lemme Know!

A/N: Can yall believe we are damn near done with kinktober😭?! One more left and it’ll be finished🥹😭.

Kinktober Masterlist

“Plea-please..” you whisper out, sprawled on the stone path beneath you. Body riddled with sweat from the ungodly heat.

Hongjoongs eyes twinkle, hearing your pretty voice beg for him was enough to have him bricked up underneath his cloak. You had been escaping him for a while, constantly cheating death, forever out running him, but not today. He had finally caught up with you, and he was going to take whatever he pleased.

“Please what?” Hongjoong says with irritation, lacing his voice. Dropping the pitch of his tone. His pitch black eyes take over your body. The way the sweat drenched clothes cling to your body leave very little to the imagination.

“I’m sorry, Hongjoong plea-please.” You end your sentence with a hiccup, tears beginning to fill your eyes. Pulling his scythe out, he swings the blade swiftly down, shutting your eyes tightly you take a deep breath, accepting the fate that he was going to reap your soul. The soft zipping of the blade can be heard. Your skin immediately feels the heat from the fire pooling around you. Opening your eyes, you see Hongjoongs body covered with skin, he had morphed into his human state. Your eyes bore up to him, his eyes still pitch black, staring holes into you. You see his head slightly tilt down. Your naked body is on display for him.

Slicing your clothes clean in half. The heat from the ring of fire that you are in the middle of heats your skin even more. Slowly walking towards you with his scythe scraping against the stone. Causing small sparks to fly in every direction. He brings up his scythe swinging it toward your neck, stopping the blade right below your neck, standing still at your collar bone. Your hands slowly come to cover your top half. Just as you get closer to your skin, Hongjoong shoves the scythe further into your skin, pushing the flat slide of the scythe so it digs into your skin, avoiding your skin touching the edge of the blade. Not wanting to slice your skin.

“Take it off.” He whispers out, with his lack of pupil it’s hard to tell where his eyes are looking, yet just knowing he’s soaking in your body spreads a heat to your core. Moving your hands slowly you remove your shirt, refusing to break eye contact with him. Moving your hands down to your pants you peel the soaking fabric off your body, your panties are split down the middle he has an eye shot view of your wet cunt. You weren’t sure if you were just pooling with arousal by his authority or if you were just drenched in sweat.

Wanting to entertain the thought of proving it is just sweat glistening off your folds, you run two fingers through your folds, letting out a gasp you are shocked to learn it’s arousal and not sweat. Feeling the heat of embarrassment burn at your insides, you spread your fingers in disbelief, watching it stretch between your fingers, looking up at Hongjoong through your lashes, you feel heat spread across your face. Letting out a small chuckle, not believing what he’s seeing before his very own eyes. Removing the blade from your collar, he drops to his knees letting the scythe hit the floor with a loud thud, the tip of the blade right next to your head. The fear of it slicing your skin runs through your veins yet the excitement of seeing Hongjoong kneeling before your parted legs takes over your body. His cool, pale hands run over your burning body. Letting his finger tips brush over your inner thighs, he inches lower, your breath hitching in your throat.

Your eyes drift down to where his fingers are touching, while his eyes never move from your body, soaking in your desperate form. Desperate to stay alive, desperate to get fucked.

“How desperate are you?” He says while toying with your clit, your head falling back against the stones at the feeling of him on your body.

“Very.” You pant out, not even trying to figure out in what way he meant when he said desperate. That was your favorite part about cheating death. While he viewed this as a punishment, you viewed this as a reward. Moving his oversized cloak out of the way, lining himself up with your entrance. He wasn’t here for foreplay, nor did he wanna be sweet and take his time with you. Slowly bottoming out in you, your eyes slightly roll back, the mixture of sweat and arousal making it easy for him to slide into you.

“Fuckkk..” you moan out as he slid in, your hands coming up to grip his black cloak, stilling him in place. Grabbing his scythe from the ground, placing the blade against the pulse point in your neck. Your nerves shoot up, yet you can’t decipher if it’s the thought of him having the upper hand, or the fear of him being able to snatch your soul with one swift movement. His hips start out at a snail pace, as he pulls back you can feel every vein drag against your warm, snug walls. You can feel his cock pulsate in you. Digging the scythe further into your skin, you feel your heart start to race. As your heart quickens he picks up pace, the feeling of his cool skin continuously brushing your heated skin only makes you want him more.

With each quick thrust he delivers to your cunt, the ring of fire grows taller, burning hotter, blue flames engulfing the bottom where the fire started. The sound of wet skin slapping is ringing out in your ears. Pushing the scythe under your chin, the sharp blade nips at your skin, he lifts your head with the blade so you are looking at him, your mouth hangs open, panting as he’s hitting your spongy spot over and over again. Trying your best to keep eye contact with him, you can’t help but let your eyes roll back at the pleasure he’s bringing you.

“Ah, ah, ah, eyes on me.” He grits out, shoving the blade further in your skin. Biting your lip, you look up at Hongjoong through hooded eyelids. The way he towered over you, you could’ve assumed he was God. His head is always held high, with a firm look always on his face. He looks down at you like you are beneath him. Like you are absolute scum, yet the way he’s pistoning his cock in and out of you it’s hard to believe that you are on a lower level then him.

“I’m starting to think you only like to cheat me because you like when I’m balls deep in your tight cunt.” He says through a smile, that signature “know it all” smirk is constantly plastered on his face. Biting your lip, your toes curl slightly, trying your best to keep your eyes locked onto his. Letting out a fake coo at you. He shoves the scythe further into your skin, letting it sit dangerously close to your pulse.

“Go ahead and say it. Tell me how much you love the chase because you know it’ll end with me balls deep in you. Go on.”

Biting your lip, you feel your orgasm cutting close, yet your pride will not let you admit that you love when Hongjoong is rearranging your guts. You enjoyed this cat and mouse game with him. Letting out a low whine you cut your eyes at Hongjoong, refusing to stroke his God complex.

“Over my de-dead body Ki-Kim Hongjoong.” You stutter out as his hips continue to speed up, folding your body in half with his hand, your knees are practically kissing your shoulder. A smile so wide takes over his face, you’ve never been afraid of Hongjoong until this very moment. Removing his scythe from your neck, he effortlessly swings it back behind him. With eyes as dark as midnight, and a smile so dangerously sinister, his choice of words match his actions.

“Don’t you know darling, you always reap what you sow.”

Taglist: @abby-grace @petsuccube @maximofftrash @tunaasan @seonghwasslytherin @pearltinyy @bubblegumbird @araknoid @mingtina @oreoqueen @dani-is-tired @8tinytings @sunwoosbaby @acetruepunk @alliecoady98 @s-unflowxr @rxnexxi @mixling-blog @staytinyinmybpack @starryskiesthings @horanghaezone @realviviboss @mikaelless @scuzmunkie @tokkibleu992

Divider and Gif @justaaveragereader

DO NOT REPOST.

[holopossums]

I dmand EVERY picture of CJ you had drew!! Pretty please

Considering I'm super disorganized about my art and don't post everything I draw (sometimes it stays just in my server or among friends, or I just don't show anyone because it's unfinished/I'm unsatisfied), I'll have to find a lot of stuff that I've forgotten about.

Actually, I can just show some stuff that I *haven't* posted! (Everything else I ever have should be here.) Some of this stuff is Krow before I added the white hair because I didn't have that idea until around April.

^ Appropriately titled "Krow Smug Bitch". Everyone has fun with the cowboy AUs so why can't I?

^ He got nervous about seeing Usagi/Yukito I suppose

^ This one is interesting. Originally it was supposed to be just Krow as a magical boy, but then it turned into a bit of a mythology AU. He's the son of Yatagarasu the Three-Legged Crow from Shinto myth. Wasn't quite sure about everything... this was probably the result of watching too much Kamichama Karin as a kid lol

^ For fans of Transformers - TFP Optimus Prime with good ol' canon CJ! I feel like they would get along. Something about that red-and-blue leader drew him in I guess.

^ This was actually my first pass at an older version design of Krow. This was a complete piece too, but I was unsatisfied within a week or two. You can still see that I kept some things, notably the piercings, beard, and the idea of tattoos, as well as the Leo-inspired shoulder pads. The tattoo designs changed and so did the armor color, but it was an interesting first try at the older design.

^ A second attempt and older Krow, I was getting closer. (Still love the fashion on this though.)

^ The point I realized that I can't draw this man thin and have to start drawing him beefier and more filled out more consistently because it would be a crime against god or something. Was still finalizing his tattoos at this point and playing around with the idea of white hair. Considered the idea of the Hamato crest tattoo near his heart before nixing it because it's too cheesy and the Hamato tattoo is something a lot of people do for older/future character designs.

^ Ninpo weapon design for Older Krow! Yes he has a cyan scythe (really more of a kusarigama since it has a chain and weight at the end). Yes it's cool as fuck. No you can't touch it.

He's basically a reaper and it plays into his whole aesthetic as a crow, which symbolizes an omen of death. Crows are also often seen with scythe and scarecrow imagery because they're related to harvests.

I don't know why I never posted this, it *looks* finished... I think there was something off about the anatomy and I intended to fix it and then forgot and ugh. But anyway! There you go.

^ A height chart for younger Krow and Yukito that I never quite finished. But it's interesting to see them to the actual scale that I imagine them to be - Krow is 5'6", and Yukito's height is reversed since he's 6'5". Since both are around 19 when they meet, they're at their full adult heights here. Long live your short king!

^ Older Krow with lightning gloves. Which doesn't make sense actually because his gloves are electrical insulators to keep himself from getting zapped from one of his attacks. But who cares about that! It's cool!

^ Scythe sketch. Just trying to get a feel for the vibe of how he wields one. His cape/cloak plus the scythe probably gives opportunity for some really cool directional flow to occur.

^ Something I doodled just the other day. Old Krow but more cartoony and goofy. Love this silly guy!

I'm sure there's many more that I've missed, probably lots of half-finished sketches and doodles, but this is a lot of what I've found.

[mirai-e-jump]

Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger Photo Book: ~King of Kings~

Gira Husty Profile: King of Shugoddam, the most powerful country where the guardian god resides. Learning of king Racules Husty's goal of "prioritizing the unity of Chikyu, even at the expense of the people," he rebels against the world by playing the role of an "evil king" in order to protect everyone. His partner is God Kuwagata, and he arms himself with the KuwagataOhger armor.

Yanma Gast Profile: King of N'kosopa, country of technology. Born in a slum, he rose to the position of king with just his computer. He's a skilled engineer, and all of the equipment for the Royal Sentai was developed by Yanma. He's an ambitious man with a desire to improve, with many people looking up to and calling him "President" due to his yankii spirit.

Hymeno Ran Profile: Queen of Ishabana, country of fine art and medicine. While beautiful in appearance, she has an extremely selfish personality, and values "beauty" above all else. On the other hand, she has no hesitation in saving someone's life, and has the face of a doctor who brilliantly saves lives. She maintains a "selfish style" in battle, not caring about her surroundings, and fights using the King's Weapon: Scythe Mode.

Rita Kaniska Profile: King of Gokkan, country of ice and snow, they're the Chief International Judge who believes that neutrality is justice. They're always reserved and cautious, and don't show emotion, so they're often seen as a stubborn person……but, they actually have a compassionate side……? At the climax of the battle, they face the enemy with a cool style of "remaining immovable," unaffected by anything.

Kaguragi Dybowski Profile: Lord of Toufu, an agricultural country. He's always smiling and has a gentle and friendly personality. However, the truth is he's willing to use dirty tricks to protect his country, and has exceptional negotiating techniques to get things done to work to his advantage. He's concerned about his younger sister Suzume, who married Shugoddam's Racules.

Jeramie Brasieri Profile: Born to a father who was the sixth hero that saved mankind 2,000 years ago and a mother who was a Bugnarak, he has passed down the history of Chikyu for a long time as the "storyteller." His right arm is that of a Bugnarak, and he has a special ability to create strong webs from inside his body. His existence stirs up both the kings and Bugnarak, using words and actions that are difficult to read.

Racules Husty Profile: As king of Shugoddam, he united the five kingdoms with his unparalleled and overwhelming charisma, but was defeated in trial by combat with his brother Gira, and was dethroned as king. While Gira and the others were away from Chikyu, he became the king of Shugoddam and ruled the country as Shugo Mask……

Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger: Costume Guide The gorgeous costumes of the kings, which are reminiscent of the characteristics of each country. A guide to the current costumes and accessories worn by the characters since the beginning of the story.

Gira Husty (Top) Costume of Gira, who replaced Racules as king of Shugoddam. The cape remains the same, but the costume and boots underneath have changed!

(Middle) His recognizable oversized shirt and the bright red harness that highlight it. Red and black straps cross over the wide collar.

(Bottom) The brown boots were worn by Gira as he escaped during the beginning of the story. The necklace is designed with five pieces of red glass.

Yanma Gast (Top Right) Costume from the start of the new chapter two years later. The jacket has a design with a black belt hanging down. The cuffs have a zipper that can be opened and closed.

(Top Left) The wide pants are designed to be divided into upper and lower parts above the knee. The inner one has two lines on the front part. The color blue is used strikingly throughout.

(Middle) The cuff earring has ridges that grow alongside the ear, two chains, and N'kosopa's "King's Proof." The headphones have a cord connected to a switch.

(Bottom) Items that Yanma wears on his arms. The design of the shoes are silver with blue accents. They also have decorations that resemble headphones.

Kaguragi Dybowski (Top) A luxurious and gorgeous costume that just screams, "I'm the lord of Toufu!" The sleeves of the haori have a distinct pattern on both the front and back. The beehive like patterns are also a key point.

(Bottom) The footwear seen under his kimono are boots. Furthermore, the soles are shaped to be like geta.

Hymeno Ran (Top) From the new chapter, the shape of the sleeves and skirt have changed, and the large ribbon on the back is also one of its main features. The asymmetrical skirt produces cuteness and elegance. The tiara contains the "King's Proof."

(Middle Top) The previous costume was made up of a top, skirt, and corset. The skirt has volume, with the front being short and the back being long. The corset is laced up at the back.

(Middle Bottom) The sequin encrusted tights are the same design throughout the entire story. Also, the glittering shoes made entirely of gold are one of Hymeno's signature items.

(Bottom) Hymeno's Favorite Accessories: Hymeno has a large number of accessories, including earrings, necklaces, and bracelets, which among them she'll use at random. This is the commitment to beauty!

Rita Kaniska (Top Right) From the new chapter, Rita's clothes changed to a shorter length jacket. The metallic purple collar accentuates the black base color of the outfit.

(Top Left) The previous costume was a tailcoat type of long jacket. The black cloth is decorated with snowflake like patterns. The design of the purple collar and cuffs are the same as the costume for the new chapter.

(Bottom Left) The black gloves are one of the most distinctive features of Rita's costume. The bracelet decorated in the center has Gokkan's "King's Proof." There's a similar emblem on the cuff earring.

(Bottom Right) Rita is characterized by their all black outfit. Their knee length long boots are of course, also all black.

Jeramie Brasieri From the new chapter, an elegant cape has been added to Jeramie's costume. In the previous costume, his right arm had a longer sleeve. The top is asymmetrical with the left side being longer.

Handwritten Messages Check out the handwritten comments from the cast!

Sakai Taisei (Gira Husty)

"What do you respect about Gira, the character you play?" The fact that he tries to understand people's feelings!!

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" A country where children can eat until they're full!!

"What do you think is the best part of Gira's costume?" The cape he got from his big brother!!

"Please give a message to Gira!" I want you to be happy!

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" I'm going to rule the world!!

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" You guys are the gears~ ^_^

Watanabe Aoto (Yanma Gast)

"What do you respect about Yanma, the character you play?" His sense of distance and respect for people.

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" A country where the youth are the driving force.

"What do you think is the best part of Yanma's costume?" The sandals that I literally ran in for a whole year.

"Please give a message to Yanma!" I'm on top!!

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" Thank you for the past year!!

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" Thank you so much for your support. Now, you can also be a Royal Sentai.

Murakami Erica (Hymeno Ran)

"What do you respect about Hymeno, the character you play?" Her inner strength 💛

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" A country without war.

"What do you think is the best part of Hymeno's costume?" The asymmetrical design!

"Please give a message to Hymeno!" I'm encouraged by your nobility!

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" Thank you all for making this past year so enjoyable. Really, thank you so much 💛

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" Filming for King-Ohger has finished, but we'll live on in everyone's hearts! Thank you so much for your support!!

Hirakawa Yuzuki (Rita Kaniska)

"What do you respect about Rita, the character you play?" The part where they never waver.

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" A country where many different languages are spoken.

"What do you think is the best part of Rita's costume?" The chain attached to the jacket.

"Please give a message to Rita!" You've got humanity and are cute :)

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" We're family! Thank you so much for the past year!

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" Thank you so much for loving King-Ohger so much!

Kaku So (Kaguragi Dybowski)

"What do you respect about Kaguragi, the character you play?" That he'll dirty himself for the sake of others.

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" Protein supplied.

"What do you think is the best part of Kaguragi's costume?" The emotions (design) on the sleeves.

"Please give a message to Kaguragi!" Be selfish every once in awhile.

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" Thank you all so much, we're family forever.

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" Thank you so much for your support. Let's meet again soon!!

Ikeda Masashi (Jeramie Brasieri)

"What do you respect about Jeramie, the character you play?" His vocabulary.

"If you were a king, what kind of country would you want to build?" Peaceful World.

"What do you think is the best part of Jeramie's costume?" It gives off the feeling of a prince.

"Please give a message to Jeramie!" Thanks ^_^

"Please give a message to the king cast members!" I was really happy with the six of us!

"Finally, a message to the fans of King-Ohger!" Thank you for all the love and good dreams.

[mochiimadness]

hello!!! i love your works so far :DD!!

can i request the rise boys with an s/o who’s a human but has experience fighting with mutants? like s/o uses a scythe and can easily fight with the turtles :)

The Rise! Turtles with a human scythe wielding s/o!

Neon Leon

He thinks you're so cool!

Listen, he knows humans can go up against yokai's and mutant's

I mean, his dad and April are living proof of that-

But he genuinely can't help but be amazed when he sees you using a scythe of all things to go up against yokai's literally four times your size

Especially since you seemingly appeared out of nowhere to join the battle-

Seriously, can you portal or something???

He stops are stares as you easily knock a rather angry lizard yokai off balance, before sending them running with a slice of your wicked scythe

Your movement were so fluid,

A literal blink and you'll miss it type of speed

"Woah S/O! I didn't know you could do that-"

He'll exclaim, before ducking as you swipe at another angry yokai right behind him

"Think you could teach me how to do some of that??"

"Sure- we should probably finish this fight first though."

Oh right the fight-

He loves to spar with you

You're able to keep up with him quite easily!

And Leo is fast- like really fast

But even when he uses his portals to try to get near you-

Your scythe easily keeps him at bay.

He's absolutely in awe of you

Your blades clash together and Leo gives you this bright smile

"How in the world did I end up with someone so cool!?"

Don Tron

Donnie's impressed!

Though, he tries not to show it

Wielding a weapon like a scythe or bow staff automatically gives you cool points in his book

And you're incredibly proficient with your scythe too???

Donnie definitely want's to challenge you

"Your scythe versus my magnificent Bo-staff, I think the winner is pretty clear here."

What he thought would be an easy fight ended up being a nearly 20 minute long battle

You both were neck and neck

You were quick to block his attacks and dish out some deadly looking slices of your own

Afterwards, Donnie offers to modify your scythe for you!

"Think about it- it's already incredibly sharp and in your hands?? Borderline deadly. Now, hear me out, imagine if it had a chainsaw?"

Donnie pls.

"Or what if it was purple!?"

Donnie no-

Whether or not you let him add some "flair" to your scythe

He genuinely thinks you're cool

He doesn't even flinch when he sees you, his wonderful human s/o, go up against a super powered yokai

"Me? Worried?? No need to, I already called a mystic doctor."

"You mean a human doctor, right?"

"No??? That yokai obviously needs a mystic doctor."

He never doubted you for a second~

(That yokai you beat definitely needed that doctor- yikes)

Mystic Mike

He thinks you're amazing!!!

You're out here with no powers

No magic

No mutations

Just your normal human self and scythe

Fighting angry mutants and yokai like nothing!!!

Mikey thinks you're one of the strongest people he's ever known!

Aside from his family ofc

He loves to watch you fight

Has and will bring snacks to watch

Ofc, if you're ever in a pinch, Mikey will gladly swoop in to help you

He absolutely loves teaming up with you

Between his nun-chucks and your scythe-

No villain stands a chance

He even uses the blades in his nun-chucks from time to time to "match with you" ^^

Loves asking you to let him wrap his chains around the staff portion of your scythe so you can launch him at people

"It'll look so cool! C'mon just once???"

To be fair-

It does look and feel pretty dang cool!

Mikey knows you can handle your own in battle

He's seen it more than once

But if things ever get too rough

He's always there to lend a hand!

Big Red

Oh Raph...

Poor guy nearly faints every time you go into battle

Yes he knows humans can fight too

But you're not even using a mystic powered weapon like April does!

You could get seriously injured or worse!!

He always starts worrying over you

Especially when you both were just starting to get to know each other-

He didn't want to loose one of the few friends and humans that he knew!

He often will go into battle and cover you,

Taking hits or tackling opponents away

But you end up having a serious talk with him about this

"I know you're worried, but I can do this. I know how to fight-"

"I know, I know, I just get worried ya know?"

While he's still nervous about it,

He eventually starts hanging back to let you fight your own fights

And he comes to realize you are pretty great at what you do!

Your scythe is practically an extension of your own body,

And you easily handle opponents larger than you-

Both mystic and mutated!

"You're amazing!!"

Raph really comes to respect your strength and proficiency with your scythe.

He knows you can handle yourself

That still doesn't stop him from jumping in to help or defend you

Even when you may not necessarily need help

He still cares and worries about you

Doesn't want you to get hurt

Especially if he can help it.

"Er- sorry, I just jumped in again without thinkin'..."

I hope you enjoyed! Sorry for such a long wait

[kiyomitakada]

a perfectly normal everyday pony!

[ID: A recolor of Rarity the unicorn from My Little Pony to look like Light Yagami from Death Note. Light's mane is the same brunette colors of his regular hair, and his eyes are brown. His "cutie mark" is a nondescript black notebook and pen on his flank. There are some very faint white specks on his chest to suggest he has painted over that area. A spiky halo is positioned behind his head, and a MLP-style apple lies before his hooves. End ID]

(inspired by @corviiids's death note x my little pony crossover. some Thoughts under the cut)

i know the original post says light is just painting a fake cutie mark over the real one (which showed up when he became pony kira) but consider: he's been painting one on his blank flank since he was like. fourteen. and then the real one showed up on his chest for some reason so now he has to paint over that too ughhh his life is so difficult

the real one is either a scythe or an anatomical heart by the way

his name is light turner (but it's light yagami in canterlot it's okay) and he's painting over his cutie mark. he is quite literally whitewashing himself.

pinkie pie is the only pony who can see the halo behind his head and also ryuk and also the latin chanting

she thinks it's super cool though

i have never watched mlp in my life why did i do this

[ @deathnotetober day 11: animal AU ]