#text is wobbly but hhhh

[roseatedramon]

I am far from someone experienced with graphic design but here’s some experimental mock-ups of clixi critters logos

yes they are very messy but they are mock-ups so please ignore. i will probably do some research into logo design and stuff in order to finalize them 🤔

[chthonicgodling]

OKAY ELABORATING ON THIS POST listen. listen. hhghhg god. Maci and Tory are: so fucking antsy and eager to tell everyone in the universe about baby (“I don’t want to lie about happy news” sayeth Tory; and collectively, we don’t want to waste any more time we want to show you off - hhHh aHhh) - while Loki is doing absolutely everything he can to keep anyone else from discovering this news.

he’s VERY VERY visibly HUGELY pregnant even when only about 4 months in.

the Lokikids are quite literally having conferences behind his back about where the fuck he is and what he’s up to. 🤨

and all the while Loki has not left Maci and Tory’s bedroom in person (plenty of clones around tending to his children) in— weeks. two months????

So— Here we are today, still ongoing but bc I’m disssolving once more. after waking up together in a cozy domestic pile yet again, Tory has successfully managed to coax Loki out to come with him to the kitchen (even though he whined the entire time about having to get out of bed), but, in and out no socializing there better not be anyone around! Okay well you’re going to have to tell everyone eventually — nuh uhhh. Fortunately there’s been no one else around. Fjöer’s usually in the kitchen cabinets - Loki’s so twitchy that he just teleported Fjöer OUT of his cabinet and elsewhere ambiguously seconds before he walked in the door 💀 o kay

I am obsessed with:

The way Loki talks— and talks and talks and talks and talks. the way he thinks he always has the upper hand and that he’s smug and cool and chill and aloof—

and the way that Tory can clock and disarm him every goddamn time. That “because I love you” from the beginning of this is just one example it’s the. .,,The— gestures to, this,, the reading between all the lines and all the facades and— catching him. seeing stRAIGHT THROUGH HIM—

LOOK OKAY IM..,,. I’m putting direct quotes behind the cut and the abrupt pivot switch from charming banter (there was much much bantering before all of this but this is well after the fact) made me SO 🥺☹️ GOD. I squished many lines together to create Loki’s snide babbling into one paragraph, please behold my point with canon text:

Loki: “You’re just full of demands, aren’t you? Divine the manner of species of our child. Hold a press conference for my own children. Wobble into the kitchen on your arm instead of napping leisurely in your bed for a few more hours. […] I’m not procrastinating. I simply don’t want to do any of these things. […] It’s hardly been so very long for you to be fussing so, anyway. I’m only now beginning to exit the first trimester. Besides, it’s nicer this way, isn’t it? Intimate and quiet. No one asking questions—to your face—prying, judging. Just the peace of growing a baby in calm solitude. Growing your baby, tucked away without intruders. Once everyone knows, all of that ends. Or ooh, you’ll even have to start to share custody of me. On that note Macaria might very well object to the shift of tides as well.”

Tory, having let him go on and on with all of this, finally making a quiet, calm, assessment: “You’re worried about your safety?”

Loki: SMIRK DROPPED, ACCURATELY ASSESSED, COMPLETELY DERAILED; A COMPLETE MOOD SHIFT INTO, VERY QUIET STARING INTO THE KITCHEN TABLE

Tory, sighing softly: “Got it.”

gripping your shoulders. Do you see this. How am I supposed to go on like this. anywayyyyYy YyYyy YyYyy YYYYYYYYYYYYYY—

anyway THE CRY COUNTER RUNNING THROUGH THIS PREGNANCY HAS INCREASED TO TWO

as in, Hurriedly wiping your eyes as if you’re Just Fine Everything is Fine counts, (plus I am making this post In The Middle so by the end with any luck I can turn all my dial knobs up to 11)

oh yes Loki you’re so suave and smooth! right from your spot with your face buried in your hands at the kitchen table while Tory puts his arm back around you and whisper reminds him that “You know everyone here’s gonna protect you, right?” Right??OhhHghGHHGH—

these tender chats only happen with Tory cause Maci IS that easily charmed according to Loki’s smug plans and maneuvers by the way. but she’s had her cute moments with him too, namely in the way that they’ve all been sleeping with him in the middle and Maci’s been big spoon to Loki with her arms around the babyyyy every niiiiighttttttt. makes sense - Tory’s the one with emotional maturity, all reflection and intimate talks. Maci’s all physical. both of them love him so much I’m just fully not clear on exactly what way that is, still.

anyway if you’re dissolving too!! welcome to the puddle I’m a mess. xoxo

[randomfandomsbro]

Here We Are Again, A Scout Story (R6S OC)

A short hurt/comfort drabble for my wonderful friend @gustave-gayteb of their oc Scout facing the battle of sadness at the memory of losing his father at a young age <3

Religious text is mentioned in this fic for use of comfort by Lion

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A soft sigh escaped the American's lips, as he stared into the locket that held a picture of a man. The man in the picture wore a soft and sincere smile, dressed in full American combat gear, giving a small thumbs up as if to say 'it's okay, it's all good here'. The truth was that all was not fine, the picture was of a man who was killed in combat only days after it was taken in September of 2004. Joshua heaved another sigh, choking back tears as he looked up. His eyes were blurred by the tears that threatened to fall, searching for something, an answer.

There it was again, that feeling. Like someone was there, but couldn't be seen. Scout wasn't sure if he liked this feeling or not. As if commanded he stood, his legs wobbled and buckled as they tried to follow his command. He walked, and wasn't sure for how long, before he ended up in front of the small chapel they had in the base since Lion had asked for one. He pushed open the wooden door and was surprised by the beauty of it all. The stained glass painted the grey walls with wonderful soft colors of reds, blues, greens, yellows, and purples. As he looked around his eyes fell upon Lion, who sat at the front, head down in prayer. Scout urged himself to sit, taking a seat in the far back, once again trying to hold back tears. He pulled out the locket once again, staring at the ring that was on the chain along with two dented and beaten dog-tags, right next to his own pristine ones. He exhaled a shaky breath and tried to think of words to say, but none came.

As if one cue, Lion's head lifted up and turned around. His eyes met with Scout's and it was as if a tidal wave erupted. Tears began to fall and Scout struggled to breathe correctly. His hands and body shook with no control whatsoever. Lion stood and made his way slowly to him, sitting next to him, but away enough so as not to upset or disturb him. Scout felt the feeling again, someone watching, someone there, but it wasn't Lion.

"Isn't it beautiful?..", Lion asked softly, his eyes staring up at the painted glass mural that painted the walls. It was of Archangel Michael, the angel of protection. He floated, wings out, with his sword unsheathed, amidst a rising sun.

"Yes...", was all Scout to breathe out, but he wasn't really concerned about the angel or the painted glass.

"Would you care to talk about what troubles you?", Lion turned his head to look at the American, his gaze steady and warm. He also glanced at the locket, but didn't ask.

"I--.. I miss my dad.. I wish he was here.. I just..",he faltered, curling the hand that held the chain to the locket tighter, so tight his knuckles turned white.

"Where is he?..", the Frenchman asked in soft curiosity, laying a hand on Scout's fist, making him loosen his grip just a bit.

"Heaven, probably... Raising hell too..", Scout did his best to joke, and saw a small smile appear on Lion's mouth.

"So he is no longer with you? My condolences.. Losing someone like a father is hard.. But you are not alone.", lion reassured him gently, patting his hand before pulling it away.

"He died when I was ten.. Killed in action.. I haven't been the same since.. And today I just... I feel broken..", Scout stumbled for words, struggling greatly.

"Are you religious, young one?", Lion asked a little more loudly, his voice reverberating slightly withing the walls of the room.

"No... But my dad was..", Scout replied weakly, a little embarrassed he was in a cathedral and now being asked if he was religious or not.

"Ah, that is alright, may I offer you words of comfort from the Holy Bible in the form of a verse? This is the most comfort I know, so that is why I ask.. Do not be ashamed that you are not religious, not everyone is and that's okay.", Lion smiled a little more, bringing out a faded bible with so many colored tabs sticking out of it that it made Scout smile a little too. Lion sure knew what he was doing, huh?

"Yeah, I would like that, please.", he nodded, he already felt just a little bit better.

"Ah, thank you, I appreciate you saying yes... not many people do as it isn’t their thing.. Something that helps me when I am sad is an excerpt from Psalm 30:5 '…weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.'", he hadn't even opened the Bible and yet here he already has a verse to say.

"...And what this means to me is it is human to cry. Crying helps you to heal. Cry with friends, family, and alone. Don’t be surprised when the grief “freight train” runs over you. Just be in the moment, and it will pass. Struggle through your emotions and you will find relief as your reward.", the Frenchman explained slowly and softly, making sure the words connected with Scout and that he wasn't confused.

"Thank you.. I.. I don't like to cry... But it feels nice to know that I should.. That it is okay to cry..", Scout spoke with a soft smile of his own, his tears now dry as he spoke clearly since this had all began.

"It is more than okay to cry.. Do not be afraid, young one, even though you do not believe the way I do, there is something guiding you.", he reassured Scout once more, looking up to the glass Archangel Michael, his hand now idly caressing the cross he wore around his neck.

There is was again, but stronger, the feeling of someone being near him and yet unseen. Then he felt something else, a hand on his shoulder. Not heavy, but gentle and kind. He froze, a small whimper escape him, breaking Lion's gaze from the window to look at him concerned. Scout barely made eye contact with Lion as he whipped his head around to look at who had touched him, but no one was there.

"What is wrong? Does something else trouble you?..", Lion's voice echoed the concern his eyes had, as he glanced to where Scout was looking.

"Someone touched me.. put their hand on my shoulder.. I have been feeling  someone's eyes on me since the day started and I can't explain it!", he whimpered out, shaking.

With those words, Lion rested his hand on the American's shoulder, patting him gently. He had a smile that concerned Scout. Why would he be smiling at a time like this? Scout was scared.

"Do not be afraid, little one, it seems you have a guardian angel of your own. Perhaps of someone who wasn't ready to leave you either. So do not be afraid, take this as a sign of comfort. You are still loved.", Lion stood slowly, bidding Scout a brief farewell as he left the cathedral.

Just like that the colors seemed even brighter, and provided a warmth that couldn't be explained. The hand was on his shoulder again, but he didn't dare turn his head lest it disappear. He just slowly put his hand on his own and cried softly.

"I love you too, dad, thank you for watching over me and protecting me.. I miss you..", he spoke softly and slowly through tears.

Just like that the world felt a little bit better to him. He had needed this. He was forever grateful to Lion for this.

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I hope you all enjoyed the short read <3 This little story was inspired by my friend’s oc, who we were discussing to sad piano music hhhh

[draw-you-coward]

alisaie is still here.

ao3

“I reached him.” Alisaie sounds surprised. “I reached him before you did.”

Ikael jogs over, glancing down at the still form by their feet. “You sure did,” he says, squeezing her shoulder. “Good job! That’s one thing you mages have on your side: range…”

He lightly steps over the body to search through the desk standing behind it. The surface is clear, all the drawers are empty…

Nothing here. Ikael taps his fingers thoughtfully on the polished wood before heading to check the potted plants. People hide their secret documents in the strangest locations.

“What are you doing?” Alisaie’s voice is poignant and curious. “Are you investigating a plant?”

Ikael straightens up, blinking. “Oh,” he says, glancing back at her with a smile, “Forgive me! I am used to doing these sorts of things alone. Ah—the desk was empty, so I am looking here. Try his study? Ideally we will be out before anyone notices we are here.”

Alisaie nods, and vanishes through a doorway. Ikael keeps looking at the plants, considering.

A few minutes of soil-scented searching later, and his hands are empty. He rises with a sigh, and turns to consider the bookshelves. It is ridiculous, but people can also be… ridiculous…. Wait.

“This is ridiculous,” he says out loud, and pushes in the single blue spine that has no text on it.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then there is the tired, groaning whine of a mechanism that has not been oiled for a while, and the bookshelf slides to the side.

Ikael shakes his head. “Ridiculous,” he repeats in low mutter, and reaches into the small compartment the bookshelf has revealed.

His fingers close around a scroll of parchment, there is a distant snap, and the next thing Ikael knows he is lying face-up on the ground, a sharp, throbbing pain in his ankle.

“Hhhh,” he wheezes painfully, drawing up his knee and slowly falling to his side. The wooden panel on the floor that had risen up to strike him slowly sinks back down.

“Ikael!” Alisaie comes rushing into the room. “Are you alright? Good gods.”

Ikael feels the familiar—albeit rushed—tingle of a healing spell, and the pain loses its sharpness.

“’m alright,” he squeaks—and immediately clears his throat. “Ahem. I’m fine, Alisaie. And I found his notes! I think.”

He unravels the scroll he is holding and brings it up to his face. “Yep! This is strange and incomprehensible; must be the formula we’re looking for. Hurray!” he tacks on at the end, because she seems distressed.

His attempt at cheer does not seem to have worked. Alisaie’s youthful face is marred by a frown, and Ikael would get up and brush it off—maybe offer her a cookie—but the dull twinge in his ankle is distracting. He has to deal with that first.

He sits up, pushing himself to stand on one foot with minimum difficulty. Alisaie is still frowning at him, so he hands her the parchment.

She glances it over, then nods and pockets it. “Let us be off, then,” she says. Her gaze drifts to Ikael’s ankle. “What happened?”

“Triggered a trap, I think.” He nods at the panel that had attacked him. “Sprained my ankle, but didn’t break it.”

“You…” Alisaie draws her sword, then spins it around and holds it out to Ikael. “You cannot walk properly.”

Ikael blinks, bemused, then smiles. “Alisaie,” he says fondly, gently pushing her hand away, “Do not do that. I will be fine—and I have a dwelling to go to where I can rest up. I can teleport there.”

“… A dwelling.” Alisaie slowly withdraws her hand, then slips her sword back into her belt. “Of course. And I am left to deliver this to our gracious client, I assume? Of course.”

Ikael tilts his head, slowly rotating his foot. Considers her.

“I will be back in a few days,” he says in a gentle tone. Alisaie twitches. “And I can deliver the formula, if you wish.”

“I can do it myself,” Alisaie replies sharply. Ikael’s eyelids lower a fraction.

“Of course,” he says, giving her a small smile. “I am not patronizing you. Worry not; I will be back as soon as I can, alright?”

He closes his eyes and starts to teleport, homing in on the small apartment he had gifted Gaill and Simeon. Hopefully, they have food. If not, Ikael will have to—

“Where are you going?” Alisaie asks. Her voice is still sharp, but it has a cautious edge that threatens to break. Ikael opens his eyes.

“I bought an apartment for my retainers,” he says, leaning against the desk. “In the Shroud.”

Alisaie says nothing for the moment, so Ikael shifts more of his weight to the desk and keeps speaking.

“I… will make dinner,” he offers, drumming his fingers on the wood. “Gaill will be out, I think, but Simeon is not doing much these days, so I can get him to buy groceries if we do not have any. I am thinking to make something nice and warm; perhaps sautéed chanterelle? I like mushrooms, and I am sure we have some cheese to melt.”

Were this any other situation, it would be an odd time and place to bring up humdrum little topics such as what he will have for dinner, of all things. But Ikael knows what he is doing, and surely enough, Alisaie seems to relax. Ikael smiles reassuringly, easing himself onto the desk. She joins him a few seconds later.

“… Mushrooms?” she enquires, almost hesitantly.

Ikael nods. “Aye. If not chanterelle, perhaps portobello. Do you like portobello?” He turns to look at her.

“I… hardly think my own preferences matter when it comes to your dinner,” Alisaie says after only a moment’s pause. Ikael smiles warmly.

“Come now, I can always pop by to eat with you. After all, Simeon is hardly good company.” He winks. “We have to get out of here now, however, yeah? Go on home, and I will see you in a few bells, Alisaie.”

He ruffles her hair, and begins to teleport again. This time, he finishes his cast uninterrupted.

~*~

“I hope you really do not mind mushrooms,” Ikael declares as he wobbles in with two platefuls of food balanced on the arm that is not clutching his crutch. Alisaie looks up from where she is hunched over in her seat, blinking rapidly. She looks so small and lonely hunkered down like that, poor thing. “I sautéed them in butter, though! And if you do not like it, I will make something here, yeah?”

“By the Twelve, slow down!” Alisaie stands up hurriedly, nearly knocking over the solitary mug on her table. “Here—let me take those…”

She reaches for the plates, and Ikael lets her take them with a smile. He is very good at balancing things, especially plates, but he does not say so out loud. Instead he watches as she takes extra care with the dishes, eventually setting them down directly next to each other.  

She glances at him and pulls out a chair, staying behind it stubbornly until Ikael chuckles and hops over with a “Thank you, lovely.”

“I’ll get you some water,” she mutters, and is off and back with a glass. Ikael thanks her, smiling.

They begin to eat in contented silence, Alisaie shooting him occasional glances. He wiggles his ears at her each time she does so, and after a few minutes of this gets a smile.

“The food is wondrous, of course,” Alisaie pipes up, seemingly out of nowhere. “I am almost sorry to deprive Simeon of his meal.”

Ikael laughs. “Sorry bastard can cook for himself,” he says. “But—ah. I made some for him anyways. He is off eating in his room like a grump, most likely.”

Alisaie smiles. “Of course,” she says quietly, and Ikael wiggles his ears at her once more just to see that smile grow. It works, and earns him a laugh.  

“I don’t—” She looks down, setting her utensils aside. “I… do not understand,” she says at last. “How can you be so cheerful? You do not seem worried in the slightest. I admit that I… might have cast an unfair judgement at first, but I realized that… you would not be like that. I know you care. I just do not know how, despite it all, you can still find the will to smile.”

Ikael leans back in his chair, putting his fork down as well. Then he picks it back up to eat some more food, because he is hungry.

The action earns him an afterthought of a smile, and Alisaie’s gaze strays to his plate. Ikael chews another bite before answering.

“I am worried,” he says at last. “I always am. About Alphinaud, about Thancred, about Y'shtola. About you. About Krile. Even, vaguely, about Urianger, whatever he is doing nowadays.”

He shrugs, taking another bite. “But I have learned that angry urges do not become me. I will be restless, yes, but nothing can be done of things that are not under my control. Such is the way of things.”

Alisaie looks down for a second, and then picks up her fork once more. “Indeed,” she says quietly. “I will… try to understand that. Knowing something is true does not make it easier to bear.”

Ikael reaches over to squeeze her shoulder. “I will be here,” he says sympathetically. “At least you have me, yeah? Or food, I should say.”

He winks, and she laughs again, relaxing minutely. Ikael smiles, going back to his food.

“I think I will be heading back now,” he says once they have finished eating. “To catch an early night’s rest, mayhaps. Unless you wish for me to stay here? We can cuddle, braid each other’s hair—”

“You are not serious.” Alisaie sounds flatly horrified, although Ikael is sure she secretly wants to cuddle. Everyone does. “No. I am not Thancred, thank you very much.”

“Hm.” Ikael does not mentioned that Thancred had said something very similar, the first time Ikael had asked him. Ah well—he will get to her one day, he is sure of it. He smiles brilliantly. “In that case, I must bid you a good night. Sleep well, yeah? I’ll be back to make breakfast.”

He reaches over to give her a quick hug, but she squeezes tightly for a brief second, and Ikael stays until she is the one to break away. Then he gathers up the plates, and shoots her one last smile before teleporting away.

~*~