#the. blue. hair. one. with. mismatched. shoes

[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

1. First Encounter || Next

Bucky’s never been sure if normalcy is something he’s cut out for. But when he meets you—a baker with a pretty smile—he starts to think maybe he could try.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (1.4kw)

tw: 18+ MDNI, mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers a/n: happy new year! this year i'd like to actually begin and complete a multi-parter story so this is my attempt!

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“Welcome in!” Bucky heard as he stepped into the bustling cafe shop. The smell of freshly brewed coffee, and baked bread quickly engulfed him. He looked around for the source of the voice while taking in the neatly curated shelves of novels, mismatched wooden tables and the large handwritten chalkboard menu boasting about an array of the day’s specials. Despite its charm, Bucky felt heavily out of place in his chipped leather jacket, and mud cracked boots. 

With the patrons weaving past him like he was another display in the shop he continued scanning the area noticing a few stray cats lounging throughout the space. They basked in the early afternoon sunlight that poured through the large windows. One, a sleek gray cat with white mittens and socks stretched lazily on the windowsill, while another a white cat with piercing blue eyes, watched the room with curious intensity.

The customers greeted the felines as they entered the shop and followed the line that formed at the counter where a young man with boyish charm and unruly brown hair was expertly managing the register. Meanwhile a man with a clean shaven jawline and an infectious grin moved confidently between the counter and the coffee makers. 

“You need some help?”

Bucky turned to the voice, finding himself at the end of the display case with a woman on the other side. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun, a few stray strands escaping to frame her face. She barely paid him any mind as she deftly unloaded a giant tray of assorted pastries and bread into the glass showcase, her movements quick and practiced. The faint smudges of flour on her apron and the way she handled each item with care hinted at her role in crafting the delicacies.

“You look a little lost,” she said without looking up, her tone teasing but not unkind. "Can I help you find something, or are you just here to admire the cats?” she asked, finally glancing up at him. Her gaze was sharp but warm, assessing him with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

 Her teasing tone caught him off guard, making him glance up sharply. His ears seemed to perk slightly, before he quickly refocused. “Pick up,” he said, his voice low and clipped, offering her a tight-lipped smile that was more reflex than intentional. 

She let out a small hum. “Name?” 

“Steve.” 

“Oh yes–” Her demeanor instantly changed as she put the tray down, wiping her hands on her apron. “Let me get that for you.” Her hands masterfully opened a paper bag with clear cellophane, and slid open the sliding door to the showcase.

“Sam!” She yelled, causing Bucky to jolt. “I need Steven’s special.” She called out, and Bucky's eyes flicked back to her. Steven.

He heard a faint reply from across the cafe commotion and watched as she used the metal tongs to grab two bear claws from the wax paper lined tray. Bucky almost let out a snort but instead, he opted to shove his hands in his pockets, glancing down to his boots. He watched as crumbs of dirt crumbled from his shoe and littered the linoleum floor.

“What’s the Steven Special?” Bucky suddenly heard himself say. He looked at her through his lashes. He watched a small smile sneak across her lips. 

“A medium white chocolate macchiato, with two bear claws.” She said, fingers crinkling the bag shut as she slid it across the clear surface. This time Bucky let out a snort. Before he could thank her, she went back to unloading her discarded tray. He hesitated on grabbing the bag. 

“So you’re the new guy then?” She asked suddenly, quickly glancing at him. He looked at her. “Stevie's mentioned he’s expecting a new comer, and I’ve never seen you before so—” she explained. Stevie.

“Then yeah.” He gave a curt smile, reaching for the bag on the counter. 

“Thought so,” she said, her tone a hint lighter now as she turned back to her work. “He’s been talking ‘bout you for weeks, you know.”

“Nothing bad I hope.” 

 She turned to set down the now empty tray, glancing over her shoulder, a glint in her eye. “Depends on your definition of bad.” Her tone was playful but laced with just enough intrigue to make him pause. She spins swiftly, closing the display case. 

“Nah,” She shrugs with a smirk, “He’s just psyched you're here, it’s kinda cute.” 

Bucky raised an eyebrow. She waves a hand in the air.

“He’s just got this way of talking about things—”

“Order up.” 

The sudden burst out causing the both of you to abruptly turn toward the man holding out an oat-colored to-go cup.

The woman cleared her throat, shifting back to allow space for the man to step in. Her smirk faded into a polite, neutral expression, her focus now on adjusting a tray of napkins nearby.

“Steven’s special,” the man announced, his grin wide and easy, breaking through the tension that had lingered just a moment earlier.

Bucky’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned toward the man, who was now leaning casually against the counter, holding the cup out as if he were presenting a prized trophy.

Bucky nodded and reached for the cup, his movements deliberate. “Appreciate it,” he said, his voice steady. 

“No problem,” the man replied, his tone light and teasing. “Better get it to him quick, he’s been talking about the claws all morning.” 

“Noted,” Bucky muttered, though his gaze flickered back toward the woman, who was now bent over another display, her attention fixed on her work as if the earlier exchange had never happened.

The man cleared his throat sharply, drawing Bucky’s attention. When Bucky turned toward him, he was already side-eyeing the woman before shifting his gaze back to Bucky with a deadpan expression. It wasn’t accusatory, but there was a challenge in the look—like he’d caught Bucky doing something he shouldn’t be.

Bucky’s brow twitched in response, his face otherwise impassive, and he adjusted the bag in his hand.

“Thanks again,” he said curtly, stepping back from the counter.

Sam held his gaze for a beat longer, then turned his attention away from him.

Bucky stepped toward the door, the hum of the café enveloping him once more. His grip tightened slightly on the bag as he moved, but something tugged at his attention, making him glance back one last time.

The man was now leaning against the counter, his posture relaxed, but his head tilted toward the woman. Whatever he’d said caused her to laugh softly, her shoulders shaking with the motion. The earlier ease in her posture had returned, her movements efficient and unbothered, as though their exchange had been nothing more than a routine part of her day.

She brushed a strand of hair from her face as she replied, her voice lost in the café’s hum. They shared another laugh.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, though his face betrayed nothing as he turned back toward the door. Pushing it open, he stepped into the cool air outside, the bell above jingling faintly as the door closed behind him.

As he walked down the street, the warmth of the café began to fade, but the soft intensity of the exchange lingered. He shook his head with a quiet huff of air, the bag crinkling faintly in one hand while the other held the to-go cup. His boots scuffed lightly against the pavement as he approached a sleek, dark car parked a few steps ahead.

Bucky unlocked it with a press of a button, the quiet beep breaking the stillness. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he set the paper bag on the passenger side and the cup in the holder before resting his hands on the steering wheel.

For a moment, he sat there, the hum of the café replaying in his mind. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if to clear it.

With a twist of the key, the engine purred to life, the quiet power of the car grounding him. As he pulled out onto the street, the cool air rushing through the window carried away the lingering warmth of the café—but not entirely.

---

Next

a/n: I know there's barely anything there but I have an idea and im jsut trying to roll with it -- so if you have any ideas let me know! i’m begging — pls reblog to support!

[andersonsgf]

PAST TENSE

summary: when vi is let out of jail, everything is up in the air as she moves through zaun and life without purpose, until you. but is she built for a life of no fighting? (alternate au). word count: 6.8k

warnings: minors dni (18+), canon typical violence but not really, smut, soft!top!vi (writing her so gentle), alcohol no no's

vi masterlist

It was all different: the people, the buildings, the food, the drink, even the floor she was walking on. Seven years in prison. Seven years, and she hadn't gotten a single whiff of how Zaun had changed whilst she was behind bars. Not a single soul had bothered to tell her that the undercity was now a safe place, that people didn't starve anymore, that her family had been keeping well without her.

Her jaw clenched painfully, hands shoved into the pockets of her mismatched clothes that no longer fit in with everyone else as she grieved how much she'd missed, and realised that the home she was longing for no longer felt like home. It was too clean, she could breathe clearly, the people around her looked... happy. All Vi could do was huff whilst walking in the opposite direction of The Last Drop in what was basically a tantrum.

Away from the confusing reunion she'd had with her family. Ecstatic to see them, but not knowing who they were anymore. No longer was her family rough around the edges, no, Vander now had a thriving business that didn't have criminal activity at the heart and centre, Powder was well educated, terrifyingly smart and working with Piltovan scientific communities, and her two idiot brothers -who frankly, she thought would never amount to anything in the streets of Zaun without her leadership- had honest jobs, earning good money. Her family didn't make sense to her anymore, and she didn't make sense to them.

To top it all off, the plan was to move back into the basement under the last drop, in the room she grew up in, this time all alone, jobless, friendless. So much for being the most successful sibling, now she was nothing in this new world. A fighter with nothing to fight.

This whole safe world was because of her too, she had come to learn during the catchup at the bar that was serving juice to people too often for her liking. Why was no one drinking the hard stuff anymore? Probably because everyone's happy, her mind grumbled to her as she kicked a stone through an alley, headed to the docks, the old factory now up and running, providing thriving business and jobs for the everyday worker.

Vi huffed for the nth time, plonking herself down on the edge of the dock, annoyed that her old quiet space now had raging noises of machinery in the background. All of this because she'd nearly gotten killed by some glowing blue gem thing across the bridge. The last job she did with her siblings, and one that was an epic fail. They'd nearly made it out until the explosion.

After the enforcers checked her over after being nearly decimated, she'd been thrown into Stillwater Hold of all places, for breaking and entering and other such accusations. The younger ones got off with a warning, the eyes of the law stating that they didn't know what they were doing, that they were just following the words of the pink haired kid who had been spotted sleuthing through people's things in Piltover time and time again. A repeat offender.

The light waves of the water brushed against her shoes as she considered that day. How that explosion and being caught had cost her seven years of her life, time with her family. Seven years of going insane in that tiny cell. But it had also made topside and bottom work together when they nearly lost a child from each side during the accident -which turned out to be an unauthorised scientific experiment of some kind.

When Councillor Kiramman found out that the explosion had wounded her daughter and a zaunite child, nearly killing them, she was on a warpath to finally create safety for all of the citizens under the council's care, which was now why Vi was breathing in fresh air instead of smog.

She just didn't know what to do. Now that Zaun was this new-fangled modern world, how was she, someone with a criminal record, going to earn money. It wouldn't have been a problem back in the day, but apparently reputations within the workplace were a thing now. She was gonna be stuck working at the bar for the rest of her life, she just knew it. It wouldn't be a bad arrangement if it wasn't her dad handing out the job, she wanted to earn a place somewhere, just like her brothers and sisters had. It was unlikely, though. For a few years at least.

For now, all she could do was mope around and relearn how to live outside of a cell. The world was too big, too overwhelming. "It'll take time", Vander tried to reassure her after a week of her release when she had come home completely shitfaced when it all got too much. When the bright colours everyone seemed to wear paired with the bright sky and bustling noises of active vendors and buyers on the street had made her want to lose all of her senses.

She'd completely lost her mind when she saw a group of Piltovan and Zaunite enforcers seeming all jolly and high-fiving adoring kids in the street. People looked up to these monsters now? Zaunites had joined their ranks and made a city-wide police force? She required some whiskey to get her head around that. A lot of it.

Hopped up on that much whiskey is when she spotted you for the first time, pouring a clean glass of water from the tap behind Vander, a pitying expression on your face. 'Well fuck you', she thought to herself, calling you every Piltie slur under the sun as you handed the water to Vander who in turn handed it to the seething woman slumped at his bar. That was until she reminded herself that she couldn't tell the difference between Zaunites and Pilties anymore because apparently no one gave a shit about their multi-hundred year long feud and abominable oppressive behaviours from topside.

"You need to get ahold of yourself, kid", the brawny man who had been everything to her said, wiping some glasses down with a cloth whilst you made yourself busy around the bar, preparing it for closing. Her eyes shakily followed your movements as she pushed the water back towards Vander who hastily shoved it back towards her. "Drink, and stop staring at my hires".

Vi scoffed but took a tentative sip, her hands moving to push it back again after just to prove a point. "I'm not staring at your hires. I'm staring at that hire".

Vander sighed, his cloth flopping down as he leaned his gigantic arms on the bar. "Look, I know everything's different, and it must feel like you've woken up in some kind of dream-".

A scoff, "Well, obviously-".

His expression went sharper, interrupting before any more snark could come out of her mouth, "We all love you, and have been fighting to get you out for years, but this isn't a place you can just rock up to sloshed out of your mind anymore", Vander's face shifted to try and be more understanding. Vi may not be his technically, but he'd known her since she was a baby, taught her her first punch, raised her in the latter years. This was his baby sitting in front of him, and she was hurting.

"It feels like I can't do anything right here anymore", her voice slurred and she slumped down a little, side eyeing you as you said an awkward goodbye to Vander to clock out. The big man gave you a bit of an exasperated smile goodbye, still trying to be friendly to his staff. You were always a sweetheart after all.

Vi seemed to think otherwise, a vendetta against you after the heinous act of offering her water. "What's her problem?", she grumbled as Vander picked her up like she weighed nothing, treading down the wooden steps to the basement and gently laying her down in a bed that she used to be much smaller in. The scrape of a wooden chair broke the silence, Vander sitting next to her, making sure she didn't die from choking on her own vomit or something.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now", Vi croaked out, angling her face away.

Vander's eyes took her all in, her eyes were so sad, her cheeks reddening, the wraps on her hands slightly bloody. He breathed out, a hand reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. "You give it time, then you live".

You cradled a drink in your own hand, taking in the atmosphere of the bar on your afternoon off. It was much easier to appreciate the environment of a busy bar when you weren't working at the busy bar. The job wasn't too stressful, most of the customers were friendly, and any that weren't always had Vander to deal with, but still, it always left you with sore ankles and a headache at the end of the night.

"You entered another science thing?", Mylo's voice brought you back to the moment, you were spending the afternoon with Vander's kids, well, all but Vi.

Powder quirked a brow and tilted her head, "Science thing? Do you even know what I do for a living?", her voice teased.

"Uhh... you know... science stuff with metal and tools and such forth", Mylo tried to recover with a snobby little hand wave to make up for the fact he did not use any actual terminology. You smiled behind your pint glass as the siblings began to bicker. Hanging out with these three always hurt your eyes, what with all the eye rolling and everything.

A flash of pink made your head swivel back to the bar, the conversation again becoming rough murmurs in the background as you spotted Vi taking advantage of Vander and Benzo having a heated debate about something probably as boring as what kind of glue is best to use on wood. The woman was sneaking out a whiskey bottle from behind the bar. Your eyebrows scrunched, scratch that, two bottles.

In her defence she was being rather sneaky, it seemed to be only you who had spotted her stealing from her own father and hurrying back down the basement stairs. Your feet moved before you could think, hesitating at the top of the staircase. It felt like a violation of sorts, your boss lived down there after all.

It wasn't as though you'd never been down there before, being close with the others, but heading down there of your own accord felt weird. But you shrugged and headed down two steps at a time, eyes taking in how messy the living area had gotten since you were last down there. Jackets were everywhere, empty glasses, cushions dumped on the floor. Either Vander was on a cleaning strike, or his eldest daughter had set a bomb off.

Your eyes darted to the clanking behind a closed door. You paused before slowly opening it, taking in the sight of Vi's head tipped back as she gulped down the brown liquid. She was beautiful, you couldn't deny that - in a rugged way. She was broad, large muscles, sharp features, you couldn't describe her as anything but beautiful.

Though you quickly schooled your gawking expression when her steely eyes bore into yours. Wasted, yet so focused. "The fuck are you doing here?".

Your lungs took in a deep breath, composing yourself as you gently clicked the door shut. "You know... when I do an inventory take and come up short two bottles I'll have to answer to Vander, right?", you moved forward slowly, almost innocently, trying to make sure she didn't pounce on you and toss you out of the door.

A giggle nearly escaped you when she looked at you suspiciously, the alcohol exaggerating every expression she made. You were sure that those giant hands wrapped around the bottle could do you some serious damage if she so wished, but right now? With those big eyes locked in a squint and her head tilted forward? She looked like a cat who hadn't been fed yet.

"Don't do an inventory check then", she grunted slightly and kicked her feet out into more of a manspread, taking another large gulp that had you sighing.

"Kinda my job".

She still looked pissed, "Look, I dunno what you want from me-", Vi stood finally, her stature looking intimidating as she stepped forward and sized you up. Your hands went up, a foot stepping back, "I just wanted to check in, with everything".

"Everything?".

"Yeah, you know... the changes and the people".

Vi scoffed, moving across the creaky floor to perch back down on the old bed, it seemed she didn't deem you a threat. Didn't mean she was any less pissed off, murmuring a few expletives at your expense as she slumped down, facing away from you. It really was sad, how quickly she conked out, her heavy breath evening out, spiky hair flattened against the pillow.

Someone so lost was always hard to see. Your head shook, exhaling a heavy breath whilst picking up the bottles. One was nearly empty, the other still full. Eyes bigger than her stomach you supposed, sighing again before heading upstairs, trying to figure out a way of not getting Vi into shit with her stealing stock.

Vi tried to throw herself into the happiness of being around her family again, she really did. Seven years of not seeing them, not knowing if they were okay. Every time Powder hugged her she just wanted to break down, her baby sister all grown up. She never got to see it.

She participated in the family gatherings, tried to keep up in the conversations her siblings had. 50% of the time her contributions were asking who they were talking about, what that inside joke meant, what the hell the activity was they were talking about, and the other 50% was her just sitting there silently, ears red as her fists clenched and unclenched. They all had things. Jobs, friends, love interests, hobbies, even just junk they decorated their house with. What she would give for some shitty trinkets she could pay for herself.

She needed coins, needed to escape living in this awkward shadow she'd been in the last couple of months since being free. Feeling trapped in a different way.

Your hums filled the bar during closing time again, the responsibility solely on your shoulders with Vander and Benzo out on some little trip for a few days. It was nice, the flicker of the candles, their lives running out shortly, marking the time for you to go, the jukebox playing in the corner, forcing your head to bop lightly as you worked at a stubborn patch of sticky juice on the countertop.

The serenity was shortly pummelled as blue and pink flew through the door. "The pits, Vi?", Powder's croaky voice overpowered the jukebox and made you jump out of your skin.

"I don't get what your problem is", the other, covered in bruises and somewhat tipsy stumbled in after her and slammed the door, eyes burning into you when she realised that your eyes were darting between the two.

"My problem is you're beaten to a pulp, and the pits are illegal now, Violet", Powder was exasperated, making swift work of moving behind the bar, grabbing cloths and vodka before forcing her much larger sister down onto a stool and dabbing her wounds clean. Through all of Powder's anguish, her chewed up lips revealed her worry. Vi had been on a downward spiral and none of the family knew how to help.

Your cheeks puffed out slightly, the awkwardness radiating off of you could warm a small cabin over winter. Shuffling awkwardly away, you reached the jukebox andturned the music off, collecting the coins earned through the course of the night.

Vi's eyes darted to you yet again, before her attention was dragged away. She winced as the cloth touched a particularly deep eyebrow gash, "I'm good at fighting and it's good money-".

"Not worth it", Powder punctuated with another cloth dab.

"I don't get this", her face scrunched up, "Me fighting is how we survived and how you aren't a little pulp on the ground! We fought and fought for everything-".

"We used to", Powder interrupts bluntly, deflating as she tossed the bloodied cloths over the bar and into the bin. The burning silence forced you to busy yourself even further away, sweeping a corner with no dust in as Powder told her sister to get some sleep, pecking her temple before vacating home.

"You can quit acting", Vi looked over at you, breathing in heavy through her nose before she moved over to the jukebox, staring down at it, fiddling with a coin.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, moving a little closer, broom in hand. "Don't know which song to play?".

"I know", Vi spoke simply, not elaborating. Her jaw was tense, the pace she was playing with the coin sped up, along with the rise and fall of her chest. A beat later, "This is my first properly earned coin", she breathed out and pushed it through the gap in the machine.

The familiar soft beat of "Our Love" thrummed through the bar after a click of a button. It was a late night favourite amongst the customers, and for some reason it always got Vander to be a little quiet.

"Good choice", you spoke quietly, trying not to anger the woman on edge, who swallowed thickly and nodded. "Was my mom's favourite", she choked out a little, steeling herself by gripping the edges of the jukebox.

You stayed silent, letting Vi have her moment, playing her mothers favourite song with her first legitimately earned cash. You'd all lost people one way or another down in the undercity before it became a place of prosperity. You missed your own mother too.

"My mom used to say music talks to us in a language we don't understand", you sat on a barstool, leaning against the broomstick slightly.

You watched her eyes glance at you from the side before settling on the jukebox again, talking only when the song finished, her voice a croaked whisper, "I think they hate me".

Your heart throbbed, "They don't, they hate seeing you hurt".

"I don't get why you keep... talking to me", her voice picked up again, her tone frustrated, gripping the jukebox harder. "Even Powder treats me like I'm one wrong word away from snapping", she finally looked directly at you, her cheek swollen with a purple tint, small gashed littered across her face.

Your teeth found your bottom lip, nibbling as you tried to think of what to say with Vi's expectant eyes on you. "I think... maybe you remind them of a time they'd rather forget? But I'm sure it'll level out at some point, they still love you. We're all just... still figuring this new world out, right?".

"Right", she deadpanned.

"I keep talking to you because I was angry too, when it all changed". For the first time since you met her, her eyes softened slightly, the powder blue eyes catching you by surprise, your lungs catching in your chest.

"None of it seemed fair", you continued, "How we all were expected to just... move on. Get along with everyone, find a place in a world that for hundreds of years didn't want us. I wanted my mom to live in a world that felt safe too but she never got to have that. I was still furious at Piltover, furious at all the little rebellion groups that went domestic and joined the enforcers. It took years before I could just... breathe", and as if to emphasise your point, your lungs exhaled deeply, your throat tight.

"I thought you were a Piltie when I first saw you", Vi tested the waters and moved to sit next to you at the bar. You swivelled to face her, an amused smile on your face that seemed to catch her off guard, her eyes blinking a few times rapidly. She looked almost terrified of you, like she was the one worried about scaring you off now.

"Why?".

She shrugged, "You just looked too perfect, I guess".

Vi frequented your little studio apartment quite frequently now. She avoided the place like the plague for a while, but when she 'broke the seal' and stopped by for a visit after one of your shifts, she was there non-stop. Might as well live there, especially when you handed her a spare key.

Quite often you'd find her sprawled on the tiny couch in your one-roomed place, her favourite place because it was in a corner. Vi loved corners. Your chest would soar when she stopped by unexpectedly; it was nice to see her relying on someone. Especially with her pit fights - that she still hadn't stopped, even with her family and you telling her to get another job. Vander relentlessly offered her shifts at the bar, but she was stubborn. Didn't want handouts.

So, more often than not, she snuck into your apartment late at night, knuckles bloody, face purple, and body sprawled out on the small chair. Even whilst drunk and injured she could get in without getting caught. It was when she fell asleep that was the problem.

Your eyes blinked open, arms still snuggled up to the corner of your duvet. It sounded like a thunderstorm raging outside in your sleep-addled brain, your fists rubbing your eyes open before peeking through the curtain gap. Clear skies?

You flinched when another bout of "thunder" started, eyes blinking at the mound in the corner of the apartment. A sigh, and another snore.

Vi.

Your eyes rolled whilst your feet planted onto the floor, lazily padding over to the lightswitch. Her snore turned into more of a gargled pig noise as she woke up and whined. Both adrenaline and alcohol were not in her system anymore, and frankly, she was in agony.

"It's the middle of the night", she grumbled and strained to sit herself up properly, rubbing her face before wincing.

She really was a sight for sore eyes. "Your snoring woke me up again", you spoke simply, once again moving to get some rubbing alcohol. "Why do you do this to yourself?".

She shrugged, face scrunching and staring at the floor, "Takes my mind off things".

"It worries me", you knelt between her legs, tilting her chin to look at you. Her eyes were droopy, sad. She looked guilty, her eyes not able to hold your stare for more than a few seconds.

"'M sorry, sweetheart", her words slurred, and your heart stopped, brain rebooting as you focused on the task at hand, teeth worrying at your bottom lip as you began to clean her up.

Your throat was tight every time she seemed in pain, like you could feel it too. It was stupid, she'd only been in your life for a few months, but she'd melted herself down and squeezed herself into every crack in your soul.

Next were her hands. With gently, practiced movements you unwrapped the bandages, fingers skimming over her swollen knuckles, fighting the urge to bring them up to your lips as you dabbed some ice on them.

"At least stop doing this every night?", your voice pleaded, looking up at her through your eyelashes. She was clearly conflicted, but at this point, she'd move the earth for you, so she nodded. Barely. But you could still see it. The corners of your lips twitched up, pressing your forehead to her knee before standing and packing up.

Vi swallowed harshly, shaking her head a few times when your back was turned to her before sprawling out on the small chair again.

"Nuh uh". She jumped at your voice as you walked quickly and smoothly over to your bed and patted it. "You can't expect for your limbs to feel all better and not-stiff if you crumple yourself up".

She watched in bewilderment when you curled up in your usual corner of the bed and opened the duvet up for her. Her eyebrows fluttered as she slowly moved herself to be upright. "What?".

"Get comfortable", you reiterated and patted the bed again before drooping your head down into the squishy pillow, knowing she'd do as you say and join you in a moment, even if she has to think it over first.

Lo and behold, behind your eyelids you saw the light go off, and felt her creeping into your bed like it was haunted. You opened yours to find hers wide and staring right at you. It scared the shit out of you, but you did a good job at hiding it, not wanting to spook her and have her sprint out of your apartment.

You hummed sleepily, "You okay?".

Vi exhaled deeply, smushing her face into the pillow, "I hung out with Vander and Claggor this evening".

"Before or after the pit?".

"Before".

"How'd that go?", you chewed your lip again, adjusting yourself on the mattress, the early hours of the morning getting to you, even with Vi being a distraction. Vi itched the shaved part of her head before tugging on the longer hairs on the base of her neck a little, pushing through her own drowsiness.

"It's going okay. I'm adjusting to Vander being different, Claggor's kinda the same. I'm just really struggling with Powder", she murmured, fingers twitching slightly and scooting closer to your position on the mattress.

You scanned her face, "What's different with Powder?".

Her nose scrunched, tongue running across her teeth before she just deflated. "She's everything I hoped she'd grow up into, I'd still fucking die for her, y'know? It's just... Pow likes to fix things, always has done. But ever since I got out, I dunno... just feels like she keeps trying to fix me".

"I don't think you need fixing", you muttered back, lips barely moving as you locked eye contact again. Fuck, she was really beautiful.

"Mm", she hummed, "I dunno about that".

"You're the reason we aren't living in the dirt anymore, think a few war wounds are valid for like, people to accept. You did time for all of us".

She sunk further into the pillowy mattress, her body getting limper and limper the more you made her feel better about herself. "You're sweet". Her voice could barely be heard as she finally passed out, no snoring to be heard thanks to her not being crumpled up on a small piece of furniture. You watched as her worry lines faded away, as peace took over her features. You hoped she was dreaming about nice things.

Just as she took over your apartment, she had taken over your bed after that night. Instead of sneaking in at 1am after a fight and curling up into a ball on the couch, she snuck under your duvet like a stray little poro. On multiple occasions, you woke up to her spooning you from behind, then grumbling and rolling away in the morning.

She relied on you for a lot now. She wouldn't admit it, and neither would you, but she had basically moved in. She rarely slept in the basement in the last drop anymore, only ate at either yours, or takeout from Jericho's, which was now a proper restaurant, and you always patched her up after her fights.

It was no surprise that your little crush on her grew. You loved taking care of her, and having her protective instincts aimed on you in return. On her days off from the pit she would always walk you home, it didn't feel natural to her that the streets were pretty safe.

Her hand was on your lower back as you walked through your apartment door, happy to have Vi here so early, and not sneaking in with a busted face. Her hands were so soft as she helped you out of your jacket, her eyes taking in the familiar surroundings of what was basically her home.

Her own jackets hung up next to yours, space on the shoe rack, her bundled up bandage wraps poking out through the bedside cabinet. She'd well and truly wormed her way into the domestic life, ignoring her participation in an illegal fighting ring three nights a week - keeping to her promise of not doing it every day.

On her nights off, she hung out at the bar, keeping you company as you worked, glaring at any that showed interest in the pretty bartender. On nights you both had off, she'd come food shopping with you, or help you cook, catch up on some books she missed, even go on little hikes alone if she needed the space.

She huffed out a breath as she scanned the apartment. This is never where she thought she'd be. She didn't even know if this was sustainable for her. In her eyes you were perfect, kind, innocent in what had been a cruel world. She was holding her breath, biding her time before she inevitably blew it up.

"You good?".

She shuffled awkardly on the spot, hanging up her own jacket, leaving her in her grey tank top, muscles and tattoos on display that always caught your eye. "Yeah, let's just make dinner", she dismissed and moved past you.

Lips quirked to the side, you watched as she moved into the kitchen. Instead, you perched on the edge of the bed. Thanks to it being a studio, the kitchen was just in the opposite corner, Vi still in sight. "What are you doing?".

You shrugged every so slightly in response, ankles locking over each other. "You seem off, wondered if you wanted to talk".

"Not particularly?".

Another shrug, "You still seem off".

You could sense the frustration radiating off of her, she never liked being questioned. "It's nothing". You stayed quiet, unlocking your ankles to kick them back and forth slightly. It took a moment of a staring contest, but she eventually rolled hers and relented. "Life is quiet now".

"You don't like it?", you seemed a little put out, hurt.

"No I love it", she interjected quickly and shook her head as she sat next to you, "Which means it'll hurt more when it goes away".

"Who said it's going away?".

Vi looked at you like you were stupid, her eye twitching, "It will, it always does".

"Doesn't have to anymore", your eyes bore into hers, your breathing in synch. Both looking so vulnerable. Tentatively, you flexed your fingers before placing your hand over hers. Vi's throat bobbed, blue eyes slowly looking down at the connected skin.

"I'm not good at this... being gentle thing", she croaked out.

That didn't seem right. "You're always gentle with me", you pointed out, heart fluttering as she instead placed her hand on top of yours to interlock your fingers.

"I just- I think I really like you, and I don't know how to do this".

You couldn't help but smile, your soul had let out the biggest sigh of relief. She liked you back? She scoffed, "Don't look so happy about it, not exactly a good luck charm, sweetheart".

"Could you quit moping? We're having a moment", you teased, squeezing her hand.

"...Right", she mumbled, her other hand lifting up a little, trying to figure out where to put it. She settled for your cheek, relishing in how you leaned into it, thumb rubbing up and down your cheekbone.

"See? You're gentle".

"Still scared I'm gonna break you".

"You won't", you whispered as she got oh so close. Her breath touched yours, the bruising from previous fights were fading, she looked worn out, but so alive for you.

Her tongue wet her lips, taking her sweet time to move forward more, body trembling. Her eyes were even more beautiful up close, you thought to yourself as you looked back up, unable to think much else of it before she planted her lips on yours, scooting even closer. My god did you think you were going to just pass away as your eyes fluttered shut, soul leaving your body.

That was it now, Vi couldn't keep her hands off you. The last few weeks she had been stuck to you like a little leech, not just waking up with her spooning you, but going to sleep that way too. Sweet little touches, her lips on yours, murmurs into your ear when she gets home from the pit, mumbling about how she thinks you're beautiful, how you've saved her.

She was still terrfied of you though. When she was sober, she dreaded being too rough with you. 'Soft' had not been in her vocabulary for many years, but you were so precious to her, her worst fear was hurting you. And thus, you hadn't made the last step yet. Or more like, she hadn't made the last step yet.

She kept initiating it almost, hands moving to your belt mid-makeout, sneaking a hand into your jeans just moments later. Your breath would hitch as her fingers smoothed over the waistband of your underwear, before they were abruptly removed. She got scared, backing out.

It was okay of course. You didn't mind, and would never pressure. But if she really did want to do it you didn't want her to feel scared of doing it. Her name fell from your lips the next time her hand found its way to your belt, big eyes looking up to yours, teeth worrying on her bottom lip.

"I keep trying", she whispered, nose nudging under your jaw, lips pecking a mark she had already made.

Your hand carded its way through her hair, "What's stopping you?".

The smallest of grunts left her lips, "Only ever done quickies, wanna be able to treat you good".

"Whenever you're ready". Vi blinked, lifting her head up to stare down at you, analysing your expression. You could see her throat tightening, how she swallowed thickly, her eyes hardening as they stared at your belt buckle, softening again when your hand gripped onto her shoulder.

"It's okay", your breath hit her cheek, and she slowly leant down, capturing your lips with hers, slowly, softly, her fingers deftly dealing with your belt.

Your hips raised a little, helping her drag your clothing down. Her pupils blew, taking in your legs for the first time, making the tiniest little whine as her hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs. "You're so fucking beautiful".

Your chest rose and fell rapidly when she stood off of you, removing her own clothes, her boxers cupping her so well in the right places, the wraps she had around her chest looking oh so hot. Your teeth found your bottom lip, hands reaching out to grab at her muscular back when she lifted you up, peeling away your shirt before gently laying you back down.

Fuck, she was soft.

She kissed you again, one hand rubbing the side of your thigh, one hand coming up to your tits, fingers running up your sternum before she picked a side, both of you moaning when she finally smoothed a hand over your breast and squeezed lightly.

"Fucking hell", she croaked against you, moving to suckle against your throat, distracting you as she slotted one of her defined thighs against your centre.

Oh, the friction was so sweet, it took no time at all for you to be whimpering, hips chasing her leg. It didn't take long for her to feel the damp patch against her bare skin, her lips smirking against your throat before pulling back, laughing breathlessly as she looked down. "Oh baby... already?", she teased lightly, the hand on your thigh moving to rub up and down your clothed centre.

You were so fucking screwed, already seeing stars and she hadn't even got your underwear off yet, but when her thumb managed to rub over your clit and her mouth moved to your nipple, you couldn't help the needy whine you let out.

Violet was oh so smug, not even realising that she'd started to grind against the mattress until she let out her own noise, panting as her hand rubbing your centre got greedier and tugged at your underwear.

She took the chance when your hips bucked again, practically drooling as your wetness came into view. "Oh, fuck, sweetheart", she breathed out, enamoured, "You sure this is okay? I don't wanna- don't wanna do this wrong-".

You squirmed, trying to come back to your senses, desperate for her to touch you again. "I'm sure, I trust you". Her lips formed a soft smile, taking you in again when your hand reached for her bruised one.

"Gonna make you feel so good, I swear", she rushed out nervously, shifting herself lower, staring right at your most intimate place as she got herself comfortable, propping the back of your thighs over her shoulders.

Immediately, your hands went to her short hair, knowing you'd need something to cling to, and you were so right. Her nose nudged your clit before her lips wrapped around it. Your muscles went taut, mouth flying open simultaneously as your hands gripped her hair almost painfully.

She didn't mind. It felt angelic, and she was so lost in the taste of you. To make matters worse, two fingers were already prodding against your entrance, feeling no resistance. "God", she mumbled against you, tongue licking a stripe up your centre before looking up at you.

She took in how gone you looked, how overwhelmed with sensations. How beautiful you looked as she slowly fucked her fingers into you, creating a nice rhythm that made your heels dig into her back, your entire body attempting to swallow her whole.

"I-", you tried to talk, breath catching in your throat when Vi looked to the side and began sucking little marks into your thigh, smoothing her tongue over them after.

It was too much, the way her fingers scissored inside of you and rubbed against that spot that made you allergic to oxygen. Her forehead nestled into the side of your leg before she felt you clench down on her fingers like a vice.

She moved her head back down again, "You're looking real pretty, always looking real pretty", her mouth mumbled against your clit, vibrating through your entire core before she took you into her mouth again.

Your vision blurred hands tugging her hair even tighter somehow as she pushed you over the edge, the hand not working you through your climax rubbed over your hip, holding you down in place as she felt you calming.

"Holy fucking shit", you panted, hands leaving her hair to cover your face, breath hitching as she pulled out.

"You okay?", she sat up, gently moving your legs back down onto the bed, moving to lie next to you, eyes big, vulnerable, when you let out a tired chuckle and ran your hands down your face.

"Felt real good", you rolled over, fingers reaching up to fiddle with the edge of the wraps on her chest. One day she might feel comfortable taking them off, but it's okay that today was not that day.

She looped a thigh over your hip, curling you into her, "You promise? Didn't hurt or anything?", her hand smoothed over your ribs.

"Promise", you spoke softly but resolutely, taking in her flushed expression, and tasting yourself on her lips when she kissed you.

It was quite the celebration when Vi announced she was quitting the pits. Her hands moved animatedly, sitting on the edge of the bed as she told you about how someone was willing to take her on as an assistant at their engineering place.

It was exciting, you were beaming as you congratulated her, so happy to never have to see her all busted up again. Your sweet Vi didn't deserve any of that pain.

Her family was happy to hear the news too, the tension of wanting to keep Vi safe but not wanting to overwhelm her was all but gone, the group having some alone time with some soft drinks after the bar had closed.

It was concerning when she didn't come back home though, you instantly thought the worst. Maybe she'd gotten into a stash of whiskey and ended up at the pits again.

You got all hot and bothered as you hurried to the bar, heavily breathing and ignoring the stitch in your side, pushing the door of the empty bar open, expecting to see no one. Expecting to have to run halfway across town and drag Vi back home before she broke her jaw or something.

But no, your sweet girl was alone at the bar, sipping some fruit juice through a straw, and humming to her mother's favourite song on the jukebox.

She heard the hinges creak and she looked at you with a raised eyebrow, a slow smile forming when she saw it was you.

When your eyes met hers, and she tilted her head for you to come and join her, her expression glowing, you knew you'd both be okay. Your girl was home.

chain divider creds: cafekitsune

[retrowitchy]

ranking lucy gray's outfits in the tbosas movie as a costume design student ✶✧

quite possibly, everything rachel zegler wears is my favorite part of tbosas. trish summerville is a big personal hero of mine, and tbosas is my favorite hunger games film in terms of costume design!!! so as a disclaimer, i love every one of these looks with everything in me, this is just me ranking them.

8. swimsuit

this really shouldn't be in last place, because crochet swimwear? brilliant. and so beautiful. and so in-universe.

i love how all the covey swimwear feels like it was hand-made by the characters themselves. obviously, nobody in district 12 is swimming for pleasure much (we learn this from the first book, and haymitch and burdie just skinny dipped lol), so naturally the covey would have made their own things to wear by hand.

7. sejanus' execution

the details of the snakes on her belt and the hand stitching/embroidery on her sleeves are so wonderful. for an outfit that never really gets a full shot in the film (most of rachel's shots in this scene are closeups from the neck up), the dedication to detail is super admirable.

6. well i'm not made out of sugar

it's such a good detail how coriolanus' mother's shawl perfectly color compliments the rest of this outfit. it's like she picked it out to match on purpose, which makes the betrayal all the more devastating. i think this scene is also one of trish's stronger uses of color symbolism- the warm, sunshine-y colors of lucy gray contrasting the stark, bare palette of everything coriolanus wears in 12. she's a symbol of hope. he's trying to end that.

5. the covey lake

huge fan of the simplicity here. it's just a dress over the swimsuit. and yet everything about this screams lucy gray and screams covey. look at those mismatched little brass buttons!! the swimsuit peeking out from underneath!! the plum color suits rachel zegler so well- it's just generally so gorgeous.

4. pure as the driven snow

this outfit was one of the things about this movie that stuck in my head the most after walking out of the theater. there's this carefree, thrown-on essence to it, like the flowers in her hair are an afterthought, or maude ivory helped her put them in. i wish i could find better pictures of the vest, because the beading details are so beautiful. the reusing of her boots is a good detail too, because obviously she wouldn't have that many pairs of shoes.

3. the meadow

trish summerville did a great job at building a repeated silhouette for lucy gray. the cinched waist, blousy or sleeveless top, and a-line, flowing skirt is in almost every outfit, and i think this one is the most classic example of that look. i think she looks so beautiful in blue, and i like that she's dressed in such a wide variety of colors throughout the film- always something completely different than the last.

2. the rainbow dress

OBVIOUSLY. hand painted corset are you kidding me? i remember seeing this in the trailer and thinking truly, she could not have more perfectly recreated the dress from the book. it stays true to lucy gray's sillhouette, the ruffles feel bright enough to be a rainbow, but muted enough to still feel in-universe/accurate for 12. one of my favorite details is her boots ↓

they're old, and have a vintage feel, but something about how chunky they are also reminds us that despite the folksy charm, we are also in a dystopian future.

1. nothing you can take from me

my baby. my darling. possibly my favorite costume of any hunger games film. i am IN LOVE with this outfit.

the flower decal trimming and embroidery on her blouse, and the crushed navy velvet that feels like it was found at a 100 year old antique store. the boots are back. lacy top underneath, hand crocheted no doubt. purple in the skirt, but it's subtle- purple is her most repeated color element. it's rebellious, it's royal. the slight 1940s references in the silhouette.

DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE HAIR. ribbons and feathers threaded throughout her curls, giving her the impression of a bird in flight when she twirls??? REMIND YOU OF ANYTHING?????

this is her triumphant return moment, her defiant song against the oppression of the capitol. she's captivated the crowd....just like a certain someone will years and years later.

[fear-less]

anyone of your choice x a reader who is like luna lovegood.... hear me out

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 butterfly wings

paring: sirius black x f!reader

➥ In which Sirius Black, seeking solitude on a quiet Friday night, unexpectedly meets a quirky girl who hums Muggle songs, has silly looking hair and clothes, and sees the world through a completely different lens, making him question everything he thought he knew about life and himself.

warnings: written in 2nd pov, she/her pronouns used, flufffff, sirius experiences love at first sight lowkey, ditzy reader, hair described as wavy, lmk if i missed anything

a/n: enjoy this short & sweet fic 😋 feel free to request more pics like this.. lowkey had a blast writing this fic ngl, also how are we loving this alive era !!?? finals are gonna end me tho, hoping to post more when im on break <3

1.1k words

The sun was just starting to dip behind the horizon, casting a warm golden glow across the Hogwarts grounds. Sirius Black was leaning lazily against a tree near the edge of the black lake, watching the evening sky. His thoughts were far from the upcoming Potions exam, or even from the constant tension with his family. No, tonight he was simply enjoying the stillness of the moment—until the sound of a soft humming reached his ears.

He turned to see a girl wearing clothes nowhere near their dress robes, skipping through the tall grass, a pair of oversized, mismatched socks peeking out from beneath the hem of her skirt. In one hand, you clutched a jar that looked suspiciously like it was filled with glitter, and in the other, a half-eaten pumpkin pastie. The evening breeze tugged at your hair, but it only seemed to make you twirl in delight, as though you were dancing with the wind itself.

​​Sirius couldn’t help but smile despite himself. There was something about the way she seemed entirely out of sync with reality, like you were living in a world all your own. It was... fascinating. Most people would’ve been inside on a Friday night, but not you. No, you were humming a song Sirius couldn’t quite place, looking up at the sky as if you expected to find something wonderful there.

Sirius raised an eyebrow as you continued humming, a soft, dreamy melody he now realized was some Muggle song. He considered whether or not to interrupt your song with a conversation. He had come down to the lake to escape the raucous laughter of his friends—he hadn’t planned on talking to anyone, least of all you. But there was something about your carefree presence that pulled him in, something he couldn’t quite explain.

As he watched you, he suddenly felt a strange urge to approach. What am I doing? he thought, before shrugging off the hesitation. Usually, he had no trouble talking to girls. But you were different. There was no rush to impress you or prove something, no game to be played. You were in your own world, so completely other that he felt like he had to break through that bubble of yours, even if it meant making a fool of himself.

He decided, somewhat impulsively, to walk toward you as if he was leaving, hoping you'd say something to stop him—maybe comment on the sunset, or ask if he had seen any magical creatures lately. Something to start a conversation.

As he got closer, a familiar thought crossed his mind. Wait a second… He remembered you now. You were the girl with the wild ideas and strange ways of looking at the world. The one who always seemed to have her mind in the clouds, lost in thoughts others couldn’t seem to follow. You wore mismatched socks, and your shoes were always a little too unconventional for anyone else’s taste. Your hair—today it was streaked with a few colorful hints of pink and blue, strands loosely braided here and there on your wavy hair—was the subject of endless teasing. But you never seemed to care. Whenever the others made fun of you, you'd just smile and continue on as if you hadn’t heard a word. The kind of carefree confidence Sirius had always envied, yet never fully understood.

As Sirius approached, lost in this memory, you suddenly broke the silence, your voice light and dreamy. "If you walk any closer and choose not to move, you might just bump into me," you said, still gazing up at the sky as though you were watching constellations rearrange themselves.

Sirius froze, taken aback, his steps stuttering to a stop. A sheepish smile tugged at his lips, part embarrassed, part amused. "Oh, sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "I wasn't really paying attention."

He had been so distracted by the way your hair caught the fading light that he hadn't even realized how close he’d gotten. It was wild, yet soft, a tangled mess of waves and braids, with hints of color streaking through like a sunset painted in your locks. It was almost… magical.

You gave a simple nod in response, finally pulling your gaze away from the sky to look at him. The moment your eyes locked, Sirius felt an unexpected jolt of warmth spread across his chest. You weren't fazed, but there was something in the way you looked at him—as if he were just another curious face in the crowd. It was strange. Everyone knew who Sirius Black was. But to you? He might as well have been a stranger.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just studied each other.

Sirius shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, feeling the familiar prickle of self-consciousness creeping up his neck. Why was it so easy to talk to people who were busy trying to impress him, but with you? It was like he’d been dropped into a world where none of his usual tricks or charm worked.

You squinted at him, your gaze flickering as if you were trying to place him, but the recognition didn’t come. You looked at him like he was someone new, someone you had never seen before.

And, strangely, that made him feel more vulnerable than anything else.

When you finally looked away, returning your attention to the horizon, Sirius took a breath, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling of being seen in a way he wasn’t used to. He was about to say something when you broke the silence once more.

"Did you know," you said, your voice soft and faraway, "that sometimes the stars make shapes in the sky that are only visible to certain people? Some call it a ‘soul alignment,’ but I think it’s more about... perspective." You looked back at him, your eyes sparkling with a quiet certainty. "Maybe we’ll see something special tonight. Something we weren’t supposed to."

Sirius blinked, his confusion evident. "Soul alignment? What do you mean?"

You smiled gently, not offering an explanation, but instead turning back to the sky. "You wouldn’t understand it yet. But it’s something that will make sense eventually."

Sirius opened his mouth to respond, but for some reason, his usual quick-wit failed him. The bizarre serenity in your voice, the way you looked at the sky like it held secrets only you knew, left him momentarily speechless.

He watched as you turned the jar of stardust in your hands, staring at the sparkles inside. It wasn’t real, was it? But somehow, in your hands, it felt like it might be.

"So," he began, slowly, unsure of where this conversation was headed but unable to resist it, "how do you see the world, then? Different from everyone else?"

You paused, considering the question. Then, with a soft laugh, you turned to him. "Not different. Just... more patient."

And for the first time in his life, Sirius Black felt the weight of the stars overhead. Maybe it was the stardust in the jar, or maybe it was the quiet, patient way you saw the world—but whatever it was, he realized that he wanted to see it, too.

[brights-place]

So twst x murder drones

A cyn yuu that mellowed down yet is Still a goofball but when a overbolt happened they go feral on it a few zombie and disassembly drones here and there. 

[TWST] TWST x Cyn!Reader Warnings: Fluff, Fights, Swearing, Gore

Pt. 1 (Here) , Pt. 2 A/N: I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING THSI CAUSE ITS MY FIRST TWST REQUETS OMG OMG!! anyways I LOVED THE IDEA OF CYN! YUU SO MUCHHHHH anyways this will be placed in Book 6 and again I was kind of struggling since I haven't watched murder drones in awhile which sucksss plus I've been struggling with writing fight scenes so I hope this was alright in some sorts..?

Summary: Cyn! Yuu was something there was no acutal way if everybody knew her real personality and actual mannerisms, as little is known of her from before her disposal, and after rebooting she has no control over herself due to the Solver possessing her. So when given the chance to be in a different world she used it to her advantaged yet she would do these things that others couldn't question but the moment it came when Idia overblotted and Taking Grim. They all couldn't help but witness the more... destructive side of her

Footsteps echoed as each and every group finally ended up in their final destination. Your eyes staring ahead as you already were the first one there your hands were close to your chest head lodged to the side. Your digital pupils staring at the group that came down from different parts of stairs and back to the figure hovering over them from afar Idia’s overblotted form hovering body is dominated by black and glowing blue tones. Blue flames crown his head and twist around his figure. His sleek angular armor is adorned with glowing blue accents and a central heart-like emblem on his chest. His lower body dissolves into flowing, tattered flames, giving him a ghostly, unbound appearance. A jagged-toothed mask obscures his face, while his glowing mismatched eyes. One burning intensely with blue fire reflect his despair and rage. A overblotted monster behind him hovering roaring as your eyes darted around as you scanned Idia and the overblot monster. You smiled trudging forward to the others "Hello everybody" "Hi Epel" you smiled waving as Epel waved back witha soft smile before you were standing with everybody snapping your head over back to Idia while others were belittling him and talking/shouting at him while the firey blue haired male was monologuing you couldn't help but be bored. Raising one of your hands to lift up your head while your shoes started dragging on the floor before stopping as you scanned Idia and the blot creature from behind him Leon couldn't help but stare at you when you were moving and stating your next action "Lick" your metallic tongue sticking out licking one of your digital eyes that were glitching slightly. "(Your Name) What are you doing?" Epel shouted as he noticed you were walking closer to Idia who stared down at you with eyebrows furrowed blue smoke coming from his mask "What are you-" "Giggle" Leona eyes widened as he stepped back smelling something coming from you not the usual one of a robot like Ortho but of something coming from a rotting corpse while Epel went to go towards you he reached his hand out towards the lavendar haired male grabbing him back instantly handing him off to Vil "GET DOWN" That one singular word had everybody quickly move away as you snapped your head up to Idia "Oh Y-Yes" voice glitching "Get snuck upon" everybody froze seeing how your digital pupils turned into yellow X's giving a fangy grin darting forward to Idia. The males eyes widened when you vanished from infront of him before snapping his head to the side when you past him landing back onto the floor below grinning while the others saw your change of appearance that changed instantly that resembles a rotting human-child corpse wearing black heels and a black tattered dress.

The way you moved on all fours with eyes sockets staring right at Idia that were dark showing signs they were ripped open with your X-shapes glowing a neon yellow-orange color that darted around each time deflecting Idia is throws and magic with the overblot monster. "Stab" You stated while fleshy like large tendrils came out poking out on your back, three intestine like tentacles protrude out of this form of yours is back as you used it to climb around walls and digging into the floor when skidding back neck snapping to the side as you stared at Idia who was heaving heavily as another spare of black tendrils shot out. Epel was frozen seeing how you were laughing and throwing Idia around as you continued to play around with him before Vil was shouting at you to get the overblot monster before you appeared behind Vil a large tendril appeared from you shooting out to stab Vil who was grabbed away by Rook "Angry." you said grinning while your X eyes staring at them. You were mentally cussing every human in here they were getting annoying to deal with these humans in this other world but you needed them for now and you wanted this done with as long as Grim didn't see this you were fine. It was annoying you on how when they tried to shoot magic at Idia they were close to hurting you in the trial so it made your job extra hard. Vil though being held by Rook before placing down was staring at your body and at a ripped part of your corpse like body reveals a drone identification number on her chest to be 1001 wearing a yellow "MARKED FOR DISASSEMBLY" armband wrapped around your left shoulder. Snapping your head back over to the overblot monster you grinned sprouting wings from your back that was slightly ripped on the bottom with camera-eyes appearing staring and zooming into Idia who's eyes widened when you lunged forward at him once again fangs showing with your smile, voice glitching "Let's eat." Riddle was petrified by how you were standing there unhinged and giggling how your body shifted into something else how you made the blot monster become into nothing toying with Idia. He wondered in his overblot form if you did anything like that but he didn't hear anything from any heartslabyul members so this situation with you was something he wouldn't have expect. Leona could smell the oil from your body the way your body and joints were snapping. The group even though trying to help you fight kept getting in your way especially when you in moments slammed them away to continue to torment Idia. Even though Idia deserved it he noticed how your mouth was drooling a black substance of oil. Azul was beside Riddle jaw slacking at how you laughed showing off numerous jagged sharp teeth with a dark gray metallic tongue that made him feel as if you were on par with the leech twins... He may or may not be considering on hiring you with how he saw you were handling the situation against Idia. Jamil felt useless in this entire situation not only with the time with Leona he was struggling with keeping up with you. Trying to shoot out large sums of magic but when he noticed how one of your tendrils shot out to him throwing him to the side he skidded to a stop.

Vil was beside Epel, and Rook staring at the scene. Epel looking horrified to see his so called friend having spike like tendrils throwing idia and impaling the overblot monster seeing you actually laughing without saying the word giggle or a word to describe your actions like usual. Rook though he would be complimenting your beauty or whatever someone was doing was holding a serious expression beside Vil nodding to eachother.

The after math with Vil saving Idia, Ortho also with Vil becoming old and everything though you were staring down at Idia who blinked letting out an 'eep' when you made a chomping motion to him "Bite" the moment you stepped on the ship with Grim going on first the air was tense the group staring at you while you used one of your hands to hold your head up properly "Blink" You continued to head over to a seat on the ship sitting down finally.

reblogs + comments are appreciated ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ ©brights-place 2023 — do not repost on another platform, copy, translate or edit my works! if you fit my DNI list please don't interact!

[shojizbae]

Wellness Checks

Spencer Reid x Reader

It was 11:37 when you checked your wristwatch. A knock sounded at your door, and you reached for your glasses on your nightstand blindly. Both your dogs sprang up and barked at the sound of the knocks.

"Nike, Artemis, Heel!" you shush them and rub your eyes to get them to focus. The two fluffy German shepherds follow your calves as you get to the front door, clicking the two deadbolts open. They sit as you open the door and reveal Dr. Reid. Only having been on the team for five months, you view Spencer as not just your senior but your superior. And not just the lanky piece of ass that he is.

"Uh, Spencer!" You attempted to smile, and he greeted you back. "Err, come on in." You stepped out of the way and widened the door. "Is there anything I can do for you?" You led him to the couch, where both your dogs sat and stared at him.

"Can I help you with something? Tea, maybe?" you start to walk away

"You were supposed to be at work almost two hours ago (Y/n)."

"I must have overslept, I'm gonna get some coffee would you like a cup."

"As long as it gets you to stop dodging my questions."

"Yes, Sir. How do two cups of sugar sound?" He's trying to be stern and show how cross he is with you, but it's hard to make a serious face when you're not wearing pants. You strut off the kitchen, and he can hear your faucet as you fill the coffee pot. He takes a moment to take you into your apartment. The walls were an olive shade, and there were giant purple curtains. It looked lived-in.

Organized chaos, as people liked to call this.

Your bag and shoes were tossed into oblivion. Your couch had just about a million throw pillows and a basket of blankets. It was cozy. You returned with two large mismatched mugs, handed one to him, and knelt on the couch. At the touch of your bare legs against each other, you realized that you had forgone pajama bottoms the night before. Instead, you had on an old gray UCLA raglan and some red underwear. Thank God you didn't wear a thong yesterday.

"Uh, I'm so sorry I didn't realize." You begin to stand, but a tentative grip on your wrist pulls you down.

"It's fine. You weren't expecting guests." you laugh but pull a nearby knit blanket over your lap

"Why were you sleeping so late? Normally, you are fifteen minutes early. What happened?" You take a sip from a mug that says '30 and flirty.' "(Y/n)." His voice is back to demanding.

"I'm sorry," you rub your eyes. I stayed in the office late to finish up my reports and help JJ with the debriefing.

"Bullshit, JJ was the second out; she had to get back to her son." He takes a long swig of his coffee and sits it on the table. "I've been profiling for over seven years. You're not going to get past me. Was it something on the trip?"

At the mention, you hang your head and whimper.

Tears pour uncontrollably from your eyes, and you hear them tap against your lenses. His mug clicks against your vinyl coffee table, and he pulls you into his chest by your shoulder.

"Shh sh, it's okay." His other hand rubs at your hair. "I know this job takes it out of you. It's important to focus on the fact that you're inciting real change."

"how could someone do that to a child? To ten children and keep going!" You pull up from your hands and look him deep in his eyes.

"I know it's not right." he holds the back of your neck as your forehead presses into his breast.

"How could- how could you do that to a poor sweet child." you begin to let out a mirage of sobs. Incoherent pleas. He pets your hair as you dampen his nice gray sweater. When you've finally calmed down you sniffle and wipe your eyes.

"You should get some water. Gets up and rummages through your cupboard and fills it with tap water. You throw back the last coffee and pull your knees up to your chest. You look up as he hands you a clear blue plastic cup.

"Thank you." you push your glasses up your nose. "You're free to grab anything in the kitchen. Although my groceries are quite lackluster."

"That's alright. I ate before I got here. I never knew you needed glasses."

"Oh, well, I try not to be public without my contacts. I was called four eyes more than I could count."

"Yeah, middle school is the worst."

"This was actually grad school." Your laugh is finally genuine, but you punctuate it with another sniffle.

"Well, I'm just going to text Hotch that you're going to stay home today." He reaches into his pocket

"No, no, I'll come in today. I just needed to rest a little." You push his phone to his chest and stand up. "I'll be right back."

You are ushered to your bedroom, which is basically a big closet separated from the rest of the space by three wide steps and two industrial barn doors. The two dogs follow you to your room and stand at the doors, scrutinizing Reid. You're halfway through buttoning your pants when you realize you're missing your good bra.

"fuck," you whisper to yourself "Reid!" You yell into your apartment

"Yeah!" As he responds, his voice gets louder

"Uh," you turn around quickly and cross your arms over your bare chest

"Oh, sorry,"

"I'm sorry, but could you get my bra from my purse?"

"Sure thing."

"Sorry, it's probably somewhere near the door." your forehead connects with your dresser briefly until you hear him knock on your door jam.

"Here." He taps your shoulder, and you turn slowly, but he squeezes his eyes shut like a 12-year-old boy.

"Oh, come on, Reid, it's not like you've never seen a topless girl before," You tease and spin around to put on your bra. "I'm decent now." You tap on his shoulder. A new method of communication for the two of you. He opens his eyes but looks away when he sees you're only halfway through buttoning your light blue blouse.

"Seriously? I know you didn't have a chance to have fun in high school, but this is ridiculous."

"Well, this is also unprofessional. You're my colleague." He put his hands in his pockets.

"I'm also ready to go. My shoes are by the door." You point to the exit, gather your belongings, put out food for the dogs, and make sure the dog door is unlocked. Reid insists that you take his car and that he'll drive you home at the end of the day.

His car is nice and clean, with only one of those clip-in air fresheners. He takes some sort of secret route to evade the Virginia traffic. You arrive at Quantico and log in to the relief of your coworkers.

"What took you so long?"

"Reid couldn't find my bra." You snort as you fill up another mug with coffee

"Heyo!" Morgan cheers

"That's not completely true." He interjects

"No, it's not. I was having a rough time processing our Alabama case. I guess I slept through some of the trauma."

"You should have stayed home (L/n)," Hotchner says

"No, I need to do at least three hours of work to feel like I've been productive. I'll be fine if I can stay behind my computer and file reports."

"Ok, but you'll be going home at five at the latest." He orders

"Yes, sir." You type in the government password and tie up some loose ends. Many of your reports were halted, and new cases sprung up. Your computer read 4:57 when your to-do list was empty.

"Hotch?" you knock on his door frame and poke your head around the corner. He politely hangs up the phone and rubs his temples. "I'm gonna head out now?"

"Good. And fantastic job finishing your reports. Go get some rest."

"You too," you meander to Spencer's desk and pat his shoulder. "Can you drive me home now?"

"Of course,"

"Hey, don't get too rowdy lovebirds. We need y'all tomorrow!" Morgn calls from his desk, but you're already speeding for the door when he finishes his sentence. Reid makes a sojourn at a nearby Chinese food place and returns with a doggy bag. He takes you and the food up to your apartment and watches you deadbolt him in with you.

"You understand, right?"

"Of course, I also noticed you don't have a ground or top-floor apartment."

"Yeah," Today, you drop your purse on the bench by your door and line your black heels up nicely on a rack. "Well, ground-floor apartments are easier to break into. And if I'm thrown off my balcony, it's low enough that I probably won't die—unless I land on my neck."

"Lovely."

"Feel free to make yourself at home. I'm going to put on some pj's." you start taking off your blouse as you walk to your bedroom. His worm-like reaction only entices you to embolden yourself. You shed your business attire, toss it in the hamper, and put on the same shirt from earlier and an oversized zip-up sweatshirt.

You grab a pair of grey sweats from your drawer and bring them to Reid. He's pulling small white boxes out of the brown bag. You tap his shoulder to avoid startle. He jumps slightly, though.

"Here, those slacks don't look couch-worthy." You hold them out, and he looks hesitant to. "Please, you're a guest who bought me dinner." He pressed his lips in a thin line. He got up with a sigh and put the pants on in your bedroom.

You flip through the channels until you get to BBC and play Dr Who. Reid joins you, wearing an undershirt and your sweats, and is shocked to see his favorite show on the TV.

"Those fit you better than me. You should keep them."

"You watch Dr. Who?"

"Of course," you open a box of Peking ravioli, "Come, take a seat." you open the blanket on your lap for him. "Oh, actually, I have to feed the dogs." You spring upright when he sits down, so he gets a view of your perky butt as he tries to take in the fictional storyline. You scuttle off while he struggles with chopsticks with some lo mein.

You rejoin him, pull the blanket over your lap, overlapping your legs on his. You laugh along with the absurdity of the episode, and as breakfast at Tiffany's comes on, you tell Reid that you're getting drowsy. It's not much later that your glasses are pinching on his arm, and he can feel your lips distorted against him. He pulls you into his chest.

As your snores overlap the sounds of the movie he slides his arm under your knees and by your neck to carry you off to bed. The dogs immediately start barking and leap toward him.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, Artemis Nike Down! Safe." You assure the dogs. Immediately, they lay down and whimper at you. Reid opens your blankets and tucks you in. Before he leaves he places a succulent kiss on your forehead.

"Spence, stay."

"Ok,"

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

cumulus / nephos / “cloud” / ☁️

[plain text: cumulus / nephos / “cloud” / ☁️ cloud emoji]

[id: pastel fem looking person in pastel manual wheelchair looking down to slug in lap. there also slug on head n slug slide down skirt (don’t ask how). (all color pastel). person hair pink bangs, purple side hair, & blue low loose pigtails go below hips. purple eyes & medium-light ish skin. wearing bright turquoise ish color shirt collar with pink ruffles, & white shirt body with blue ruffles decorate, n green long sleeve cardigan over it also with ruffles. rainbow midi above knee skirt with white ruffles overflow from side of wheelchair. wear mismatch stockings, person’s left side rainbow stripes, n person right side turquoise blue with clouds on it. person not wearing shoes.

their wheelchair has yellow headrest, teal stroller push handle, green contoured backrest with supportive panels on two side lateral, teal to blue transition arm rest, orange big wheels with rainbow windmill candy swirl as cover & red push rim. frame is turquoise blue gradient to pink, has dump/slant, with yellow slug on one side’s turning point. purple fat caster wheels. attach to backrest is big white angel wings, & above arm rest has glowing yellow halo. their AAC device floating by them, has turquoise blue case with white cloud patterns. is saying “slug” icon. border of art lined with rainbow gradient lace. end id]

☁️.

(otherwise known as hate names terrible at decision)

VERY pastel n rainbow overload >:)

they level 3 autistic (“requiring very substantial support”) with high support needs—meaning they cannot independently do most adaptive functioning skills, needing other people physical help to do/do for them. they also need 24/7 supervision & physical help for all iADLs & bADLs.

they nonverbal & use AAC full time. their AAC is symbol based speech generating device.

their (most likely [<haven’t decided] partner who act as their) disability caretaker is hyacinthos shinya🪻🌌.

they also full time non-ambulatory wheelchair user with very specific posture & seating positioning needs so not out of it for long or really much at all.

angel wing on back of wheelchair is power assist! is magically powered by hyacinthos (who angel) & can be powered even remotely / far away. way control wheelchair & power assist part by intuitive / hand motions & gestures / etc, part by halo hover above armrest that act as joystick. can use it like traditional joystick or wear as bracelet n control that way! (gimme it i want one) (if you recognize this setting it may be because previous version)

they do mix of self propel, power assist, & caregiver push. their wheelchair have stroller style push handle instead traditional push handle for easier caregiver push, especially one handed.

is set in magical world & they do some magic (< haven’t decided]!

character not slug obsessed, artist the slug obsessed one

character sheet below cut!!

artfight character profile (VERY wip)

please do feel free draw them (with credit) n tag me!!!!!!

reblog welcome but please don’t repost

will fight you if debate about autism levels & support needs

.

hi under cut

[character sheet. functionally described below]

top left is full character clothing (with wheelchair translucent in background) because in original there some key parts blocked by wheelchair especially arm rest.

skirt around waist have purple band with blue small ruffles. center have rainbow bow with rainbow star on top.

n also have front n back of AAC device. what drawn here is 5x7 grid with various colored squares showing different parts of speech but grid size more so because like. is how much could fit comfortably. so even when redraw n isn’t exact 5x7 with colors exactly right where is right now, is okay. colors & where they are based on own AAC device >:) because of course

design of aac device case basically same as above. back side just have bigger clouds. oh also device has handles. tho it float around so handles get used less. float around so don’t have worry about how to carry it how to mount on wheelchair etc etc etc it follows you it automatic come to your hand when you wanna say something (kinda also acting as prompting bc sometimes think about say something but don’t actually say in device) it get out way when you don’t want it. if only like this irl lol

bottom left is info about character already said

bottom right is wheelchair design

parts covered up by person: rainbow gradient side guard, blue contoured cushion.

n also drawing of back of backrest: when not in use, wings power assist shrink to small decoration on back. not big there all time.

also have stickers! sticker of nessie, banana slug, sheep, cloud, star, rainbow, & an AAC symbol of “AAC”

wheelchair may also have magical tilt & recline & elevate. how? don’t know!!! why not just make full powerchair? uhhhh like manual chair look better

n picture of irl windmill candy

border of art also rainbow gradient lace.

yea that all please draw them 🥲

praise me put lots work into them

pls be nice to them

[mist1e]

SICK

𝓜𝓪𝓱𝓲𝓽𝓸 & 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Mahito doesn’t do kindness. But when he finds you sick and helpless, he decides to make an exception — in his own twisted way.

☙ 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓐𝓞3 ❧ ☙ 1900 words ❧

The troubled slumber crawled into your mind on its sticky paws, lulled you to sleep, and then jerked you awake with a treacherous poke, preventing you from truly resting. You sank deeper into the black cosmos of nothingness, only to surface again, like a buoy bobbing up and down at the whim of restless waves.

Somewhere in the depths of the flat, the front door slammed.

You opened your fever-red eyes and sat up in bed, listening intently. You heard the sound of a shoe flying off to the side, followed by a second one, which smacked against the half-closed wardrobe door.

Ah. Of course. It was him.

Mahito.

“Oh, I'm going to cheer you up real good!” A childishly joyful voice shattered the dusty silence of the slumbering flat, cutting through its stiff flesh. “I thought the hardest part would be twisting the shapes, but it turns out that inflating them is an enterprise of its own!”

His voice, sparkling with mirth, flowed like a brook, drawing closer and closer to your bedroom. Soon, Mahito's head appeared in the doorway. An impatient smile played on his slightly pinched lips, the kind of smile that barely contained laughter. His mismatched eyes twinkled with mischief as he tilted his head to the side, a stray strand of ash-blue hair falling over his face.

Eagerly, he stepped into the room. The bedroom seemed to shrink around his tall, slender figure clad in a floating black shawl.

“Ta-dam!” Mahito exclaimed, pulling the object of his pride from behind his back.

Something that resembling a poorly twisted balloon dog uncoiled like a spring in his thin, long fingers. Squinting your watery eyes, you leaned forward, taking a closer look. The ‘dog’ silently gasped for air, its empty eye sockets staring blankly into space. It fidgeted incessantly, as if trying to untie the tight knots Mahito had made. The sight was both mesmerising and utterly grotesque.

“I burst nearly twenty of them before I could reshape a human right enough to inflate it,” Mahito said, his voice tinged with unmistakable pride.

He looked at you expectantly, waiting for your praise. You had known Mahito for a long time, but the contrast between his murderous cruelty and his childlike directness never ceased to amaze you.

“It looks... Interesting.”

Your throat felt as if it had been scraped with sandpaper, and you broke into a fit of dry coughing. With your back hunched, you arched forward, a hand pressed to your chest as if trying to soothe the pain tearing through your lungs.

The smile slid off Mahito's face. Displeased that his trick had failed to make the proper impression, he irritably tossed the mutilated, reshaped human-dog into the corner of the room, where it squeaked pitifully and went silent.

“What’s the matter with you?” he muttered, eyeing your twisted, shuddering figure. Mahito folded his arms across his chest. Once your coughing subsided, he added, “It’s noon already. Why are you still in bed?”

“I’m sick.”

Mahito raised one eyebrow in surprise, tilting his head curiously to the side, studying you like an odd specimen.

“Is that so? Interesting. And why would you be sick?”

Despite your miserable condition — the chills racking your body and the pain pounding in your temples — you forced out a smile at his innocent question. You looked up at him, meeting his scrutinising gaze.

“When it happens, there’s nothing you can do, Mahito. You just... get sick,” you began to explain patiently, trying not to speak too much so as not to irritate your sore throat further. “All you can do is take some pills and wait for it to go away.”

“For what to go away?”

You suddenly felt incredibly embarrassed by your weakness, by your stuffy bedroom, your unkempt hair, and the pathetic sight you made. You lowered your eyes again. The last thing you wanted was to let Mahito in on the details and become the object of his ridicule, but you knew that if you didn't give in, he wouldn’t leave you alone.

“When you’re sick, you feel incredibly weak. Every bone in your body aches as if you’re being stretched on a rack. Your throat hurts, your eyes water as if they’re filled with sand. Your head swells from the inside out, a dull pain throbbing in your temples. The simplest actions you’ve always taken for granted become a struggle.

Every word slashed painfully into your mind, lashing you like a red-hot whip, making you feel more and more wretched in your own eyes. You always felt lonely and abandoned, when you were sick. The vile feebleness of it all drenched your soul in sorrow and self-pity. Your fever-stricken brain plunged you into a state of hopeless longing that made your shoulders slump from powerlessness.

“I can’t do anything; I'm completely useless. I'm trapped in a sick body that’s rebelled against me and taken away my control. I can't even get out of bed. All I can do is lie alone in the dark, tormented by nightmares and crappy thoughts.”

You fell silent, staring at the patterns on the blanket, waiting to hear the ringing of Mahito’s mocking laughter.

Instead, you heard soft footsteps, followed by the creak of the mattress.

“You’d better stay away, I don’t want to get you sick,” you said uncertainly, instinctively backing away from Mahito as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, please. What do you take me for? Your human nonsense doesn’t affect me. Now, scoot over.”

You hesitantly moved to the side with an effort, making room for Mahito. He climbed onto the bed and sat down, his back resting against the soft headboard, still warm from the heat of your body. With a deft movement, he pulled you to him, his long fingers wrapping around your trembling shoulder. You tensed at the suddenness of his touch, icy compared to your feverish skin. You flinched, then melted against his chest with a sigh.

Silence stretched between you two, growing more and more comfortable with each passing moment. The room around you seemed to recover from Mahito’s sudden intrusion and slipped back into its oblivious slumber. It was so quiet that you could almost hear the rustle of dust motes swirling in the sunlight filtering through the curtains. The measured rise and fall of Mahito’s chest slowed your heartbeat, making it match his deep, steady breathing.

You wanted to ask, wanted to know, wanted to understand. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. More than anything, you were afraid of ruining this fragile, elusive moment.

Feeling the anxious ripples on the surface of your soul, Mahito hummed softly and spoke up.

“When I transfigure a human being, they go through immense agony,” his quiet, purring voice crept through the still twilight. “But one thing is constant. I stay with them until the very end. Our souls touch for a moment, and I feel the echo of their harrowed being. The anger, the hatred, and the fear that spawned me return to me like a falling raindrop that dissolves on the surface of a bottomless lake. This is the price of my Cursed Technique.”

Mahito fell silent, seemingly lost in thought. His fingers brushed over your shoulder, mindlessly tracing invisible patterns. Suddenly, he turned his head and touched his lips to your forehead, inhaling your scent deeply. His lips lingered, leaving an icy seal on your inflamed skin. You froze, eyes wide, afraid to breathe as Mahito revelled in this moment of unexpected intimacy.

His distinctive scent — ozone with a medicinal edge, layered with burnt sugar and sweet amber — tickled your nose, seeping deeper and deeper. It was as if it were coating your insides with an indelible, cursed membrane, forever binding Mahito to your innermost being. This new sensation exploded in your chest, eclipsing the pain and fever for a moment. You hadn't realised how much you needed this small act of intimacy. Greedily, you reached for the unnatural fusion, inhaling deeply as if you could soak the poisoned drops of tenderness and affection into your very skin. The seconds stretched on unbearably, and just as you felt yourself dissolving in the intoxicating sweetness, Mahito broke the kiss and pulled back to look into your eyes. His gaze was calm and soft, but something lurked behind the warmth of his stare — something you couldn’t quite name.

“You know I will kill you in the end, don’t you, little one?” he whispered.

His whisper coiled around your heart, filling it with a weird sense of trepidation. His hand touched your cheek, brushing aside a stray strand of hair. Gentle fingers slid over your face, stroking, caressing, as if he wanted to imprint every contour and curve into his memory.

“That’s why I can afford a bit of candour,” he continued. “You know, little one, my birth was quite unpleasant and painful. Hate flowed through my swollen veins, rage roiled in my burning chest, disgust twisted my muscles into crackling knots. I have so much loathing in me that I lavish that feeling on the humans I transfigure. But they give it back to me again. Ironic, isn't it? The circle is complete — Ouroboros sinking its teeth into its own tail.”

His fingers moved lower, and his graceful hand rested on the centre of your chest, right over your fluttering heart. You continued to stare at him, unable to utter a word, completely enchanted by his hypnotising voice and the tenderness of his touch.

“Weakness, helplessness, powerlessness — I felt it too when the void spewed me into this world. That feeling still flares in my chest when I reshape human souls.” Mahito’s lips stretched into a smile that was at once affectionate and ominous. “Someday, little one, when your time comes, we’ll share it, and the drop of your soul will return home. But not today.”

Mahito closed his eyes, and you felt the space around you crackle with the energy filling it.

“Mui Tenpen.”

The words of his Cursed Technique escaped his lips, and in the same instant, your body arched up, torn by the unstoppable streams of energy bubbling through your veins like molten metal. A shriek froze in your throat, and your eyes rolled back. You thought you were about to be torn to pieces, and only Mahito’s firm, yet gentle embrace held you together. The air around you quivered, throbbed, and buzzed like a swarm of angry wasps.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun. The buzzing reached its peak and then collapsed into silence. With a swift tidal wave, the Cursed Energy drained from your body. White spots still danced before your eyes as you struggled to focus your gaze on Mahito. He slowly opened his eyes, observing you with a content smile. Your skin hummed with the ghost of his Cursed Energy, a faint echo of his power that shot through you. His hand remained on your chest, spreading warmth where it rested — a lingering connection, a shared secret. The weakness and malaise were gone. The searing pain clawing at your windpipe had dissolved. You involuntarily put a hand to your chest, where a lump of sticky heaviness had vanished.

You were perfectly healthy.

“Mahito... You…”

“Yes, yes,” he waved it away impatiently. His seriousness vanished without a trace, replaced by the usual carefree and childish grin. “Don’t get all mushy. And don’t take this as some sort of kindness. I just need a playmate.” His smile tightened briefly, and his eyes flashed to the side before returning back to you.

He moved away, putting distance between you, but there was a sense of reluctance in his hand, that lingered on your shoulder for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

Or did you imagine it?

“Get out of bed and get dressed. I need you to help me figure out how to twist a rabbit.”

[diamonddaze01]

hello tara it’s me

if you’re still taking prompts for your game could i maybe suggest 40 “Are you okay?” “Why do you ask?” “You’re wearing two different shoes.” for our seokminnie?

kthnxbaiiiii

mismatched

pairing: seokmin x reader | wc: 1.0k prompt: “Are you okay?” “Why do you ask?” “You’re wearing two different shoes.” a/n: BENNIE HELLO! i loved writing this and honestly it was just what i needed after work today lol

The day had been relentless. Emails piled up like bricks in a wall, each one heavier than the last. Deadlines loomed, impossible to meet, and the cherry on top was your client—someone who, apparently, had made it their life’s mission to leave you frazzled and questioning your career choices. By the time you got home, your shoulders ached, your head throbbed, and the walls of your apartment felt closer than ever, suffocating in their silence.

You didn’t mean to text Seokmin. At least, not like that. You had typed it out and hit send without overthinking it: "Today sucked. Can I call you later?" Short, vague, but enough to convey the weight pressing down on you.

Seokmin had always been good at sensing when you needed him. Maybe it was the years of friendship, the countless moments you’d spent together, teetering on the edge of something more but never quite diving in. Still, you hadn’t expected him to show up at your door less than twenty minutes later.

When the doorbell rang, you frowned, dragging yourself off the couch. You opened the door, and there he was, panting slightly as if he’d sprinted the whole way. His scarf hung lopsided around his neck, and his coat was barely on, one sleeve dangling at his side. His hair was tousled from the wind, and his cheeks were flushed a deep pink from the cold.

“Seokmin?” you asked, startled. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you okay?” he asked, skipping right past pleasantries. His wide, dark eyes were locked on yours, scanning your face like he could piece you back together just by looking.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re wearing two different shoes,” you added, pointing to his feet before he could answer.

He glanced down, and the realization hit him like a truck. His left foot wore a white Adidas sneaker with faint blue accents, while his right foot was clad in a scuffed brown leather boot.

“Oh,” he muttered, ears turning crimson. “I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t notice?” Your voice wavered between disbelief and the beginnings of a laugh.

“I came as soon as I got your text!” he protested, lifting his hands in defense. The plastic bag he carried swung dangerously close to hitting him in the face. “You said you had a bad day, and I thought maybe—maybe you needed me, or something.”

His words settled in your chest, warm and grounding. Your lips twitched despite yourself, the first hint of a smile breaking through the exhaustion that had weighed you down all day.

“Seokmin,” you said, stepping aside, “you didn’t have to rush over.”

“I wanted to,” he said softly, ducking his head as he stepped inside. His mismatched shoes squeaked against the floor, a detail so absurd it made you want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“What’s in the bag?” you asked, nodding toward the plastic he still clutched in his hand.

“Soup,” he said, holding it up like an offering. “And snacks.” He hesitated, then added sheepishly, “I panicked. I just grabbed the first things I thought might help.”

You couldn’t hold back the soft laugh that bubbled up. “Soup is a solid choice.”

He grinned at that, the kind of radiant smile that made your chest flutter no matter how many times you’d seen it. “See? I know what I’m doing.”

The two of you settled on the couch, and Seokmin insisted on heating up the soup despite your protests. You let him, partly because you didn’t have the energy to argue and partly because watching him move around your tiny kitchen—still wearing those mismatched shoes—was strangely comforting.

When he returned, he handed you the bowl with a dramatic flourish. “For the most amazing person I know,” he declared, settling beside you with his own bowl.

“Flattery won’t fix my day,” you said, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you, lifting into a smile.

“Maybe not,” he replied, “but it might help a little.”

And it did. As you ate, you told him about your day—the impossible client, the mountain of emails, the way your boss barely acknowledged your effort. Seokmin listened intently, nodding in all the right places and throwing in the occasional comment that made you laugh despite yourself.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said after a pause, his voice quieter now.

“Don’t start,” you said, though your cheeks warmed at the sincerity in his tone.

“I mean it.” He set his empty bowl aside and turned to face you fully, his gaze soft but unwavering. “You’re amazing, and I hate that you don’t see it.”

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. Before you could muster a response, he leaned in, brushing a soft, tentative kiss against your forehead.

Your breath hitched, and when he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, as if he was waiting for a sign that he hadn’t overstepped.

“Seokmin…”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just—I wanted to make you feel better. Did it work?”

A small laugh escaped you, unbidden and warm. “A little.”

“Just a little?” He pouted, leaning closer, and before you could respond, his lips brushed yours—soft, warm, and lingering. The kiss sent a jolt through you, scattering your thoughts and melting away the tension that had clung to you all day.

When he pulled back, his smile was smaller this time, less teasing but no less radiant. “How about now?”

You laughed again, this time from somewhere deep in your chest. “Okay, fine. It worked.”

“Good.” He leaned back against the couch, propping his mismatched shoes up on the coffee table with zero shame.

By the time the evening wound down, your bad day felt like a distant memory, replaced by the warmth of Seokmin’s presence. You glanced at him one last time before heading to bed, and for the first time in hours, you felt okay. Maybe even better than okay.

send me an ask for my drabble game!

[estellan0vella]

Love In Print│Bang Chan

Chapter Four: Tequila First, Sage Later SS: 7 (ignore time stamps and dates) Word Count: 1.8 K Content Warnings: sex dreams, discussions of sex dreams in detail, Minho is unhinged and has no shame

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Ayame sprawls on her plush couch, surrounded by the charmingly ridiculous chaos of her apartment. Smurf figurines litter every available surface. Perched on bookshelves, clustered on the coffee table, and even lined up along the windowsill like a tiny blue army preparing for battle.

One particularly smug Smurf in a chef's hat surveys the room from atop a stack of novels near the TV, his expression seeming to judge her questionable choice in reality dating shows.

Clad in an oversized fluffy sweater that slips off one shoulder and a pair of shorts, Ayame lounges with her legs tucked under her, scrolling mindlessly through her phone, ignoring Minho's spam texts. Her hair is piled into a messy bun that's more chaos than style, a few strands escaping to frame her face. The sound of keys jingling in the hallway pulls her from her aimless scrolling.

The door flies open, and Minho bursts in like he lives at the place, which, considering their years of friendship, he practically does.

"Okay!" he announces dramatically, throwing his arms out as if delivering divine proclamation. "It's an Oppa-and-Ayame day! That tyrant Haechul accidentally gave us both the same day off, so we're drinking wine and shit-talking the Four Devils. Especially Jisung, that squirrely little fucker."

Ayame grins lazily from the couch, not bothering to move. "You two should just fuck already. All that tension? It's gotta be sexual."

Minho freezes mid-stride, a look of exaggerated horror overtaking his face as he heads for her kitchen. "I considered it once," he says, yanking open her cabinet with unnecessary force, "but then I realized, ew. I'd get Miroh slime on my dick. Hard fucking pass."

Ayame snorts, watching as he emerges triumphantly with a bottle of red wine and two hilariously mismatched glasses, one a delicate crystal goblet, the other a mug with a cartoon penguin on it. "Bold of you to assume you'd be the top between you and Jisung."

Minho freezes, the wine bottle in one hand and the penguin mug in the other. His face twists in mock indignation as he glares at her. "Yah! I am a fucking top!"

"Sure you are," Ayame hums, accepting the glass he hands her. She takes a sip, savouring the rich flavour with a soft sigh.

Minho plops down next to her, kicking off his shoes. He watches her for a moment, his usual playful smirk softening. "You okay?"

Ayame twirls the stem of her glass between her fingers, staring into the wine like it might hold the answer to all her problems. "I think I'm going to have to quit."

Minho jerks upright, his glass clinking as he slams it onto the coffee table. "What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

"Haechul's going to pull strings to make sure Chan gets the managing director job," Ayame explains. "And I made that dumbass deal with him. If he gets it, I have to leave."

Minho stares at her, his mouth agape. "You can't fucking leave. Who the fuck would drive Chan insane if you're gone? More importantly, who's going to keep me sane?"

"Minho," Ayame says, smirking softly, "you're already insane."

"Fair." He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. "But I'm serious. If you leave, I'm leaving. No way I'm sticking around without my favourite pain-in-the-ass maknae. Besides, if you're gone, there'd be no HR complaints to keep me entertained. What the fuck would I even do with my time?"

Ayame snorts, taking another sip of wine. "You'd miss me."

"Of course, I'd miss you," Minho says, his voice dropping to something softer. "But seriously, that deal? Fucking stupid. You're a pabo."

She grins, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I love you too, Oppa."

He rests his cheek against the top of her head. "You're still a pabo."

They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, the sound of the city humming faintly in the background. Then Minho speaks again, his tone laced with mischief. "Have you ever thought about just getting it out of your system with Chan?"

Ayame jerks her head up, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. "I'd rather fucking die than have sex with Bang Chan."

"Yeah, but he's hot," Minho says, grinning like a cat who's cornered a mouse.

"Too hot," Ayame mutters begrudgingly, her nose scrunching as she sips her wine. "Oh, speaking of disasters, you'll never guess what I found in my closet yesterday."

Minho raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What?"

Ayame sets her glass down and stretches dramatically. "Remember that BDSM novel manuscript from before the merger? The one with the dolphin metaphor?"

Minho's eyes widen, his grin practically splitting his face. "No fucking way. You kept it?!"

"Oh, I kept it," Ayame says, grabbing the bottle of wine and glasses as she stands. "This is bed and wine reading material. Let's go."

They head to her bedroom, fairy lights strung along the headboard casting a soft, warm glow over the space. The Smurfs have infiltrated here too, perched on her bedside table and dresser like a tiny blue cult.

Minho flops onto the bed, spreading out like a content cat as Ayame rummages through her closet, eventually pulling out a thick stack of papers.

She plops onto the bed beside him, flipping to a random page. Clearing her throat, she reads dramatically, "'Her body bent like a bow, her legs both entwined and spread apart as his hands worked magic she didn't know existed.'"

Minho chokes on his wine, doubling over as he coughs. "How the fuck do you do both?"

He attempts to mimic the described position, his limbs sprawled in every direction like a broken action figure. Ayame howls with laughter, clutching the manuscript as tears stream down her face.

"Okay, okay," she gasps, flipping to another page. "'Electric pulses shot through her as his velvet tongue traced-'"

"Velvet tongue?!" Minho interrupts, his voice high with incredulity. "Is he a man or a fucking fabric swatch?"

Ayame collapses onto the bed, laughing so hard her stomach hurts. "This is even worse than I remembered!"

"It's art," Minho declares, striking a ridiculous pose. "High-brow erotica for the mentally unhinged like us."

Ayame's breath hitches as she lies in her bed, her room dimly lit by the soft glow of her bedside lamp. The air feels thick, heavy, as Chan's voice cuts through the silence. "Ayame," he says, his tone low, almost a whisper.

Her heart pounds in her chest. "Chan," she whispers back, her voice trembling.

Before she can say anything else, his lips are on hers, firm and unrelenting. One of his hands grips her thigh, the warmth of his palm searing through her skin as he pulls her leg over his waist. His kisses trail down her neck, soft but insistent, leaving a path of heat as he moves lower, his mouth grazing her sternum.

Ayame's breathing grows shallow, her fingers curling into the sheets. He lifts her leg effortlessly over one of his impossibly broad shoulders, his movements deliberate and assured. The room feels like it's spinning, her senses overwhelmed by the weight of him, the feel of his lips, the strength in his hands-

Nope. Nope. Fuck no.

She slaps a hand over her face, jolting up in the bed. Beside her, Minho stirs under the covers, mumbling something unintelligible before flopping onto his side.

"Minho," Ayame hisses, shaking his shoulder urgently. "Red light. Code fucking red."

Minho grunts, his voice muffled by the pillow. "What? Fire? Bug? Break-in? Mouse? Talk to me, Maknae, I'm barely alive."

Ayame sits up, hugging her knees, her voice trembling as she whispers, "I had a-"

Minho rolls onto his back, squinting at her through the haze of sleep. "A what? A bad dream? A good dream? A fuck-you dream? Spit it out."

Her cheeks burn as she finally blurts, "A sex dream. About Chan."

For a moment, the room goes silent. Then Minho's entire body stiffens, his grogginess vanishing in an instant. "No," he whispers, sitting up like he's just heard the world's worst news. He grabs her by the shoulders, staring at her with wide, horrified eyes. "No."

Ayame groans, burying her face in her hands. "It was so fucking real. His stupid hands, his stupid voice, his stupid fucking broad-ass shoulders. Why the fuck does my subconscious hate me?"

Minho's face twists in exaggerated pain as he pulls her into a tight hug, rocking her gently like a child. "No, no, no. We're cleansing this shit right now. You are not allowed to let Miroh trash like him into your brain space. Not even dreamspace."

She laughs weakly into his shoulder. "It's not like I fucking invited him. I didn't send out an RSVP."

Minho pulls back, his expression deadly serious. "Tequila. Sage. We're getting both. Right fucking now."

Ayame snorts, wiping her face. "You're overreacting. It's not that bad."

"Not that bad? Not that bad?" Minho leaps out of bed, pacing dramatically. "It's the end of the fucking world, Ayame. Next thing I know, you're gonna tell me you dreamt about licking his abs while he growls stupid shit like, 'You're mine, shortcake.'"

Ayame flops back onto the bed. "Stop. You're making it worse."

Minho stops mid-pace, snapping his fingers. "Wait here. I'm getting the tequila." He toddles out of the room, his bare feet pattering against the floor as he makes a beeline for her kitchen.

She sits up, her hands pressed to her cheeks, muttering to herself. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

Minho returns moments later, a bottle of tequila in one hand and a shot glass in the other. He unscrews the cap dramatically and wafts the bottle under her nose. "Smell that. Salvation."

Ayame leans forward, inhaling the sharp, familiar scent. "Smells like my saving grace."

"Exactly." He pours her a shot, his movements precise. "This will cleanse your soul. Tequila first, sage later."

Ayame downs the shot without hesitation, grimacing as the liquid burns its way down. "How do you even know this works?"

Minho pours himself a shot, his expression unreadable as he takes it like a pro. "Because I've had to do it, Maknae. More times than I care to admit."

She raises an eyebrow. "You? What, you had a sex dream about Chan?"

"Jisung," Minho says matter-of-factly, pouring another shot for himself. "His cute little cheeks, full of my cock. Tequila and sage every fucking time. I call it a sanity reset."

Ayame chokes on her laughter, falling back onto the bed. "I hate you. I hate this. I hate everything."

"You'll thank me later," Minho says, patting her leg as he sits beside her. "These men are like incubi, Maknae. They latch onto you. But tequila? Tequila is your tether to reality."

Ayame groans, throwing her arm over her face. "I can't fucking believe I'm having this conversation."

Minho smirks, nudging her with his knee. "You should've seen my face the first time I dreamt about Jisung. I woke up like, who the fuck am I? But you know what? I've survived, and so will you."

She pulls her arm down, her laughter bubbling up despite the lingering embarrassment. "You're insane."

"And you're welcome," Minho says, holding up the tequila bottle. "Now, another shot. For good measure."

Ayame sits up, taking the shot he pours and downing it like it's medicine. The warmth spreads through her chest, dulling the edges of her anxiety. "Okay. Fine. This helps."

"Of course it does," Minho says, leaning back with a satisfied grin. "Now, for the record, if you ever even think about looking at Chan like that in real life, I'm moving out of the country and dragging you with me."

Ayame laughs, shaking her head. "Deal. No Miroh trolls in my headspace."

"Damn right," Minho says, raising his glass. "To tequila, sage, and exorcising Bang Chan from your subconscious."

"To my stupid fucking brain," Ayame mutters, clinking her glass with his before downing her shot.

The tequila's warmth settles into her, and as the laughter spills out between them, Ayame feels the weight of her nightmare lift, replaced by the comfort of Minho's ridiculous, unwavering loyalty.

Taglist: @fackeraccount @ot8girlfie @nightmarenyxx @reimaybeidk

@ismelllikechlorine247 @drewsandsebastianswife @my-neurodivergent-world @rhonnie23 @hanji-coffee

[micksture]

hello i’m back on the grind and today i bring you the fullbody refs i nearly did a backflip over 🌞 hope you’ll like em

notes under the cut

CHARLIE

- Former Princess of Hell. She resigned from her role and place in the royal home because if she didn’t, she wouldn’t be able to fulfill her dream of redeeming Sinners. Her parents had different plans and expectations for her, and deem her as an embarrassment. Charlie lived in a dingy apartment and worked a couple of jobs for a few years to gather money. She struggled, but she finally earned enough to afford an empty, run down building. At the start, she and the gang will have to start rebuilding and renovating it to make the hotel she planned to build :p

- More goat motifs (ears, nose, horns, pupils, legs and hooves)

- Doll-like joints, which make her movements awkward and robotic at times

- Fangs and buck teeth <3

- Fluffy, puffy hair!!! The color is a mix of Lucifer’s hair back when he was still an angel (golden) and the hair he has now, after falling (red)

- One snake on each side of her head. Both of them are different species and have different personalities. They’re also super venomous, but she doesn’t rlly use that ability

- A mole under her left eye because I just couldn’t help myself hehe

- Tail that she can’t retract and has all the time. It’s a bit too short and just bothers her most of the time by accidentally knocking stuff over

- A blue ‘blouse’ (it’s actually a long sleeve top with buttons printed onto it, kinda like those silly faux tuxedo t-shirts) and shoes with accents of the same color, as any variant of blue is a vital part of the very loose dress code for the hotel’s workers. She also wears blue earrings and always adds a bit of blue to her makeup :3

- Other than that I think her outfit is pretty much similar? At least to the Pilot one

- I tried to sneak in some hearts to her design and just overall make her look friendly and awkward lolz

VANHI

- Former Exorcist angel. She gained consciousness during an extermination and was discarded solely because of that fact. Exorcists are programmed to be killing machines that feel nothing and don’t ask questions, so when they gain consciousness (which is very rare), their higher ups – so Lute and Adam – get rid of them. Vanhi was found by Charlie two days later, miraculously still alive. Charlie rushed her back to her apartment and slowly nursed her back to health, recognising her as an angel, but not an Exorcist. They’ve known each other for 3 yrs now, and they took some time to grow fond of each other but they’re getting there

- Obviously, the name change… She did used to be called Vaggie (when she was still an angel), changed it after being banished from the holy troops and left behind in Hell

- STRRRONG 💪💪💪💪 probs the strongest one out of the main six characters, at least physically

- Lots of scars all over her body from previous battles

- Long teased hair put up in a high ponytail for practical reasons. The black tips are dyed. Also RACOON TAIL!!!!!!!!

- Some moth motifs, like the antennas that mimic a bow and also her hair kinda resembles the wings of a moth when it is down.

- A funky ahoge (I think that’s what it’s called..) that looks like a halo :3

- A different eyepatch + protective gloves

- She wears a pink and white striped pullover under her blue shirt and she also has mismatched socks 👾

- Angelic spear, obvi.. its’ handle is a little bent in the middle, because Adam tried to snap it in half for dramatic effect and failed LMFAOJEBW BOZO

ANGEL DUST

- He’s a famous pornstar under Valentino’s contract, and he has been for some time now. Before that, he’d perform in clubs

- Lots of Valentino’s influence in his choice of clothing: shorts, boots, the black top, pink gloves + fur scarf, rings and the collar. The only thing that wasn’t gifted to him by the overlord is the pinstriped shirt and hat that he’s had since the very arrival in Hell. ALSO SHOUTOUT TO MY FRIEND FOR THIS IDEA: the buttons on his suit are little flies because he’s a spider!!!!!!

- Six eyes, four arms (but he can also grow out two more), pedipalps and abdomen to rlly play into the spider theme

- His teeth are stained with Val’s red saliva

- He has lots of toned pink spots all over his body. I couldn’t rlly decide on an exact design for his markings and I felt like there was already a lot happening on him so I just went with little pink speckles

- Very fluffy :v

ALASTOR

- Powerful Overlord that came back from his seven years of radio silence to invest in the biggest flop of a project in Hell and stick around, seemingly just to laugh at its’ failure

- Toned down colors yay

- Long, pinstriped crimson suit worn over a beige dress shirt, 1930s inspired shoes (they still have the silly hoof prints on the bottom don’t worry) and a tie because I’m sick of the bazillion bowties 👿👿👿

- Voice box located between the top of the knot of his tie and the bottom of his high neck ruff. He often uses it to speak without moving his mouth

- The two sharp ridges that peek from under his neck ruff and have a white glow to them are actually a part of a collar. He’s forced to wear it because of his deal. It’s made of angelic metal, so he can’t really take it off anyway

- For the deer features, I changed his ears to be a little more deer-like, made his antlers bigger and gave him a deer nose :p He has a tail and hooves too but he hides them as much as possible

- No fuckass bob 🙏

- Couldn’t help myself and gave him a pencil mustache 🕴️

- Staff inspired by a 1930s microphone. It can be shortened to a regular mic or expanded to work as a cane!! It's a sentient being and it often adds to situations/conversations by playing sound effects. And yes it does have tiny antlers hehe

- Different monocle

- Some green accents because his magic is green idk

HUSK

-A former Overlord, long past his prime. His enjoyment of Alastor’s 7 year absence was short lived – now, he has to deal with even more annoying people in the hotel. He works the bar and because of Charlie’s request he’s allowed to only fix up mocktails instead of real alcoholic drinks

- Based his design on a mainecoon cat, so he’s super fluffy. Lots and lots of fur, which is unkempt because he gave up on trying to care for it a while ago

- Owl wings. His right wing is clipped (because of the deal with Alastor) and he can no longer fly. He can’t even expand this wing to its’ full length without having to painfully strain it to get it to move out even a little bit

- boy why u so eyebrow…….

- I live for chubby Husk <3

- A bunch of scars

- A rough beard and a droopy mustache

- A stained, patterned blue shirt with rolled up sleeves and a missed button at the top, tiny magician hat, black pants + suspenders and a green cloth to wipe empty glasses

- Give this poor man a break…

NIFFTY

- Used to work at a tailor shop and one day, she came across Alastor when he went in to get his suit fixed after a fight. Rather than being presented with a deal offer, she offered her soul to him herself. He agreed, of course, but he was so weirded out by this that he decided to spare her life to further observe her antics. They’ve grown fond of each other and now have a father-daughter relationship of sorts

- I rlly leaned into the idea of her being a bug… She’s a grasshopper/ant mix, so she has antennae and mandibles

- Fluffy, glowy hair that she curls with hair rollers every day

- Green eye (same shade as her dress)

- Freckles :3

- Big patterned dress, a matching head scarf, blue apron and blue cleaning gloves

[ladylucksrogue]

Dance With Me

Just a bit of a drabble for GAR Goth Night. This has been so much fun, just seeing what everyone has come up with.

This one features Wolffe and my OC Liri

Thank you to @eobe for all your encouragement. Thank you to @ghostymarni for your fabulous Wolffe inspo fanart!

Here was a bit of my inspo for her outfit and accessories...

Liri’s heels clacked against the floor, as she made her way through the dimly lit bar. Heads turned at the noise, in her direction, but she wasn’t focused on that.

Her focus was already locked on the only man in the room who mattered to her. Wolffe stood at the bar, picking up his drink, dressed in that grey shirt she told him would look good on him. And it did.

So did the pants, even if he insisted on wearing them too damn high. That was fine. She’d fix that.

She didn’t bother with a greeting. Instead, she planted a hand on his leather covered rear and grinned.

“Hey there. This seat taken?”

The flash of irritation that crossed Wolffe’s face before he realized it was her was delicious.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he grumbled.

Liri smirked, giving an extra squeeze before pulling her hand away. “What, expecting someone else? Bet you’ve got a whole list of girls lining up to grab a feel.”

Wolffe rolled his eyes, sipping his beer. “Yeah, sure.”

He took her in, her outfit, the short leather skirt, the red silk blouse, the knee high leather heels that made her legs look even longer than usual.

“You go to work in that?”

Liri barely looked up as she flipped open a compact and checked her makeup, even as she flagged the bartender for a drink. “You think I walked into court in leather?”

Wolffe made a vague, skeptical noise. “Wouldn’t put it past you.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She smirked, touching up her eye makeup, adding just the right amount of dark red liner, that contrasted nicely to her blue skin, made her dark eyes pop.  The lipstick she chose was black with a touch of glitter.

“You would’ve turned every head.”

She snapped the compact shut, arching a brow. “I do that anyway. But no, different skirt, different shoes.”

“Ah, yes. Your Louba’tynns.”

She lifted her foot slightly to show him the red sole, then gave him a look. “These are Louba’tynns.”

“Right.”

Satisfied, she unbuttoned both the top and bottom buttons of her blouse, tying it up at her waist. The silk fell open just enough to show a hint of shoulder and the lacy black bra beneath.

Wolffe eyed her.

She smirked. “You gonna complain?”

“No.” He took another sip of his beer. 

Liri pulled out a small case from her purse and snapped it open, placing two silver faux piercings on either side of her bottom lip, shaped like fangs.

Then she met his eyes. “And?”

Wolffe nodded. “Looks good.”

Liri rolled her eyes. “That’s all I get?”

He shrugged. “What do you want me to say? You always look good.”

She grinned, pleased, and took another sip of her martini before setting the glass down.

Then she waved him closer until he was practically face to face with her and then she kissed him.

It wasn’t a soft, teasing kiss.  Her fingers pulled lightly against his shirt as she lingered, just long enough to make sure he felt it.

Wolffe didn’t pull away. His free hand settled at her waist.  When she finally pulled back, she noted the way his mismatched gaze darkened.

“Now that’s more like it,” she said, brushing a thumb across his jaw.

Wolffe exhaled slowly, before he took another sip of his beer, like he needed it.

“You done?”

Liri grinned. “Not even close.  Do you trust me?”

Wolffe gave her a look. “Should I be worried?”

“Of course not,” she assured him.

To his credit, he let her work.

She applied a touch of liner at the edges of his eyes, tousled his hair, smoothing out the parts she wanted mussed up just right. He scowled but let her do it.

Her hands trailed to his shirt, adjusting the open collar to show a touch more skin, straightening the pendant she had given him earlier.

For the final touch, she loosened his belt slightly and tugged his pants just a bit lower on his hips, finally getting them where she wanted.

She stepped back, taking him in with satisfaction.

“Now you’re definitely safe from the bet.”

“You know about that?”

She grinned. “I’ll do one better and guarantee you’re the best dressed man in this room.”

Wolffe raised an eyebrow. “That your professional opinion?”

She picked up her martini, drinking it down.

“I’m willing to argue the point.”

His mouth twitched, a fraction of a smile, which in Wolffe terms, was a win.

“One last thing…”  Liri set her glass aside before leaning in, lips brushing against the side of his neck.

She lingered just long enough to leave a smudge of her lipstick behind.

Wolffe let out a slow breath, tilting his head to look at her. “Did you just—?”

She plucked the olive from her drink and popped it into her mouth, looking very pleased with herself.

He stared at her.

She stared back, chewing.

Finally, he huffed. “What?”

She swallowed and grinned. “You’re gonna dance.”

Wolffe immediately scowled. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Liri.”

She grabbed his wrist, already pulling him toward the dance floor.

“I love this song,” she said.

“I hate this song,” he countered.

“You don’t even know what’s playing.”

She dragged him into the crowd as he let out the kind of long suffering sigh that could probably be heard across the entire room.

Because in two minutes, maybe less, he’d have his hands on her hips, his body against hers, his voice low in her ear, telling her exactly what he thought of her teasing.  Watching her like she was the only one in the room.

For her, he’d dance.

[tzyuki]

hello! can i request enhypen members trying to style their s/o? (doing their hair, picking their clothes etc.) thank you and i love your works 💗

— (06.05.23) ENHA-QUESTS

IN WHICH ✶ enha styles their s/o!

genre 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ enha x gn!reader. fluff fluff fluff!!!

warnings 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ swearing, if any more please tell me!

ej note 𓏸 ͘ ࣭⸰ hi anon!!

⏤ ☆ yang jungwon / 양정원

jungwon would style you in a cute little beanie and like a comfy sweater, something very chill so you guys can hangout and you’d be comfortable!

⏤ ☆ lee heeseung / 이희승

one time you let heeseung pick your hairstyle and now it’s his favorite thing to do. he even asked you to teach him how to braid so he can help you when you’re struggling or when he just wants to play with your hair and braid ittie bittie braids.

͏͏⏤ ☆ park jongseong / 박종성

jay loves to pick your outfits, atp he’s your own stylist . before going out you always ask for his opinion because you trust him and know he’s not gonna let you leave the house looking a mess, you’re honestly thankful for that. although one time he was having a phase with mismatched colors and let you go out wearing orange shoes and a blue shirt.

͏͏⏤ ☆ sim jaeyun / 심재윤

jake likes to pick out what shoes you will wear bc he likes to match them with his outfit. he also likes to match your outfits up without you knowing so. he’ll make up some dumbass excuse like “omggg whattt noo i didn’t purposely match us. i planned this outfit last night.”

͏͏⏤ ☆ park sunghoon / 박성훈

sunghoon also likes to style your hair, he likes to play with it, tie it in little pigtails, braid it, curl it, etc. you were shocked and surprised he knew how to do so much with hair. he says it’s because he did his little sister’s hair growing up but in reality he had sunoo teach him how to do everything to impress you.

⏤ ☆ kim sunoo / 김선우

sunoo loved to style your hair as well. he liked to straighten your hair and put pretty little clips on it. he would put matching ones in his hair to twin with you.

⏤ ☆ nishimura riki / 西村 力

riki liked to style and buy you with jewelry because he thinks it completes an outfit. you barely owned any, only a couple of necklaces so he bought you some and would tell you which one to wear with what outfit.

enha-masterlist — permanent taglist (open) ; @jangwonie @cwsana @luvyrin @amara-mars @ineedaherosavemeenow @mintydayeon @love-4-keum @kpopx-xlover @abdiitcryy @beepjeongie @ox1-lovesick @ja4hyvn @shinsou-rii @winkura @ddeonudepressions @tnyhees @wannabeyn @kpoprhia @svnghoonsonly

[lazycranberrydoodles]

a visual guide to all of hua cheng’s adaptations :D / follow for more hua cheng appreciation posts / transcribed notes + versions without my deisgn below the cut if you want this as a reference!

donghua

(by haoliners animation league) (i found multiple necklace designs in the manhua so i picked the most recent one - the S2 trailer)

very dark gray, straight hair

pointier nose

human ears

slightly paler than xie lian

parallelogram shaped eyepatch

thick braid

tall collar

broad shoulders

low neckline (cleavage)

tunic more form fitting

butterfly + geometric design (on belt and vambraces)

two belts

short red thread

e’ming has large red + white hilt

criss-cross chains (on boots)

white sole (on shoes)

book covers

(by 曰出的小大陽 / tai3_3)

same skin tone as Xie Lian

dark brown hair

trapezoid shaped eyepatch

very long hair + thinner hair

human ears

long nose, thinner face

red liner under the eyes

brain behind shoulder

big necklace charm

simple, loose fitting tunic

wavy + intricate design (on belt and vambraces)

long vambraces

minimal e'ming

endless red thread

lower boots

manhua

(by starember)

wavier, ink black hair

heavy eyeliner / shadow

mismatched earrings

very gray / pale skin

shield shaped eyepatch

arched eyebrow + piercing

lip glos

no hair strands in front of shoulders

beefy / dorito shaped

many outfits + hairstyles

extra straps on belt

pointy vambraces

floral design (on belt and vambraces)

very cool toned red

more detail overall

dark colored pants

e'ming is LONG

my design

(by @lazycranberrydoodles ) (subject to change)

blue / purple toned hair + skin

wolf cut type hairstyle

red & black eyeliner

trapezoid shaped eyepatch

pointy ears

black choker

lipgloss

many earrings (one is a fic reference :))

skinnier (died @ 17)

warmer toned red

big ol sleeves

floral + butterfly design (on belt and vambraces)

extra chain on belt for style

rings

simple e'ming

high boots w/ heel

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

To the Other Side

Spontaneous fic I decided to write because I want to witness Fellow and Rollo interact (outside of fan art) 💕 I took a lot of inspiration from The Other Side and The Greatest Show from the same musical, and this fan comic and this fan art.

There’s just something so fun about Fellow’s happy, playful vibes mingling with Rollo being deadly serious and hateful 😂

***SPOILER WARNING: Glorious Masquerade and Stage in Playful Land!!!***

Imagine this…

The nearby town was the only reprieve Rollo had from Night Raven College. Magic was school-sanctioned (in theory), but the rule did little to curb the spells fired off in spontaneous spats between classes, pranks, resolving minor inconveniences, and—this made his lip curl the most—for fun. He turned the other cheek in the presence of instructors, chided classmates when catching them in the act, and vented his anger in private.

Soon, he told himself. Soon, this loathsome school exchange program would be over, and Night Raven College put behind him. But one man can only take so much sin before his patience threatened to give, irritation spilling over his carefully constructed walls.

Out here, a bus ride away from campus, he was free from those vile villains, however fleeting it was. The air cleaner, his mind clearer, as he breathed in the salt-kissed, balmy air. Waves lapping against the pier, the town’s comfortable hum as time rolled by, a soothing song.

He looked out at the waters, blue tipped with the white of sunshine dappling a painting. It was alive, yet at peace with the world. Knew its place.

Rollo's eyes drift shut, and he allowed the sea to envelop him. Quiet, calming, completely—

“Oya? Oya oya oyaaaaa?"

An exaggerated drawl invaded his ears. It was an unfamiliar man’s voice, slick with overly honeyed friendliness.

“You there, sir!” he called out. “Might I have a moment of your time?”

Ignore him, Rollo coached himself. He is not referring to you. There are many people in the town he could be accosting.

The crack of a clap on his shoulder suggested otherwise.

Rollo’s tranquility splintered and shattered, like glass dropped. His eyes snapped open again, alert and irritated.

A man had emerged on his left, and a small boy on his right. They stood too close for comfort, and seemed to be leering at him. From up, from down, encasing him in a web of excited stares.

The man had ginger hair in a widow's peak, the rest swept aside to make way for sharp eyes. His suit was fine at a glance, olive vest and neat cravat, violet coat with golden details and tassels cinched over it—but upon closer inspection, there was a hole in the pinkie finger of his long white gloves, and a miscellaneous diamond patchwork of patterns running down his trousers.

Something about him screamed “showman". Perhaps it was the jaunty half cape that hung off his left shoulder or the knee-high spats over shoes that clicked loudly, calling attention to him, with each step. Maybe it was the sparkle-studded top hat upon his head, nestled between two twitching ears, or the cheery flicker of his bushy tail, or the cane in hand, topped with a golden fox. (... Rollo suspected it was his boldness, the sheer audacity to insert himself where he wasn’t needed.)

The boy with the showman was a cat beastman, shorter and disposition shyer. His hair was a red-brown rat's nest even clamped under a smaller, brightly colored top hat, his fur just as unkempt. The only thing that seemed to fit on his slight frame is a lilac shirt and a small bow tie. His mustard yellow jacket looked as though it has had its body sheared in half, then the fabric stuck back onto the oversized sleeves, the pants attached to his overalls saggy and patched up with the wrong patterns. Even his boots were wrong—untied—and socks mismatched.

He blinked at Rollo through eyes that sloped downward, his expression lax. His mouth was steady beneath a spray of dark freckles. The boy held onto a comedically large hammer, hands still trapped in his enormous sleeves as he gripped its handle.

Suspicious, Rollo concluded. They are highly suspicious individuals.

“… May I help you?” he asked, not out of kindness but as a courtesy.

“Ohoh!!” The man grinned broadly. “That composed stride! That stern, solitary gaze! Those extravagant robes! So sensible, so conventional. There’s no doubt in my mind! You, my good man, must hail from THE Noble Bell College!”

Rollo’s mouth was quickly forming a frown. A fan of flattery he was not. "What of it?”

The stranger chuckled, the coy hand on Rollo's shoulder not budging. The warmth of it made his skin crawl in spite of the layers of fabric separating them. "You've come a long way from the Shaftlands then! Tell me, how do you find Sage's Island? Is it everything you’ve dreamed it to be—or, dare I say, more?”

“I was beginning to enjoy it, right up until you and your companion happened upon me,” Rollo grumbled, jerking his shoulder away from the stranger’s touch. “I do not have many opportunities to steal away into town.”

“You have my humblest of apologies!” The man bowed deeply. It took a few seconds of lag, but the boy clumsily followed suit. “Gidel and I, we’re the curious sort, you see! We come across many wary souls on our own travels, and we want to get to know them. Isn’t that right, Giddie?”

Gidel nodded eagerly.

The fox beastman stuck out a hand, taking Rollo’s before he was given the chance to reciprocate or decline. He shook firmly, with enough strength to rattle around Rollo’s bones. “Fellow Honest’s the name! And you, my esteemed gentleman?”

“Rollo Flamme.” His reply was curt, intended to cut the conversation short with its bluntness. He tried to sidestep the man, but failed as Fellow slid to block him.

“Rollo—may I call you that? Great, greeat!!” he gushed, again not pausing for a “no” to potentially slip in. “From just a glance, I can tell you’re an upstanding, diligent student. You’ve been hitting the books so hard, you’ve barely gotten in a wink of sleep!”

Rollo’s mouth pinched. It was not an uncommon comment for him to hear, but he wasn’t the least bit delighted to have it spun as a compliment either.

“You poor, poor boy! You must be a nervous wreck!” Fellow sighed, sympathetically stroking the back of one of Rollo’s hands with his own. The student shuddered and pulled away with a slight glare. Rather than taking note of the displeasure, Fellow brightened, snapping his fingers. “That’s it! You are a nervous wreck!! We must diagnose this case at once.”

To Rollo’s bewilderment, Fellow produced a pair of spectacles from his breast pocket and slipped them onto his face. Gidel whipped out a notebook and a pencil from his overalls, poised to take notes.

“Let’s have a look at you!”

Fellow circled the dazed Rollo, poking and prodding at the boy’s lean frame with the butt of his cane. It bit into his ribs, his cheek, his thighs, as Fellow rattled off nonsensical phrases, Gidel reverently scrawling them down. Rollo swatted at the fox as if dispelling a pesky bug—but Fellow was too fast, too slippery, to land a clean hit on.

He at last stepped back, snatching up the notes from Gidel. (Rollo caught a brief glimpse of the writing—it was nothing close to what could pass as language.)

Fellow raked a hand through his hair as he seriously took in the report of scribbles. With each passing second, his features increasingly crinkled with concern. "Oh me, oh my, oh dear!! Alas, it's just as I suspected!"

"... What?"

The glasses and the notepad were promptly discarded. Props made meaningless now that their purpose was fulfilled.

Fellow snaked an arm around Rollo. Firmer this time, not something to be shaken off. "You, my boy, are allergic! To this drudgery! This cage, these walls!" He wildly gestured with his cane to their surroundings. "This life you're trapped in! You're stressed, depressed, mad, sad, miserable, all of the above!"

Each adjective thrown out drew Rollo's brows closer and closer together until there was no hiding his grimace. “I do not appreciate the unwarranted judgments being made of my character.”

"You see! My hunch was right!" Fellow flicked at a corner of Rollo's frown. It deepened. "There's only one cure for what you have: a vacation! And luckily for you, I have exactly what you need right here…!”

Reaching into his sleeve, Fellow retrieved a single ticket, sandwiched between two lithe fingers. The sepia image of an amusement park wreathed in flags was frames in crimson, blue, and gold. Admit One, trumpeted the ticket, to Playful Land.

“It just so happens that I, Fellow-sama, am the manager to the fabled amusement park of wonder, hopes, and dreams... Playful Land! Have you heard of it? It's a magical place with a plethora of rides, games, song and dance! Why, there's even a big stage where any member of the audience can be a rising star! The food, all free and ample!! You can gorge yourself on fun!! Doesn't that sound like a swell dream?"

Rollo deadpanned. "If by 'dream', you mean dreadful. To encourage casting aside one's inhibitions to indulge in all manner of vices... Your establishment is no paradise. It is a den of depravity, hell masquerading as heaven.”

"Eh?"

The strong hostility seemed to throw Fellow for a loop, gave him pause. He fumbled for a moment before finding his words again.

"My, my! Your allergies are worse than I thought...! Every kid needs to kick back one in a while, and you most of all! Since we're such good friends now, I would be more than happy to gift this prized ticket, good only for tomorrow, to you free of charge!" He winked, giving a theatrical twirl of his cane. Stars and sparkles exuded out from it. A small charm, a harmless trick. "No need to thank me!"

Rollo's eyes flashed, instant recognition setting him on edge. Similar items infested the City of Flowers every Topsy Turvy Day—enchanted handkerchiefs, tambourines infused with meager magic.

Disgust roiled through him.

"We have no such friendship," Rollo snippily corrected him. Is this man delusional? "Furthermore, tomorrow is a school day. It wouldn't do to miss it in favor of gallivanting."

“Now, now, I insist!!” Fellow pressed. “Please accept this ticket and take a load off, enjoy yourself. Live a little, laugh a little! The last thing I would want is for you to miss out on this once in a lifetime opportunity!! Skipping a single day of school wouldn't be too harmful for a star-studded scholar like yourself."

His gaze flicked to Gidel. The two shared a keen glint, a subtle signal, then broke out into a show, a flurry of tap dancing along the pier.

"Trade in your typical for somethin' magical!” Fellow cried with the tip of his top hat. “Where it’s covered in all the colored lights!! Where the runaways are runnin’ the night!”

Gidel fished out a party popper from under his own headwear. When he tugged on its string, crackles filled the air, the popper letting loose a shower of glittering particles. Fellow belted out a hearty laugh, swinging his cane to catch confetti.

"Come on to the theater!!” he urged—mostly likely reciting some park motto, Rollo ventured. “In Playful Land... Life is Fun!!"

Fellow struck a pose with his arms thrust out, punctuating the performance. Gidel was less dexterous, and settled for an awkward approximation of the same pose.

Expectant for applause.

“… Charming display,” Rollo remarked dryly. He picked out a limp streamer from his hair. With a huff, he blew the remaining confetti off of him. “However, only a blithering fool would accept such a dubious offer. Is that what you take me for, Mr. Honest? A blithering fool?”

Fellow recoiled, his ears flattening, and his bravado faltering. Gidel glanced at the older man, soulful eyes full of worry.

"You must have fantasized about a day off before! Don't you want to get away and forget about your work and worries? Don’t you crave freedom?”

"No."

"What of the desire to chase thrills? To see and to experience what few others have before, or to relive a childhood you've perhaps never had? Don't you want to cut loose? Go crazy? Party all day?"

"Never."

"How about stardom? Play a different role? Have you a longing to stand upon a grand stage, hundreds of thousands of adoring fans applauding your passionate performances?"

"Not once."

His patience wore thin like a braided rope down to its final connecting threads. Rollo tapped a finger against his folded arms. "Are you finished? I tire of my precious time being wasted. If you will kindly excuse me."

He turned back toward the town. Rollo was a few steps along a shop-lined street when, suddenly, the odd duo reappeared. They skidded to a panting stop before Rollo, walling off his path. Well, more Fellow than Gidel.

A look of annoyance ripped across the fox’s face. “HOLD ON!! What kind of person plays hard to get and then walks away from a conversation like that?! Would it kill you to stop and just listen to me, you bra…”

Fellow petered off midsentence and backpedaled, smoothing out his spite into a smile. "...aaave soul! I've yet to meet someone as assertive and as self-assured as you are.” He reached out and brushed off an invisible fleck of dust from Rollo’s robes. Simpering. “You're a man that knows exactly what he wants!”

Rollo bristled. He hadn't missed the sudden shift in his chummy behavior. All the more reason to suspect them. They’re very clearly up to something.

"Yes, yes, I can see it now!" Fellow continued, stroking his chin in contemplation. "What you seek is not amusement! You’re longing—no, aching—for something far greater, more ambitious!"

He leaned into Rollo's ear, cupping a hand to it. Gidel came from the other side, staring up curiously. Fellow’s voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Power, perhaps? The magical kind, even.”

Rollo visibly stiffened.

“Oh, have I got your attention?” The curve of Fellow’s mouth cocked, going crooked. A triumphant smirk. “You’re interested, I know it! Buried in those bones of yours, there's an ache, a thirst, for knowledge that you can't ignore!"

The fox wiggled a finger, his words rapt with wonder. “Playful Land is the product of maaany wise and talented mages! If you pay us a visit, you might be able to learn a thing or two from observing how we run the show. It's a valuable learning opportunity for a student of an arcane academy! How about it, kid? This surely is a deal you wouldn't want to pass up!!"

There was no indication of any feeling in Rollo's face. His eyes had glazed over, as though haunted, a veil shrouding his vision. He stared at Fellow as though he were a distant phantom.

Spin, spin. Fellow's cane did a little dance of its own. "Think of it: the fire, the freedom, the flood of magic. Blinding and outshining anything that you could know!"

Fire.

Rollo blinked. The veil lifted, and the man was rudely roused from an awake slumber. Neutrality replaced with a kindling emotion, sparse embers that did not yet know they would converge into flames. "... What did you say?"

"Everything you could ever want. Everything you could ever need," Fellow tapped the waiting ticket, "is here right in front of you. This is where dreams are made, where the impossible comes true: Playful Land. This is where you want to be—"

The fire flared, bile rising from his throat. Beneath his skin, blood came to a rapid boil. Hot, screeching, an intense fever pitch. The heat like a knife slashing through strings.

Hands lashed out, fervently seizing Fellow's arms. Rollo clutched onto him, a desperate parishioner to a priest preaching at the pulpit. But there was no such blind devotion in his expression, only something wild, untamable, twisted.

“What did you say?!” Rollo hissed, low and dangerous. Threatening.

Gidel jumped and skittered behind Fellow, hiding himself from view. The fox's hand found its way to Gidel's back to support the trembling boy.

"You've been mouthing off for quite some time, and I've been far more patient than you deserve." Rollo cut to the mustard yellow sleeve clinging to Fellow's leg. "You have a child with you. Refrain from spouting such ridiculous vulgarities in front of them.”

“Wh-What…!!”

“Is this the game you play?” Rollo’s grip tightened. Voice hoarse, a pained shudder threading through it. “Tempting children with the promise of whimsy and fun, encouraging them to be intoxicated by magic...!"

While you stand by, doing nothing.

An untimely demise by magic, a fate he knew all too well.

Consumed alive in a hellish inferno. Only a curtain of smoke and ash remaining. Slipping through his grasp when he was standing right there.

Brother...

Hot tears stung his eyes—but they dissipated near instantaneously, staved off by his burning fury. Anger and upset rapidly overtaking him.

Not again. He would not stand for it to happen, would not surrender. This, he swore, with a resolute breath, and cried out with all of his seething soul.

"Hmph! I thought you witless before, but it seems you are not a clown," Rollo spat. "You are the entire circus."

Fellow gave a light, cumbrous chuckle—but his eyes narrowed. Gone was his cheer, his merrymaking. What remained was serious, astute. "... Hey now, that's a scary face you're making. Is this really how you want to spend your days? Let's lighten up a little."

A bitter scoff sounded.

“Continue this farce, and I will not stop at raking you across the coals," Rollo warned darkly. Fire licked his fingertips, close to bursting free. "I will show you just how scary I can be. The righteous flames of judgment are cleansing. They will purge all sin, reducing the wicked to mere specks of ash."

He released Fellow with a slight shove. The older man fell back a few steps, finding his balance again when Gidel pushed him upright with a silent grunt.

“If you understand, then I will be on my way. Good day to you.”

With the path cleared, Rollo stormed right by them. Robes billowing in a passing sea breeze and austere face to the town, he almost looked the part of a hero emerging triumphant from battle.

Back to his everyday life, the same side as always.

Fellow gaped after the boy’s retreating figure. At the prey slipping away from every carefully placed trap he and Gidel had laid out for him.

"Well, I never...!!" he groused. A fresh, foul mood ripe like a rain cloud over his head, Fellow discarded his smile for a sneer. "HIIIIIIE~ What was up with that arrogant brat?!”

Gidel shrugged, his comedically large sleeves flopping as he threw his hands up.

"Damn it!!" The curse was out before Fellow could cut it off. "Next time I see that guy, I'll teach him a lesson for looking down on us!"

He angrily kicked at a soda can on the ground—abandoned by a wayward townsperson. With a CRUNCH, the can launched into a nearby lamp post, ricocheting off its base and bouncing back. The can connected with Fellow's kneecap. He yelped and seized his injury, trying to contain the pain.

Eyes blown open in alarm, Gidel rushed to him. The boy was waved off, Fellow's whimpers eventually dying down.

"My sulking worried you? … You're seriously too good for this cruddy world, Gidel," Fellow muttered, shaking his head. He ruffled the cat beastman’s mane of hair, the roughness of it grazing the unguarded pinkie poking out from his one damaged glove. "Never change, got that?“

Gidel bobbed up and down in agreement.

“Good.” Fellow drew himself up and adjusted his jacket. “Tch. Kids these days sure are spoiled rotten. You promise them the world and they still blow you off."

His thoughts settled on the boy from before. The remarks they had traded, the resistance the target had put up.

I thought a bit of magic would help loosen the kid up—but Life is Fun didn’t work on him, Fellow mused. I cast it so many times too. Between my magic and charisma, they usually cave so easily.

Yet Rollo had regarded him like a man possessed, had regarded him with such hatred. The mad, tormented look in his face. An iron barrier against the fluttery, champagne laced lull of his spell.

"... Must be somethin' wrong with him," Fellow concluded. All kinds of fucked up in the head and in the heart. "Yup, that's gotta be it! This Fellow-sama's way too cool to be outdone by any old student.”

Again, Gidel nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s alright, there’s bound to be flops! We’ll have to pick out our next mark much more cautiously.” Fellow shaded his eyes and squinted. “Let’s see…"

Gidel trailed after his gaze. Combing through a crowd for easy pickings was child’s play for Fellow, but the young boy struggled to hone in on the monotony of minute details. Little nervous tics and hesitations, chinks in armor to exploit. They were present, but Gidel’s eyes were like a broken camera. Zooming in, then out, blurring, never able to fully focus.

His attention strayed, slowly meandering back back to the piers. The sea was a simple thing compared to the town—natural, unrestrained. So easy to understand.

“Maybe that one… no, no, that would never work,” Fellow mumbles to himself. “They’re in too large of a group to comfortably break through. The girl over there? Tsk, the parents are hovering, can’t risk that…”

His eyes ran along the bustling town and along the docks. Like fingers along book spines or piano keys, a quick, light caress. Effortless.

Then he came to a full stop.

Did a double take.

And stared.

Hard.

There, lazily parked by the piers, was a small gang of boys, each dressed in the same smart black blazer and trousers, vests and armbands an assortment of colors. Tucked into their breast pockets were fountain pens topped off with magestones. Their style, those emblems, famous.

Fellow smacked Gidel’s back, snapping the boy to attention.

“Look alive, Giddie! You see that?” He pointed with his cane. “Those uniforms are…!”

His face lit up with understanding. Mouth ajar, eyes wide, brows raised.

“We’re in luck today!” Fellow snickered. He tugged on Gidel’s sleeve, yanking the youth to him. “Hurry, let’s get in front of them! We’ll cut them off, pretend as though we’ve bumped into them by accident. Then, we pounce…!!”

Gidel lifted his hammer—a cheer.

The duo scampered down the street, hearts drumming in their chests and adrenaline pumping. In that moment, they brimmed with all the hope and the excitement that Rollo had failed to exhibit. They were children racing to a dream destination, fools wishing upon stars.

Elsewhere in the town, someone sneezed.

Rollo pressed his handkerchief to his nose, retreating further into his robes. “… The weather suddenly took a turn for the worse. What an ominous omen.”

[inneedofsupervision]

Wind Breaker Scenario 6/?

Imagine Sakura wakes from another nightmare at the crack of dawn. Sleep won't come to him again. Instead, he keeps tossing and turning under his futon before giving up on resting altogether. Getting dressed, the teen steps out of the door. The chilly fall morning forces him to bury his hands inside his pant pockets. Despite the people of the town greeting him kindly, handing Sakura snacks, and wishing him a good morning, the lack of sleep and the last fleeting images of the dream make him feel agitated. The irritation and restlessness caused by the lack of rest continued to be his partner for the rest of the day, clinging to him and picking on his subconsciousness.

When it threatens to escalate, as his irritation grows overboard, and his hands tremble while his mouth opens to retaliate against his friend's well-meant teasing with something that would cause harm, Sakura does something he hasn't done in a long time.

He runs.

Surprised shouts come from within the classroom. The teen bolts, not wasting a second to look over his shoulder and see if anyone dares to follow him.

Sakura's heart hammers in his chest as he leans against a metal door, the cold and hard material pressing into his back. Looking up, he dreaded the sight of concerned blue eyes greeting him, having fled to the rooftop of all places. Mismatched eyes frantically scan his surroundings, and taunt shoulders drop as no one's in sight. Glancing around, Sakura steps away from the door. Tired eyes wander over the neatly planted seedlings and the on-the-side standing pots.

Umemiya seems to be taking a break.

The fatigue makes itself known, Sakura's eyelids heavy as if stones were hanging from them. The sun is showing itself, but the sleepiness makes the teen's body more sensitive, and he shudders as a slight gust of wind blows some leaves over the rooftop.

Sakura is about to rub the sleep out of his eye. His hand freezes in movement when he catches sight of something that draws him in as if it were the song of a siren. His fingertips run mindlessly over the soft textile, the worn-out blanket feeling amazing under his cold fingers as it has been lying in a sunny spot.

Standing before the hammock, Sakura wondered if it had always stood there and why he hadn't noticed it sooner. Does it belong to anyone? Maybe Umemiya or another third year?

Too tired to care, Sakura dazedly stared at the alluringly cozy-looking hammock and the invitingly soft blanket spread out on top.

"Just for five minutes," mumbles the teen as he slips his shoes off and crawls ungracefully into the hammock. It takes some winding and wriggling until he's satisfied. As soon as the teen lets his muscles relax, his breathing slows down, as well as his tumbling and turning thoughts.

For the first time that day, Sakura feels at peace.

He vaguely registers the sound of a door opening. The last thing his consciousness picks up on is the sound of an amused puff of air leaving someone's mouth and the familiar feel of a hand ruffling his hair.