#this is just an excuse for the juniper one

[woodcries]

a sampling of my girls and kinsey's dad ig

[borrelia]

well ill probably post them again later with color but i spent today and yesterday making up a bunch of cool women ocs for pre-exit sonic to date and be inconsiderate to. making up women fun :)

[moonstruckme]

i was wondering if we could have some roomate!james where him and reader have a disagreement over something and reader feels like james don’t want her there anymore but he comforts her??

Thanks for requesting!

cw: reader feels financially insecure

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“James.” You run your fingers worriedly over the small tears in the doorframe. Look to your roommate in the kitchen. “This is getting out of hand.” 

“What is?” 

“Juniper’s been scratching on the doorframe again.” 

James tsks. “Junie-girl,” he coos, little reprimand to be found in his tone as he looks down at the orange cat currently winding through his ankles, “what are you trying to do to us, huh?” 

You’re not quite so amused. Since James had agreed to look after his friend Lily’s cat while she’s traveling, Juniper has knocked down and broken two of your glasses, scratched up a corner of the couch, and pissed on the carpet in James’ room. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with the smell of that last one yourself, but you doubt your landlord will be pleased if James can’t get it out by the end of your lease. 

“She’s got to stop,” you say, oddly unsure if you’re trying to reason with James or the cat. “It’s getting really noticeable.” 

“I’m not sure what else to do.” James shrugs. His pan sizzles as he turns over the chicken he’s cooking. “I’ve already moved her favorite scratching post over by the door and sprayed it with the catnip Lily gave me.” 

You cross your arms and sit down on the couch, chewing the inside of your lip. “I’m worried about the security deposit,” you admit. 

“Oh, don’t be.” James waves a hand vaguely in your direction. “My last apartment was way worse than this when I moved out, and they didn’t charge me for anything.” 

His unconcern nettles you. Of course, why would James be upset about a security deposit? He likes to pretend at independence, but you know his parents will always give him funds if he’s in a bind. He doesn’t worry about money the way you do. 

 “Yes, but that was a different landlord, wasn’t it.” There’s a bit of bite to your tone, and you try to soften it. “Maybe someone else could take her for the rest of Lily's trip?” 

James turns, eyebrows lifting as though he’s surprised you’d even ask. “She couldn’t get anyone else to take her in the first place. Mary’s visiting her family, Marl’s allergic, and Sirius would have a cow.” You’re not very inclined to find the last one a spectacular excuse, but you keep your mouth shut. “I agreed to take her,” he says, somewhat firmly, “and I don’t want to go back on that.” 

Heat prickles over your skin. “I just—listen, I can paint over the small things,” you say. “I’m going to try to cover up as many damages as I can, but when your friends come over and break the handle off the microwave” —true story— “or you let their cats tear up the apartment, I don’t know what to do.” 

“I told you I’m going to fix the microwave,” he says without turning around. 

“When, James? That was months ago, and—” 

“And if my friends coming over is a problem for you, it’s not like you didn’t have plenty of opportunities to mention it when we first moved in.” Now James is growing agitated too, his posture stiffening over the stove. “I don’t get where this is coming from. I told you before we moved in that I’d want to have friends here often. When I asked if Junie could stay here, you said it was fine!” 

“I didn’t know it’d be like this!” You feel ridiculous, nearly shouting at him in your mostly lovely apartment. James really isn’t a bad roommate overall; you know you could do far worse. But the small things have begun to add up, and you really cannot afford not to lose your deposit. “I like your friends, and I like Junie, but this is—it’s too much.” 

“You shouldn’t have lived with me if you couldn’t deal with it.” 

James flicks off the stove, turning around to speak to you directly, and you see the moment he sees the glossy sheen in your eyes. His expression pinches. 

“Sweetheart—” 

“No. Do not feel bad for me right now,” you hiss, blinking furiously. “Just because I’m not good at arguing doesn’t mean I’m not still mad.” 

Your anger is rapidly fading, though, as his words reverberate around in your head. You shouldn’t have lived with me. Does he really think that? There are certainly things upon which you don’t see eye-to-eye, but you love living with James. You love spending time with him, sharing things with him, just being around him. The idea that he doesn’t feel the same about you starts spiderweb cracks going through your heart. 

“I’m not good at arguing either,” he says with a hefty sigh. The tension seems to go out of his shoulders with it, and he starts toward you with heavy steps, plopping down on the couch. “Can we just talk, please?” 

You sniffle, working hard to suppress your tears. “Do you think it’d be better if we didn’t live together?” you ask. 

James' eyes widen behind his glasses. His brows hook up in the middle. “No. Why would you say that?” 

You shake your head, not quite looking at him. “I honestly do like your friends. I don’t mind them coming over or helping you do favors for them, and I get that—that sometimes things happen.” You take a shallow breath. Ignore the way James’ hand twitches in his lap. “But you’re right that I didn’t consider all of this when we moved in together. I’m okay with trying to get past it, but if you want me to move out—” 

“Oh my god, no.” James leans forward, trying to catch your gaze. You don’t let him, because just then a small droplet of water squishes out of the corner of your eye and begins a slow trudge down your cheek. “Sweetheart, I don’t want that. I like living with you.” 

Juniper hops up onto the couch, plodding onto your lap and rubbing her side against your stomach affectionately. A wet laugh bubbles out of you, more tears cresting your cheeks as you scratch awkwardly between her ears. 

James makes a sound so soft you think you’ll dream about it. “Can I hug you?” 

You lean toward him in answer. He meets you halfway, needling his arms under yours and folding you into him. You press your face, hot with embarrassment and upset, into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and James’ hand rubs your back in big, sweeping circles, before it stops moving at all, pressing flush to your spine, easing you closer. Junie hops off your lap. Evidently, she considers your comfort taken care of.

“I don’t want you to pity me,” you mumble. When you blink, your lashes leave wetness like the strokes of a paintbrush on his skin. “If you want me to move out, it’s okay.” 

“I don't,” he promises, squeezing you until it almost hurts. “I was being rash. I was only being defensive because you were angry. About very reasonable stuff, if I’m honest. I can pay for your half of the security deposit if we lose it.” 

You shake your head, shifting your body to hug him harder. James meets you a hundred percent. “You don’t need to do that.” 

“I do, it’s fine. It’s my mess. Just don’t talk any more about moving out, okay?” 

You mumble your agreement into his neck. It tickles, and James squeaks, but he doesn’t let you go.

[nathanbatemanfucker]

She Blooms At Night

summary: fanboy’s crush on you comes to a head when you let your hair down post success– yours does too.

pairing: mickey ‘fanboy’ garcia x f!reader (call sign is juniper)

contents: suggestive language, pining, yearning, alcohol mention & consumption, bar/club hopping, PDA/kissing (truly making out)

wc: 1,621

an: after seeing SEVERAL fan edits with danny’s characters to dandelion by ariana grande i couldn’t stop thinking about scandalizing sweet baby mickey on the dance floor!! (mickey being shy & respectful is just MY take on his characterization, if you don’t agree that’s okay friend 🫶🏾)

danny ramirez character masterlist

Every single one of them had warned him. Phoenix, Rooster, Bob, Coyote—even Hangman, who usually only cared about himself. They had all warned him from the moment you walked on the scene.

It makes Mickey wonder how poorly he was doing at hiding his crush on you.

At the end of the day, the only person’s opinion that mattered was yours. For the time being, it seemed you decidedly had no opinion—or maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as obvious as the others claimed he was.

“You’re in trouble now,” Phoenix whispered in his ear as they all celebrated on the flight deck.

“He’s gonna live up to his name tonight,” Coyote quipped, clapping Mickey on the shoulder.

“Guys, knock it off,” Bob said, giving Mickey an apologetic smile. He knew what it felt like to be the butt of the joke and wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.

Hangman ignored the scolding, wagging both of his eyebrows. “Ultimate Fanboy—loading.”

“Shut up,” Mickey murmured, his eyes flickering around on the lookout for you just in case.

And pop up you do, weaving through the throng of celebrating pilots and support staff. Your presence cuts through all the noise like a sunbeam, bright and impossible to ignore.

“Holy shit, we did it,” you yell as you join the group, scooping Phoenix into a hug.

“Juniper, how are we celebrating tonight?” Hangman asks, eyes never leaving Mickey’s.

“You know exactly how we’re celebrating. Everybody’s letting their hair down tonight—even Fanboy here,” you say, reaching up to run your fingers over the short bristle of his buzz cut.

Mickey nearly stops breathing, his chest hitching. The touch is fleeting, but it strikes him, energy flowing through him like a live wire. It takes everything in him not to lean into it, not to chase the feeling of your fingers against his scalp.

He swallows roughly, gives you the best smile he can manage, and makes an excuse about congratulating Rooster before you can notice the heat rising in his face.

—

The celebration had started at the Hard Deck, uniforms still in place, the familiarity of the bar keeping everything at a reasonable simmer. Mickey did his best to mingle with everyone but you, his eyes drifting over to you every once and a while.

“It wouldn’t kill you to talk to her, would it?” Phoenix asks him over the music.”

“Kill no, but I don’t wanna make a fool of myself.”

“That would be hard— she likes you, Mick. You’re just too enamored with her to see that.”

“I’m not into taking risks, you know that. Here, I’ll go get us another round,” He grabs her nearly empty mug and starts towards the bar, effectively ending their conversation.

The last thing he needs is to get his hopes up.

But, the second he stepped into the club later that night, every bit of self-restraint dissolved.

He doesn’t know when or where you had enough time to change into this number, but you’re going to be the death of him.

Your hair is down, framing your face in a way that makes his stomach drop. The dress—if it can even be called that—clings to you like shimmering silver raindrops, catching the club’s flashing lights with your every move. It’s a little see-through. Stops halfway down your thighs.

Mickey nearly chokes on his drink.

It’s Phoenix who nudges him, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “Don’t pass out, Fanboy.”

“I’m not gonna pass out,” he grumbles, staring down into his beer.

You make your way from the bar to join the two of them at the table. “Hey, where are the other boys?”

Phoenix nods towards the dance floor— Rooster, Hangman, and Coyote all have at least one girl on their arm, dancing under the colorful lights.

“Bob?”

“He said it wasn’t his scene,” Mickey shouts over the drum of the bass.

“Well do you wanna dance with me, Mickey?”

You’ve never called him that before. You’re always strictly professional and focused on the task at hand. He’s never seen you stray, never seen you distracted…or so relaxed. Your shoulders which are usually up to your ears are down, glowing with some sort of body oil.

It’s over for him; he feels turned to goo, unable to turn you down.

“I— uh, sure. Are you sure, because I—“

You cut him off with a laugh, grabbing his hand. “C’mon, Fanboy, it’s just a dance. Unless you’re scared?”

He swallows hard. “Not scared.”

“Good.”

Before whisking him away, you assure Phoenix that you’ll bring him back after a dance or two.

“Don’t mind me,” she calls after you two, a knowing grin on her face.

You guide him through the crowd effortlessly, moving to the rhythm of the bassline that thrums through the floor and straight into his chest. His hand is clammy, but he grips yours firmly, not wanting to mess up this moment.

Dancing with you is…it’s a problem.

You move like you were made for this—the music, the energy, the way your body fits so seamlessly against his. Every sway, every shift of your hips sends a fresh wave of heat through him. And then your hands are on his shoulders, skimming down his arms before slipping around his neck, pulling him in just a little closer.

His heart is pounding. You have to hear it, have to know how you’re affecting him this way. With how close you’ve guided him, he has no choice but to hold on to you tightly, his hands fitting like gloves around your hips.

As he grows more comfortable, you decide to test him.

Your hands skim up his arms, slow and deliberate, until they slip around his neck again. You press in just a little closer, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, your mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smirk.

“You know,” you murmur, “I think I like this side of you, Fanboy.”

He’s struggling to breathe. “What—what side?”

Your fingers toy with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “The one that actually touches me instead of staring from across the room.”

Mickey swears under his breath, tightening his grip on your waist. You knew. You knew the whole time, and you’re having fun with it.

“I don’t—” His words cut off as you shift, your body rolling right against him. His jaw clenches. “Jesus, Juniper.”

Your laugh is warm and breathless. “Relax, Mickey. I don’t bite.”

But there’s a glint in your eye that says you could— that you would if he asked nicely enough.

The song shifts, the beat deepening, a low pulse of bass and heat. His fingers are caressing your waist with need. With urgency. His body finds the rhythm of yours like it’s second nature, a push and pull, a slow unraveling.

It’s intoxicating and dangerous, it’s got him thinking his dreams don’t have to just be dreams. They could be reality.

You can see his resolve crumbling— his breath grows quicker, eyes hazy with obsession.

Just when you think he’s about to combust, you lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Kiss me, Mickey.”

His heart drops into his stomach. Are you— could you be serious? Is he dreaming? Did he die on the mission and wake up in the afterlife to what he’s wanted since the first time he laid eyes on you?

No. You’re too real beneath his fingertips. Too warm and soft, the smell of your perfume somehow cutting through the alcohol and sweat of everyone else.

It’s the way you look at him that makes him sure this is truly happening. Eyes glittering with mischief, you have to know what you’re doing to him. The way you whisper it, like a secret, like you’re letting him have the control when really, you’re running this whole damn show.

He hesitates. Not because he doesn’t want it—he wants it, god, he needs it—but because this is you. And this feels like something bigger than just the heat of the moment. This isn't just a kiss with some girl in a club; its you.

You pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers tightening ever so slightly at the nape of his neck. Your expression softens—not teasing or challenging. Just waiting, hope glowing in your eyes.

That glimmer of hope is all it takes.

Mickey leans in, closing the space between you with a kiss that’s hesitant at first—soft, searching. But when you respond, when you sigh with relief against his lips and press closer, he melts.

Any teasing energy you had left fades away now. All that’s left is you, your hands cupping his jaw, your body pressing flush against his as you kiss him slow and deep and unhurried like you’ve got all the time in the world.

Somewhere in the background, there’s a sharp whistle.

“Fanboy’s really living up to his name,” Hangman yells loud enough for probably the entire dancefloor to hear.

There's cheering, whooping but it can't hold his attention, not with you in his arms and the ghost of your taste in his lips.

Mickey should care. He should be embarrassed.

He can’t find it in himself to do either when you grin against his lips, sliding your hands down his chest before tugging him back in for another kiss—deeper, more insistent. It’s sensual, the way your tongue brushes against his.

And he realizes in that moment he would do anything you asked him.

He’s gone for you. Utterly, completely gone.

Judging by how you pull him even closer, how your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt and skim across the skin of his torso like you need to touch more of him—

You’re gone for him too.

lmk if you’d like to be on the danny ramirez characters taglist!

sfw danny taglist: @magikdarkholme, @plan3t-plut0, @mewmew222, @linnygirl09, @ezhz444, @karmaswitch, @badbishsblog, @glader13, @how2besalty, @happypopcornprincess, @hiireadstuffsometimes, @lisiliely, @spider-steve, @nolita-fairytale, @hrlzy, @faretheeoscar, @giuliahowlett, @abriefnirvana, @fanboyswhore9 , @sidkneeeee, @sophreakingfunny, @heartbreakgirlism, @peachyxlynch, @lomlbuckybarnes, @a-randomscrub, @ajcs150, @glimodejun, @isuckatmath, @arsonhotchner, @sidkneeeee, @galaxywannabe, @retrosabers, @marchingicenotes7, @marroonwitch, @jaebugzz, @that-girl-named-alex, @bxtchboy69, @moonymeloncholymoney, @mischiefmanaged71, @something-random-idk, @dualinstinct , @alevanswrites, @articel1967, @lanoviadestiles, @peacefangirl

[arc-misadventures]

Is That Me~?

Jaune: Mom, please stop...

Juniper: What? I haven't done anything!

Jaune: I'm saying that preemptively, because you are going to say something.

Juniper: I will not. Cross my heart I will not say anything~!

Jaune: Their is a mirror behind you, I can see you crossing your fingers.

Juniper: Shit!

Jaune: Look please promise me you won't say anything... suggestive.

Juniper: Suggestive?

Jaune: Look... My childhood hero, the Red Hood, Athena Nikos is here. But, just because she is... smoking hot...

Juniper: Fertile~!

Jaune: S-Shut up!

Jaune: Just because she's here, doesn't mean you can set us up.

Juniper: Fine... I won't say anything suggestive...

Jaune: Swear on your future grandchildren, because if you don't you ain't getting anything!

Juniper: Ohh! You bastard! Fine... I swear on my future grandchildren, that I, Juniper Arc promise not to say anything suggestive. Happy?

Jaune: Somewhat... Now then... Where is, Athena?

Juniper: She's in your room.

Jaune: What?! Why is she there?!

Juniper: You wanted to have a word with me, so I sent her upstairs to your room.

Jaune: Shit!? She'll see all my Red Hood merchandise?!

(Slam!)

Jaune: Athena?!

Athena: Oh hi, Jaune~! How did your conversation with your mom go?

Jaune: It went okay... But, no wait, I need to talk with you!

Athena: About your collection~? Or, is it a shrine towards me?

Jaune: It's a collection! A collection!

Athena: Really now~? You've displayed it in such a way, that it looks like an altar... Very stylized at that~!

Athena: ...

Athena: I don't believe it... This is the first poster I ever took, shortly after I became famous... You even have it framed...

Jaune: Y-Yeah... It was the first poster of you I ever got... It was the last one there, so I wanted to keep it safe...

Athena: Do you... Do you want me to sign it, Jaune?

Jaune: Y-You do that...?

Athena: Of course. Anything for my biggest fan!

Jaune: T-Thanks, Athena... but, I'm certainly not your biggest fan...

Athena: Perhaps. At least you're not one of those depraved ones... I would hate to see a figure of myself in a jar...

Jaune: No... No, no, no.... I never did that! My sisters did... several times...

Athena: Your sisters? So... you'd never wanted to... Let it out on me...?

Jaune: Wanted to let it out...!? What are you...?! No! Gods no! I'd never do that, that's gross!

Athena: So, wouldn't do that to a figure of me... But, would you be willing to let it out on the real me~?

Jaune: T-The real you...?

Athena: Yeah, the real, Athena Nikos~!

Jaune: On the... real, Athena Nikos...?!

Athena: Or, would you prefer to let it out on me... or, inside me~?

Jaune: I-I-Inside?!

Athena: Yes... Inside me~!

Jaune: Uhh...?! Excuse me I need to go!

(Rattle)

Jaune: ...?

(Rattle, Rattle, Rattle...)

Jaune: The doors locked...? How's the door locked?! It's locks from the inside?!

(Slam! Slam! Slam!)

Juniper: Jaune? Is something wrong?

Jaune: Mom! The door is locked! Open the door! I know this is your doing!

Juniper: What? Jaune, you silly boy, the door locks from the inside!

Jaune: Mom! The door isn't opening!

Juniper: Really? How strange?

Jaune: Mom! I know this is your doing! You said you wouldn't do anything!

Juniper: Oh, Jaune~! I promised I wouldn't say anything~! I never promised I wouldn't do anything~!

Jaune: W-What...?!

Juniper: Well, I gotta get going. Have fun you two~!

Jaune: Mom? Mom no! Mom stop! Come back here!

Athena: Well isn't that interesting~!

Jaune: Uhhh...?! A-Athena... This is... Uhh...?!

Athena: Well, Jaune,,, What will it be... Will you let it out on the outside, or on the inside~?

Jaune: Ohh...

Jaune: I'm fucked...

Athena: That's the spirit, Jaune~!

///

Well, here's one for you, @lar-mx Hope you like it!

Link to ART

[reidsglasscs]

ISN’T SHE SO SWEET?

✸ pairing: percy jackson x daughter of artemis! reader smau

✸ notes: requested by @sunnflowerss-wp !! this prompt was fun & i looooooved incorporating my hunters of artemis girlies <3

…now playing: there she goes — the la’s

percyjacks: “but percy, she’s so scary” are we looking at the same person? 🤨 new moon=yn appreciation day

tagged: yn.ln

view all comments

team.leo: look i said that ONCE bc she shot me and i feared for my life

╰┈➤ percyjacks: excuses excuses, if she shot you then you deserved it

╰┈➤ team.leo: BRO THE GAME WAS OVER???

╰┈➤ percyjacks: LALALAL 👨‍🦯

╰┈➤ annabethc: did…did you just use a blind emoji for not being able to hear?

╰┈➤ percyjacks: omg beth let me live

piedpiper: EVERY day should be yn appreciation day wdym 😒

╰┈➤ percyjacks: yk what piper, you’re so right, my sincerely apologies to everyone

yn.ln: NOOOOO BABE YOU’RE EXPOSING ALL OF MY SECRETSSSSS

╰┈➤ percyjacks: sweetheart…you’re about as secretive as piper is straight

╰┈➤ yn.ln: HEY

lieutenant.thal: new moon = thalia visits day, hand over my girl

╰┈➤ percyjacks: im sorry, WHOSE girl???

╰┈➤ lieutenant.thal: did i stutter?

annabethc: those cookies in the second pic were bomb asf, you’re welcome

╰┈➤ yn.ln: make more beth, im begging 🙏🙏

neeks._: i’ve quite literally seen her try and bite people’s fingers off before

╰┈➤ percyjacks: what’s your point? 😒

╰┈➤ neeks._: oh there isn’t one im js sayin

gracefully.jason: she’s pretty, but where’s my man percy at?

╰┈➤ yn.ln: you mean MY man. i will hunt you down, grace

╰┈➤ percyjacks: she’s so sweet 🥰

…now playing: tek it — cafuné

yn.ln: the peeta to my katniss 🤍🏹

tagged: percyjacks

view all comments

lieutenant.thal: babe it’s not too late to join 🙏🙏

╰┈➤ percyjacks: yn block her PLEASE

╰┈➤ yn.ln: no to both of you 🤍

hazel_lev: YOU GUYS ARE SO CUTIE TOOTIE

╰┈➤ yn.ln: JSJSKSK ILY HAZE <33

percyjacks: idk who this peeta guy is but i think i look pretty damn good 😮‍💨

╰┈➤ yn.ln: look, i love you but don’t disrespect peeta mellark like that

piedpiper: you guys are cut but im gonna throw up next time im within a 3 mile radius omg

╰┈➤ team.leo: this is how we all feel when you and annabeth are all over each other btw!

╰┈➤ annabethc: you’re just mad because you can’t get a girl

╰┈➤ piedpiper: GET HIS ASS BABY 🗣️ (suck it, valdez)

gracefully.jason: idk what tf bread and cats have to do with this post but go yn 🙌

╰┈➤ yn.ln: …

╰┈➤ percyjacks: jason… bro

╰┈➤ yn.ln: i have never sighed so hard at a comment before in my life

reyna.ara: gods, i love it when his face is hidden & all i can see is you, you’re so gorgeous bae <3

╰┈➤ yn.ln: stawwwwwp 🤭

╰┈➤ pecyjacks: yeah. stop.

╰┈➤ reyna.ara: percy. three’s a crowd.

thegoat_: it’s so unfortunate to say but i took two thirds of these pictures

╰┈➤ yn.ln: grover do NOT act like i dont take cutie pics of you & juniper ☹️( reminder: 🏹)

╰┈➤ thegoat_: you are absolutely right, pretend I didn’t say anything (pls but the bow down)

percyjacks: gods, i love you 🩵

╰┈➤ yn.ln: i love you too, seaweed brain 🤎

[mammoth-clangen]

Me: this will be a quick thing, just a few clangen who offered their cats to be turned into sabercats

Me @ me: right so render an entire mini background and shade each one, got it

Me: H

Emma from @in-memoriam-tgwk

She was really fun, I love her fluff! I debated making her an Ice Fang but nah she can just be a fluffy round Fleet Fang

Dazzlepaw from @phoenix-clan

Finally an excuse to draw a big goofy grin! Translating those fluff pompoms was tricky but I think i did ok c:

Heronstar from @juniper-clan

I like how the atmosphere in this one turned out, also her asymmetric fur was fun to draw uvu

Tigertoe from @circus-clangen

Cruelly forcing me to learn Clovis style grass tents, bc tent=circus right? XD

Grassdapple from @cricketclangen

Tfw Shriekstar >:/

I think she translated really nicely to my style though c:

Frogpaw from @littlebloomclan

Tiny grumpy needs love, the most unappreciated sibling u-u

(background is inspired by old coffee paintings I used to do!)

Thanks for letting me steal your cats and make them Long XD

[ms0milk]

pitch in a teapot

sanemi x inn keeper

reader has a business to run and sanemi can't help but watch you do it well, barking orders, teaching firmly, smiling and scurrying around like a fancy little bell. There's something he's been trying to get out of you all afternoon but chores keep stealing you away. cw MDNI, frustrated thunderstorm quickie, reader w vagina + penetration, slight manhandling, desperation and a little bit of sass. 4.1k

thank you so much my darling @neiptune for requesting a little sanemi this @ficsforgaza season! you were so generous and patient waiting for this to come out, I hope you enjoy angel

Six bowls of soup upstairs and an old man somewhere in the bowels of the inn with a limp and half a shoe. Right, okay, send two girls to the garden– no. One to the garden and one to the kitchen. That’s dinner taken care of as long as the scholar with the fat pony– donkey, maybe– doesn’t regurgitate an encore of the rakugo performance that couldn’t have been funny in the first place.

You roll the sleeves of your apron slightly tighter in their tasuki. The cyprus walls of your inn bleed fragrance before summer thunderstorms so you make a mental note too, to order storm doors for the second floor before the clouds go black and blue. Incensed breeze, juniper, wisteria, paper windows, one foot, the next, again, each step down the wooden hallway is a quiet knock. Each summer at home is heavier, heavier, and this year is the flood.

“Oi.”

“Not my name,” you blow from the corner of your mouth without changing pace. That breath was ready to jump off your lip before the demon slayer even called out to you; he hates doing nothing and hates even more what great pains your staff take to avoid his room.

“It reeks.”

“Excuse me?” You huff and this time do turn enough to interrogate him via glare. Sanemi, ridiculous, folds his arms in the doorway of a very nice room, a too nice room, without any of the appropriate embarrassment of someone who has been lying in wait. The stippled blue pattern of his robes doesn’t suit him. They clash with his ugly scars and uglier attitude but don't keep him from wearing the chest wide open like a well paid rent boy.

“Stinks.”

“Whatever of, princess?”

He growls and drops his arms as you brace for the lecture, “Demons.”

His heart is incapable of peace and yours with it, and every summer he’s assigned a post in your mountains by a master you’ve never met and who couldn’t possibly be sane themself. Four years of this. Four years of twelve weeks of sixteen-hour-days of the world’s most neurotic demon slayer.

“The whole property is wide open for any fuck to attack.”

You adjust your grip on a slender bucket handle and the cloth in your other arm and continue back downhall, “You always say that.”

“I’m always right,” he nags and pushes free of his bedroom.

You met Sanemi when you were sixteen and still working under your parents. He was a brand new hashira then and prone to fist fights, spitfire, bloodshed. Nothing special. Nothing new. Hashira come and die and new hashira come again. They arrive in flashbangs and ego and leave like everyone else, in pieces.

Your parents were calm, they had peace and practice, they ran this inn, they welcomed Sanemi with his summer floods. They loved him, took his counsel and died by it, and they probably wouldn’t have lost an old man inside the house. But this is your inn now. They aren’t here anymore and at your inn sometimes old men get misplaced.

“And what would you like me to do about all that, sir?”

The hashira keeps an easy military pace behind you, “The gardens need to be reinforced and–”

“Nine acres of wisteria arbor need reinforcement? Yeah I’ll get right on that.”

“The storm will take out ha–!”

“And the other half will hold until autumn. Go berate the kitchen staff for their unpreparedness– they’re all unarmed you know? Totally unprofessional.”

“Y/n–”

“Shinazugawa,” you spin and it all comes out as a threat, a hiss, instead of just a whisper so much so that the water in your bucket nips up your sleeve. “I am the lady of this establishment and you will not address me so familiarly.”

Dark cyprus, cool hallways, the undeniable scent of thunder. Sanemi rests his hand on his sword to glare like he does when his hands don’t quite know what to do with themselves. His eyes roam, quiet under long lilly lashes until they have traced the shapes your tasuki makes with your waist and rise again to your gaze. “We’re not fucking finished.”

“Go eat,” you snap and turn back down the hallway, red at the ears. Lady of the establishment, great job.

Feet aren’t complicated, bone to tendon, tendon to muscle, muscle to skin, one step and another. You tilt your head back and an eager girl rises to wipe sweat from your temple.

“Like this,” you hum and tilt the old man’s heel in your palm. He winces but lets you continue while the girl stares on. “When the skin is split like this it can’t receive moisture– sorry sir, better?” You set his foot on the hammock of cloth between your thighs, “So you need to soak it first before applying salve. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the girl parrots, still unable to look away.

“Yes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile through an eye roll but gesture for her to come sit beside you. You’ve been like this since he’s met you, too old for your body.

You’ll train anyone who asks, hire any runaway girl, absorb the cost of thieves when runaways are exactly that, and you will wash old men’s feet before eating dinner with the self preservation of a samurai. Famously long-lived, those. Sanemi has to look away when you take scissors to the gnarled yellow nails and almost covers his ears when your pupil starts asking you questions about it.

“Feels good right?” You chuckle at the man’s response to your ministrations, and then a little louder, when you realize just how seriously the girl beside you is trying to focus. Birdsong. “Do you have companions on your pilgrimage, sir?” He shakes his head.

You lean away again so the girl can dab your brow and push back stray hairs and turn back to explain overdetailed care instructions to this man who is obviously so embarrassed he can’t hear a word you’re saying. Something about tallow and socks, Sanemi tries to read the syllables off your lips and loses focus the second time your teeth catch damp and pillowed pink.

The man seated in front of you grumbles some and flexes a few fingers around his cane like old men do, but doesn’t protest your instructions. He nods instead of thanking you like a real tough guy.

“Fetch a new pair of sandals from the garden shed,” you instruct your girl who bolts up and out the door past Sanemi without so much as a breath. “And you,” you turn back to your patient, “keep the nails short, you hear?”

He nods again, increasingly avoidant of eye contact. Sanemi tenses in the dark outside the guest’s complimentary room and hates ungrateful fucks enough for both of you.

“And don’t skip any more meals.” 

The man’s wrinkled skin unfolds at his eyes and he pulls his legs back underneath him. You dry your hands after scrubbing clean in a soapy pot and stand to collect your tools. “I couldn’t find you this evening and I hate to lose track of my guests at mealtime.”

You are going to feed every stray you find until the economy collapses. Peasant monks, pickpockets– you’d put up a demon if its stomach growled. After too many unnoticed minutes watching you, following the white x between your patterned shoulders, eating your voice, warming the hallway, you finally pick out Sanemi’s eyes in the dark behind the sliding door. He’s waiting for you. You clear your throat for the broke old pilgrim one last time, “You don’t owe any money. Do not skip meals.” And bid him a wordless good night. The door cracks shut behind you. It isn’t late enough for sunset. Thunderstorms make it so dark so quickly and they mask the scent of blood with all their rain and iron. “What is it?” You deadpan and shuffle towards the stairs with all the confidence in the world a tenured hashira will work to keep up with you.

“Not fucking finishied with you,” Sanemi grunts, working to keep up with you. The apron over your service kimono forces your hips to sway in tight little circles and Sanemi sucks his teeth. He doesn’t look away.

Through the hallway and down the servant stairs, socks on polished wood, you tap, tap, tap nimbly to your next assignment. The room below radiates heat and life. “What do you want?” you whisper.

“I–” he slips barefoot on the slick last step into the kitchen and you stumble in your newly damp right sock. “Euh, I–”

“Mimiko!”

“Lady?”

“Wet.” You point behind you, palming Sanemi out of the way, and a free washerwoman dives for the spot with the rag tucked into her belt. The kitchen rages silently in the easternmost corner of the mansion; men and women sweat over donabe, rinse their body weights in rice, and beat little fires with littler fans. Two women and a boy linger just outside the paper door in clothes that match yours for formality and Sanemi assumes as he weaves through the bustle, that they are responsible for bringing food to customers and for doing everything they can not to sweat through their pretty borrowed uniforms. Your own kimono is purple tonight, a cool little shape bobbing nimbly between flames.

Sanemi opens his mouth to shout after you and shuts it again just as quickly to grind his teeth instead as you lift your apron over your head. You let a girl feed you a spoonful of something on your way out of the room and she wiggles when you nod several times before ducking through the door.

Laundry next, then a double check of the firewood cache and the whole while Sanemi occupies your shadow. A few times you hiss over your shoulder at him for looking so gruff, for looking like a bodyguard, for making your customers imagine your distrust of them, always you bite back before he can get more than a few words out but mostly you just scurry in preparation for the storm picking up warm wind outside.

You avoid the entrance with him so close in tow, armed and obstinate, but make a show of circling both tatami halls where guests come after dinner on rainy nights to stretch and smoke by the brazier with strangers. A female musician trills her koto. The sky hasn’t let loose a single drop of rain yet but wet hangs like a fog and thunder scents the air ahead of its arrival. As Sanemi trails the outer walkway of the mansion behind you, the sky bleeds with the last of day’s light in the cracks between bruised and racing storm clouds.

“Second floor secure?” You confirm with the men slotting thick panels into grooves where paper doors usually go. They nod in their white uniforms. Beyond the porches, beyond the east garden and its fat green vegetables, beyond dogwood trees and sarusuberi and maples that have begun to tremble violently in winds buffeted by humidity and nightfall, the wisteria arbor glows. You radiate a cool purple pull beside him just like your flowers.

The arbor surrounds the property on all sides for half a mile and all three paths away from the house are barred by gates of twisting wisteria vine. The inn belongs to your family, but does not serve Ubuyashiki. Theirs is not the only house that discovered a use for these flowers. Yours is not the only wisteria business in the country. 

“Do you see that?” You murmur at so much the same tone as the wind that Sanemi almost cannot hear you.

Three years ago he left before the end of summer, called away to investigate a massacre nearby. A tree fell that season. It crushed a straight path through the edge of the mountain forest and onto your property where, lured by so much blood and wine, a pair of sister demons descended through the broken orchard and devoured everyone who wasn’t fast enough to hide in the flowers like the slayer suggested they should in an emergency. Your parents evacuated the house and died in it with the guests who couldn’t walk on their own. Nestled under three braided vines at the far edge of the property, you listened to them die.

The winds kick up sand from your vegetable garden and you step off the porch into the start of the storm. Tiny and purple. “Y/n!” Sanemi lunges for you. His sword whips the meat of his thigh and you step out of his way before he can grab any part he intended to. The men on the porch watch you both scramble through the backyard. You snap at the strange guest and duck when he swings a hand towards you, hop in your sandals when he tries to trip you into his arms and dart away like a dragonfly.

“Get back here!”

“Go inside!”

“Y/n!”

“How dare you!”

“Motherfucking, Y/n!” 

“That’s enough!” You bark and twist back towards the garden shed. Your pupil left the door wide open and all its shining tools caught your eye across the yard. Sanemi was staring when you stepped outside. His eyes feel like beads of sweat on the few bare parts of you. His gaze is all teeth on the back of your neck.

With all but one storm door up, not a single guest can hear the ruckus you two kick up outside in the prologue of the storm. “It’s about to pour!”

“Then go join the other guests!” You shout through a particularly violent breeze and you have to grip to the break in your kimono closed. He does not. By the time you lay a winded hand on the wall of the shed, it has started to rain.

A silencing wall of water falls from the back of the property straight towards you. It kills dust clouds in its path and paints every surface soaked in a perfectly straight line. Sanemi rushes from behind and nearly lifts you off your feet to get inside the shed as you watch the supernatural army advance on your home.

“Shit,” he grumbles and winces when the rain overcomes the little shed and splashes off the pavement into his face. He pulls you deeper inside and you jolt. The first crack of thunder is a scream that shakes the ground, “Scared of thunder now?”

“Scared of my profit margins, you oaf.”

Under his shoulder you are glaring at the storm between this shitty stuffy shed and your business. You are so small and wrapped so tightly in layer after layer of fabric. It must be hot. The damp drips down his open chest and thighs, it frizzes his hair at his ears. You must be sweating somewhere in that formal getup. Wet glistens at the curled little hairs on the back of your neck where the skin is just barely visible and it sparkles under your high collar.

“I can’t walk back inside soaked,” you groan, “there’s not enough time to change before final rounds.”

Sanemi takes his hand off his sword. There must be damp parts of you hiding from him. He brushes his knuckle up the bare skin of your neck, across your throat, and you falter slightly.

“Sanemi–”

“Nuh uh, don’t address me so familiarly,” he smirks and cups your cheek in his big hand when you jerk around.

“That’s not–!”

“Not what?” He smiles now, and drops his hand back to his sword so that you might find your own weapon and finish the fight. Four years of this.

You shove a finger into his chest, “You’re such a clingy fuck Shinazugawa,” and shout a little because you know the thunder will hide it. A sudden gust blows the sheet of rain sideways and straight inside the open door of the garden shed, up your dress and down his robes and through your prettily pinned hair. “Y/n this, y/n that, I’m busy Sanemi, I’m stuck in a shed! You’re the only one who calls me and people think we’re fucking! You want my attention you have it so please tell me all about the demons that’re gonna slurp up my customers and fuck my taxes to shit and–”

The door creaks in Sanemi’s hands even through the oceanic sounds of storm when he begins to close it. He nods as you get louder, nods as he slides the door closed and flicks the latch.

“Do not,” you growl, “there’s five thousand–”

“Five thousand little bitches in there lost without direction? They’re fine, Y/n.”

“Don’t call me that here.”

“They’ll survive, little lady.”

You spit, “not better.” And the new humidity of the closed shed begins to swallow you whole. It fills your throat. “What about all the demons you’ve been crying about?”

“You’re such a cocky cuss.”

“And you’re needy,” you taunt. It’s Sanemi’s turn to wince and his frustration starts to drip from all those places he shoves it away from you. He's been gentle with you since that summer. He lets you interrupt him, he follows where you go. “I watched you check perimeters this morning, you don’t need to talk to me about demons.”

“Eyes everywhere huh?” His throat is pink, “Lady of the house.”

You grin and pull him by the loops of his robe into your tiny purple kiss, “Shut up.”

“M’lady,” he growls against your lips and succumbs.

Four years of stolen touches, lips on damp summer skin, coming out of empty rooms too ruffled and pulling the hashira between your legs without disturbing the folds of your work kimono. “Don’t call me that either,” your breath hisses against his throat like an iron and he drops his sword quickly to gather you in his arms.

Too much fabric. Shovels and shears clatter against the floor and one another when the thunder shakes their little house again, and they tremble at every thump and roll of your body against Sanemi’s. He pulls your hips against his and guides your legs around his waist so he can sink into those soft parts of you. So he can tilt his head back to look up at you, so you can pour your kisses down his throat like wine.

You drag your nails up the back of his head when he offers his tongue to your lips, biting, suckling, drawing out gentle sounds and eating them before they compete with the rain outside. Where his hips dig into your own the folds of your skirt fall apart. Legs that glisten with sweat and rain part nicely for him and his own robes grow clingy with exertion where he grinds hard against you. Every subtle roll breaks your concentration in kisses, in lips sliding, begging with salvia and rainwater. His hands cup your cheeks, thighs, the collar of your kimono shudders open for him when he dips to suck bruises under your jaw and the swordsman’s hand loses control as he grips your belt to free you from all this formality. He’ll press crescents into your breasts, he’ll lower his tongue through your peach sweet folds and drink until you cry– but you pull his head back with a sharp yank of your wrist.

Your breath comes in clouds. The inn glows with candlelight across the yard but the light through the shed’s window is too weak. Welts of lighting illuminate the flush of your chest and cheeks. Two seconds of bright and twelve of dark warmth, shaking swirling thunder and then only rain. Sweat rolls from your temples and into the depths of your kimono. It’s been days since he’s had you like this and longer since you’ve had true privacy, others a whole yard away.

You can’t be gone long, he knows. Staff watched you race in here together, watched him shut the door, he knows he knows, he just can’t put you down yet. He leans in for another kiss and you let him fall close enough for his chest to crush yours before pulling back on his hair again.

“Y/n,” he’s suddenly not above begging but you hold his gaze tight. You watch him as your hand slips between the place your bodies meet. Pretty fingers reach for the heat between his legs. Pretty knuckles ghost over the swell of his robes and draw the fabric aside instead of ordering he bring you back inside. Sanemi’s cock perks up in free air as high as this position will let it and rests heavy under the swell of your ass.

He kisses you again, toothy and smiling and when you kiss him back your sharpest teeth clink together. He ruts into your desperation against the wall, harder than the rain, harder than the wind that threatens to blow your shed away and you with it. Obviously he wouldn’t let it but the thought that nature might be jealous of the rumple you made of each other drives him harder against you. Slipping, cock hard and suddenly shifted up against the hair under your belly. Peach fuzz yields to warm slick and Sanemi drops his head to your chest when he shudders to avoid whimpering into your mouth. He slips through your folds with a tight hold still under your thighs and drags himself up, down, up, hypnotized always by the faces you make when you’re trying to keep quiet.

The scars across his body are forever numb, but when your clammy hands paw is his chest he swears he can smell color. He can touch light when you pull his face back to yours frantically, when your hips with all their fabric flowing off of them buck sloppily against his, when he thrusts once deeply inside of you and forces a broken gasp from the back of your throat.

Before you can catch your breath your lips have crashed against his and his hips against yours. Sanemi keeps the relentless, restless, starving pace you like and knows he’ll last only the next few minutes before the worst of the storm blows over. Again and again he carves a palace for himself inside of you. You guide him with the falter of your kisses when he finds that perfect spot and with the slick that coats both of your thighs. Your voice escapes you in choked whimpers, his name comes out in hiccups. You’re a little bell in his arms folded in half and singing for him.

Again and again, out and so deep back inside, Sanemi’s feet grip the floor as he plunges his hips into yours and both of your bodies into the swelling wood walls. His rhythm staggers as you flutter around him and with his head against your shoulder he watches the circles you draw on your clit with the tips of four clumsy fingers as your other hand muffles your voice. He grabs that quieting wrist without thinking and without taking his eyes off the place your bodies connect with lewd squelches and sticky white threads. His threatening grip, his thick cock and your fingers push you right over the lip of your pleasure and fluttering becomes milking spasms quicker than Sanemi can think to treat you gently. That half-sobbing voice he loves so much cheers him towards his own climax and the more sensitive you grow the easier it is to coax those sounds out of you that you try to keep hidden, “Don’t– don’t be so quiet.”

“Inside,” you whisper in reply and draw his face into your hands as his pounding stutters in pace and loses all flow completely under your dreamy gazes. Sanemi can’t keep his eyes open when he cums. His pretty lilly lashes flutter with lost concentration. He shudders, ruts you deeper into the wall and groans with release as he fills those swollen wet parts of you. Warmth pools in your belly and trickles off his cock still buried. Sweat falls like the rain outside.

“Wanna taste,” Sanemi rumbles without setting you down or stilling his thrusts fully. He nuzzles somehow farther into the dip of your collarbones. Soft snow white hair, a heartbeat in the fingers that grip you. Every twitch of his hips is a starving ache.

“C'mon,” you grin, “dinner’ll get cold.”

“Let me taste you.”

“Sanemi, what will I eat if you eat me?”

“Have a few ideas,” he smiles back through the trembling of the shed in encores of thunder and gale. A leak tip tap tip taps nearby. Four years of this, maybe more.

[linkman447]

Change of plans

Cinder: how are our plans for the dance

Emerald: they should be ready, we got everything planned for you to enter the cct to plant the virus

Mercury: while me and em keep an eye out on the dance floor

Cinder: perfect now to-

Scroll ringing

Cinder: oh who dares to- oh it is our queen, yes my queen

Salem: cinder I was reviewing your photos you sent to me and I’m curious who this is *shows her a photo of team jnpr*

Cinder: my queen that is Pyrrha nikos

Salem: no no cinder my dear not her but him *points to jaune*

Cinder: I believe… hmm I think his name is jaune arc?

Emerald: yeah he’s just some weakling who somehow got lucky enough to be the leader of the invincible girls team

Salem: hmmm so he did it and a leader

Cinder: my queen?

Salem: change of plans cinder you must drop all of your plans and bring me this boy

Cinder: but my-

Salem: DO NOT QUESTION ME

Cinder: yes my queen

Hangs up

Mercury: oh boy all those months of planning just to kidnap a blond dork

Emerald: hey it’ll be easy and then we can get back on track

Cinder happy at this thought: indeed now we must take him to vale to meet our queen

One simply done kidnapping later

Jaune: where am I why is everything dark

A Bag is removed from his head

Jaune: who there…

Salem: jaune my dear

Jaune: sally

Salem: oh you do remember me

Jaune: where have you been sally moms been pissed you were supposed to-

Salem: yes yes I’m well aware of junipers wrath but I’m here now to make good on our promise

Jaune: but I-i got school I’m a huntsman now

Salem: I know and I’m so proud you fallowed your dreams but it doesn’t mean we can’t marry

Jaune: I guess so but why did you kidnap me

Salem: let’s just say me and ozpin don’t get along

Jaune: ah yes immortal body swapping wizard

Salem: oh my dear boy I knew there was a reason I agreed to your mothers deal

Jaune: but now wha-

Crash

Pyrrha: who took my baby daddy

Salem: jaune you have impregnated an other woman

Jaune: what no… I never did it with Pyrrha

Salem: why, why did you pause

Jaune: you remember saphron right

Salem: oh yes her and terra had… a… baby. Oh my brothers you fathered your own nephew

Jaune: yeah they asked

Salem: welp time to make up for lost time and chances. Cinder leave us

Cinder: but

Salem: either get out or get naked

Cinder:… *starts to undress*

Emerald forces Mercury out and locks the door as suddenly a magical barrier formed in front of said door. Then she too undresses

Pyrrha: I’m in

Later

Salem: oh my I haven’t felt this good in centuries

Cinder completely lost in ecstasy same as emerald who face is still buried in her mistress’s crotch

Pyrrha is cuddling up to jaune with a content smile on her face

Jaune: I-i can’t feel my legs

Boom

Jaune and Salem shoot up

Yang: jaune me and Blake came to save you

Blake: who the fuck took my man

Salem: sooo this is what your mother meant about the arc charm

Many more days of sex and people barging in later

Ozpin: … I-i can’t even

Jaune: hey if it’s any consolation I’m not too sure how this happened either

Salem: look at it this why you pathetic excuse of a man, the war is over and you’ll have and army of arcs to protect humanity

Yang: sill confused about this but what can I say I got a good man and *rubs her tummy* a way to show I’m not my… birth giver

Ozpin: as much as I am happy that this is the outcome and a little disappointed that you didn’t give me more silver eyed warriors

Yang: you leave my darling little sister alone

Ozpin: yes yes I know, but your appearance Salem it looks

Salem: oh yes, you see my husbands semblance healed my tainted soul as well as fucked to evil out of me

Ozpin: ok then

[noneatnonedotcom]

OP jaune but with a twist

pretty simple idea here, jaune was born at the same time the entire debacal with salem and the brothers was going down. having been the rusted knight he was technically a god. and protected the people of remnant from the brothers via the use of his sacred relics from the ever after. now every couple of generations a new Jaune is born into the world with no skills or knowledge but with the sacred relics to help deal with whatever bullshit the brothers are throwing at humanity this time. i.e jaune is an avatar of his more divine rusted knight self.

build under the cut

All The King’s Horses: (100CP) A godly being like you deserves a godly steed to travel, and while you may possess an Authority to do so already, another item may prove useful in some cases. For that, this legendary mount is yours to use. Able to break the speed of sound easily while protecting all passengers and possessing a small but effective amount of firepower to defend you when you need it. The exact aesthetic depends on you, maybe you want a flying horse or a small dragon or a vimana. Regardless, the specs will be the same. just as the rusted knight incarnates in remnant every once in a while so too does juniper his faithful steed. recent worship and legend paints it as a white horse so it will apear that way but the classic giant jackalope is also an option.

Fairy Weapon: (400CP) All of the Knights of the Round have their own special weapon. A magical sword, a enchanted bow, a special shield. These weapons are often crafted by the hands of the fairies themselves, creating immensely powerful weapons for the greatest protectors of Britain. Now you too have a legendary weapon in your hands, on the same level as things like Excalibur Galatine, Arondight or Lord Camelot. You might choose an enchanted sword that can unleash gigantic blasts of energy at will or a bow that fires a dozen shots for every single one you loose or even a flail that can command the wind as it slams into your foes. You could even have a magical prosthetic arm that unleashes blades and blasts of light on command."

crocea mors, a sword that can become a lance, it glows golden and increases all paramiters of the wielder to godlike proportions. (by two letter grades so if a E rank is 10 times peak human a normal human would be up to D rank which is 20.) including charisma and resistance to reality warping. (luck) it is also unbreakable.

Avalon: (400CP) "The legendary sheath of Excalibur, a copy of which now rests at your hip, though no one finds it strange that it does so. This sheath is an incredibly valuable artefact, as it bestows powerful regenerative abilities on you while at your side, allowing you to heal from almost any wound in minutes at most. Even if most of your body was vaporised, as long as your brain and a fair amount of the flesh and bone connected to it remained, you could restore yourself to normal in five minutes of healing. Avalon cannot heal brain wounds and you will die if it is destroyed, though the item also struggles to handle cursed wounds. Though it drains your energy, you can also activate the special power of the sheath, which will place you in the world of Avalon while you maintain it. While here, it is almost impossible to reach you and even dimension crossing effects will only work from insanely powerful users. Effectively, it lets you dodge away out of almost any effect in an instant. Notably, Avalon as a sheath will resize to fit any sword you wish to put into it."

Avalon representing the afterlife the rusted knight has made for humanity in the ever after to be with their families and loved ones. that being said eventually everyone sees the tree and reincarnates.

Battle Garments: (100CP) Having to battle creatures from myth and legend as your job is no excuse to not look fashionable while doing so. This is a set of clothes that fit you perfectly, are fashionable, flexible, self-repairing and strong as enchanted steel armor. Because if you’re going to kick ass, then do it in style.

sometimes appearing as actual armor sometimes as simple clothes the avatar of the rusted knight relies on his armor for much of his defense.

one thing of note, this jaune does not have ANY skill with the items he has with him. they tend to carry him through most of his battles early on. he always needs to be trained by the heroes of the current generation. so when jaune meets ruby rose on her way to exterminate some grimm she finds a very uncordinated man in a really nice pair of jeans and a hoodie with a bunny on it. just doing his best here.

being mortal is tough man.

basically he's the god of heroes on earth but he has no idea what he's doing. since he's got no powers he can work anywhere but this was just an excuse to show off stained glass jaune arc @weatherman667 @howlingday thoughts on the art?

[mintmatcha]

Mint, I need Lady in Waiting reader to find out that Sir Aizawa isn't married, I NEED this (I need to caress his weary face in my hands and watch his eyes slowly close as he cuddles into them, like a cat)

It’s normal for him to notice who comes and goes at these events. The vigilance is ingrained deep in every muscle, so much so that his eyes flicker to the door whenever there’s even a hint of movement.

That’s how he notices you dip out, the tails of your dress following behind.

He also notices that someone else is watching you.

“And then the dragon breathed fire. Did you know dragons could do that, mister?” the princess babbles, “That might only be in stories, though.”

Aizawa can barely mutter out a sound as he watches the other man -a squire, servicing under one of the other knights- excuses himself and heads to through door. He knows something is wrong by the way he moves. There’s too much purpose in his stride, a goal set into his brow and a smirk of his lips. It’s not the smile of a secret lovers meeting– its the sharpness of a predator hunting its prey.

“Mister Aizawa?”

Princess Eri tugs at the fabric of his shirt. The princess is especially young compared to the age of her father, only six as of this summer. Guarding her as been some of the easier years of his life, but also some of the most rewarding.

“I’m sorry,” he says as he stands, “I have to check on something.”

The young girl looks at him with wide eyes. “Will you be back soon? You promised we would dance.”

He ruffles her hair as he spins on his heel. He fears she has become his soft spot. “Before you know it, princess.”

He can’t hear your voice until his halfway down the hall and clear of the din of the banquet hall. It’s hushed, but with none of the polite lacquer you usually apply.

“I said I am retiring for the night,” you hiss.

“Perfect - then we shall head to your room.”

As Aizawa peers around the corner, he catches the blonde man reaching for you and grasping at the hem of your sleeve. You immediately rip yourself away, only for the squire to grap your other hand much more firmly.

“Sir Monoma,” you say, “If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times. My heart belongs to another and I have no interest in you.”

The squire steps in closer, a laugh on his breath. He’s drunk enough that Aizawa can almost smell it from here. “Everyone sees how you long for the man. If he hasn’t reciprocated by now, you are waiting for nothing. You’re wasting your good years on a fool.”

Pity pangs in Aizawa’s chest. Have your affections been this obvious the whole time? He’d only just began to notice your lingering glances and hesitant touches– how long had it been obvious to everyone else? How much time had he spent missing you?

“Just one chance.” The squire tugs on your arm, trying to drag you in, but you hold firm, “I’ll treat you real nice, I swear it.”

The man twists slightly and you yelp.

Aizawa moves without thinking. It’s easy to catch a drunk man off guard. He slides in and knocks his weight off center, and in the instant of surprise, his hard snatches the squires away from yours. With a twist and a pop, the man’s arm folds behind his back and he falls to his knees, a strangled sound in his lips. It’s after, when he sees the fear in your eyes, that the anger sets in.

“If I am ever to catch you touching a maiden again I will break this arm so badly that you will never use it again, do you understand?” The words rip from his throat, “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir, or course, sir,” the man spits out.

“Your charge will hear of this.” With a shove, Aizawa sends him stumbling back, “And the king. Now, be off.”

There’s a moment of hesitation.

“I said be off.”

Monoma scrambles down the hall, back towards the party. You watch, rubbing your twisted skin with a dour look and avoiding Aizawa’s gaze. He’s not one to get flustered, but suddenly he is; you smell like juniper and flowers, a summer’s day, and rolled in like a winter’s storm.

“Don’t worry. His wrist is only sprained,” he offers.

“Frankly, I think you should have broken it.”

That surprises him enough that he chuckles.

“Was that too harsh?” you ask.

“Not at all.”

“Thank you, Sir, I don’t know how to repay you-”

Aizawa had discussed moments like these, the little openings that life gives him and he keeps squandering. Hizashi always tells him to be bold and romantic, Toshinori says to be soft and himself. Both seem like bad choices- so Aizawa decides to so something different entirely.

“Give me your hand.” He holds his own out, palm up. “That is all I request.”

You check the hall with a fair amount of apprehension. “Would your wife approve?”

“I am not married.”

“You aren’t?”

“Not even close to it.” He want s to explain the mix up, but the only thing he can focus on are you hands and how they wring your dress, “You can deny me. I’d understand.”

You lift your hand and place it in his, hovering slightly above his touch. Gently, he raises it to his lips and gives it the chastest of kisses. He expects you to pull away, maybe even slap him, but you don’t. Your touch lingers, warm against his skin.

“Are you sure you are unmarried?” you whisper, “You’ll break my heart if you are lying.”

He turns your wrist and presses a firmer kiss into your pulsepoint, then another, and another, trailing up your arm.

“You can ask the king himself.”

Right before he can nestle his face into the crook of your neck, you break away.

“Then, I will,” you say, dipping away and back towards the grand hall, “I will ask right now. I don’t want you to make a dishonest woman of me, sir.”

“Don’t ask in front of the court!” Aizawa is quick to follow, a uncharacteristic blush blossoming across his cheeks.

“Because you’ll be shown to be a liar?”

“Because the king might end up begging you to take me.”

[official-darkforest]

What’s Jayfeather and Alderheart’s relationship like in your au? I always imagined Jayfeather choosing to tutor one of his siblings after Hollyleaf, Cinderheart, and Lionblaze kind of did and he realizes five days later he was mislead into thinking this would be fun but now he just has a little 13 year old on his hands. But I don’t know how well that translates to another time period

kinda! i think with how the timelines overlap a lot closer (to make sure that characters are within reasonable age differences between each other) alder and his sister were born earlier and are only just barely younger than ivy/dove, so jay/lion/holly’s childhood overlaps with alder/spark’s a little bit. i’d say with squirrel’s fertility issues (probably PCOS or some other unspecified reproductive disorder) they probably have a pretty significant age difference but not to the same degree as the books where jay was a grown ass adult (theres a 5 year difference between them in canon! that means he wouldve been like fucking 35 or so human yrs LMFAOO) by the time alder was born. maybe 10 yrs at the most. dandelion and juniper were born between that but unfortunately didnt survive long

as for their relationship, they were pretty okay. jay was probably fresh into college by the time alder got diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. squirrel/bramble probably pressed jay about it but he dismissed them because he was still a student at the time and nowhere near a professional yet. alder idolized jay a lot growing up because he “didn’t let his disability hold him back”. there qas a lot of inspiration porn type of thinking on alder’s end and honestly the rest of the family kinda perpetuated it as well so its not just him. its not intentional either but yknow. at a certain point (and a lot of long conversations and arguments between the two about it) alder stops idolizing him to such an unhealthy degree and doesn’t fall into the ‘if my disabled brother can do xyz then i have 0 excuses’ line of thinking as much as he used to. while alder isnt the biggest fan of jay trying to psychoanalyze him mid-argument, he takes his word into consideration anyways

jay likes to say he thinks alder is irritating (in the younger sibling kind of way) but honestly spark was worse than alder when she was a teenager. jay just interacted with alder more since he was quieter and less overstimulating, especially when in the Deepest Pits Of College Homework Hell. also hes bluffing he really does enjoy alder’s company. he’s hard on him because he wants the younger to succeed, evem if hes a bit mean about it sometimes.

alder eventually becomes a pharmacist instead of a psychologist, finding the work of the former much more attuned to his needs and his likes. he’s still helping people. by the 2010s-2020s, he’s even filled and compounded a few medications jay prescribed to his patients!

[firewasabeast]

Uncle Eddie (part 4)

Each part of this series can be read individually. If you'd like to start at the beginning, here you go. You can read this installment here or on ao3.

Originally, Juniper had been staying with Maddie. Tommy and Buck needed a couple nights away, and Maddie loved any excuse to have girl time with Jee and Junie.

Then, on the way back home, Tommy came down with a stomach bug. A stomach bug that came with a fever, severe nausea, and vomiting.

So, Juniper stayed another night with Maddie.

And the next day, Buck was just as miserable with the same bug.

So, Juniper stayed another night.

The problem was that Maddie and Chimney had planned a getaway of their own, while Jee stayed with the Lee's.

That's how Juniper ended up at Eddie's place.

It was his own idea. Buck had asked him if he'd pick her up from Maddie's and drop her off. Neither he nor Tommy could risk being away from the bathroom for too long. That's when Eddie suggested he stay with her for a couple nights.

“You know she's gonna get whatever you guys have if she comes home,” he said to Buck on the phone. “And you know she never pukes into the toilet.”

“Oh God, I know, it's always projectile.”

“Couple nights, you guys will be good as new, and Juniper will stay vomit free.”

It wasn't difficult to convince them. They took turns speaking to Juniper over Facetime, and she informed them she she was fine and, “Super-duper-party-pooper excited to stay with Uncle Eddie!”

Apparently that was a good thing.

At least, that's what Buck told him before he had to leave and go throw up again.

*****

Two days later, Eddie got the text that neither of them had a fever anymore, the vomiting had stopped, and their appetites were back to normal. It was already evening, and Eddie knew they'd have laundry and house cleaning to catch up on, so he offered to keep Juniper one more night and he'd bring her home in the morning.

“That okay with you?” Eddie asked Juniper once he'd cleared it with her dads.

She responded by sticking her thumbs up and jumping up and down while shouting, “That's super-duper-party-pooper perfect!”

He'd been hearing that phrase for days now and, while internally it drove him absolutely insane, outwardly he smiled and said, “Great!”

She continued jumping for a few more seconds, then stopped abruptly and gasped.

Eddie startled. “What? What's wrong?”

“Oh, we need to make Daddy and Papa cookies!”

Eddie took a breath, settling back on the couch. “You scared me, kid.”

“I'm serious, Uncle Eddie. So, very, very serious. Daddy always makes me, um, the, um the peanut butter chocolate chip cookies after I was sick. We all love them.” She folded her hands together and brought them to her chest, “Please, Uncle Eddie, please, please, please-”

“Okay! Okay, that's- that'll be fine. We'll have to go get the stuff though.”

She started moving her arms and legs mechanically, becoming a robot as she headed off, “Get-ting rea-dy for gro-cery store to make coo-kies for Pa-pa and Da-ddy.”

That lasted until she got about halfway down the hall, then she was skipping the rest of the way to grab her shoes out of the bedroom and bring them back to the living room to put on.

As she was doing this, Eddie grabbed up his phone and sent a text to Tommy.

I need Buck's peanut butter chocolate chip recipe asap. Also, if a certain 4'1 minion ever asks, I never sent this text.

It only took him a few seconds to get a reply.

Ha! Gotcha! I know Evan has a copy in his recipe box. Give me a sec and I'll send it.

Eddie got his wallet and keys while Juniper finished tying her shoes.

“Go use the bathroom before we go,” he instructed, waving her off down the hall.

“But I don't need-”

“Go use the bathroom before we go.”

“Ugh!” Juniper rolled her eyes ever so dramatically as she marched off to the bathroom. Just as she closed the door, Eddie received the recipe from Tommy.

Thank you! He texted back. Also, this conversation can no longer exist.

Deleting now. Good luck! She's tougher than a drill sergeant when it comes to following a recipe.

Oh, so exactly like Buck. Good to know!

I would argue worse, but she definitely gets it from him. Like I said, good luck.

Eddie took in a deep, cleansing breath, readying himself for whatever he was about to get into.

*****

Eddie would have to remember to give all the leftover baking stuff to Buck once they were done. He found it absolutely ridiculous he had to buy entire containers of baking soda and baking powder when all he'd need was a teaspoon.

“Why do we even need both anyway?” he asked Juniper as he set out all the ingredients. “They can't be that important.”

She shot him a death glare. “Every ingredient is im- important when baking.”

He held his hands up in surrender.

So it begins.

“Okay, oven is preheating.” He stared at his phone, studying the recipe. “Apparently we mix the dry ingredients in one bowl and then the wet in another bowl, then combine them.”

“How'd you get my daddy's recipe on your phone?” Juniper asked, heading to the sink to wash her hands.

“Oh, um, your dad gave it to me a long time ago. I was gonna try to make them but I didn't.”

It was a weak lie, but she was seven- well, seven and three quarters if you asked her- so the lie didn't need to be all that great.

After she finished washing her hands, Juniper sat at the table and clapped her hands together. “Let's. Get. Started!”

The mixing of the dry ingredients went well. Juniper, tongue poking out between her teeth, measured out the flour perfectly, along with the baking soda, powder, and salt.

It was when they got to the wet ingredients that things began to fall apart.

There were so many instructions that seemed to need to be done all at once. The butter needed melted, then vigorously stirred with the peanut butter until it was combined. Eggs needed cracked, and one yolk needed separated from the white. You had to make sure the butter was melty and warm enough to cream with the peanut butter but not so hot that it made the eggs scramble. And maybe this wouldn't have been a problem for literally anyone else, but Eddie was not a baker, had never been a baker, and had no desire to be a baker.

So it was a problem.

It didn't help that Juniper was every bit as bad as Tommy warned.

“You don't do it like that.”

“You have to mix slower.”

“That's not how you se- separate the yolk.”

“The butter isn't melty enough.”

“I think the butter is too melty.”

“Oh, this is not looking great,” Juniper shook her head. “Daddy always smushes the brown sugar to make more sugar fit. You need to smush.”

“I'm smushing,” Eddie replied, wiping the back of his hand over his forehead.

My God, he was sweating! He wondered how he ever got to the point in his life where baking was a strenuous task.

“And I- I know we have to do two teaspoons of the vanilla,” she said, picking up the six dollar bottle of pure vanilla extract that they had to get because the two dollar bottle of imitation vanilla was met with a gag by Juniper. “Not three teaspoons. That's too much.”

“Okay, okay.” He grabbed the teaspoon and poured the first one in. On the second teaspoon, his hand shook slightly and half the bottle spilled onto the table.

“Shi- Shoot!” he exclaimed, grabbing up paper towels to wipe the mess.

Juniper grimaced. “Yikes. Daddy says a messy kitchen is not a happy kitchen.”

“You should tell him to follow that rule in the kitchen at work,” Eddie mumbled, tossing the paper towels into the trash.

She scratched at her nose, transferring the flour that was on her hands. “He says that's or- org- organized chaos.”

“I'm sure he does. You can read right?”

She sighed. “Of course I can.”

“Read how many chocolate chips we need.”

She leaned over the table to get a look at the recipe. “Two cups,” she said, letting out a, “Uh-oh,” as she sat back down.

“Uh-oh? What's uh-” he stopped when he looked over and saw her holding her hair, a grimace on her face as the wet ingredients dripped down her curls. “What happened?”

“My hair went in the- the mixture!”

Suddenly, she was on the verge of tears. Her face scrunched up in a mix of panic and sadness. "We cannot let these cookies be musty-dusty-crusty, Uncle Eddie. I- I will just die!”

Eddie made a mental note to tell Tommy that while she may get her need to follow a recipe from Buck, she most definitely got his flair for the dramatic.

“I promise you these cookies will not be musty, dusty, or crusty, Chewy,” he reassured her. He grabbed a towel and wet it in the sink, then lifted her out of the chair and sat her on his lap. “Your dads are gonna love them.”

She rubbed at her eyes, wiping the tears before they could fall. “Are you sure?” she sniffed.

“I'm positive.” He took his time making sure her hair was free of the peanut butter mixture before patting her leg to get her to hop up. “Okay, ready to get back at it?”

“Do we need to start over?”

He lifted the bowl of wet ingredients, searching around for any sight of hair. “Uh, no. Nope, we're fine.”

She eyed him questioningly. “We can't have it messed up.”

“One again, it will not be messed up. Start putting the dry in with the wet, slowly.”

He took another peek at the recipe, then quickly closed out of it before she could read the part that said 'let dough sit for 24 hours'. There were some thing's she simply did not need to know.

“So you and your dad make these a lot, huh?”

“Mostly after I've been sick,” she replied. “He mixes the ingredients though and I help scoop the dough. Papa says it's, um, it's because I- I go mad with power.” She looked up at Eddie. “I do not know what that means.”

Eddie put on a smile. “It means the next time your papa and I do Muay Thai, I'm gonna kick his butt.”

By some miracle, they got the cookie dough finished, scooped out, and put in the oven.

Then Juniper went to play on her tablet while Eddie spent the next fifteen minutes cleaning up the disaster that was his kitchen.

Once the cookies had come out of the oven and cooled, they each tried one. Eddie was a bit on edge, worried about finding a hair somewhere, but luckily he did not.

“These are great, Chewy!” Eddie exclaimed, exaggerating a bit with his bite. They weren't bad, not bad at all, but they were definitely not on Buck's level. He was certain of that.

Juniper nodded, melted chocolate covering her lips. “Mmm,” she hummed, shoving another bite into her mouth. “Yum, yum!”

*****

When Eddie dropped her off the next day, both Buck and Tommy met her at the door.

Buck picked her up first, squeezing her tight. “I missed you, Junie!” he exclaimed as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Missed you, Daddy!”

She reached out for Tommy next and he took her out of Buck's arms. “I think you grew, Miss Juniper,” he said, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “At least a foot.”

She rolled her eyes. “No, Papa, I would need new clothes.” She paused, then her eyes widened at the thought. “Can we get me new clothes?!”

“Oh dear.”

They all stepped inside, and Eddie placed all of Juniper's things in the corner near the entryway, except for one container he kept in his hands.

“Thank you so much for keeping her, Eddie,” Tommy said, Juniper still snuggled up in his arms.

“Yes, thank you,” Buck echoed. “You wanna come in for a bit?”

Eddie shook his head. “Nah, I gotta go, but Junie, do you want to give this to your dads before leave?” He held out the container and she gasped, wiggling out of Tommy's arms.

She grabbed the container and handed it to Buck. “This is for both of you,” she said, “for being sick.”

They feigned surprise well, excitedly telling her how delicious they looked and how they'd have to go share them together at the table.

“Let's go get the milk poured,” Tommy said, taking her hand and leading her toward the kitchen. “Thanks again, Eddie.”

“No problem. See ya, Chewy!”

“Bye, Uncle Eddie!”

“So,” Buck started once Juniper was out of earshot, “you baked with Juniper?” There was a smirk on his face that Eddie could only meet with a glare. “How'd that go?”

“Oh, you know, something I can add to my list of things I'll never do again.”

Buck laughed. “Tommy tried cooking with us one time and he, uh, he left halfway through mumbling something about war flashbacks. She's okay with me if we're cooking, but baking is... that's something else.”

“Yes, I'm aware now.” Eddie reached for the door, but stopped and leaned in close to Buck. “Also, if you happen to get a hair, no you didn't.”

“Oh... Um, o- okay? Do I wanna know?”

“Nope. Later, Buck.”

“See ya, Eddie.”

“Did you have fun with Uncle Eddie?” Eddie heard Tommy ask as headed out the door.

“It was super-duper-party-”

Eddie closed the door behind him before he could hear the rest of the sentence. Sometimes, the best part of being an uncle was the ability to walk away.

[miasmaghoul]

for the ship & kiss prompt: #46 terzo/omega !!

From this list.

#46 - out of envy or jealousy

-----

Omega digs his claws into his palms and works to hold back his growl. He told himself he would be okay with this, but the more he sees the harder it is to keep the frustration silent.

He can't even recall what this ritual is for right now. Terzo had reminded him this evening, while Omega busied himself applying his Papa's paint and combing his hair, but he'll be damned if he can recall anything. Except, of course, the bit that won't stop replaying in his mind.

"It is not my decision, Omega," Terzo had murmured while the ghoul lined his temple in black. "It is as I said - this ritual requires a fire ghoul."

"I understand that," he'd rumbled, tucking thick locks behind Terzo's ear. "But does it have to be that one?"

Terzo had chuckled, cinching the belt of his silky golden robe. The soft yellow light of the chapel's dressing room had glinted off his gold, onyx and amethyst rings. Odd to see his hands exposed before a mass, a specific kind of nakedness that Omega had been unable to pull his focus from.

"If I did not know better, my ghoul," he'd cooed, adjusting the rosary nestled in his silky chest hair, "I would think you are jealous."

Omega had scoffed, scowling behind his mask while he tucked away his applicator. Jealous? Certainly not. One of those glittering rings matches the one on Omega's own left hand, and his spins it with his thumb. Proof of their devotion to one another, exchanged years ago now - devotion that has never wavered. He has nothing to be jealous of.

But it just had to be Ifrit.

Ifrit, who slips the robe from Terzo's shoulders with too much slowness, leaving him bare save for the paint. Whose knuckles graze their Papa's skin with a reverence that suggests knowing. Whose fingertips graze that silver rosary at the center of his chest while Terzo recites something in Latin.

Ifrit, who pours a heavily scented oil into his large palms and takes his time massaging the heady substance into Terzo's skin. Who fills the air by the altar with juniper, sage and something floral. Who rubs it in from the line of Terzo's throat to the tips of his fingers, coating every inch of pale skin and thick hair. Who gets all the way to Terzo's waist before he needs to douse his hand in more of that oil.

Ifrit, who has the gall to look Omega right in the eye when he gets a handful of Terzo's cock and rubs it all slick and shiny.

It just had to be Ifrit.

Omega rolls his shoulders, counts to ten over and over again while Ifrit holds his gaze and oils up Terzo's thighs. Making an unnecessary show of touching him, one that has Omega's hackles up and his face hot behind his mask. He can hear Ifrit purring underneath the drone of Terzo's recitations, and Omega knows it's for his benefit. He's the only other ghoul near the altar, after all.

Omega knows it's true that he has nothing to be jealous of, but something about Ifrit in particular makes that hard to believe. He touches Terzo like a lover, every time he can find an excuse to, and it makes Omega's jaw hurt on the best of days. Having to watch those greedy hands caress every exposed inch of his Papa has his blood pounding in his ears.

Ritual or not, those should be his hands.

But they aren't, and Omega suffers through the minutes it takes Ifrit to do his job. To coat Terzo in that sacred oil while he finished his infernal prayers. He also suffers through Ifrit's unrelenting gaze, burning copper eyes dancing behind his mask in a way that makes Omega want to throttle him. He breathes through the tingle that runs through his palms at the thought, and rolls his shoulders when Ifrit finally steps away with an obvious bulge behind his tunic.

Terzo caches his eye during the moment of silence that follows the end of his long, archaic incantation, and Omega can see his smirk straight through his paint.

This time, he can't hold back his growl.

The rest of the ceremony happens in a rush of heat and power and the stench of sulfur. Ifrit's purpose makes itself known; a plume of searing, blue and white flame coming to life in his palm and dancing in a nonexistant breeze. Omega crosses his arms over his chest when he hears whispers of ghoulish, muffled behind Ifrit's mask, and he takes a deep breath when that flame burns even brighter.

A breath he holds when Terzo kneels. When he cups his own palms and holds them out in silent offering. When Ifrit pours that malleable fire into his hands, Omega's claws bite into his flesh.

Now he recalls the purpose of this ritual. It's a test of strength, of faith. Secondo went through something similar, he recalls, years and years ago. His trial had been administered by a water ghoul, but the premise had been the same. Designed to have their leader risk life and limb, with their only protection being that of their faith. Thanks to that, Secondo had endured nearly seven minutes submerged underwater without so much as a brow twitch.

Omega watches the fire grow in his Papa's hands, watches it shiver and spit, and for a moment his heart skips. A half-second of doubt, of worry that the oil had caught and that the human who means more to him than his own pack would be engulfed.

He should know better by now.

The fire settles, curls itself around Terzo's wrist and snakes a slow path up his arm, curling around soft muscle and slithering it's way onto his chest. The congregation murmurs as they watch, and Omega unclenches his jaw, the tightness behind his ribs fades to the warmest sort of pride.

Then Ifrit steps back into frame, and that soft warmth gives way to the icy swirl of envy that wraps around his spine.

Omega watches like a hawk as the other ghoul steps between Terzo's spread thighs, the sharp light of the unholy flame flashing off the buttons of his tunic, his pendant. Terzo hasn't taken his eyes off Ifrit since he took hold of the fire, pupils wide, and Omega's upper lip curls when he lifts his mask. He doesn't remove it, just slides it up enough for Omega to see his mouth form the distict shapes of their old tongue.

He can also see the shit-eating grin Ifrit doesn't bother to hide, and he would like to do nothing more than slap it off his brutally handsome, angular face. It's a feeling that only grows when Ifrit's hand moves to cup Terzo's jaw, when his claws dimple a painted cheek. When he bends at the waist, half-masked visage no more than an inch from their Papa's.

Omega closes his eyes before he has to watch Ifrit's forked tongue slip between his Papa's black-and-white lips.

He doesn't open them again until he feels the swift rush of hot air that snuffs out every candle in the chapel, moonlight flowing through the ornate stained glass dome above the only remaining source of illumination. It casts the pair on the altar in sharp relief, a snapshot of connection that sears itself into Omega's retinas without his consent.

When Ifrit pulls back, his tongue is the last thing Omega sees.

That wandering flame swirls its way back to Terzo's outstretched hands and Ifrit collects it with a flourish, letting it fizzle between his fingers. It's shrunk to nearly nothing when he raises his palm to Terzo's lips, and with a whisper of something Omega can't quite parse their Papa extinguishes that final spark.

All at once the candles lining the aisle and dotting the altar flare back to life, and applause erupts from the ghouls and siblings filling the pews. Another successful rite under their Papa's bejeweled belt. His body shimmers in the warm light, and as Ifrit helps him to his feet all Omega wants to do is collect Terzo's rube and whisk him away from prying eyes - and callused hands that linger far too long for his liking. But he can't - he told himself he could handle this.

One of Ifrit's hands drifts to Terzo's hip, fingers sinking into the softness there, and Omega decides he's handled enough.

He says nothing when he joins them on the raised plinth at the head of the chapel, heels clicking against the black marble, and then he's pulling Terzo from Ifrit's side with decidedly possessive hands. He feels Terzo stumble and apologizes under his breath, but Terzo simply pats his chest. Lets the ghoul settle that golden robe around his shoulders once more while Omega stares daggers at Ifrit. The other ghoul responds in kind, gives himself a rude grope that makes Omega want to gnash his fangs and stake his claim right here in front of all these people, but he's not like Ifrit. Not showy, at least not when he isn't performing, so he tightens his grip on his Papa's arm instead. Waits for Terzo to finish tying off his belt while he addressed the crowd, thanks them for their faith and adulation. Only once he's bowed to his adoring followers does Terzo excuse himself, and without another word Omega coaxes him from their perch and towards the dressing room.

He feels Ifrit staring at his back the entire way, the heat of it only breaking when he latches the door behind them. The growl that's been stuck deep in Omega's chest rattles itself loose the second they're alone, and he can't help how quickly he pins Terzo to the nearest wall, nor the way he flings his mask aside and bares his fangs.

"Not jealous, hmm?" Terzo teases, a touch breathless, and Omega wishes he wasn't so in love with those mismatched eyes.

He doesn't answer - not with words. He gets a broad palm over Terzo's mouth and wipes off the paint Ifrit had smudged from his lips, and Terzo laughs.

The kiss Omega silences his with is overzealous, aggressive. He pins the man's shoulders to the wall and licks into his mouth with no grace, nothing but the desire to own. Sloppy and urgent, like they hadn't woken up together this morning and spent most of the day in bed. Omega kisses him like it's the first time again, and with every breathy sound he wrings from the human he's made his mate he feels a little more sane.

"He didn't deserve to taste you," the ghoul snarls when they part for breath, his Papa curling oiled hands into his tunic. He leans in and buries his nose in that thick hair, breathes deep. "Next time I see him, I'm ripping his tongue out and feeding it to the hounds."

"That would be a terrible waste," Terzo rasps, leaning up to lick at Omega's lower lip. "He is quite skilled with that tongue."

He grins with every tooth in his head, Omega's vision flashes red, and before he knows what's happening he has Terzo face down on the carpeted floor with his ass in the air.

"You shouldn't know that," he bites out, and he can tell by the sound Terzo makes that the tone goes right to his most sensitive spots. Omega knows he does this on purpose - he's a hard ghoul to rile up - but with the scent of arousal that's starting to cut through the aroma of the oil, he really can't complain. He sneaks two fingers between Terzo's slick cheeks, watches them move under the robe, and the moment he grazes his hole Omega's stomach goes hot. "I'll have to make you forget."

"That may not be so easy," Terzo breathes, settling into a deep arch and pillowing his head on both arms. "He's very good."

Omega's answering hiss is promise enough that he means it.

[star-light-shadows]

A little late for Trans Visibility day, but it gave me an excuse to finally finish drawing my personal Trans Apollo Concept!

[Image description: Digital drawings of Apollo Justice from Ace Attorney as a trans woman named Persephone "Percy" Justice.

On the left is a render of her in her desk slam sprite pose, (just without the desk). Her hair is a little longer and styled in a spiky swooshing shape vaguely reminiscent of Tracer from overwatch, with the signature front spikes becoming a fuller 4 tufts slicked to the left with the lowest partially covering her right eye. Her outfit is identical to her base canonical one, the only difference being the noticeable shape of growing breasts attached to her chest. She's wearing teal green contacts matching her tie. Her eyelashes are drawn in a matching color as per the artist's artstyle. A set of makeup freckles also adorn her cheeks.

The rest of the page is a collection of doodles showing Persephone interacting with the other characters.

Persephone/Apllo, pre-transition: "I feel so bad for Robin. I can't imagine how horrible it is being forced to be a guy when you're not one." Athena: "Apollo, I'm detecting way too much discord in that statement for you to be cis." Persephone/Apollo: "I have no idea what that means."

Persephone, experimenting with long hair shaped in twin-tails going down her shoulders, similar to Lamiroir/Thalassa Gramarye: "What do you think of this style, Truce?" Trucy, in all caps: "WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE MY MOM!?!?" Persephone: "What do u mean? I based this on Lamiroir's hair."

Persephone, talking to a hairdresser with a nametag saying "Harry", "This is the cut, Mr. Styles." The hairdresser looks at a paper handed to him showing a Terraria player character with a similar hairstyle as Percephone's final design.

Klavier, winking: "Mine Frau, Justice, Perhaps now that you've found yourself you'd be open to a dinner with moi?" Athena, offscreen: "You snoose you lose, Gavin!" The Scene shifts towards Persephone, with Athena and Juniper on either side of her. Athena is sticking out her tongue, and Juniper is smiling and blushing. Persephone grins with a self-sure smugness and says, "Sorry, Klavier. I'm taken. Me, Athena, and Juniper are gonna go see a movie tonight." End description.]

[arc-misadventures]

BMI Jaune: Willow, Summer, and Kali?

BMI: Jaune II

Juniper: Jaune~!

Jaune: No...

Juniper: What?

Jaune: No. Whatever it is, the answer is: No.

Juniper: But, I never said anything?

Jaune: But, you're going to ask me something, and whatever the ask is about, the answer is: No.

Juniper: ...

Juniper: BMI...

Jaune: AHHHH?! Not this shit again!

Juniper: Your chose for this BMI, are Willow Schnee.

Willow: Hello, Jaune~!

Jaune: Hi...?

Juniper: Kali Belladonna.

Kali: Oh look, it's my favourite human~!

Jaune: Why did you say it like that...?

Juniper: And, lastly we have, Summer Rose.

Summer: Hello, Daddy~!

Jaune: Excuse me, what...?

Juniper: Are you ready to choose who you going to, BMI, Jaune~?

Jaune: The hell are you making me choose between my friend’s mom?!

Juniper: Well, as one woman/mother to another, they told me about their... pitiful sex lives, or lack there of in some cases...

Summer: Juniper?!

Kali: How could you just say that?!

Willow: Considering my ex-husband size or, more accurately the lack there of... Honestly, there isn't much to brag about. There is certainly plenty to complain about however…

Juniper: What? Both of your husbands are dead, so you haven't had much, if any action since they died.

Kalli: Well, that's true...

Summer: It's not like we did it much after I had, Ruby...

Juniper: And, Willow... I'm sorry you had to go through that so often...

Willow: While, I love my children with all my heart, and I wouldn't trade them for the world. I do sometimes find myself wishing I had my son sooner so I didn't have to have... relations as often as I did.

Juniper: See! They have sad sexless lives since they lost their husbands. And, Willow had...

Juniper: She had, Jacques...

Juniper: So, Jaune please, BMI these three woman, and help them ‘fix’ their dry spell?

Jaune: ...

SKW: Please~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: Haaaa...

Jaune: I would Marry, Summer.

Summer: And, why do you want to do that, Husband Dearest~?

Jaune: 'Husband dearest?"

Jaune: Okay? Okay, I say that because you look like you would be a wonderful housewife to come home to.

Summer: Naww~!

Jaune: Plus you look like the woman/wife who would do the, "Hi honey, welcome home! Would like a bath, dinner, or me?" Type of woman, and I...? Ahem... yeah that...

Summer: Oh; Is that so~?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: I Would, Breed Kali.

Kali: Why?

Jaune: Well... You have large birthing hips... and I want to give those birthing hips a run for their money...

Kali: Oh, I hope feel like we're going to enjoy that~!

Jaune: Hahaha...

Jaune: I would impregnate, Willow.

Willow: Oh, why would you do that?

Jaune: ...

Jaune: I hate you ex-husband with a burning passion. A lot of people think that killing him, or torturing him to death would be the best sort of revenge for what he did. But, I think... taking his woman, and making her mine is a much more tantalizing idea~!

Willow: Y-Yours?

Jaune: I’ll make you my woman! By the time I’m through with you, you’ll fit around me perfectly, no other man will satisfy you, you’ll come begging for more, and I’ll be all to happy to oblige~!

Willow: Y-Y-You promise…?

Jaune: Uhh… Well… T-That is of we… did do it…

Summer: Do you think he could do that?

Kali: Maybe? My daughter did say he’s quite big.

Willow: How big?

Kali: Six when soft, ten when hard, and plenty thick as well~!

Willow: Heavens, say it is so~!

Summer: Are you really that big~?

Jaune: WHAT?! How the hell do you know that?!

Willow: He is~!

Summer: Hmm… Juniper, please be a dear, and leave.

Juniper: Why?

Summer: Because, the sooner you leave, the sooner you’ll have grandchildren~!

Juniper: Good luck, Jaune! Remember to not use a condom!

Jaune: W-W-What?! Wait… hold on!

Kali: Don run, Jaune: The fun is about to begin~!

Willow: Come on, Jaune… it’s time to continue the, Arc bloodline~!

Summer: So what will it be, Jaune; Will you take, Kali, or do you want, Willow, or perhaps me~?

Jaune: Ohhh…?!

Jaune: P-Please be gentle…?

SKW: Fu-fufu~!

Kali: No promises~!