#various ocs

[novankenn]

Saints of the Sword (v1-10)

(I am going to very BLUNT with this statement, even though it seems like it... THIS IS NOT an everyone betrays Jaune fic. There is much more going on including Jaune's own low sense of self-worth.)

It hadn’t taken much to find two other teams to join JNPR in this “war game”. RWBY obviously was eager to assist their sister team, and CFVY was biting at the bit to have a go at team CRDL. So near the centre of a clearing with in the Emerald Forest, with Professor’s Goodwitch and Port acting not only as observers, but also as Grimm defence. The combined group of students milled about. They had been given three hours to prepare. Hours they did nothing with. Each group keeping to themselves, making plans and just loitering about.

“Jade, don’t you think we should be coordinating with the other teams?” Pyrrha asked. 

“Why bother?” Jade retorted in his customary arrogant tone. “They only use melee, and we have you, Ruby, Ren, Blake, Coco, Nora and Velvet. We’ll whittle them away before they even close on us.”

Pyrrha could see merits in Jade’s thoughts, but she was also… hesitant. Yes, they potentially had an edge through just ranged options, but what if?

“But what if they do get close?” Pyrrha asked, “Shouldn’t we…”

“Again, we have Yats, Fox, you, Yang, in fact everyone.” Jade replied, “We’re the strongest first and second year teams in Beacon. What can those failures do?”

So despite Pyrrha’s misgivings, which were shared by Ren, and Fox. The group continued to lounge about, waiting for the signal for this “war game” to start. The report of Professor Port's Blunderaxe echoed about the clearing. The signal for the exercise to start. The collection of students readied their various weapons. AT the edge of the clearing, a single figure appeared. He sat astride a horse draped in plate mail barding. His body likewise encased in a similar armour. In his hand he held a flagstaff, a white pennant emblazoned with the company’s emblem. It fluttered in the gentle breeze.

“Ruby!” Jade called out. “Shoot the idiot.”

“It’s not really fair, but I guess.” Ruby commented as she fully deployed, Crescent Rose and took aim. The crack of the high-powered sniper, echoed about the clearing. Ruby’s aim was perfect. It was going to be a solid body shot.

“What the?” came the combined question from the entire group as the round impacted a hard light shield before the figure. 

“That’s not fair!” came the various shouts of the combined students.

“Nora! Let him have it!” Jade yelled out in frustration.

Nora said nothing, just aimed her grenade launcher and unloaded. Clouds of pink smoke obscured the figure, and only when the breeze pushed it aside did they see… once again their tactic had no effect. Well that was wrong, because under the cloud of smoke, the lone figure was not flanked by nine others. All on armour clad horses. As one, the nine drew their swords, and as the flick of the flag staff, they charged.

“Shoot them!” Jade screamed in frustration as the wall of flesh and steel closed upon them with terrifying speed. All those with ranged options opened up, only to find the entire line of riders protected by nigh impregnable hard light shields. The few rounds that did manage to get through were easily deflected or absorbed by the armour.

Without a cohesive plan, the group of students were at a loss as to how to counter the horse charge. Pyrrha hunkered down behind her shield, while Weiss did her best to throw up her own glyph style barriers before her team. Yats moved in an attempt to use his pure size to offer his team a sense of protection. The combined weight of 7.5 tons of flesh, steel, iron and bone slammed into the disorganized group. The opening attack of the Saints of the Sword was devastating.

Yats, Weiss, Coco, and Nora all had their aura shattered, removing them from action. As per the rules of the exercise. Two groups of four years rushed in and grabbed the downed combatants, pulling them from the field, as the mounted warriors wheeled about. Their line split, two groups of four peeled away and circled. The remaining two mounted combatants wheeled about and held position. The flagstaff held secure and high.

Still trapped in the aftermath of chaos and shock, the students again were completely unprepared for the second pincer line charge that smashed into them. However, this time the mounted fighters slid from their saddles to engage in a chaotic melee. Pyrrha knew this was no spare. There were no one on one fights. The battered students found themselves in something they had never experienced before. Dirty, brutal and remorseless combat. 

The Saints of the Sword, punched, kicked, headbutted, shouldered, and continuously attacked from the blindside. Their long swords were used as complete weapons. The pommels were slammed against exposed body parts. The edges and flats of blades struck and limbs. Even the cross guards were driven at faces. Pyrrha used her weapons and semblance to the utmost of her abilities, as did the others. Yet it was quickly becoming obvious that the group of teens, the cream of Beacon’s first and second year classes, was sorely outmatched.

The Saints ganged up on individuals, tripping them, stomping on them. Striking when they were on the ground. Ren cried out in fear and pain as one of them thrust his sword between Ren’s legs and lifted it into his groin. Ruby like Pyrrha was holding her own, but only barely. Using her semblance to try and stay out of danger but also empower her attacks. But she lacked the power, room skill to overcome numbers and solid armour. Peeling away to get some distance and breathing room, Pyrrha watched as Yang, the one other student whose semblance would have been a boon in their chaos, was taken down. Tackled at the knees, she fell to the tron up ground, and before she could untangle herself another of the Saints smashed the flat of their blade across her face.

More and more of the defenders fell. Getting carted off by the teams assigned to the task.  Soon Pyrrha found herself facing three of the Saints. Now, she was used to fighting multiple opponents, so this was not an unforeseen occurrence. But she was quickly and acutely aware that tournament and sparing rules did not apply. Pyrrha was staggered by a pommel strike to the back of her skull, when one of the helmeted warriors chopped down on her shield arm. Stunned and groggy, she stumbled into a murder stroke… and was downed.

Jade fought like a man possessed. His twin sabres slashing through the air as he attempted to keep distance, and defend himself. The spear like tip of the flagstaff, catching him between the shoulder blades with just over fifteen hundred pounds of weight behind it, obliterated what aura he had left. The impact drove him face-first into the churned up ground. With the student forces demolished, those Saints who had dismounted returned to their summoned horses. Mounted and as a group rode off, leaving the Observers and assistants to deal with the battered bodies and broken egos.

Glynda took a quick look at her tablet. Every student had their aura broken. The Saints had been barely touched. It was true, some had taken aura damage. But even the worse level was barely in the yellow.

“Harsh lesson, but maybe this will open their eyes, and curb some egos.” Glynda commented to herself as she moved to join the group as they waited for a bullhead to come and retrieve them.

/== Table of Contents ==/

[starmagnets]

finally did a full sketch page for the first time in a few years

[aumberine]

MORE OCS i love esmond and i love misfit and im very normal

[calscompositions]

shoutout to all the stuff i want to draw fanart of but haven’t yet

[shadowmaat]

Mischief and Misinformation, part 3

(part 1) (part 2)

Obi-Wan desperately needed a caf. It seemed like everywhere he went in the Temple there were whispers of his "tragic" padawanship with Qui-Gon or stories of him having crippling insecurities and an inability to take basic care of himself. It was ridiculous! And frustrating. If one more person expressed surprise at seeing him eat a full meal in the cafeteria, he was going to scream.

He was, in fact, on his way to get some lunch for himself and some Healer-recommended snacks for Ani. His impulsive padawan had recovered from eating too much blue custard, but had brought himself to the attention of Master Che, who was, in his words, "punishing" him for his "mistake" by making him eat a healthier diet. For a whole week.

Obi-Wan was pulled from his musing by the excited chatter and galloping feet of some younglings on fast approach. He stepped to the side to give them room to pass, but as the first of them, a young selonian, came careening around the corner on all fours, he spotted Obi-Wan and somersaulted to a stop.

"Master Bee!"

"Initiate Zip." Obi-Wan smiled in recognition. Three more figures came around the corner and piled up, wild flickers of the Force keeping them from landing in a pile on top of Zip.

"Master Bee!" the others echoed.

He recognized them, too. He'd done a few stints in the creches, though it had been a while since he'd had time to visit.

"Good afternoon, Archix Clan." He bowed to them, and they hastily bowed back. "You seem to be in a hurry today. Off to your interdimensional mathematics lesson?" He asked it with as much solemnity as he could muster.

"We're going swimming in the Sesid Falls!" Zip chirped. "You wanna come-"

"No!"

Issa, a blue-skinned nautolan lurched forward, clapping a hand over Zip's mouth and staring at Obi-Wan with wide eyes.

"Sorry, Master! Zip wasn't thinking! Again." She whispered something to Zip, whose eyes also widened, his ears flattening into his fur.

"Srry Mfr!" he said around Issa's hand.

Behind them, Molly had her hands over her own mouth and Plansa was tugging at her ear flaps. A prickling sense of foreboding had him suspecting he knew what this was about.

Had everyone been reading these spacer stories about him? Even crechelings? He'd tried looking them up after his bout with Kit, but hadn't found anything amiss in the mission archives. Or the wider archives, for that matter.

"Hesa jes' excited for da paddlewompy," Plansa said, her distress obvious from her reversion to Gunganese Basic. "No be sads, Massa Bee!"

Molly nodded agreement, her pigtails flapping against her shoulders.

Knowing he was going to regret it, he couldn't help asking anyway. "And why would I be sad, Plansa?"

Four pairs of eyes stared at him, stricken. Plansa squealed, clamping her hands down on her beak as she tried to hide behind the much-smaller Molly.

"No reason!" Issa began dragging Zip down the hall, the selonian half-crouched to accommodate her. "No reason at all! Sorry! We gotta go!"

She, Zip, and Plansa dashed away, but Molly hesitated, looking conflicted. She was human- or near enough- and the quietest of the group, but now she stepped closer, reaching out to grasp his hand.

A burst of comfort washed through him.

"It wasn't your fault, Master Bee," she said. "He fell. And anyway, he'd kidnapped your friend and was gonna let her die."

A chill prickled between his shoulders. Who fell? Who'd been kidnapped?

Molly released his hand and stepped back, bowing. "You did the right thing. Bye!"

She took off running to join her friends.

Obi-Wan stared after them, trying to piece together what stories he'd heard to see if he could figure out where this one fit in. Other than it presumably being Qui-Gon's fault, which seemed to be the common theme.

"A great tragedy, it was," spoke a familiar voice.

He looked over to see Master Yaddle floating around the corner in her chair.

"Yes, a tragedy indeed when challenge you, Bruck Chun did, and fall to his death, he did, in the Temple gardens."

"Master." Obi-Wan bowed deep. "We both know that never happened. Didn't he join the Temple Guard a few years back?"

Yaddle chuckled, her ears waggling back and forth.

"Find his path, he did. And not over the falls, it was."

She sounded amused. Obi-Wan pinched the bridge of his nose.

"These rumors are getting out of hand. Please tell me the Council is doing something about it."

"Doing many things, the Council is," Yaddle said, levitating her chair higher. "Always busy, we are. A distraction these rumors have been, but the trail we have found."

He straightened. "Do you know who's doing this? And why?"

That was the thing he couldn't figure out. The whole debacle was strange enough, but why him? Why this?

Yaddle hummed, starting her chair back down the hall. He moved to keep pace with her.

"Years ago it was done," she said. "Discovered the slice only now, we did."

"Someone sliced the Temple records??"

It wasn't unheard of, but it was extremely rare; moreso since Jocasta Nu took over the Archives.

"Displeased, the Master of the Archives was," she said, as if that wasn't an incredible understatement. "Corrected, the security flaw was.

"I imagine that Madame Nu had quite a lot to say about that," he said.

Yaddle laughed. "Protective, she is. Correct she is, also. Lost we would be, without knowledge. And led astray, we can be, when misrepresented our history is."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Do you know who did it?"

Her ears flicked in acknowledgement. "Know him, we do. And know him as well, do you."

If he didn't know better he'd say the look she gave him was sly. He slowed, frowning. She slowed her chair to match him.

"A great dislike someone had for Master Jinn. An equally great affection he had for you."

Obi-Wan wasn't sure "affection" was the right word for the pitiful life the stories had depicted, but he could feel the pieces start to click together in his head.

"Affection, yes. Skilled, he is, in deception, and inclined, he is, to, hrmm... mischief."

It hit him like a rock to the head.

"Quinlan."

Yaddle snorted, her ears pricked forward in blatant amusement.

"Much to answer for, your friend has," she said. "And arrive soon, he should, at hangar 8-Kresh.

"Thank you, Master." He bowed to her. "I believe I'm needed elsewhere right now."

It had been a while since he'd spoken with his dear old friend. Now seemed like a good time to catch up. He turned, heading for the hangars.

"With you, the Force is," Yaddle called after him. "And need that, your friend will, when find him, Jocasta does."

Obi-Wan picked up his pace.

[raointean]

Day 2 - Elves

“Ada?” Arondir turned to call to his father from his vantage point on the hilltop above.

Kelepe hurried up the hill to his son’s side. “Is there danger?”

Arondir shook his head, but he still looked concerned. “The sky seems to grow pale here and some of the stars are… gone.”

Kelepe squinted towards the horizon. He saw the vast, roiling, grey mass of hills they had still to cross. He saw the glint of stars in little rivers and lakes. To the south ran Rathlóriel and to the north, the hills marched ever on, seemingly endless.

The horizon did seem a little lighter. Some of the stars that were usually in the sky at that time were gone, but perhaps they had just lost track of time.

“Perhaps it is the Sea,” Kelepe murmured. “I thought that it was far south and west of here, but I have never crossed the mountains before.”

Arondir’s face brightened some. “That would make sense. All of the stars reflected in so much water would certainly lighten the sky!” He shot off again down the hillside, cheerful as a thrush. 

Kelepe’s fears were not entirely relieved however. He locked eyes with his wife, Ūbathō and knew that she shared the same worries. Both of them remembered when the Enemy lived nearby and his monsters terrorized the people of Cuivienen and, later, Eriador. The temperature, the ground, the sky; nothing had been safe.

Their little twelve-elf caravan continued on for a few minutes, but in that time, the world grew noticeably lighter. The ground changed from near-black to a misty grey and the stars winked out one by one. “Arondir!” he called. “Find us a hiding place. Quickly!”

Not three minutes later, they were all bundled within a cave, Kelepe and his father, Ndangwetha, guarding the west entrance. They watched in silent terror as the horizon turned blazing orange. It was as if the whole world was ablaze, and yet, there was no smoke.

“Perhaps it is a fire-demon,” Kelepe breathed.

“Maybe,” Ndangwetha whispered back. “Although I have never seen fire without shadow. It is certainly no balrog.”

The cave fell silent once again. They huddled in the shadows as the mysterious light pushed its long fingers in through the opening. The sky outside, now entirely starless, turned a color that none of them had ever seen before, even by the light of a fire. As terrifying as it was, Kelepe could not help but wonder at its beauty.

At last, the light withdrew from the cave. The shadows lengthened until, finally, the world was again enveloped in darkness. Kelepe was the first to venture out of their hiding place and, when he was not immediately snatched away by a fire-demon, the others followed him.

“Ada, look! The stars have returned!” Arondir pointed to the sky, crowing joyously.

Sure enough, the tapestries of Elbareth glittered above them once again and Kelepe breathed a sigh of relief. The danger was passed. It was time to go on.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“The sun rose in the east after that, of course. We thought the fire-demon had come back to finish us off so we found another cave and waited. My grandfather did not let us leave for a week!”

Theo was near tears from laughter. Arondir steadied him as he stumbled on the road. “You were afraid of the sun!?”

“We had never seen it before,” Arondir said defensively. “Your people awoke with the sun and have never known a time without it. Of course it would seem ridiculous to you!”

Theo’s laughter calmed and he wiped his eyes. “I suppose it makes sense, but still.”

Arondir only smiled fondly. Theo had been in a foul mood ever since Orodruin’s eruption; he was only glad to be able to raise the boy’s spirits.

[nina-scribbles]

My first year of digital art is done - and WOW what a year it was!!! Happy new year y’all! :D Template One Template Two

[parasocialpixlriffs]

listening to "i know those eyes / this man is dead" from the count of monte christo musical and being plagued by so many blorbo thoughts

[tailorvizsla]

The Diplomatic Incident - Chapter 17

Let's goooo

[marocato-art-dump]

[novankenn]

Saints of the Sword (v1-9)

(I am going to very BLUNT with this statement, even though it seems like it... THIS IS NOT an everyone betrays Jaune fic. There is much more going on including Jaune's own low sense of self-worth.)

It was well into the early afternoon before Jaune was rested enough for the entire company to head for the cafeteria. All wearing their gambeson, with sheathed baselard daggers, either hanging from their hip, or horizontally held in the small of their back. The expansive room grew silent upon their entrance. As a third of the group moved towards the serving line, the remainder took possession of an empty table.

A short distance away, Pyrrha frowned. Something sparked in her memory. A small, nearly imperceptible notion that she knew the young man the group was keeping surrounded. He was obviously important, considering how the group moved like an entourage protecting a VIP.

"P-Money?" Yang asked, noticing the targeted stare of the four-time champion. "Something wrong?"

"I feel like I know him." was her response.

"Who?" Nora asked, also now looking at the group who had just taken their seats a couple of tables away from the trio of young women.

"The one... they're protecting?"

"The lanky one?" Yang asked, now also taking a closer look at the indicated individual. "Now that you mention it..."

“You’re right.” Nora added.

“I think we should introduce ourselves.” Pyrrha commented, as she rose from her seat. The trio had been meeting to discuss peculiarities they had been noticing with JNPR’s team leader, Jade Hedera.

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.” Yang agreed. “Maybe we can get some advice, they are, if you believe the stories, an accomplished group.”

“I’m coming too.” Nora added.

 /==/

Glynda Goodwitch was more than a little annoyed at this recent events. Currently standing before her, or more accurately bracing himself against her desk with both his hands as he leaned forward, was Jade Hedera, leader of JNPR. Just behind him was Pyrrha Nikos, the so-called injured party. To their right stood Cardin Winchester and Jaune Arc.

“They threatened my partner with knives!” Jade ranted. “That is unacceptable! How are they allowed to carry weapons about the school? They could have hurt her!”

“Jade it’s okay…”

“No it’s not!” Jade snapped, looking over at Pyrrha with a look that made her recoil inwardly with disgust. It was angry, yes, but there was an unpleasant undertone of possessiveness.

“We are sorry for the altercation.” Cardin offered with a genuine tone.

“You drew knives, pressed them against her neck and shoved them in her face! It’s not acceptable!” Jade raged.

“Mr Hedera, what do you expect me to do? Mr. Winchester has expressed his regrets.” Glynda asked, her voice tinted with frustration.

“Punish them!”

“As they are not students, I have no authority to do any such thing.”

“Kick them out!” Jade snapped in rebuttal.

“They are guests of the Headmaster, and here at Beacon at his request.” Glynda informed the agitated young man. “You will have to take this up with the Headmaster if you wish to pursue such actions.”

“Then… then…” Jade’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the forms of Cardin and Jaune. “I want to challenge them to a spar.”

“I have no author…”

“We accept.” Jaune spoke up for the first time. The sound of his voice causing Pyrrha to stiffen at the familiarity of it.

“Jaune?” Cardin asked. “Are you sure? I don’t think a one on one…”

“No, not a traditional spar.” Jaune cut off his companion.

“Well, it is with your rights to accept, but what are you suggesting.”

“A group exercise. Three teams versus our company.”

“A war game?” Cardin asked.

“Yes.” Jaune replied.

“I accept!” Jade snapped.

“While I can see the benefit for teams to take part in such an exercise, I must ask if you are certain about this course of action.” Glynda commented.

“We are.” Cardin spoke up on behalf of himself and Jaune.

/== Table of Contents ==/

[kachowden]

𝙸 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝙷𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚢

| Hockey TeamVarious x Reader

Солнышко (Little Sun)

Yandere x reader (Part 1?)

—————————————————————————

An idea I have had for a while now.

So imagine yourself on a team. Except you’re not a player, no.

Actually..you’re technically not on the team because you’re one of a few people who rotates your position. You’re the mascot.

The beloved silly mascot of your team. The logo, the literal image of your hockey team. And you’re damn good too!

You get the crowds roaring, positively pumped-up for the game! And whether your team wins or loses, the highlights are always the silly little mascot who throws popcorn into the crowd or tosses shirts at unsuspecting families.

From time to time during the game you’d make your way onto the ice. Play fight with the team, steal a puck, steal a stick. Toss them to a crowd member. It was always in good fun, and the audience loved it!

And you weren’t just beloved by the fans, oh no no no, you were beloved by the team too.

So much so that at some point, the demand for your specific “mascotting” was so great, the other workers had to find a new career path. Damn shame too, you happened to like them quite a bit. But extra pay right? And it’s hard to deny how flattering it is being the fan favorite.

Of course it didn’t even cross your mind to question these circumstances, nor did you think to question the sudden increasing interactions you had with the team. Publicity, you assumed.

From number 47 dragging you onto the ice for some impromptu lessons. Still in costume might I add. Mid Play.

To number 13 laughing joyfully as he shoved you into the locker room after an intense game, and offered to wash your back for spending so long in such a sweaty suit. You denied him of course, the locker rooms weren’t meant for you! Duh.

You didn’t even question when number 1, the captain and goalie of the team, braced you against a barrier during half time, when your mask had precariously been knocked off by a rowdy fan. Nor did you see the viscous scowls directed at said fan. It was probably just keep your identity safe after all.

The score was 7 to 0 that game, in favour of your team. You weren’t sure what had pumped them up so much but whatever works right?

Course, you did get a puck to the cheek at one point and had to sub out for a bit. The players were non too happy when they discovered a different worker under your special suit. They were in a bad mood for the remainder of the game.

Number 19, who had a pension for bad behavior on the ice, sought you out specifically after the game too.

———-47—————19————1—————13———-

Your shoulders sagged tiredly against the cool wall of the changing room, blessing the AC that pumped through the units. Your jersey stuck sweatily to your skin, and you gasped with a dry mouth before a gloved hand appeared in your vision, a water bottle covered in condensation presented before you like a holy grail.

“You look like shit.” A scratchy voice scolds lightly by your ear, your eyes fluttering to glance at the rugged features of one of the team players settled besides your face, wedged deep into your personal space. The scent of sweat and body spray (axe probably) wafts into your nostrils, causing your nose to scrunch instinctively before you give a lopsided smile.

“Hey Donovan, s’nice to see you. How’s the play been?” You gratefully take the cold bottle from his grasp, finger tips grazing the rough and warm texture of his gloves before meeting the cool plastic of the team merchandise bottle. Your little mascot stared back at you in a 2D style.

“Shitty. You’re supposed to be out there, not some random loser who can’t even get the crowd excited right. Now the teams pissed and it’s your fault.” His words end in a sneer, despite the attentive way his eyes are raking across your figure for injury beyond the welt on your cheek bone. His body near touches yours and causes another wave of sweat to seep into your skin.

With a thoughtful hum and a sip of refreshing water you push yourself from the locker, stepping into the more open air and cooling yourself off, while dark brown eyes watch you beneath a furrowed, displeased brow.

“Your guys’s concern flatters me. It’s nice having such thoughtful co-workers.” Your lips smile thoughtfully, glancing at him from your shoulder.

He looks incredulous, which somehow lands on being the least aggressive expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“Co-workers?” He echoes, like the word is the most foul tasting thing that’s ever touched his tongue. “We’re teammates. Not co-workers.”

You wave your hand dismissively, back turned and unaware of the tall figure that approaches your bubble again from behind. “Well, you and the guys definitely are. Maybe even the ice scrapers, though I’d argue they’re in the same realm as me to be honest. More staff than anything yknow?” Your tone is light, you know what your position is. And of course you’re grateful to be the main mascot, but you’re aware of your replacements that stand idle at the food stands, handing out popcorn between half times.

“I mean I’m just the person in the suit, anyone could play that part. I just hope I could train the next guy that signs up for the position, gotta make sure they do my legacy justice right-“

Big hands, no longer covered by scratchy material grip into your hips, swallowing the skin in raw heat and tugging you backwards. Your feet stumble and trip for less then a second before you’ve collided into a broad chest. The feeling of a hot breath condenses on the back of your neck, covering up your barely escaped laugh and choke.

Hair tickles the side of your forehead, as Donovan leans over your shoulder. His eyes set forward to the opposing wall lockers just like your own, his thumbs rubbing thoughtless shapes into your skin. He exhales, like he’s just spent the last four hours dealing with an ill tempered toddler that he’s finally reached his wits end with.

“You’re stupid.”

Your lips part in offense, ready to defend your intelligence before you’re prematurely silenced by a new hand that joins the mass of limbs, and rests gently across your dry lips.

“Let him finish, Солнышко.”(Solnishko)*

A thick accent reverberates into your ears, your eyes darting up to meet pale blue ones that gaze back at you so sternly. White teeth peer past his lips in what was probably a smile, but looked like a show of dominance with the way his canines sunk into the bottom of his lip.

“Don’t you have a team to manage, Cap?” Donovan snarls, teeth bared with displeasure at his private time with you being interrupted. With his arms circling more around your figure in a loose version of a back hug. You stay trapped between the two behemoths that cease every noise and shift of your joints with careful hands.

Carlson smiles, a thoughtful one that softens at you, his eyes never leaving yours now that he has your full attention, something that raises Donovan’s ire significantly. “I heard our little mascot wasn’t doing to well. I wanted to check up on them. I may have heard your little conversation as well.”

The word “little” always manages to filter into Carlsons sentences. And while one could blame it on English only being his second language, his reputation for being the teams most well spoken member speaks volumes otherwise. No, the real reason would have to be the sheer height he holds above all others. The authority he possesses that seeps into the rink and every room he walks into.

It’s not a simple slip of the tongue. It’s a reminder. That he is above every one he meets. He is the captain, and what he says is absolute.

Even the way he gazes down at you screams this thought, bullying its way into your skull as your brain refuses to acknowledge the sheer possessive, demeaning energy that seeps from his figure into yours, despite the alarm bells it rings through your system.

“It breaks my heart, Солнышко. You should know better.” His thumb curves along your jaw, thoughtful again, and practiced, engulfing your entire chin in what could be a crushing grip. But it isn’t, and it never will be. Not to you anyway. “Have we not shown you how much we adore your support in the rink? Have we been too dismissive of you?” He continues, though the mocking edge is nearly unnoticeable.

Donovan’s breath huffs into the shell of your ear, his figure hunched over you like a protective cloak, eyes still staring daggers at the taller man. “You think the team can we wait for us to…help remind our dear mascot how much we care about them?”

There’s a thoughtful hum, eye contact still unbroken through each word. “I’m sure they’ll be mad they didn’t get to join…but their forms were lacking today. They could use the extra practice.”

Carlson leaned forward, sky like eyes darkening like the sea as his nose hovers mere breathes from your own. “And I’ve heard that teaching in…more intimate settings, can lead to greater success in many fields..”

.

.

.

.

.

“Again.”

“I will not think lowly of my position on the team, I will not think of myself as replaceable, because I am the best-“

“Fucking.”

“….the best fucking mascot in the world. I am irreplaceable. I am the best.”

“Very good. Again.”

“It’s been 30 minutes!”

“Well last time we did 15 and that still wasn’t enough, so now we must double our efforts, Солнышко. Again.”

“Afterwards I’ll buy you one of those pretzels you like. If you want, I guess.”

“…….yeah okay.”

[semisolidmind]

TV monster with reporter wifey

tv man provides the visuals, reporter wifey provides the commentary

[hana-no-seiiki]

YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO FIGHT ME NOT F*CK ME!

yan! school grass (most handsome/perfect guy)/rival x crossdresser! male! reader x yan! friends - part one

tw/cw: mention of abusive parents (but not reader’s) and yandere themes. also your rival has some repressed sexual urges, he really needs to get laid or some head or something-

just read migi and dali and gahd NOW I WANNA WRITE A WHOLE CROSSDRESS /GENDERBENDER BL NOVEL IM IN HORRID ROTTING

Like I imagine this the best with stoic and/or tsun yans the best. You know those types that want to be perfect but only feels perfect when they’re with reader.

ive always loved these tropes as a kid, from mulan to that one tawog episode where darwin fell in love with fem! gumball and like this was even before i knew i wasnt cis but gahd AAAAAAA

also inspired by @moyazaika ‘s rival work. go read it!!

but anyways have the fic, lowercase intentional for first part to differentiate povs.

it was a dare given by your friend group earlier last weekend. wear the girls uniform and a wig for the entire month. it was easy to get the materials necessary for the most part. your mother had several wigs and was more than happy to style her son in feminine clothing. she was just amazing and supportive about your whims like that.

it didn’t take long for you to realize that no one recognized you in your new look.

the day started like many of your other ones at the school, you’d race your rival as the first one in class and whoever wins gets rights to a smug look on their face until the next thing you guys eventually compete on.

but unlike the crestfallen expression you expected — nay wanted — from that stupid pretty boy, you were greeted by what you could only described as complete bafflement.

“what?” despite having a different reaction from what you imagined, you managed to keep a composed appearance. “cat got your tongue?”

“ah. . .”

and that were the only words he said to you the entire day. nothing else. not a single groan of anger whenever you answered everything correctly, he didn’t even attempt at stopping you mid-way or disagree with you answer simply because he wanted to annoy you.

and so you couldn’t help it, as soon as the bell rang signalling lunch time you swiftly turned around to face him.

“are you alright?”

you inquired. not at all worried about his well-being at the slightest. you hated him with all your being after all and you didn’t make an effort to be soft with your tone either.

“h-huh?” he looked dazed. like his head had been in the clouds and you just yanked him down to ground.

your rival never got distracted.

“you—“ you reached out about to smack his face to keep him in check.

“if you’ll excuse me!” he smacked your hand out of the way, screeched at you, and then left in a hurry to who knows where.

nevermind that was definitely him. that silly brat hated it whenever you touched him. he must have just been having issues at home again or something.

Haoyu was trembling — shaking uncontrollably as his breaths turned more shallow by the second. His heart was pumping blood in places of his body where it shouldn’t have been in the middle of school hours. Sweat lined his entire skin and it didn’t help how the bathroom he rushed into had nothing to keep the temperature down.

Who were you?

You sat at his rival’s seat. That nasty kid that always got in his nerves. No one questioned the boy’s absence and he would have asked the teachers on what had happened if you didn’t suddenly take his breath away.

You were, ethereal. Otherworldy even. When he first saw you he was taken away by the way your hair moved in the wind (if only he knew . . .).

Still, he was far too distracted by [Y/N]’s absence to properly let the feeling simmer.

Then, all that went away when you reeled in his mind back at you again at class. You were incredible, capable, intelligent, and oh so perfect. But unlike that stupid child that usually sat in front of him, he did not feel an ounce of envy at all.

If only who could see your eyes as you spoke; the tone of your voice conveyed so much passion that he wanted to see in those beautiful (e/c) orbs.

And his prayers were granted by none other than the goddess that is you,

“Are you alright?”

Your voice? Oh your voice! Haoyu’s heard it already of course, but each new time you spoke it was like a whole new melody, a new piece that immediately turned into his favorite.

His mind was too fried with these thoughts, thoughts that his parents would no doubt beat out of him if they found out.

His feels the parts down there suddenly move. He wasn’t completely unfamiliar with the phenomenon. He wasn’t without his hormones after all. But this was the first time it ever reacted that way so strongly, like if he didn’t give it attention himself it’d explode.

“Mmph…”

And for the time in his entire life, Haoyu does something he knew his parents would definitely be disappointed if not livid about. A hand on his mouth, and another in his school uniform’s pants.

lunch time.

you usually spent those studying or preparing for the next class as hanging out with your friends always ended with you being too distracted to do schoolwork but today you had to show up with ‘proof’ that you went through with their dare.

“yiran ? yichen ?”

no response.

you sighed. as usual, the twins were late. what did you expect? those two would be caught dead before they could be early much less found in the library.

and so you spent the entire time reading,

unaware of the crowd that formed around you while you were busy studying.

[raointean]

Day 7 - Free Day

Zîranû huffed out a sigh of boredom. He had entered Ost-in-Edhil with his clan; his descendant, Rahatzagar, leading him by the hand. Unfortunately, the boy had gotten distracted, no doubt by the tall buildings and strange people, and they had been separated. 

Now Zîranû was lost, blind, and alone in a foreign city full of elves. He didn't trust elves, no one he knew did, but he was beginning to think he may need to ask one for help. 

Just as he was beginning to consider calling out for help, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Are you in need of assistance, iphandîr?” The voice was that of a man, a young one if Zîranû were to guess, and kind as sunlight on a breezy summer day.

“I do,” Zîranû admitted. “My guide seems to have become distracted and I am afraid I am quite lost.”

The man chuckled and helped him up. “Yes, the city is vast. To where were you going? Perhaps I can lead you the rest of the way?" There was no hint of the malice or mean-spirited trickery that Zîranû had half expected to hear in the man's voice. Instead, there was only an earnest desire to be of assistance. 

"The marketplace," Zîranû said. "I am sure you have heard that my people have come to sell  our luminous wool?”

“I have!” The man laughed brightly. “Come, the market is not far. My name is Elrond, by the way.”

Elrond handed Zîranû his walking stick, which had been leaned up against the wall beside him, and led him into the streets. “I am Zîranû, and I thank you for your help. I sat there for quite some time and I do not think anyone noticed I was there.” He did not mention that he had wished to avoid notice, but it was strange to him that no one  had even acknowledged him.

A hum drew him from his thoughts. “It is likely they did notice,” Elrond said. “Elves do not experience old age, so they may have thought that you were simply resting.”

“They? Are you yourself not an elf?” He certainly spoke like one. But, Zîranû supposed, Ost-in-Edhil was a great city. Perhaps Men lived here. Elrond was certainly too tall to be a dwarf.

Elrond was silent for a moment. “No. No, I am peredhel.”

“Oh!” A grin split across Zîranû’s face. “Which clan are you from? I do not believe we have met before and I am sure I’ve never heard your name.”

“I… do not belong to any particular clan.” Well that was certainly interesting. Most peredhel babies born outside a clan were abandoned by their mothers or killed by the fearful ignorance of those around them. But then, those children were usually born the bastards of mannish mothers. Zîranû had never heard of a child with an elvish mother and a mannish father. Who could say how such a situation would play out.

“As the herald of High King Gil-Galad,” Elrond continued. “I live among the elves as one of them.”

“Ah, well that sounds like a nice job, young man.” Zîranû had no idea what a herald actually did, but if he worked under the king it was probably a decent position at least.

Elrond laughed. “It is, though I am certainly not a young man. I have lived many more centuries than you yourself in all likelihood.”

“That may be!” Zîranû countered. “But I would guess that I have lived more life. I have loved, lost, and loved again. I have watched my children grow up and have children of their own, and their children after that, and their children after that! I shouted to the sky and demanded the stars tell me my place in the world. When I had seen all I wished to see of this world, I chose to grow old and pass on to the next.”

Elrond was silent for a moment and when he spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “My brother said much the same before he… departed. I did not understand his words at all then, but I think I have grown to understand their meaning now.”

Zîranû was about to offer his condolences when they were interrupted by the shrill voice of a boy. “Eithweg! There you are! I’ve been looking, but I could not find you and I’m so sorry I left you alone! I promise I did not mean to! It was just- there were so many people and buildings and I-”

“Peace, Rahatzagar. I am well. I even made a new friend!”

[spookberry]

magical embodiment of sapphic homoerotic friendships gives you magical girl powers, what do you do?