#willow dice

[ol1verdrawsyt]

I'm too lazy 4 art, here's random shit I made

Ughhhh I need sleep

[yourluckyoswald]

CoD incorrect quotes

[TF141 x F-0-Z]

Mana: I was arrested at 17 for being too cool

Dice: The charges were dropped due to a lack of supporting evidence

Gaz: *Texting Laswell* I don't think I wanna play Pictionary with them anymore

Laswell: Why?

Gaz: Ghost keeps drawing himself murdering Graves, Soap takes forever to "perfect" his drawings, and Price can hardly draw a circle

Gaz: I want the Uno cards back

Laswell: You should've thought about that before you all started a brawl during your last Uno game

Gaz: You're smiling, whats got you in high spirits?

Oswald: I can't smile just because I want to?

Price: Soap tripped and fell again during physicals

Smokes: Dogs are sacred creatures made by God to protect their owners. Their purity and love in unmatched. They're such good boys

Soap: *Screaming in the background as Foz attacks him*

[thestressedsimmer]

After spending time cuddling her newest son and yelling through the door to her husband that they'd had a boy? Her Majesty said that she was very tired and handed the babe off to her midwives to crawl into bed with a smile on her face. She seemed almost serene as she did this.

After a few hours, her son was fussing from hunger and the midwives went to wake the queen to offer her the chance to feed him... only to find her not breathing. Not moving at all. There had been no sign of distress, she had just passed.

She gave birth at 7:52 AM and was discovered deceased at 9:52 AM.

The king was immediately summoned and told the bad news; he rushed to his wife's side, unable to believe the emotional whiplash of a healthy son, but....

He sat by her side for some time, but tears would not come. He felt purely numb. Maybe that was his response to having a beautiful son but his wife not making it through. Maybe he reasoned that her suffering was over and she was with their other son.

Or maybe it hadn't truly hit him. But either way? He knew that he had to tell the rest of the family and inform her sister - the duke and duchess lived within walking distance of the castle so she could come and see her sister before the funeral. It would be wrong to not give her that chance.

Duchess Elizabeth was there far faster than she should have been. She brushed right passed the king, not even stopping to pay respects to him. At first she just stared at her sister; it felt strange to see her big sister so ummoving.

Before long, she crawled into bed with her like she did when they were kids. They would often lay in bed and talk about their adventures. When her sister was to wed a prince and heir to the throne it had felt so surreal... And then Joan had made sure she could get her truest wish of traveling by convincing the royal family to give Robert her hand.

"We were supposed to go on this adventure together." She whispered to her sister after some time, clutching onto her. . . It wasn't until she heard the king's voice that she moved.

"She cared for you very deeply, you know. Our last conversation was her fretting about not being able to support you through your pregnancy because she would be in confinement."

Laying her head on her sister's shoulder? Elizabeth nodded. "She is... was the best older sister I could have asked for. I know I worried her. But I thought I would have more time to make that up to her."

"You have nothing to make up to her, Lizzy."

There was a long pause then and Louis wondered if he said something wrong, but then....

She threw herself in his arms and squeezed him tightly. No more words were said between them, they just shared each other's grief and pain.

Outside of the door, the princess was avoiding going in to see her sister-in-law. This is by far the first death in the family, but somehow this felt the hardest.

Maybe because Joan had helped her through those other deaths. The queen often held her own head high and held the princess' hand through saying her goodbyes and even would teach her hymns from Henford-On-Bagley; the songs from there were very different than songs from Willow Creek.

Her mother, la reine mère, knelt down beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I can't do it, mère. I can't... I can't... She can't be gone."

"I'm afraid that's not how things work, princesse." The older woman said softly, squeezing Ysole's shoulder. "You will never forgive yourself if you don't say goodbye. Come with me, I'll even go first to show you that it isn't as frightening as it seems."

Entering the bedroom, she walked over to her daughter-in-law's side. They weren't as close as she was with her other daughter-in-law, but she had truly cared for the girl. Her mother's heart ached when she struggled with her grandson's death and she could only be grateful for how she had taken Ysole under her wing.

"You have been a great queen. Willow Creek thanks you." She whispered to her. She knew the younger woman had worried if she was a good enough queen. . . So if there was one message she wished she could hear before she passed on to Paradise? It was that.

Ysole mirrored her mother's movements, stepping over and placing her hand on Joan... She was trembling. But her mother was right. She needed to say goodbye to her.

"I. . . I'll miss you. And I'll miss our games of chess and late night talks and your stories and... and the songs... I'll have to try to remember them on my own now.... and. . . and. . ."

She spun around and threw herself into her mother's arms, starting to sob. It felt odd to feel her sister-in-law so stiff and cold. But she also seemed so peaceful at the same time.... It all hurt her head.

"Mère, I can't do anymore. Do you think she'll be angry with me? Or hurt?"

Her mother sighed softly and hugged her as tightly as she could. "No, my dear. I think she'll just be happy that you came to say goodbye. And very proud of you for handling it so well."

On that note, she picked up the crying young girl.

Elizabeth decided to go with them to try and fill Joan's role with calming the princess. On top of all of that, they women knew that they had more chances to say goodbye to the queen at her funeral.

Her husband? This was the only chance he got. Kings did not attend funerals, after all.

[omniscientoswald]

Laswell: There's 2 snipers to your left, so proceed with caution

Smokes: On it

Oswald: Rogah

Dice: Yes mom

Everyone: ...

Laswell: Mom?

Dice: I said ma'am-!

Smokes: No, I definitely heard "mom"

Oswald adding on smuggly: Either that or we're all going deaf

Dice: Can we all just drop the subject!

Laswell: You see me as a mother figure?

Dice: I see you as a colleague

Oswald: He definitely sees you as a mother figure

Laswell amused: Alright, alright. Lets stay focused. There should be a few guys inside, so take the roof.

Oswald: Yes mom

Smokes: Understood, mom

Dice: Screw you guys...

[deadgirlwalkingtaylorsversion]

Today is a good day

[b4kuch1n]

dedramatization

transcript

this is, indeed, fanart for @metanoia-blues! just straight up aped a whole scene from the latest episode (ep. 70) to draw into comic form lol. what a time I chose to join back in on the journey

[aestheticsoftheinternet]

Willow Moodboard

Requested by: Nobody! <3

[rainbow-multishipper]

Do you have any ship trials for Sienna x Ironwood x Willow?

RWBY Ship Name Trails #148

Sienna Khan x James Ironwood x Willow Schnee is

Souls of Platinum

or

Iron Trees

(Hehe, I got to make a Kung Fu Panda 2 reference. Best movie of all time, don't at me.)

Thanks for the suggestion! Remember ask box is OPEN for Ship Summaries, Headcannon Requests and Ship Trials!

[willosword]

my chocobo made the game glitch out and now i cant see the goddamn mushroom in this purely visuals-based minigame 😭😭

[cattycaleb]

fun fact it always makes me a little sad when the cr folks stop using dice that roll badly bc my instinct is that the more a dice rolls badly, the more likely it is to roll better in the future. like there’s some kind of cosmic pool of luck in the universe that constantly tries to balance itself out. that’s MY made up superstition 😌

[superblykeenchaos]

*knocks furiously at your door* SOOOOOOO. I HEARD YOU LIKE THE SLIME CIRCLE! GREAT I'D LOVE TO INTRODUCE YOU TO OUR CHOSEN ONE GILLION TIDESTRIDER!

Whenever Charlie Slimecicle does some crazy minecraft roleplay that people take notice of, the jrwi fans come knocking on your door like jehovahs witnesses 

[a-leg-without-fear]

No Fucking Way (pt.1)

have some absolutely adorable interactions with you and the students at the mansion (and a surprise guest)

Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 4.1k

Warnings: cursing, mentions of animals neglecting their babies, and a story so sweet my teeth hurt

Inspiration: This scene from X2: X-Men United

Series: No Fucking Way

Your feet pounded against the gravel path beneath you. Small rocks and dirt were kicked up by your well-worn sneakers. Warm sweat dampened the cloth of your sweatshirt around your arms and chest. The sun beat down on your flushed face as a cold breeze bit across your nose. 

It was an absolutely gorgeous, autumn day. Occasional spotted clouds glided at a snail’s pace across a great blue sky. Soft breezes made the great trees surrounding the mansion dance like sheets of amber linen. Red and orange leaves skittered across the yellowing grass fields.

You saw a handful of students out on the lawn enjoying the early morning air. Sybil, a brunette with the ability to see through others’ eyes, sat beneath a large willow by the fish pond with a notepad in her hands. Vienna sat beside her. A strawberry blonde, bright eyed girl who could channel electricity into the palms of her hands. The two exchanged ideas about whatever Sybil was jotting down in her notepad.

Yuna sat not too far from the whispering pair, fingers twirling above a quickly constructed tower of stones and blades of grass. Her usual deep brown eyes now glowed a subtle violet. The maroon hijab she wore wrapped around her neck matched the crimson hues of the changing leaves in the trees around her. 

Jane, a kind-eyed tracker, Matt, a red glasses-wearing fighter, and Mads, a short-haired plant bender, sat in a circle, enjoying their morning coffee and tea together. You gave Mads a quick wave as you jogged past, receiving a warm smile and a shower of flower petals left in your wake.

The gravel path led along the left side of the mansion. Emerald ivy crawled up the brick walls like arms reaching from the earth. An occasional window broke up the light colored bricks. Most had their curtains drawn, which you attributed to a large portion of the students being late risers. One or two had the curtains open to allow fresh sunlight into the shared rooms.

You caught a glimpse of Sapph through one of the windows. Her bright smile and blue eyes were almost radiant as she basked in the streams of sunlight. Vases of sunflowers sat on the windowsill in front of her. The light seemed to bend, refracting from Sapph’s palms and hitting the sunflowers’ leaves.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The students were happy, the day was beautiful, and you only had one more lap of the mansion to jog before you’d call it a day.

“MAAAOOOWWW!”

You stopped just short of the empty basketball court. The crimson asphalt was covered in crunchy leaves and green brush from the nearby bushes. Corded nets hanging from the steel hoops swayed in the breeze. You looked around you, trying to find the source of the noise.

“MaaooOOW?”

There it was again. Closer than before. It sounded like it came from an incredibly small source, whatever it was. Your sneakers crossed onto the asphalt, toes kicking at leaves and twigs. You let your eyes scan the area around you. The court was surrounded by a wall of hedges. About waist high to you, it helped keep the court clear of too much debris from the trees. 

The mansion sat against the hedges. Large, bay windows looked into a sitting area. Hira, a telepath, sat in one of the plush leather armchairs with a novel in her hands. A white hijab wrapped around her head, glasses peeking out over light brown eyes. Daniel, a light-haired strongman, and Jacob, a bearded speedster, sat on the green-clothed couch across from Hira. Dice and rulebooks laid on the coffee table in front of them.

A rustle in the hedges to your left drew your focus from the students inside. The lowest branches shuddered, small green leaves shaken off and falling to the ground below. You knelt on the asphalt and strained your eyes to see through the dense foliage.

“MoowwWOAAOW!”

That was the only warning you got before a tiny gray and white fur ball burst out of the hedge and landed five feet in front of you. Pointed ears folded back, blue eyes widened, arched back covered in long fuzz.

A kitten. A small, angry, fluffy kitten. No more than a few weeks old. 

You remained where you kneeled on the asphalt, palms upturned and resting on your thighs. You kept a neutral expression on your face as you blinked slowly at the small creature.

After a few moments the kitten relaxed. Its ears faced forward, tail sticking straight up as it approached you. You gingerly extended a hand for it to sniff. Its tiny, pink nose ran across the tips of your fingers as it grew acclimated to your presence.

“Hi, little one,” you said through a barely subdued, ecstatic grin. You had always wanted a cat. Ever since you were a kid, you dreamed of a tiny ball of purrs curled up in your lap and effortlessly improving your mood. Not to mention they were ridiculously easy to take care of.

The kitten took a few more moments to sniff at your fingers. Its tiny eyes squinted as it seemed to devote its entire being to assessing your threat level. Once it seemed satisfied, it rubbed its chin across your thumb. You could already feel the purrs rumbling in its throat.

It took everything in you to not explode from the cuteness overload. This little thing, this tiny itty bitty little thing, chose you. You could feel a swell of pure adoration overtake your chest, the gentle warmth spreading from head to toe.

The cat continued to rub on your hand, occasionally nibbling on your fingers with the sides of its mouth. You lifted your free hand in an attempt to pet the kitten. Moving slowly to not startle it, you gently ran your fingers across its fluffy back. An explosion of purrs, like a hive of angry bees, met your affection. The cat dug its little head into the palm of your hand. You took the hint, giving it gentle scratches on the soft spots by its ears.

“You are the cutest fucking thing I’ve seen in my life,” you breathed in astonishment. The cat seemed to enjoy the compliment, pawing at your hands and attempting to climb closer to your face. You scooped its tiny body in your hands and lifted it to your chest.

Tiny paws kneaded at the fabric of your sweatshirt. Little needle-like claws pulled at the threads. The kitten looked up at you with squinted eyes. You carefully rose to your feet, doing your best to not jostle the miniature creature cradled to your chest.

The cat nestled into the crook of your neck. Its tiny nose puffed against your skin while a category-5 purricane buzzed in your hands.

You would die for this cat and you just met it a minute ago.

Mentally saying “fuck it” to the rest of your jog, you began to gingerly walk back inside. You avoided walking on the gravel to make as little noise and sudden movements as possible. The cat seemed to appreciate the gesture, with what miniscule amount its tiny brain could comprehend, as a small lick from its rough tongue passed over your neck.

You garnered a few sideways looks from the students on the lawn as you walked by again. Mads cocked her head, fairy themed earrings jingling, at the gentleness in your step and the backtracking in your path.

“You alright, ma’am?” she called out. Jane and Matt perked up at Mads’s exclamation. Jane looked up at you with curiosity written in her features while Matt’s dark brows furrowed.

A quick gesture to the buzzing fur ball in your hands was all the trio needed. Their expressions quickly shifted from confusion to utter joy. They whispered among themselves about the newest addition to the mansion as you passed by.

That method is how you seamlessly moved through the bustling early-risers inside the foyer. One perplexed look was met with a nod to the kitten in your hands and the students parted like the Red Sea. Excited murmurs spread through the students like wildfire. “Is that a cat?” “Oh my god, kitty!” “It’s so cute!” “I hope we can keep it!”

The last student you passed before reaching your destination was Bella, a time manipulator. She was just on her way out of the professor’s study, closing the heavy oak door behind her. A kind smile met yours when she looked in your direction. 

“Morning, ma’am. Need to see the- Wait, is that a cat?” she asked, eyes widening.

“Shhh. Yes, it is. Could you open the door for me?” you whispered. Bella lifted her first finger to her mouth, winking to indicate she understood, then twisted the brass knob and swung the door open before you.

“Good luck,” she whisper-yelled after you.

A grand office stood before you. Comfortable leather settees were positioned in front of a solid, mahogany desk. Rows and rows of bookshelves filled to the brim lined the walls. Trinkets and remembrances decorated available surfaces and empty wall space.

The professor, or Charles Xavier as you knew him, sat in his motorized wheelchair behind the large desk. His hairless head was lowered, blue eyes darting across the pages of a copy of House of Leaves. A single finger raised next to his aged face to acknowledge your presence.

“One moment, please. From both you and your new friend,” he said. A minute passed, seconds counted by the paws kneading into your shoulder, before Charles closed the book and met your gaze. A warm smile matched your enthusiastic one, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I found this little guy outside,” you began. The cat perked up at the mention of itself, eyes blinking up at you then looking at the professor. You ran a finger under the kitten’s chin as you continued, “He was an angry little fella, all bushy tailed, but he warmed right up to me. He was hiding in the hedges by the basketball court.”

“Ah, I see,” Charles replied. He lowered a hand to maneuver his wheelchair. The low buzz of the machinery heralded his movement as he rounded the desk to sit in front of you and the cat.

“I didn’t see any other cats around, but the good news is he seems to be old enough for solid food,” you said. The cat blinked slowly at the professor, its little nose sniffing the air in front of it.

“It seems his mother abandoned him. Weaned him off her too quickly and left him stunted. Poor thing,” Charles said, head tilting and lips pulling into a slight frown. You gawked at him.

“You can read the cat’s mind, too?” you asked. The abilities of the mutants around you never ceased to amaze. Especially one as powerful as Charles Xavier.

He smiled at the kitten, oblivious to your gawking, stretching out his hands to you, “May I?”

You gently lifted the cat off your chest, prying the tiny talons from your sweatshirt, and placed the furball in the professor’s hands. Charles lifted the cat to his chest and ran a gentle hand down its back.

“You’ll need to wake Rogue and Bobby, have them run to the pet store down the road. This one will need plenty of love and nourishment if he’s to thrive,” he said. You stared at him, dumbstruck.

“We can keep him?”

“He can stay, as long as he likes. Much is the same with the rest of those who live here,” Charles clarified. The little gray kitten nuzzled against Charles’s chin, the professor’s smile growing.

“Okay. Okay! Yes! I’ll go get Rogue and Bobby,” you said, absolute jubilation filling your lungs. 

You left Charles and the cat to continue their telepathic conversation as you raced up the giant, double staircase. Ornately carved wooden banisters ran along the edges of the stairs, polish shining in yellow circles from the chandeliers hanging on the ceiling. When the stairs divided into two sets, running opposite directions, you cut to the right. Your feet skipped over carpeted steps in your haste to reach your destination.

Once your sneakers landed on the second floor, you broke into a jog down the hallway. Door after wooden door flew by you on both sides of the hall. Paintings of peaceful landscapes and glowing sconces lined the wooden walls. A large window sat in the white wall at the end of the hall. Daylight streamed in and cast golden spots on the wood floors.

You stopped at the last door on the left. Rapping three quick knocks on the door, you bounced on your toes. There was a cat in the mansion. A cat! One that would live with you! You silently thanked whatever god it was that decided for you to be next in the cat distribution system.

It took another set of knocks on the door for you to hear movement on the other side. Bleary groans and rustling sheets leaked through the cracks in the door. You bit your lip in an attempt to quell your excitement.

The doorknob turned and a ruffled-looking Rogue appeared in the doorway. Dark hair just barely smoothed down, eyes squinted, robe hastily thrown over a nightgown.

“Vampire? Shit, what time is it?” she asked, grogginess laced in her tone.

“Doesn’t matter. We have a cat,” you said. Your smile widened as you waited for her response. Rogue eyed you, up and down, as she assessed her living alarm clock.

“Logan’s not a cat. We’ve been over this,” she said. She exhaled a puff of air through her lips to blow at the white bangs that fell over her eyes. You rolled your eyes playfully at the jab.

“Not Logan this time. An actual cat. A kitten,” you explained. Rogue’s eyebrows rose as her eyes widened.

“Wait, there’s a cat?” Bobby called from beyond the door. His blonde head popped up beside Rogue’s. The couple seemed to be much more awake now.

“Yup,” you said, annunciating the p. Bobby and Rogue looked at each other, smiles growing, before looking back to you. 

“Where is it? Can we see it?” Rogue asked.

“Charles needs the two of you to run and get cat stuff first. Like food, litter, toys. Anything you can think of,” you replied. At the first sign of them objecting, you continued, “You guys can get literally anything you want. Treats, cat towers, little obstacle courses. Just make sure it’s safe for a younger kitten.”

“We’re on it, boss!” Bobby said, happiness palpable and blue eyes sparkling, as his hand clapped on Rogue’s clothed shoulder.

“100%. This cat will be spoiled rotten,” Rogue confirmed. With that situation squared away, you gave the pair a quick nod, beaming at them, then took off back down the hallway.

The run back to the professor’s office was an even shorter journey due to you jumping down several steps at a time. A few students looked gravely concerned at your acrobatics. Especially Ash, who helped Jean with patching students up by being a walking pain-reliever.

Your hand caught on the doorframe of Charles’s office and you swung into the doorway, breathless. He and the cat were much like how you had left them. Tiny gray body tucked against his neck, both having their eyes closed.

“Bobby and Rogue are on their way out,” you said. Charles hummed in response, eyes falling open.

“This one’s taken a shine to you, my dear. Says you’re the first to treat him kindly,” he said, a proud smile painted across his face. You let out an incredulous laugh.

“Guess he really is one of us, huh?”

“More than you know,” Charles said through an amused chuckle. You approached the professor and ball of cuddles carefully, attempting to not disturb the little creature.

“Mrrpp?” the cat trilled. It squinted at you from beneath Charles’s chin, paws kneading into the back of the professor’s hands. You could almost hear its purrs from where you stood.

“Does he have a name?” you asked. You scratched beneath its furry chin as the cat stretched out its jaw into your hand. 

“I was hoping you might know one,” Charles said. He pressed the cat into your hands and you gladly scooped the little ball of love into your arms. You could feel the purrs emanating from the cat’s belly vibrate against your chest. Tiny, thin whiskers tickled along the underside of your jaw.

“Jeez, uh. I don’t know. Let me think on it,” you responded. It was hard to think when all of your focus was drawn to the fluffy creature cradled in your hands. Charles chuckled at your indecision.

“I’m sure whatever you choose, our newest student will happily respond to it,” he assured. He used his now free hands to dust cat hair off his crisp, navy blue suit. As you turned to walk out, Charles said, “Make sure to give him a bath. This young one’s lived outside for far too long.”

“Will do,” you said. You shifted your arms so you could better support the cat on your chest, then set a course for the upstairs bathroom closest to your and Logan’s room.

It seemed the news of a cat on campus had spread throughout the student body. A large crowd had gathered outside of Charles’s study. Students, an array of ages and stages of dress, craned their necks over their peers to try and catch a glimpse. 

“I wanna see!” Addie, a platinum blonde seven-year-old who could speak any language, called up from the space next to your hip. Your legs were framed by her and Ryan, a nine-year-old brunet with impenetrable skin. 

“Guys, the cat is very small. He needs quiet!” you said, voice coming out as a stage whisper. A hush fell over the group in front of you. Wide, hopeful eyes blinked up at you. You sighed, untucking the cat from the crook of your neck and holding him in front of you. At the sight of the small bundle of fur in your hands, a buzz of excited whispers passed from ear to ear. 

“Does he have a name?” Ryan asked. An echo of agreement sounded around the crowd.

“Not yet, so everyone start brainstorming!” you said. A renewed vigor filled the conversation as names were debated back and forth between students. You used the distraction to slip away, climbing back up the stairs and baring left this time.

This hallway was nearly identical to the one on the opposite side of the stairs. Wooden paneling covered the walls, patterned red carpet stretched down the middle of the floor, potted plants sat here and there. You knocked once on the first door to the right. Receiving no answer, you pushed it open.

Inside was a full bathroom. White tiles lined the walls and floor, the grout a cool gray. Warm patterned shower curtains hung from a steel rod suspended between two walls. A vanity mirror hung on the wall opposite the door. You flicked on the light switch, making the three globes above the mirror glow and send dancing reflections throughout the bathroom.

“Alright, fella. Let’s get you clean,” you said as you sat the cat in the sink. His little, furry body looked like a small sponge sitting in the white porcelain. A confused face looked up at you through squinted eyes.

“Mraow?”

“Yeah, I know. You’re not gonna like this part,” you responded. You leaned over, opening the white cabinets below the sink, and pulled out the unscented shampoo Logan liked to use. Straightening up, you noticed the cat had remained where you sat it. Prim, proper, posture like a little gentleman.

You smirked, scritching the top of his head between his ears. His face tilted up into your touch. 

“Such a sweet little guy,” you cooed. You gave him a few more well deserved pets before scooping his little body and turning on the faucet. You made sure the handle was turned to a warm, not hot, setting and the pressure was nice and low. 

The cat startled a bit in your palm at the sudden rush of water. A little paw raised, batting in the air between him and the running water. You dipped a finger in the water and brought it to his nose for proper inspection. A few sniffs, a couple licks, then his chin was rubbing on your fingertip again.

You took it as a good sign, dipping the same hand back under the faucet and letting the water coat your skin. Once enough water had gathered in your hand you lifted it to the cat’s back. He tracked your movement. Small, squinted eyes followed your hand as you placed your palm on his back. You felt the water droplets sink into the fluffy, gray fur and soak into his skin.

“This ok?” you asked, like the cat could give you an answer. The small creature blinked up at you. He seemed unbothered by the moisture. You gave him another palm-full of water to get him adjusted to the temperature, the sensation. Not a peep from this little sir.

You set the cat back in the sink, just the tail end of his back beneath the running faucet. He hunkered down into the smallest loaf you’d ever seen. Front feet tucked under his fuzzy chest, tail curled around his side, eyes blinking slowly up at you. You cupped water in your palm and let it run through his fur. Before too long you had a drenched, buzzing kitten in the sink.

“You are the strangest creature…” you wondered aloud. You popped the lid open on Logan’s shampoo and lathered up your hands. Thankfully, you didn’t spot any fleas or other parasites hopping on the kitten’s body. Washing out the dirt and grime shouldn’t take too long.

“Why are you hunched over the sink with my soap?” a gruff voice said from behind you. You smiled, looking over your shoulder.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you greeted. Logan leaned against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. He wore his trademarked white tank top and loose jeans buckled with a brown belt. His dark hair was fluffy and unstyled, long strands hanging in front of his wrinkled eyebrows.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said. He pushed off the wall and stepped up next to you, his boots clipping on the tiles.

“Right. So, funny story,” you began. You ran your soapy fingers through the cat’s soaked fur. Logan’s hip leaned on the counter as he continued to stare at you. Jutting your chin down at the sudsy feline, you continued, “I found this guy outside and he made me think of you.”

“Made you think of…” Logan trailed off when his hazel eyes landed on the kitten.

“You know, with his cat ears,” you explained. You scrubbed at the kitten’s purring body while Logan spluttered next to you.

“Cat ears?!” 

“Yeah. Those hair floofs you get when you style your hair. They look like cat ears,” you said. You pretended to ignore the pure indignation spouting from the man next to you. A knowing smirk stretched across your lips.

“I do not have cat ears,” Logan argued.

“Yes you do!” Rogue shouted, voice echoing down the hall.

Your indifferent mask broke as you doubled over, cackling. The cat’s head tilted as it watched your face disappear below the counter. Logan huffed, arms folding over his chest again.

It took you a few moments to regain your composure. Giggles bubbled up your throat everytime you glanced back at Logan next to you. He rolled his eyes at you.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” he grumbled. But, because you knew him so well, you could see the smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

You cleared your throat, squaring your shoulders to rinse off the cat sitting patiently in the sink. Warm water trailed through your fingers and washed away the suds gathered on the kitten’s body. Squinted eyes watched you, blinking slowly and serenely, purrs vibrating against your hands.

“Happy little fuzzball, isn’t he?” Logan said. The kitten turned its head to peer at Logan. You ran a wet finger between its ears, smoothing the fur back and washing soap away.

“He certainly is,” you hummed. When an idea popped in your head, you felt your grin widen and your gaze slip over to Logan next to you, “You know, he still needs a name.”

“So name him,” Logan replied instantly. A tentative, large hand reached into the sink and ran two fingers down the cat’s soaked back. The kind and delicate gesture only further solidified your idea.

“Actually… I was hoping you could name him.”

Logan’s eyes snapped up to meet yours, relaxed expression melting into pure confusion.

“What?” he asked.

this short story is kind of a tribute to the lovely, lovely folks in the murdock tuna team. i have nothing but love and an endless stream of thanks to give to them. you all have inspired me to be a better artist, a better author, a better person. love you, blob blob 🐟

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[yourluckyoswald]

How does your Oc's story end...?

Thanks @islandtarochips for the tag 🤍

Link for the picrew

(Decided to do all memebers of the F-0-Z)

Contented.

accomplished, you rest, knowing you have earned this long sleep.

I do see her dying like this. Oz blieved she's lived long enough and would accept it. Being Captain, her only goal is her mission and keeping her team safe. As long as they're safe, she's fine.

Contented.

accomplished, you rest, knowing you have earned this long sleep.

Death had always been part of the job. He'd seen enough comrades die and knew he lived a content enough life. He'd die smoking one last cigarette before accepting his inevitable fate.

In Betrayal.

you trusted, and now you must pay the price... your final word is a half-whispered question, "why?"

DICE had lived a life full of struggle and betrayal. He struggles to trust others, but once he does, he'll start to slip up.

Unfinished.

cut down too soon, questions unanswered, desires unfulfilled... what a tragedy you are.

Unlike the rest, Mana never liked dying either it be others or himself. He always saw himself living out this job and retiring out somewhere on the beach. Never did he want it to end like this.

Taging: @itsastronxmy @justasmolbard @the-whispers-of-death @cloudofbutterflies92 @cr1msonsta1ns

[rosesncarnations]

A what if Nesta actually made it The Wall™️ and it was one of the nights that Lucien was on patrol👀

She was freezing. The boots that she worn for, in the lightest of term, hike to The Wall had holes in the soles. She prayed that she hadn’t given herself frostbite through the snow many times as she huddled under the cloaks she’d snagged from her father and Elain, still shaking even with the damned pants that Feyre always wore under her own skirts that were now caked in mud at the hem. She would strangle that damned fae male. She didn’t know how exactly she’d find him but when she did, because she would, she’d have him writhing in her hands.

No one got to steal her sister in the night. No one.

She was huffing as she crested the last hill and saw the shimmering veil that was The Wall. It was a transparent opalescent sheen and she could just make out a blooming field of flowers with willows hanging low.

She took a breath as she braced herself with the fabled pain that should come when trying to interact with the fae’s magic and was met with nothing. She gave a huff and stepped through deciding she’d give the fae a piece of her mind about that too.

As she crossed through she was met with a tall redhead wearing a fox mask and a gold whirling eye. He was pushing a nymph that’s skin looked like tree bark off his lap as he rushed to her.

“Feyre!” He shouted as he fixed his trousers and she could’ve sworn a blush crept up his tanned neck. “Tamlin is going to have my head when he finds out you managed to get out here.” He was running his hand trough his curls mumbling more to himself.

She could work with that if he thought she was Feyre. But she felt he was pretty stupid if he thought Feyre would be coming through The Wall and not going through back to the mortal lands.

He squinted as he gave a closer look to her bedraggled appearance as if he brain was catching up with her own thoughts. “There’s more of them.” He groaned and rubbed at his face.

She planted her feet in the vague memory of how Feyre had shown her and Elain how to stand if there was someone coming at you. “Take me to this Tamlin.” She growled out.

“Just as feisty too.” He said without acknowledging what she’d really said. Her hand went to the paring knife tucked into top of her skirt as his smile seemed to grow wider. “What do you think that’ll do Feyre two?”

‘Was this a joke to him?’ She thought glaring all the harder at him and repeated her request.

“I better. I wouldn’t want to be diced.” he chuckled, “I don’t see any mushrooms to be paired with.”

She’d stab him. As she made the motion to do just that, he had her wrist in a tight grip as he gave her a feral grin, “You’ll have to be faster than that two.”

She went to growl a scathing comment back before everything went black and she was at the doors of a sprawling manor covered in climbing bushes of roses.

[omniscientoswald]

What Kind of Book Character Would Your OC Be?

Link: UQUIZ

Tagged by: @cloudofbutterflies92

The Unheard Poet

The unheard poet [noun, presumably french origin] refers to a character who hides many words unspoken under their tongue. they have chosen to purposefully hide these words and abandoned the thought of ever letting them flow up to the surface. despite that, they tend to be very outgoing and friendly, speaking their mind and laughing at the stupidest of things whenever they can, yet there's an eerie feeling to their gaze, as none might know what they truly think of the world presented to them. the unheard poets often think of themselves as beasts with two faces, the side they show to the world never being one of their liking. they carefully craft their facade while bottling up what they truly want to say - they are people with beautiful minds, minds that deserve to be spoken out, that are purposefully hidden away due to their fear of people leaving them behind for who they are. they are the ones to attempt in molding their personality to whatever their companions want to see them as to the point where they forget which one of their 'selves' was the original poet - still as unheard and as beautiful as before. there might just be the only way to escape the tragic nature of an unheard poet and that is acceptance. - a fellow unheard poet

The Midnight Lover

The midnight lover [noun, german origin] refers to a character that believes their final destination is a second place. they are always there when people need them, but they are never their first choice, merely the one to talk to at midnight when one is the most honest, just to be thrown away the morning after (hence why they're called a midnight lover). midnight lovers love too much, fall too deep and land to hard for anyone and everyone they appreciate, but they never seem to get their love back in the way they'd want, forever united by the dreadful second place in people's lives. many take advantage of midnight lovers, using their heart that's always there to listen as something they can dump all their problems on, not acknowledging that their heart is just as fragile as any other. still, midnight lovers listen and comfort and give their all no matter it draining them - sometimes it's truly astonishing how much love they're able to store within themselves. all midnight lovers long for is to be perceived as something more than 'the second resort', though many struggle to realize their already achieved significance in eyes of others. who knows, many (or majority) may haven't ever been a second choice, they were just lead to believe so via people not treating them accordingly. as a certain saying goes, "one not worthy of your love should not be able to spend it." - a fellow midnight lover

The Tide

The tide [noun, german origin] refers to a character that considers silence the most powerful weapon of them all. they believe that in silence, there lies no agreement nor disagreement, simply the passive ability to listen. the tides are the ones to believe that there's no use in fighting for their opinion and consider the opinion as itself vastly unimportant in comparison to the rest - they are calm, collected and never let emotions overtake them, at least, not in front of others. some would call them cold, yet that'd be a mistake - there's a great fire that lies behind the facade of the nature of the tides, fire that someone, something set off in them long time ago that refuses to die down. this fire only grows stronger with each minute of the prevailing silence they pretend to thrive in and it is only a matter of time this fire burns them to their core and then...well, only tides know what will happen then. perhaps they'll scream, perhaps they'll cry, desperately trying to tell the world what misery lies in their silence that is not to be broken since no-one would listen to them either way and still, they'd be so beautifully incorrect. there's plenty of stories tides have to tell and even more that shall be listened to - they just need to let people submerge in their water. - a (former) fellow tide

The False Muse

The false muse [noun, latin origin] refers to a character that attempts to be perfect in order to receive certain amount of praise, or to inspire others to go in their footsteps. they tend to seek the spotlight, the podium, the gaze of the people looking up to them, with praise and validation being what keeps them pursuing the way of living they did before. the false muses surely have their goals, but the biggest one is to simply be better than yesterday and worse than tomorrow, to be in a constant state of self improvement they'll never deem enough. this is what leads them to the ocassional state of burnout, state one may describe as trying so hard to please the artist you become the opposite of a muse - hence why they're called false ones. the false muses might be tempted to think that they've never achieved perfection, but the truth is, there's no such thing as perfection, nor is there a way to achieve it. all muses could long for is merely the perfect version of themselves and they've achieved that already, over a thousand times.

The Icarus

The icarus [noun, greek origin] refers to a character, first curious and childish, who got so bored of the world's rotten nature they lost all hope in living. as the last resort to find the spark in the world of dying stars, the icarus may have attempted numerous times to touch the blazing surface of the sun, hoping to see any kind of redemption in the reflection of their face in the sun's flames. as a result, their wings were melted down and their bones broken by the harsh landing, yet that still didn't stop them from trying all over again. the people of icarus' nature often believe their place is with the stars and their desire to burn amongst them causes them to forget the beauty of the land they've abandoned, merely flying over it - the world has stored so much beauty for them they often struggle to see through the rays of sun and yet, it is still there. the most beautiful of flowers grow upon the lands their feet haven't even touched and maybe, just maybe, if they spared a bit of their time to give the (them forsaken) world another chance, they'd see that sky might not be the home they truly desire, but one they've seeked just because they have seen only the worst of the world. - a fellow icarus

Tagging: @the-whispers-of-death @itsastronxmy @littlelalaland

[penny-anna]

further to that last poll, sometimes i come across Owl House fanfiction where the characters say fuck and no judgement but personally i don't think anyone in the Hexsquad would say fuck & here's my reasoning:

Luz: she is fully capable of swearing if she wanted to but I think a) due to being pretty socially isolated she hasn't picked up the habit from other kids and 2) tbph i think she's just the kind of person who'd rather come out with an earnest 'golly gee whillickers' than say fuck. even post timeskip i think she still opts not to swear just bcos she prefers the vibes

Willow & Gus: as with Luz I doubt they really picked up the habit. they are both also (as of the beginning of their journeys) pretty well-behaved kids. Gus is also 12 years of age. post timeskip i think they would both swear albeit sparingly but during canon, no dice.

Amity: Odalia considers swearing very low-class and has passed this onto her kids. by s3 Amity has realised that this is bullshit but old habits die hard so Fuck just isn't in her vocabulary. she says it all the time post timeskip tho.

Hunter: ok i hear you say, 'Hunter was in a military unit with a bunch of adults, surely he'd have picked up some swear words', to which I say, he explicitly says that he was kept apart from the other scouts so i don't think that's a given. i also don't think Belos would like him swearing (not out of any genuine sense of prudishness, he just doesn't want Hunter to have any fun at all or relax ever) so likely been impressed on him very heavily that he's not supposed to.

Vee: ok Vee is the one I'm in 2 minds about because I can imagine two equally likely scenarios:

Vee learned how to swear at summer camp and does it all the time; she just doesn't do it on screen bcos 1) she doesn't swear in front of Camila and 2) she's pegged the Hexsquad as kids who don't say fuck

Vee learned what swearing is at summer camp but the kids were all told it was strictly forbidden and she's internalised that so as w Amity and Hunter she has to psych herself up big time to say Fuck

anyway that's just my 2 cents :)