SLink

so if generic wizards use wands and staffs to cast spells I’m gonna bring up the idea of modern era magicians using what they can find with a wooden body, like teens picking up baseball bats and 2x4s
imagine just running out of mana or whatever and instead of slinking back you just crack your rune laden bat over a particularly punkish goblin

Imagine The Pretty Setter Squad like:

-So it all starts when Oikawa casually brings up Iwaizumi’s glorious arms and biceps and fawns over them and passes pictures of them around during one of their Setter Squad meet ups.
-Then Suga retaliates by pointing out how thick and gorgeous Daichi’s thighs are. And “Who can resist that face? He’s an amazing leader and would be a great dad.”
-“Ohoho this is war!!”
-So they all start arguing over whos boyfriends are the best as husband material.
-Akaashi and Kenma argue that “Okay but Bokuto-san’s muscles and-” “Kuro’s abs-” “Plus Kuroo-san thighs are also really hot and-” “Bokuto’s ass…” “They’re both really kind and caring and funny (and idiotic) as well…” “Perfect Husband material…”
-Shirabu gets all salty and literally brings out a magazine pointing out how Ushijima has an amazing body and how his face is hot enough to be a model and “Wow look at him shirtless…” and “He’s 3rd best and beat Bokuto-san.” (Akaashi and Kenma let that one slide cuz okay that one is true.) “He’s really innocent that’s cute.”
-“Why do you keep magazines with Ushibaka in them…”-Oikawa
-Semi just kinda… “Tendou is… hot in his own way… and is… sweet?” *nervously sweats*
-“Iwa-chan is great with kids and knows how to cheer people up and helps anyone who needs it.”
-Kageyama who has been quiet all this time just calmly pulls out a picture of a smiling Hinata with a volleyball and the cuteness radiating from it is enough to get everybody blushing.
-“Hinata doesn’t have what you call the hottest body and to be honest I’m the seme but he is the cutest and everyone loves him. He can make you smile no matter what. Perfect waifu. I win.” He says with a smug face.
-“$5 from all of you please senpais. Thanks.”
-Oikawa flips the table.
-They get kicked out.

After the Parade

“Hush,” he says.

Above them, Cabal ships drag thick black smoke across the flickering twilight, and flames rise from the Tower. Legionnaires scour the streets, seeking out the cries of the wounded and afraid.

“Hush,” he says again, as the child starts to sniffle, and he pulls her into the shadows cast by an apartment block as a patrol makes its laborious way past. He was made to protect, made to serve, but he feels clumsy now; the hand on her shoulder is almost larger than her head and she has no armor to protect her bruised and burned skin from his rough gauntlets. When he tries to wipe the tears from her face he worries that he will be the one to break her.

He followed her screams, just as the Cabal did. He had no rifle to kill the Legionnaires that would have silenced her; dispatched the first one with his boot-knife but was not quick enough to catch the second unaware. It is dead, but his chest-plate is cracked and burned and the thing that eats the Traveler has also eaten his Light.

She is wearing yellow. A summer dress, for a celebration. When he offered her his gore-spattered hand she took it at once, and did not look back at the splayed and broken limbs visible beneath the rubble around her as though she knew there was no one left to wait for. He brushed dust and chips of concrete from the tight black curls on her head, and when she tried to smile her gap-toothed smile at him despite it all he knew that he would die the second death to save her.

They pick their way through dust-covered streets and alleys, one grimy hand holding his armored fingers, the other wrapped around the silent shell of his Ghost. He told her to keep it safe, and she clutches it to her chest with an intensity that would do any Titan proud.

To those behind the Wall, love and service. To those outside it, fury and fire. He is young: the Order’s maxim has never meant much to him, but here at the end of an Age he feels each word burning in his chest and he wraps his Mark around her shoulders like a cloak, like a little Hunter, to keep the nearness of the night from her as best he can.

When they hear the distant bursts of gunfire he waits until the chatter fades, then leads them in a different direction even though it gives him hope to know the City is still fighting. Perhaps if he ran to the violence he would find weapons or more Guardians, but he will not risk it. And so hours pass as they slink across the city, and as slowly as his wounds force him to move she still takes ten strides for every one of his. She has only one sandal, silver leather wrapped around a tiny leg, but he thinks that a single piece of armor is better than no armor at all.

He finds a battered pulse rifle in a street that leads to a square, tries not to wonder where its owner went. The magazine is full, but it is all he has and there is no Ghost at his shoulder to synthesize ammo. He bends to pick it up, never letting go of the hand that holds his own, just as a troop of Legionnaires turn the corner in front of them.

He pulls the child behind a crumbled wall. Waits one heartbeat, two; no slug throwers roar in response. Even so, they are between him and the direction he has lead, and he doubts he has the strength to cross the City again.

Love and service to those within. Fire and fury to those without.

The Legionnaires do not notice, but neither do they move on. More join them, and they begin to spiral out in all directions, continuing their search. It will not be long before they find him and the child. A narrow street, once hung with banners but now collapsing from the rooftops down, will lead her west, to the walls, away from Cabal patrols - as long as there is a distraction.

He lifts her chin as gently as he can.

“You have to run,” he whispers. He is bad at whispering. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“That way,” he says when she stares at him in silence, pointing with his outsized hand down the shadowed street.

He gives her a delicate push, points again. She blinks, once, then toddles into the dark, Ghost held close as though it will protect her. Perhaps, if there is a way to undo this disaster, it someday will.

He props the rifle atop the ledge, lifts his visor and sights with naked eye. There are so many, he thinks, and then bites back a laugh - there are only eight.

Love within. Fury without.

The rifle barks. One Legionnaire dies and the others spin in confusion, firing in the direction of his cover. He ignores them, squeezes the trigger again. And again. And again.

Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within. Fury without. Love within -

Something tugs his arm. He looks down into the eyes of the little girl, and pure terror finds him.

“I said run,” he growls, but she does not, her face set in a scowl. He shakes his arm and she does not let go.

A micro-rocket bursts against the barricade and he ducks, throws his body over her, sprays the rest of his bullets in response. The child buries her head in his cracked armor, her frail body shaking.

Never has he been so afraid to die.

He feels a fool. He tosses the rifle down, wraps one arm around the child and pulls her close. With the other he slams his visor shut. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and when at last there is a break in the constant fire he lurches to his feet, lifts the child to his chest, and runs.

It is hard, so hard, to move full Titan-plate without his Light to drive it. His body aches. Something inside is probably broken, and he does not know how long it takes a body to heal without a Ghost.

A slug hits him in the back and he stumbles but his armor holds, and he sprints down the street where he tried to send the child, the sound of jump-packs following behind. He ducks his head and cups himself around his charge, makes himself as big as he can, plows across the debris-choked pavement. The girl begins to cry again, though to his ears it is not the sound of fear but of fury, and before long he is roaring with it, and the two of them roar together down the long, narrow street as explosions scatter bits of ruins that once were homes. He does not know where he is going, knows only that he must go somewhere, that he will not stop until the child is safe or his legs no longer work; that when he has nothing left he will throw her from him and tear the Cabal apart with fists alone, Light or no.

He has stopped counting the impacts. Every step is a knife in his chest. The Legionnaires must be close but he does not turn, lest the shield that is his body fail. He can feel himself slowing, a sensation that fills him both with wonder and despair, but he cannot force himself to let her go despite his promise. Something cracks against the back of his leg, and he is too tired and too hurt to correct. He lands heavily on one shoulder, slides ten grinding yards, arms still wrapped around the child. At the very least, they will have to rip him apart to get to her. Maybe, if he dies quickly, they will not notice her at all.

Gunfire interrupts his thoughts, along with the sound of footsteps and the roar of Cabal. Hands grab him, drag him out of the street, but still he does not uncurl. He sees Hunter cloaks, Warlock robes, a Titan mark.

“Hush,” he tells the child, head still tucked close, while they cower in a doorway and around them Guardians fight.

“Hush,” he tells her, over their surprised cries of pain.

“Hush,” he tells her, over and over, until at last all is silent and he dares to lift his head and stand.

He helps the child to her feet, and though he leans against the doorway it is her tiny hand in his that keeps him upright. He looks around at their saviors: most are near as bruised as he is. They nod their heads, pat him on the back, and he opens his mouth to ask for forgiveness, for leading the Legionnaires here, but a Hunter shakes her head as though she knows what he will say.

Two Guardians lie dead. Truly dead. One Hunter, one Titan wearing the Mark of the Gatewatch. He waits the half-second for their Ghosts to revive them, feels sick when they do not rise. He swears that he will learn their names and add them to the Order of the Pilgrim Guard.

Someone makes cooing sounds and tries to take the child, tries to give her water, but she refuses to let go of his hand, refuses to surrender his Ghost. For a moment they stand there, all seven of them in a circle around her, and it is as though a different light has risen to bond them all.

They need ships. Weapons. Food, maybe. The child, at least, must eat. The Hunter offers water again, and he wonders how many new scraps of fabric she has taken for her cloak. A different Titan, this one wearing the Mark of the Six Fronts, hands him the dead Hunter’s rifle - then looks down at the child, still clinging to his hand, and passes him a sidearm instead.

They turn their backs to the Tower, and continue their slow march to the western wall. Perhaps they will find supplies along the way. If not, so be it - they are still Guardians, and they will save what light they can.

Love within. Fury without.

The Cabal have no word for ‘retreat.’ Soon, they will learn that the Guardians have none for ‘mercy.’


Words: @themothyards

Art: @artdailybykitty

Ooh, yes! Freddy’s got the bad guy frozen with a magnet!

Now, the gang can go grab the final Scooby Snacks and escape this virtual world.

Go get them, Scoob! 

I mean, the movie reiterated mere minutes ago that – to the digital people – magnets cause:

1. Immobility

2. Complete helplessness

3. Total lack of awareness

4. Temporary memory loss

So, you’re perfectly safe, Scooby!

…oh, no, silly, no need to be sneaky. Just run up there and grab them, this is everyone’s big chance!

…no, seriously, the bad guy can’t do anything. At all. You know he can’t see you, or react to your movement. You, or any of the rest of the gang, can walk straight past him.

…look, Scoob, just go up there already, please? There’s no reason to risk wasting time, all you need to do is go forward. Why isn’t anyone else trying to–

…oh, come on, now.

Y’know, actually, you could just walk around the side of the room to get to the Scooby Snacks, if you wanted. Or maybe even run, seeing as your lives are in danger and all.

Honestly, this could have been over in 4 seconds, had you not decided to slink around the random gray balls at Freddy’s feet.

or if the rest of the gang had just walked over there themselves during this copious amount of time. C’mon, lend the dog a hand! Your survival kinda depends on it.

…oh, goody, and now the gray balls randomly turn into yellow/green balls, because logic.

…oh, double goody, Fred also decided to get in unnecessarily close to the bad guy, and not watch where he’s going!

Gee, I wonder what’s going to happen.

OH NOES WHOEVER COULD HAVE IMAGINED IT

HE TRIPPED OVER BOTH THE BALL AND SCOOBY

IF ONLY THERE HAD BEEN ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING THAT COULD HAVE BEEN DONE DIFFERENTLY TO PREVENT THIS SITUATION

Look… I’m not expecting a masterpiece of a script from Scooby-Doo, here, but when your heroes need to have a auto-win situation foiled by an intricately-choreographed series of bad decisions… maaaybe you ought to re-write the scene.

littleredreadinghood  asked:

Distraction prompts! How does Slink feel about Harris's roomba entourage?

“I’m going to need you to not taunt the roomba.”

Slink stared at Harris, the tip of his tail swishing back and forth.  Harris pointed at the poor roomba, which was in the process of circling his feet for about the sixth time in the past five minutes.  “I get it, I do, buddy, it’s annoying as all hell.  But you’re giving the poor thing a complex.”

Slink yawned.

“Right.  Cat don’t care,” Harris said.  “Cat absolutely do not care.”  He looked down at the roomba, who was creeping up the side of his ankle.  “No!  Bad robot!  No!”

The roomba, which listened to him about as much as Slink did, just kept trying to mount his leg.  Harris took a step back, scooting out of reach.  “Look, you got all the cat hair, it’s fine, there is nothing-”

Slink stood, stretching with a languid, unhurried grace.  Then he padded across the back of the couch, leaping onto Harris’ shoulder.  “Don’t you dare,” Harris told him, and Slink rubbed against the side of his head, purring.

The roomba, aware of a fresh crop of cat hair settling onto every surface in a six foot radius, went nuts, trying its best to climb Harris’ pants.  

“Right,” Harris said.  Resigned, he scratched Slink behind the ear.  “Guess I should be grateful you’re not teaming up.  Because that?  Would probably be worse.”

Supercut

Summary:

Marinette loves her friends and Adrien can’t deal. Post-reveal, pre-relationship.

Also on AO3 and FF.net


Marinette Dupain-Cheng loved with a fierce sort of affection that gently destroyed him.

She wasn’t grand gestures or loud declarations or flashy devotion.

She was thoughtful moments and quiet attention and unwavering loyalty.

It took Adrien an embarrassingly long time to recognize it for what it was.  When everything he knew was detachment and afterthought his compass for affection was nearly non-existent.  He knew Nathalie’s cold comfort and his father’s broken promises and Chloe’s noisy fawning. He knew conditions and strings and if-thens.

He didn’t understand second chances.

Striving. Everyone in his life was striving.

They put their careers, their hopes, their reputation on his shoulders and poked and prodded and pulled until he smiled just right and spoke just so and moved just there.

And he didn’t know any different.

Until he did.

She loved in the little ways.

She loved in passing moments and quiet gestures and thoughtfully in a way that was almost careless.  In a way that was so very Marinette.

Adrien had always been careful, but in the five weeks since he found out the Truth he felt like his shoes were made of glass and every next step could be the one to shatter him.

A problem when every shy smile, confused blush, and rapid fluttering of blue, blue eyes made him feel like dancing, glass be damned.

Marinette was Ladybug.

In removing the mask he had been gifted with the knowledge that his best friend was never really as far away as she seemed.  Ladybug was untouchable.  Marinette was so very, very there.

It somehow made everything more vivid, more terrifying,

just more.

It had been painfully awkward of course. Because of course it was when she was so adamant about keeping their identities a secret.

Fortunately for him, Marinette never was good at telling the restrooms apart.

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9

grumpycakes  asked:

DISTRACTION PROMPTS! Shawn and Drew consider getting a pet (or one considers and the other disagrees OR OR they have to baby sit slink OH NO)

“We should get a cat.”

“We both live in dorm rooms,” Shawn said, squinting at Harris’ instructions.  “Separate dorm rooms.”

Drew, sprawled out on his stomach on the floor, dragged a string across the carpet.  Slink, his tail whipping back and forth with deadly intent, swatted at the end of it as it wiggled its way past his nose.  Drew grinned, snatching the string out of reach.  “That just means more places to hide a cat.”

“We’re not even allowed to have fish,” Shawn said, amused despite himself.  He held up the page of neatly typed instructions that Harris had left for them. “Did you look at these?”

“No,” Drew said, trying to tempt Slink into making another play for the string.  Slink had lost interest and was now batting at Drew’s hair instead.  “Don’t you dare, cat, I just got that cut.”

“These are very complicated,” Shawn said, leaning against the cabinet.  He turned the page over.  “It’s double-sided.”

“Jesus.” Drew flopped onto his back.  “It’s a cat.  Here are your instructions.  One.” He held up a hand over his head, his index finger held aloft.  “Put open food container.  Two.  Dump food in bowl.” He ticked off each sentence with a new finger.  “Three.  Provide water-”

“Slink’s got one of those little fountain water bowls, actually,” Shawn said.

“Double fucking Jesus, this boy needs a fucking intervention,” Drew said, as Slink padded across his chest and settled down directly on his breastbone.  “Hi.”

Shawn choked on a laugh as Slink settled down to wash a paw.  “He knows you were making fun of his fountain.”

“I’m just saying,” Drew told Slink.  “Spoiled little brat.  You can tell you’re a first pet.  Me?  I’ve known a lot of farm cats, and they all would’ve kicked your narrow fuzzy little ass.”  He reached up, running a gentle hand over Slink’s head.  Slink paused in his washing long enough to butt his head against Drew’s fingers, his eyes falling shut.  “Yeah.  Spoiled brat.”

“Harris does seem to have invested in a lot of…” Shawn considered the rather large carpet covered ‘cat climbing tower’ that took up a solid chunk of the living room’s floor space.  “Stuff.”

“Crap,” Drew corrected cheerfully.  “You couldn’t catch a mouse if you had to, could you, gorgeous?” he cooed.

“I bet he could,” Shawn said.  He reached for a bag of food at random.  Variety was the spice of life, after all.  “Instinct’ll take over.”

Slink was now leaning all his weight against Drew’s fingers, his back bowed with his effort to get a deeper scratch.  Drew went to rub his neck, and Slink tipped over, flopping bonelessly on his chest.  Drew grinned up at Shawn.  “Yeah, he’s a killer.”

“Don’t make fun, you look pretty dopey when I’ve got my fingers in your hair, too,” Shawn said, putting Slink’s food out. “Hey, baby, you hungry?”

“Yes,” Drew said, as Slink wiggled down to the ground to pad over to check out Shawn’s offering.  “Can we get Chinese?”

Shawn blinked.  “Sure.  You want to hang out with Slink for a while?”

Drew propped himself up on his elbows.  “Yeah.  His tv is better than yours and his couch is better than mine.” He yawned.  “And no roommates.”

“We’re not making out on his couch,” Shawn said.  Drew grinned up at him, and Shawn grinned back.  “Okay, we’re going to make out on his couch.”

“Damn straight.”

Gladio, Iggy and Noct are on their roadtrip when they come across a bunch of cars spread across the road
Battered and smoking
Some have been flipped over the barrier, people littering the ground as well as bodies of beasts and the black sludge that’s a telltale sign of demons

All the devastation converges on one car somewhat down the incline so they decided to check it out

Theyre almost on the car when a shot rings out and only Gladio’s quick reflexes saves them as he gets his shield out and up

‘W-who goes there??’

(Full story under the cut)

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