eye brighting stick

Tbh all I can think about right now is Bruce and Clark taking the boys out for a picnic near the Kent farm so they have a chance to get some of their energy out but with Supervision™ this time (pun intended). And as Clark and Bruce catch up and chat amicably they watch their boys run around the fields endlessly, and play with the dogs, and Damian convinces the cow to let him ride her. When they start getting a mischevious look about them, their dad’s are thinking it’s a good time to intervene, because last time this happened Damian ended up in the tiger enclosure at the zoo, and Jon got locked in the vet tech room. But it’s all just good. Life is good. The sun is warm, the boys are happy. Just being kids. Clark and Bruce are in a place they’d never thought they’d be: two old fathers of young sons but it’s such a joy, such a privilege to watch them laugh and play.

But Bruce calls to Damian, it’s time to go. The boys pout, but come when their fathers call them. They drag their feet, moving as slowly as possible. Bruce sighs in exasperation, but there’s no real feeling behind it. His heart is too full, too warm just seeing his son with a real friend, a true friend he doesn’t have to pretend around. Kind of like Clark has been for him.

The boys finally make it to them…. And good Lord, do they stink to high heaven. Two smelly, sweaty kids with bright eyes and hair sticking up and matching grins, their fathers can’t find it in them to mind the smell.

But it’s definitely bath night.

Bugs Don’t Meow

Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug
Rating: T
Summary:
Of all the things Marinette had expected to happen. It was not this. Out of everything thing that could have happened when someone spotted Tikki, she hadn’t expected her Kwami to MEOW.
And she knew there was only one little creature to blame.
Author’s Note:
Hi everyone!!! Okay, so I know I’ve got a few longer stories going, but for some reason I am really churning out these one shots. (It’s really werid. I’ve never been a one shot person. I mean, look at my DW history. I think I had like… maybe two one shots total?)
So… I am totally getting ideas way to fast. In the span of a week I went from 9 ML WIPs to 23… I think I have a problem.
Anyway, this is just a little thing inspired by Tikki’s little meow in Digital, and a funny little headcanon from @wintermoth​.
WARNING: Contains spoilers for the episode ‘Digital’, if you haven’t seen it. I know some people are waiting till the French airing to see it.

Also on FF.net and AO3.



Of all the things Marinette had expected to happen. It was not that. When the woman and her child pointed at Tikki and struggled to get out any actual words, she had not expected Tikki to step in and do something. She thought that she would hide away back in the purse. She thought that maybe her Kwami would freeze up or act robotic. But no. What she heard instead was a small questioning meow.

A meow!

She watched the woman’s mouth drop even further and floundered for an excuse. Not that the woman would believe it, but it wasn’t like she was going to give her time to process anything.

“Ahh… i-its a new toy from Japan! It’s really life like. Says the strangest things. Sorry, it’s not for sale! Bye!” she cried in a rush, and then she pushed Tikki back down into her bag, turned tail and bolted. She ran until she found a nook to hide in before she opened her bag and looked down at her friend. Tikki looked just as distressed as she probably did. “What the hell was that?” she squeaked.

“I don’t know!!!” Tikki wailed. “I panicked!!! She saw me and I didn’t know what to do! All I could remember is that Plagg said he meows when someone sees him!”

“Wait, what? Who’s Plagg?!”

Tikki tapped her little paws together nervously. “He’s Chat Noir’s Kwami. Once we were talking about being spotted and other than the ridiculous joke that I already am spotted, he said that he meows when people see him. He suggested that I give it a go, and I know that it’s stupid and wouldn’t work for me, but I just froze! I mind-blanked and that was all I could think of!”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

I never realised how much I loved marshmallows.

THANK YOU! I loved writing this!


“I never realized how much I loved marshmallows!”

Levi cringed at the sheer volume of the exclamation.

Across the fire, Hanji waved a marshmallow-stacked stick in the air. It had caught fire.

“Tch. I told you it was too close to the fire.”

With the blaze put out, Hanji grinned. She squeezed the marshmallows between her finger and thumb, testing them. “How else was I supposed to get them crispy?”

“Um, Scout Leader Hanji,” Armin squeaked, “I don’t think marshmallows are supposed to be crispy.” His own marshmallow laden stick dangled a safe distance from the flames. Like the rest of the youngsters around the fire, Armin was dressed in brown khakis, boots, and a cap – the standard uniform of the Outdoor Exploring Scouts.

He and Hanji wore uniforms of their own. Their uniforms, basically bigger versions of the scout’s outfits, were ugly as hell; but they were comfortable. And Levi counted himself lucky that as a scout leader, he at least didn’t have to wear the hat.  

At the edge of the circle, there was a crack.

Sasha’s voice rose in a wine. “Scout leaders! Eren and Jean are fighting with their sticks again!”

Levi sat up. Sure enough, from where they sat between Marco and Mikassa, the young boys were on their knees, wailing on one another with their willowy marshmallow roasting sticks.

“Hey! That’s enough! Don’t make me dangle you over the fire pit.”

Immediate silence.

Sticks clattered to the ground as the two boys dropped into their seats.

Hanji plopped a blackened marshmallow in her mouth. “As volunteer scoutmasters, I don’t think its within our rights to dangle children over campfires.”

He shrugged, “I have a strong grip. I wouldn’t drop them in – probably.”

Around the fire, young scouts’ eyes widened. Jean and Eren scooted back.

At their reaction, Levi grinned.

Hanji full-out laughed. She knew he wouldn’t actually do it – that he just liked to mess with them every once in a while. But the scouts didn’t know that. And he wanted to keep it that way. A healthy dose of fear was good, especially if it made the rambunctious punks behave.

“Alright!” Eyes bright, Hanji stabbed her stick in the ground as if it were a spear. “Who’s ready for some…” She leaned forward. Flames danced between her glasses’ frames, reflecting in the glass. Her lips curved up in a predatory grin. “…scary stories?

Connie and Sasha howled their approval.

Armin clutched at Hanji’s sleeve. Firelight reflected in his wide eyes.

Levi shrugged. “I take it you have one?”

She chuckled. “Oh, do I have one.” She took a breath. But before she could begin, he held up a hand.

“Before this starts, let me make one thing clear – this story, whatever it is, is going to be fuc-” he caught himself, “really scary.” He didn’t know what exactly went on in Hanji’s head, but she had an unparalleled imagination. “If you guys get scared in the middle of the night, you wake her up, not me. Got it?”

“Ah, but Levi, we’re in the same tent-” Hanji said, speaking up.

“Doesn’t matter. Wake her up. Not me.”

“Aw, Levi. You’re underestimating them.” She leaned forward, hands gripping her knees. “You guys are brave enough to handle a tale of horror and adventure – right?”

Save for Armin, the kids around the fire raised their voices in confirmation.

Hanji rubbed her hands together. Her smile had taken a rather manic edge. “How to begin such a grim tale?” She looked around the fire. “Once upon a time seems too pleasant a start for this story…but it will have to do.” Her voice dipped. “Once upon a time – there were monsters.”

The children leaned in.

The fire crackled. Embers rose in flurries from the flame.

“Monsters like you and I have never seen. Giant beasts, whose towering forms stretched up into the sky. Naked and gangly they stumbled across the earth, grinning like children. And do you know what they liked to eat?”

Around the fire heads shook.

Hanji leaned in, voice dropping low. “Humans.”

As she spoke the word, a cold shiver wormed its way up his back. Levi shifted in his seat. He had no idea where she came up with this shit, but he had to give her credit, Hanji knew how to spin a tale.

As she went on to describe the giant, grinning beasts in detail and their single-minded drive to consume humans, the scouts who’d first leaned eagerly in shrunk back. As the tale wore on, the circle tightened as the kids pressed closer together. By the time Hanji told, in a hushed whisper, about how not even towering walls could keep the creatures out, the children sat shoulder to shoulder.

She was interrupted by Armin’s wail.

Tears in his eyes, he clung to her shirt-sleeve. “I don’t want them to eat me!”

Hanji’s mouth dropped open. Hands, which had lifted to describe one of the giant beasts, fell at her sides.

Shoulder’s hunched, Armin pressed his hands to his face. Sniffles escaped from between his small fingers.

For a second, Hanji looked utterly lost. “Armin – oh no – don’t cry!” Scooting in front of him, she gripped his shoulder. “It’s not real Armin. It’s just some story that popped in my head.” She cupped her hand beneath his chin. “The monsters aren’t real. They’re not going to eat you.”

With one last sniffle, he reluctantly dropped his hands. “But what if they are, and we just don’t know it?”

Levi crossed his arms. That was certainly an odd thing to say.

Hanji must have thought so too. She tilted her head. After a long pause, she answered. “They’re not. And even if they were, you’d have nothing to worry about. Levi’d kill them for us.”

His head snapped up. “I’d what?”

She smiled over her shoulder. “You’d take care of them.” She narrowed her eyes, glancing pointedly in Armin’s direction. “Right?”

There was no helping it. She was dragging him into this. He sighed. “Yeah, I’d get rid of them. Slice their necks. Kill them on the spot.”

The statement was unfounded, he was a computer programmer for god’s sake. But for whatever reason, the scouts seemed to buy into it. They sat back, breathing a collective sigh of relief.

Hanji clapped her hands. “Alright! Time to turn in for the night! Bertolt, Reiner, could you put out the fire?” She stood. “If you have to go to the bathroom before bed, come with me now, I’m walking to the outhouse.” She switched on her flashlight.

Connie swallowed, looking warily into the surrounding darkness. “Maybe Levi can take us?”

Hanji perched a hand on her hip. “Please. You think I can’t handle monsters too?” Lifting the flashlight, she waved. “Come on.”

Trailing behind her, the children obediently followed.

While they were gone, Levi inspected the tents with a flashlight, making sure no bugs had managed to infiltrate the tents’ tarp walls.

When everyone returned, he and Hanji helped the scouts settle into their tents. They waited another five minutes to make sure everyone stayed in their tents, before going to bed.

His and Hanji’s tent was a nice two-person pup. It was the perfect size. Just enough room for he and Hanji to lay, their sleeping bags stretched out side-by-side. It was comfortable.

By morning, it was significantly less so. Levi woke to find a foot in his face and the tent packed to the brim with ten additional, tiny, slumbering bodies.

Hanji’s story-telling privileges were officially revoked.

The Theoi in England? UPG thingies

Thinking about potential English cultus/UPG things and writing little bits of prose for them… what do you guys reckon? (Heavily skewed towards Southern England because I don’t often get to go up North. I’ve tried to include bits but…eh… I dunno)

Wheat shifts from lush green to yellow gold as Demeter walks. The summer rain has passed, it glistens on the leaves and on her brow. Her lips are bright as strawberries, her breath sweet and heady as oilseed rape.

Poseidon crashes against the Whitby coast. His serpents draw the cliffs down into the sea and ancient creatures are exposed from their resting place in the rock. Our tiny island is held in his embrace as he carries our ships from shore to shore. In Portsmouth we salute him at the naval base and build monuments from the wreck of the Mary Rose. The gulls call his name as they soar inland.

Aphrodite comes ashore, her eyes bright as the Dover cliffs, skin golden as Cornish sands. The collared doves bring her flowers for she is the English Rose.

Hermes flits through the Underground, carried by the coursing breeze of the Tube. Each tap of an Oyster Card is the beating of his winged sandals. Every letter dropped into a red post box is an offering. Anywhere where money changes hands is his realm, from the marbled floors of Harrods to the dull neon of a Camden kebab shop, for he is the only one faster than the City.

Hestia crouches in the doorways of closed shops, bringing warmth to the homeless. She slips an extra pound coin into the hand of a Big Issue seller and never takes the magazine. Her hearth may only be in a pilot light or in the heating element of an electric kettle, but she is always there, warm, waiting, comforting.

Athena walks through the Bodleian stacks placing blessings on the books hidden underneath the Oxford streets so that students may succeed and those who apply for readers’ cards may be accepted. She stands in the corner of a Shetland home and smiles as a grandmother teaches her grandchildren to knit Fair Isle patterns. A barn owl cries in the cold night air and she moves in the ghostly flicker of its wings.

Apollo accompanies doctors through the wards of Great Ormond Street and sends hopeful smiles to the lips of the children there. He stands in the break room behind MRC researchers’ labs and keeps their coffee hot. He lurks backstage with the roadies at the Electric Ballroom, the O2 and the Roundhouse, singing along to songs of modern muses. He was there at the 100 Club and at the Cavern, at Glastonbury and the Isle of Wight. He is always there.

Artemis sprints through Dartmoor past long forgotten ruins and lonely homes. New Forest ponies gallop at her side, between the trees and heathers, forcing traffic to still. The mountains carry her through the lush green of the Peak District. Her stride is vast and covers cities too, in the wail of an urban fox and the hovering wings of a kestrel above the motorway or the rabbits that burrow beside Heathrow airport. There are corners of the wild everywhere.

Dionysus dances in a Manchester rave, liquor on his lips, eyes bright as glow-sticks. He follows the music through cellar clubs and secret happenings, to counter-culture bars and Soho drag shows. He lies in a punt in the haze of May Morning as drunken revelers leap, singing, from Magdalen Bridge into the gentle river below. He wanders through each theatre, watching West End musicals, Stratford Shakespearean revivals, and Edinburgh Fringe art-house pieces, as every stage is his altar no matter what is performed.

Ares joins Help for Heroes campaigns and stands aside veterans with poppies on their breasts. He carries coffins draped with Union Jacks through Wootton Bassett, head bowed, as mourners scatter flowers. He stands, fists and voice raised, with protesters and activists, carrying their banners as they cry for justice. He shelters refugees cramped into cargo containers and watches over them until they find safety. His spears pierce injustice, his shield blocks hatred.

Hera attends every wedding, every civil partnership, every hand fasting. A couple marry in their lunch break at a registers office and she is there. A lesbian wedding in a local hall receives her blessing. She watches from afar as an Anglo-Pakistani family celebrates for four days with bright clothes and painted hands, for though she is not among their gods, all marriages please her. She is the Queen above Queens, outlasting mortal monarchies and outshining all.

And Zeus? Zeus is in the English rain, that nourishes and punishes, floods and flourishes. He is called by the cries of Red Kites that circle, renewed, in clear skies. His strength is in the ancient oaks of Sherwood Forest and in the memory of lost wolves.