My entries for @voltageparty‘s design contest! I would have done only one, but I really love the concepts of both Shingen and Kenshin to pick just one :’3
For Kenshin, I applied his iconic, historical (mostly) white garb and the cherry blossoms that plays a key role in his main story. I made her to look absolutely feminine and “goddess-like” to match her lord counterpart. But underneath it, of course, is a woman who can and will fight for the sake of those she vowed to protect.
For Shingen, I knew I had to have her exude a “powerful woman” aura because she’s, of course, the Tigress of Kai. She had to be mature, alluring but also imposing with a ferocity that matches her lord counterpart. Her inner robe is an interpretation of “dyed in crimson, dusted with peonies” kimono that Shingen gave to the mc in his main story. She just had to have fur that I refused to put on as a headdress, because my goal for her is to look like the lady of the alpha male who wears the glorious furry headdress hahaha. It’s a shoutout to Shingen’s old battle sprite besides. I also added a bit of allegory in there, which is the plum blossom hairpiece. Plum blossoms symbolize the coming of spring (kind of a bad news for Shingen somewhat) but it also symbolizes the spirit of health and new beginnings. A ray of hope in the coming of spring, if you will.
Hope you like them!
And by the way, I follow the Voltage account on my main blog, as this is my side blog where I put my art on!
Sorry to ask, but can you tell more about Xanatos and his relation to Qui-Gonn? Thanks
absolutely omg yes he is my f a v o r i t e
tl;dr Xanatos was Qui-Gon’s former apprentice who left the Jedi to become an evil bureaucrat.
Longer version: Qui-Gon discovers a force sensitive kid among Telosian nobility, convinces his family to let him take him back to Coruscant, and eventually takes him on as his second (maybe third? idk) Padawan learner. Even as a Jedi, Xanatos never gets over that attachment to his past, and grows up to become this mix of arrogance, charisma and fear of rejection that is fascinating (and is such a foreshadowing of Anakin’s fall)
(Also Qui is so casually affectionate here! He’s going to become so distant and emotionally cut off when he meets Obi-Wan)
the rest is long and full of spoilers so it’s under a cut with a caveat that it’s been awhile since I read some of the books:
I can realistically imagine Carol coming in with her Kingdom peeps in 7x16, all glorious and shit, and some battle goes down and then Alexandria is safe for the time being and Daryl asks her if she’s staying after this and she says she’s not sure and looks really torn and Daryl says “Stay. Please stay.” and there’s lots of emotional tension and eye contact and then he just. GOES FOR IT and kisses her. I NEED THIS. Like yaaas Daryl you GIVE her a reason to stay!
“Is something wrong?” Jin questioned confused, seeing the two people speechless in front of him. Yoongi shook his head, before he looked at his Hyung in confusion and fear. Doubt stroke his eyes, with words falling on each other. You grabbed Yoongi’s arm harder, when he repeated the sentence. Leaving Jin to be baffled, of the thought.
“Bang Si-Hyuk wants to see Y/N in his office tomorrow at noon..”
Was it the longing feeling of
hearing Yoongi’s voice, that made the wind stop? You were called in, to be
faced, with the man who gave you a chance. It was running like a carousel in
your mind, still not believing what consequences there would come.
it’s okay. It’s going to be fine, you don’t know what he wants yet” You heard Yoongi whisper, getting your nerves to stop dancing. He was
right, maybe Mr. Bang just wanted to her about your comeback. It wasn’t the
first time you have been called up, but there was still a certain fright to it.
You looked to see Yoongi’s calm eyes and his pursed lips, making you nod in
agreement. He placed a sloppy kiss onto your forehead, before you all walked
towards the car.
it’s only 11 pm, shouldn’t we go for dinner?” Hoseok
suggested, making your stomach growl. Food wasn’t a bad idea, and it sounded
like the rest of the group, were delighted with their exhausted cheer.
Before Angband, he had super long, shiny, bright red hair that everyone was jealous of at some point in their lives. After Angband, he shore it all off at his shoulders and it starts steadily turning more auburn in color.
Towards the end of the First Age, he keeps it in two simple braids that nearly reach his knees. When the twins are acting up, they have to each grab a braid and follow him around, like a mom making her kids hold onto the grocery cart. In Maedhros’ opinion, this is a disaster waiting to happen. (Maedhros’ opinion is correct.)
He saw some men with wolf tails and liked it, though he turned his into a French braid pony tail. Once the tail reaches any lower than his shoulder blades, he chops it off at the base of his scalp and starts over.
Straight black hair down to the middle of his back, just like every other ellon. It’s always in his face, and if someone (Maedhros) doesn’t remind him to pull it back before battle, he’ll forget.
Actually looks good with a man bun. (Unless they think he likes getting all his glorious hair singed off in the forge.)
Braid eachother’s hair in the morning in whatever wacky style comes to their brains. They keep it down to their waists so they have options.
Picture Scanlan, grieving and angry and clever, drowning himself in legend and lore. Picture him walking just a little bit farther the day he should’ve met Dr. Dranzel, instead listening in on a whispered conversation in a tavern. Hearing a name.
It’s not quite a Deal, he thinks, or maybe it’s not quite a Pact. Capital letters make him nervous. But in the name there’s vengeance and a promise and a distant glimmering point to all this, and he slips charming and effortless into the service of a being that he’s not entirely sure exists… except. Except he’s quicker with his hands than he used to be, except the people he meets are discomfited and distant, except the dreams that torment him have a habit of leaking.
He’s a lover, not a fighter, but there’s something burning in his blood and he says, “It’ll be worth it.” He says, “This has to be better.”
Picture the twins, unwanted, unwelcome, under the roof and the thumb of a father who sees the strangeness in them and wants it near because it’s his. Picture a studious Vex stoking her gift for performance, for illusion, weaving tapestries of lies and half-truths. Picture a silent Vax finding solace in the forms of the creatures that lurk in the city’s shadows, championing a neglected and distasteful wilderness.
Vex sings, sometimes, to ground herself, to distract, but it’s the words, the stories, the tales that hold the real power. All the world’s a stage, she thinks, and you can get so very far with a good performance. In stories, you are whatever you say.
Vax shifts, takes new form, reinvents himself as rats and alley cats and silent bats, perches as a mangy crow on the finely trellised architecture and watches and waits for his chance, one more opportunistic scavenger.
After they run, he braids her hair and he tells her, “I don’t know what we’re doing anymore,” and she tells him, “But this isn’t how the story ends.”
Picture Percy, idle and bored, neglecting his family’s religious training to tinker with machines and ideas without purpose. Picture the night he starts to turn back as his sister falls to the arrows, feeling the flare of warmth in the holy symbol over his heart. Picture him running all the same.
When he comes back to himself, gradually, on a fishing boat surrounded by strangers, every time he reaches to heal a wound or cure an illness, there’s a distance to the familiar magic, a distortion. He can’t seem to keep warm. He can’t seem to remember how it used to be. He doesn’t dream, not anymore. He doesn’t build.
He reaches for his holy symbol, expecting it to crack or shatter, and he says, “I’m still here.” He says, “I don’t understand why.”
Picture Keyleth, idyllic and carefree in the knowledge that she doesn’t possess the druidic abilities so valued by her people. Picture her discovery of a sudden surge of magic, a talent and a spark that’s not quite right. Picture her father poorly concealing disappointment and distress at this fluke of birth, this arcane, uncontrolled magic that tears at the fabric between planes instead of mending.
She’s strong, she knows, and there’s really no reason to expect she won’t be able to help her people with her newfound abilities. There’s really no reason why she shouldn’t be able to succeed her father, to follow in the fading footsteps of her mother. Just because the magic’s wrong doesn’t mean she is. She can save them all if they’ll only give her a chance.
She reaches for the power, the wilderness in her mind, and she says, “I can do this,” and, with a frustration and a longing that frightens her sometimes, “I will do this.”
Picture Pike Trickfoot, unrepentant prankster, falling thoughtlessly into the worst of the habits that earned her family their name. Picture Wilhand taking her under his wing, trying in vain to draw Sarenrae’s attention to this too-clever, quick-fingered girl.
She steals away in silence to the city limits, watching the stars from the ramparts, wondering at the silence in her mind, knowing she should feel the emptiness as a void, knowing she should want more. But there’s a comfort and a safety in the shadows, and besides, she doesn’t especially want anybody shining a light in all her dark places.
She steals a merchant’s purse just to prove she can, grinning at Wilhand’s exasperated groan, and she tells him, “It’s all right.” She says, “I’ve always been a bit of a monster.”
Picture Grog, nearly dying for the act of saving Wilhand because it was the right thing, because there should be glory in battle and that wasn’t by any means glorious. Picture Wilhand’s surprise when his frantic prayers for healing are met with a warm sense of amusement and familiarity.
And look, it’s not like Grog has ever been the religious sort, but he’s pretty good at sticking up for people and he knows a thing or two about redemption and second chances. So sure, he’s not good all the time, he fucks up more than he should and has to deal with the disapproval of a deity, but honestly that’s not nearly as scary as the disapproval of Pike, so he’s getting better at it. He’s trying.
His big fuck-off sword glows when he thinks about new beginnings, and he says, “Sometimes you get to choose.”
(*narrator voice* From the void of ash and shadow whence she descended, the author rose again, having survived the pit of depression by way of amazing friends and sheer spite!
Seriously though, I’m writing again. I write what I like, when I like, and with less pressure I really hope that it’s here to stay.)
Warnings: canon-typical violence, death mentions, explosions, swearing, fudged medical details (of shock)
Word Count: 1534
Notes: For the sake of the story, this takes place on Earth, which was a Republic planet but is currently occupied by Separatist forces.
You were still bruised from the last time the droids had shown up at your house to collect tribute. Eventually, to protect your family, you’d conceded and given them what they wanted - the valuables and family treasures that the Separatist commander was collecting, likely for his own pocket.
That had been over a week ago now - and the bruises should have been ample reminder not to defy the invaders again.
But come on. They were kicking around an old homeless twi’lek man. What possible reason could they have for that? He had no way of resisting, nothing valuable to steal.
“Mom’s gonna kill me,” you muttered under your breath, crossing the street at a jog. “Hey!” you yelled, getting the droids’ attention. “Hey, over here! Leave him alone, you miserable trashbuckets!” All three of them left the man alone and turned their stun weapons on you.
“Identify, citizen,” one of them barked. “Halt! Do not come any closer.”
In this universe, superpowers are distributed randomly, but super-powered people tend to join the aristocratic classes for snobbery purposes. Gascons tend not to have powers, instead choosing to run at the enemy screaming.
The Three Musketeers:
d’Artagnan: No powers. Who needs powers when you can just hit things very hard?
Thoughts on Bodhi's backstory, his bond with Galen and his eventual decision to defect? R1 could have done with more Bodhi Rook scenes, less weird tentacle monster imo.
Bodhi Rook has loved flying since Cheuske Taintia “borrowed” her older brother’s speeder, and let them all have a try behind the controls. It’d felt like laying both hands on an energy coil, something humming under his fingers, making his back teeth ache.
When he shuts his eyes, he can still look through that viewshield, out into the darkness.
They’d dimmed the headlamps—whispering to one another, flush with the illicit thrill of the stolen speeder, the abandoned field, the excitement of being young, and feeling on the verge of something. The grass was spread out before them, undulating like the sea, and Bodhi can remember thinking flying was like stepping into another galaxy, some place apart and suspended in space.
(There were no rations, in this bit of space; his father never came home in silence, and went immediately to bed; his mother didn’t cry over the holos of her sons killed in action over Bastatha.
This world was dark, and green, and hushed, warm with all their breathing, trembling, and Bodhi was flying, skimming over that sea of grass, and he was free—)
His mother does not cry, when he stumbles in from the night, half-drunk on the feeling, wings on his feet. She and his father simply look at him for a long moment, before sending him to bed.
He dreams of silver wings, against the dark sky.
Reecee is loyal to the Empire; Bodhi only vaguely remembers a time when the Emperor’s holoimage did not flicker on the mantle, when people asked ‘if’ their sons would enlist, and not ‘when’
He thinks he spends the next four years of schooling fidgeting in his seat, stalking the perimeter of the airfield like wanting will put him in the pilot’s seat.
Learns everything he can, to the point where when he shuts his eyes, he can picture the controls of a TIE fighter or a command shuttle, perform basic maneuvers on his phantom controls.
(I used to be fearless, you know, he told Galen once. His hands were still shaking, and he had to grit his his teeth, hugging himself to stave off the fever-rush of stim come-down. There are—these rock formations, on Reecee. I used to climb them, just with my hands, trying to get that flying feeling back.
Did it work? Galen had asked. Hah, Bodhi had laughed, a stuttering sound. You know, it didn’t. But once I lost my footing, fell almost seven meters—that felt like flying. Shattered my kneecaps and broke most of the bones below my hips, but for just a minute, it was exactly right.)
The first thing they teach at the Imperial Flight Academy is that the Empire must be preserved. At its borders prowl wolves—the Rebels, the Separatists, criminals, scum, thieves—all jealous of the glory and might of the Empire, and the wisdom of the Emperor. Were it not for its brave soldiers, the galaxy would be plunged again into the chaos and disorder of the Republic—
The second thing they teach at the Imperial Flight Academy is that the designation of of ‘brave soldier’ mostly seems to be earned through dying.
To be fair, they do not say this.
But Bodhi once spent all night studying the TIE specs, and went to his instructor the next day. Where’s the shielding? he asked, pulling up the schematic on his datapad, just to make sure he wasn’t missing something. His instructor had looked at him for a moment before saying, that’s none of your concern, pilot, and striding away down the corridor.
The instructors occasionally bring in pilots—officers—to speak to the trainee classes, share stories of their glorious battles for the Empire. But Bodhi has seen the other pilots, who wander through the halls looking like living ghosts. Their hands shake, long after any stim should have left their systems, and when spoken to, they stare with bloodshot, unseeing eyes.
He’s heard the jokes that TIE fighter pilots are bugfuck, spice-addled; mad as rathtars and twice as vicious. But he thought that was typical military talk, like referring to the troopers as ‘bucketheads’
Once, as part of a practice misrep, Bodhi asks for pilot deaths per standard annum. (He just needs to compare attrition rates, make sure his calculations are correct—) “That record does not exist,” the records hall droid replies crisply.
He tries his query a hundred ways, but the records don’t exist. Whether the ship was salvageable, yes; stimulant stores and shipments, sure; even orders given. They have records of when pilots were ordered into battle, but not how many pilots returned.
Bodhi reports this to his Tactics instructor, who is the highest-ranked officer at the Academy. He listens thoughtfully, nodding and looking increasingly worried. I’ll take this straight to the top, he swears, taking the datachip from Bodhi.
(The trash droids don’t come around often enough. Bodhi sees the broken shards in the wastebasket, the next time he has class.)
When Bohdi shuts his eyes, he can still see the green world, the invisible controls. He shuts his eyes—
He keeps them shut, for a long time. Goes through the rest of the Academy like that, his first five postings, living only for the moments they sit him down in a craft, tell him to leave the stars in his TIE’s rear sensors.
He does not care about the rest, when he is flying
(I don’t think I’m a good person, he slurred once, when he collapsed in a stim-addled haze at Galen’s door. Galen helped him stand, took him in; Bodhi vaguely remembers being curled up on a bed, crying, and Galen stroking his hair and murmuring in something that wasn’t Basic.
I have a daughter about your age, Galen had said the next morning, when Bodhi woke up in sweat-drenched sheets, a headache like a blaster-cannon between his eyes.
Bodhi didn’t know what to say to that, so he made some excuse and left. They never did have much to say to one another, when he wasn’t high or Galen wasn’t tinkering with Bodhi’s fighter.)
The stim makes it easier—the TIE pilots are all addicted to it, to some degree, a cocktail of norepinephrine and epinephrine, adrenaline, all rotting their brains. Stim narrows the world, until it’s just you and the stars and the controls, your own blood crackling with lightning. Everything’s fast and easy, liquid, like flying. Nothing matters but you and doing. Doesn’t even matter what you’re doing.
The first time Bodhi tries flying without it, he’s so tired, distracted, he screws up his flight plan, barely makes it to dock. His commander screams at him for five minutes, and all he wants to do is lie down. He hasn’t been actually tired in years, he’s forgotten what it feels like, how heavy it is.
They take him off TIE fighters shortly after that. He’s almost grateful. (It’s too hard, too wired into his brain now, climbing into a cockpit with that tab dissolving on his tongue. Freighters and command shuttles don’t twig that bit of his brain.)
Going without stim is like—
Not like taking blinders off, nothing that drastic. But it doesn’t feel as though the world is on the verge of ending anymore, that something must be done about it now, right now. It’s amazing how much more there is in the world, when it isn’t rushing past at hyperspeed.
He finds himself thinking, in the new absence, wondering why the Empire is ordering him there, what cargo he’s bringing here. Why there are so many pilots and soldiers on a research base. What it is that Galen’s building.
(At first he asks these questions aloud, but he gets blank, bewildered stares from the other pilots. Then the stares turn suspicious, hostile, and he stops asking.)
The record droids don’t keep track of death tolls for every conflict he’s flown in, but the estimates are enough to make him crave a stim tab, or at least some very strong alcohol.
He tries it out once, alone in the cockpit of a command shuttle. I’m not a good person, whispered, just to himself. Immediately he feels like being sick, and he has to rest his head against the yoke, breathe deep.
It’s the first time he’s ever actually knocked on Galen’s door, standing upright and without even a trace of stim in his system. (He’s still twitchy, doesn’t think that’ll ever go away—and moreso knowing that the deck of cards clutched in his hand is technically contraband, for both of them.)
Do you play sabacc? he blurts out, when Galen answers the door. The man looks somewhat surprised—it’s been a good few months since their paths last crossed in the hangar, longer since the last time Bodhi dragged himself to this door. But he smiles all the same, lets him in.
(The datachip wasn’t in his shoe, just for the record. Might have damaged the tech, that way. He’d slipped into the worn deck of sabacc cards he kept in his inner breast pocket. And he’d carried it there, right between the Idiot and the Star.)
Can you imagine if the Night King rode the wight dragon to the Wall fully intending to break it and, like, the dragon couldn’t actually do anything? It just sort of made coughing noises in its general direction long enough that the Night King turned around and flew away just to save face?
But actually, could you imagine the glorious, unexpected letdown that would be??? What a twist!
Or, alternately, when the dragons meet in battle the wight dragon looking back and forth and being like “I don’t know what you guys heard but I’m not about that life” and trying to play it cool meanwhile the lord of night and darkness is sitting on his back crossly. This is some fan art shit right here, fam.
(A/N): *loves fics where the reader transforms into a creature of sorts and whatever character calms them down*
Can you write a Natasha x female reader imagine where the reader is an Avenger and Nat’s girlfriend, who has the ability to transform into a dragon hybrid and into a full Western Dragon, and she encounters her ex-boyfriend at Tony’s party, who’s trying get back together with the reader but she gets extremely uncomfortable which causes her to transform and he freaks out from seeing her dragon hybrid appearance, calling her a monster. Cues protective Nat? And ends with Nat kissing the reader?
Warnings: some swearing, drinking
Everyone around you oohed and awed as you spread your leathery wings behind you, stretching them out to their fullest length. Tony had forced you to come along to his most recent party, saying something along the lines of ‘Oh come on (Y/N)! Everyone will love you, plus I need some good entertainment,’ And of course you had agreed, given your foolish, stupid self. So for the last hour people had crowded around you, demanding that you spread your wings and showcase your horns and snake like eyes.
“Can you breathe fire when you’re like that?” One of Tony’s party guests asks in excitement, their eyes glowing in anticipation. You sigh softly, wishing nothing more than to escape and hide away from all the sudden attention, nonetheless you were to entertain and that’s what you were going to do.
“I can’t breathe fire,” You begin, smiling softly. “But I can create it,” With a simple flick of your wrist a tiny flame appeared in the palm of your hand, dancing between your fingers. Everyone around you damn near fainted at this new bit of information before springing back to life, cheering and praising you loudly.
“Okay, okay,” Tony begins as he steps in front of you, shielding everyone’s gaze from your body. “Let’s give the poor kid a break, they’ve been at this for what…like an hour now?” The crowd murmurs in disappointment, all groaning in protest before Tony shuts them right down again. “Why don’t we go bother someone else? I’m sure Thor has some lovely stories to tell,” the crowd seemingly forgets about you, instead focusing on the mention of the Asgardian God.
You sigh in relief as you can finally shrink back into your ‘normal’ self. Your wings tuck into your back, your eyes flicker back to their normal color and shape, and your horns begin to slowly dissipate back into your forehead. It was a painful experience to say the least, to have chunks of bone and skin just tuck themself into your body.
Tony turns around you and gives you a smile, mouthing the words, ‘Thank you,’ You give him a thumbs up and tired smile, mouthing the words, ‘You’re welcome,’. He turns away instead directing the group of party goers to where Steve and Thor sat, talking of glorious battles and men in arms. You smile fondly at your friends before turning immediately to the bar, most definitely needing a drink after that whole ordeal.
You sit down at a random seat, grabbing the bartender’s attention immediately.
“Hey cutie,” Nat turns to look at you, leaning her elbows onto the bar to get closer to you. “Tony’s done with you?” You sigh as you smile softly, shaking your head in exhaustion.
“For now, let’s see how long he can go with Thor’s and Steve’s stories,” Nat smiles as she gives your hand a gentle squeeze, the look in her eyes damn near making you melt.
“I’d say a half an hour at most sweetums,” You groan, throwing your head back exaggeratedly.
“I’m so tired,” You whine, tears of frustration almost welling within your eyes. “I wanna take a nap,” Nat chuckles softly, leaning over slightly to press a kiss to your cheek.
“Why not both,” You mutter sadly, your spirits considerably worse than when you got here. Nat gives you a sympathetic smile, giving your hand one more squeeze before letting go.
“Tony’s got some nice wine hidden in his closet, I’ll go grab that,” You almost smile, one corner of your mouth twitching upwards.
“You’re the best,” You whisper.
“I know I am.”
Nat gave you one last smile before sauntering off, leaving you all alone at the bar. No one else was even remotely close by so you were left to sit at the bar, picking at the counter mindlessly. A few moments later you hear footsteps from behind you but they’re too heavy to be Nat’s but too light to be any of the other Avengers. You’re about to turn to see who in the hell it could be but you stop short when a greasy sounding voice echoes through the bar.
“Hey sweetheart, haven’t seen you for awhile,” You gulp as you immediately recognize that nasty voice, it was your ex, the ex you thought you had left behind years ago. Despite your now increasing anxiety you turn to look at him with a polite smile, hoping it didn’t look too much like a cringe.
“Hello,” You state rather calmly. The man before you is indeed your ex, only now dressed to the nines and looking….somewhat better than when you had left him. You nearly wrinkle your nose in distaste but refrain, instead keeping up your incredibly fake smile. “What are you doing here?”
“After you left,” The words are full of venom and you can’t help but wince at the tone. “I got a job, became a businessman, worked my way up in the world, met some pretty nice people, you’re friend Stark being one of them.” You gulp softly, you anxiety only increasing the more time you spent with him. He gives a sickening smile and your stomach churns, leaving you feeling nauseous. “Wasn’t your reasoning for leaving me because I was a deadbeat who couldn’t do anything?” That’s what I told you, you think to yourself. I really left you because you were an asshole you treated me like shit.
You give him a tight smile, hoping it didn’t convey how disgusted and anxious you were to be beside him.
“I’m not a deadbeat now, am I? I’m rolling in the dough sweetcheeks, why don’t you come join?”
“I’m actually seeing someone right now so-” The man scoffs, throwing his head back and damn near cackling.
“Bit are they a rich, handsome, leader?” He asks so smugly you want to claw his face off. When you don’t reply he merely chuckles, leaning in a bit closer to you. “I didn’t think so baby, now-” He gets even closer, his lips nearing your face. Your anxiety sky rockets and you can practically feel your ‘animal instinct’ take over. On pure instinct to protect yourself your wings explode from your skin and your horns sprout at an incredible rate, your blink your eyes and they’re suddenly back to their snakelike appearance.
“Go away.” You demand, shakier than intended. Luckily for you this curse also brought with it some deep ass vocals and your voice immediately sounded a billion times more intimidating. Your ex blinks quickly, in shock if you do say so yourself, before wrenching himself away from you. He looks you up and down in distaste, his gaze judgmental.
“Y-you-” He pauses to glare at your wings, his gaze so full of hatred and disgust you feel your heart aching a bit. “You freak! You’re a monster!”
“Actually-” That smooth, comforting voice that you love so much fills the air. You look to Natasha who’s standing just behind the man, wine bottle in her hand and glaring so angrily at your ex that you wouldn’t be surprised if she killed him on the spot.
The man seemingly recognizes the woman as his eyes go wide and his jaw drops in shock.
“They’re quite the opposite,” Nat sets the bottle down calmly, her now eerily calm facade even making you tremble slightly. “They’re beautiful and wonderful and I love them dearly. Now I’m going to give you 3 seconds to step away before I rip your arm off and shove it down your throat,” The man nods before scurrying off, nearly tripping over his own feet in an attempt to get away. Nat is still seething when she turns to look at you, her jaw clenched and her hands fisted at her sides. She immediately melts when she looks at you, probably looking all scared and pathetic as tears now pool within your eyes.
“(Y/N),” She sighs softly as she pulls you against her, enveloping you in her warm embrace. You can’t help but feel a little worse about yourself when Nat has to maneuver her head so your horns don’t stab the underside of her chin. “I’m so sorry sweetie, I promise you’re not a freak, you’re not a monster, you’re beautiful and I love you so much,” Nat pulls away to wipe away at your small tears, her gaze nearly heartbroken as she stares at you. “I love you no matter what you look like, whether you’re human or like this,” She gestures to your body, “Or if you’re a full blown dragon, okay?” You nod softly, sniffling as you do so. You could always count on Nat to make you feel better, she just had that kind of air about her. Nat gives you a smile as she runs her thumbs along your cheeks, smoothing her fingers over the scales there.
“Can we-” You pause to wipe away at your wet lashes, “Can we leave, go home?” Nat nods her head, giving you a soft smile.
“Sure thing babydoll,” Nat leans in, pressing a soft and loving kiss to your lips. You whimper against her lips, the feeling of them nearly giving you a high. And all too soon she’s pulling away, licking her lips as she continues to stare at your own. “We’ll continue this at home, got it?” You whimper softly, nodding your head in agreement.
27! Aoi Tori. I know this ending word for word. I love it.
26: My dream fight
So manyyy… I wish Uryuu had fought Ulquiorra and wasted him. I wanted him to have another great battle like the one against Mayuri. Ichigo and Grimmjow were just fine fighting each other over and over and over again. :rolls eyes:
27: Favourite arc
Gimme that SS all day any day. Ichigo whooped everybody’s ass and it was glorious. Byakuya was peak. His beauty slayed that arc. The art was great.
@nathdar yeah honestly I entirely agree with you re Maric, Cailan’s issues with reality and views on heroism are obviously related to his upbringing. Not sure about the no win situation though, he seems pretty sure that he’ll win and get his glory, and if he’s not are we looking at some idk, search for glorious death by battle? Seems dubious to me even if it would be IC, only he’s just… Too young and hopeful? To get there yet. He looks like an overexcited golden retriever a lil out of touch with reality tbh
Claudia signed a contract to raise Stiles to be a powerful witch and Laura Hale’s future mate. But then she died. Then the Hale fire happened. Then Laura died.
“At first, it’s because it would be too great a disrespect to the sister he loved. To take her status in death is one thing, but this - it would be too much, like instead of mourning her loss, he’s sliding into her skin and trying to call it his own.”
“I want- No. I am demanding a date without any of this. No monsters, no goo, no running for my life. Just you and me, going out like normal people.”
“If that’s what you want, I think we’re just going to have to stay in,” Derek says. He doesn’t say, if that’s what you want, you’ll have to get a new boyfriend, because if Stiles hasn’t figured out yet that his life would be much easier without werewolves, without the supernatural, without Derek, then Derek isn’t about to clue him in.
Derek gets sick and accidentally lets a few things slip.
Stiles’ is ready for the next step – to meet in person. He wants to make it real with Jason or jcastro88 or whatever his name actually is. Sure, he is terrified, but their virtual relationship has left him in a constantly aroused state, hungry for a taste of Jason’s lips and the touch of his skin. He wants to make love – all night long – to the guy who’s captured his heart sight unseen.
Except, the meeting of notyourrobin69 and jcastro88 goes nothing like they’ve planned…
(6,945 I Mature I Complete I Chubby!Derek and Body Appreciation; High School AU)
Stiles is sixteen and head over heels in love with Derek, however, it’s been six months and they haven’t done more than kissing and he has yet to see his gorgeously hot boyfriend shirtless. Stiles figures the reason for Derek’s shyness might be that he’s slowly easing himself into the whole ‘intimacy with boys’ thing, but a run-in with bullies during date-night reveals the source of Derek’s insecurities to be something else entirely: his weight.
Derek is not stupid. He gets why Stiles puts up with him. It’s clear every time Stiles looks at him, the spicy scent of lust and arousal Stiles’s body can’t help but put off. It doesn’t surprise him. Not at all. Derek knows what he looks like, knows that his face and his body are more than enough to compensate for his shitty personality. Stiles wants him more than he is annoyed by him. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s not anything to be amazed over, nothing to write home about. Stiles isn’t the first– and most likely won’t be the last– hormone soaked teen who has panted over Derek.
To say he thought about it was an understatement. Derek thought about it a lot. Almost all the time, even when they were in the middle of a pack meeting and talking about things completely unrelated to college or the future or anything, even once when he was actually mid-fight with a pair of sprites.
The thing was, he really did want to move down to Palo Alto with Stiles, he really did want to spend the rest of his life with Stiles, he really did. And yes, sure, definitely, he’d thought again and again about making Stiles his mate, and maybe someday his husband, locked together by the laws of the supernatural and the humans alike. But – cliché as it may sound and be – he also realized that Stiles was only seventeen. They’d only been dating for six months, he was only seventeen, and Derek – he also really wanted Stiles to be able to live as regular a life as possible, besides all the supernatural stuff, and having a twenty-five year old boyfriend while being a freshman in college really didn’t give off the vibe of “normal”.
kurodai rival break dancing crews!AU ohgodohgod this song has got me fucking pumped holyshit okay so Daichi and Kuroo are the leaders of their break dancing teams and are basically like sworn rivals but damn when they’re out there dancing against each other there’s just something there, like a pull towards one another I imagine like intense moments when all there is, is the other just dancing in front of them and the music and nothing else. there’s a terrible amount of teasing. Kuroo rolling his body close enough to Daichi and kissing his cheek as if daring him into battle(kuroo does this a lot probably more than necessary what with the blowing of kisses and anything else he thinks he can get away with), and moves where Daichi shakes his butt to taunt Kuroo bc he’s seen the way he looks at him(kuroo’s learned he’s basically earned this form of glorious torcher). godd and when they end up battling separate people on their team they don’t even try to be discreet about their constant eye contact with each other (just blatantly ignoring whoever it is they’re supposed to be battling), and whatever sorry loser got stuck battling one of the captains just quits and lets their captain join in bc no one wants to get in between whatever thing these two idiots have going on between them(their teams literally just want them to get a room already I mean really). Please use this video as a reference of what I see happening in the battles. Lots of teasing from each team, and it’s glorious. Plus the teams in the vid are so fucking skilled like holy shit.