“Edom`s new design!”

i made a new design for my aftedeatch child Edom because i didn`t like his old design! but he`s still (half) blind, he still covers his right eye because of reasons. also, i made some red magic ribbions on his clothes, edom hides his real hands in his long coat so those ribbions are kind of his hands that he can control. XD

anonymous asked:

Headcanons for Dadsona being in a intense dance team in his past life. (He had trophies for first and second place) and he kept that hidden, and (DAD) finds out by snooping in his stuff? (He finds pictures, trophies, ribbions, books, magizian articals and videos)

🥃 Robert laughing has become less of a rarity these days, but hearing a hearty laugh coming from the guestroom still takes you by surprise. Curiosity wins over your sense of self-preservation and you walk over to see what’s gotten into your boyfriend. You find Robert standing between the wardrobe doors; he pulled one of the boxes out from the back of the wardrobe and whatever had been inside of it is now strewn all across the floor. Your gaze follows the trail of books and magazines to a photo that unmistakably shows you and your crew celebrating a victory. Robert’s still laughing. You kick him in the shin, which doesn’t even seem to faze him. “What’s so funny?” The question comes out sharper, more aggressive, than you intended. Robert immediately stops laughing. “Come on, tell me. Is it the idea of me in a dance crew or dance crews in general?” You could have gone on for hours, letting out old insults you had got over the years, but Robert’s hand covering your mouth prevents that. You glare and he shakes his head. “Not that, kid. I think dance crews are cool. It’s just…” He visibly tries not to chuckle. “You. The person who literally stumbles over their feet once every two weeks. In a dance crew. Doing breakdance moves.” He starts laughing again. Pouting, you let him pull you close and bury your face in his neck. “I’m still angry,” you tell him.

🍸 Most of your belongings already migrated over to the Christiansen house, you’re just carrying the last boxes, to be put somewhere in the back of the wardrobe or under the bed to be forgotten. Maybe you should have taken Joseph up on the offer to carry them for you, but Dad PrideTM won over practical knowledge. The one in your arms is heavy, you stumble every step, trying not to give in under the weight. You make it to the living room and already feel a rush of accomplishment, just to step on one of Crish’s toys and fall. Joseph is there in an instance, alerted by your yell, and pulls the box off your chest. “Y/N! Are you okay?” After you nod, he starts putting the items that fell out back into the box. He pauses. “Are those yours?” You sit up, ignoring your hurting back, and look at the thing he’s pointing at. Your face goes red. “This one has your name on it,” Joseph continues, oblivious to your embarrassment. He picks up a trophy and traces the engraving with his finger. “Now I know why you can do sick dance moves like the ones you showed off at the youth party!” Joseph leans forward and kisses your cheek. “You have to tell me everything.”

☕ Mat wraps an arm around you from behind and kisses your temple. The scent of vanilla, coffee and cinnamon that clings to his skin no matter how often he showers washes over you and you nearly melt. “Did Carmensita find the album?” He nods and kisses your cheek. “Back of the wardrobe. Next to some boxes I didn’t recognise, so we looked inside.” There’s an undertone to his voice that tugs on your thoughts, but you can’t figure out why. Mat is silent; you feel his jaw shift and hear him swallow, as if to gather his courage. Then he speaks again. “Didn’t know you used to be in a dance group, man.” He runs his fingers down your spine, coaxing the tension that came at his words away again. “It’s no big deal.” Mat squeezes your side; his chin comes to rest on your shoulder. “Kind of is, though,” he disagrees. “You were in the World Championship.”
“We didn’t win, though.” Mat tuts. “You were second, baby. If that isn’t impressive, I don’t know what is.” You can tell there’s something else he wants to say, can see it in his anxious expression, but you don’t ask. You give him all the time he needs for his silent pep-talk, patiently waiting. Eventually, he releases you, just to turn you around and embrace you again. “Want to show me some moves? I’ll play for you,” he whispers. His deep, rich voice sends a shiver down your spine.

🌹 When you step into Damien’s stowage room, he’s on the floor. “What happened here?” You gesture to the things lying about. “Lucien and I had an argument,” he replies. “He let out some steam here. Don’t worry about it.” He smiles at you; it seems like he and Lucien already made up again. “The argument wasn’t about anything serious, it just escalated.”
“Shouldn’t he be helping you, if he caused this mess?” Damien makes a dismissive gesture. “He’s making dinner downstairs. Cooking has always helped him calm down more than cleaning up.” Slowly you get down to help him. There are a lot of old, damaged or even broken things, objects one only doesn’t throw away because they hold memories, but also other stuff, like Halloween decorations or IT equipment. You’re trying to figure out what the gadget in your hands is for when Damien gasps in surprise next to you. You look up. He’s holding a blue ribbon and turns it over in his hands to read what’s written on it. “Y/N, Best Individual Dancer.” He turns his head towards you and wiggles the ribbon, as if you didn’t already notice it. “How delightful! I didn’t know you were a competitive dancer.” Blushing, you rub the back of your head. “I was in a dance crew. Lucien must have knocked over one of the boxes with my… things.” Damien reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “You’ll have to show me some of them at a suitable opportunity. I’d enjoy hearing all about it.” He pauses. “Unless you don’t want to talk about it? I’d understand, Y/N.” You shake your head. “I’ll tell you about my crew.” His excited smile makes your heart skip a beat.

🎣 Other people would probably have approached the topic with more finesse and sensitivity, but this is Brian you’re talking about. If you hadn’t seen him deal with Daisy, you would think he doesn’t know what tactfulness and softness is. You’re chilling on the bed when he comes barging inside carrying a box on his shoulder as if it weighs nothing, bringing with him a complete shift of the energies in the room. You sit up and scoot aside to make space for him, but Brian drops the box on the bed and stays standing, hands on his hips. “Y/N! Here you had something you’re a whole lot better at than me and you never brought it up!” You’re confused until you peer into the box and find yourself and the rest of the crew gracing the front page of a magazine. You blush and duck your head. “I can’t dance,” Brian continues. “My ex always told me I have two left feet and the sense of rhythm of a stone. But you-!” He puts his hands on your shoulders, looking so excited, his eyes are sparkling brighter than any emerald. “Not only can you dance, but you won prices!” He takes out a random trophy and presents it to you. You have no choice but to take it. “Where was that? What song did you dance to?” He finally sinks down next to you, with an expression reminding you of a young Amanda waiting for her bedtime stories. You chuckle and read the engraving. “Okay, so that was 1997, in New York—“

👟 “Did you find it yet?” You call down to Craig, who has been in the stowage for half an hour, searching for something (you already forgot). A muffled sound is the reply you get, and you’re already about to walk down to see what he’s doing when Craig comes sprinting up, holding—Your eyes go wide, then, you blush. “Bro!” Craig proudly presents you the trophy he found – you can’t even remember putting your old stuff down there. “I didn’t know you made your hobby into something so serious! Why didn’t you tell me?” You shrug; honestly, you don’t really know yourself. It’s not like you’re embarrassed, it’s just something you don’t feel like shouting from the rooftops. “That’s so sick.” He turns the statue over to read the engraving. “First place in the United States Dance Group Competition… Bro!” He’s so excited, you can’t help but grin back at him. “Can you still do some of the moves?” Craig tries to show you what he means, but what comes out is so far from a dance move, you struggle fighting down a hysterical laugh. “Yeah, I can,” you say. “Want to see?” His eyes light up like a Christmas tree.

📖 “Y/N? Could you come here for a moment?” Lowering your book, you frown, but put it aside and follow the sound of Hugo’s voice. It didn’t sound urgent, but still, you hurry. The moment you see him kneeling next to a box filled with ribbons, magazines and a photo album, your already rapidly beating heart takes it up a notch, hammering against your chest. Hugo finally lifts his gaze and merely raises an eyebrow, the expression that brings every student to their knees. “Care to tell me what this is?” A smart-ass response comes to mind, but you brush it off your tongue before it can get out. “My old stuff.” You move to sit on the floor next to him and look at the book in his lap. It shows your whole crew after your second win of a major competition in a row; your old self grins back at you. “Why did you hide those, Y/N? I hope you know it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Au contraire, it’s…” A faint blush colours the area around his nose pink. “Awesome.” He points at another picture of your crew. “It actually explains a lot. You might be out of practise, but your body still remembers the moves. It’s evident whenever we wrestle.” His wolfish smile turns you on as much as it worries you. “That means I can take off the training wheels.”

- Mod Mare

Hair Gauntlet- Cutting it Off, in the style of You.

So like instead of just the Fates boys chopping off their hair, what if they like asked it for it to be cut like their sons? Here’s my take!

Ryoma and Takumi sat directly across from each other, along with Soren and Karel. The four men lost their respective matches in the voting Gauntlet, the victor being Shanna, a lancer who rode a Pegasus.

Soren frankly didn’t care what style his hair was in, so long as it wasn’t embarrassing. Ike was reluctant to see his partners hair get cut, having to like the long locks, but he nodded at the result of the finishing touch. As for Karel, honestly Takumi didn’t pay too much attention, he was busy telling his hairdresser, Sakura, what style he wanted.

She smiled widely, “Aww, that’s so sweet! You want it in Kiragi’s style?” Takumi nodded, holding the red ribbion in his hair, “Yes. Kiragi isn’t here with me, and while I remember him fondly, this is a good opportunity for me.” He missed his son dearly, Kiragi must be worried about him and where he went. Or maybe Kiragi was confident in knowing his dad was somewhere, off fighting… Takumi preferred the latter choice. “And you big brother?” Sakura turned to Ryoma, who held the headdress and held it in his hands.

“Perhaps Shiro’s style of hair would best suit me.” That answer surprised them both. “Shiro’s hair style?” Sakura repeated. “Yes… Ever since Shigure appeared, I’ve been expecting Shiro to come, but perhaps he won’t come, and we do not know how long we may stay here. I wish to remember my son in some way.” Sakura nodded, “Right! Coming up you two!”

Takumi sat there as she cut his hair and he watched as his long hair fell to the ground… When he stood up, he was given a mirror and when he looked through, the hair style was spot on with Kiragi’s. “Heh… If I weren’t so old and I didn’t have bags under my eyes, maybe I would look like Kiragi.” He said and turned to Sakura who was cutting Ryoma’s hair.

At the end, the two brothers wore styles similar to their sons, the ones they missed dearly, but they needed to continue to fight, so that they may return home… But maybe wait until they grew out their hair again, Takumi would be faced with confusion from Kiragi and Ryoma would be met with humiliating laughter from Shiro. But they couldn’t wait to see their sons again. Ryoma would mess up Shiro’s hair and Takumi would catch Kiragi in his arms… That they swore.