#clockwork monk

[disease]

A 16th Century "Clockwork Monk"

The 15-inch-tall clockwork Padre, the figure of the well-known miraculous monk San Diego de Alcalá, was made of wood and iron and manufactured by Juanelo Turriano, the mechanician of Emperor Charles V, in the 1560s. The monk can walk around, beating his chest, lifting his cross and praying silently. After over 400 years, he remains in good working order.

[loderlied]

me: i’m normal about enver gortash

also me: fully plans out a detailed meditation (monk levels gort real) & stretching & exercise morning routine he’d do

[meeblott]

heyo, still alive over here I promise, just busy af! pls enjoy some recent DND pc art (in order: Starling (she/her) hexblood lunar sorcerer, Ersatz (he/him) elven clockwork soul sorcerer, Revelation (she/her) tiefling Way of Mercy monk)

[yourworldiseternallycomplete]

i guess my next complicated situationship has been arranged for me lol

[kxsagi]

*Pokes my head through your window* Good morning, may I request: Blue Lock boys with a Reader who insists they drink the homemade herbal tea she made first thing in the morning.

Characters: Chigiri, Yukimiya, any other characters you want

Because seriously, why did Chigiri or Yukimiya never consider TCM as an option?

“𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫”

a/n: i think yuki, reo, rin, and sae would def be into tea

ft. chigiri hyoma, yukimiya kenyu, mikage reo, karasu tabito, kaiser michael, itoshi rin, itoshi sae

chigiri hyoma

he blinks at the mug like it insulted his entire bloodline. 

“what did you say this was made of again?” 

you cheerfully answer, “dandelions, licorice root, and love!” 

he only heard “dandelions” and “root.” the love part did not save it. 

drinks it like it’s poison and glares at you over the rim the whole time. 

“you know i already have good hair, right? i don’t need... lawn clippings in a cup.” 

he’s so dramatic. clutches his stomach every time like he’s waiting to collapse. 

but refuses to skip a day because you always beam at him like he just cured a disease after finishing the cup. 

he actually does feel a little more energized. but he will never admit that. 

yukimiya kenyu

totally on board at first. skincare king. tea enthusiast. 

“ah, herbal. nice. did you steep it at 80 degrees?” 

you: “i microwaved it.” 

the betrayal in his eyes. 

drinks it anyway and nods politely with the stoicism of a man pretending he likes your cat’s cooking. 

goes full monk about it – sits cross-legged on the couch, sipping in silence, whispering affirmations like “my gut microbiome thanks me.” 

you find out later he’s been sneaking in a drop of honey every morning to make it bearable. 

“you can’t get mad if it still has the benefits.” 

if you try to make a new blend, he gets suspicious. “... what’s in this one?” 

you: “vibes.” 

mikage reo

very chill about it. the first morning you offer it, he drinks it and goes “interesting.” 

you ask what he means and he just says “tastes like nature with a grudge.” 

he drinks it every day but adds a bougie little mint leaf or lemon slice like he’s in a spa. 

insists you sell it as a “detox elixir” and slaps a mikage corp sticker on your tea jars. 

drinks it with his pinky up. 

convinces nagi to try it once and nagi just immediately lies down on the floor and doesn’t move for thirty minutes. 

reo just shrugs and says “it’s an acquired taste. like kale or emotional vulnerability.” 

karasu tabito

makes fun of you. every single time. 

“you’re trying to assassinate me with twigs in hot water. just say you hate me.” 

gags dramatically. slides down walls. wipes imaginary tears. 

but still drinks it. because deep down he’s a little whipped. 

sneaks in a spoonful of sugar when you’re not looking. sometimes three. 

once asked if he could add protein powder to it and you almost kicked him out. 

starts calling it “witch potion” and “swamp smoothie.” 

“ah yes, nothing like drinking a cauldron shot first thing in the morning. love you, babe.” 

kaiser michael

sips it once. pauses. looks at the mug like it personally betrayed him. 

“this is what you give to your enemies, not your boyfriend.” 

you tell him it helps inflammation. he raises an eyebrow and goes, “it’s inflaming my taste buds.” 

complains every single day but shows up like clockwork for his morning mug. 

mutters under his breath in german. probably insulting the tea. probably insulting you too but in a sexy way. 

insists on a dramatic health report each morning: “vital signs stable. vision slightly blurry. taste buds... gone. but still hot.” 

tries to bribe ness to drink it for him one day. you catch him and double the dosage. 

after a week, he starts posting selfies with #herbalhealing like he’s a lifestyle influencer. 

says he hates it but starts sending you pinterest boards titled “tea aesthetic.” 

itoshi rin

stares at the mug like it personally offended his ancestors. 

you: “it’s good for your immune system.” 

rin: “i’m not drinking grass clippings.” 

refuses for three days straight. you finally wear him down by saying it’ll reduce cortisol/stress. 

he drinks it. expression doesn’t change. not one twitch. you ask him how it is. 

“… it’s wet.” 

dramatic sigh. takes another sip like he’s at war. 

“did you brew this in a pond?” 

glares at the mug the whole time he drinks it. like he thinks it'll grow legs and fight him. 

starts researching each ingredient. one day comes home with a list like, “you know licorice root can raise blood pressure, right?” 

he still drinks it daily. never tells you why. 

you catch him once making it himself when you’re not home. you say nothing. he pretends nothing happened. 

itoshi sae

you hand him the mug with a cheerful “good morning!” and he just stares. 

“why is it the color of swamp water.” 

drinks it anyway. immediately gags like you slipped him poison. 

“is this payback for something i did in a past life?” 

says he’s gonna die every time he drinks it. clutches his throat like a victorian ghost. 

“this is why i don’t eat vegetables. it always leads to this.” 

puts it down dramatically and whispers, “bury me with my cleats.” 

complains for 10 straight minutes, then asks, “… wait, what’s this good for again?” 

next morning: already seated at the table with an empty mug. 

“not saying i believe in your dirt tea, but i didn’t need a nap during my training break today. that’s progress.” 

texts you “bring the juice” every morning like you’re his shady herbal dealer. 

still makes fun of it. calls it “potion of pain.” but you catch him once calling his teammate "weak" for not drinking his girlfriend's tea. 

he’s a silent believer. with attitude. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[bet-on-me-13]

Trigons Backup Plan

So! Trigon knew from the moment his Daughter was taken in by the Monks of Azarath that it would be difficult to turn her to his will. He wasn't stupid, he knew just how hard it would be to make his daughter turn on everything she has ever known in her (very short) life.

He can't really blame her, even he believed that indiscriminate mass murder was wrong until his mid-200's, he just needs to wait for her to grow out of it.

But until then he still needs a way into the DC Universe. And if his daughter wouldn't help, then he could always just make a 2nd one.

So, he searches and eventually finds a Couple of Scientists who seem to be good targets. They are researching Magic and Ghosts, so he makes a Demonic Pact with them. He will give them the secrets needed to complete their Research, and in exchange all he asks is that they help him bare a child.

They agree, and Danny Fenton is born.

Danny was supposed to become a Hellmouth when he turned 16, unlocking his Demonic Powers and opening the way for Trigon to enter the DC Universe so he could conquer it.

Instead he managed to get himself killed at 14. Then he managed to come back to life as a Halfa, he got himself adopted by Clockwork, and he usurped the Throne of the Infinite Realms in the span of 1 year, therefore putting himself on the same level as his Father on the cosmic scale.

So there goes his Backup Plan.

Dammit.

...

Meanwhile Raven is panicking. She had been messing around with her Friends when they asked about the Spells she could do, and she off-handedly mentioned that she could cast Family Tracking Spells.

One thing led to another, and they all wanted to know if they had secret family. Then they asked if she wanted to try as well, and for some reason she agreed.

And long story short, she has a little brother somehow. A little brother who is only a few weeks away from turning 16, who doesn't know the Azarathian Spells she learned to prevent his own transformation into a Hellmouth.

Oh shit...

[6ixtoru]

18+, mdni! artwork @ MUNAKATA_N

ᯓ★ CLAN LEADER! SUGURU who’d realised that perhaps dictating and eradicating humanity to his liking may not have been his ultimate end goal. After all, it was two citizens out of the herd who’d delivered the divine craftsmanship better known as his wife.

Following a rather hectic day, the finale included his lover caged beneath his heaving, burly figure after a session of torrid intercourse dwindling to intimate devotion.

It was leaning towards extremely late, the sphere responsible for Icarus’ tragedy having traded with its lunar counterpart. Buoyant indigo had affectionately suffocated apricot gradients long ago; the dramatic hue was more than prepared to disperse its presence across the nation, persuading cheeky glints to accompany and beautify its empty canopy, which had diffused entirely the prior traces of daytime.

Her gentle touch caressed his fair complexion, bared from his tasteful, monk-resembling outfit threaded with ornate patterns, strewn off to one side, his sumptuous appearance unravelling in sync with Tokyo’s clockwork – hours elapsing as he promulgated his objectives and widened the number of his enthusiasts.

ᯓ★ CLAN LEADER! SUGURU would have once thought it was simply pathetic to dismantle his core beliefs for any reason, especially for sickly romance with a citizen wielding an increment of sorcery and unbothered to partake in jujutsu’s purpose to serve a population he referred to as the same animal some believed they’d evolved from.

“Missed you…” He mumbled a deflated admission, his slender sight obscured by escaped wisps from his noir mane, briefly parting from her pupils, which were deluged with affection and prepared to remedy his fatigue with her personality, resembling a paradisiacal destination.

The declaration itself almost passed unnoticed had it not been euphonious to the ear. Her trembling fingers successfully sought purchase around his jaw, caressing the defined bone structure, a silent confession that she yearned beyond consuming just his physicality but rather his entire being, ardent convictions and all.

She prettily whimpered, wordlessly pleading for another finger to pledge its allegiance to her heavenly body as his index finger had been expertly pummelling her sensitive walls.

Suguru acknowledged the cruelty of his gesture, his thick middle finger prodded at her entrance, barely tipping into the hole that clenched in excitement at the possibility of leeching onto more leverage – but the man intentionally disregarded the concept of mercy concerning sexual pleasure, as of now anyway.

On the other hand, Y/n bucked her hips at the modest dip into the heated opening, unsuccessful in reigning another finger in.

He leaned his head further down whilst simpering at her desperation, witnessing greed merge to insanity before using a rough force to annex her wriggling hips to the mattress once more, the plush area adorned with a stampede of brutal fingerprints after visiting deific landmarks across her form.

ᯓ★ CLAN LEADER! SUGURU savoured the entrancing embodiment of purity sprawled beneath him, flushed with innocent femininity as beguiling roses pricked beneath her clammy flesh to convey a subtle dust of rouge on top whilst she lightly panted. The combination of their perspiration, drenching their entangled figures, strengthened the notion of them being one unit, a team.

His hooded eyes, eclipsed with compulsive lechery, momentarily glanced at the floor decorated with his opulent robe. The hefty fabric, symbolic of leadership, was paired with her dainty panties featuring picot trim and a satin bow carelessly tossed atop. He was unable to refrain from savouring the stark contrast between the garments that imitated their dynamic immaculately.

“Please…” She began, her defined brows furrowed as the relentlessness of his mischievous digit stilled, and pulled out except the tip, the tallest visitor still yet to implore further beyond the fleshy partition.

“Please, what?” He teasingly quizzed, innocence feigned yet conscious of her covet for a particular one of his additions.

“Please, Sugu,” She briefly paused as he permitted a few millimetres of his index finger to slip back in, the petty invasion more than enough to warrant an aching supplication. “Add another, God, please give me more.”.

Her smooth palms, warm and reassuring, resided atop his broad shoulders. An attempt on her behalf to steady her whines as his index and middle finger succumbed by deeply occupying her pulsating cunt, her swollen clit’s complaint of desertion rectified with erratic swirls courtesy of his rough thumb.

“You ask so nicely,” He murmured as she inhaled his cologne, weakened by the day’s timestamps but strengthened by the enticing musk of having seized his carnal yearn; his aroma integrated far beneath her muscled casing and disrupting the flow within her interior, all fundamental units of her body, each passing cell organised by speciality, was stamped with an eternal smidgen of his existence that no type of intervention could retrieve it.

She basked in his claim over her, the diabolic sounds he was able to bring forth when in tune with her; his confidence and pride in attaining knowledge about such pried her gaze away out of shyness. Suguru, however, refused, forcing her attention back onto him, more specifically on his ministrations.

“Don’t look away when you asked for this,” He scolded, though without bite, smirk fuelled by zealous intent as she slightly spasmed when he began the classic scissoring motion, an action that never fulfilled her quest unless committed by him.

ᯓ★ CLAN LEADER! SUGURU momentarily stilled whilst evaluating his upcoming words, slowly permitting his forehead to lay against hers, involuntarily forcing her to strain up slightly to truly register his expression.

"I’ve forgiven humanity,” He breathed, thumbing over her chin as thin lips ghosted over hers that had been twitching, overall facial expression scrunching at the general intensity behind his customised devotion towards their love.

Her head is thrown back, rustling her own tresses not only at his confession but the particular curl of his fingers teasingly brushing a spot he’d memorised as a goldmine, more fervour added, continuing to prod that specific spot.

A weightless moan failed to permeate and relieve the budding tension cramming her joints, the vacancy in her lungs having spoken more than vocabulary itself.

His inky irises fixated on the column supporting her winsome visage, currently struck with fluster following his vulnerable but earnest revelation. Fixated on sloppily smooching pre-engraved blemishes of blossomed violet until reaching her collarbone, he scarcely towed his tongue into the pit between both probing bones as if he were delving into a sacred whirlpool arcing with boundless lust.

She drew him up to her intrigued eyes once more, parting his mouth from her dewy skin.

Sincerity coerced her plush lips upwards before struggling to muse a soft “Is that so?”.

Suguru would have never entertained the possibility, convinced that his true calling was to act on behalf of God, to be the right-hand assistant and aide of an entity beloved by many, although responsible for crafting the exact useless specimens he’d grown to detest - until now.

“Why the sudden toleration of them?” Not that she, his love, the woman who had decided with ease to advocate for his controversial notions, wasn’t convinced - but the alternation in attitudes so suddenly?

Suguru tutted, “Not toleration, Love,” he nudged his sharp nose against her sweaty temple, enunciating the final word of his elongated reminder with prominence - thick pads continuously swabbing against that spot, which minimised the distance to her undoing. “Forgiveness.”

Her sopping cunt served multiple purposes – tonight being a habitat meant for atonement, whereby the intrusion of his fingers carved with nanoscopic paths purged with fiendish slaughter was relieved of such corruptness when knuckles deep.

When he calculatedly applied extra pressure to the swollen bud, she keened, instantly arching upwards, her round breasts with perked nipples encapsulated with dried saliva, faintly mushed against his own splotchy chest.

Silk pillows beneath her head persuade her tipped head to relish in the luxury supporting her skull, the satin against her tousled hair, running away from the new sensory awakening as the suffocating coil blurred her sight yet desperate for more it; curled toes roughly dragging at the fitted sheet, barely clinging to the temporary cotton humps produced by the action.

“Okay - f-fuck m’ so close,” She pouted, and he soothed her down with a faint peck to her jugular, speed quickening whilst his pace of words contradicted his body, sensual expressions consistent of mellow encouragement greeted with an erotic cry regarding the arrival of her release alerting him as if triggering clench and lacy web globing his digits wasn’t telling which he shamelessly admired with genuine adore afterwards – sticky fluid a refresher for his parched tastebuds, no more a cavern of drought when the delicacy was suckled off his fingers and leisurely enjoyed by his curled tongue.

“So good, sweetheart, you did so well and all for me.” He appeared somewhat bashful.

Suguru uttered vulgarities far too crude to publicise under the incandesce audience currently catering to the other half of the globe’s domain, but romantic and poetry-esque when ushering her to a sensual demise, endeared the silver observant’s sultry liquification mimicking lingerie when reflective onto her peeking skin not blockaded by Geto’s burly figure above.

Her breathing staggered, lack of chatter due to balancing the aftermath and dawned realisation of exposed vulnerability, which coaxed her to tug him flush to her chest.

“Don’t be shy again.” He cooed, to which she sheepishly looked away before finally regaining a sense of his prior comments.

“Forgiveness, hm?” She suddenly but lightly voiced with a silvery chuckle, tracing a mere line of her feathery touch atop the sharp bridge of his nose.

Genuine forgiveness, a trait acknowledged by God as only attainable by true believers, living with the reassurance that the earth’s current status of lethargic collapse into dystopia was not its final destination, but rather a better one awaited after.

ᯓ★ CLAN LEADER! SUGURU was a man who believed he had been entwined with strings related to the owner of all universes and beyond; thus, forgiveness being pre-manufactured in his heart was a given, as well as benevolence and so on – without those basic yet necessary traits he was practically on the same level as those who viewed him higher than themselves, a man perched atop the catastrophe known as lost humanity.

He examined her facial expression, indulging in the warmth and comfort her bewitching features offered before vocalising such. Letting those he deemed burdensome for sorcerers absorb his attention when his doting wife was right in front of him...how foolish of a move for a man of his calibre.

His motives were still intact, as was his conceptualisation of residents' lacklustre of cursed energy. But, the division of his priorities should not have been equal; the compartment dedicated to the woman, nothing less than benevolent and sympathetic to his cause, should have been heeded miles ahead of anything else.

“I’ve forgiven humanity,” he restated, and a breathless chuckle followed.

“Out of my love for you.”.

a/n: its been a while, gon try take advantage of the free time i have <3

© 6ixtoru all rights are reserved. do NOT repost or copy my work

[slashire]

PLEASE MAKE A PART 2 TO ONE HELL OF A HEADACHE 🙏🙏😭😭 it was so good and sadly there aren’t a lot of black butler fics 😣

here it is. :)

part one part three part four

one hell of a headache pt two

Summary: through insults and arguments, you and Sebastian both had one thing in common. You both regret falling for one another.

Sebastian Michaelis x fem!reader

Genre: comedy, romance

WC: 2422

It started like a splinter. You noticed it only when it began to ache.

Sebastian had entered the drawing room with the usual theatricality, crisp as cut glass, smirking like a cat in a room full of birds. He handed you the morning paper and said something smug about the state of politics, and you, as always, gave him a reply sharp enough to file knives on.

But something had changed. You'd seen it in the way his eyes lingered on your face a moment too long, not in admiration, but as if studying a contradiction he couldn't solve. You didn't like it.. You didn't like the flicker of curiosity in his gaze that went deeper than usual, like he was trying to trace the edge of something he wasn't supposed to find interesting.

You threw the paper at him.

He caught it without blinking. “I'll assume that means you agree.”

“I assume you have nothing better to do than loiter like a morally conflicted shadow.”

“I am your shadow,” he said mildly, “as your contract dictates.”

You stood abruptly. “Then I suggest you vanish like one when I turn the light on.”

He smirked. “And miss this delightful conversation? Unthinkable.” 

That was the problem. Lately, these conversations had begun to feel less like battles and more like dances, steps you both knew by heart. Every insult exchanged with the precision of clockwork, every narrowed glare matched by a crooked smile. And instead of exhausting you, it was beginning to…amuse you. That was the part that stung.

You weren't supposed to enjoy sparring with a demon.

You weren't supposed to start wondering what it meant when he stood too close or when his voice dipped low, like he was speaking to you and no one else in the world.

The realization hit you at dinner one evening, when you insulted his taste in wine pairing and he responded with a comment about your fashion sense that should have drawn blood, but instead, it made you smirk. Worse, he saw the smirk. Noticed it. And smiled back, for real.

You nearly choked on your soup.

He arched an eyebrow. “Too rich for your taste?”

“Too smug for mine,” you snapped. “Wipe that smile off your face before I do it with a bread knife.”

“I imagine you'd miss,” he said, folding some napkins. “You usually do.”

“I never miss. You dodge.”

“And yet I'm the one on the receiving end of your attention every hour of the day.”

You stilled. So did he.

He had crossed a line-not in word, but in implication.

And you hated that your heartbeat reacted like he’d touched you.

The next morning, the insults came quicker, crueler. You were vicious with your commentary. You called him an over-polished corpse with a god complex. Said his suits looked like they were stitched by blind bats. You mocked his hair, his voice, his posture, anything to keep the distance intact.

He gave as good as he got. Said your handwriting resembled a chicken's last confession. Called your sarcasm a 'defense mechanism barely dressed as wit.’ Accused you of being emotionally constipated.

You retaliated by shoving a teacup across the table and yelling, “Well, you look like a funeral that learned how to speak.”

He didn't even blink. “And you sound like regret in a corset.”

That one hit a little too hard.

You didn't speak to him for a full hour.

By the third day, the household staff started avoiding the main hallway altogether. The air between you had become so dense with tension that even the candlesticks seemed nervous. Tanaka blinked at the two of you once and went back to sipping tea with the serenity of a monk.

Finny asked if you and Sebastian were ‘playing a game.’

You replied, “Yes. It's called Who Snaps First.”

And yet…there were moments. Quiet, traitorous moments.

Like when you burned your hand on a lantern wick and Sebastian was there with cool cloth and muttering something in Latin under his breath. You were too stunned to insult him.

Or when he caught you shivering during a storm and wordlessly placed his coat over your shoulders. You let it stay. He didn't mention it. Neither did you.

You thought the worst moment would be the one where he let you fall asleep in the library and carried you to bed without waking you. But no. The worst moment was the one that came later.

The night he stood outside your door, hand half-raised, not knocking.

You saw him through the cracked opening.

He looked…undecided.

That was what terrified you the most.

Because Sebastian Michaelis never hesitated.

He opened his mouth, maybe to speak, maybe to retreat, and you slammed the door in his face. Then immediately cursed yourself, because you wanted to know what he'd been about to say. 

The next morning, he served your tea like nothing had happened. And you insulted him harder than ever.

“I'd rather drink sewer water than your pity blend,” you snapped, snatching the cup.

He tilted his head. “And yet you drink it every day. Curious.”

“You're lucky I haven't replaced you with Grell.”

“Ah yes, because chaos, murder, and flamboyant shrieking would really elevate the household ambience.”

“At least he wouldn't stare at me like he's planning my autopsy.”

His expression didn't change, but his voice dropped slightly. “I'd never plan it. I'd improvise.”

You nearly flung the teacup. He caught your wrist before you could.

And for a second, the war stopped.

His fingers were cool, firm. His eyes-those inhuman, infernal eyes- met yours without amusement, without mockery.

You hated the silence that bloomed there.

You hated how familiar it felt.

You pulled your hand back sharply. “You're getting sloppy, demon.”

He nodded once. “And you're getting afraid.”

The rage that flared inside you was a relief. It was a weapon you understood.

“I'm not afraid of you,” you hissed.

“No,” he said softly. “You're afraid of what you're starting to feel.”

You shoved past him. “Get out of my sight.”

He didn't move. Just whispered as you stormed away, “As you wish…my Lady.”

It wasn't until you were in your room, door locked, heart pounding for no reason you were willing to name, that you admitted something horrifying.

You had fallen for him.

Worse, he knew.

And he regretted it too.

Because the next morning, he insulted your intelligence so eloquently it made Bardwin spit tea into a vase. You called him a walking corset mannequin and accused him of having the personality of polished granite.

The insults were crueler now. They sliced deeper. They were meant to protect, to rebuild the walls that were cracking under the weight of something dangerously human.

Neither of you dared to touch the truth again.

But every glance was loaded. Every argument, a near-confession.

And the war continued, not because you hated each other.

But because you knew what would happen if either of you stopped fighting.

The assignment had seemed straightforward on paper, escorting Ciel to investigate a string of disappearances near the coast, workers vanishing from a newly acquired shipping yard. Strange circumstances. Stranger witnesses.

You weren't officially part of the operation, but Ciel had insisted. “Someone needs to keep Sebastian from turning the investigation into a theatrical production,” he said.

You had glared. Sebastian had smiled. “Oh, I wouldn't dream of dramatics.”

Ciel had snorted. “I was talking to Y/N.”

The air reeked of salt, old fish, and gunpowder. The warehouse floor groaned beneath your boots with every cautious step, thick with dust and damp rot. Your coat clung to you, soaked at the hem from the rain outside, and your patience- already hanging by a thread thanks to your assigned company- had officially rotted through.

“This is a trap,” you muttered, low and sharp as your eyes scanned the broken rafters above. “A blatant, stupid trap.”

“I thought you enjoyed excitement,” came the too-smooth reply from behind you. “Perhaps if you focused more on the investigation and less on complaining, we'd be done by now.”

You whipped around. His gloved hands tucked behind his back like a smug painting come to life, was watching you with that same infuriating, unreadable half-smile. His coat, of course, was immaculate despite the rain. Not a single strand of hair dared to move out of place.

You sneered. “I would focus if i didn't have a hell-born stalker breathing down my neck every five seconds.”

He took a slow, silent step closer, his smile sharpening. “Forgive me. I was under the impression my presence was required to keep you alive.”

“You're required because Ciel said so. Not because I need you.”

He tilted his head, as if examining a fly under glass. “You keep saying that. Yet here you are-still breathing.”

“And somehow still enduring your voice,” you snapped.

“A miracle indeed.”

A crack split the air, gunfire, loud and close. Instinct tore through you both. You dove behind a stack of rustled crates, him vanishing into shadow like smoke. Another shot followed. Then a third. You ducked, cursed under your breath, and scanned the high beams. Shadows moved too fast above. At least three assailants. Armed. Human. Possibly hired.

Boots struck wood near your position and, before you could react, a hand gripped your shoulder and yanked you roughly into a narrow crawl space between support beams. You opened your mouth to protest, to rage, to call him every foul name you'd ever invented, but he shoved you against the inner wall and pressed himself against you, pinning you there. One hand splayed beside your head. The other locked your waist in place.

“Don't move,” he breathed. His voice was close. Too close. Right beside your ear, a warm whisper against your temple. You could feel the tension in him, every muscle strung tight beneath fine cloth. His coat brushed your knees. His chest pressed flush against yours. His scent, tea leaves and fire and something darker, filled your head.

“I said dont move,” he repeated.

“I heard you,” you spat. “Get. Off.”

“Would you rather be shot?”

“I'd rather be shot than suffocated by your pompous presence.”

He chuckled, the sound too low for comfort. “You say that, and yet your heart is racing.”

Your eyes narrowed to slits. “Because I'm considering murder.”

“And here I was thinking it was the thrill of my proximity.”

You jerked forward, only for him to push you harder into the wall. Your breath caught. Your hands were trapped between you and him, fists curled in his lapel out of necessity and rage.

“I hate you,” you said through your teeth.

“I've always admired your commitment to honesty,” he replied, voice still maddeningly calm.

“You're a plague in a suit.”

“And you're a storm in heels.”

“You’re smug, arrogant, over polished-”

“And you're aggravating, reckless, and absurdly stubborn.”

You scowled. “You're getting awfully bold for a servant.”

He leaned in until your noses almost touched. “And you're getting awfully heated for someone who claims not to care.”

That did it.

Your mouth crashed into his without warning, less a kiss and more an act of open warfare. His surprise lasted all of half a second before he responded in kind, lips meeting yours with equal force, equal fury. The kiss was bruising, angry, the culmination of every insult, every taunt, every lingering stare that lasted just a second too long.

He kissed like he fought, with precision and heat and zero hesitation. Your hands rose, tangled in his coat, yanking him forward as your back slammed harder into the wall. His teeth grazed your lower lip. You bit his in return. His grip tightened on your waist, his other hand tangling in your hair. A low, frustrated sound escaped him, a sound you'd never heard before and didn't want to admit sent heat straight through your veins.

It was messy. It was furious. And it was everything you'd been pretending not to want.

You broke the kiss first, panting, furious with yourself, furious with him. He didn't move, just stared at you, face shadowed, lips red and parted. His eyes flicked over your expression like he was memorizing it, storing it away, locking it behind some door even he didn't like to open.

You shoved him. Hard.

“Don't you ever do that again,” you snapped.

He raised an eyebrow. “You initiated.”

“You were in the way.”

“Of your mission?”

“Of my sanity.”

He leaned back with infuriating composure, brushing imaginary dust off his lapel. “Apologies, my Lady. Next time, I'll allow the bullets to do the talking.”

“Next time, I'll throw you in front of them.”

“How chivalrous.”

“How convenient.”

There was blood on his lip, yours or his, you weren't sure, and you hated the way it looked good on him. Like a dangerous painting, half-ruined and still smug.

The next gunshot brought you both back to reality. You stormed off without another word, him gliding beside you silently, as if the last five minutes had not happened at all.

You cleared the warehouse in five minutes. The assailants, as it turned out. Were hired thugs, human, unremarkable, and now unconscious thanks to Sebastian's usual flair for excessive force. You didn't thank him. He didn't expect you to.

By the time the mission was complete and you returned to the manor, silence hung between you like fog. You didn't speak. He didn't speak. Even Ciel noticed something was off.

At dinner, Sebastian served you tea like always, graceful, expressionless, unshaken. You took it without looking at him.

“You're quiet tonight.” ciel observed.

“Must be the weather,” you said.

Sebastian smiled faintly. “A passing storm.”

You lifted your teacup, eyes fixed on the dark liquid. 

“That didn't happen,” you muttered.

He inclined his head, just enough. “Of course not.”

And neither of you ever spoke of it again.

But from that night forward, the insults hit harder. They came quicker. The tension was a constant now, crackling beneath every word, woven into every glance. Because you had kissed him. Because he had kissed you back. Because you liked it, and you hated that more than anything.

And worse- he knew.

So, the war continued. Unspoken. Sharp as ever. No mercy. No forgiveness. Only teeth and fire and the constant, unbearable ache of everything left unsaid.

[yuriosakawa]

Invincible Variants x Catgirl!Reader 

Night settles like ash over the wasteland again, and though the winds howl, they sound softer now—more like whispers than wails. You’re used to them. You’re used to this. The patchwork nest, the heavy breathing of eight Marks in varying stages of rest, the warmth of their bodies curling around yours like they can’t help it.

You purr before you even fall asleep.

This time, it doesn’t take long.

You start in Prisoner Mark’s lap—he likes to sit cross-legged while he sleeps, like a monk who’s done hard time—and he rests one hand instinctively on your baby bump. Protective. Possessive.

Then Sinister Mark, half-dreaming, half-smirking, reaches over and pulls you into his side like you’re some prize he’s reclaimed.

“She always ends up next to me,” he drawls through half-lidded eyes.

“That’s ‘cause you cheat,” Mohawk Mark mutters, reaching over and tugging your tail just enough to get a startled meow.

Striped Mark doesn’t even wait for you to roll—he just lifts you up and places you in his lap like a content dad gathering the house cat.

“She’s warm,” he whispers. “We need her warmth. That’s science.”

“You’re not a scientist,” Maskless Mark grumbles.

“No, but I watch them on TV.”

They all chuckle softly, and the sound’s low, lazy… animal.

The wind kicks up. The sand shifts, shimmering gold beneath a pale sky.

You look around… and blink.

In the dark, with the way the terrain rolls and the shadows stretch, it almost looks like the savanna. Barren trees claw at the horizon. The air smells dry and wild.

“Feels like we’re in the Serengeti,” Mohawk Mark mutters, already halfway asleep again. “We’re like lions, man. A whole-ass pride.”

“Technically,” Omni-Mark chimes in, very much awake “this landscape aligns more with the Namib Desert. Too dry and coastal for a savanna.”

No one responds. He adds: “Still… the sentiment is apt.”

Viltrumite Mark shifts closer to you, his breath at your nape.

“We’re the apex,” he murmurs, more to himself than anyone. “And she’s the queen.”

You mewl softly, and that’s it—that’s the cue.

Like clockwork, they begin shifting. Arms slink around your waist. Legs drape over yours. Hands rub lazy circles into your back, your bump, your thighs. You’re passed between them not roughly, but reverently.

Full Mask Mark lays beside you, his breathing slow and deliberate. He doesn’t say anything. Just strokes your hair like you’re the only thing anchoring him.

You end up sprawled across three of them, belly cradled by one, your cheek resting on another’s chest, a warm hand cupped over your hip.

“You smell different,” Maskless Mark says into your shoulder.

“She’s glowing,” Sinister repeats. “Still.”

“You know,” Mohawk Mark yawns, “if she starts purring louder, I’m gonna start purring too.”

“You don’t purr,” Omni-Mark says.

“I might. You don’t know.”

Another round of low, sleepy laughter. Then silence.

The wind settles.

And in the middle of it all, warm and surrounded, you dream. Of golden fields. Of soft paws. Of being exactly where you’re meant to be.

Shared, claimed, kept.

A lioness in the middle of her pride.

[theresamouseinmyhouse]

tim + brentwood characters as boys i was legitimately friends with in high school and think of every single day:

Buzz- Jake (fake names for all of my friends bc privacy reasons) who complained about hanging out with nerds, got into a fistfight with someone else on his football team bc they called us nerds, was thoroughly convinced he'd run laps faster if he was hopped up on pixie stix (i held his backback while he got sick in the bathroom👍👍), he tried to hit on my older sister and she laughed at him, he was so put out he contemplated becoming a monk for a week

Wes: Max, who i helped sneak an entire bottle of orange juice on to the bus to our choir competition, but was unaware he brought a full bottle of vodka as well, ended up crying on our choir teacher for the three hours after the comp and i bought him a box of donuts after school, he did not stop doing this and had severe beef with a kid he knew in 5th grade and hadnt seen since but also hadnt forgotten their name and last i knew, was still awaiting for a dreaded confrontation to eventually come

Kip: Eduardo, who we all thought was studying during lunch but was actually filling his notebook with weird facts he observed about us and also managed to chew several packs of gum at once throughout our math class before the teacher noticed him, didnt know the plot to the clockwork orange so i lied about it for 5 weeks before he read it and called me just to tell me "you lying frog" befire he hung up

Ali: Ángel, who lied several times on separate occasions to the campus security about where people smoked, forgot what chihuahuas were twice, and almost drowned when he was swimming except his older brother got him and he immediately called me while waiting for the ambulance to tell me he almost fucking died, randomly sang a song about crabs he made up throughout the day

Danny: Ben, helped me with my biology homework because i helped him with essays, once released a live rat into the computer classroom because he had beef with the teacher, once texted me at 11 p.m. because he was having a mental breakdown over his chem work before he realized he was actually looking at trig and i told him id shoot him with a tranq gun if he woke me up like this again, kept forgetting how to tie his shoes

Tim: Teddy, he catfished 6 men over the age of 30 by pretending to be a 13 yr old girl and lured them to the part of town where there is an absurd amount of wild dogs that evade animal control and are known to maul humans, i watched him lockpick the english teacher's door so he could take back an essay he wrote bc it was actually a slash fic he printed out and turned in by accident, we hung out at a dennys once and he accidentally put his hand in syrup, looked me dead in the eye and said "i did that bc im gay" and wore pastel pink for a month bc it pissed off the hall monitor, his dad, and also six teachers he didnt even have class with

[avery-braindump]

Giving tgaa characters dnd classes time

Barok - oath of the crown paladin

Herlock - alchemist artificer. Maybe with one single level in bard (he can play the violin and also I need him to have vicious mockery)

Ryunosuke - college of eloquence bard

Kazuma - samurai fighter. However he also has warlock vibes for reasons I cannot and will not explain. Idk what patron I'd give him tho.

Gina - thief rogue

Susato - I'm thinking a monk of some description (way of mercy perhaps?) Or aberrant mind sorc (miktobas are psychics)

Iris - artillerist artificer. Partially bc I want her to have the same main class as sholmes, partially because she does invent that smoke gun, and partially just because I think a 10 y/o artillerist would be funny

Stronghart - Clockwork soul sorcerer

Klint - oath of vengeance paladin

[raeofsunshine-ew]

I HAD AN IDEA BASED OFF A PIECE OF ART I SAW ON HERE-

DnD Au where the rottmnt turtles were raised in the feywild, unknown to them they were created by Baron Draxum, who is stuck in the mortal plane. I'm still working out how they get their weapons and how they got out into the mortal plane again, but basically they hide the fact they are from the feywild by saying they are Tortle (a race in DnD) classes(and subclasses)

Raph- Barbarian(Path of giants)

Leo- Bard/Rouge (Glamour/Swashbuckler)

Donnie- Artificer (Artillerist)

Mikey- Druid (Wildfire)

MEANWHILE! I wanna involve the 03 crew as well (for my own satisfaction) so I like to imagine through feywild tomfoolery (aka plot convenience) the 03 turtles and their Splinter are from the feywild as well. However they have been living in the mortal plane for a while. When the Rise crew comes across them, they kinda essentially adopt them as little brothers. Classes and subclasses!

I imagine they are all multi classed, the primary being Monk.

03 Leo- Monk/Paladin (Kensai/Watcher)

03 Raph- Monk/Fighter(Kensai/Champion)

03 Donnie- Monk/Sorcerer(Mercy/clockwork soul)

03 Mikey- Monk/Bard(Sun soul/Creation)

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

The Night Kevin

I think I figured out the whole Kevin thing. It's a strange and twisted tale, so stay with me.

Kevin Day is the haunting mystery at the heart of aftg. The story might be about Neil and Andrew but he brings this almost mystical dimension, sensed rather than seen. Like Edgar Allan Poe's poem - on the surface it's about grief for the loss of Lenore, but the presence of the raven takes it into an unknowable place.

So trying to solve the puzzle of Kevin becomes an addiction. The answer feels tantalisingly just out of reach, if only you could figure out the right questions to ask. Same with all those polycule connections that won't show themselves but won't go away... it's the great unknowable; kandreil isn't supposed to exist in the canon version yet it defies all attempts to erase it. We all know it's there. We can feel it, even if we can't see it. What's driving it? Why does 1 + 1 keep adding up to 3?

Perhaps the clue is in the name. Kevin Day. What's the word that immediately comes to mind when you hear the word 'day'? The word 'night'. Maybe it's a hint that we're only seeing half the story.

Which is how I've always felt about Kevin... that he's only partly real, maybe 30% of a person. I mentioned before about the Perfect Court feeling like splinters and Kevin reminding me of Rei Ayanami, an incomplete soul.

But there's an even better analogy. Pratchett's 'Thief of time', which is brilliant by the way, imagined Time as a female spirit who became trapped in a glass clock. Kind of like Kayleigh, a uniquely talented free spirit who stumbled into something sinister. (Strange that we only ever perceive Kayleigh as a spirit, never a real person. It's even called the Day Spirit award.)

In the book, Time as a not-quite-woman eventually gave birth in a sort of time loop, so her son was born twice. Two bodies but only one soul, split unevenly between them. One boy was almost normal, but the other was so cold and distant he didn't seem fully human. They were both obsessed with time and highly skilled at it, time was their thing; one created clockwork devices and the other could bend time with these weird time-bending monks.

That idea of a split soul is how Kevin always feels to me. As though part of him is missing somehow, or lost.

So where is it? Is there another half of Kevin Day, a Night Kevin, a lost son, if not of Kayleigh, then of the Spirit of exy... who walked in the shadows while Kevin Day was always in the light? Someone with the other half of his soul, with all the fierceness and independence that Kevin lacked?

Someone else whose life also revolved around exy, who was obsessed to the point of singlemindedness, with a gift for exy - but passionate and instinctive, not coldly intellectual.

Someone who was also incomplete, but in reverse. Who was missing all the things Kevin could do... the ability to form bonds with people, depend on them, even ask them for help.

Neil is a knight in Nora's chess symbolism. He is also the night half of the lost boys story.

Look how much they were drawn to each other. Neil who needed to evade capture at all costs but not as badly as he needed to carry around an 'I heart Kevin Day' scrapbook. Kevin who dismissed half the young hopefuls in the country so he could go bullheaded for that kid in Millport.

Even the way they were both attracted to Andrew. That's why kandreil feels so real even in the canon version. It's not Kevin + Neil + Andrew. It's [Kevin/Neil] + Andrew.

An unexpected piece of corroboration is something that always sticks out to me - Riko telling Neil 'I'm going to love hurting you. Like I loved hurting Kevin.' Because if he wanted to intimidate why not mention Jean, who suffered far worse torment? There's many explanations but I think he meant exactly what he said: it would feel the same with Neil as it had with Kevin. Because Neil and Kevin are split souls.

We all understand 'misplaced forever partner' to be a bond outside of all labels we've ever heard before - friend, lover, partner. I think whatever binds Neil and Kevin is in the same category - entirely unique, only existing between those two, and impossible to properly define except to say they're the mirror halves of something broken.

It's beautiful that neither of them could heal until the other did, and that they found the missing parts of themselves almost at the same time.

The queen tattoo was the moment when Kevin became whole. No wonder Andrew was smiling - Kevin had found his independence. That was Andrew's true role in Kevin's life, whether he'd realised it or not, and maybe this was the moment he realised.

And Neil was also feeling complete that night, having learned to depend on someone.

Which is why the final game was the finale, it was the completion of their story, Neil and his mirror soul, no longer broken but healed.

[malaismere]

downfall subclass notes

Asha is a 20th Long Death monk - touch of death to get temp HP from archmage

S.I.L.A.H.A. is a 18th level Clockwork Soul sorcerer, 2nd level Ghost in the Machine warlock - Clockwork Cavalcade - mentions remote access, from the very early modern magic subclass; could also just have the spell, but this fits

Trist is a 14th level unknown Paladin, 6th level Light Cleric - improved warding flare - 70 points lay on hands

The Emissary is an unknown barbarian - ???

Ayden is a 9+ Peace cleric, 6+ unknown paladin, 2+ Stars? druid, 1-3 unknown barbarian - Rary's telepathic bond (peace or FCG's empathy domain) - channel divinity Balm of Peace for the hospital scene - aura of protection - guiding bolt (also a cleric spell, but Stars druids get some for free)

Emhira is Raven Queen warlock - dearest could be just a flavored pact of the chain familiar, but it fits the UA Raven Queen warlock to a T and also, technically she doesn't use an action to see which is unique to the Sentinel Raven

[mogwaipoet]

We're coming up on Topic Lords #300 in just a few weeks

You might think that episode numbers are trivia, not worth paying especial attention to. You couldn't be more wrong.

Take, for example:

Important If True, one of Topic Lords' inspirations, only had 56 episodes. That makes Topic Lords objectively nearly six times as good.

Serial, the crime podcast that, last I paid attention, people can't stop talking about? Only 42 episodes. Pathetic. Chump change.

It's been nearly 50 years and Jean-Michel Jarre's Oxygene is only up to part 20.

Monk, the detective show where Tony Shalhoub hates eating a hot dog? Only 125 episodes.

The Godfather? A paltry three. You know what's bigger than three? Fucking 300 episodes of Topic Lords, that's what.

Final Fantasy only has like 7 games??

On the other hand:

Idle Thumbs, the primeval show the Important If True guys did before they found their calling, has 320 episodes. I'll get there, but for now, that's the superior show.

The Giant Bombcast has 893 episodes. A banger of an episode count.

The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson had 6,714 episodes. That's a humbling accomplishment that I can only hope to match one day.

Jeopardy! celebrated its 9,000th episode last year.

Guiding Light, the soap opera? 15,762 episodes.

Those are numbers I regard with awe and respect. I'm optimistic though -- Topic Lords comes out every Monday like clockwork. I've never missed a week. If I can keep that pace up, I'll overtake Guiding Light in October of 2322.

[turkwriter]

Reds and Blues, D&D Style

Simmons: Chthonic Tiefling Wizard with a Scribe background and Evoker subclass

Caboose: Cloud Giant Goliath Wizard with a Hermit background and Necromancer subclass

Grif: Hill Dwarf Bard with an Entertainer background and College of Lore subclass

Sarge: Rock Gnome Barbarian with a Sailor background and Path of the Berserker Subclass

Tucker: Blue Dragonborn Fighter with a Guard background and Champion subclass

Church: Aasimar Sorcerer with a Sage background and Clockwork Sorcery (Alpha)/Aberrant Sorcery (Epsilon) subclasses

Donut: Lightfoot Halfling Warlock with a Farmer background and Great Old One Patron subclass

Wash: Elf Rogue with a Wayfarer background and Soulknife subclass

Doc: Human Cleric with an Acolyte background and Life Domain subclass for himself, but a Charlatan background and Trickery Domain subclass for O'Malley

Lopez: Human Druid with an Artisan background and Circle of the Stars subclass

Tex: Half-Orc Ranger with a Soldier background and Hunter subclass

Carolina: Half-Elf Monk with a Noble background and Warrior of the Open Hand subclass

Locus: Orc Paladin with a Criminal background and Oath of Vengeance subclass (changes to the Oath of Devotion after his Heel Face Turn)

Sister: Hill Dwarf Bard with an Entertainer background and College of Dance subclass