#it's my au and I get to decide if the fool and the ragdoll will kiss

[iamespecter]

I love Pomni using the ends of her jiggling hat to cover her face when flustered but also I am a very serious artist and I take my job very seriously at all times (lie)

Have this frame of Raganoot as well, it didn't take me long to do like my usual art does, but I'm still pretty proud of how it came out nonetheless

If you are unaware of what my au is, this is just what I have to show so far, but.... I-I promise the concept is... p-pretty d-decent-

[thepastelspace]

I just saw the art of demon pickle and the way I'm kicking my legs and giggling! Could we get some information or like headcannons or ANYTHING about that au? On my hands and knees BEGGING for it please.

I am glad you like it!! I have never done anything like this, so I hope this is decent :]

In this Au, the hanma family and a few of the other fighters are demons. So count Yujiro, Baki, Jack, Doppo, Katsumi, Retsu, and Pickle. (Ofc there are more)

All of them have different physical attributes, like Pickle has 4 arms, for example.

Some demons live peacefully with humans, like Baki, Doppo, Katsumi, and Retsu... others don't.

Pickle is as ancient as the land they all walk on. He is from a time when demons were the apex predators. Humans were nothing but food or a rag doll for the demon children to play with. Since most demons kept a territory to themselves and didn't interact with other demons, he had no need to learn communications.

Pickle was a menace, such a menace that the remaining humans banded together, and at first tried to kill him. It wasn't successful. Then they decided to seal him under a mountain with ancient magic, or he would've probably killed them all.

He was sealed under the mountain for centuries... hell, even longer, really. In the meantime, Demons began living alongside humans, trying to put their history behind them. It was rather peaceful... When some fool decided to try his skills in ancient magic, he unlocked the seal. All the demons felt something appear, something new and foreign to them.

Pickle instantly went on a rampage, not only killing but devouring a whole village in the blink of an eye. It was horrific... but he was still hungry. The other towns began to fear their fate, and some decided that if they sent someone as a sacrifice, he might leave them alone...

This is a small summary of the story I had when I drew him :] Ahem, I shall also offer headcanons for this Pickle here:

This pickle is a bit more smart when it comes to humans. He has seen them before, sure only as food, but he had an idea of how they behaved. He understands their hostile and non hostile behavior.

He is unable to learn speech in any capacity. His tusks wouldn't allow him even if he tried.

However, writing, if taught with enough patience, is very doable. He will need one hell of a stick to write in the dirt.

This pickle is big... very big. If our normal pickle is almost 8 feet tall, this behemoth is 10 feet tall. He is humongous, and he can easily toss a person around like a ragdoll.

He likes to steal stuff off of the people he killed, especially shiny things. For example, the Red bead Mala necklaces he wears as bracelets, he stole them off of people he killed. They didn't fit around his head, so he wears them as barecelets.

Currently, he lives in the spruce forest. He can somewhat hide between the ancient trees. Though demon hunters know where he is, and they come pay him a visit. Unfortunately, they end up as snacks.

This is what I have in general. However, if you want something to do with Y/N 😏 hehehe feel free to ask :]

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Season of the Witch AU

I just recently watched this movie, and today I started thinking that it could be some kind of fun au? 

Stiles would be the witch, obviously. 

Mitch is the criminal that gets freed on the condition that he acts as a guide. I think a thief and a mercenary. “I don’t believe in magic,” Mitch tells Stiles, when Stiles asks if Mitch is afraid of him. Of all of them, he’s the only one not afraid to get closest to Stiles’ cage. He’s just a weak child, what can he do? (A lot, he could kill them all if he wanted to. Lucky for them he doesn’t.) Stiles only smiles and asks, “Who is Katrina?” Mitch is perturbed, but chalks it up to Stiles overhearing him, or talking in his sleep. It’s not solid proof of magic. 

“Do you think they’ll give me a fair trial?” Stiles asks. Derek promised him one.  “Nothing about these people is fair,” Mitch responds. 

Derek and Peter are the ones sent to bring Stiles to justice. Former Templars who deserted when the gravity of what they were doing dawned on them. The best warriors in the army, no one dared try to stop them. Derek joined to repent for the loss of his family, which he blames himself for. Peter says he joined because the church promised to forgive all sins - and he has many - but really it was to make sure Derek didn’t foolishly get himself killed. He never cared for the religious side of things, but he does believe in magic. He’s seen things that can’t be explained. Stiles healed the phantom pain of his burns that have plagued him for ten years with only a touch. 

Scott is the well-meaning squire that follows after them, hoping to get knighted upon their return. He is a kind boy that is much too friendly towards Stiles. If he’s not careful, he’ll end up the witch’s next victim, Derek warns. Scott is kind and talkative and befriends Stiles-from a distance. Tells him things that no witch should ever be told, because it gives him too much power. 

As Mitch gets to know Stiles, he starts to second-guess sending him to his death. Because it doesn’t matter what Derek promised, Stiles will never see a fair trial for witchcraft. He will be hanged and drowned before this is over, or burned. (Even Peter flinches at that, it’s a fate he would wish on no one.) Guilt is not something Mitch has felt for a long time. It takes him a while to identify it now, Katrina would be disappointed him. 

One night Mitch decides to follow his instincts and free Stiles. It’s nothing to take the key off Peter, Mitch is a very good pickpocket. But rather than going with him, Stiles shouts for the others, says that Mitch tried to hurt him, that Mitch was going to kill him. And Mitch doesn’t know what Stiles is doing, he’s trying to save the fool! But Stiles doesn’t want to be saved. A fight ensues and everyone is yelling and it's chaos, and Mitch gets killed in the midst of it. The last thing he sees is Stiles smirking, hands wrapped around the bars of his prison and watching them all hungrily. It took barely any effort from him at all. 

They move on. It’s difficult without their guide, but they’ve made it through the worst of the journey. Everyone is tense, and not even Scott will talk to Stiles. He can still feel Mitch’s blood on his hands, was the one to kill him because he was afraid for Stiles. The first life he’s taken. 

“You saved me,” Stiles soothes, reaching out to him. Scott shies away.  “I don’t know what he would have done, but I could see the hate in his eyes. He blamed me for what happened to his lover. I didn’t even know her. There was no other way. You saved me, Scott.” Scott has to stop to be sick, rides ahead of the cart with Derek, leaving Peter to pull up the rear. 

Peter is not nearly as trusting as Scott, or as callous as Mitch. He is more cautious around Stiles, doesn’t know the full extent of his capabilities but knows he is more than he appears. Stiles only drops the act around him, because Peter never bought it for a second. 

“How did you get your burns?” Stiles asks. 

“You tell me, little witch.”

“I think it was something heroic. You tried to save someone, didn’t you?” Stiles presses up against the bars, his eyes searching. “Was it a witch? Your lover or your sister? Or was it your daughter?”

“It was my family. Someone tried to burn them all for being monsters.” 

Stiles tsks. “Poor Derek, he never did learn how to see past the mask to what’s hiding underneath. Not that you can blame him, a pretty face is enough o fool most men.” 

Peter, ever the schemer, knows how to recognize a plot. He knows that Stiles is up to something, is almost certain he was lying about what happened with Mitch. But there was too much going on, everything so unclear, to realize it at the time. Now he is suspicious, doesn’t want to continue on until he finds out what Stiles’ angle is. 

It’s nothing to begin Peter’s descent into madness. Ever since the fire he’s already been halfway there. All it takes is an illusion here and there to fully cement it. It’s delicious to watch Derek have to kill the last remaining member of his family. 

“It was mercy,” Stiles consoles after Derek buries his uncle’s body. “He was no longer the man you remembered. The real Peter wouldn’t have wanted to continue on like that.” 

“Shut up, witch, or I’ll kill you myself.” Stiles doesn’t believe the threat for a second. Derek is too noble, he wouldn’t kill a defenseless boy. Scott is afraid but unwilling to challenge either of them, still believes that Stiles can be saved. His soul, if not his body. It’s sickening how he believes that good will triumph over evil, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Just on this journey alone Stiles is leaving a trail of bodies. If the priests are to be believed, his death toll number in the hundreds of thousands, the source of the plague ravaging the country. If Derek won't kill him for all of them, he won’t kill Stiles for his uncle. 

They make it to the abby. All of the monks are dead, have been for weeks. It’s clear that something more is going on here. 

Scott and Derek find the book they came for, and attempt to perform the ritual that will end this curse, but it doesn’t work. It’s Scott who realizes that Stiles is no witch, he is something more. Something much worse. 

Derek fights the demon while Scott performs the exorcism to the best of his ability. Enraged at the audacity, tosses Derek aside like a ragdoll and goes for him. He doesn’t care about this humans, all he wants is that book. He has spent centuries destroying all copies of the one thing that can hurt him, and this is the last one. 

In the end, they scrape through by the skin of their teeth. The demonis exorcised and Stiles is left in it’s place, traumatized but alive. Derek and Scott are as well, barely. Stiles takes the book and they get far away from this place. Scott gives up any interest in knighthood, and Derek lays down his sword. Stiles just wants to find a home and peace, and that sounds like a great idea. They return the way they came, pay their respects to the dead. Guilt eats at Stiles, and there is nothing he can do to repent. 

Scott returns home to his mother to train instead as a physician, Derek and Stiles find a cottage in the countryside with a garden and some sheep and a few goats and chickens. Stiles dedicates his life to making as many copies of the holy text as he can so that if the demon ever comes back, it can be defeated again. Every major church in Europe is given one. 

[rangerofpelor]

rosebush waltz

Kian stresses and Merit helps. [Kian+Merit, with mentions of Kian’s mentor. 1.6k. Summer Courtiers AU.]

Merit is @krshush‘s character who they have so lovingly given me to smoosh with my boy Kian. I hope I captured your boy well enough *nervous sweating*

Inspired by a series of prompts (the color green, coming home, and first kiss) KR had sent me a while ago and I guess I finally got around to filling those prompts.

Kian’s heart races in his chest as large chamber doors fall shut behind him. Nianeth had brought him with her as her student to help her present progress in her research to the High Lords and Ladies, but when it came time time, he was immediately dismissed. He’s unsure whether to be relieved or not. Anxiety played with his stomach like a ragdoll the entire trip to the Summer Palace.

He’d been in equal parts nervous and excited to stand before the Court and discuss the effects of natural Feywild magic on objects from the Prime Material Plane versus the effects of arcane. Nianeth had given him free reign over certain aspects of the research, and, although he had been sure to check in with her through every step of the way -- explaining his reasoning for everything from sources to phrasing of arguments -- he was not fond of being absent and unable to defend his work.

He was even less fond of the idea of Nianeth taking the blame for any mistakes he might have made. She may be one of the Spire of Knowledge’s most prestigious scholars, but not even she was free from the potential wrath of the High Lords and Ladies.

He walks briskly through the halls of the Summer Palace, mentally picking through his research, line by line. There were no spelling or grammatical errors, he was sure of that. Had he correctly quantified everything? Was there a scenario he didn’t account for? Were all of his arguments truly sound?

A chill runs through his veins, bringing with it a Winter thought. If there is so much as one mistake they will never make me an official Spire scholar.

Kian shudders and picks up his pace, making his way towards the Palace Gardens. He needs air. He needs heat. Something to keep him grounded in Summer.

He emerges into the courtyard and he breathes in a deep sigh of relief. The overwhelming aroma of sweet pea, roses, lavender, and honey flood his senses and he tilts his head back, turning his face to sun. Muscles he had not realized were tense relax, and a small, gentle sigh escapes his lips. He must have looked a fool to anyone already in the gardens, but for once, he did not particularly care.

Regaining his composure, bringing his heart rate down to something that resembles normal, he begins to walk the footpath, past the ponds and through the topiary menagerie. He’s about to turn towards the small orchard of fig trees when he hears familiar, melodic, bell like laughter carried on the breeze. A laugh he’s only heard the handful of times he’s been to the Summer Palace. A laugh that’s accompanied by an impish grin and gleaming blue eyes that have a way of making Kian flush from neck to ears.

Merit is somewhere in the gardens, and if Kian’s ears are not deceiving him, he’s somewhere in the hedge maze.

Kian’s feet carry him towards the towering rose bushes and he peers down the narrow corridor. The faint rustle of leaves to his right. Notes of glee in the laughter when Kian decides to follow it. He weaves his way through the maze. A left, two rights, forward for a spell, before the last turn brings him to a dead end with Merit sitting in the shade of a small gazebo.

Merit greets him with a smile, pushing himself up off the bench and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Took you long enough, my dear knight.”

Kian steadfastly ignores the way Merit’s hair flounces as he moves and the deep plunge of the neckline of his light cotton shirt. “I am here as a scholar, today. Not a knight,” he says.

“‘Dear scholar’ doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Merit responds, waving his hand dismissively. “Though, I must say, you look just as fetching out of uniform as you do in.”

And there’s that flush, crawling up Kian’s neck and into his face. Each time they’ve met, Merit has teased with increasing vigor, and, spirits save him, Kian is unable to find it within himself to tell Merit to stop. He makes a harsh noise in the back of his throat, something between a cough and clearing it. “What are we doing here, Merit?”

Merit shrugs, his entire shirt billowing with the movement. “You were the one who followed me.”

Kian raised his eyebrows. “You are the one who wished to be followed.”

Merit puts his hands on his hips and cocks his head, biting the inside of his cheek. Kian can only assume he’s trying to decide whether he wants to keep playing games or simply cut to the point. He already has Kian where he wants him, and there’s very little to stop Kian from walking away if he got too frustrated.

Merit makes his decision. “A dance,” he says plainly.

Kian frowns. “I beg your pardon?”

“No need to beg, dear Knight.” The flush of Kian’s face reddens, but he doesn’t miss the mischievous and amused quirk of Merit’s lips. “I want a dance. With you. Rumor has it you’re quite good at the four-step.”

Kian looks at their surroundings. The gazebo was only maybe eight feet in diameter, meant for intimate picnics or secret rendezvous between lovers. There might have been enough room for the gentle rocking of slow dance, but certainly not a four-step. “I hardly think this is an appropriate place for that.”

Merit sighs. “Maybe, but the past few times we’ve met have been during formal dances, and all those times you’ve been busy.”

“It is my duty to guard and protect the High Lords and Ladies and to embody the diligence of the Spire of Knowledge during such occasions.”

“Which means that I never get to invite you onto the dancefloor.” Merit steps closer, taking one of Kian’s much larger hands into his own. Something shifts in Merit’s demeanor in that moment. Sharp, impish features and gleaming eyes soften and morph into something more sincere. “I can tell you’re troubled by something. Let me help you take your mind off what’s bothering you.”

Kian blinks, gasping quietly when his heart flutters strangely in his chest. The hand Merit is holding suddenly feels sweaty and he hopes that Merit either can’t tell, or thinks it’s the Summer Palace heat. He considers Merit, takes in his petite frame. The top of his head barely surpasses Kian’s broad shoulders. So small and light, Kian thinks for a moment that he could probably pick him up with one hand. His tongue feels heavy, like wet wool, but he manages to stammer out a “Very well,” and allows Merit to lead him under the gazebo.

Getting into the starting position is a little awkward. Merit has to reach up to wrap his arm around Kian’s shoulder, and Kian is forced to stoop down to comfortably place his hand at Merit’s waist. There is a brief pause before Kian begins to lead, taking small steps as they circulate around the gazebo, birdsong in place of a string quartet.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

They fall into the easy rhythm, bodies coming closer together with each step, until they finish, back at the center of the gazebo, pressed tightly together in an embrace. Kian’s lips are parted, his chest heaving slightly, not because he’s out of breath from the dance, but for some other reason. Merit is just the same. He looks up at Kian from beneath dark, thick lashes and he licks his lips. “Tell me, dear Knight,” he says quietly, “what would you do if I kissed you?”

Kian’s breathing hitches. “I…,” he murmurs, pausing to choose his next words carefully, “would not resist.”

Merit hums, moving his hand to run through the long, silky sheet of Kian’s hair, pulling him closer. “And if I asked you to kiss me?”

They’re so close now Kian can smell the honeysuckle and wisteria growing in Merit’s hair, feel his breath on his face. His eyes flick from Merit’s deep blue eyes to his lips, before he licks his own. “I would,” Kian says, barely more than a whisper, an exhalation given voice.

“Then kiss me, Kian.”

There’s something about the way Merit says those words that make Kian unable to resist. It isn’t desperation. Not quite. Desire, perhaps? No one has ever wanted Kian. His square jaw and hard, bulky frame often considered unattractive to other eladrin and fey. But there’s a plea in Merit’s voice, in his eyes that makes it clear that he wants Kian, but only if Kian also wants him too.

And Kian wants. Wants Merit. Wants a distraction. Wants to not feel like he’s falling into Winter like he had been only a short time ago.

He leans down, presses his lips against Merits, grounding himself solidly back in Summer. The kiss is quick, chaste, a little bit clumsy. He’s never kissed anyone before and it’s embarrassingly obvious. He half misses Merit’s mouth, getting more cheek than he had intended. When he pulls back his lips are left tingling slightly and he can’t help their slight upward curve.

Merit is laughing, amusement and delight glittering in his eyes. “I think you might need some work,” he teases. The flush returns to Kian’s face. “It’s ok,” Merit continues. “I’m more than willing to help you practice.”

Kian straightens his back, gently pulling his limbs away from Merit’s body. He can only describe what he feels as disappointment at the loss of heat and contact. He clears his throat once more. “You are incorrigible,” he says, his voice returning to normal volume.

Merit smiles. “And you, my dear, are wound too tight.” He takes Kian’s hand again and begins to lead him out of the maze. “Now come. I hear the botanists have just planted some flowers only found in the far edges of the Wilds, and I’ve been dying to see them!”

Kian allows himself to be led through the gardens like a child. Truth be told, he’s been dying to see those flowers too.