#lil crow thinks

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

𝐒𝐎, 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 me babbling on about Sylus... (it's been living in my drafts...) Sylus is gentle—but not by nature. His gentleness is the kind forged in violence, like the silence that follows gunfire: not peace, but aftermath.

He is not soft, nor saintly. He is disciplined. In the manner of a man who clasps the blade with such conviction that the steel forgets to wound him.

His voice is a low tide, never raised—for he remembers what it means to scream into a void so vast, so godless, that even his own blood could not fill it. Once, long ago, he cried out until his throat tore and his palms split open from clawing the beast out of his skin. No one came.

So now, he listens.

He listens because silence once imprisoned him. And in the way of penitents and monks, he has turned it into a form of prayer. Of atonement. Of endurance.

He once believed himself human. Not because he was told so—no, truth does not arrive through proclamation.

It creeps. Quietly. Through the cracks left behind by kindness too cruel to be real. Through mirrors that show only the mask, not the tail, not the eyes, not the curse inscribed beneath the skin.

And when revelation struck—when horns curled from his brow and the world recoiled from him like a hand from flame—he did not rage.

He cut them off.

Not once. Not out of fury. But again and again, with the calm resolve of a man refusing damnation. Not the kind cast upon him—but the kind that says: You shall never be anything more than this.

They say dragons are powerful. They forget that power is nothing when the world names your very breath a blasphemy.

So he buried himself. Layer by layer, year by year. Until there was nowhere left to disappear into but memory itself.

The tragedy is not that he is immortal.

The tragedy is that he remained.

You think immortality is freedom? It is not.

It is bondage to remembrance.

It is bearing witness to centuries rusting in your bloodstream.

It is loving someone so deeply you let her kill you—and waking up the next morning nonetheless.

It is hearing the music you composed together echo through her execution, and being cursed to recall every note as if it were your own heartbeat.

He carries her voice inside his chest—not like melody, but like evidence. Proof of what was, and what was taken.

And yet—yet—he dares to love again. Because that is who he is. Not kind. Devoted. Not fearless. Faithful.

He walks into each lifetime with the full knowledge that he will either bury her, or be buried by her.

And still, he chooses her. Not because he believes in salvation—but because he believes in her.

And when she tells him to keep on, he obeys. Not because her words redeem him. But because they affirm the curse: that he will endure the ruin of love, again and again, long after it has hollowed him out.

He does not need saving. He needs recognition. To be seen not as a void, but as a man who has chosen restraint over wrath. Whose quiet is not absence, but vigilance. Every measured movement is a refusal—a holy act of defiance against the monster the world expects him to be. His gentleness is not mercy. It is the debris of war.

And if he touches you—if he draws near—it is not because he thinks himself worthy.

It is because he is already grieving.

And he wants to remember the shape of you before the world takes you or him away.

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

@sylus-shivanika I really loved reading this, and I think you captured so much of Sylus’s depth and sincerity. I just wanted to gently add a small thought that’s been on my mind:

Yes, Sylus loves this version of us too—the present, confused, even distrustful one. I actually think his constant reminders of the past aren’t about being stuck, but about fear. Not fear of change, but fear that without memory, we won’t truly see him. That the version of us in this timeline might never understand what shaped him, what made him this man who loves so deeply and waits so quietly.

It’s not that he doesn’t accept who we are now. He does. He never forces the past onto us—he simply brings it up because it’s his anchor. It’s where he comes from, and in reminding us, he’s trying to show the full truth of who he is. Because he fell in love with us again, from the beginning, without needing us to remember. But that doesn’t mean he stopped needing to be known.

This version of us hasn’t seen all the pain he’s carried for her. She hasn’t witnessed how he broke and rebuilt himself in her absence. And I think that hurts him in a quiet, unspoken way. Not because he blames her—but because he loves her so much, he still wants to be seen. Fully. Not as a stranger, not as a monster. Just as the man who never stopped choosing her.

So when he reminds her, it’s not to pull her back—it’s to gently ask, “Will you still want me, even if you don’t remember why I’m like this?”

And to me, that’s one of the most vulnerable forms of love there is.

Sylus loves all the versions of MC

In my recent blog, someone reblogged it with this comment which i have added above, and I feel it's another mischaracterization regarding Sylus, so I want to clarify it properly.

Some people feel that Sylus only loves the past version of MC—but that’s not true at all. If anything, he’s the one who truly sees her—in every timeline.

Sylus said in the recent card: “In my eyes, there has only been one world—it’s the one where you exist.” That’s not about being stuck in the past. That’s about choosing her, every single time, no matter the life, no matter the pain.

This line clearly proves he loves all the versions of us.

Let’s not forget that Sylus is the only LI who didn’t have the privilege to meet MC in the current timeline on good terms. She hated him, she was disgusted by him, and she thought of him as a monster. Yet, despite all of that, he never turned away. He could’ve given up, walked away, and left her to her hatred. But he didn’t. Instead, he quietly stayed, protecting her without her even knowing. He was willing to endure the pain of being seen as the enemy in her eyes, just for the chance to prove his love and earn back her trust.

And let’s not forget—it took Sylus so much effort to earn her trust again. In this life, she not only forgot him—she hated him. She thought he killed her family. He could’ve walked away, but he didn’t. He stayed. He protected her in silence, even when she pushed him away. He started from scratch, patiently rebuilding a connection with someone who saw him as a monster.

That’s love with depth. That’s growth, sacrifice, and sincerity.

He didn’t fall for a memory—he fell for her, again and again, no matter how much she changed. Because Sylus never loved just a version of her. He’s always loved all of her.

Sylus tries to remind MC of their past constantly, but it’s not because he’s stuck on the past version of her. For Sylus, those memories are a significant part of their bond. He’s trying to remind her of the deep connection they shared before everything went wrong. It’s his way of showing her that despite the pain, the hatred, and the distance, he still remembers everything they went through together—the good and the bad—and he believes in the possibility of rekindling that connection. It’s not about being stuck; it’s about showing her that even through the changes, the love they shared still matters to him, and he’s willing to fight for it again.

He didn’t have the luxury of starting over with her on good terms in this timeline. If she remembered him, Sylus wouldn’t have had to endure the heartache of proving his love all over again. His reminders are also his way of removing the misconceptions she had when they first met in this life, helping bridge the gap of mistrust and pain she once held. His goal isn’t just to remind her of the past—it’s to show her how far they’ve come together and rebuild the trust and love that has always been there. His reminders are not about being stuck; they’re about healing and creating a new foundation for them to stand on, together.

[vaguely-concerned]

romanced lucanis canonically finds listening to rook's voice comforting so now I'm just imagining him sort-of sneakily arranging for my mourn watch mage rook, bellara and emmrich to be in a room together and sitting back with a cup of coffee to listen to the inevitable three hour mage nerds geeking out session that follows (he understands, optimistically, about 10% of anything they're saying at any given time but it's just nice that they're all happy). it's like meditation for him, letting all that magitech babble wash over him entirely uncomprehended. who even needs sleep after that (you still need to sleep lucanis)

[crows-of-buckets]

I find it so funny when people talk about "Hubert is some heartless monster who only cares about Edelgard". Like congrats man!!! You fell for his ruse!!! He fucking Got you!! That's what he wants you to think!!!

[surelysilly]

cheers! 🍻

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (here) | part 4

[too-many-lavellans]

test driving tattoo designs on Iero I'm going with the first option (๑•̀ㅂ•́)b✧

[forlorn-crows]

crow just tell me, tell me that mountain is not the somno enthusiast ever. that's right you can't!!! cause he is and I'll absolutely die on this hill

his big dick may be desperately rattling the bars of it's enclosure and losing when mount's awake but when big boy's asleep it takes over!!! he's soooo reactive but also a dead sleeper and oh how he loves waking up with sticky pants, just that delicious little sprinkle of humiliation in it all

I dunno imo he just is the somno boy, don't ya think?

mountain absolutely has a humiliation kink. plus, king of cumming in his pants, cumming untouched, and wet dreams? makes him the perfect target for some somno fun. not sure if anyone remembers "stuff that grows from mountains head", but that little ficlet of dew whispering sweet nothings just to watch the snapdragons grow, hinted that he likes to get a little filthy sometimes too . . .

dew influencing mountain's wet dream w/a side of somno handjobs under the cut, feat. mentions of how hot cumulus is

happy birthday ♡

Dew loves watching him like this. Expressive and unabashed in his sleep, unaware of anything except the fantasies playing out in his mind. His dick taking over his self control and bending him to the will of pleasure. 

Plus he’s cute and fun to mess with. Can’t blame a ghoul for wanting to play a little. 

“What’s goin’ on in there big guy? Hm?” Dew cards his hand through Mountain’s hair. He’s fallen asleep with his head in Dew’s lap, pleasantly warm and lulled by the soft rock record Dew had put on. Middle of their conversation too, the goof, but the fire ghoul won’t hold him to it.

Mountain’s only response is a small, high-pitched noise, paired with a twitch of his fingers. His cock twitches too, already tenting in his linen pants. Dew wants nothing more than to yank them down and expose that beautiful length, watch it sway and bob as he gets harder and harder. 

Later, though; he wants to have a little fun first.

“Let me guess . . . Rain?” The fire ghoul waits for a response, but isn’t granted anything that signals his guess was correct.

“No? Hm. Swiss?” Still nothing. It’s a quick round of Guess Who? before he reaches his answer: “Lus?”

Mountain’s mouth drops open in a soft sigh, cock twitching again. There’s a little wet spot on the front of his pants now, and his ears twitch as Dew laughs knowingly. 

“She’s got you wrapped around her curls, doesn’t she, Mount?” Dew sighs with a smile, petting at the freshly-sprouting justicia blooms around the base of one horn. Pretty fuchsia petals the same color as her favorite lipstick.

“Lucifer, she’s so gorgeous, huh? Wonder what you’re dreaming about . . . maybe she’s got you worshiping her tits, suckin’ on ‘em just how she likes . . .”

The earth ghoul lets out a throaty moan, top lip twitching to show a flash of teeth and tongue. Dew hums and traces along his mouth with his thumb. Back and forth, back and forth; sliding the pad of it along the tip of his tongue with each pass. Mountain’s mouth twitches again, and Dew is eager to slip his thumb inside. Watching as his lips close around the digit automatically, as they have so many times before, and he starts to suck. It’s ever so gentle, and a little bit sloppy, but it still makes Dew go all fuzzy inside. 

“Yeah, bet it’s just like that,” he continues. “Sucking on her nipples until she gets all wet. Bet she calls you a good boy while you do it.”

Mountain huffs a moan around his finger. His leg kicks out, momentum rolling him fully onto his back, limbs sprawling out every which way as the true amount of his arousal is exposed to Dew: his cock is absolutely pressed to the seam of his pants, leaking into the fabric enough to rival a water ghoul. 

“Fuck you’re as wet as she’d be, aren’t you,” the fire ghoul breathes. Mountain’s head lolls to the side, and his thumb slips out of his mouth, a line of drool following his fingernail. “Drooling all over her while she gets on your lap. Probably wouldn’t even have to take you to get you to bust, she could just rub her cunt all over you and you’d be creaming yourself, wouldn’t you?”

“Huh–uhh,” Mountain groans, all raspy on his exhale. Dew can see his eyes roll behind his eyelids, no doubt picturing the scene to a T. He makes a noise of agreement and smooths his hands down Mountain’s chest, gripping in a way Cumulus might, making sure to press the tips of his claws right in above his nipples. Imitating a pretty manicure pressed into his pecs. 

“So pretty when she grabs you. Pushing her tits together with her elbows and her hair floats around her like a goddess. Callin’ you honey and love and baby.”

The earth ghoul bucks up into nothing, hands slowly fisting into the sheets beneath him. Whimpering when Dew digs his hands in just a little more.

“Bet your balls get so big when she bounces on that cock.” Dew’s own voice is getting a little husky now, dick chubbing up in interest under Mountain’s head. “Fuck, and she feels so good. So warm and wet and you just wanna grab her hips and never let go . . .”

“Wan’ . . . oh,” Mountain mutters, voice pitching up at the end into something breathy and feminine and Satanas does Dew want to hear him make it again. 

“Oh yeah? You make pretty noises like that for her?” He slowly slides out from underneath Mountain’s head, laying it down gently onto the mattress before shuffling closer to his lower half. Dew glances up the length of him, taking in the rucked-up shirt, the hands kneading at the blankets, chest rising and falling a little faster now. Breath coming out in short puffs from his slack mouth, every other one accented with a sweet, quiet noise—almost like a dog yipping in its dreams. His hips follow his dick as it twitches upwards, thrusting into some imaginary curvy body. 

“There you go, make sure you fuck her real good,” the fire ghoul teases, already pressing at that wet spot on the front of his pants. Groaning when he feels how hot he’s gotten there. 

He’s fitting to burst at any moment, really. And Dew would very much like to see that. 

“Wonder if she’s seen you like this,” he continues, tugging on the waistband. “All hot and bothered and you don’t even know it. Does she know how cute you get when you wake up all sticky?”

Dew gets his pants down just far enough to free his length, cursing when it throbs just from the exposure. “Fuck, those pretty nails wrapped around this big dick . . . fucking hells, Mount.”

Whatever hands-off objective he had before disintegrates when Mountain full-body groans and his cock spurts out another bead of pre—Dew can’t resist that, he just can’t. He wraps his hand around him and strokes him root to tip, biting back his own noise when Mountain visibly shudders. 

“Ffuhh . . . mm li’ . . . tha’, gon’ . . . “ He’s babbling syllables again, getting louder the longer Dew jerks him off. 

“Yeah? Gonna cum for her?” he goads, watching his face contort in flashes of pleasure. Feeling his cock get even fuller in his hand. “Shit, fill her up so good it’ll all drip out of her when she sits on your face and you get to suck on her perfect little—”

With a low groan, he’s squirting onto his belly in bursts of white, toes curling and his eyes rolling all the way back into his skull. 

“Oh, baby,” Dew groans, his own cock throbbing between his legs. He just keeps going, wringing out shot after shot until it’s dribbling down his knuckles, the earth ghoul unconsciously mewling as he starts to reach overstimulation. More drool running out of the corner of his mouth as his head is tossed to the side.

“Fuck, Mount,” Dew mutters. He lets his cock flop back down against his stomach, licking the cum from his fingers as he watches the bigger ghoul sigh shakily and melt back into the sheets. Boneless and limp like nothing ever happened.

But Dew’s certainly not done with him yet. 

“Wakey-wakey,” he lilts, pulling Mountain’s pants further down his legs so he can situate himself between them. Smoothing his hands up his thighs to grab at his hips while simultaneously licking a hot stripe from balls to tip, sending a quick zing of heat through his palms to rouse him from slumber. 

Mountain half snuffles, half snorts himself awake, blinking up at the ceiling like he can’t quite remember how he got there. “Wha . . .” He cranes his neck up to glance down at Dew, happily licking up the cum from the hair around the base of his cock with a gaze full of mischief. The earth ghoul nearly chokes as his brain catches up to his body, eyes going wide as he presses up onto his elbows. “Satanas, Dew, unholy fuck.”

“What’d you dream about, big boy?” he teases, suckling briefly on the head of his softening cock. 

“H-oh shit—”

“Yeah?” He kisses back down the shaft, grinning at the heat rising to Mountain’s face with every whimper. “Wanna have some more fun?"

[cantwritethetword]

(2024) TickleTober Day 1: Harvest - Going against the Grain

Fic Descript - Bruce agrees to help out on the Kent farm and, after an off-handed comment from Clark, he decides to see how ticklish superman actually is.

~A/N  - Welcome to ticklecrowber2024!!!! (forgive the corny title hehehehehe)

We're starting off this month with a super cute superbat fic requested by an anon. While writing it I'm realising this is gonna be a pre-relationship romantic fic, so hopefully that floats your boat.

Like I mentioned on a post ages ago, I'm not aiming to write full fics for all the prompts this year to hopefully avoid burnout so I'm going into this aiming for a few hundred words - we'll see how that goes.

Hope you like it!

- Enoy! ~

Tag List: @fullsongphilosopher

Masterpost Link 

TickleTober Masterpost

One of the (few) things Bruce hated about being in love with someone was the way it made him do things.

And not in a suggestive or psychological way, literally he felt compelled to gain some sort of relationship 'brownie points' to subtly prove his worth as a potential partner.

Which was how he had ended up here, about to knock on the door of Clark's farm home.

When superman mentioned needing to do some hard labour around the fields up in Kansas, Bruce found himself offering to help before he could even blink. It wasn't until Clark enthusiastically accepted that the batman fully realised what he had gotten himself into.

Mixing their work and personal lives? At Clark's house no less? Doing something that probably was effortless for Clark, but would be a significant physical strain for Bruce? What was he thinking?! He'll look like a fool...

But, as much as his brain loved to insist on how much of a bad idea this was, Bruce had resisted the temptation to cancel.

And so, he now found himself raising his fist and tapping the wooden door-frame.

"Bruce!" Clark grinned, opening the door fully.

The man was dressed so stereotypically farm-y, Bruce thought to himself. Brown leather boots half-covered by a pair of old denim jeans, topped with a plain white tee and - god he looked good in that red flannel...

"-are you... did you want to come in?" Clark chuckled.

Shit, had Clark invited him in already? Was he that distracted by the superhero in front of him that he fully disregarded any input other than the sight- wait it's happening again-

"Yes!" Bruce blurted out, interrupting his own thoughts. "Sorry, yes. Thanks."

Ugh love made him a mess.

As Clark narrated and explained his way through his humble abode, Bruce couldn't help but get stuck in his own head - again. He barely registered that they had left the house and were now walking through the wheat fields. He knew Clark was giving some really important information as to what exactly they needed to do and where they would need to do it, but it was almost as if his brain was more focused on the sound of Clark's voice than what it was actually saying.

Until Clark giggled.

Like a gunshot, Bruce locked onto the sound with unbridled curiosity. What had caused it? Would it happen again? Whatever it was clearly didn't phase Clark, as he was back to talking about whatever farmyard jargon that was interrupted earlier.

A few more moments passed, and Bruce had never been more focused on Clark's surroundings. What could possibly have made superman laugh like that? And how common of an occurrence was it if Clark didn't even acknowledged it?

Thankfully, it happened again - with Bruce watching the whole thing.

As Clark walked, a few stray spikes of wheat brushed against his bare lower forearms (where he had rolled up the aforementioned flannel). His hand twitched reflexively, and he once again let out a soft giggle at the sensation.

And, once again. Bruce's mouth moved before his brain could catch up.

"What was that?"

Clark half-turned his torso to face Bruce. "Oh, it just tickles."

Bruce flushed at the casualness of Clark's response.

"It's actually one of my favourite parts of walking through here..." Clark continued with a genuine smile. "Something so small being so intense, makes me feel soft.... alive... human..."

Only Clark could make getting tickled by a plant sound so endearing, it was almost enough to make Bruce forget the huge tidbit of Clark lore that had just been revealed to him.

Superman's ticklish??

He didn't have much time to feel the full shock of that information, as Clark was already several paces ahead of him. Bruce half-skipped to catch up, and as he did, something in his mind convinced him to snap off a piece of wheat from beside him.

As they continued their walk towards the edge of the field where they were about to begin work, and Clark continued yapping, Bruce ran his fingers over the wheat piece in his hand. Was he seriously about to try to tickle superman? Would Clark be alright with it? Would he find it weird and repulsive and never speak to Bruce again cause how could he possibly think that was a normal thing to-

stop - Bruce interrupted himself.

no overthinking

Bruce took a breath, slightly sped up his footsteps to bring himself right behind Clark, and ran the wheat stalk along the side of Clark's neck.

Clark folded with a shriek and a giggle, his smile never fading as he gave Bruce a quizzical look.

That smile was all the invitation Batman needed.

With a smirk, Bruce tackled Clark into the wheat next to them and climbed on top of his chest before frantically twiddling the wheat stem against any potentially ticklish bare skin he could find. Clark's neck, ears, collarbones - even the small patch on his tummy that was exposed from his shirt riding up as they fell - nothing was safe.

And Clark's laughter was like birdsong - it was the most free, happy, genuine giggling Bruce had ever heard. So much so, the billionaire opted to snatch another piece of wheat to use in his free hand against Clark's forearms - which were currently doing fuck-all to fight against the tickly attacks (aside from clinging to and breaking some nearby wheat stems, but Bruce theorised that was mostly for Clark to resist fighting back... cute).

After a sufficient tickling, Bruce paused - mentally checking for any signs of annoyance on Clark's face and letting the man calm down for a few moments.

"Why'd you stop?" Clark asked breathily without missing a beat, and now looking slightly disappointed.

Once again caught aback by Clark's openness, Bruce stuttered and floundered for an answer. "I... I was just... I wanted to... make sure... you..."

Clark laughed. "No need to panic, it was just a question."

Bruce chuckled, still a little embarrassed.

"You always worry so much." Superman smiled, poking Bruce's neck with one of the wheat stalks he had snatched during the tickle-attack to emphasise his point.

Bruce squeaked (though he would later insist this wasn't true), his face flushing a deep red.

"Oh?" Clark grinned menacingly, rolling himself and Bruce over to flip their positions with clearly little-to-no effort. "The dark, scary batman is ticklish too?"

oh god

And, after being thoroughly tickled, Bruce spent the entire time they worked on the farm trying to convince himself the look on his own face before Clark tickled him definitely wasn't nervous excitement, and that he definitely wouldn't give anything do it all again.

Definitely not.

[gearsofmetal]

carly and crow added to the piercing hc pile o7

[crypticscarecrow]

Genuinely makes me so happy so many people liked the 3d spamton trash model;; LIKE ITS SUCH A BASIC THING TO MODEL I KNOW- but seeing so many people I follow and other spamt followers still like it is just- idk its really nice,,

[kirisclangen]

Brownpaw

He/him, 6 moons, cis tom

[randygrim]

A bit more lineart practice? Mayhaps?

[cravingcoconutredbull]

I let the brainworms get to me so I wrote a lil something about a young Caterina Dellamorte

(TW - Death)

The gurgling sound was uglier than she thought it would be.

Caterina stood still as a knife blade, arms at her sides, her silhouette haloed by the thin, sickly light bleeding in from the narrow windows behind her. Dust motes hung in the air, gilded like insects caught mid-flight. The chamber, once grand, felt small now. Smaller still as the old man spasmed against the polished marble floor, clawing weakly at his throat.

He had always worn too much gold. Rings slipped from his fingers as he flailed—clattering against the stone like teeth torn loose from a dying beast.

Caterina tilted her head slightly, watching the slow, jerking dance of death unfold.

No anger burned in her chest.

No grief.

Only something colder. Something necessary.

Her uncle had been so certain. So comfortable. Laziness softening his once-quick reflexes, contentment rotting the sharp edge the Dellamortes were supposed to wield without mercy. He had not seen the poison in his wine, had not questioned her rare, smiling toast. Had not looked at her properly in years, except to murmur, with that patronizing fondness:

“Take your time, little one. The sun will rise for you, yet.”

How many contracts had he let slip away? How many alliances had he allowed to rot on the vine, fattening himself on memories of past glories while their rivals sharpened their blades?

A stain on their name.

A liability she could no longer afford.

His eyes found her then, bloodshot and bulging. Begging, perhaps, or cursing — she could not tell and did not care. His mouth worked around a word that would never come.

She stepped forward, her boots whispering across the stone.

Knelt.

Watched him try to reach her — a pathetic, trembling hand smearing desperate fingerprints across the hem of her dark tunic. She let him. Let him see her, clear and calm, the last face he would ever look upon.

The body twitched once more. Shuddered.

Stilled.

Only the faint, wet rattle of a last breath clung to the edges of the silence.

Caterina exhaled through her nose. Smoothed the wrinkles from her sleeves with slow, meticulous fingers. Straightened.

The sun broke over the city outside, casting the chamber in a sudden spill of molten gold — stark and blinding behind her. She stood backlit, a black silhouette carved out of light and smoke and death.

Her shadow stretched long across the floor, touching the crumpled body without hesitation. Without pity.

Caterina turned her head, just enough to glance down at the ruin she had made. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Certain. Almost tender.

“Sun’s up,” she said.

And left him there.

[officialzevran]

[squuote]

I do like the idea that stanley would punch the narrator if he ever saw him face to face but I also enjoy the idea that stanley would try to scamper off and hide from the narrator. the narrator tries to say hi and stanley scampers off like a hamster to get back to his office.

I don’t think he’s afraid of the narrator but I do think he would be weirded out by another physical person being around him after having been only around nonphysical entities for a good long while

[multi-fandom-bi]

(Idk on what account to post so i'm posting on my second)

So i'm brainstorming a SoC x Riordanverse AU, but I have trouble with Matthias' and Inej's godly parents cuz none of the gods seem to fit 😭

If anyone's got an idea PLEASE help a girl out 😭😭