love is blue.

oc & canon multi, by kat.

[heartbloomd]

oc & canon multi, written by kat (they/them, 25+). carrd. ♫

↳ tags : about posts. memes. starter calls. open starters.

↳ muse tags.

original : kirika iketani. pyrrha braun. sapphira larimar. laire aurelius. akane akamine. junior. inari okami. tzaphkiel. vivi. saga kuye. nona blanc. sanae agano. kotone furuya. les patton. asher gray. canon : polka shinoyama. kyouka izumi. percy shelley. arthur pendragon. guinevere. lancelot du lac. firo prochainezo. tsukasa suou. eichi tenshouin. himeru.

↳ fandom verses.

hunter x hunter : kyouka.

kimetsu no yaiba : kirika. kyouka.

[vulpesly]

Once he's out of the restrictions of his jacket, Mordred shakes himself off, savoring the freedom of movement restored to him. The only trouble is he's significantly less shielded from the sun now, a fact that has him hazarding a glare at the bright sky, trying to gauge just how long he can put up with the harsh sunlight before he's strength would start to flag. Fighting out in the open in the middle of a Summer day is not doing anything for his chances.

His attention doesn't waver long; too dangerous to take his focus off Lancelot for more than a heartbeat or two, but even in that time, the knight has withdrawn a few paces and has started speaking. That brings Mordred up short, gaze narrowing with undisguised suspicion.

Is Lancelot taunting him? Either he's trying to rile Mordred into making a mistake, or distract him from noticing something else. If it's the latter, he's managed to miss it. If it's the former... Mordred can work with that. He needs to close the distance between them again anyway and find an opening, that may prove easier to do if Lancelot thinks he's angry and reckless (which he is, technically, but only a little!).

So Mordred let's himself show some of the frustration he feels, bristling as he tenses. "Shut up!" Despite never being much of an actor, looking irritated comes naturally to him, he only has to play it up a little, and then only briefly before he's making a dash for Lancelot. His steps are quick, but not as quick as they can be, Mordred holding back just enough that Lancelot's assessments won't be entirely accurate. His chosen attack is straightforward--he is, after all, supposed to be pissed off, so simple is better--making a grab for one of the knight's wrists. In part, Mordred aims to replicate the twist and grab Lancelot pulled on him, with the added intent of using those few seconds to peel back fabric layers and apply his Ability to what skin he can find.

[heartbloomd]

Is that not an overreaction? Cornered beasts can be irrational and unpredictable, and fear can twist a personality until it's unrecognizable, yet that's more like if Dagonet dared call Gawain stupid during a match. And even if the traitor's refusal to surrender may be considered foolish... Lancelot won't fall for the reckless act. He reflects, however, that the other reached for his face before—-is his jacket too thick for Fields of Camlann to penetrate? Otherwise, it'd be wiser to aim for center mass, or to have grabbed his arm, using it then, instead of striking at his elbow. A single layer of fabric might be feasible, but not multiple.

Either way, Lancelot abandons his initial plan, especially as another thought occurs to him: His Majesty would've applied the negation enchantment to his glove, not the restrictive one. He intended to take advantage of the other's surprise when his ability failed; however, he can't risk contact with his bare skin, since he cannot enchant himself. The tiniest sigh escapes him as he resigns himself to more violent measures.

Dodging neatly out of the way, he adjusts his sleeves, trading the previous enchantment for one that lets the thick fabric move easier and provide less resistance to his movements. He almost adds to his taunt but decides not to waste the time nor breath—-wouldn't want to give his enemy a chance to recover.

It's high time he stops playing around. In a swift motion, Lancelot unclips his sword from his belt and swings it in a low arc, aiming for the back of the other's knee; though he doesn't put his full strength into the blow, it'd still be enough to sever the limb had the blade been unsheathed.

[heartbloomd]

from @vulpesly : "how many fingers am i holding up?" [ @ any muse who feels like having mordred fuss over them ]

While Kotone is typically adept at avoiding injury, there are exceptions to every rule, especially when she'd rather avoid using her ability in front of strangers. In this case, that means that when she pushes a child out of a falling branch's path, she's unable to teleport herself out of harm's way; she avoids the worst of it, but the branch still grazes her head and hits her shoulder. A small sacrifice—-one she brushes off when the parents rush over to collect their kid.

It's just a scratch. Facial wounds bleed a lot, even if they're superficial. But not everyone is so easy to reassure, and someone who witnessed the incident insists on properly treating the injury. Kotone relents mostly because she recognizes him, and she lets herself be led to the nearest bench.

"...three," she answers, wiping at blood that trickles down her cheek. She stares at her stained sleeve, impassive.

[heartbloomd]

from @vulpesly : "that’s mine! that’s mine!" [ mutsuki @ saga ]

Though he's become more comfortable around the shrine as he visits, Saga does his utmost to remain respectful of other people's belongings—-never snooping or touching anything unless he has explicit permission. In this case... well, strong winds have been wreaking havoc on the mountain, and he's chasing down items that fell victim to the weather before they can be lost to the surrounding forest. An easier task for someone young and agile.

It's right as he picks up and dusts off a small box that a voice startles him, and he nearly drops it as he spins around. But he keeps his grip and promptly holds it out for the stranger to take. This is probably one of the students Shinobu has mentioned...?

With one hand, Saga makes a vague gesture that's close to sorry while the other fishes his notepad from his pocket, and he scribbles out, Sorry! The wind swept it away, and I was just about to return it.

[sunderedscript]

The cat becomes human, it would be rude to stay as a hawk even if he wanted to keep flying. So he shifts back to his human form, a boy only twelve years of age. He gives a stretch before holding out his hand to the other.

"Maybe it's because I'm better at it then you?" A sweet smile despite the rude words. "My name is John Milton. What's your name? Can you only be cat???"

[heartbloomd]

"I don't think better is the right word, even if it's convenient. My version is just more authentic."

The rudeness doesn't stop Vivi from shaking the offered hand—-in fact, they barely register that the words are rude to begin with. More... competitive, maybe, which is only natural for kids his age.

"My name's Vivi! And I can be anything, as long as I eat a little bit of it first. Blood, hair, that sort of thing. Not just animals! Though they're the easiest. What about you?"

[vulpesly]

This is going sideways faster than Mordred anticipated. The one advantage he has over Lancelot is being steadily removed from play as first his jacket and now one of his gloves begins restricting his movements. The effect may be small, but even a slight slowing down makes a big difference against the likes of Lancelot.

When he's pulled into a restraining hold, Mordred hisses, squirming against Lancelot's grip as much as the sluggishness of his own traitorous coat. He should have been able to twist himself free, but instead his remaining option is to merely throw his weight against the knight's and set him off balance. Just as Mordred is tensing to do so, he feels Lancelot brace, anticipating the differences in their heights. Always two steps ahead, the bastard.

Fine then. As Lancelot pivots, Mordred sidesteps, hooking a leg behind the knight's ankle in hopes of Lancelot's own movements and weight toppling him. Whether he merely trips the knight up or actually knocks him off balance with the move, Mordred is using the few seconds he buys himself to drag his jacket off and throw it aside. The glove stays for now, it's now enough of an encumbrance to risk taking his attention of Lancelot too long.

[heartbloomd]

A counter to a counter to a counter—-Lancelot's sparring matches with the king, especially without abilities in play, often end in draws because they anticipate each movement, each feint, each counter to the point where neither can land a proper blow on the other. (A rare feat indeed to not be completely toyed with when one's opponent is His Majesty.) Fighting another knight can create that same difficulty, though not to the same degree. And though it can be frustrating, he's long since learned not to allow that emotion to affect him.

Not surprised enough by the sidestep to do anything more than stumble slightly before regaining his balance, he debates his next move—-and ultimately retreats a couple of steps. He could strike while the traitor removes his jacket, yet fights are as psychological as they are physical. Despite his threats, he's only trying to restrain, not cause any harm. That impression will serve him.

And if one of his wrists bumps just slightly against his still-invisible sword, well, that's a coincidence. Don't mind that. "You know, I never took you for a fool," the knight says, almost conversationally. This time, he intends to wait for the other to make the first move. "I'll admit that I'm not the best judge of character, though, and I've been wrong before."

[sunderedscript]

@heartbloomd Though they don't typically hunt anything larger than bugs, Vivi has spotted an interesting piece of prey—-though a hawkling doesn't really qualify as prey, nor are they really hunting the bird. Either way, they recognize an animal that shouldn't be blue, and they wonder if this is the John they were once mistaken for. They creep closer, belly fur brushing the ground, tail twitching back and forth. Careful to be spotted early, lest they be deemed an actual threat.

Flying can be a draining thing, really. Milton often has to take breaks. Like now, where he sits and rests in the shade of the tree. His abilities limits are what keeps him from taking his true form. He still longs to keep flying. It’s while he rests that he notices the blue cat among the green grass. It has him stop to do a double take. A blue cat. Blue like him.

"Are you trying to hunt me or say hello?" Milton doesn't shift just yet, but he does watch. He wasn't a cat currently, but he was as curious as one.

[heartbloomd]

He can talk! That's cool! Abandoning the pretense of stalking, Vivi trots the rest of the way over, perhaps a bit too forward as they proceed to sniff at the other's feathers, whiskers twitching. Ah, but this occasion seems to require an actual conversation—-which means shifting to a form capable of speech. They briefly debate being a parrot but settle on human instead.

"You can talk as a bird?" is the first thing they ask, leaning in closer, eyes sparkling with intrigue. "That's weird. I've always been stuck with the animal's natural limitations."

[vulpesly]

✧ « @heartbloomd ➥ answered »

There's a pale blue kitten trotting over to where Dinadan sits, meowing cutely and headbutting his ankles. Give them attention, please, and maybe some of that food.

The cat meows and Dinadan stops with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. He blinks, frowns, even rubs at one ear to check his hearing is still working right. Nope, his hearing is fine. That cat did just meow, and it didn't come with an auto-translation provided by his Ability. Huh, okay weird. So not a natural cat then--the blue fur should make that obvious, but people these days do all sorts of weird things to their pet's fur in the name of fashion, he's not judging.

"You want some?" He's making an educated guess. While the meows are only coming across as meows to him, if there's anything Dinadan has learned about living creatures as a whole: the two things they want the most are food and attention.

Ripping off a chunk of ham, he dangles it above and just a liiiittle out of the cat's reach. He gives the piece of meat an enticing wiggle. "Do you do tricks? Or is being blue your only trick?" Even if the cat can't answer (which continues to feel weird to him), Dinadan is too much in the habit of talking to animals to bother stopping now.

[heartbloomd]

Far from the first time someone has done a double-take at their fur color—-but why does this man check his ears? Vivi's head cants slightly to one side, only to be distracted by the strip of ham. Though meat isn't their favored meal, they are hungry, and they will eagerly accept this donation to their stomach. In return for... tricks? Their first instinct is to lift up and balance on their hind legs, front paws curled adorably as they meow again. But that's begging, not a trick.

Thus, they flop onto their back, eyes closed and limbs splayed, mouth open just enough for their tongue to peek out. Look, look, they can play dead! That's definitely a trick!

After a few seconds, they open one eye to peer up at the stranger, awaiting his judgement. Is this worthy of some ham, or isn't it?

[heartbloomd]

from @vulpesly : lesson – muse a teaches muse b something [ kyouka and haruki or tachihara ]

While she's handled guns before and perhaps has better aim than the average person, Kyouka needs to improve her skills quickly for one specific purpose: to defeat Tachihara at paintball. And who better to learn from than the man himself? (Aside from Higuchi, he's the only person she associates with the weapon, and thus in her mind the only person she can seek guidance from.) In turn, he'll have a more challenging opponent to play with. Win-win.

Which is how they end up at the Hunting Dogs' firing range, with toy guns instead of real ones. After a few shots, she squints to examine her results.

"...it's different," she notes blandly, inspecting the gun closer. Lighter than what she's used before—-both physically and emotionally. "Are there any tricks to improve my accuracy?"

[sunderedscript]

“… The choice would be yours, your ability and you’re the king…. It’s probably for the best we go straight to the medical ward.” For now he rests his head back on Arthur’s shoulder, trying to ignore the pain of his wounds. It would heal, eventually. And Dagonet would live.

Once his wounds mended enough to return to his room, he could just take out what had been stored away for a later date. Nothing like a nice wine to soothe bloody wounds and bruises.

“Wanna share the bottle of wine in my room when I’m not bleeding all over? With some nice steak…” Yeah. Food was better to think about than the pain.

[heartbloomd]

Skipping the liquor store saves time and energy, and it's best for Dagonet's wounds to be treated as soon as possible. But Arthur wanted the jester to say it; he doesn't always know the correct balance, where to draw the line, when it comes to hiding his poor health from his subordinates. He should be the strong, nigh-infallible king they can rely on—-admitting that it'd be burdensome to carry Dagonet for that extra distance, that extra time, does not support that image.

"We'll see," he allows, even though the answer is a firm no. One glass of wine wouldn't be terrible, yet he doesn't want to foster any habits. "You may pass out once the painkillers kick in, no alcohol needed, and I have reports to finish."

[heartbloomd]

Sapphira's archive is truly humongous, and she's able to use her magic in different ways inside the pocket dimension than she's able to in real life; this mostly ties back to her ability to convert her memories into physical form, which is how the archive's structure is created. Aside from replicating massive libraries and museums, she creates "rooms" with other locations she's grown fond of over the years, including cafes, city squares, gardens, etcetera.

These replications don't have the same level of detail as what she duplicates, and she mostly uses this technique for architecture or items that she's unable to duplicate—-either due to lack of access or because they're simply too large.

In addition to books and artifacts, she's always been dedicated to preserving other aspects of life and culture too. There's a food archive in a room where time is stopped to prevent anything from rotting, as well as automated farms that grow ingredients for whenever she feels like cooking or baking. Many produce crops that no longer exist, having either died out or been modified.

Similar automations run throughout several other rooms. There are "phantom" bands that play music, theatre troupes, other entertainers, even lecturers. They're somewhat eerie and can be unsettling; like other replications, they lack the depth that reality possesses—-but that's ultimately a small price to pay, in Sapphira's humble opinion.

Suffice to say, it would require at least a few lifetimes to fully explore the archive, given how long she's spent building and adding (and adding and adding and adding) to her collection.

[vulpesly]

Mordred spends a moment watching Vivi settle down with Rook. The kitten stirs awake just long enough to snuggle up closer to the other cat, tiny purrs filling the air. Satisfied Rook isn't about to start causing mischief outside of kittenish dreams, Mordred returns his attention back to Sapphira. "They didn't tell me much about you either, just your name and that you like gemstones. And the library, of course." Can't forget that!

Her explanation has him leaning in, expression fully attentive. "A pocket dimension, huh? That makes sense. I had something like that once--just a bag that could hold more than it should, though, not an entire library." He'd lost that bag not long after leaving Europe and never come across another person or being who could replicate the effect the same way. A shame. He'd had to resort to carrying the normal number of books and medical supplies after that. "Did you make create it yourself?"

It only occurs to him belatedly that he'd left her unanswered, so distracted by talk of the library as he is. "Oh, right. Mine's Mordred--my name, that is." Surname? He'll leave that for now, since Sapphira hadn't offered one herself he decides it's better to match like with like.

[heartbloomd]

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mordred. Did Vivi tell you it's a library? I suppose the difference between the terms is negligible to them, but it's most accurate to call it an archive." Sapphira doesn't intend to split hairs about semantics, however, even if she could (and would enjoy discussing them); instead, she nods to answer his question. "It more or less began as one such bag before I learned to create a whole dimension—-and though the craftsmanship is uniquely mine, I have had to borrow power in order to help stabilize it. I'm sure you can imagine how much energy such a thing would require."

In the end, she's only (probably) human, no matter how versatile her magic. A small pocket dimension is difficult enough to maintain, but she poured an endless amount of determination into her efforts until she could build an archive as impressive as hers is.

"This bag," she pats the satchel resting on her lap, an ever-present accessory, "serves a similar function by allowing me to access the archive's contents. Oh, and if you want one like you described, I have some lying around. If there's not one you like the look of, I can craft one more suited to your tastes."

[vulpesly]

The ladybug regards the offered cream before giving a brief buzz of its wings. As close to shaking its head as its anatomy will allow. << It's kind of you to offer, but no thank you. >> Despite the insect's tiny size, the woman's voice that issues from it is not, instead carrying the volume and presence of someone standing in front of Kyouka. << This little one is nothing more than a bit of enchanted paper, it can't taste anything. >>

As the voice continues to speak, the ladybug itself stands unmoving, without so much as an antennae wiggling. << I'm Gengetsu. I apologize for the small deception, force of habit. You see, I've heard a good deal about you and was curious. >> Curious enough to send a messenger while not coming herself. But she has her reasons; some are business related, although she was likewise merely interested in seeing just how perceptive Kyouka is of her environment. Most people wouldn't notice a ladybug landing on them, let alone watching them.

<< I'd like to meet you in person. But of course that must sound suspicious coming from someone who's been spying on you, so you're welcome to choose the time and place yourself if that'd put you at ease. >>

[heartbloomd]

Not expecting a verbal response, Kyouka recoils slightly, eyes narrowed. But she listens in silence until the bug finishes speaking, and she tilts her head as she considers the offer. Heard about her? From who? And what did she hear? She doesn't recognize the name Gengetsu, nor the ability used to spy on her. It's unwise to to agree carelessly, though she is, admittedly, very curious. They could meet near the agency's office, if not the café directly beneath is; then, she would have backup if needed. But if this individual is a threat, that location could be what they're hoping for—-there are layers to bad guys' master plans that she doesn't quite understand.

She glances around the park. "We can meet here," she decides. "Tomorrow afternoon... if you don't spy on me anymore before then." It's close enough to the office, and she can ask one of the adults to loiter around the area just in case. There are some stores that Yosano-sensei would probably enjoy...

That settled, she focuses on her crepe once more, so that she finishes it before the cream melts—-in the afternoon heat, she has a limited amount of time, and it'd be a shame to waste.

[phasmascript]

“You’ve met one of them already. Shimazaki Haruki.” Who was currently pestering the other young hunting into a fight. It’d only be a matter of time till Shiga and Haruki ended up in the infirmary once more for maiming each other.

The worksheets were vocabulary and kanji lessons, geared more towards that of a young teen. Both sets were in the same level while the mathematical worksheets were very different.

"This will be the only bit I get till 10 tonight. I can't imagine you get much silence with the self-proclaimed jester running around."

[heartbloomd]

"Ah, yes, Shimazaki-kun. He seems like a kind young man."

Certainly kinder than some of the other Hunting Dogs she's met, though just as eccentric as anyone enlisted into such an organization—-as anyone who possesses an ability in the first place. It'd be more unusual to meet an ability-user who fits inside the box that society deems normal.

Guinevere chuckles lightly at the following sentiment. "You'd be surprised. I can enjoy as much peace and quiet as I want," she assures him, "especially since Dagonet has found a new target to—-entertain." Not the word Jono would use, certainly.

[pdlcomics]

What I Do

[sunderedscript]

Niimi gives a nod as he hops down and digs into his pouch for the said key. Though they still had to go all the way up to the top floor for it. Not that Niimi minds the little extra travel.

“I live here too- so it should be okay. The worse Nii-chan can do is get all fussy and yell at me.” And while Niimi didn’t like or want to upset Jono, excluding pranks and general mischief, this should be fine. So he takes Inari’s hand and leads her all the way to the apartment.

Shoes sat neatly inside as the boy lets Inari in. “I’ll take some medicine so my fever doesn’t come back." Hopefully. "You can look around if you want~ the loft is my room. Nii-chan buys me all sorts of toys if you wanna play.”

[heartbloomd]

Once she enters the apartment, Inari slips off her shoes and arranges them neatly by the door, then wanders a few more paces into the threshold, glancing around. It's not often that she finds herself in other people's homes, so she cannot help but be curious—-though she'll keep any snooping to a minimum. She has manners, after all, and serves as a role model for little foxes.

"Do you have any games we could play together?" she inquires. Playing with toys by herself doesn't sound too appealing, at least not for an extended period of time; she could entertain herself with something new for a few minutes, though. "Unless you're tired and would prefer to rest, that is."

[vulpesly]

The fact Lancelot doesn't hesitate to move in gives Mordred pause, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. Why isn't he more wary of Fields of Camlann? He should be hesitant, the rest of the knights always were, yet Lancelot doesn't seem to balk at all. Either he's keeping up a good poker face or he has some kind of trick up his sleeve. Great. As if the odds aren't already stacked against him.

Before Mordred can dwell on that oddity long, Lancelot is in reach and making his move. The feint is expected. Lancelot's definitely noticed his blindspot, everyone who does tries to use it against Mordred with a similar maneuver and he's more than prepared to block the strike. It's almost too easy... too late he spots the true intent behind Lancelot's attack, leaving him no time to avoid the grab.

His first instinct as he feels Lancelot catch hold of his jacket is to pull away and put distance between them again, however Mordred quells that reaction, stamping it down and holding his ground. This is exactly where he wants to be. Close quarters makes both of them a risk to the other with their respective Abilities. Lancelot is probably expecting Fields of Camlann, which is why Mordred feints making a grab for the knight's face with one hand while the other darts in low, aiming a jabbing strike at the elbow of the arm Lancelot caught his jacket with.

Making contact won't bring with it any feelings of weakness, Mordred's Ability remaining unused as he instead aims to temporarily immobilize the joint. Taking advantage of pressure points has become a favored method of Mordred's since working with the Hunting Dogs--their boundless strength amounts to little if he renders an arm or leg useless. The trouble is, hit or miss, the prince is slow to draw his hand back afterward, the fabric of his jacket suddenly reluctant to move properly as Lancelot's enchantment takes effect.

[heartbloomd]

Though he half guesses that the grab for his face is a feint, Lancelot leans back anyway and doesn't prevent the strike to his elbow. The extra second to strengthen his enchantment is worth the risk; besides that, having arrived prepared for a fight, he's wearing more than one layer—-though not as effective as real armor, the protective charm on his undershirt prevents his arm from going completely numb. He shakes it out as he releases his grip, and in a flash, his other reaches out to snatch the wrist that's too slow to pull back.

Two fingers brush the back of the other's hand, applying the same restrictive enchantment to his glove before Lancelot yanks him forward. The goal being to throw off his balance, twist his arm behind his back, and restrain him that way. But aware that the traitor's center of gravity is lower than his own, he braces himself for the motion to be used against him, prepared to pivot away at a split second's notice.

Aware most of all of any attempts to activate Fields of Camlann, the dreaded ability of the knights' would-be executioner. Keenly aware that the activation conditions for it (which should be the same as his) may not be what the other described decades ago. Lancelot's enchantments remain intact, unbroken—-based on his experiments with it, he should feel if and when it dispels.