#how exciting!

[micia-posts-stuff]

Shinran Week 2026 Day 1: Mutual Pining

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I wanted to dedicate this first day to the real number one victim of Shinici and Ran's mutual pining and refusual to confess: my poor girl Sonoko. She had to look at these two lovebirds for so many years, but she remains the captain of the ship, a true hero.

@shinran-week

[motherish]

At the doctor and I overhear a woman telling a nurse about a trip that she’s got planned and she ends it with “I’m living my best life at 70yrs old.” The nurse says “you’re supposed to.”

Good times will always be waiting for you as long as you’re alive to experience them, huh?

[qprsolby]

ABANDONED IS BACK!

[mortalscience]

ya girl started watching leverage for the first time cause me and the boyfriend needed a new dinnertime tv show and he requested anything not a murder show bc of all the CM I watch (lol) so I picked something that sounded light. my impressions of all the characters after watching partway through s1:

Nate: hot mess but somehow always pulls it together? the Jeff Winger of the group. pisses everyone off but rallies the troops for a win. would be nice if he got it together tho!! yeah yeah he's got trauma I get it, but the team's relying on him darnit

Sophie: mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry. mommy? ok she annoyed me the first couple episodes but she's growing on me and I see her value now. literally befuddled at what she sees in nate but I'm guessing just leftover feelings from before he was a MESS

Parker: the Abed of the group. quirky and adorable. the team needs to stop putting her in Situations bc she can't mentally handle it. actual feral cat that's socialized to exactly 4 people.

Hardison: the Penelope Garcia of the team, bc somehow no matter what, 75% of the time, the day is saved by the computer geek hahaha. he's also the funny one! and I'm mentally crossing over leverage and criminal minds so that Hardison and Penelope are hacker bros 💕

Eliot: not the badass fighter who hates guns and has a big cinnamon roll heart. STOP. immediately in love with him and the way he brushes his long dumb hair out of his face after being in a fight.

[carouselcarnival]

I saw your Whitney fic an fell absolutely in love! If I could, can I request something with the ivory wraith? Like maybe [reader] is like entity more powerful than ivory? 🫶

•♤• Dark and Damp •♤•

Ticket Subject: The Ivory Wraith

Ticket Addresses: Gn!Reader, Monster!Reader, Sub!Ivory Wraith, monsterfucking, slight gore, blood, painplay, masochism

Notes: What a lovely ticket request for me this evening! I do hope you enjoy what I've managed to put together for such a request. Apologies for the slight delay. Things have been busy at the Carnival.

There is something in the shadows. This the one called Ivory Wraith knew for certain. Something lived there without breathing, much like his own existence, except this thing was not trapped under rippling currents and dark water until disturbed, no. This thing moved often, with fluid grace, side-stepping the sun during daylight hours and taunting the moon in the dead of night. This thing was free, an active hunter, an open invitation that so many of the humans of this town seemed keen to accept.

Ivory Wraith understood very little about this writhing darkness. It took form only when it chose, and yet never seemed unaware of what took place in and around itself. It did not seem wholly malicious either; the shadows sheltered as many souls as it dragged away into its depth, never to be seen again. Risk and reward, temptation and protection. A cloak could keep a child warm just as it could an assassin, no?

Still, to the Wraith, it seemed counterproductive. But then again, he did not know the shadows. He did not know you.

He would come to eventually, on a rainy night late in the summer season. The Ivory Wraith was restless and hunting, a poor swimmer who had recently disturbed his sacred amulet with their vile mortal touch, stealing it from where it belonged. His need for retribution had pulled him far from his usual comforts, across the town from his lake dwelling in pursuit of this thief. Normally, nothing would dare disturb these missions of his, but tonight was different.

He'd drifted through a spray of mist, bent through the light of the flickering street lamp, and stopped dead before a pitch black alleyway. It was unusually dark; as if the light shied away from the narrow gap between buildings that seemed endless in its shadowed depth. The Ivory Wraith hesitated, for a moment. He had used the shadows before, as most spirits did, for a faster method of travel. These shadows, though, seemed... alive in a way he could not express. But the rage, the desire for revenge, it was eating him, strangling him with his own tentacles, clouding his judgement. He had never encountered you before while traveling through the shadows. Even if you where there, would you dare appear to try and impede him? Surely, he would tear you to pieces, like he would the thief. With such thoughts in mind, the Ivory Wraith glided forward, into the beckoning darkness.

○●♤●○

For your part, you were quite used to visitors. So many came and went from your darkness, if you attempted to reprimand every beast or blasmephor that passed through, this entire town would have long ago been slaughtered, disappeared into the night. Alas, that would rid you of all your food, your source of power. Still, that didn't mean you had to tolerate rudeness.

And what rudeness it was, that the Ivory Wraith came barging through you, white-hot with anger and violence, practically bashing himself against your shadows just to get across the town a bit faster. What a disrespect to your presence, your power, that he waltzed in with no respect, no decorum, not an even acknowledge of whose domain he was in! Such poor manners ought to be punished.

○●♤●○

It was only a moment before the Ivory Wraith was ejected from the shadows, violently and without warning. The spirit hissed, a bubbling growl as their physical form pressed down on them, radiating pain. Blinking, the disheveled spirit looked about; he was still in the alleyway, it seemed, though the impenetrable darkness had pulled away from him, leaving a 10 foot section of alley unaffected by it, only in normal low-light. To either side of this patch, however, the thick shadows continued, boxing the Wraith in. Before the indignant Wraith could open his mouth, however, a deep echo reached his ears.

"Such disrespect.... I would have thought better of the manners of a once-disciple," you rasp, still formless and cradled by the shadows. The Ivory Wraith cannot determine where your voice come from, as it seemed to warp on the brick and concrete surrounding him. He hisses, bares his teeth and summons his tentacles, still all rage and instinct. You return the snarl with a horrible, distorted noise that makes the Wraith flinch, and then shrink back as you reveal yourself.

As you step from the darkness, the shadows coalesce around you, forming long, dense limbs and silken drapery, dark hair and skin nearly indistinguishable. Your form is more silhouette than physical body at first glance, with the only stand-out feature being the pinpricks of light that indicate your pupils. They contrast so deeply with the rest of you, making it all the more unsettling to the Ivory Wraith as they bore holes into him. He steps back without thinking, and you step forward towards him. He retreats further, you advance, languidly dragging long claws across the pavement, leaving trails of thin scours. He halts only when his raised hairs tell him he's run out of room, backed against a wall of shadow he'd be just as doomed if he stepped into. Forced to freeze, the spirit can do little but allow you to close the distance, leaving only an inch or two of space between you as you looked overhead, a good 2 feet taller than the pale ghost.

He comes to the realization much slower than you do.

○●♤●○

There is nothing he can do. Its amusing to see it finally click, a glimmer of true fear peeking out from those crimson eyes, obscured by knotted white strands of hair. You cannot help but smile, a cracked, jagged thing more felt than seen in your current pitch-black form. You reach a twisted claw out to tap on one of his remaining tentacles, now curled inwards defensively, rather than poised to strike.

As you gently drag a curved talon across the smooth, damp appendage, noting it's slightly gelatinous texture, you catch the Ivory Wraith as it shudders. Without moving your gaze, you press harder against the coiled limb of his, creating a tense impression of your fingertip. The spirit continues to wither as you continue to prod at his tentacle, crossing his arms and digging his own claws into the sheer, ratty fabric of his waterlogged tunic. All the while, the three or so other remaining tentacles curl tighter, into themselves, each other and the Wraith, adorning spiraling shell-like patterns against his ankles and calves. Clearly, this caused the Ivory Wraith som discomfort.

Before you have the opportunity to truly relish his pain, your distraction with watching his other limbs undulate catches up to you; The building pressure against the skin of the first tentacle gives, as the thin layer of proper skin breaks and your claws sink into jelly-like flesh. The Ivory Wraith releases a horrible noise, like something you'd expect out of a drowning cat, and collapses against the pavement as the tentacles all retreat, one oozing thick black ichor as it pulls away.

You laugh in turn; an equally horrid noise to his wailing, sheetrock against tin, radio static and shattering glass. You loom over him now, as he crouches in a corner, curled up against the brick wall with the wall made of shadow at his back. The Wraiths tentacles truly squeezed against his skin now, curling and spiraling up his arms, coiling against his throat in a grip that would have strangled a mortal. You expect the fear and dread you find on his face, as well as the telltale signs of physical agony, but...

There is something else to the expression too. You think for a moment that it id perhaps awe? Envy? But, you look closer and notice the ever-so-faint, bloodless blue hue dusting the spectors hollowed cheeks. Ah, you think. Its pleasure he feels. But from getting his own appendages ripped apart? Well, those of the non-mortal inclination often found satisfaction in odd things. Even some mortals did. Given the reaction you got, though, the Ivory Wraith clearly had no idea he would react this way. Moreover, the spirit seemed horrified that he had.

Hmm. I can work with this, you think.

Folding yourself in half with a nasty snapping noise, you lean down over the Ivory Wraith as he cowers. He flinches back as you extend a clawed hand towards him, but his tentacles betray him as one reach out to meet your hand, curling gently around your knuckles. A chitter of satisfaction escapes you, as you tug is gently, winding it tight around your palm-

-and promptly snapping it off completely with a sickening twang. The Ivory Wraith cauterwauls, head slamming back into the brick wall hard enough to leave a jagged crack running up it. The spectors body convulses, arching it's back as inky blood spurts and drips from the wound, leaving a trail like a tattoo down his left arm as it retreats, including from its previous pattern and ticking itself under the rest of his body. The previously pristine white robe the spirit employed were now stained with black splotches, and a suspicious wetness near the groin that could not be explained by the Wraiths usual condensation. Jittering and panting, the Ivory Wraith casts you a shaky glance from underneath his curtain of hair, tears glistening at the waterline as blue-grey hue consumes his face like a bruise. You still grasp the disconnect end of the tentacles, twisting it gently between your fingers as it slowly drips tainted blood across your hand and down unto the pavement, assessing.

This is sure to be warning the Ivory Wraith will never forget.

○●♤●○

The Ivory Wraith does not catch the thief that night, nor the next night, or the following. In fact, the Wraith barely manages to drag himself back to the water before the sun rose, ragged as he was. The Ivory Wraith was shredded from head to toe; sharp slices and gouges across his body, shredded remnants of his tentacles hanging limp down his back, pale hair tangles and matted with blood, and white robes stained grey and tattered. It would repair itself with time; such was the way incorporial realm. But in the meantime, the Ivory Wraith would have to put up with his own sorry state, wincing through the pain of mauling at hands of the Shadow.

Still, he reflects, as he pulls as clump of fabric away from his crotch, think and sticky with fluids that are most definitely not blood, that perhaps he should visit the Shadow again soon.

Properly, this time.

[cicero-the-assassin]

@leondxs

Continued from here.

It had been some time since the creature had been left an offering. He had considered paying the local village a visit - taking what was rightfully his by force. But it seemed they'd finally chosen the unfortunate, destined to die in hopes of sating the beast in the woods. Leondas made his way to the clearing leisurely, his strides slow and calculated. The man was seated on the forest floor, his body strapped tightly to the live oak behind him. Ropes binding down to pinned flesh. The faerie grinned at the other's misfortune. His head canted to the side, eyes glistening. Pupils flickered over the mortal's body, noting toned muscle and lean form. A pulse pounding like a drum to his sensitive ears. It took great restraint not to tear into the human immediately. But he would have his fun. Such gifts were a treat and should be savored as such. His smile widened, teeth gleaming with eager drippings. ❝ My, my, ❞ the fae purred, ❝ aren't you a pretty sight? ❞

He sits patiently, having gave up on pulling and thrashing against his binds hours ago. Dark tresses curtain his face as his head hangs low- tired and trying to swallow the thick anger and betrayal weighing heavy in his throat.

Lucio wants to scream and howl- to thrash and kick more at the dirt below him, to gnash and gnaw through the ropes binding his body.

How could this happen to him? He behaved well enough, didn't he? What more penitence should one have to offer for past transgressions? What did the effort matter now? Here in the cold of the night in the forest.

Tossed to the wolves.

Even when he hears such a silky voice, Lucio does not move from his hunched over position on the ground. Daring not to look up. He wouldn't give it the satisfaction. Oh yes, they made sure to make him look appetizing enough. After they tied him down, they tore open his shirt and combed floral oils through his shiny hair.

The only response the creature is given, is his head turning away. Still looking down, hair hiding his face, but turned away. As though he'd dare not look upon the other's countenance.

Spiteful.

[pushing500]

I think Randy Random feels bad for killing Susskind the ghoul last time, so he sent us a new ghoul to make up for it. Thanks, Randy!

Good job, Alistair, and welcome to Sparks, Bopobb! I like Alistair's deserter armour. It seems to be protecting him pretty well, even though I prefer drawing his old jacket/tank top.

It seems like the guys at Arno, our second outpost, are trying to turn us into iPad babies.

I don't mind. The more legendary iPads we get, the closer we are to the wealth threshold for the Archonexus quest!

At long last, we have our colony to ourselves again! What shall we do with this newfound alone time? Well, I heard a rumour that there are some knighthoods to be delivered! Perhaps it's time to call our friends in The Empire again, hmm?

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