#I'm not taking general ones for these questions lads

[krokaxe]

offers Micky up on a silver platter for general shenaniganry, fallout or otherwise. Nev and him getting on like a house on fire especially amuses me greatly

• How would our OCs interact? • Micky and Nev

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Micky and Nev share that trait of being small and forever in trouble, albeit Micky is typically the one with his compass steering them into said trouble. Pint sized mischief is the name of the game; there is no shelf they cannot reach. Transformer Nev and Micky hours, she's standing on his shoulders to crawl through a vent so they can unlock a door that should, under no circumstances, be opened.

>Cuts to them running across the Mojave with stolen contraband. Likely being shot at. Arcade gets a headache somewhere; immediately knows that he's going to be patching somebody up over novelty goods. Again.

[ozzgin]

Hii I was wondering if u could do a yandere Kazuya x yn x yandere Daitou I’m not sure if u do character x yn x character tho

Yandere! Yakuza x Reader Spinoff

Two yakuza men who have fallen in love with their new foreign tenant. A what-if spinoff to the original story for that love triangle spice. Happy Valentine's Day!

Content: female reader, NSFW, organized crime, obsessive behavior, violence, BDSM themes (choking), threats

Credits: My boyfriend for giving me the Daitou smut idea

[Main Story] | [General Headcanons]

Kazuya is sitting on the sidewalk, checking his watch occasionally and tapping his foot. The cigarette seems to have been forgotten, hanging lowly from his lips.

"Sorry I'm late." Daitou speedily makes his way towards his friend, smiling awkwardly.

"Where the fuck were you, man? We don't know how much time we have before the cops arrive."

"Uh uh, leave it to me." The cheeky grin doesn't leave his face as he pulls out his gun and carefully but swiftly inspects the barrel and safety one final time. "(Y/N) needed some help with the mailbox. I couldn't just say no, ya know?"

The blonde man's eyebrows raise for a second, but he quickly recollects himself.

"I see. That's good."

"She asked me to show her the area tomorrow, so I'll be working extra hard tonight. Hehe."

"That's good."

Daitou glances at Kazuya, somewhat wary.

"You okay?"

Stupid question. What's he supposed to answer? Yeah, he loves waiting like a dumbass while his friend flirts with the new tenant, who conveniently happens to be a cute foreigner, who's been unexpectedly nice and relaxed around them despite them explicitly stating they're part of the Japanese mafia. Fucking hell. It doesn't help that this idiot is as obvious as a blaring, blinding cluster of ads smack in the middle of Kabukicho. He can tell from miles away that Daitou's completely fallen for her. Just like that, in an instant.

They've been partners and best friends for years now, so the natural reaction would be happiness, right? Daitou has always been one scary motherfucker. Even the seniors scramble when he's in the room, let alone women. For him to find someone that isn't bothered the slightest by his appearance or background should be a celebratory occasion. Kazuya should be rooting for him. Except, well, he fell for you just as hard. Tough luck.

The Bushido moral code, often used as guidance within their own lifestyle, covers matters such as loyalty and honesty quite extensively. A true warrior remains fiercely faithful to his master or companions. And yet, love interests are more of a grey area, especially if they happen to overlap. Who dictates the proper etiquette for this dilemma? To whom is loyalty directed towards? Truth be told, Kazuya couldn’t care less. He’s always been a man of vice, impulsive and greedy. If he wants something, he takes it.

The trouble starts when the other person is of the same mindset. Two ferocious predators eyeing the same victim.

***

You fiddle next to the tall, dark-haired man. Similarly, Daitou is avoiding eye contact, looking around in hopes of finding something to focus on. It’s the first time he’s come over since the incident. After his little mission with Kazuya, he was tasked to “interrogate” some of the remaining members to get even more names for the hitlist. He’d completely forgotten about his promise to show you the neighborhood. Hands sticky with blood, he was in the middle of his signature act of benevolence, putting the lad out of his misery.

It was around that time you decided to be the one picking him up instead, for your grand tour. Your knocks on the door remained unheard, however, so you decided to politely make your way in.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not-”

You froze in place. A man (you assumed at least based on the few visible traits left), tied up on the chair, canvas bag roped around his head. Daitou’s hands were secured around his throat. In the few seconds of silence, you could hear a muffled wheezing, as the stranger’s chest heaved in short convulsions.

“-intruding.” You mumbled, regaining your speech.

He messed up, didn’t he? Daitou sighs and slicks his hair back. He can’t blame you if you’re now terrified of him. He had to come over for some tenant checkups and you’ve been maintaining a safe distance from him during his entire visit. What can he possibly tell you? “Hey, I know I threatened to chop you up and you’ve now witnessed firsthand I’m a legit murderer, but, uh…I have a crush on you? Dinner at seven?”

You’re terrified alright, but not of his deeds. Rather, your newly discovered perversion as a consequence of the gory scene. It’s not that you relished in the torment of another. It’s the other details that left you reminiscing. Daitou’s imposing frame, the unbuttoned shirt revealing his traditional tattoos glistening in beads of sweat, his flexed, brawny arms, and large hands. You’re scared of your shamelessness. It can’t be normal. Yet you can’t stop thinking about it. Just a glimpse into this memory and your cheeks become burning red.

“I’ll be on my way then”, the yakuza announces politely.

Though he immediately stops in his tracks, and you realize you’ve unconsciously grabbed onto his sleeve. Uh oh. What now? You mumble an apology without releasing your hold. Being this close to him makes your heart drum inside your chest.

To hell with it.

“I might say something terribly inappropriate right now, but…”

“Sorry?” He stares at you, dumbfounded.

“Do you have anything planned after this?” You ask quietly.

“N-no?”

“Would you mind staying over?”

“Huh? Sure…w-what for?” His mouth is dry, and he searches your eyes in confusion.

“You know…” Choke me until I pass out and such, you think to yourself sarcastically.

He turns to face you, lips pursed awkwardly.

“You’ll have to be clear with me, Miss (Y/N). I’m not good with all this tiptoeing around and I might get the wrong idea.”

Your ears perk up hearing his final words, a deep blush now spreading over your flustered features.

“What wrong idea?”

Daitou fidgets with his glass prosthetic nervously.

“Well, uh, a man can only dream, ya know? Especially around a cute girl like you.” He reveals with a stutter.

“Suppose I’d be willing to go along with anything on your mind. What then?” You twirl your hair, gazing shyly at the floor. Not even you can believe the audacity leaving your lips.

The tall man steps before you, towering above with a certain gleam in his eye. It’s yearning. Your knees weaken.

“Don’t tease me, please. I can hardly control myself around you as it is.”

You release his sleeve and instead cling onto his shirt with both hands, looking up through your lashes.

“I’m dead serious.”

He ponders his next move with a click of the tongue, then cups your cheeks between his hands and lowers himself until his hot breath tickles your nose.

“Are you? There’s no going back after this. Can you handle it?” His voice is suddenly deeper, raspier.

Before you can respond, you feel yourself lifted and you yelp, surprised, instinctively wrapping your limbs around the yakuza. In between the greedy kisses that leave your lips bruised and swollen, you don’t notice the movement back towards the seating area.

As you pull away to gasp for air, he throws you onto the couch, flipping you over in the process so that you’re kneeling away from him. Your nails dig into the soft fabric of the sofa. You hear Daitou unbuckle his belt and you squeeze your legs together, heavily aroused. He presses his palm gently into your back, arching it. You sense his fingers grazing over your core and you whimper.

“G-go on, please.” You beg, swaying your hips tentatively. “I really can’t wait anymore.”

“As you wish, Miss.” He reassures you with a grin.

He adjusts himself and carefully makes his way in. You don’t have time to enjoy the feeling; following almost instantly is his belt looped around your neck, tightening under his grip as he pulls the ends towards him. Your head is forced back, and you groan. You can hear the leather stretch and creak over your assaulted skin, the constriction briefly cutting your oxygen intake. Hot drool trickles down your chin and your eyes almost roll back in pleasure.

“Look at my little Miss (Y/N), taking it like a champion.” He bends over and bites your earlobe playfully. “Does that mean I can be as rough as I want?”

You nod erratically.

The grip around your throat intensifies and your vision becomes blurry.

“Hey, don’t pass out now.” He inserts two fingers in your mouth, pulling you by the cheek and tilting your head to look him in the eye. “Not before you show me that you understand your situation. You’re mine. Is that clear?”

He drags his fingers downwards, aiding your response as you struggle to contract your muscles.

“Attagirl.” He concludes, satisfied.

In the morning you wake up with a dreadful soreness, and you can quickly see why. Your body is peppered in bruises. Daitou is smoking by the window and promptly flicks his cigarette out once he realizes you’re no longer asleep.

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” He begins, remorseful, and squats in front of the bed. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

“I will need a day or two to recover before the next time, but otherwise I’m fine.”

He beams with delight upon registering your words: next time. You can’t help but snicker at his childish enthusiasm. It’s a mystery how Daitou can switch between ruthless killer and cute partner with such ease.

Although it’s no secret, really. It’s you.

***

“Thanks for driving me home, Kazuya.”

You smile and unbuckle your seatbelt, reaching for the door handle. Daitou has been busy with work for the past days, so Kazuya took his place in looking after your needs.

“Huh?” You rattle the grab handle one more time to make sure. “It’s still locked.”

The blonde raps the wheel impatiently with his fingers. Is he to silently accept his loss? Does it even count as a loss when he hasn’t even had the chance to present his piece? Daitou has been quiet about it, but he can read that bastard like an open book. Something definitely happened between the two of you and the mere thought drives him insane.

Ah, this is so unlike him. There are few things he cares about. His pride, his Family’s honor, his freedom. Women aren’t exactly on that list, yet somehow, you’ve snuck your way to the very top of priorities and he’s realizing it just now. It’s becoming harder to ignore his maddening urge to have you. Out of all the things…He’d give Daitou the world. But not you. He can’t. He can’t.

“Kazuya? Are you listening? You forgot to unlock the door.”

“Say, (Y/N) …ever fucked in a car before?”

“What?” You ask, baffled.

“Come here for a moment.” He swiftly slides his seat all the way back and pats his thigh.

“Are you out of your mind?”

He answers your inquiry by pulling out his handgun and lazily pointing it towards you.

“I’m only going to ask once.”

You clumsily climb over the center console, straddling the yakuza with a slight pout.

“Someone’s in a sour mood, that’s for sure”, you complain. “It’s not even loaded.”

“Even I’m not crazy enough to risk shooting my Princess.” He smiles apologetically, throwing the gun on the backseat. “I thought it’d be more threatening that way.”

He removes a strand of hair from your face, gazing at you intently. His hand lingers for a second, before sliding its way down, tracing the side of your body. You shiver.

“Can you truly blame me when there’s such a pretty girl right before my eyes?” The blonde exhales and focuses on your shirt instead. “Won’t you let me prove myself?”

From this distance, despite the dim lights, you can discern his features in agonizing detail. His long lashes, his fleshy lips, currently parted, the luscious locks of hair casually thrown back. Kazuya has always been effortlessly handsome. It’s not just his good looks, but his overflowing charisma. He always knows exactly what to say and do. A devilish power to have over people, and you’re presently his victim.

His slender fingers play with your first button and cheekily undo it. You can only observe it, entranced. Your legs are weak, and your arms are stuck in place, resting limply over his broad shoulders.

“May I?” He glances up at you with a pleading expression. “I won’t be able to hold back afterwards.”

You bite your lower lip, distracted. Whether or not this is a wise choice, you can’t currently tell. You squirm in his lap and suddenly feel the pressure coming from below.

“Go ahead.” You finally confess.

He doesn’t hesitate and slithers his hand underneath your shirt, popping the rest of the buttons open. Like a hungry animal that has stumbled upon a feast, he sinks his teeth into your neck, leaving mean, wet kisses on his way down.

One hand is greedily kneading your curves, encouraged by your soft whimpers, while the other strokes your thigh in anticipation. With a bit of readjustment, he finds the right spot between your trembling legs. You jolt at the sensation of his cold fingers.

“My, you’re already dripping. How lewd.” He whispers between breaths. “Do you want it now?”

He nonchalantly slips out and undoes his own pants. You lift yourself expectantly and let a moan escape your lips upon feeling the erection throbbing right below.

“Well then, can’t forget our manners, can we?” He announces, visibly excited. “What should I do?”

You glare at him, feverish.

“Stop teasing me.”

“Come on, be a good girl. Tell me what to do and I will do it, Love.”

Why, this…You lower yourself to his ear and answer in a lulled whine.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you to fuck me.”

Words enough to send the blonde man over the edge. He abruptly clutches your thighs for support, easing himself in before continuing with increasingly aggressive thrusts. Husky whimpers roll out of his mouth, desperate and starved.

“Oh, I’ve waited so long for this. My darling, perfect little (Y/N).” He presses his forehead into your chest, indulging in the moment. “Now say that you’re mine. Please. Please say it.”

“I’m…ah…I’m all yours, Kazuya.” You manage to blurt out, growing dizzy.

“That’s my girl. Such a good girl.”

Once the deed is finished, you flop your head over his chest, trying to catch your breath. Kazuya smoothens your clothes meticulously, holding you with one arm for support. Can’t leave a lady all disheveled, after all.

“Won’t Daitou be upset?” You point out, somewhat anxiously.

His muscles are tense for a second and he furrows his brows.

“That’s one strange way to thank me for making you come at least twice. Mentioning another man’s name.”

“I’m just…” your words trail off.

“What? Worried? You think I can’t handle it or something?”

Far from the truth. Both Kazuya and Daitou are violent, dangerous men. Given their stubbornness, you’re rather certain they’d end up killing each other. Not your favorite outcome.

“I don’t want either of you to get hurt.”

He sighs loudly.

“I’ll tell you what. Under normal circumstances, I’d probably dismember whoever had the guts to even entertain the idea of meddling with you. But…just because it’s Daitou, I might be willing to share. Nothing more than that.”

Kazuya ruffles your hair and chuckles.

“Aren’t you glad I’m such a diplomat, Love?”

“More like batshit crazy, both of you.” You retort, stretching.

[scoutswritingcorner]

The Monster That Lurked

Alastor x GN!Reader

A/N:Hey hey! I'm in a really angsty mood and decided to write a full fledged fic about my own work of ‘Monster In The Woods’!!! YAY!!! ALSO A FRIENDS TO LOVERS DEAL- SUE ME. Also you can picture Human Alastor or Alastor anyway you want cause I don’t really describe him much except for what he is wearing and I picture Alastor a certain way in my head. This got long I apologize.

TW: Set in the 1920-30’s, Human Alastor and his murders. Pre-established relationships, cheating, Alastor “stealing” you away from your husband.Alastor and Reader have known each other for a long time already. Reader is also some sort of fucked up, in like the murder way. Talks about cheating, fighting, Gore, Christianity and religion in general. MURDER VERY MUCH MURDER

Word Count: 7k

1927, the days filled with laughter and partying whilst listening to jazz standing with your husband..well you were waiting outside a sleazy bar for your husband, the same drunkard that your father had married you off to. He wasn’t your first choice neither was he your last choice. You would’ve been fine not marrying anybody and just living your life hidden from prying eyes, you would rather be somewhere in the Louisiana bayou with Alastor. Just sitting and listening to him ramble on about a new show he was talking about or how some poor lad got on his bad side. 

But yet you were standing on the sidewalk in front of a sleazy bar with even sleazier patrons as you stared at your husband through one of the windows as he hit on the same poor dame that served him. He cheated all the time and yet you never cared, was it because you never truly loved him or was it the fact you’d rather picture his own death while he begged god for his sins. You couldn’t tell anymore and a part of you didn’t want to know anymore. The other part of you wanted to delve deeper into your own thoughts, wanted to open the door that was locked and barricaded for your own good. You wanted to understand what it felt like to rip flesh from bone and see how long it would take for him to lose consciousness from the blood loss.

A loud honk from a passing car made you jump out of your skin and look around, feeling the small box in your pocket, it was supposed to be for your husband but he didn’t deserve it, he would’ve just sold it eagerly for some kind of money to waste his life away. That’s fine you knew a man who would appreciate it more than him anyway. The same man whose voice was happily broadcasted on every radio for miles around, you could practically hear his smile through the radio static and fuzz. Your heartbeat a little faster than it should’ve just thinking about him, he was your friend and that was it. Friends don’t have crushes on friends. This was just a way to spoil him for being a good friend of yours. Right?

You couldn’t bother him right now, you knew better so you did what you always did. Went back home and made yourself busy until he eventually made his way over to your house. He was always quick enough to get to your house before your drunken husband did but stayed around long enough (i.e in the early hours of the morning) so you wouldn’t have to deal with anything unnecessary and you eventually went to bed. Then he would’ve disappeared for a few days but he came back around. You didn’t question him or his ways, you knew better. A part of you did want to question his motives but you held your tongue like you always did.

Your husband wasn’t a necessarily violent man..just dumb and constantly drinking, said some nasty words too. If it wasn’t for you, Alastor would’ve probably done him in by now. Especially when he was talking bad about his Mother, you saw the way Alastor stared at your husband. The same angry look you gave him when he had gotten on your last nerve. But before Alastor could get to him, some other patron did. Knocked your husband’s nose sideways and a tooth completely out. Bastard deserved it completely and till this day you don’t visit that place. You needed a fucking drink thinking about your husband but the bastard drunk your house completely dry.

A knock on your front door snapped you out of your thoughts and as you turned towards your front door, the man of the hour had walked through your door. A huge grin plastered on his face, one hand holding a bottle of whiskey and in the other today's paper. “Ah ha! There you are, My Dear!” He called out his suit absolutely spotless. A smile formed on your lips as you grabbed two glasses from the cupboard, waving him towards one of the only rooms your husband doesn’t enter. “You had me worrying there for a moment,” He said tilting his head back towards you as he led you to the parlor room, “Maybe that husband of yours was back from wherever he was lurking.” He finished his smile falling into a snarl, Alastor was also not a huge fan of your husband from the start. You never asked why as you both didn’t want to think of him during your little time together.

“Please..you know better than I do that he’s hitting up on a poor dame at the bar.” You replied, sitting the glasses down on the table causing him to make a noise in acknowledgement, “At this point, Alastor..I’m believing you're a mind reader with how you just appear with whiskey in hand at my front door.” At that? He let out a loud belly laugh leaning in closer to you allowing his gaze to soften as he stared at your features before he leaned away opening the bottle of whiskey. This was going to be a long night for the both of you and you had forgotten all about the gift.

~~~

A couple weeks had passed since you last saw Alastor in person but you didn’t fret, he had called the next day to tell you he had made it back home safely. Something he had picked up ever since you had asked him to stay the night so long ago, you were-..are still scared of your own thoughts. The ones that dare creep out, the ones who tell you to crack open your husband’s chest and rip out his still beating heart. The ones who you don’t dare tell a soul and you sure as hell won’t tell Alastor, he’d think you're insane. But you knew..you were slowly losing yourself and everyday it was one step closer to killing your husband.

Walking into the kitchen and rolling your eyes seeing your husband looking like hell, “Hungover John?” You hissed out as you moved past him a grunt falling from his lips in reply, “Shut the fuck up..” He hissed out speech still slurred as half assed venom dripped from his tongue. “I wasn’t the one up at 1 in the morning drinking with that no good radio host.” You froze your hand twitching towards the knife on the counter but stopped yourself, “I wasn’t the one who was at the bar drinking his sorrows away whilst trying to bed another dame for the twentieth time this week.” You hissed back, sending a glare towards him. 

John stood up fully and walked towards you getting into your face, hand raising to no doubt strike you. But nothing came as someone cleared their voice, an icy cold tone to it. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Friend.” Alastor..fuck you forgot about him and his way of just walking into your house. You had drunkenly given him a key one night, ‘Just in case’ you told him. You were glad that you did because as soon as he heard Alastor’s cold voice he immediately backed up and stormed off deeper into the house.

Alastor’s cold gaze had followed the poor idiotic man as he disappeared into the home before they snapped back onto you. “Are you alright?” He asked the venom and anger laced in his voice gone but you saw how his eyes still held his anger, like they did when that fool had talked bad about his Mother. You often had envy and wished that you could know a mother’s gentle hand guiding you towards a better life. But criminals only give birth to criminals, your mother had left the Earth so long ago you don’t even remember what she looked like anymore but sometimes when you look into a crowd you see a familiar figure and a part of you becomes elated before it crashes and burns into the ground. 

“I’m fine, Alastor.” You replied softly as you glanced down the hallway where your husband stormed off. Alastor sat silent watching your face keep still but the sadness in your eyes was apparent, he knew you yearned for freedom and solace. He knew how you would rather be a thousand miles away from your “husband”- God he hated that word and man, if he could’ve he would’ve killed him a long time ago. Walking over he softly hummed, “Let me take you out on the town, Dear…a way to get your head cleared.” He whispered, reaching over and carefully placing his hand on your shoulder. He watched your eyes once almost so lifeless and dull flicker to life at the thought, “All day?” You asked, glancing at him, the warmness in your eyes returning, a small smile forming on your lips. Hook…line…and sinker, he’s got you right where he wants you, perfectly safe in his hands.

“Of course, Dear! Now go on, go get dressed!” he hummed his smile, returning as he guided you to go down to your own bedroom which was supposed to be the guest bedroom. You never explained why you had moved bedrooms but he didn’t need to guess or ask. It was abundantly clear to anyone who had stepped foot in your household, this “marriage” wasn’t full of love. It was only necessary and after the first year of it, you had grown cold. That man had taken away any semblance of your hope and happiness for a better life. Alastor hummed a tune that played from his radio broadcasts as he looked around your home, he’s seen the decor and fake photos that hung up on the wall a million times but yet it never gets old. Especially when he’s staring at the photo of you on your wedding day, the way the smile doesn’t reach your eyes. “What are you still doing here?” A slurred voice asked, causing him to calmly look over. His smile grew wider at the sight of the boy in front of him. That wasn’t a man..far from it. “Good to see you at least a little sober, Jonathan.” He hummed, dodging the question thrown his way. 

“Shut the fuck up, Alastor.” John threw back, moving closer as Alastor’s eyes darkened. Just a little closer..and then he’d be gone for good. “John!” You yelled out making the man flinch and Alastor’s heart raced, oh how he loved hearing that venom lace your tongue; it was always a delight to see how commanding you were when you wanted to be. When Alastor first met you, you were quiet yet happy and you hadn’t been married to this fool. Such a lovely little mouse minding your own business when you had accidentally bumped into him. He wouldn’t believe anyone if they said meeting you would change his life. You had spilled wine on his suit, yet you didn’t freak out when you saw his eyes flicker angrily. Only apologized and paid for his new suit with the money you had been saving up to leave for good, he wouldn’t find that out until a year later.

John looked over at you with anger but soon he once again stormed out of the house cursing you and Alastor. Alastor looked over at you with a gentle smile returning to his lips as he guided you to the front door. “Come now~ Let’s paint the town red, Dear” He called out laughing at his own little joke making you roll your eyes at his antics. Silly man.

~~~

Hours happily passed by and the day turned into night from swinging into tailors and from jazz clubs to socialite parties so you both could secretly judge people between hushed breaths, he eventually led you down to a park that was lit up with lampposts every so often before sitting down on a park bench under the moonlights soft glow. Your laughter had died down into a comfortable silence as you glanced over at Alastor. His leg crossed the other one, “I haven’t seen someone so eager to play the fool in one of those parties.” He laughed out, tapping his thumb on his knee, “Something on my face, Darling?” You jumped and looked away, “No no..sorry I..I’ve been lost in my own thoughts recently, Alastor.” 

He looked over at you, you were unusually silent the whole night. “Can I tell you something?” You asked, watching as you finally looked over, oh he could never get used to those eyes of yours and that darling little smile was everything to him. “Of course, Darling.” He reached over and carefully plucked a stray leaf from your shoulder, his attention fully on you. You looked down, hands trembling..you had to tell him, you could tell him right? “Nevermind it, you’d think I’d gone insane.” You corrected and cleared your throat leaning back into the cooled bench. You felt uncomfortably hot despite the cold air, winter was right around the corner.

Using his hand to rub at his chin as he hummed your favorite tune he played on air, this piqued his curiosity much more than he’d like to admit. “I’d never think such a thing, my friend!” He replied throwing his hand up in the air as if to actually try and swat those thoughts away from your mind. “Tell me whenever you feel ready to do so, my Dear!~” He was always willing to listen to you even if it was about nothing, your voice was practically music to his ears. Closing his eyes as a cold breeze hit his face as he continued to hum along to fill the silent night, he suspected it was your..’husband’..the cause of all your misery. The way your honeyed voice was now constantly laced with venom and authority as if you had to fight to even allow your voice to be heard. Your silence had felt like an eternity for him but he knew it had only been a moment or two, he didn’t realize how addicted to your voice he had become.

“I..I’ve been having thoughts.” You started making him look over at you, his eyes narrowing in concern at your form, how small you had looked at the moment. He had leaned forward and took his jacket off before draping it over your figure not minding how the cold nipped at his skin but he didn’t interrupt you, he knew better to do so. “Angry thoughts..well they started out that way but now they’ve turned into something more..violent.” You explained carefully pulling his jacket closer to your frame, eyes casted off in the woods. You imagine some man standing there, blood covering his hands and drenching his shirt, a wicked smile on his face as he looked up into the night sky and laughed out loud for god to hear him. 

Alastor followed your gaze as his humming slowed down until it completely stopped to allow the silence to fill the air, his smile pulling into a more sinister one at how he finally understood. The same one that happened to find its way on his lips after killing his latest victim, he quickly rubbed his hand over his mouth allowing the smile to drop before you could catch a glimpse of it. “I think of what it would feel like to rip flesh from bone..to finally choke him out..I want to know what it feels like to snub out a life..his life. I’m not a violent person and these thoughts terrify me, I try to keep them hidden but…sometimes they slip out.” You finish up finally noticing how tight your throat felt and the tears falling down your face. It felt great to finally get that off your chest but now the anxiety of it all set in, would he rat you out to the police? Would he hate you?

“I don’t remember when they started. Was it when I was forced to get married to him? I’d tell myself I can save enough money and start somewhere new..but then I’d miss you..miss your early morning show and our late night talks.” You confessed spilling your problems out onto the sidewalk like a drunkard when he had spilled his guts on the pavement. You were pathetic in your own way. Alastor watched you for a few moments before carefully pulling you into his side, using a handkerchief tucked into his vest pocket to carefully wipe your tears away. “No more tears, dear friend.” he whispered, allowing you to hide your face into his shoulder as his arm wrapped around your waist. 

He was at a crossroad in his own mind, should he tell you not to go with it? He wouldn’t want you to go into this dirty mess. But he also wants you to feel the rush of adrenaline when snubbing out a life, he wants to help. But either way if you did or didn’t he’d take care of it..in some way or another. No one should hurt his little mouse in such a way and get away with it. It was silent for a long time as you calmed yourself and he held you with a softness that was foreign to himself and most others. 

“I always..I always imagined running away with you..to some old house down near the bayou.” You whispered out feeling the familiar chain that hung on his vest, the one hidden under his jacket. He leaned his head against yours and hummed in reply. It sounded picture perfect in his mind.

~~~

You sat at the church pew next to your ‘husband’ and kept your head down as you listened in on the priest doing his normal sermon. The only time your husband had decided to not be drunk and clean up for once in his life was always on Sundays or when his family was coming over. Something you always ran away from, you stayed in the empty parlor with a glass of water and a small book. His mother was never kind to you nor his sisters, you chose to ignore them and their gossip. Especially when you had to be seated around them in a church talking about a man who you possibly didn’t believe in but was instead forced to hear this priest talk about whatever was in the bible. Your hands clasped together as your mind kept drifting off. 

It had only been two days since you told everything to Alastor, your feelings and how you wished to murder your own husband. You haven’t been able to talk to Alastor since which was fine, he was a very busy man after all. Lifting your head up as you felt your husband nudge your leg with his own, you sent him a glance ignoring how he was practically glaring at you. “Don’t embarrass me infront of my family” He hissed out as you glared at the wall. “They already know how rocky our relationship is, John.” You hissed back, about to leave but someone sat next to you keeping his head down, “Sorry I’m late, Dear Friend.” Alastor whispered, making the anger dissipate in a matter of seconds, “Mother wanted to go see an old friend,” He hummed and got comfortable next to you.

After an hour or maybe it was a good 10 minutes you couldn’t tell but Alastor had successfully dragged you away and out of the church under the guise of it being important and he couldn’t dare interrupt the sermon. You didn’t care now as you laughed at some joke that was pointed towards your husband, walking down the street arm in arm as he used his other hand to dramatically explain everything that’s happened between the hours you both had parted. The crying and confession long gone in your mind as you pointed out the flaws in his story but he had only reached over and pinched your nose between his fingers with only a half hearted threat of keeping his ‘secrets’. 

As you both walked down the street the laughter and conversation lulled into a peaceful silence. “Where are you taking me?” You asked, feeling a familiar presence in your pocket, the gift you had forgotten about for weeks now. “Just for a walk through the park, Dear.” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a smile had formed on your face but your eyes still had that faraway look in them. Guess you were going back into your own head again, “I got you something a while ago and forgot it in my jacket” you called out reaching into your jacket and pulling the small box out, you didn’t want to bring up the fact it was supposed to be a gift for your husband. Alastor abruptly stopped in his tracks and looked at you, “You didn’t need to do such a thing, Dear.” You only smiled at him and gave him the box, “I know..but I wanted to give it to you.” You whispered out watching as he opened the box, his eyes widening. It was one of the newer pocket watches that you’ve had your eyes on for a long while now, “Dearest I..I couldn’t take this.” He replied carefully, taking the watch out, flipping it open and smiling. “But you can..and you will cause it’s for you, Al..”

You loved seeing him smile like that, something that you had rarely seen when you first started hanging out. It’s still mostly rare, especially when he’s had a hard day or the simple fact that you sometimes don’t see him for days on end. He put the pocket watch back into the box carefully, “Guess I’ll have to find to pay you back now?” He hummed out placing the box into his pocket causing you to sigh, “You know you don’t have to do such a thing, Alastor. I..I don’t deserve it.” Only criminals give birth to criminals and criminals don’t get nice things. 

“Oh but I think you do,” He replied and leaned down to gently tap your forehead, “Despite what those thoughts of yours tell you.” You blinked and stared at him, “You know me too well,” You huffed turning away from him. “Not well enough!” He called happily following after you and quickly catching up, long legged bastard. You looked up at him as he held out his arm, “Are you sure about that, Alastor? I think you know me better than most people.” You said carefully taking hold of his arm, he chuckled and quicked his step making you practically had to speed walk to catch up with him.

The night truly didn’t stop until you were almost on the verge of passing out from laughter and how sleep creeped up on your shoulders. Alastor’s arm was snuggly wrapped around your waist to keep you upright as the sandman was practically calling your name. “Come on now, one foot up the step.” He whispered as he guided your sleepy self up onto your own porch. “I can walk fine, Alastor. I’m not drunk,” You whispered, shaking your head trying to fight off how your eyes grew heavier. You don’t like being up past a certain time in the early mornings but for Alastor you would’ve done it a million times over….Maybe you did have a crush on him but he wouldn’t love you back in a million years. 

You don’t remember when you got into your bedroom, did you black out on him? Yet he was still holding you against his chest as he swayed you to an imaginary rhythm. “And here I thought you had fallen asleep on me already.” He whispered out, causing you to jump out of your skin for a second before you huffed, “Sorry, didn’t mean to do so.” You replied leaning back to try and smooth out his shirt, now noticing his jacket was draped near the door of your bedroom. “Nonsense, I find it comforting in a way that you trust me to fall asleep near me.” He replied watching you, his bow tie had been undone for a couple hours now but watching the way you had subconsciously fixed it for him made his heart race and butterflies erupt in his stomach.

His mind wandered off watching as you blinked the sleep from your eyes to make sure he still looked presentable. He wondered sometimes what it would be like if he married you instead of that idiotic man. “..Don’t leave for too long this time, Al..I know I’ll eventually hear your voice on the radio but sometimes it’s not the same..” You whispered out glancing back up at him, his gloved hand reaching up to cup your face tracing the bags under your eyes with his thumb, “I’ll try, Cher..” He replied as he leaned down to press his head against yours. He couldn’t promise it but he’d try especially since he has been working so hard on his plan to get rid of that idiotic husband of yours.

You leaned your head up, allowing for your noses to brush against one another. His arms were still wrapped around your waist, one of his hands splayed on the middle of your back. Then it had hit you, all those times he had pulled you away from your husband and took you to the places you loved..was he silently courting you? Had he been doing so for days now and you were just too stupid to notice? You gently cupped his face and watched as he had opened his eyes, when did he close them? “I..Alastor? Have you been courting me?” Your voice was only above a whisper making him freeze in his tracks. He was silent for a long time before he nodded and sighed. “I have been yes,” He replied and you felt your face warm, seemingly all of the tiredness from before had dissipated. 

His gloved hands came up to carefully grasp onto yours as your thumb caressed his cheek, a faint scar that had healed overtime. You remembered when you saw the scar, yet you never asked, figuring he would’ve told you when he decided to do so. He had yet to say a word about it so it must’ve not been important. In the years that you had known him, you’ve grown to love him and to be wary of him all at the same time. He was a wild mutt waiting to sink his teeth into any fresh meat he could find, he wasn’t the one to be tamed or “domesticated” and you surely would never think to tie him down to a preconceived notion such as marriage or a family life. It took someone truly special to worm their way into his heart and that was a tough act, nonetheless, he had picked and prodded at the worst parts of you wanting to see how quick it took for you to finally snap at him, show your fangs and reveal your weak spots to him. He loved the game of it.

Yet here he was, the same wild animal that used to raise his hackles and bare its sharp teeth was essentially laying down and showing his belly to you. He’d disappear to find his fill and get those fangs bloodied before he’d make his way back to you. Maybe everyone who told you to stay away was right, he wasn’t a man to stick around but here you were inviting the man into your home day after day because you just couldn’t get enough of him. 

Blinking your thoughts away you focused on Alastor, how he had leaned closer to you. “May I?” He whispered, ever the gentleman he was, his hands carefully squeezing yours as you nodded your head a small smile on your lips. Wordlessly, he closed the gap and gently kissed you. At first it was such a small kiss but you didn’t want it to end, you just got a taste of what it felt like to be loved..actually loved and it felt amazing, that one small kiss turned into a bigger one as his hands fell down to hold onto your sides.

You would be asleep until lunch the next day, the memory still fresh on your mind as you awoke to find a small gift box on your bedside table. You were going to kill Alastor.

~~~

You sat in an office, legs crossed as you watched the lawyer in front of you collect some papers and give you a passing glance every so often. “Now, it’s to my knowledge you are looking to file for a divorce?” The man asked, causing you to nod, “Now is there a reason for this divorce?” You huffed, how many times did you have to explain it? “Infidelity, I’ve caught him one too many times and I’d rather make this quick.” You huffed out venom lacing your tongue as you watched the older gentleman nod and produced some papers. 

After an hour of signing papers and making everything on record you had finally gone home. You didn’t even greet your husband when you walked inside, just placed the papers on the table and left for the day ignoring how he yelled out for you. You had walked all the way to the park, the same park Alastor had walked you to all those weeks ago and you spilled your darkest secrets out into the open. Sitting on the same bench as you watched people pass by as your eyes drifted to the woods, you also knew Alastor was an avid hunter and you’d be alone for a while longer as deer season came around. You’d be alone with your husband and your thoughts. You hoped this divorce would go through but it was a slim chance and then you would rightfully be kicked out of church for thinking of doing such a thing. Laughter rang in your ears as you got lost in your own world, your eyes glued onto the Doe walking out of the collection of trees to find something to eat on.

As the doe finally found something to snack on it had turned its head up and towards you. A small part of you felt a twinge of dread as you stared at the doe and the other part felt calm as the feeling started to grow and settle into the pit of your stomach, your breathing slowed down considerably before the doe had run off seemingly spooked away. You frowned and watched as it disappeared further into the woods. Gloved hands clamped down onto your shoulders making you jump up in surprise and let out a loud scream as Alastor’s laugh was heard from behind you.

 You turned on your heel ignoring the passerby who looked on in confusion, “I’m going to kill you, Alastor.” You hissed out trying to hide the prominent blush on your features and how your lips creeped up into a smile. He smirked, he knew you didn’t actually mean you would kill him. Your version of ‘kill’ meant you would simply get him back later in some kind of fashion. You were a smart person after all. “I’m sorry, Dear! You were so out of sorts you looked primed for me to scare you.” He hummed and moved to sit down on the bench, his hand patting the spot next to him. You let out a loud sigh sitting next to him, “What’s on your mind?” He hummed out fixing his gloves before moving to brush imaginary dust off his pants. 

You were silent for some time trying to figure out the words in your head, “I gave John divorce papers today.” you whispered out causing him to look over trying to hide the growing smile on his face, you still haven’t brought up the kiss you both shared the night before and you were scared to do so. “Really?” He hummed, leaning back against the bench using one hand to tap a melody on his knee, “I’m just waiting for him to sign it and see if the court will..allow the divorce to happen.” He didn’t answer and looked ahead as the conversation lulled into a comfortable silence. Your mind raced as another cold breeze hit you in the face, what would you do if the court denied the divorce? Would Alastor still..be by your side? The thoughts raced and raced but before you could delve deeper, a warm inviting hand was placed onto your shoulder causing you to look over at him confused but leaned into the warmth.

“It’s going to be okay, Dear. Don’t let those thoughts run you ragged now.” You nodded at his words and smiled, “Figured you’d be out hunting by now.” That made him let out a small laugh as his smile grew wider and went off on a tangent about hunting and how to actually be a good hunter.

You’d be fine.

~~~

You’d be fine.

Those were the words echoing in your head as you were now standing in your kitchen hands on the counter as you stared down at the broken glass cup as you heard your husband yell at you. The amber liquid is now spilling onto the wooden floor, your cheek burned like hell and you tasted the iron in your mouth as you unclench your jaw allowing your teeth to free themselves from your tongue. You stormed over to the phone and used the rotary dial to call a familiar number that you had stuck in the back of your mind. Alastor. You don’t remember the start of the conversation. All you could mumble between the stinging pain and blood in your mouth was, “Come over..It’s an emergency.” Before hanging up abruptly.

The next few moments were quick in your mind but you knew it took far much longer to do as your hands trembled. Grabbing whatever heavy metal object you could find in the vicinity, as your husband turned to face you once more. The fear in the man’s eyes as you swung and hit him in the face, breaking his nose with a sickening crack. He fell to the floor, his hands moving to cover his nose as he stared up into your empty anger filled eyes, god..it felt good to see him as nothing but a pathetic ant beneath your feet. It felt invigorating as you dropped to your knees one hand holding him down as you continuously bashed the item into his face until he was nothing more than a lifeless body surrounded by a pool of his own blood.

You stared down at him and then the blood covering your hands as tears formed into your eyes and a sob bubbled up from your throat but you weren’t sad. Far from it..you were relieved as you looked up at the ceiling falling flat on your ass as you started to laugh between horrid sobs. Your hands grasping at your shirt laughing louder until your cheeks hurt from how long you were smiling and as Alastor finally came into your vision. The smile faltered for a moment as another loud sob wracked your body, “I did it, Al..I did it-” You choked out as you curled into yourself. “It felt so fucking good..I felt fucking invincible.” You hissed out blood dripping from your mouth and onto the floor. “Oh god- I finally fucking did it.”

Alastor walked over calmly and quietly, his hands clasping on your shoulders. His suit was long gone as when you called him he was in the middle of getting ready to go out ‘hunting’ but when he heard your desperation, he rushed over immediately. “You did and I’m so proud of you, Dearest..but go get cleaned up and I’ll deal with the mess, yes?” He whispered into your ear as you let out another sob allowing him to help you stand up on your two feet. As he helped you to your own bathroom and got you fresh clothes, he went back to the freshly dead body in your kitchen and smirked. “Got what you had comin’ old boy.” He hissed out before starting to get to work cleaning up the mess.

It didn’t take him long to clean up but now he had to find a way to actually get rid of the body. In your backyard? No, that's too suspicious..in the woods? Maybe but he doesn’t want you to have another breakdown. But he would have to wait until night time so right now? He’s going to have to play the part just in case people start to suspect something. He looked around and draped a blanket over the body before dragging it towards an empty room.

When he had walked back to the kitchen, he had watched as you were carefully cleaning up the shards of glass. Walking over he had finally noticed the blooming bruise on your cheek causing a part of him to be angry. “He hit you?” He whispered out helping you stand up, “Yeah..after we got home after the court denied the appeal..said I embarrassed him and broke a cup over my head before slapping me.” You whispered your speech slurred from your swollen tongue making you flinch, “What do I do now?” You whispered out, allowing him to gently grab your chin, “I don’t know what to do, Al..” His eyes softened and he sighed, “Sit down and I’ll cook something for you, Dear. We are gonna have to wait till nightfall.” He hummed, pressing a gentle kiss upon your head.

Later that night, he had helped you bury your ex husband deep in the forest, he mostly did all the dirty work but he did explain how to hide a body. 

~~~

It was now 1931, four years after you had killed your ex husband and a year after the economy collapsed. You and Alastor had moved in with one another and while not officially married by the courts you both loved one another and acted as such. Wearing a wedding ring on your finger told everyone you were either remarried or you still loved your poor ex husband that was murdered in cold blood by the rampant serial killer that was on the loose. Which would be far from the truth.

His family blamed you for his murder, calling you every name in the book and berating you for ‘kicking him out of the house’ which also wasn’t the truth. Yet another lie your ex had spun to keep his pride intact, you didn’t care in all honesty. The man was gone now..killed by your hands.

But here you were walking down the dark streets of New Orleans to get back home to your loving Beau, you had heard through the grapevine he was having a rough day and hoped to cheer him up that night but as you continued to walk down the street you realized that you were being followed. But maybe not maybe it was just your paranoia, but still you felt like a waiting duck, taking a turn down an alleyway and then another hoping to lose the trail of whoever was following you. 

It wasn’t until you had gotten to a familiar part of town out near the bayou that you felt relatively calmer but then that was stomped on when you heard a yell from behind. You looked back thinking it was one of the friendly neighbors but it wasn't. It was the man from before the same one who was following you. You dropped the book you were holding and broke out into a sprint down towards where your house was, trying your best to dodge anything that could hurt you. Then a loud shot rang out and it sounded like thunder causing your body to freeze up for a second. But you continued to keep running, you just needed to get home..you could see the smoke billowing from the chimney and the soft glow of the lights inside.

Your heartbeat was banging on your chest as you ran, you were almost there..you could see Alastor inside before a loud SNAP echoed through the silent air as you fell face first into the ground. 

You scrambled to get up sobbing as you looked back to see a trap digging into your leg, its sharp teeth scraping against bone as you sat up watching as the man got closer. “Fuck fuck-” you hissed out as you started to painfully get the jaws of the trap unstuck and scrambled off ignoring how your leg was burning. You yelled out for Alastor before another loud shot echoed through the air. The constant buzzing of the cicadas had gone silent as you fell to the ground gasping for air. Oh god it hurt, your hands moved to clutch your stomach as you looked up at the man, pistol in his hand pointed right between your eyes, “You killed my brother.” He hissed out his voice breaking as you teared up and begged him to let you go.

Tears cascaded down your face as he yelled, whispering some prayer that spilled past your lips and then the night went silent. As the gun had fallen down the hammer hit the ground first causing the gun to be set off, the bullet flying into the sky of the New Orleans Bayou. You trembled laying on the ground sobbing as you brought your hands up to see blood covering them the moonlight had casted down upon you as you sobbed out. There was movement before your head was lifted up and cradled into your Husband’s chest. His familiar cologne invades your senses in a comfortable way as he shakily tries to stop the bleeding. 

“It’s going to be okay, Cher..I’ll fix you right up.” he whispered into your hair as he pressed his hand onto your stomach. You were bleeding out too much as your breathing started to slow. No no it wasn’t supposed to end like this, tears raced down his cheeks as he pulled you closer as your hand weakly grasped around his sobbing out how you didn’t want to die. But he knew he couldn’t help you, he was far too late to properly help you and it was too far to get you to a doctor. “Sing me a song, Al?” You whispered out, “One last song?” he nodded and cleared his throat, watching as the light in your eyes slowly faded as he sung your favorite song.

He stayed like that for an extra hour, holding your lifeless body to his and singing all your favorite songs before he finally had the courage to find a place to bury you properly, making sure that when the sun rose the next morning it’s first rays it sent out over the bayou would hit your grave. You always did love watching the sun rise and listening to his broadcasts.

He would meet you again, he just knew it. He just didn’t know when.

[untitledderplord]

Oh yeah I'm sure he does

Star forgetting that they are kids I feel is particularly due to cybertronian culture. Basically star is just expecting them to be instantly mature and experienced, and needs to be reminded that those things take time to develop. Patience is a skill that I feel like fluctuates as being one star possesses depending on mood lol

I feel like the philosophical rabbit hole of whether any sentient being is capable of /complete/ free will is extremely complicated. There are too many factors that can impact ones decisions and behaviors that aren't directly correlated with your own core thought processes, so it could be debated that the image of the person that imprinted on you corrupted said will. Then, with Cybertronians literally being able to be programmed, it can get all the more questionable when it comes to the prospect of literal re-wiring of ones processor.

I definitely think he'd be down to be leader of anything with high standing, but would get pissy quick with the bots because you know they too wouldn't respect him. And that is the main thing he wants is to feel competent. Which is a fun contrast to his outwardly boastful nature, because while it may seem like he's cocky or something, it's just a projection of what he wants to be reality.

Very true, it is a generally more darcc flavor. (One of the reasons why I get so annoyed by RID'15 selling itself as a sequel to it when the vibes and plot style are wack as fuck. I'm still watching it purely to wait for Star to come up. But lemme tell u I have been in pain lmao)

Also loooolll talking it out is clearly so boring smh. S'posed to make kids do 20 laps round the ship after stealing an energon cookie, not give an autobot speech about asking for permission and shit- ew-- PFFjfdhjdhd

The king ever

The most well adjusted lad, and the best role model-

I just had a huge realisation yesterday and I wanted to share this after going through some pretty horrible stuff over the weekend: Something I've always asked myself ever since getting into G1 Transformers was "why do you like Starscream so much even though he's a narcissistic bully? Why are you, someone who is a victim of narcissistic abuse, taking comfort in a narcissistic character?" Well, I think I finally figured it out. Because Starscream is also a victim of that very same abuse. I mean, he's beaten, called names, bullied, unappreciated, abused, and put through the wringer…and he internalised all that abuse because he knew no other way. He had no one to turn to, and the few bots who did support him, he treated like dirt. Once he had that freedom and power, he abused it and became the very thing that abused him. I have no doubt he was always self-centred, selfish, had a huge ego, etc. before all that but honestly? I think Megatron's abuse caused him to turn out the way he did. I could have turned out that way and it's a little scary, some of the parallels I'm drawing with him.

@ichbinmeltdown wrote a great analysis on Starscream that I want to share here:

"Megatron was abusive as hell to Starscream. He treated him horribly, and I legitimately almost cried a few times watching it. There's an episode called Starscream's Brigade that introduces the Combaticons, and I think that perfectly demonstrates the cycle of abuse. The entire world is against Starscream at pretty much every turn throughout the series, but none more so than Megatron. Every word out of his speech synthesizer to Starscream is to berate him, and he's constantly throwing him around, beating him, even ripping out his speech synthesizer in a scene from a previous episode (Hoist Goes Hollywood, IIRC). His own teammates don't like him, and even his brothers- Skywarp and Thundercracker, going off of the idea they're brothers- just... allow Megatron to abuse him. (Not to get into headcanons here, but I personally believe that Megatron's abuse fractured the Elite Trine's family dynamic. They are still brothers and love each other, but they're all too afraid of Megatron to really... stand up for each other as they did in the past.) And Starscream seemed to just snap in this episode. He treated the Combaticons poorly, and even when teaming up with Shockwave, he subjected him to a lot of the same ridicule and torment that Megatron put him through. He failed to realize Shockwave was the one of the only bots who would give him a chance- and unfortunately lashed out at him, which ruined his chances of Shockwave ever being a true friend and ally to him. Once Starscream had finally gotten a taste of power and not being under another bot's boot, he too became the very thing that he lived in fear of. And that really is how the cycle goes- when you're finally free from abuse, it can be tempting to overcompensate and take back all the power you were robbed of, at any cost whatsoever. Starscream, like D16 in Transformers One, snapped up this opportunity."

And the sad thing is, I've seen this in real life and I've internalised some of the abuse I've dealt with too. I'm not proud of it. Like the Seeker Trine, my own family dynamic has been fractured by similar abuse. I know there's traces of narcissism in my behaviour too, and I'm NOT proud of it. Maybe this is why I can forgive Starscream for being a narc, because I can see a little bit of my own personality/attitude/behaviour in him. Maybe it's because I know where it came from, I get why he acts that way and it's not just random and out of the blue. Maybe it's because--and I know this is a bold statement--I don't think he would do some of the stuff my own family did to me (blah blah blah he's a fictional character).

I didn't mean for this to turn into a long rant, so

TLDR: I finally figured out that part of the reason I love and relate to Starscream so much despite him internalising some of the abuse I went through, is because he was the victim of that same abuse.

[avelera]

Hob Gadling - the absolute maddest of immortal lads

One of the things I love most about Hob Gadling as a character (and as a result, do my best to capture in fic) is how unique his reactions are to immortality and to Dream, and how he so often does the opposite of what one would expect from the genre of "humans granted immortality" but also what the average person and most of the audience expects that they would do with immortality, lending well to the concept that Hob is, genuinely, unhinged and a truly supernatural creature in his own right, which is often lost when the character we see him most often juxtaposed against is Dream, who is even more odd and unhinged if in very different ways

(I've decided to be systematic about this and go through meeting by meeting so strap in, folks it got long, as usual!)

1389 - First of all, Hob simply bragging at all that he doesn't plan to die. OG hipster right there, loving life before it was cool. But also, ok, loving life after being born less than a decade after the Black Plague ended. And in the midst of a great many Black Plague aftershocks! The latter half of the 1300s was a truly abysmal time to be alive, with huge social upheaval, war, plagues, "two bloody Popes fightin'" and in the midst of all this is Hob motherfuckin' Gadling, cheerfully announcing that death is for suckers and he doesn't intend to ever do it.

The man is a soldier! You'd think he'd be more accepting and philosophical about his inevitable death given the time he lives in, the profession he has chosen, the fact that most young men his age were wiped out at age 9 by the second wave of the Black Death, and just, in general, doing all of this while having the misfortune to live in England at the time.

And then when Dream comes up to him, like a complete weirdo, and challenges him on this, Hob is actually pretty nice to him! He gives him a side eye but he also goes along with the question, tells him to ignore his friend's jibes, and cheerfully accepts the wager! I cannot express to you how many turns in the road there are between what a normal person would do and what Hob Gadling does in that moment.

1489 - This one bugs me because the most unexpected thing Hob does is seemingly regress in maturity despite now being 100+ years old.

Now, I'm a huge fan of the theory that he's conning Dream right now and putting on the innocent chucklehead routine to put Dream off from kidnapping him to Faerie Land in exchange for his immortality. HOWEVER, since that's just a headcanon, let's take Hob as he is on the page!

Hob has a job. A Freaking Job. He used to be a bandit and a soldier, things that kind of make sense to do as an immortal (like The Old Guard) when you can't die! You could theoretically make BANK there just by taking dangerous jobs. But Hob doesn't?? He gets a normal-ass job, though in that day's equivalent of getting a job at Microsoft or Apple before they became big, Caxton is like one of the first modern startups in essence, a new technology that made TONS of money once it was imported, and Hob was on the ground floor. Still. HE GOT A JOB as an IMMORTAL. He doesn't seem to have this immortality thing figured out yet? And he doesn't ask Dream hardly any questions about it either! You'd think he'd be frothing at the mouth to better understand wtf happened to him, but once Dream clarifies that he's not the Devil and Hob's soul isn't in danger, that's it! No further questions, your honor! WHAT??

Also, just when you WOULD expect him to beg for death (that IS the genre savvy thing to do, Dream's not wrong!) he DOESN'T. He's more in awe than ever, he seems to be experiencing a second childhood over the fact. He's just vibing and living life. That's so, so unusual in this genre.

Hob also hasn't done any of the savvy things an immortal might do after 100 years! He doesn't actually seem all that angsty about why is he immortal, beyond a bit of fear he might need to pay the piper (Dream) now for this gift. Most vampires in an Anne Rice novel would have gone through about 20 stages of grief after they dealt with the first 100 years of everyone they know and love dying but Hob seems to not only be unbothered but actively gearing up for the next century. It's so bizarre. IT'S SO BIZARRE and I love it because I LOVE characters who DON'T do what you'd expect!

1589 - Hob has a family. HOB HAS A FAMILY. Who in their right MIND would start a family, knowing you'd have to bury your spouse and your children? HOB MOTHERFUCKING GADLING that's who! It's incomprehensible! He does it anyway! It's why I headcanon that he planned to support and nurture his family throughout time, like it was all very deliberate to found a dynasty, but it need not be! Knowing him, he just saw a pretty girl and married her! He didn't even CONSIDER his own wife and children getting angry and jealous with him for having immortality he can't share with them? He didn't even CONSIDER the heartbreak?? WHAT?! Who knows! He just did!

Now, this Hob HAS begun to do SOME of the things one would expect of an immortal - like build up generational wealth, BUT he has a KNIGHTHOOD. What immortal in their right MIND would draw that sort of attention to themselves?? HOB, THAT'S WHO. What are you ON, man, that's INSANE! No wonder he got drowned as a witch the man had ZERO CAUTION AT ALL.

1689 - the man is destitute. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN IF YOU'RE AN IMMORTAL? This is AS puzzling as anything else. Theoretically, Hob could just take a dangerous job with a high fatality rate for quick cash and rebuild his fortune pretty quickly, but he DOESN'T. What went wrong? The possibilities are tantalizing and painfully human that maybe he did do that and failed anyway, or hit even WORSE strings of truly abysmal bad luck.

But somehow, at 300 YEARS OLD it's not until 1789 that we hear Hob has begun socking money away for a rainy day! How does it TAKE YOU that long, sir?? How is that NOT something you figure out in your first century? I've seen a lot of fan writers ascribe a certain amount of immortal savvy to Hob but it's REALLY not there on the page! The guy is NOT genre savvy about immortality AT ALL he doesn't do ANY of the things one would expect, it's absolutely WILD that he falls this low after 300 years after completely failing to, theoretically, CONSIDER this possibility! And then, AND THEN, the guy STILL wants to live. I mean, this one hardly needs saying, that's nuts after what he went through, it's on the page that he's NUTS for this. But the guy is literally in the gutter dreaming of the stars, he is unstoppable I love him so fucking much what a force of nature.

1789 - OK, we've already mentioned that it took until 1789 for Hob to start saving money for a rainy day but let's talk about the fact HE'S NOT ACTUALLY CAREFUL ABOUT BEING CAPTURED?? Again, least genre savvy immortal EVER. You can't die so you'd THINK that being captured or imprisoned or god forbid, thrown down a mine shaft would be the SCARIEST possible fates when you don't have death as an escape, but the guy doesn't even blink at the thought of getting captured by an occultist like Johanna Constantine, dude's totally unbothered! DREAM has to tell him after 400 YEARS that maybe he should be worried about this? THE GUY GOT DROWNED AS A WITCH, picked himself up, dusted himself off, got into some crimes against humanity, and MOVED ON apparently without learning a single goddamn lesson he hasn't had since 1389 which is how to kick ass and look good doing it BUT HE'S NOT EVEN A PROFESSIONAL FIGHTER AS A CAREER, he's just a gentleman of means!

He just... lives a normal human life and seems to expect weird things like being kidnapped by occultists to not happen so long as he stays within those boundaries and you know what? IT SEEMS TO HAVE WORKED! Because to be fair, how many of us outside the bounds of fiction would ever expect the wild stuff like kidnapping to really happen? It's statistically quite vanishingly rare! And that's been all Hob has needed, presumably, to not need to stress since the damn witch trials about his immortality! So yeah, I read fic where Hob is like this very savvy immortal but by 400 YEARS he's BARELY learned to have a savings account under a different name and he STILL doesn't seem too bothered by the possibility of getting hurt or captured! Like, AT ALL?! Absolutely class act right here, top lad, unbelievable, no notes. HOW do you SURVIVE like this as an anomaly, Hob?

1889 - By now, it SEEMS like Hob has bought a clue. He's pretty understated, he's made some amends, SEEMS to have resolved to be less of a shithead, and he's got this immortality thing figured out. It only took him 500 FUCKING YEARS. But again, Hob ISN'T fabulously wealthy as far as we can tell. He's not a megalomaniac and he STILL seems to be vibin' as just a dude doing Just A Dude things like HAVING A JOB and if we borrow from Hob's Leviathan a bit, he's STILL just jumping between industries, just living life down at the normal human level. He hasn't detached from humanity, he lives in the day to day on a level that's just INCONCEIVABLE for a being that's 500 years old.

1989 - Ok, moving on a bit from Hob being an immortal, because getting excited about technology like his brick phone is absolutely so charming I want to squish his cheeks, but he's hardly the only immortal to get excited about that. What I want to talk about is how HOB FORGIVES DREAM for 1889. Because, look, Dream is a prick there. Hob could have been more diplomatic but Dream could have waited for the apology and he didn't.

I have seen SO MANY TAKES where Hob would be MAD after 1889 and RIGHTFULLY SO. But he's NOT. He's not! There are so many fics where he has lingering hurt over it but that's just NOT what the character does! He blames himself! Guy did pretty much nothing wrong except maybe choose his words poorly, but he's blaming HIMSELF for making Dream uncomfortable. Absolute legend. Saints have nothing on this man, that is saint-like behavior. I'd be furious. Hob just misses his friend and BLAMES HIMSELF that Dream isn't there. Not an a single, microscopic trace of anger in sight.

2022 - And then, AND THEN, when he has EVERY REASON to flip out when Dream shows up, finally, after 133 YEARS, after Hob has APPARENTLY stuck around the area just in case, WAITING for him, what does this fucking legend say? "You're late."

THAT'S IT! He's not mad, he totally has a right to be! He doesn't jump out of his chair in shock, that would be a totally expected reaction to! He glances up! He acts like Dream is 5 minutes late instead of over a century WHAT IS THAT?? WHAT IS THAT?! HOW?!! They just settle back with a pint after that like it's nothing. That's not what I would do. I don't think that's what almost any human would do after a shock like that. I still can't wrap my head around it.

So anyway, Hob Gadling, absolutely FASCINATING character from the perspective of just not doing a single fucking thing you'd expect an immortal Just A Dude to do. Goddamn legend right there. Worth remembering for those like me who are obsessed enough to write this guy in fic. He is just so... opposite of everything you'd expect and that is so fucking sexy of him wow

[fandomwritingbit]

Too good to be true

william afton x (fem) police reader

synopsis: A two part series about William destroying your life.

It's your first homicide case as a detective, a young child murdered with no tangible leads and you're eager to bring the evil bastard to justice. It's a lot of pressure though, and to much weight on your shoulders leads to questionable decision making.

warnings: child murder, smut, swearing, drinking, domestic arguing/marital problems. just generally mature themes.

A/n: As always this isn't steeped in fnaf lore, just purely from my silly little brain. I'm so glad to finally have this out and be back on here to obsess over men. Hope you like it Xx

“It’s okay, take your time.”

The social worker smiled kindly, hoping that the pleasant expression would hide how her heart was breaking at the words leaving this child’s mouth. It’s harrowing to hear, the topic of death should never be exposed to kids this young, at least not in the cruel fashion it had been mere hours ago. “We can take a break if you want, get a snack?” 

The little lad shakes his head, at only seven years old he knows it’s better to get the story over with. Never before had so many adults been so interested in what he has to say, this is serious. Even if he doesn’t understand what happened, he does understand the finality of it. The scary, definitive nature of what’s happened. He’ll never see his friend again. “Can I have some juice?” The boy asks quietly, his voice the epitome of innocence. It makes the social worker’s eyes sting. The lead officer smiles wryly. 

“Sure you can, Josh. Shall I go?” The lady switches her attention from the child to the pair of cops sitting across from them. 

“No, I’ll go.” You interject, not wanting you and your superior left alone with the weight of this child’s emotions. He hasn’t cried, but you can see the tears brimming beneath his surface. You look Josh in the face and try to speak as kindly as his companion, “Do you like orange?”

He just nods. 

…

The room was heavy in silence during your brief absence, you were only gone a couple of minutes, the vast majority of the time spent in thought over the canteen sink. You were promoted to detective only a year ago and so far the cases you’ve been assigned were of little intensity, drunken brawling, verbal domestics, thefts and robberies. And now a child was dead, murdered, and it has utterly devastated the community. But as upsetting as it is, this is an opportunity for career growth, even if you already feel out of your depth. 

The crime scene was brutal, the child laid in the outside storage of a restaurant, face down, multiple stab wounds. Blood smeared on the ground that your splatter analyst said horrifyingly suggests that the child dragged themselves closer to the door, only stopping when they no longer had the strength to continue. No murder weapon. There are no obvious suspects, every man and his dog within a 2 mile radius was pulled in for questioning. But the lack of witnesses and the hole in the chain fence leading to the area was a hindrance. The only lead you have is Josh because, unfortunately, he found the body. 

You bring the child his drink, handing it to him before sitting down next to the lead officer, mentally steeling yourself for questioning.

“So, Josh.” Your colleague begins, talking to children doesn’t come naturally to him, but you see him trying. “I asked you, what time did you last see the vict- Mary?” He corrects himself, but all three of you know what he was going to say. 

 “I’m not sure.” He answers in a tiny voice. 

He goes to ask again, sitting forward, but you stop him, cutting in to ask the boy in a different way. “I know you all sang happy birthday to the birthday boy at around half twelve. Did Mary get a slice of cake?” The social worker puts her hand on the little lad’s shoulder, whilst he thinks. 

After a moment, he says, “No. Auntie Carol asked if she wanted one but she wasn’t there.” 

“Okay, thank you.” You smile, before turning to the other officer, talking quietly, “Coroner said T.O.D was between 12:00 and 13:00.” 

He agrees, “So it’s looking closer to twelve.” 

~

There was a group of people waiting outside to be questioned, parents, staff, everyone who may have a shred of information and your precinct was struggling to manage it. The deceased’s parents have already been spoken to and ruled out, and so, in the main interview room another detective set about tackling the restaurant’s staff. 

“Mr Afton, we just have a few more questions to go over.” The middle-aged policeman lifts his gaze from his documents to look at the restaurant owner over the top of his glasses. He sees the businessman nod in response. There’s nothing to implicate this fella, no motive, no evidence, but he has a previous so caution was to be taken. 

With the question ready on his tongue, the officer sits back in the chair. “How often do people go out to the outside storage?”

He meets the man’s eyes, it’s not the first time he’s been under police scrutiny, probably won’t be the last, but the gravity of this investigation is severe. Not wanting to play any games he just divulges what the cop wants to know. “Frequently, we keep ingredients out there, and other supplies, people are always in and out.” 

“Even though it’s a fire escape?” There’s doubt in his face. 

William Afton reveals a small smile then, he can’t quite figure out what the copper is getting at, “Yeah, there’s a cinder block out there to keep it open. I disconnected the alarm a long time ago.”  

The policeman writes that down, it may go over the interviewee’s head but it’s an important question. The killer had to access the area somehow. And either they knew of the fire door and its cinder block or the gap in the fence. A crime of opportunity, from someone who knows the area well, that’s the takeaway. 

Looking up from the sheet, the DI asks another question, “And I understand that you and your partner are more handsoff with the day to day, but were you there at the party?”

“I oversaw arrival and seating.” Afton halts but the detective says nothing, it’s clearly unsatisfactory. “... There were two more kids than discussed, it caused some tension. I left Henry to deal with things.” He elaborates dryly, the tone indicates boredom but that’s to be expected after having waited hours for this conversation. 

“Tension?” The officer asks curiously, his eyebrows raised in a most provoking way.

William remembers to keep himself professional, maybe he could have worded that better. He tries again, “Well, it wasn’t ideal. Waiters had to set extra places and find more chairs. It was a fuss.” 

That seems to resonate better with the detective because he nods, some understanding written in his expression, Afton has to stifle the satisfaction that gives him. 

The copper consults his papers again before deciding he’s gotten enough, he stands, taking his glasses off and letting them hang on the chain around his neck. “Right, I’ll let you get back home. We have your contact information and we’ll be in touch.” 

With a tight-lipped smile, William follows suit, pushing the chair back and standing. An old impulse to stick his hands out for the cuffs being greatly fought, it was a different time, different station, different crime, but the same old William.

He shakes the detective’s hand, the standing difference of the two is almost comical but neither of them show any signs of amusement. He’s led out the cold interrogation room into the life of the precinct corridor, there’s a lot going on, a mix of uniformed and non officers and some of his staff still awaiting questioning. 

But before the policeman can get away, William let’s some curiosity free of its constraints. “Have you spoken to Henry yet?” The man meets his eyes, no longer as stoic as he was during the interview, the burden of inquisition must be a heavy one. 

“No. I’ll be handling staff enquiries. Your partner should be in later on. 4 o’clock I think.” William nods, and the officer now no longer concerned with him, heads off down the hallway. He should do the same, he’ll have to sign out, he remembers that from last time too. 

As he’s walking back towards reception, a door opens in front of him, a flash of cream walls and a green sofa, before a woman exists holding the hand of a small child that he recognises. He stands aside to let them pass, watching a male officer leave, followed by a female one: you. 

You hear the social worker's voice grow quieter as they leave you to lock the door, your keys jangling as you turn the stiff lock. Your mind is so engrossed in theories, you’re wanting to talk to DI Donnelly about the staff profiling and see if anything has come up in the way of a suspect. You’re so engrossed that you don’t think to look behind you before moving. 

The very moment you step out you collide with the hardness of a human body much bigger than yours. You stumble from the surprise of it, and large hands catch your waist to stop you tripping. It’s a very intimate way to touch someone and you gasp from the suddenness.

“Ay watch it, lady cop.” The bloke says, when you turn to see who you’ve just accosted, you see an older man with perhaps the most handsome crooked grin you’ve ever seen. 

Choosing to ignore the casual sexism of that you go for a, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” 

Cos you weren’t looking, he thinks to himself but doesn’t say anything aloud, you do look sorry and you’re cute. For a rozzer.  

“You’re alright.” He excuses you, raising his eyebrows. 

The only other thing exchanged was a mutual nod of regard before the man walked away towards the exit, leaving you to wonder what role he must play in all of this. 

~

William drives home without the radio, lost in a deep track of convoluted thought. He’ll reach out to Henry later, see if anything’s changed. He doesn't think it will, despite the taskforce on this case he thinks it’ll go cold pretty fast. Children capture the news interest every now and then but once the media has no evidence or case progress to get its hooks into, the case is dead in the water. Unless the parents have the money to keep pushing it.

He pulls outside his house, turning the engine off but not leaving immediately. He’s about to step into the circus here, no doubt his wife has been waiting in bated breath, anxious for any news. He sighs, he probably should have drove around a bit longer knowing she was holding her breath, maybe he’d have got lucky. 

He drags his feet on the mat before stepping inside, he hasn’t been outside today but it’s force of habit at this point, then he chucks his jacket towards the hook and closes the door. Sighing again, he sits on the second step to take his shoes off, already on edge at how quiet this fucking house is. She emerges as he reaches for the other shoe, arms folded over her chest like she’s already disapproving of something. 

“So? What happened?” Clara’s tone is brisk and strained thin. It sounds like she’s been crying, though he can’t imagine why when it’s him that has to face the bobbies. 

He scoffs, “They asked me some questions.” Everything about him is closed right now, and if she knew him at all she’d leave it for a while. 

“And?” She’s pissing him off, she’s too prickly to talk to like this. She’s worried, wants to know what’s going to happen, what is happening, but it’s not his responsibility to console her like some fretful little kid. 

“I answered them.” She scowls, how can he be like this, so indifferent? Like nothing’s happening, making her feel like she’s overreacting or going mad, maybe both. 

“For fuck’s sake, Will.” Her voice cracks with frustration and she pauses a second to regain herself. Immediately losing it once she begins speaking, “Do they know who did it? Do they have someone in custody? Will, when are they going to take the fucking body out of your restaurant?!”

He laughs a little then and stands from the stairs, “Why would I know that? The police will be taking care of that, or the coroners, I don’t fucking know.”

“Don’t know, or don’t care?” There’s tears streaming down his wife’s face and he can’t cope. 

“Does it matter?” He looks particularly harsh right now, a sharpness in his gaze and tone that’s like a razor and again her face twists in disgust. 

William rubs the bridge of his nose, allowing his eyes to close for a moment of respite from the headache only Clara can claw out of him. With a deep breath he bends down and picks up his shoes, moving then to pick up his coat from the floor where it landed. He’s not staying, not with her wound tight as a wire-trap and not in a good way. 

“What are you doing?” Her voice is quiet now, trying her hand at reasoning. He’s past that though. 

“Going out, I can’t deal with you now.” He doesn’t even put the shoes back on, just carries them out with him, shutting the door heavily behind him. Leaving her to her. 

~

It’s about to hit 8pm before you leave the station, it's been a long day but you hardly noticed what with how busy you’ve been. Your questioning didn't end with Josh, and even after talking to four other witnesses, you had your paperwork to do, then discussion with your colleagues. Everyone on the case has their own theories but at this point that’s all they are: theories. Nothing concrete and no real inclination into what to press next.

You change before leaving, knowing that you’re too restless to just go home, you need to be alone with your thoughts over a cold drink. So you get in your car picturing the hotel only a few minutes from your flat, the business-y one with the nice bar and the clientele that will leave you alone. That’s your ticket for that cold drink. 

Music plays as you drive there, a CD you’ve made compiling your favourite tunes, it should help take your mind off the horrors you’ve seen today but it doesn’t. You can pull yourself away from the crime scene, that poor child in the centre of it, nor the distant look in young Josh’s eyes. No matter how much you enjoy the song playing, it's just not enough to distract you. 

You park easy enough, a weekday night means that the car park isn’t completely full so you manage to get close to the entrance. Which you’re glad of when the moment your car door opens specks of rain tap your skin. Looks like the weather’s about as miserable as you feel. 

The hotel bar is all dark furniture and yellow lights, a soft, warm and dark oasis and you feel relief to step inside. It’s a swish bar, not the kind of place to get a pint, even if that’s what you’re craving, it’s a nice glass with a hefty price bar. And so as you approach the bartender you’re thinking of what you want.

There’s only a few stools at the bar, seven or eight at a glance, and they’re mostly full. A gap between two gentlemen both very focused on their drinks, but you don’t want to get chatted up right now, especially from either side. At the otherside there’s two empty ones but one has a jacket laid over it and a drink on the counter. But needs must. 

You sit, taking your coat off and laying it over your legs, smiling politely at the bartender. 

…

“There you are.” The barman reappears in front of you, setting your drink down on the counter, “That’ll be £3.30, please.” 

You scoff a little at that, mentally complaining about how the world’s gone mad with these prices, but you obediently reach into your bag for your wallet, a five pound note soon between your fingers. 

“Thank you.” Your hand is raised for your change, you’ll tip later, at this point you don’t know how many drinks you’ll be having. 

As the barman is digging around the till for your change the occupier of the seat beside you returns, neglecting to pick up his jacket in favour of sitting on it. You blank the man, receiving your change with a “Cheers,” for the bloke. 

You sip the drink through the little straw, it’s nice to be fair and just what you need after today. You’re ready to forget about it, but you’re becoming increasingly aware of the figure next to you looking at you, and any kind of scrutiny is too much right now. So you turn to it, and you recognise the man immediately. 

The man you’d bumped into earlier, who you’d since found out a lot about from his interviewer.

“Well, if it isn’t the lady copper. What are the chances of that?” There’s a casualness to his tone and posture that suggests he’s perhaps nearing the point of one drink too many. That’s what prevents your usual curt response of ‘just copper is fine’.

You don't smile, don't show any signs of the polite mannerisms he’d expect, just look at him objectively and he can tell you’re analysing the shit out of him. “Oh I remember you.” You start plainly, wanting to get back to the solitude you came here for. “By which I mean, I have since found out who you are.” It’s designed to be standoffish, encourage him to keep to himself, and play to what you learned about the man from his record: he shouldn’t like the police. 

It doesn’t work though, the glasses of whiskey he's had tonight make the very blunt and sober way you’re talking to him more than amusing. And it shows on his face, “Ah someone’s been through some files.” The ways he’s grinning irks you, but if this was any other day in any other place you’d be swivelling yourself around to talk properly to the attractive man beside you. “Bumped into me and had to find out more, I get it.” 

Your expression remains stern, he must be drunk as a lord or at least confident as one to say that. “I recognised your… photograph; the man who walked into me and called me ‘lady cop’.” He owns the restaurant the victim was murdered in, he’s a key figure in this case, you shouldn’t really be talking to him at all, let alone in a bar. But your drink was expensive and you’re not going to fucking leave it. “William Afton.” You say his name offhandedly, no feeling on it, but he still likes how pretty it sounds off your tongue. 

“You can say mugshot, darling, I’m aware I have one.” He snickers at the look on your face, you were trying to preserve him some dignity in your wording, so much for that. The bloke sticks out his hand for you, “Just William will do it.” 

You take his hand before your mind can overcome your manners, introducing yourself as, “DC L/n.” He has a firm handshake, much more respectable than the bitten down nails on his larger than most hands. Then again, he’s a larger than most fella, sat next to you now his feet are completely rested on the floor, whereas yours are tucked neatly on the bar of the stool. 

He chuckles at the formality, fucking Detective Constable, you really aren’t budging off your high horse, are you? Normally he’d give up on someone being this clearly closed off with him, but not tonight. He’s starved of the chatter and drink has alway made him want to make new friends, especially when they're as cute and grumpy as you. You need cheering up, and he needs the challenge.

“We’re not at the station now, love. What’s your name?” He watches the frown on your face grow that little bit stronger and has to hide the smirk on his face behind the rim of his drink. 

“It’s definitely not ‘love’.” Your voice is firm and you let the silence that follows it sit for a few seconds. But then you consider who you’re doing this for. It’s not yourself, you don’t want to be rude to anyone, let alone a tipsy person who probably doesn't know how annoying he’s being. You’re not doing it for work, there’s no boss here to remind you of your conduct, there’s been no suggestion of his involvement, even with the previous convictions. So why not take your mind off things with some meaningless conversation?

You sigh, then tell him your first name.  

“So… is this your regular?” You ask the cliche question in some effort to force yourself into normality, thinking about any other way to ask him if he comes here often, hoping he won't catch on to how his answer might impact if you come back here again. 

His eyes narrow at the change in your manner, but he goes along with it, “No. No, I’m just taking a break from domestic bliss.” The words are sarcastic enough that you gather their meaning easily, unhappy at home, coming out to get away from it, it’s fair enough. You nod, mentally clocking the silver band on his left hand and chiding yourself instantly. That’s not the kind of distraction you came here for. 

“And what has you here?” He can take a guess, a long, bloody day at work, sufficient to make most people thirsty, but curiosity nips at him, he wants to know how senior you are, what your role in the whole shitshow is. More than that he wants to know what’s come of the police’s incessant questioning, and what ammo they have.

An incredulous laugh leaves you, “Just the joy of work, you know. A lot of difficult things to think about- I already know I’ll never sleep tonight.” You’re only half joking, even with a few more g&ts you don’t see yourself getting any rest. 

You sip your drink, realising all of a sudden that you’re not far from needing another. And as you pull the glass away the man beside you says, “Oh, I could help you with that.” 

Turning to him straight away, you’re practically scowling. What a thing to fucking say. 

At your disdainful expression he adds, through a wicked smirk, “Night nurse- you know the little bottle? That usually sorts me out.” All his suggestiveness dropped, and now you look silly for overreacting. 

“Aren’t you funny.” Despite the palpable sarcasm on the words you are smiling, just a little, you can’t help it, your facade draining faster than your gin. You swirl the liquid around, thinking over your words before you say them, you know better than the harmlessness of this, even if you wish you didn’t. “You’re being awfully chummy with me and I’m not sure why. I can’t and won’t tell you about the case.” 

You try to hold back the sharp edge of those words but even said nicely they’re cutting. 

It doesn't faze him though, and he leans a little closer like he’s jokingly telling you a secret. “I’m half-cut, lovely. I’d be chummy with anyone sat here, especially if they need cheering up as much as you do.”

You let your expression soften a bit, there’s a relief from what he said that there shouldn’t be. “Based on your file, I’d have thought you’d sooner switch seats than sit next to me.” You smirk as you speak, teasing but it’s based in truth. 

“Oh calm down.” He’s shaking his head at you, “I’ve nowt against the police, it’s only a job. Until today I hadn’t seen the inside of a police station for going on 20 years. It sounds like you’re the one with prejudices.” He’s openly mocking you now, and you can see why, but he can say what he likes, it doesn’t change what you read. 

The officer’s scrawl was plain to see: ‘Fucking filth’ he said to PC Markham, right before headbutting him, adding assault of an officer to his other charges. 

“You don’t think people can change then?” He asks, more seriously than anything else he’s said tonight. 

You think about it, going over both sides of the argument in your head whilst he waits expectantly. You arrive at, “I think… If they want it enough, then yeah.”  

He shrugs then, back to wearing a striking grin, “Well, don’t worry then. I’m good at getting what I want.”

Yeah, I’ll bet you are, you think, trying to hide the thought from your face. Opting to only say, “You’re insufferable.” under your breath.

“No, just drunk. I think I need a water.” There’s a new self-deprecation to his tone and it amuses you. WIlliam glances at your empty glass and already knows you’ll be having another. He likes this back and forth, it’s good fun, much more entertaining than the chat he’d be having at home right now. 

He leans forward a bit to catch the bartender's attention, “Will you get us another one of these and a water, thanks mate.” He slides your glass forward for the man to see and he nods, going about the order. 

“Oh, you were serious.” You say, partially to yourself, it’s hard to tell with this man. That’s probably the trouble.

He sits back, “Yeah, I’ll have to keep myself sharp if you’re sitting with me, sweetheart.” 

You grin, yeah there’s the fucking trouble. 

~

You don’t know how another drink turned into three. And how three turned into you watching him get a hotel room, his elbows on the desk as he talks to the receptionist. And how that turned into keys in his pocket, the two of you getting in a lift. And then your hands pulling on his shirt to get him close enough you can kiss him, his tall frame pressing you against the wall of the lift. 

You don’t think about how stupid this is as you’re doing it, you’re too distracted by the heat of him and the all encompassing way his tongue is in your mouth. You moan into the kiss, knuckles taunt with his shirt fabric balled up in them. You’re not drunk, you know what you’re doing. The alcohol isn’t affecting your judgement, it’s only making your blood warm and helping stoke the heat flickering in your core.

He doesn’t hesitate in touching you, neither of you worried about discovery, hands on your hips soon sliding low and squeezing your arse. You gasp a little as his touch brings you to your tippy-toes. The kiss is broken and has your lips tracing down his jaw, on his neck then shamelessly sucking his earlobe. You can feel how much he likes that digging into your stomach and your body rings with want. 

His hands are under your shirt before the lift stops, doors opening to reveal a man waiting, a suitcase by his side. You push the man off you, struggling not to laugh, especially when a quick glance reveals that William is. Hot in the face, you right yourself as the man drags his case into the small space, your skirt pulled back down and shirt buttoned back up.

“Uh we’re still going up, mate.” William says, snickering. 

“Only one floor.” The man responds bluntly, clearly not wanting any interaction with the two degenerates he’s just uncovered. 

You share a look with William, that has you pressing your lips together to stifle laughter. He looks very dishevelled, you hand’t noticed quite how hard you’d been going at him, his shirt is creased and his hair is a fucking mess. God knows what you look like. 

It seems to take a long time to go up one floor, but the very second the doors open you and William are quick to leave. 

“What a nice chap.” He sniggers and you can finally laugh away some of that embarrassment, how stupid the both of you are, but nothing to be done now. The only compromise you can make now is to keep your hands to yourself until you’re in a more private setting, but that’s easier said than done when your core is tight with need. 

Following his form, you try to take mental note of how to get out of here, so many beige corridors to wind around before you’re standing in front of the room this near stranger has purchased. You watch him put the key in the lock and for just a moment you listen to your mind. It’s not a good idea, it’s unprofessional, inappropriate and a host of other things but you’re warm between your legs and the want to continue what was interrupted outweighs reason. 

He lets you inside before him and you turn to catch his eyes low on your body, making you grin unwillingly. It’s a nice room, as swanky as the bar downstairs, long flowy curtains shrouding huge windows and a load more pillows on the bed than necessary. 

William looks around the room more pragmatically, he wants another drink and there’s got to be something in here, a fancy place like this always has opportunity to spend more money. There’s an odd cabinet a good distance from the foot of the bed, and when he opens it lo and behold an incognito fridge. “You want another drink?” 

You look over to William on his knees looking at what you quickly realise is a minibar, curiosity brings you closer and the prices make you wince. You don’t know how this man has it in him to drink, you’re tipsy enough just standing there. “You trying to impress me or something?” You say laughing, “Surely the room was pricey enough.”

He shrugs and gets to his feet. A black labelled bottle placed on the counter, he can’t decide what he wants to indulge in first because you are looking very tempting.  You see a look of mischief pass over his face before he says, “Well, in for a penny, in for a pound… which you absolutely are, love.” He delivers that with the smarmiest smirk you’ve ever seen, and a disbelieving laugh escapes you, it’s needlessly full-on but embarrassingly it does work in making heat between your legs flicker back bright. 

Still somewhat taken aback you just say, “...You’re shameless.” 

It just makes him chuckle, as the evenings gone on you’ve only gotten easier to fluster. “Oh and you’re so prim and proper?” That’s clearly amused him because his tone is dripping with sarcasm. You maintain your eye contact with the man, trying to curb excitement in your blood, you’re aware he’s gotten much closer to you and the prospect is delicious. “I don’t think so, no with how you accosted me in that lift, there for anyone to see.” 

He doesn’t need to add ‘And someone did see,’ because that grimy feeling has again caught up with you, you look away then, trying not to think about how disgusted that man looked earlier. It sucks because your usual level-headedness has shagged off and you seem to be making a lot of questionable decisions. 

You’re speaking before the embarrassed thoughts are coherent, “Well, I- That’s not something I’d… normally…” You trail off because of the clear enjoyment on his face.

“Come on, are you a police officer or a fucking nun?” He teases, “Looking so ashamed. You do know what we’ve come up here to do, right?” 

The mockery gives you a hit of bravery, and you shrug, “Yeah. I’m just waiting for you to stop talking.” You give the last words heavy exasperation and watch that achingly handsome grin slowly spread on his face. 

He listens to you. 

It’s criminal how eagerly you’re pulling at his clothes, struggling with buttons as dexterity is lost in your fingers to the way your body is reacting to his. There’s little elegance, only your tongue back in his mouth as your shirt is taken off, then your body pulled away from the wall behind you to let him unhook your bra. It’s quick but you still resent how long it’s taking to get what you want. 

He’s playing with your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh before tugging your hardened nipple between his fingers, it pulls a gasp from you. You’re giggling a little as his action makes it harder to concentrate on what you’re doing. You finally manage to pull the shirt from him, leaving it to crumple on the floor. His body feels good against yours, firm and hot, hair on his chest that you rake your fingers through, leading all the way down to his belt. 

His touch is everywhere on you except where you want it most, taking in your curves and again grabbing a handful of your behind. You’re restless, rubbing your legs together for a fraction of the friction your core is demanding, all this fleeting touch is mounting into impatience. William notices and you feel the movement of his hands up to your waistband, where they skirt teasingly around. 

You moan some encouragement into his mouth, tilting your hips for better access. But he pulls away from you, smirking to himself. “Take your skirt off for me, love. I’ve tried but for the life of me I can’t find the zip.” 

Despite your impatience, you can’t help but laugh, clearly pride had kept him silent for a fair while. “Here then.” You say through your amusement, placing a hand flat on his chest and pushing him lightly, guiding him a pace and a half back until he gets the hint to sit on the bed. 

From there he watches you half dressed as far as your waist as you catch hold of the zip on the side of your pencil skirt and pull it down. You step out of it, leaving your shoes under the fabric, a smug expression on your face. He looks good sitting there and a guilty thought flickers through your head at how lucky his wife is. 

That thought is cut short when he says, “Come here.” Not giving you much choice when he catches your wrist and manoeuvres you himself, your panties still on but the wet patch on them somehow more revealing than you imagine being fully nude will be. 

“Damn.” He grins, leaving you standing before him, his hand tracing the waistband of your knickers before sliding between your legs. You let him, spreading your stance for his access. He follows the shape of your pussy over the material, watching how it clings to your heat. Soon after he slides under the fabric and toys with the abundance of slick waiting there.

You moan at the static sensation buzzing in your core, it’s exactly what you wanted but still a lot and you have to steady yourself on his shoulders. He finds your clit and begins to draw patterns over the nerves that soon have your legs weak. He brings your end into your sights before altering the movement, and the whiplash is near devastating. He snickers when a disapproving frown rests on your face, adjusting his position to press his fingers inside you, willing to give you what you want. Fucking his fingers in and out of you he keeps up with the stimulation on your clit, the pace only quickening when your grip tightens on his shoulders. Your peak rises fast and you fall over it, walls fluttering tight around his digits as your climax washes over you, pulling some desperate noise out of you. 

Before your legs are even steady again, you’re desperate for more. So you push him back on the bed, bending down to tackle his belt buckle. The bulge in his trousers is practically taunting you and you’re eager to feel more and think less. 

WIlliam’s voice pulls you from your inept action. “Demanding, aren’t we?” He mocks. 

You look at him as levelly as you can, your pupils big from your fading pleasure. You know the answer before you speak, “Do you want me to stop?” 

He doesn’t say anything, only reaches down to help you take off the belt, pulling the trousers down and holding you steady so he can lean and shove them off. You take hold of his hardness, now only hidden by his underwear, revelling in the soft grunt that leaves him. He’s deliciously thick in your hands and drunk on it you straddle him, now palming him between your legs. Only now do you think about the condoms in your handbag, knowing you should pull away from him and retrieve them. But that rationale is drowned out by your cunt drooling, begging for immediate stimulation. 

Your touch isn’t enough for him, he just wants to feel your warmth wrapped snug around him, so he acts, flicking your hands aside to free his dick. He sits against your stomach, thick and long and almost instantly you’re sliding your slick along him, pussy twitching in anticipation.

His hand on your hip moves you back so he can line himself up with your hole, no more play, no more teasing. He guides you down, a small gasp leaving you as he presses inside. It’s more than you thought and your walls burn with the stretch of taking him; you still yourself for a moment, thighs hovering just above his whilst you try to get used to the fullness of accommodating him. Your respite is cut short when he starts to thrust up into you, sniggering at the surprised moan that escapes you and how your body is almost trying to run away from him. He holds you still, lost in the perfect way your cunt is swallowing him. Soon you’re taking him properly, riding him deep with stuttering breath, pathetic noises leaving you when his cock pressed against the spot inside you that makes you crumble. You’re so focused on your imminent pleasure sparking into life sharpish, you nearly miss the change in the man below you. 

“Fuck- that’s it.” He groans, his hands roaming your body. You’re doing the majority of the work, bouncing on him so fucking perfectly and grinding your bundle of nerves against him. Your fluttering walls are telling but he’s hanging onto his edge by a thread, just enough sense about him to help speed up your climax. 

You jolt when he suddenly begins rubbing your clit, his hand splayed on your abdomen. It’s a lot and you’re holding on to him tighter and tighter, fingernails digging harder and harder into his shoulders until you’re falling into the waves of bliss. Your back arches as you come, each pulse of your climax making you shiver. Your cunt squeezes around him tight and just like that he’s gone. He thrusts into you a few more times, pushing his release deep inside you,  the pace inconsistent as he rides it out. 

Both of you still, and you listen to his quickened breath as your pussy still flutters around him, you’re all over goosebumps but you hardly notice, too focused on the warmth trickling around him and settling between your legs. 

~

You don’t stop there. You get next to no sleep, spending the rest of the night clutching the headboard, then with your face buried in the dishevelled sheets. Later with your leg hooked over the hips of this man, dirty words dripping from your lips pushing him to give you more. Hours spent having easily some of the best sex you’ve ever had. Until the two of you have no more to give. 

It’s still dark, but a look at your watch tells you the day’s not far from arriving and so, you move. Taking yourself from the disordered bed and into the cool of the room. Your clothes are strewn all over and you begin to gather them one by one, aware you’re under the scrutiny of the man you’re leaving behind. 

You’re halfway through putting them back on when William decides he should probably do the same. You watch from the corner of your eye as he stands up unashamedly naked and even after you’ve had your share you still appreciate the sight, which you then realise he was probably doing to you before getting up.  

He moves to pick up his underwear, wincing through his teeth at the action, making you turn towards him with pinched brows. You see him raise his arm up and run his hand along his shoulders, his expression difficult to read. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask with uncertainty, a part of you thinking that there’s no way he’s as sore as you are, you feel like you’ve spent hours on the bucking broncos. 

“Wait-” He sounds confused but when he turns to walk over to a mirror on the wall your eyes go wide with understanding. You’ve left your mark on him alright: long scratches on his shoulders and back, each bringing back a memory of the night’s activity. 

When he sees, his instant reaction is to laugh but fucking hell, it’s pretty bad. How the hell hadn’t he noticed? 

You have a hand over your mouth, partially in shock, partially to hide the incredulous laughter begging to be shown. “Oh god, I’m sorry.” You say, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your giggling to yourself, “I didn’t-”

“That is…” He cuts you off unintentionally, chuckling in disbelief as he looks from the mirror to you, then back again, “unambiguous… What the fuck am I supposed to tell my wife?” 

You snort. “I don’t know. Shit. I didn’t think I… did that.” You hadn’t even thought about it, about how all traces of you on this man are liable to destroy a marriage, though to be fair, you’re not often a homewrecker. 

“Well, it was definitely you, sweetheart. Shit.” You’re lucky that he’s found this amusing and not gone the other way, but his marriage is dead on the rocks anyway, if Clara showed any interest in taking his shirt off he’d be looking around for a hidden camera.

…

You and William part ways soon after, part of you wanting to see him again, the rest knowing that that’s probably not a good idea. But the morning seems to be running away with itself and you don’t have time to think about it, it’s already nearly 7am and you've got to be at the station by 9. 

That doesn’t stop you from reliving the night over and over during your commute though.

As good a time as you’ve had you can’t shake the feeling that it was perhaps too good to be true.

If you made it to the end, thank you sm, you guys reading my stuff is my motivation to keep being excessively horny x

[theamityelf]

Speaking of underrated Yandere characters... what about Makoto? What would he be like as a Yandere? Can we even yan-ify the lad? I imagine the amount of power he has as Ultimate Hope (if this is post-everything) could be wielded in a real scary fashion... but at the same time, Makoto has so little malice in his body I'm really struggling to think of actual harmful yan-yan activities he could do that wouldn't just make me want to pinch his cheeks and go, "You're adorable!" ....Maybe that's a skill issue on my side, though. Since I find everything Makoto does to be babygirl

OKAY, let's do this. 🤩

As you've kind of observed, this needs to be divided into Pre-Tragedy Yandere Makoto vs. Post-THH Yandere Makoto. (There's a gap in there, between the Tragedy and the end of THH, because anything he does as a yandere while locked in Hope's Peak would be less interesting and so I'm ignoring that time period.)

I'm trying to keep this as in-character as possible, so I should say, before I begin, that it's also possible to go a "Makoto's canon personality is a front to cover his creepy yandere side" route, instead. That just wasn't my choice for this post. There are a lot of ways to go with this, and I'm kind of zeroing in on one interpretation.

(You can read this as x Reader; the best canon character to use as the darling for this is probably Hajime or some other non-Ultimate character.)

Pre-Tragedy Yandere Makoto: The yandere side doesn't kick in until they're in an established relationship. Makoto is pretty great at pining and having unrequited feelings for people; pre-Tragedy, I'm willing to say there's a generous off-ramp where the person doesn't return Makoto's feelings and nothing comes of it.

Pre-Tragedy Yandere Makoto, the trap only closes if he starts to date the person or get close to them in a way that is understood to be romantic, at which point his behavior is...extremely considerate. Or I should say, extremely thoughtful; considerate implies there are robust boundaries.

It's like, he's constantly giving his darling things they'll like, or things that remind him of them.

He of course doesn't announce to his classmates that he's dating someone; they notice the change in indirect ways (since he still doesn't talk about himself or his life that much). They notice he's often in a noticeably good mood, and he's often going above and beyond to accommodate his darling's needs. (The more true this is, the worse it'll be later.)

If his darling likes a certain musician, he's finding a way to get them sold-out concert tickets. (Maybe it's Ibuki's old group, and he has to do her homework for a week to get her to call them to get him tickets.) If his darling is home sick from school, he's making sure he has their notes for the day and doing favors for Teruteru to get them some soup and just generally, the vibe is, "Wow, Makoto really likes this person; he's going all out. They're so lucky. He's so great."

So, if the person ever tries to break up, some of Makoto's less scrupulous friends are going to be a serious obstacle.

Something like, Byakuya ordering them to take Makoto back, like, "His birthday is coming up, I didn't know what to get him, so I bought the bank that owns your house. Take him back, or I'll evict you."

Kyoko doesn't blackmail them, but she does some standard detective-ish stalking, enough to be like (if it's Hajime), "I wondered why you would break up with him, but then I found this [Kamukura Project signup sheet]. Needless to say, I think he'd like to know that the reason wasn't anything to do with him. I'll be taking this with me."

Mondo not explicitly threatening them but cornering them and asking a bunch of questions. "So, what gives? There's no way he fvckin' cheated; he was practically doodling your name in hearts 'n sh!t. So what's the problem?" (And Fuyuhiko might pull a similar thing. Makoto makes a lot of friends.)

If his darling tells him what his friends are doing on his behalf, he'll just smile sheepishly like, "Oh, sorry about that," and do nothing to stop them. He didn't tell them to do any of it, because he doesn't have to, and he kind of knows that and lowkey uses it.

Post-THH Yandere Makoto: Post-THH, the opt-out isn't there; if he's spending enough time with someone to develop feelings for them, his friends notice the change in his mood and that's pretty much a wrap, whether they start dating or not. "You can't leave. I haven't seen him this happy since before the killing game." "With everything the world is taking from him, he deserves one thing."

In either case, he's a very persuasive yandere. It's easy to explain away any clinginess or off behavior he shows. Anything he does personally (as in, not via being-sad-around-his-friends), he does for a reason. His yandere self is a weird parody of normalcy, where keeping tabs on the person he loves makes sense for a lot of reasons that seem obvious when he says them in that simple, innocent way, but he'll look away shyly if the person he loves were to take their shirt off.

Anything he can't explain away, he'll just apologize for. He's a really easy person to get along with. He adapts to people very well, and he has molded himself around his darling.

He catches them in a lie– even just a normal lie, like exaggerating what time they got back to their room after school, work, or whatever else –and gladly accepts any reasoning for it, and it always seems like he's the one being taken advantage of, because he's always so eager to accept his darling's excuses, but hey, why were you able to point out the lies in the first place, Makoto? And why did you?

Example:

"Yeah, sorry I didn't answer your text. I didn't get out of my study group until, like, 9pm, and by that point I was just too exhausted to check my phone."

"Really? That's weird. Chihiro told me you got out at about 5:45. And I heard that you were scrolling Instagram on your way to your room."

"...Yeah...Well I just...I accidentally checked my texts during study group, so by the time I got out, everything was marked as read and I forgot to text back."

"I figured it was something like that. No hard feelings! It's not like it was an emergency or anything. Hey, I got you something from the school store...!"

[karlachismylife]

Soap for the character ask game plz :)

Do I really need a reason to yap about him? Nah, but I'll take it, thanks :)

If anyone else is interested, I'll be glad to talk about someone else from COD and BG3. The game itself is here if someone wants to reblog!

So. John "Soap" MacTavish.

favorite thing about them

Is "everything" a good enough answer? No? Damn. I guess I'll have to go with his passion. I can tie that to his ADHD, I can tie that to the fact that he's sunshine (and sun burns hot and flares), it doesn't matter - his emotions are bright, run hot, he's impulsive and he feels so strong. I relate to that, I also just like everything bright and flashy. His anger, his loyalty, his sense of justice, his love - they are so big and strong they cannot be contained inside his heart no matter how huge it is. This is what makes him dangerous, this is what makes him vulnerable, this is what makes him so fucking lovable to me.

least favorite thing about them

The fact that he prefers coffee over tea (source: his VA). I'm sorry, I can't stand coffee, my throat literally closes up and stops breathing if I enter some coffee-smelling space and it's not something I can control well (I tried, I swear). So the knowledge that living with Soap would involve the apartment reeking of the forbidden drink, and even worse, kissing him might taste like coffee... it's heartbreaking. I'm training that man to drink tea whether he likes it or not, coffee doesn't do anything for ADHDers anyway.

favorite line

I mean. I feel like using any of Ghoap batner here would be cheating cuz it is very much the best thing ever and also they're bouncing off each other. So I'll go with "Kids, guns and balloons. That's a new one."

It's at the start in Las Almas. I love listening to Soap in general, I love all the Scott-isms he has (even though it seems actual Scottish didn't appreciate those too much), I obviously love the funny lines he has or when he gets angry. But this one just stuck with me. Probably not because it's a Soap line, but because it's a sad line in general (and hits a little too close to home in the current situation).

But also I feel like it's kinda. The fact that I, a 22yo civilian am not actually surprised to see that "kids, guns and balloons" situation (although I am so fortunate to not be witnessing that directly), and Soap, a 26 (I think?) yo SAS Sergeant who ran off to enlist at 15-16 is. It says something about how he views the world, doesn't it? He lacks that cynicism. I've seen people say that veiwing him as a "happy go lucky" guy is incorrect, but I dunno, man. I think if someone who kills people for his job is surprised to see kids involved into crime+politics games, then he's a pretty damn optimistic lad that believes in the good in the world.

brOTP

Soap and Alejandro. There's just something so smooth, straightforward and inherently good about just two men coming to fight for what's right. Also nothing is funnier than Soap's constant cultural shock in Las Almas and Alejandro just chuckling at every silly question Johnny asks. Big brother Alejandro go go go!

OTP

Karlach x Soap for life, everything else is secondary.

nOTP

I reject the concept of nOTP, even the least likely/adhering to my tastes ships are at least interesting to explore. However, I am not a big fan of toxic relationships and such, so something like Soap x Makarov or Soap x Graves would be interesting to look at, but probably upsetting.

random headcanon

He likes the pink Orbit bubblegum, the one that comes in little stripes. His dad used to bring those at the end of the work week, sometimes unopened, sometimes with just a couple pieces left, and Soap stashed them away in his pillow case when he had the willpower not to eat them all at once. His old pillow in his childhood bedroom still smells like bubblegum.

absolutely based on my own life

unpopular opinion

I don't know what's popular to say what's unpopular. But maybe the fact that I think that Soap isn't like a total horndog 24/7? I still think he is pretty horny, more than an average person, but I also think that he's more tactile than anything and that even when he gets a random boner or just is hot and bothered, he can be satisfied with non-sexual touch. But he does not respond well to touch starvation, oh no.

song i associate with them

I am so bad at assosiating songs with characters/ships etc :( I'll be boring and repeat myself for the third time: Ren's "Loco"

favorite picture of them

That comission of him and Karlach I got, duh

But if we're talking ingame, nothing beats him being pretty and doing puppy eyes in that Milena interrogation scene. That hand reaching scene alone has me by the throat.

Thank you for asking about him!! Love youu <3

[queenlua]

what would you recommend as a first Fire Emblem game to play? do i just pick up the latest one, or does an older one capture the True Fire Emblem Experience(tm) better? sorta like Super Metroid still being my absolute favorite of that series…

iiiiiinteresting question, huh! it probably depends somewhat on what you think you'll like / care about the most in a Fire Emblem game?

my personal first FE game was Sacred Stones & i think that's still a really good place to start. the spritework is *gorgeous*; i personally think it's the visual peak of the series. it's got the core "old-school" FE gameplay but with lots of nice quality-of-life improvements (as compared to e.g. something like FE4 or FE7), and the story is my second-favorite in the series after the Tellius games—just a good core emotional core with really well-drawn characters and support conversations.

the drawback is that it's on GBA, so if you don't have one of those lying around (or some other handheld to play it on), you're stuck playing it on an emulator on a computer, which i think hampers the enjoyment somewhat—like, i played a lot of that game in "in-between" moments, while on the bus, etc, and it was really excellent for that. also: it's on the easier side! which i didn't mind; i find the FE game loop enjoyable both when i'm just cruising through baddies AND when i'm having to tightly & rigorously strategize every move. but i know a couple people who stopped playing because they found it too easy & got bored

i do think the Gamecube/Wii FEs (Path of Radiance and Radiant Dawn, aka the Tellius games) hold up really well. obviously i am a little insane about them *stares at fanfiction output* and thus clearly biased, but the character writing is shockingly good & rich (sometimes despite itself, lol), and the gameplay's real fun! reasonably challenging while not making you want to throw your controller across the room (unless you opt into lunatic you mad lad!). i do think they're a little ugly though lol. rip. also, if you like PoR enough to play RD, you'll find RD... uneven. it's uneven in ways that mostly delight me, but like, yeah it's suffering a little from "we're telling like four different storylines with a HUGE cast & jerking you around between them a bit" so it interrupts the usual "smooth progression of your carefully-curated army" gameflow for something more like "wow, hope you're looking forward to saying BYE FELICIA to all your old dudes & putting down a random rebellion in Crimea for exactly five chapters & then doing something else entirely."

those games are my personal faves though and. i will always tell people to start with them. in principle. but you should decide if you trust me lol

a WHOLE lot lot of people got started with Awakening, and the core gameplay in that one is VERY fun. about halfway through, if you're sufficiently clever at assigning abilities, the game becomes a little too easy to "break," but it's an enjoyable ride the whole time. it also introduced a LOT of the quality-of-life improvements people now take for granted in modern FEs (you can choose to disable permadeath; UX is much nicer; etc). so if dealing with some old-school cruft is unpalatable to you, you'll definitely want Awakening or newer.

unfortunately the writing in Awakening is, uh, not great, lol. there's two generations of characters you're playing as, and the first generation is just... not very interesting! very one-note and tropey! storyline is nonsense! the second-generation characters are a little more fun but overall i found the main plot's incoherence + the plethora of dull characters meant that i found the story very forgettable.

i think the writing in Conquest/Birthright is similarly weak but i do have to say, if you want to powergame and optimize stats and get REALLY SWEATY GAMEPLAY NERD about it, Conquest can't be beat. best map design in the series, extremely challenging, etc

and then there's the massive fandom juggernaut known as Three Houses lol. of the "modern" FEs, this game contains the most Stuff I Like About Fire Emblem. the storyline's a lil jankier than e.g. the Tellius storyline, but still has plenty of fun stuff to chew on, and even if you don't some of the 3-4 storylines offered, there's a pretty strong chance you'll resonate with at least one of them. and the gameplay is *fun*, lots of QoL improvements, reasonably snappy...

...but it does have a somewhat bloated, "AAA-gamification" feel. visiting the monastery between EVERY SINGLE FUCKING CHAPTER to do "home base"-y stuff gets old fast. and also, the gameplay starts to drag some as you go along... a campaign takes like 40-50hrs iirc, and near the end, i usually find myself going like "jfc i don't WANT to do these three skirmish battles before i go onto the next one... but i need to because it's the Objectively Optimal Thing To Do... why is this game making playing it so annoying," lol. also, the writing, while reasonably solid... could've been reduced by like 50% and probably been *stronger*? most "old-school" FE games only had 3-5 support conversations per unit, and that was generally enough to give a good sense of the character without Overwhelming With Pointless Chatter. but so many characters in Three Houses have *so much more* text than that and it just starts feeling like.. a chore... to go through... especially when in practice i won't even like all those conversations... so yeah idk

tl;dr if you have slightly old-school sensibilities, get Sacred Stones; if you want a "modern" feel, get Awakening or Three Houses; if you want to make Lua Internetperson happy, personally, you should grab Path of Radiance :P

[roseaesynstylae]

Star Wars: Republic Commando: Triple Zero, Chapter 4

"Mereel was on Kamino. If Zey was heard to mutter that the Nulls were Skirata's private army, he wasn't entirely wrong."

You say that like it's a good thing.

"'I never said good-bye to the lads who didn't come back, that's all. I lost nine out of my batch.'

'But the last time you saw them, you left them feeling confident, respected, and loved. That's enough for any buir to achieve.'"

*narrows eyes* *with a remarkable amount of spite* I fucking doubt that calling them "wet-droids" made them feel loved. Just because you're constantly licking daddy's boots doesn't mean everyone else does.

Okay, that was going a little far. But everyone talking about this asshole like he's the ideal parent makes me want to throw something across the room. Hard. And repeatedly.

"'Have you met Sergeant Kal yet?'

'No.' Kal was always there for Darman, somewhere, even at times like this when she wanted to say so much to him.'

'Darman beamed, clearly delighted. 'Oh, you'll like him, General. You'll really like him.'

Etain certainly hoped so. And if she didn't, then she'd try, for Darman's sake."

*beaming smile* I'll just list things off, shall I?

"Even at times like this when she wanted to say so much to him." Etain, I want to say so much to him as well. It isn't what you want to say, though. It's a bit more...profane.

"You'll really like him." I've been getting a look into this man's mind for the past few chapters. I don't fucking like him. I actually prefer Walon Vau, since he's at least open about the fact that he's an asshole.

"And if she didn't, then she'd try, for Darman's sake." I could not try. It would end in an attempted strangulation.

"Vau was settled in one of the deeply upholstered hide chairs with the strill draped across his lap on its back, all six of its legs flopping in an undignified sprawl while he scratched its belly. Its huge fanged mouth was slack, tongue lolling, and a long skein of drool hung almost to the floor. Its body was a meter long, lengthened by a whip of a tail covered in more loose skin.

The strill was still prettier than Vau, though. The man had a long square-jawed face that was all bone and frown lines, and graying hair cut brutally short. Faces rarely lied about the soul within."

MIRD!!

PRECIOUS BABY!!

Oh, yeah, and its human servant. Great to see him too.

Who is the most adorable little killing machine?! It's you~

Mird, My Beloved: 1

"'The Jedi Council is pretty adept at turning blind eyes,' Skirata said. 'For an organization that knew it was taking on an army with an assassination capability, you do send out conflicting signals to simple soldiers like me.'

Vau was watching like a man being mildly amused by a holovid. The strill yawned with a thin, high-pitched whine."

Mird, My Beloved: 2

*sourly* I'm glad someone is amused by this.

"'We didn't even know we had an army until a year ago.'

'Maybe, but the fact that you're sitting here now with a general's rank means you've accepted responsibility for it. You could have objected, collectively or individually. You could have asked questions. But no. You picked up the blaster you found on the floor and you just fired it to defend yourself. Expedience ambushes you in the end.'"

*in the most fake nice way imaginable* Fuck. You.

Lemme just break this down a little...

"You could have objected, collectively or individually."

They did.

"You could have asked questions."

They did.

The problem isn't that the Jedi didn't try to find a way to object or that they didn't try to investigate. The problem is that the Separatists were actively attacking, the Senate wanted a war, and Palpatine had manipulated everything so they had no other choice. They took the role of Generals and Commanders because they felt that it was the best way to prevent excessive casualties and lessen suffering.

But, no. It's all the Jedi's fault. It isn't that they're a group that was not and never has been intended for a military position who have just been forced into this role. It isn't that they're trying to keep to their principles in the middle of a situation they are not meant for. It isn't that the chaos of the war made it so that trying to object or figure out what the hell was going on impossible.

In conclusion...

WHY DON'T YOU ASK JEDI WHAT THEY FEEL ABOUT THE SITUATION AND WHAT THEY DID? THEY'D TALK TO YOU. THEY'RE NICE, REASONABLE PEOPLE. I"M SURE THAT YOU'D LEARN A LOT MORE IF YOU HAD AN ACTUAL CONVERSATION INSTEAD OF RANTING ABOUT A GROUP OF PEOPLE YOU BARELY KNOW.

Jedi-Bashing: 7

"'Oh no, I'm just a civilian now,' Vau said. The strill rumbled. Vau, apparently distracted, fondled its ghastly, stinking head, his slightly narrowed eyes revealing a doting affection that he never seemed to spare for any other living creature."

I'm going to make this clear right now: I like Vau considerably more than Skirata. 80% of that affection comes from Mird.

Mird, My Beloved: 3

"'How far is too far, Kal? Can you answer that? How far did you go?' Vau called after him. 'I made that boy a warrior. Without me, he wouldn't be alive today.'

With him, Ordo thought, Atin very nearly wasn't."

Vau's training methods are a discussion for another time.

(I still prefer him to Skirata. Like I said, Vau's open about the fact that he's a bastard, unlike some people.)

"It was delightful to see the mix of armor -- yellow-striped commanders and pilots, plain white troopers, and the motley mix of commando colors -- drawn together in one ancient Mandalorian ritual, every face the same.

Etain felt adrift, excluded.

She had never truly felt this degree of bond with her Jedi clan. The connection in the Force was there, yes, but....no, the real strength here was attachment, passion, identity, meaning."

Attachment is not love. Attachment is not a good thing. Passion is not a good thing for a Jedi. I am explaining this in small words for the author's benefit.

Also, nice shit you just took on the Jedi's Youngling Clans.

(Don't fucking insult the Jedi Younglings. They're adorable and have done nothing wrong, ever.)

Given the fixation on (relatively nuclear and standard by sci-fi standards) families in this series, this really feels like a jab at the "fact" that *extremely mocking voice* ThE JedI DOn'T HAve FaMilIEs.

Jedi-Bashing: 9

That's it. I'm exhausted by this series' bullshit and it's only been one chapter. Thankfully, I have a vacation coming up where I can ignore these books and concentrate on actually good Star Wars content. Once I'm done decompressing, I'll be ranting about this again.

Jedi-Bashing: 9

Mando-Shilling: 1

It's a Man's World: 1

Shut the Fuck Up, Kal: 1

Deltas, Move Out: 4

Mird, My Beloved: 3

Is This The Bad Batch?: 2

Main Post

[altschmerzes]

OWO OWO OWO EEEEEEEE gav i am SO eyes emoji about everythinggggg you're working on and im gonna hold it so so so close to me forever but i am ESPECIALLY eyes emoji about "scales tipped" >:))))

OHHHHH THIS ONE. the short version is this is the one where lamb, having expected a carbon copy of the man who ruined his life and instead got... river, does the math incorrectly and starts to suspect david cartwright may have abused river. he determines that if this is a possibility, and what's more if it may still be happening, then it is on him to make sure that the old bastard isn't still hurting people including someone under lamb's own roof. (david Did Not hurt river and Is Not hurting him now. unfortunately by the time lamb reaches this conclusion he is in over his head and far more invested in river's well-being than he ever planned on getting.)

more detailed sort of layout of things under the cut :)

the title is from sleeping at last's 'heirloom'

the scale tipped / when you inherited / a fight that you were born to lose / it's not your fault / no it's not your fault / i put this heavy heart in you

basically. lamb gets word of a new reject getting sent to slough house. and then there's possibly the worst news it possibly could have been: this is not just any reject, this is david cartwright's baby grandson all grown up. and so lamb has to brace himself because what he's expecting is another david. david as lamb remembers him. an ice cold monster who kept his own hands clean at the expense of everyone around him. i used to have a heart. and then i worked for him.

and if this kid is anything like david, then he is a danger to his colleagues to the service and to the public. lamb is expecting david 2.0, someone that he's going to have to protect people from. and that's not good. that's something he's not happy about having to prepare for. and then what he actually gets is uh. river. which actually, somehow, is worse.

he meets river. he sees what sort of person river is. he realizes he was wrong. this isn’t another david. but the conclusion he NEXT reaches is uh. is also not really… right. because he starts to think okay. so the kid's not another david. river cartwright is, it would seem, a good, sweet lad. and so lamb goes to the next logical step in his mind which is fuck. david raised this kid. it's not unlikely david also abused him. maybe the one place he didn't mind getting his own hands dirty was behind the closed door of his own home.

which, for the record… did not happen. but lamb doesn't know what we do, as the audience, about how david and river are with each other. all lamb knows is the david he knew and the river he's found himself with now (constantly seeking approval, prone to shying away and making himself small when people get in his space, reckless with his own safety, desperate for connection) and that is not an equation that he likes the answer to.

so now he's gone from thinking okay. i'm going to have to protect people from river. how do i do that. to the honestly much more difficult question of is river being hurt and how am i going to protect him. because if david hurt him, it's not unlikely it would still be happening. and if david is hurting someone now, especially someone under lamb's roof at slough house, then it's on lamb to make it stop.

so lamb needs to… look into this. he needs to test river's reactions to some things, see if he can uncover warning signs. and the problem is, he does. river's got some uh. concerning behaviours and instincts. kid's clearly got some Issues. but also when lamb takes it a little farther and starts asking some questions with other questions hidden under them, bringing up david in a way that doesn't rouse suspicion but will get the subject on the table, river's responses are like… not that.

(it doesn’t totally help clear things up that river's got... some issues. maybe his mum had a boyfriend or two who Didn’t Like Him Much. maybe it's because of his mum herself. his general sense of people not wanting him and his grandparents taking him in because they had to but he always wondered if one day he would ruin it. spider did not Help. so it’s like- he reacts to those initial probing efforts in a way lamb finds troubling. but when they actually talk in any way about david, the kid’s all relaxed shoulders and soft eyes. it doesn’t compute.)

and so it wasn’t like that. that’s not what it was like. but that initial sort of like. rollercoaster of worrying about river in two very different and whiplash inducing ways. is he dangerous like david. is he in danger from david. could have very easily gotten river right under his skin quick. in a way that’s really troubling to him now and very hard to shake. and it still... lamb dismisses the initial concern, but it sits at the back of his mind for a while. he's never completely, 100% certain.

and some encounter with david like. through some tense interaction, they’re sort of standing off. david is having a more lucid day. and to cap the conversation off, before he leaves, lamb is just. oh and for the record. you’d better not have laid a hand on that boy. cause if i find out you did…

(river finds out this happened and is torn between being UTTERLY HORRIFIED and a little oddly warmed by it and he’s like. having some of the weirdest mixed feelings of his life because on the one hand lamb just. went out of his way to try to protect him, and it was in a way completely unrelated to the job. and on the other hand lamb implicitly accused david of abusing him and oh my gd??? oh my GD why did he DO THAT lamb what the FUCK???

and he talks to david about it like. HE SAID WHAT TO YOU? OH MY GD. IM SO SORRY. I HAVE NO IDEA WHY HE- JESUS. IM SO SORRY. and david is bizarrely unphased by it like. jackson lamb and i have had our differences, to put it mildly. looking after your well-being is not one of them.)

[leonsleftbicep]

Bake Me Back To Eden

Chapter: I

Ao3 Version

Word Count: 1,375

tags: Bakery AU, Modern Setting AU, Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Vessel/II/III are dating, IV doesn't know them… yet!, Trans II, Nonbinary Vessel, Genderfluid III, They/Them Pronouns for III, It/Its and They/Them Pronouns for Vessel, Vessel and III are very creature they deserve creature pronouns

Summary: IV runs a bakery called Ivy Sprigs Bakery & Records, The Echo's work along with him. II, III, and Vessel are customers that don't yet know IV. yet! -- this is being cross posted on here and Ao3. alt names that are more "human" are used at times for the vessels, but i try my hardest to keep up with the numerical names for parts that are not being spoken verbally. The echo's or the esparas have made up names as well for i do not know their actual names and don't really want to use their actual names.

the alt names i will be using for each vessel and espara is listed below. please keep in mind that these names are fake and not anyone's actual names.

Vessel: Verna II: lii III: Thea IV: Ivy Espera/Echo 1: Evaline Espera/Echo 2: Erie Espera/Echo 3: Elanor

---

Ivy Sprig Bakery and Records. A newer place that opened up just a walk away from Vessel’s house. It was II’s idea to check out the bakery, after the couple of times he bought coffee there on his way to work. He thought it was time to show them this cute little hobbit hole of a bakery. 

III was apprehensive about all of this, not knowing if they would like anything. Vessel was just nervous in general. Vess hates going out in public, everyone stares at them because of its height. II might be the only one not nervous, for the main reason that he knew there was a certain person he had a feeling that would change their minds. 

The three of them walking through an alleyway while II led the way. “ii are you gonna kill us or something, this is shady.” III says unnerved by this as they hold Vessel's hand. “where almost there, you know i'm not a big fan of main roads for numerous reasons” II smiles as he walks, taking a turn that leads to the front of Ivy Sprigs. “Here we are” II exclaimed as the two taller beings look at this lovely little bakery, with a dark cottage core almost witchy vibe to it. “I call dibs on the records!” III calls out before they run into the cafe. Both II and Vessel giggle as they hold hands and walk into the bakery. 

they find III already scouring the records for old albums from a band they enjoy. III does squeak and bounce around when they find a limited edition color variant of a record.

“I'll go get coffee, while you watch him” II speaks softly to Vessel as he gets up on his tippy toes just to kiss Vessel's cheek. Which makes the taller blush and hum in agreement. 

II making his way to the cafe/bakery section of the shop, he knew III and Vess would be on their way soon after III found their records. II gets in line and soon feels the presence of his two tall lovers, which calms his paranoia.

III’s jaw drops to the floor all of a sudden. II just chuckles when he feels Vessel also fluster, just by the way they are clutching onto II’s shoulder. “I told you guys I would change your minds” II say with a grin as he also checks out the person they are collectively looking at.

The person in question is a lovely brunette with grays at his temples and widows peak, thin wire oval glasses low on his nose as he smiles and talks to customers. ‘Ivy’ was the name on his apron, which if they all thought right he was the owner. II had met the man a couple of times, though never really had a super meaningful conversation with him. 

“How can i help you lads today?” IV asks as he looks between all three of them. Smiling when he sees II “oh it you Lii!” IV expels like he was surprised. “Its II, i just say Lii for simplicity” II nods, knowing a lot of people find his name odd.

Ivy types out something on his ordering tablet, “i'm guessing the usual black eye” ivy smiles. II hums in confirmation, “and anything those two would like?” IV asks as he gestures to III and Vessel. “They are your partners, right? you mentioned a Vessel or Verna? And some one you called Red?” Ivy asks as he pulls out cups and starts to write down II’s name on it. 

“Black coffee, please” Vessel says with a slight shake to its voice before they just whisper to II what they want. “And a blueberry scone” II adds on, wanting to make sure vessel got all it wanted. “And what's your name sweetheart” IV ask’s vessel so he can write down the name on their cup. Vessel at first flusters at the pet name being used so smoothly. “Vess- no, put down Verna” Vessel says with a soft smile, which makes II squeeze its arm gently in congratulations. 

III smiles when IV turns to ask what they want, “what do you recommend..” III looks at IV’s name tag “..Ivy?” they finish with a smirk. IV just smiles “i fear I- it might be too sweet for you” he tries to flirt back.

II kicks III in the ankle “OW!”. this sight makes IV laugh and snort, which amazes all of them. “goodness. okay, too answer your question Red” IV say with a big grin “my favorites the cafe miel, coffee wise. but tea wise, i usually go with a london fog” IV responds as he plays with his pen “your pick though”.

III leans against the counter as they think, “I'll try the cafe miel” they say “as long as it's, as sweet as you” III purrs. “oh jesus christ” Vessel whispers “this is the same thing they did to me when we first met” Vessel tells II. 

IV just snorts and writes it down “what's your name?” he asks with a soft expression “unless you just want me to write down Red?”. III shakes their head “put down Thea, but you can call me III.. or whatever you want” III chuckles. “III you are horrible at being subtle” II groans and crosses his arms as Vessel rests its chin on his head. 

IV gets pulled away from the cashregister by evaline so she can discuss something with him. III just watches that and then giggles and turns to II and Vessel “i'm not trying to be subtle, i'm trying to get closer” III admits. 

II’s eyes widen “you just met him, Thea!” II yelps. “I feel like that's what you said to yourself when you met me, Lii” III counters, being a smart ass.

Vessel takes a deep breath “ok my loves, can we not get into a tift at the moment. Both of you need coffee, and some food” Vessel says as it takes their partners hands. Both III and II take a deep breath. 

“I'm going to finish ordering, you take III to look at the records. Try and find me something please” II mutters as he pulls away so he can finish the order with Elanor as vessel and III walk off to cool down.

After coffee and some food II and III hold hands as they feel normal now. “Sorry that i was rude” III apologizes. “I accept your apology. But you aren't wrong, there was a reason that Vessel was the one to start dating you first before I did. And it was because I felt it was too soon” II explains, even if this might be odd to discuss in the middle of a bakery. 

IV walks over after finishing up what he needed to with evaline. “Sorry I had to walk away, evidently someone wants an ambrosia salad style cake for their wedding.” IV laughs as he takes off his apron and pulls up his sleeves to expose his forearms. Which the three men gawk at, seeing the ivy tattoos wrap around his wrists and up.

“So can I get you three anything before you head out?” IV asks with a soft expression that makes his eyes look more blue then they were before. 

“Some ivycakes” III blurts out as their face reddens. “I've never heard of that, we do have angel food cake though!” IV responds obviously.

II clears his throat and chimes in, “we are good, we are just about to go purchase those records Thea picked out and then head off home.” II excuses. 

“Well, come back soon. it was great to finally meet your partners, they are very sweet” Ivy says as he makes eye contact with III. which II notices, and so does Vessel by the way it grabs II’s waist and squeezes gently.

After they pay for the records and walk out the bakery, Vessel finally speaks about its experience. “I like Ivy, he has pretty eyes. I wonder if he's single” Vessel smiles as all three of them walk together. 

“The ivycakes thing was about his ass… i asked for a slice of his ass” III explains. 

Both II and Vessel look over at III in surprise.

[ghostinthegallery]

I'm sorry, of course, you've probably been asked similar questions more than once, but... Could you tell the height (even approximate based on the facts) of many famous Necrons? Yes, I have already found a similar post, but with two specific ones, from you, but I'm afraid I won't be able to find it right away... I hope it won't bother you.. ;^;

Alright let's go! I have apparently become an expert on one thing and that is apparently the relative heights of fictional robots from space.

First, some notes on methodology. I am going mostly based off of models, which means I cannot give precise answers about characters who don't have updated models as the old resin ones aren't in the correct scale. Also some characters don't have models so...vibes I guess.

I have also included a Standard Reference Marine (SRM) for scale. Primaris marines are about 8 ft tall give or take (they can apparently get up to 10 ft but my guess is that's mostly named characters not my generic lil dude here).

A few rules of thumb

Necrons are taller than humans, including marines

Crypteks are taller than lords, although this is variable as crypteks are usually adept at manipulating living metal which lets them adjust their forms

Vibes reign supreme

So with all that in mind here is my line up

In order from shortest to tallest we have:

Standard Reference Marine

Overlord

Plasmancer

Chronomancer

Orikan

Imotekh

Szeras

Yes I beefed up Imotekh's base, but that puts him about on the same level as Orikan with his floating. It evens out.

A closer image of the SRM and the crypteks:

Look at this little guy.

SRM next to Imotekh:

And because I am devoted, here is the Silent King himself (not on a base sorry)

As you can see, Szarekh is taller than Imotekh, so put him between Imotekh and Szeras in the lineup.

Now with these references we can roughly estimate the heights of the named necrons if we assume that Trazyn, Anrakyr, Oltyx, and Zahndrekh are all around the height of an overlord (probably taller as they have Named Character Privilege). Yenekh is specifically described by Oltyx as Tall so he's probably taller. Same with Zultanekh. Obyron should be based on a lychguard but no he's a big lad because I say so, vibes reign supreme.

Drum roll please!!

Necron Character Height Master List

Zahndrekh- 9 ft (he's a short king to me)

Anrakyr and Oltyx- 10 ft

Trazyn and Yenekh- 10.5 ft (Trazyn gets an extra half foot for the hood)

Orikan and Obyron - 11 ft

Imotekh and Zultanekh- 11.5 ft

Szarekh- 12 ft. (13 with the crown)

Szeras- big. He's just big okay

There we go! Hope this helps ❤️

P.S. While we have clearly determined Szarekh is taller than Imotekh, I can confirm without a shadow of a doubt that Imotekh has bigger tits. I checked. It wasn't close.

[sonkitty]

The Sideburns Scheme Post #83

(For reference: The Sideburns Scheme)

Crowley, Good Omens 2, Episode 5, The Ball, over

...

This post covers Crowley escorting the humans out and dismissing them.

...

Sideburns Check

The sideburns are long, and I think we are at a point where both are not quite longest-length.

...

Brighter Red Streak Check

The streak is mostly gone. I'm starting to think it fades or retreats with demon darkness, but I'll save exploring that idea further for if I ever do a more general post about the streak itself.

I was able to find it when Crowley is about to visually pass over the broken open window.

...

Hairstyle Changes

The hair is curling more inward along the top.

...

Earthly Objects

(For reference: Earthly Objects)

Shax touches Crowley's mail.

Her saying, "I brought your mail," probably counts as a statement of place that's like an extended form of Hello.

Crowley has the question, "Why?

Crowley's touch on Mrs. Sandwich is confirmed, if any of the preceding cuts were not enough.

The group of humans with Crowley likely qualifies for a collective touch with the fog.

One of the humans asks if Mr. Brown is alright, so there is a question.

Crowley answers though his answer continues into a question itself.

Crowley says part of the name of the meeting, specifying at least the two words Whickber Street

...

Time to pay attention to the pockets.

Let's check in with the Tied Hands.

At the start of the cut where Crowley asks Shax, "Why?", Mrs. Sandwich's hand is probably on screen and probably including her thumb joints.

Meanwhile, the clasps and tassels of Crowley's tie are not on screen.

Once Crowley starts to walk out with Mrs. Sandwich, it is more clear that yes, that was her hand, and now both her thumb joints for her left hand are more evidently visible.

The camera shifts to a top angle so that the touch Mrs. Sandwich and Crowley share can be more visible.

Because of the fog and dark setting, I still cannot see the clasps or tassels of Crowley's tie.

Crowley's watch is visible in the cut where he visually passes over the broken open window. That's often a sign of retying, but the rest of this sequence shows that retying is more likely to happen in the upcoming scene with Muriel.

After Crowley lets go of his touch with Mrs. Sandwich, his right hand is shown visually pocketed between the humans, and his left right arm is making a pocket with the humans and bottom of the screen.

His right arm is ensured to have a pocket made with the bottom of the screen by the end of the cut where he says the word, "Right."

In the next cut, Crowley is officially declaring the meeting over and dismissing the humans, who are receiving focus, so my very much theoretical take here is that his pockets are preparing for the release of the humans. That way, they can make their way back to the proper zone and stop being in Crowley's supernatural zone. This cut is also when his tie clasps and maybe one tassel are visible.

Mrs. Sandwich places her hands on her hips, making her right arm pocket some of the Bentley during this dismissal.

Crowley maintains that right arm pocket as he dismisses the humans until Mrs. Sandwich tells him he's a good lad.

When Crowley responds to Mrs. Sandwich, the tie clasps and tassels have gone back into hiding.

So, the Tied Hands are not retied during the escort out, but they probably helped release the humans from the zone.

The watch tends to be in charge of things, like it's a lookout, especially since its moment of clarity was both before the window pass and the dismissal.

...

Crowley's head is ensured to be framed in that broken open window by the last video frame of the cut. Pocket mechanics care a lot about framing.

There are two little yellow lights together with one slightly higher than the other as potential overhead lights for Crowley's actual head and Belt Head. They can be found between a demon and one of the pillars, probably reflections of the bookshop door windows. While I cannot find Crowley's Belt Head, he is touching Mrs. Sandwich, and Mrs. Sandwich has feathers in her hair. One of those feathers happens to be black, like Crowley's own actual demon wings. I assume he gets an assist from her then for those overhead lights to count as overhead lights.

...

Story Commentary

The pub is shown behind Crowley during this sequence. Again, humans are not visibly around it or in it when it is shown. We actually will glimpse humans in the pub next time under some specific circumstances.

...

Mrs. Sandwich refers to Crowley as a good lad.

He replies to her saying, "I'm not actually, either." Then he smiles and thanks her.

Crowley's supernatural zone is active. The dialogue has given hints about the nature of the space and the sideburns, so Crowley is denying he is a good lad because he is not pretending to be human here. He is a demon making use of his power and his space to accomplish some goal. He's not going to tell her or us the specifics of that goal, but reaching that goal at least has the requirement that he not take the claim of being human here.

...

This scene reminds us that the Bentley is part of the zone. Its presence is a general clue that the zone exists and is currently activated by Crowley.

...

Up next Crowley and Muriel will finally re-unite.

That means they are going to start working together for the Triple of The Bigger Thresholds Trick, which is to trick the Heaven elevator.

I do not have the simple explanation for that puzzle.

I have plenty of notes. New ideas have been forming in my head with knowing that drafting the upcoming post would happen soon. These new ideas still aren't enough to figure out an answer though...just make an even bigger mess of notes.

We are going to have two pocket experts who are up to something beyond my understanding, but I will still have notes!

...

That's it for this post. Sometimes I edit my posts, FYI.

...

Main post:

The Sideburns Scheme

[thorraborinn]

Hey, bit of an odd question maybe but I've been looking into the use of "drengr" and had a thought I hoped you might have some insight on: I know "drengr" was & can be used for women just as it is but I was wondering if, grammatically/syntactically/etc., something like "drengkona" or "drengmaer" would make any sense at all if you wanted to specify a woman-drengr without other context? thanks!

I think maybe kvendrengr but the problem would be in the semantics. What modern English-speaking heathens mean when they say "drengr" comes from a particular set phrase, drengr góðr (or góðr drengr), literally meaning something like "good lad" but used so often that it takes on a distinct meaning separate from the two words that make up the phrase. Sometimes góðr is replaced by another adjective (beztr 'best', hæfr 'competent', dugandi 'capable', etc), and sometimes it's extended to harða góðr drengr, but you can always tell that some kind of formulaic phrasing is being used.

Outside of that phrase, you need to give context to how the word is being used, or it could mean any of several different things. In Old Norse times, I'm not sure what its unmarked, "default" meaning would be, but I don't think it was the same as when it's drengr góðr. It was probably just a young, unmarried man, or maybe "someone in service to a war-leader". In modern languages it mostly just means "boy," sometimes "farmhand/hired worker" or similar. In Modern Icelandic, the phrase drengur góður can still be used regardless of gender, but drengur on its own is inherently gendering (as male), and it probably was in Old Norse too.

Just to be clear, it was used in the same sense as the phrase drengr góðr, but that isn't the only thing it meant, and you need context to make it clear that that's what's intended, and as far as I can tell it was never applied to women that way. To give you a sense of the degree to which saying the whole phrase dominated usage of the word in general, here's a section of what is returned when your search the Scandinavian Rune-text Database for "dreng":

These are mostly in the accusative so look for góðan. The one third from the bottom that doesn't say 'good' says 'best'. And yeah, I could have looked for a section to screenshot that wasn't so uniform but I also could have given three or four non-overlapping sections that looked the same. The entries that don't say góðr (or another similar adjective) in proximity to drengr are mostly using the word differently, to say that someone died young (ungr drengr), to say that someone was in service to someone powerful ([some guy's] drengr), and sometimes it's plural and indicating the people who commissioned or carved the stone, so something like "we lads did this".

There are some derived words that might be useful to you, including drengskapr (think 'dreng-ship') and the adjectives drengiligr and drenglyndr. If your context allows use of two words, then drengilig kona would be a better way to say what you're trying to say. Or you could just use an adjective in the feminine in isolation, like drengilig (though this is also the plural neuter).

Personally (without knowing more about what you're doing with this), I would either say drengr góðr and let it be ambiguous with regard to gender, or just use a different word. I think English-speaking heathens would not think drengr were as special as they do if they had a better grasp on the Old Norse vocabulary generally. Maybe something like skǫrungr; this word is actually gender-neutral in application (grammatically masculine, but is used for women very frequently, whereas calling women drengr góðr is very uncommon, and just drengr nonexistent), and all the women in the sagas who are called drengr góðr are also called skǫrungr. But if you want to be specifically clear about her gender the word kvenskǫrungr already exists. I dunno, it depends on what you're doing with it and what in particular you're trying to say.

My experience of watching heathens put drengr on a pedestal has been very weird because I speak a language where it's still used and is very normal and no more interesting than any other word. So it's like if someone from a non-English-speaking culture were like "Can you help me to make sure I understand your extremely important social and religious concept of the 'guy' correctly?" The prevalence of the phrase drengr góðr on memorial runestones indicates that yeah, this formula had a significance back then that it doesn't have now (yeah, you can still say it, but nobody's putting it on their tombstone) but man it's weird to hear, especially as a single word. To be honest most of my experience of being called a drengur involves someone being vaguely demeaning.

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Tidbit Tuesdays: And We're Back

*slides in with a coffee and sunglasses to hide the dark circles under my eyes*

It hasn't been two weeks since I posted, I don't know what you're talking about.

Anyway, an emergency root canal, a crown, and quite a lot of money later, I'm back on my LaDs grind. Truth be told on top of everything else, I'm going through writer's block, so WIPs is just about all I've got.

Can't commit to anything, like my teeth can't commit to my mouth.

If you've survived this rambling, bless. This week's WIPs are just a random assortment of things. And if you're new here, this is where I post things I'm proud of, just generally like, or am currently working on.

If you enjoy this (or just generally appreciate people) please leave a like or a reblog! It lets me know people like what I'm doing, and encourages me to keep writing!

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Notes: first up is Zayne and Kiri, my MC. I recently finished catching up on the new (!!!) main storyline additions, so this is your spoiler warning before I continue.

I loved where the story went, and so decided to do a "what if" in which Kiri temporarily has her memory restructured by the Protofield and the Myst, dropped into a dreamscape that reflects Dreamwalker's world.

It's fun. It's SUPER fun. I should get back to it soon.

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Kiri’s day ended like this:

Akso hospital had strict regimented shifts to combat the constant wave of abominations. At the end of hers, she got scanned, tested, and questioned before she was allowed to leave. A pair of military men in uniforms escorted her down out of the hospital campus, waiting with her until someone could come pick her up.

They never needed to wait long.

Zayne was almost always perfectly on time.

The black silhouette appeared silently through the thick mist, her escorts tensing before realizing who it was. She patted one on the shoulder, saying her goodbyes before stepping forward.

Her hand found Zayne's before she'd even said a word.

“How was work?” He murmured. In his other hand were groceries, the plastic sack sagging with the weight.

Kiri sighed, pulling her hair loose from its bun. “Long,” she replied. “Three more cases today. The ACU ward is overflowing already, and Chansia hospital can't take anymore. They're bursting at the seams.” She leaned into him, her pink scrubs brushing against the wool of his coat.

He frowned at her. “You took your jacket this morning. Where is it?”

“Hm?” Kiri blinked in surprise. “Oh. Someone needed it more than I did.” She smiled at his exasperated sigh, tugging on his sleeve. “Come on. I have you to keep me warm, don't I?”

Zayne shook his head, a slight smile forcing its way through his irritation. “Still. The nurse can't help people if she gets sick, can she? Your health has to come first.”

She hummed, neither agreeing nor denying it. He huffed in response. “Let's go home, my moon.”

Kiri had worked at Akso hospital as long as she could remember. She'd graduated top of her class, with perfect marks, and settled easily into her new life. Work in the Abominations Containment Unit was intense, and it seemed her coworkers were on a revolving door roster. Few people stayed as long as she did, with cases increasing every day.

It was at some point during that that she met Zayne.

A former patient of hers had cornered her in an alley, begging for help before turning into an awful, monstrous thing.

A sudden explosion of black ice had been her saving grace.

The man in black had vanished as quickly as he'd appeared, and, well…

As if following a thread of fate itself, she chased after him.

It was unconscionable for a nurse and someone like him to fall in together. Kiri was well aware she was breaking the code of ethics, not to mention the oaths she'd taken.

Yet here they were.

It felt like it had been forever since they'd gotten together.

It felt like it had been no time at all.

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Notes: This one's been in the mental WIP for a while. I usually let ideas ferment in my head for a while before I bake them into fics, like a good sourdough.

This one focuses on Kit and Sylus, Kit being his second in command and NOT the MC. If you've been here a while, you know her. Anyway, I wanted to do a "what if Kit got hurt" thing, and as usual, they can't help bantering even when she's been stabbed. Go figure.

Fair warning, this one does feature some gruesome imagery. Not a lot though.

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The remains of the building shuddered, dust and sheetrock crumbling down. Sylus ran his flashlight over the rubble, keeping an ear out for any voices.

“Keep a low profile,” he murmured to the twins. “It's not just Kit that might be down here.”

The twins nodded firmly.

The building was a winding, gray mess, shadowed corners scurrying away at each sweep of the flashlights. Every once in a while, they would have to make a wide berth around slowly seeping pools of red, checking the remains for identification.

So far, there were only strangers.

“Fan out,” Sylus murmured. “We'll get more coverage that way.”

The twins and the other men he brought along nodded, splitting up into groups of two. All of them had radios, but it was a shot in the dark whether they would keep working in the lingering metaflux.

It was eerily quiet down here.

The rubble blocked all outside noises, leaving nothing but the occasional whisper of dust or the clatter of stone.

At last, he came to a room that was nearly intact.

It appeared to be a lab, the viewing windows completely shattered. A single threadbare bulb struggled to stay lit, swinging to and fro as it flickered dangerously.

Sylus carefully stepped inside, his feet crunching softly on the broken glass.

A body lay inside, the head twisted unnaturally. A badge on the lab coat proclaimed this to be someone who worked in the building.

The position of their hand was odd, and he leaned closer to examine it. There were faint marks to indicate they'd tightly gripped something before they died.

A second later, his instincts screamed for him to move, and he rolled out of the way, just as someone dropped down from a ceiling panel.

He swiftly got to his feet, ducking left as a shot fired, cutting through his jacket. With a lunge forward, he slammed his hand down, disarming his opponent.

A blade kissed his throat from their other hand, and he looked down into the cold, wild eyes of Kit.

“It's me, sweetie,” he said breathlessly.

Kit blinked. Her hair was messy and dusty, falling out of its usual braid. She held herself strangely, almost curling forward as she gripped the blade.

“Prove it,” she snapped.

Red mist yanked the blade from her grasp, pulling her into his arms. Sylus let just enough power through to make his eye glow without invading her thoughts. “How's that?”

She hissed in pain, grabbing his jacket to steady herself. “That works,” she grit out. “Someone had a doppelganger evol here. They looked like Evan, our diagnostics head.”

Sylus swore, thinking of the nervous man he'd spoken to before. “He might have made it out. I just spoke to Evan before we entered. Are you alright?”

Kit shook her head. “Took a piece of rebar to the side. I didn't have the luxury of keeping it stuck in there, there were people trying to kill me. How did you of all people not notice Evan?”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Occasionally things do escape me, kitten. It's harder to tell when the man in question is always sweating like he's in a sauna.” He glanced at her sidelong. “Speaking of, you bring up a good point. What's to say you aren't a doppelganger? A good one, but one nonetheless.”

She reared back, offended. “Excuse you! Are you implying my fighting is on the level of any average person?”

Sylus smirked. “Your ability with firearms does leave something to be desired.”

“You motherfu- eep!” Kit squeaked as Sylus picked her up, his arm settling neatly under her bottom. She clung to his shoulders as a scarlet flush swept across her skin.

He chuckled. “There's that beautiful full-body blush. No imposter after all.”

“If I survive this,” Kit snapped, “I'm going to do my best to choke you out.”

“I look forward to it.” He stepped out of the room, grabbing his radio. “Twins, can you read me?”

The radio crackled for a moment before a reply came through. “Loud and clear, boss. Has mama bird been located?”

“I take it back,” Kit muttered. “I'm killing them first, and then you.”

Sylus smiled at that. “Mama bird is with me, yes,” he replied, his eyes crinkling at the murderous glare she shot his direction. “We're exiting the building now. Withdraw and rendezvous at South Tower.”

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Note: Ahahaha. Our last one is Omegaverse. That's flustering and fun. This one's less suggestive, mostly due to the fact that I was jotting down headcanons for Omegaverse AU and it turned into mini fics. So this one is Zayne and Kiri.

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For some reason, the universe decides to bless Kiri with the worst possible heat to go along with her myriad of health problems.

In the week leading up to it, she feels exhausted and sick, throwing up food easily and sleeping poorly.

Previous doctors have told her that it's because she has an extremely high hormone production rate, and it means she's extra fertile.

That she should be grateful.

She had to hold herself back from strangling them.

It also means she can't take suppressants.

Zayne, at least, is sympathetic. Even long before they begin a relationship, he reaches out through his connections to find her hormone specialists, people who can help her manage her symptoms.

And after they start dating, well.

He spoils her rotten.

Zayne can only really take the week of her heat off, with how vital he is to operations in Akso Hospital. However, the clean house, fresh linens, and hot food he gets for her goes a long way towards helping.

She always tries to protest his help after his shift is over, stating that he already works enough.

He just does it anyway. All her plushies get scented, her favorite pastries are bought, and her extra expensive jar of tea is left out by a new mug on the kitchen island.

She could just cry from how sweet he is.

When her heat strikes, it's similar.

Kiri becomes very particular about her nest, only choosing the most recent articles of clothing he's worn. She gets exhausted very quickly, and Zayne purchases scent blocking candles to light throughout the entire apartment.

(He's seriously considering how much it would be to get a house outside of the city. If he catches another Alpha lingering at his doorstep or below his balcony window, he's going to break his doctor's oaths on purpose)

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Thanks for reading, and have a good Tuesday!