#but I’m not going to while they’re striking

[vir-tanadahl]

If I’m being honest, writing A Wolf’s Redemption is far more challenging than I initially expected. I knew finding a "lore-friendly" solution—one that makes at least some sense within the broader context of Dragon Age—would be the toughest hurdle. And, as it turns out, it absolutely is. But it's not the only hurdle.

TL;DR: I’m definitely overthinking this. I probably don’t need to be putting this much effort into making the fanfic sound believable—because, let’s be real, is anyone going to notice once we get there?

Me complaining below the cut, because it also has DATV spoilers.

Solavellan Hell:

- Striking the right balance in the narrative to ensure that Solas fully owns his responsibility while Lavellan supports him without taking over his role - Because this is his path to redemption, not hers. She is there to support, to help, to guide, to connect...but not actually be the ONE to solve the problem.

Portraying Solas:

1. Showing him being vulnerable/uneasy about working with others, while keeping his composure and doesn’t overall appear visibly nervous to others. 2. Avoids coming across as whiny (though, honestly, I don’t think he does—but readers may have differing opinions). 3. Balancing him still being a bit arrogant and instinctively being pulled back to his old ways out of habit, but also trying to show that he is resisting this pull.

Weaving together the established lore of DA with the new developments introduced in DATV.

Tackling the Blight:

- The shifting nature of the Blight in DATV, especially with Antoine and Evka discussing changes to the song. - The idea that it might now be harmonizing adds an intriguing and complex layer to address. - Concepts from lore and fan theories based on lore that talks about curing/weakening the blight and adding that into as a foundation for how Solas will cure/weaken/soothe the blight.

Harding's Companion Quest + Titans + Lyrium:

- The red lyrium they encountered is just angry lyrium, clarifying that it isn’t simply blighted lyrium. - Then connecting this information to information we learned about how the blight is created. - Taking information learned from Harding's companion quest and integrating it in to the theory of curing/weakening/soothing the blighted lyrium.

The 'Veilguard' and Rook:

I’m going to be honest—I’m completely ignoring them. There’s absolutely zero indication of what they’re doing afterward (besides presumably helping Thedas recover). The Veilguard was created by Varric to stop Solas. Solas was stopped. So… now what? I don't want to even try to touch that.

It’s just so much information to sift through and connect the dots to create something that sounds plausible. Honestly, I’m not even sure if it’s worth the effort—but I’m also a menace, and I need it to sound plausible. At the end of the day, making it plausible is more for my own satisfaction, with the hope that it also benefits and resonates with readers in a meaningful way.

[eliotquillon]

i have to imagine that at some point during chase and cameron’s fwb era, chase went back to aus for a trip. what about a time zones/jealous cam drabble?

sorry this took me FOREVER and is also not really jealous cam but more…pining cam?? argh. but i tried :) set between fetal position and airborne

In the end, it isn’t House who goes on vacation after they discharge Emma Sloan. It’s Chase; he walks into work one morning, a rare day when they’re not both riding in together, shoulders hunched and face pale, and says, “House. I need to talk to you.”

“You know I hate it when you do that,” House complains, but he must see what Cameron sees: the sunken gaze, the tense fingers. Who died, Cameron thinks, but his parents are both dead already. He leads Chase to his office and shuts the blinds. Cameron looks, and looks, and looks. Chase does not look back.

*

“I’m going out of town for a few days,” Chase tells her at lunch. They are attracting stares: the whole hospital knows they’re sleeping together now, no thanks to House. No thanks to me, Cameron thinks, a little guilty, and pushes another forkful of salad into her mouth. “Can you check on my stuff while I’m gone?”

“Out of town?” Cameron presses, selfishly wanting; she regrets it as soon as she says it. Chase presses his lips together, pushes his fries sullenly around his plate. Cameron is all too aware of the choreography. In two hours, the nurses will all be whispering about the big break-up—false for all the obvious reasons, but also because there’s nothing to break up. “What happened?”

“I have to go to Melbourne,” Chase says flatly. “There’s an issue with my dad’s will.”

“But I thought he cut you out of it,” Cameron frowns. She doesn’t mean to be insensitive with her bluntness. She only means to clarify; she had been shell-shocked, when he spat it out bluntly all those months ago, not at the specifics but at the mere concept of it. It’s the sort of thing you hear about, vague family gossip about a friend of a friend, but surely, Cameron had thought, it didn’t really happen. Surely people—mothers, fathers, great-aunts—were never really so cruel as to deliberately strike someone out with their last act in this world, not for no good reason. Chase spears a fry, and does not eat it.

“He did,” he says heavily. “Including the stuff he had no right to cut me out of. Can you do it?”

No, Cameron thinks. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t handle it. I’d be a sobbing mess, not coming into work every day to flirt with a colleague and snipe at Foreman and save people’s lives. Not casually discussing it over lunch. But that isn’t what Chase is asking.

“Of course,” she says, “just leave me the key.”

*

She gets into the routine of it easily enough. It helps that she knows her way around Chase’s apartment already—though, of course, she knows the bedroom best. Cameron stops by every evening on her way home from work to air the place out, sort the mail, check there’s nothing spoiling in the refrigerator. Chase left at the last minute; there are still clothes in his laundry hamper, a towel on the bathroom floor, electronics still plugged in. When she turns on the TV out of idle interest, it is automatically tuned to a sports channel. Cameron laughs, and the way the sound rings out across the empty room makes her feel absurdly guilty.

It would be so easy to pry. She has the experience, after all—years of snooping around patients’ homes, always careful to put things back where she found them, and she’s far more familiar with Chase’s habits and floorplan than she is theirs—and, secretly, she has the desire. Without him here to distract her with his hands or mouth or terrible post-sex cooking, it is easier to admit her own curiosity to herself. It is easier to admit that she wants to know him beyond the scope of what he has already told her. But easier isn’t the same as easy. Cameron closes windows and throws out expired milk. She ignores the bedroom. She always leaves the key behind.

*

It isn’t that she misses him, at work. It’s simply lacking for a case—House is due to fly to Singapore the day after Chase is scheduled to return—and there’s scarcely anything to do. She has brief, cordial lunches with Foreman, spends the mornings doing clinic duty and the afternoons catching up on House’s permanently-backlogged charting. It is all very companionable; she has always liked Foreman well enough, save for the times he has given her reason to be annoyed, and without Chase to wind him up Foreman seems to return the sentiment. He only tries to broach the subject once.

“About you and Chase,” he starts, and Cameron’s pen leaves a dent on her chart.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says. It’s the wrong answer: she should’ve said, there’s nothing to talk about. It’s what she means to say, but for some reason her mouth won’t form the words. Foreman sighs, and his eyebrows make a grand leap of frustration, but he just nods.

“Don’t bring me into it,” he warns, and this time Cameron doesn’t bother trying to correct him.

*

Melbourne is sixteen hours ahead of New Jersey. It is natural, Cameron thinks, to wonder what he might be doing. It is natural, given the circumstances, to wonder if he’s alright. It is not natural to wonder if he misses her, but she finds herself doing that anyway. His voicemail beeps with messages; the sound of the dialtone makes her so irritated that she has to fight the urge to delete them all at once.

*

“Thanks,” Chase says when he comes back to work, jetlagged and small-looking and yet, Cameron hopes, a little pleased to see her. “You didn’t have to clean up after me.”

She didn’t mean to. She didn’t even want to, but her hands were idle and his phone kept beeping and once, while she was intercepting a delivery he must’ve forgotten about, she heard a strange woman’s voice ask about him on the speakerphone, words garbled through the closed hallway door. In Cameron’s experience, it is easier to resist temptation if there is something to be tempted away from. “I don’t mind,” she says. “Did everything turn out alright?”

“More or less,” Chase shrugs. He leans close; he still smells a bit like stale plane air and, Cameron imagines, a certain kind of foreign-ness. “Come over tonight?” he asks in a hopeful undertone.

Cameron is sick of his apartment. She would rather not examine why. “Come to mine,” she says, decisive, and rises to greet Foreman.

[amingethia]

Form Unions for every creative outlet. Put all media production to a halt AND GET. YOUR. MONEY.

GAMES MADE BY PEOPLE WHO ARE PAID MORE TO WORK LESS

[articskele]

“...Wrong? Why would anything go wrong?”

Without further ado, a stimboard for @ask-the-biggering-onceler!

x|x|x x|x|x x|x|x

[random-weird]

someone tell me why I get most of my world news from the tumblr trending page

[hypocritic-trash-baby]

If somehow you haven’t seen by now, while the Super Bowl is being aired, Israel is striking Rafah.

The people of Palestine had been told to go there, they were promised it was safe.

And while this is happening, even though earlier several tags on Palestine were trending, only one or two are now.

I haven’t written any posts personally on Palestine myself. I didn’t feel I had anything to add here aside from reblogging and boosting whatever I can but please. We can’t forget Palestine or its people especially now.

This has gone on too long and gone much much too far MANY times and now is when we need to push harder.

Many of the heads of Western countries are either beating around the bush and wasting time, or outright denying the things the Palestinian people don’t have the privilege to ignore. They don’t have the choice to look away from their pain, or the pain of friends, family, neighbors, their country. And even through all of this they’re still trying their damn hardest just to live. And we all need to listen.

So now, especially if you live in a western country like I do, now we step it up a notch. Now is the time if you haven’t already to read up on Palestinian history. Listen to what the people of Palestine are saying. Hold firm on the boycott like never before. Any and every way you can donate, do it. eSIMs, aid, anything that will reach. Save as much evidence as you can. Videos, articles. Don’t let Zionists pretend all of this never happened.

Even if you think there’s nothing you can do, I’m telling you, keep going. Even if you feel you can only give a little, if we all give a little together it becomes much more.

Hit imperialism where it hurts. In the wallet. Follow the BDS instructions, find protests in your area if you can, boost as much information about Palestine as you can find, call your reps, and do not lose hope. The people of Palestine are not dead. They are holding on even through all this and we all owe it to them to do the same.

A Free Palestine will happen in our lifetimes. But it will be hard fought. So go out there and fight hard! The governments can’t hide from their own people forever. The companies can’t bleed cash forever. The people will win. So push until we do. Do not look away. Free Palestine

[trollbreak]

Thinks abt spooky fucked up moment and goes ehehehe

[foldingfittedsheets]

I worked retail for a long time and people really do treat you like shit sometimes. But between selling sex toys, mattresses, and jewelry I can say definitively I got treated worst selling mattresses.

All three of my jobs were in sales but selling sex toys we were allowed to put people in their place, and in jewelry people didn’t want to misbehave in a fancy setting. But people at the mattress store had no problem yelling at me, hitting on me, or insulting me to my face.

For a while I was managing my own store for the company. I ran a small location and had struggling employees placed with me for rehabilitation. If their numbers improved they could go back to bigger stores. If not, they got fired.

So this meant I was the manager of problem employees. At one point both of my people had a foot out the door. The company was going downhill and changed computer systems and they were fed up. Consequently, they made a ton of mistakes, because they just didn’t care about the job or learning the new systems.

I strolled into work on what was essentially my Monday to a shit show. Deliveries scheduled without product, wrong things on orders, poor expectations of the process, you name it. I spent the entire morning getting yelled at for mistakes that weren’t mine.

The final straw came when a man called furious that his moms bed for her nursing home had a delivery window he couldn’t accommodate. This wasn’t a huge disaster since we still had time to deliver it before she moved. I ran him through the options and he just kept screaming at me. Not for a solution but because I was there and he was frustrated.

My heart filled with malice and a cold fury. A calculating part of my brain had a realization in that moment that I could stay a punching bag or I could strike back.

I quavered my voice delicately, taking in a shaky, warbling breath like I was trying not to cry. “Sir,” I quivered through fake tears, “I don’t know what you want from me! I told you what I can do, I didn’t make this mistake I’m just trying to fix it!” My voice broke pitifully on the last syllables, sounding in all ways like a sweet innocent person being yelled at who’s just trying her best, really!

It was like I’d doused him with cold water. My emotional act was the realization that he was screaming at someone who was just doing their damn job, and he was being an asshole. He hastily made an excuse and hung up.

I had a third employee covering with me from another store that day who heard everything. When I hung up, I looked over to see them watching me with an awed expression. “Did… did you just pretend to cry?”

“I absolutely fucking did,” I said with feeling, “and I’d do it a thousand more times. If that’s what it takes for someone to realize they’re behaving like a fucking prick, they deserve it.” The employee looked at me like I was their hero.

The man called back, apologizing profusely, having magically arranged his schedule to accommodate delivery. He came in later that week with an apology Starbucks gift card. I was gracious in my acceptance.

I pulled it a few more times before leaving the company. I felt no shame in the ruse. If someone behaves so poorly that it’s plausible their behavior would drive someone to tears they deserve to feel absolutely wretched about it.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man.  Anyway, enjoy!  This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It was close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega a little over a mile away from your apartment for about, three? five minutes– no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets were any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar? 

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even was this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they were in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were. 

But then, what were they here for? The dangers you were more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.  

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack. 

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle. 

“Now, now– the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip. 

 “I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.” 

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur. 

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you. 

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin. 

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips. 

-

-

-

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen. 

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City. 

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All held significant power, all held ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn. 

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval. 

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp–then, “sir.” 

All in reverence. 

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference. 

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters. 

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.” 

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I guess that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.” 

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response–but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to. 

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger. 

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection. 

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial. 

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man–no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear. 

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

_

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust. 

Having been awake for longer than your captors were aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience. 

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?” 

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.” 

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you. 

In short, you have no idea where you are. 

Fuck–this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own. 

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic–

Wait a minute. Sylus. 

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore. 

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin. 

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.” 

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” 

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity. 

And here, the opportunity presents herself.” 

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.” 

You feel it before you hear it. 

“Perhaps not.” 

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room. 

Suddenly– 

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise. 

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness. 

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You–”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool – lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him – as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction. 

You meet his eyes. “You came.” 

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. “A little too late. I apologize.” 

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud. 

“Luke. Kieran.” 

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

 The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.” 

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly. 

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state at least. 

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer. 

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin. 

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.” 

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out. 

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?” 

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.” 

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.” 

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look. 

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.” 

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three. 

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake. 

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed. 

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor. 

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for. 

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for – and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him. 

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from. 

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of. 

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel. 

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets. 

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.   

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them. 

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM. 

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.” 

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.) 

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed. 

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh. 

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe. 

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler. 

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.” 

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes. 

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?” 

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly. 

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.” 

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian. 

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his. 

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose. 

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you– half-lidded and tender. 

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.” 

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.” 

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.” 

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

Buckle up, folks, and prepare yourself for spoilers!

Because we’re going to be analyzing this scene today. And I’m going to explain why Starscream could’ve won.

After D-16’s initial attack, Starscream falls back to recover, and quickly counters with some skilled aerial maneuvers. Here’s a post so you can appreciate it better. Starscream is taking full advantage of his flight ability here. He’s leading the high guard, of course he’s going to be good at flying.

Side note: we don’t know if Starscream is the official leader of the high guard, do we? Maybe he just claimed leadership after they went into exile. It would be fun to think about.

As an extra note: Starscream is using his thrusters to carry both of them, holding D-16 up by the neck.

Extra extra note: D-16 kicks Starscream between the legs.

Now look at this. Here’s when D-16 transforms his foot to kick starscream off.

It all happens in a split second, but I tried my best to get screenshots.

Do you get what I’m trying to show?

Starscream angles his body forward, with the thrusters still on, before D-16 makes contact with him. He sees the kick coming, and he moves to counter it. When he realises he’s not fast enough to counter, he lets go of right D-16 before the impact in order to make sure he’s flung backwards instead of being injured. If he was still holding on, the damage would’ve been far more severe.

Sure, I find it a little surprising that a guy who can fly would fall in his butt, but I think I can explain it away. The thrusters are turned off when he’s kicked, but they return while he’s flying away. I think that may have been accidental. Maybe he intended to right himself midair and fly away but was unsuccessful, maybe he didn’t mean to activate them.

Either way, it contributes to him landing rougher than he would’ve intended. While I’m here, I want to point out D-16’s little swing off the wall to land next to Starscream. Very graceful.

Right before and right after getting punched in the face. There is momentary surprise, but no fear. He doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t take time to recover. One second of scowling, and then “HIT ME!” He doesn’t even need to catch his breath.

Slowing the scene you can see the punches have Starscream’s neck bent at an over 90 degree angle. Not only does he not react to the pain at all, but he also KEEPS ENCOURAGING HIS OPPONENT.

His body language and behavior is confident while he’s being punched. Only when D-16 turns his attention to the crowd does Starscream attempt to free himself.

He’s intentionally antagonizing his opponent, making D-16 drop his guard and focus on giving the crowd a show, he takes the punches like they’re nothing and only tries to break free when D-16 looks away.

Focus on Starscream’s hands here. D-16 loses his focus, Starscream is very clearly trying to pry him off.

And here, just a few seconds later. First his hand is just… sitting there, not making any attempt to pry off the guy squeezing his throat (presumably very painful) and instead continuing to yell (presumably very painful). And then he Grabs and Pulls Him Closer. This isn’t the body language of a person who’s afraid, Starscream was biding his time and waiting for the opportunity to catch D-16 off guard, use a sudden moment of distraction to his advantage.

We only see fear from him at the very end. Only when he sees the arm cannon which is something nobody expected. Not even D-16 himself. From Starscream’s perspective he was waiting for the perfect moment to strike, to overpower an enemy who is stronger but less skilled and experienced than him, all the while giving the troops a good show. And then the guy pulls out THAT THING to his face.

You can see the moment he knew he fucked up. There’s nothing he can do after that except ask for mercy.

It’s my personal belief that had the battle lasted longer, and had D-16 not discovered his Murder Arm, Starscream would’ve won.

And although I’m not disappointed in this outcome, I would’ve also loved if D-16 had the upper hand physically but still got defeated due to Starscream’s cunning and experience. We would’ve seen Starscream show his talent, and seen that D-16 still has a long way to go.

[flaggermuser]

When You Loved Me

1,209 words || Fluff, Spoilers for Season 4 Episode 4, Hurt/Comfort, GN Reader, Doctor Reader, Happy Ending, Childhood Trauma ||

Inspired by the idea that at least one doctor would have formed an attachment.

Thank you to @bisexualhomelander for being my beta

They're nearly all dead, there's just one loose end that Homelander needs to tie up.

So he stands outside the unassuming house, ready to cross the final name off his list, which he found in an old abandoned file documenting his ‘development’.

It was a stroke of luck that he found you - it seemed as if Vogelbaum scrubbed you from all official records.

Determined to finish what he's started, he knocks on your door and waits impatiently, ready to strike you down where you stand.

“I’m coming!”

He freezes, his entire body tensing up as your voice unlocks memories from his time in the lab, ones buried deep somewhere at the back of his mind.

A frightened and hurt little boy being held, being comforted after the incinerator and the other horrible forms of torture he was subjected to.

“Shhh, it's okay, you're okay. I'm here. Shall we read another story?”

The door slowly opens and there you are. 

Now that he's seen your face, the memories are more vivid. There’s still that kindness in your eyes, the one he saw every night before he went to sleep. 

At least, for a few months before you disappeared.

“Hello, John.” Your smile is still as warm as he remembers. “My, how you’ve grown. Come in, come in!”

With trepidation, he slowly enters, unsure of what he’ll find. It’s homely, filled with curiosities and everything he’s ever associated with a true American home. As he follows you into your living room, he notices some of the pictures on the wall with you and your former colleagues at Vought, some of whom he’s already killed.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“A glass of milk would be nice,” he replies, trying his best to smile while conflicting thoughts swirl in his mind.

He was so convinced that you were like the others that had you not spoken, he would have killed you the moment you opened the door.

“Well take a seat, I’ll be right back.”

He takes a seat on your couch, hands in his lap, looking around the room again. That’s when he notices the mantelpiece, covered in photos and newspaper clippings, all in ornate frames.

Not of your family - of him. They’re all of him.

Taking pride of place in the middle of the mantelpiece is a picture from several years ago.

“Don't worry John, it's just a camera. All I'm going to do is take a picture of just the two of us. I promise it won't hurt.”

He's sat on your lap, your arms around him, holding him tightly, protectively, a smile on your face.

He’s smiling too. He’s happy. He’s with you.

They took you from me.

“Here we go,” your return snaps him back to reality, his eyes softening as he notices the glass of milk in your hand and a plate of cookies in your other, settling it down on the coffee table in front of him.

It’s such a sweet gesture.

You take a seat in a nearby armchair, “It’s so wonderful to see you again.”

After all these years, you’re still this beacon of absolute kindness.

“Do I call you John or Homelander?”

“John.”

How did I forget how lovingly you said my name? How did I forget you?

“I’m so proud of you, you’ve done so well. And look at you, you’re The Homelander! Leader of the Seven!”

His lower lip quivers, trying to keep himself together but it’s proving harder. Your praise comes from a place of pure love, something he’s never experienced or at least, he can’t remember experiencing.

“I see you’ve noticed the mantel. I know I must seem mad but I’ve been following your progress.”

You cared about me, you care about me, it’s all genuine.

“You were so young when I last saw you, with that lovely little smile.”

You reach out to take his hand but he pulls away, only so he can take off his glove. It looks so small in his, he knows if he squeezes just a little, all your bones would be crushed to dust.

But he won't.

“The things we did. Oh John, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry that I didn’t do anything to save you. I should've stood up to Vogelbaum, I should've protected you."

Saved him, protected him - the regret is written all over your face.

They regretted their actions too, only after he reminded them. Then they apologised but it was too late for them, maybe it’s still too late for you. 

He squeezes your hand, trying to comfort you. 

“You know, I think about you every day. I wanted to reach out but I figured Vogelbaum would have any attempt at contact blocked, especially from me. All because I chose to be human.”

Human. They were human too and they tortured me.

It’s clear that is a sore subject for you, nowhere near as painful for him but the fact it makes you sad somehow makes him feel better. It shows that you cared.

“They fired me for ‘interfering with the experiment’ but how could I not?! You were scared, you were crying and they left you all alone in that horrid room.”

The bad room.

“I couldn’t just leave you there to cry yourself to sleep. So I volunteered to take the night shift. Do you remember… remember the first time?”

His jaw tightens, desperately searching his mind for even the tiniest hint of a recollection yet all of the torment he was subjected to has buried everything deeper. 

“You were terrified that I was going to hurt you, your eyes glowed red and you trembled. I knew you didn’t want to hurt me but you would if you had to.”

You understood.

“It took you a few minutes to realise I wouldn’t hurt you - I think it was the books under my arm that convinced you I wasn’t a threat.”

A single flash - “Would you like me to read you a story?”

“I sat down on your bed, you sat on my lap and we read story, after story, after story. Until you didn’t want me to read anymore, you just wanted me to hold you. So I did exactly that.”

He desperately wants to remember, he needs to remember. 

“Then Vogelbaum found out, I must have forgotten to turn the cameras off and I was removed from the project. I should’ve fought for you, I should’ve marched right back in there and demanded to take you. But I didn’t.”

But you’re here now. They’re all dead but you’re still here.

“I forgive you,” it slips out of his mouth, however, this time it’s heartfelt. He means this without malice.

You’re the parent he’d always wanted, living in a house he always dreamed of, serving him milk and cookies like he’s still that young boy you cared about.

Maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe there could be something here, born from the ashes of your past sin and his trauma.

Sniffling, you wipe away your tears, tightening your grip on his hand. When the smile returns, it’s affectionate and all for him.

“I want you to know, John. I need you to know, that you’ll always have a place here and in my heart."

[sttoru]

⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. trying to get your cold boyfriend to crack a smile !

tags. toji fushiguro x female reader. fluff, suggestive at the end. reader gets called ‘girl, doll (face)’

“you should smile some more,” you comment unexpectedly as the television runs in the background. toji raises an eyebrow, amused yet curious at the way you interrupted the peaceful atmosphere.

your sluggish lover looks down at you as you sit up on his lap. his arms loosen up around your waist, though his manly hands don’t leave their favorite spot—your ass. toji gives it a squeeze, huffing at the way you’re blocking his sight with your head, “what ‘re ya on, girl?”

he figures it’s just you trying to strike up a silly little conversation again, for the sake of entertainment. he tilts his head to the side so he could continue watching the show playing on the big screen.

your hands come to cup his face. your palms are actively being prickled by his stubble, the man not having bothered to shave this morning. not that you’re complaining. you love it when toji leaves that stubble on his face. it gives him a more manly look.

“smileeeee,” you exclaim and use both your index fingers to turn the corners of his mouth upwards. his lips are morphed into an awkward, forced smile that makes you frown.

you secretly hoped that toji would go along with your request, but he doesn’t. that same expressionless face stares right back at you. his ‘smile’ instantly disappears the moment you drop your hands to your sides.

the black-haired man runs his fingers up your waist. and arms. he eventually pinches your cheeks for a second, properly positioning your body so he could watch the television in peace. toji places his chin on your shoulder, half lidded eyes lazily following the people on screen.

“i wanna see you smile again, c’mon,” you whine and try to push toji’s head back, but he stubbornly refuses. he easily overpowers you and pins your wrists down against your sides, nearly crushing you in a ‘hug’.

he takes a deep breath and sniffs your perfume. he places a quick kiss on your throat, thinking it’d pacify you for now.

“i would if y’ could make me laugh, doll,” toji answers in a gruff voice. he falls silent again as he’s too focused on the show playing.

you frown at his comment and can’t help but feel slightly offended. you roll your eyes and push back from toji’s tight embrace, if that’s what you can even call it. you pout and cross your arms over your chest. you stare at him, his green eyes glancing back at you for a second.

seeing you get all sulky because of what’s supposed to have been a lighthearted comment, is adorable. though toji doesn’t say that stuff out loud.

“you’re saying i’m not funny?” you ask. it’s more of a rhetorical question. your partner shrugs and yawns, one hand of his sneakily slipping under your shirt. his meaty fingers glide up to your bra, tracing the outline.

it’s another action of his in attempt to distract your mind from this entire conversation. however, it fails as you swat his hand away. toji clicks his tongue and gently swats you back— resulting into a mini fight between the two of you.

your slaps against his biceps may seem hard to you, but to the bulky man they’re child’s play. it feels like nothing, while you’re trying your best to stand up for yourself. toji’s revenge smacks are light taps against your bum and hands.

he’s clearly not putting in any effort unlike you.

“if that’s how you wanna take it, then yeah, y’ ain’t funny,” toji adds fuel to the fire, amused by how upset you’re getting. he doesn’t mean anything he’s saying; he’s simply interested in your adorable reactions. you look cute—thinking you’re doing something to him while you slap his bicep as response to his sneaky remarks.

you huff and roll your eyes. the little unserious tussle between toji and you continues. “bastard,” you answer and stick your tongue out to him. your lover lets out a puff of air through his nose at your weak attempt of insulting him.

he indulges you again.

“what’ddya say there?” toji questions in a low tone. he easily grips your wrists and flips you over until your back hits the soft sofa. your hands are gathered above your head and his face is close to yours.

that doesn’t stop you from being bratty, however, no matter how intimating toji tries to act. his black bangs brush against your forehead due to the proximity between you both.

“bastaaaaaard, you’re an asshole,” you shamelessly continue, your voice echoing in his ear. the black-haired man stares at you with a blank stare for a couple seconds, letting you blow off some steam.

you don’t know how cute you are right now to him. toji could just eat you up right then and there. having his girl try to act fierce around him is such an endearing sight.

without knowing it, toji’s scarred lips curl up, a faint smile appearing on his face. he doesn’t bother moving or setting your hands free.

“heh, right—i am, aye?” your lover nods and places a chaste kiss against your jawline, biting that same place not a second later. he lifts his head up and stares down at you with that same subtle smile.

you’re a bit shocked by the fact that he actually smiled. you love seeing toji show hints of happiness, which he rarely does. but when he smiles, you know it’s going to be a beautiful sight.

and it sure is now.

you’re too caught up staring at his handsome face to realise that that cherished smile has turned into a teasing grin. toji’s free hand slides up to grab your bottom lip, pulling back and letting go to watch it bounce back in place. his warm breath gently hits your cheek and you feel a shiver run down your spine;

“y’know if y’ want to, i can show ya how much of an asshole i really can be, doll face.”

[alnilaem]

I don't know how much it fits but, keeping with the theme of butcher!simon's neighborhood being a bit dangerous:

where I grew up (rough neighborhood) there were often bars/pubs and even gas stations nearby that operated all afternoon/night and guys often congregated outside smoking cigarettes and what not. they never bothered the residents, but they damn well worked as guard dogs and warded off strangers.

so... idea: simon and his buddies hanging out outside the corner pub when reader is coming/going to her second job in the weekends, watching closely to make sure she makes it from the bus/train stop to the building door, especially after dark.

OR

alternatively!! simon who stays up and checks out of his window when reader is coming home after dark and doesn't let himself go to sleep until he hears her door unlocking and her making some type of sound (like closing her rickety door or whatever).

i dont think you understand….. reading this altered my brain so viscerally. guard dog simon. yeah.

-

“Still got yer balls in her purse?”

Simon lights his cigarette. The soft smoulder of it barely offsets the flickering streetlight above them, scarcely illuminates the sidewalk. It shines over his face, hanging from the threshold of his lips.

“Yup,” he hums. “Right where I want ‘em.”

Johnny cackles through the plume of smoke curling up and out of his lips. He pats Simon on the back, taking a long drag of his cig, and bumps his shoulder with Kyle’s.

“When’d’ya reckon he’ll let us meet the Bird?”

Kyle rolls his eyes. “When he finds someone to pay.”

“Put a sock in it,” Simon snarls. Taps the ash off his cig. 

Photo is a generous word for it. But it was the only thing Simon had to testify to your existence. A blurry, smudgy picture taken on his phone. Half-eclipsed by his thumb which was accidentally in the corner of his camera. A picture of you leaving the lift—a shallow angle of you walking in some leggings, returning from work. 

It was privy to Simon. A likeness to indulge in during his work days. But in a flitting moment, Johnny laid his eyes on it. Read him to filth for it.

And now, they’re here. 

Off-white sheets of rain running off the canopy they’re situated under. Each holding a cigarette to their lips, resting against the wet brick of a hole-in-the-wall pub. The warm hum from inside pooling into the empty streets of Manchester.

A thin sound arises from it. The chime of a shopkeeper’s bell, signifying the door is being opened. Into the diving rain, you step out, clutching a backpack against your shoulder, your uniform sticking to your skin.

It’s a heavy mass of muscle you almost run into. You stop yourself with a hand split against their chest, against the fleetly rise-and-fall of their jacket.

You have to hoist your neck up to see him. It takes you a while to reorient yourself, to recognise the depthless copper of his eyes. And it takes you even longer to register the underside of his face. Bare, flooded under the soft light of streetlights. 

“Simon!” You squeak. The succession of his heartbeat pumping under your palm. Two men hovering behind him, exchanging puckish smirks. “What are you doing here?”

Simon’s eyebrows purse like he’s confused. He tilts his head, looking at you like a puppy, and shrugs. “I’m here to pick you up.”

“Pick me up–” a chord of bemusement strikes you, collapsing your sentence. Your reservations catch up to you, hitting you like bricks. “Pick me up?”

Simon grunts. His eyes flicker down to your skirt, how it flurries in the wind, and pulls you beneath the awning. 

“Getting y’rself all wet under there,” he grumbles. “Brought you this.”

Simon holds up an umbrella. He waits for you to take it before splaying his big hand on the hind of your spine and turning you around, shepherding you forward.

Your voice is warped with bashfulness when you speak. “Where’re we going?”

“Home,” he says. Three pairs of footfall tread on your heels. Each one more intimidating than the other. Sticky and wet as they trail behind you.

“Just keep walking, Trouble,” Simon mumbles. “‘m here.”

It’s a shield that keeps everyone away. The invasive eyes, the creeping men that usually accompany you on your walk home after work. But today, they’re silent. 

The three men are a pack of dogs behind you. 

Simon, kissing the ground before you walk on it.

[g0dlyunsub]

stitch me.

you were assigned to negotiate with an unsub keeping a group of females hostage, or so you thought. turns out he has a partner and he’s determined to destroy you, all in front of spencer.

pairing :: spencer x fem!reader

warnings :: lots of physical violence, blood, mentions of murder, knife threats, biting, general criminal minds themes.

word count :: 1.8k

author’s note :: so… this is my first post, like ever. sorry if it’s poorly written, but i’m all for slightly (?) protective reid and just wanted to write about him :3 accompanying song :: savior by novulent

you knew something was more than just off the moment you were violently thrown into the room. the hostages were huddled near the left corner of the room, their eyes locked onto you as their shoulders shook in panic.

but the hostages were all supposed to be women. brunettes. young women in their twenties. so why was there a young man among them? there was no mention of a young man reported missing in the case files or when garcia had compiled the final list of hostages, so who was he?

must’ve been a gap in the reports, you shook your head and tried to get up, but your left cheek met the cold concrete ground once again.

“don’t move, sweetheart.” his knife was positioned at the nape of your throat, and you felt your breaths become more jagged, more erratic.

“listen, i swear i’ll make it up to you i never-“ your breath gets caught in your throat when the blade presses ever so slightly into your skin.

“shut your pretty little mouth. i know who you are, an undercover cop. if you think you’re so smart coming in here without your wire and gun, you should be prepared for the consequences.” he spits the words with a nasty drawl.

you barely have any time to respond as he lifts you up by the back of your shirt and drags you to an adjacent room. he grabs a fistful of your hair and throws you to the ground forcefully.

“all the other girls in there, they’re nothing compared to you. i’ll take my time with you, sweetheart”. he approaches you while cracking his knuckles and waving his knife around menacingly.

“who’s the boy?” your voice comes out with a slight quiver, but you’re determined not to sound scared. the man lets out a bellowing laugh in response, examining his knife in one hand.

“that’s my buddy jack. you cops surely would have done your research, right?” his hand is now gloved around your throat, and you struggle to loosen his grip with your arms.

this killer had a partner sitting right between the hostages and you and your team had completely missed the signs.

but the adrenaline must have kicked in at the right timing, since you manage to knock your head back into his face and quickly swivel to deliver a kick into his shins and bring him to his knees before he has any time to react with his knife. then you strike him unconscious with a swift elbow to his temple.

you barely have any time to recover, however, when a blow hits the back of your head and your world comes spinning down. before your eyelids slowly close, you manage to steal a glance at the perpetrator — the male hostage had knocked you with a bat and was now trying to shake his unconscious partner awake.

when you open your eyes, you can’t move. your arms are tied behind your back, and your legs are tightly trapped behind the legs of the chair with knots of rope. you were in the main room now with all of the other hostages, and the former hostage was on the ground, still trying to shake his partner awake.

“look what you’ve done, you stupid brat. i swear if you’ve killed him i'm going to SLIT YOUR THR-“ the crescendo of his voice halts with the abrupt ring of the telephone hanging on the wall. he huffs and makes his way to the phone, never losing his eye contact with you. you try to wrestle against the ropes, but your efforts are useless and your energy is at an all time low.

it was your team on the other end. they must have figured out that it was a team of two and not just one.

“your stupid cop knocked samuel cold and split his skin open. send me a medic and maybe i won’t kill all of them here”. jack’s tone is agitated, threatening, and also lost. now that his commander wasn’t in charge, he didn’t know what to do with the hostages, let alone you.

you can barely decipher hotch’s words as they filter through the noise of the phone. “release the women, and i’ll send you all the medical attention you need. we’ll make sure samuel gets the stitches.” his voice is level and controlled. you’ve always trusted hotch and you’ve always trusted your team, but you couldn’t help but let a sliver of anxiousness cloud your thoughts.

and oh god, spencer. how would he cope when you were gone? how would he react at the sight of your cold body, drowned in the blood of the other hostages? tears fill your eyes and you make a poor attempt to swallow them back.

just as you think of your boyfriend, you hear his name through the phone.

“we're going to send in doctor spencer reid to have a look at samuel, alright jack? i want you to let the women go first. the sooner you do this, the sooner samuel gets his help”.

no. no, no, no. NO.

you squirm in your seat, trying to divert jack’s attention.

“wait-“ you try to shout, before jack cuts you off: “SHUT UP! this is all your fault!” he rolls his eyes before he turns around. jack’s knuckles had turned white, maintaining a deathly grip on the telephone.

“fine. but the cop stays with me.” he slams the phone before he rushes back to check on samuel.

the women are released one by one, each frantically making their way out, and you can hear cops outside ushering them and retreating.

it’s only a few minutes later when you hear the familiar sounds of the leather shoes make their way inside of the room. it’s spencer, and he has no wire, no gun, no vest. he’s carrying a medical first aid kit and making his way toward samuel, but not before taking a glance at you.

your world collapses, right there and then. he’s made the same mistake you had by entering without his gun and vest, and you had to give him a signal somehow. if luck was on your side, spencer would make it out alive. but you? your chances are slim.

“hurry up and stitch him up. don’t fuckin look at the other cop.” jack points his knife at spencer, and you let out a hitched yelp. please don’t hurt him. hurt me instead.

spencer gets down to work quickly, examining and tending to the wounds on samuel’s face, and he doesn’t look up in your direction once. jack’s watching him the entire time, tapping his left foot in impatience.

“there. he’s all good, samuel just needs some time to recov-“ spencer raises his arms and turns his back against you, and faces jack as he speaks.

“shut- sit on that chair”. jack motions at spencer to sit down on the chair across from you. you shake your head fervently, yelling constant streams of don’t to him. but he obliges.

“put your arms behind your back,” jack orders, and spencer obliges. you make a desperate attempt and kick at jack to try and distract him. but jack only slaps you in the face with his backhand before aiming the knife at spencer. your boyfriend flinches, and his friendly facade is now masked with a deathly glare.

“don’t move.” jack grabs duct tape and moves swiftly to bind spencer’s hands together behind the chair. you hang your head down. it’s over.

“listen, let spence- let him go. it’s just between you and me, your partner said you only need me”. you shakingly drew in a deep breath as you spoke.

jack chuckles before he makes a step toward you. the next thing you know, he’s grabbed you by the hair and he’s delivering punches left and right, hurling screams of expletives and slurs. he’s lost it. and you were going to die.

he positions the knife at your chest, and you know he'll do it. you know he will drive that blade straight to your skin. straight to your heart.

“STOP. STOP! PLEASE!” you hear spencer rocking his chair forwards, and jack finally stops. you can’t breathe with all the blood pooling in your mouth, and you let the excess drawl out of your lips to land on the floor.

“jack, listen to me, please.” spencer looks at you with pleading eyes, silently signaling you to not move. to not agitate jack further.

“no. samuel said he was gonna kill her and i have to finish what he started for him”. jack leans forward and pulls the collar of your shirt outwards, and bites down on your neck. you let out a painful scream, tears running down your face just as more blood leaves the corner of your lips. spencer thrashes in his chair, trying to shift jack’s attention.

“but i stitched him up. samuel will live. let her go. you can take it out on me.” spencer’s voice is desperate, but there’s a tone of controlled execution, because his voice isn’t quivering like before.

at that instant, doors fling open and less than a millisecond later, jack drops to the ground, his knife toppling down to the floor soon after. the team of cops, along with hotch and rossi, make their way toward you and spencer, untying the knots.

between the yells of “we need a medic” and comforting words of “you’re going to be okay” being uttered left and right, you hear spencer’s voice. it’s seemingly amplified for some reason, and you can’t help but smile. your boyfriend rushes towards you, sweeping your hair and cradling you back and forth in his arms.

“you’re so brave, you’re so brave y/n.” his voice comes out stifled and hoarse, and you feel him grip your hand even tighter.

“i’m so sorry i let you go in there alone. i’m so sorry i let him do that to you, torture you and almost-“ his head buried into the crook of your neck, and he lightly kisses you right above the dried cut where jack had attacked you.

you turn your head ever so slightly to get a better look at spencer. tears coat his eyelashes and his mouth shakes as he talks. a soft groan rolls out from the back of your throat, and you snuggle deeper into spencer’s hold.

“keep… talking. i want… to hear… you.” you manage to let out, and spencer’s eyes widen.

“of course. i can do that. i’ll keep talking to you, y/n. focus on my voice, can you do that?” he asks with a slight squeeze to your palm. you give a slow nod in return.

that’s all he needs, because when the medics transfer you into the ambulance, he’s sitting right beside you, not letting go of your hand, and whispering nothing but bittersweet apologies.

his voice is the only stitch you need.

[littlemissmaples]

What does your Future Spouse look like?

Pile One: Flowers

Whether your FS is male or female, I'm getting the impression that they have some similarities to Chapelle Roan, or simply just listen to her. I’ve already written everything I need for this reading, I’m just going back and polishing it, so I would like to take the time now to say that there are three consistent themes within this reading that appeared within this reading for me.

1. Your FS likely resembles a celebrity in some way (you’ve probably read another one of my PAC’s before and you fell under the pile where I talked about Zendaya and Tom Holland)

2. Your imagine of your FS isn’t entirely what you think. There is something here that is a little different than what you image or expected.

and 

3. Some of you are Queer and want your FS to be a woman. (For some of you though, you could be straight but just don’t mind if your FS happens to be queer or a woman who has many partners before. Some of you are looking for a dominant woman lmao. You’ll have it, haha.)

Anyways, if that sounds like you, welcome, welcome, let’s get onto your reading!

If your FS identifies as a woman, there’s a strong chance she has a similar look or vocal tone to Chapelle Roan, this hasn’t leaved me as I typed, although I’m getting that she probably doesn’t sings much, if at all, although she may just have that striking tone to her voice and appearance as a whole. She may also be a theater kid or have more of a theater-kid vibe about her, although this may just be you more than her. There are some parallels between the two of you (I’m also getting red lips, take it if that resonates, drop if not.) they may have a lot of similarities to you if not in appearance than interest. (I’m getting Hamilton and 21 Chump Street for some of you, maybe she likes musicals.) As I mentioned before there is a bit of a queer energy here, although don’t worry if you’re not, i’ll get to those of you who’s partner is likely male in a minute, but I digress. If you’re looking for a woman, I’m getting you’re looking for one who’s not only queer but also has a bit of that femme-fatale, Joan-of-Arc kind of vibe to her, like she’s a mix of princess and knight with a Renaissance-like appearance. I’m getting she definitely has that. Although for some of you this is likely a “Dream” and you’re being asked to be a little bit more “realistic” about your FS, no that they don’t exist or you the way you imagine but some of you imagine this warrior of a woman with big bright red flowy hair, something like maxie from Under the Oak Tree maybe, (but less shy) when in reality, her hair may be more of a brown-ish red rather than that bright almost blonde-ish ginger red you would see in like a movie or something, or perhaps more of a dyed color red. I feel like for some of you your FS may not even have red hair but just have dark wavy brown hair and freckles and while they will be outspoken they’re likely a little bit more introverted than you expected, but this doesn’t mean she’ll be any less fun or into the kind of stuff you’re into, i’m getting this is somewhat of my kinky pile and some of you are looking for a dominant woman, you’ll have it, you’ll have it, but don’t reduce her to only that, okay, haha. <3

If your FS identities as male, I sense a mix of patience and a bit of impatience from you lmao, you’re sick and tired of waiting both for me to get to describing your FS and also you’re sick of waiting for him to show up, but I’m getting there’s this back-and-forth inside you of what you want your FS to look like vs what they’ll most likely look like. (I know what my next PAC is gonna be about now lol.) Look, my love, your FS might not match the exact picture in your mind. 

And that’s okay. I’m literally getting the image of a slightly sun-kissed, blonde-haired, bright-eyed, “golden retriever” type of boyfriend who could be a book lover and surfer who hangs out at the beach often and is a fond of marine life and what not, the “perfect” guy with a chiseled jaw and bright gorgeous brown eyes that make you melt under the sun. Thiiiis is not him lmao, but this does not mean this is “not” him. What do I mean by this.

Much like I told you, or the other side of Pile one if you skipped the first half. Your FS has some qualities about them that are different from what you expected. I get the sense that you’re afraid he’s not going to be your type and that you’re not going to be attracted and perhaps you try hard to let go of this and tell yourself that you’re okay with “any” type no matter how he looks like, but sugar, 1. It’s okay to have a type but 2. It’s okay to allow yourself to be okay to like someone outside of your type. You need to be a little bit more kind to your mind and understand that you have no idea what this guy looks like, perhaps you have very high standards or maybe even a light prejudice that holds you back from imagine him to look like anything except what you imagine him like, I’m not here to judge you but you need to understand that if you want to grow past this, healing does not come from judgment, you can’t grow and shame yourself all at once. If you’re judging yourself, ask yourself why, sit with that thought or feeling and see what it wants and why is it there, do whatever you need for yourself in that moment and then let it pass by and evolve. You’ll be just fine <3 But back to your FS, your FS is a criminally attractive. You might not notice it at first because they don’t look how you imagined in your head, but once you give them the space they need to shine in front of you, oh man you’re never coming back.

I’m getting some of you are looking for more of a “Golden Retriever” type boyfriend but you’re likely to end up with more of a “Black Cat” kind of personality. They might actually be Black, like African American (I’m getting some of you are African yourselves, perhaps you’re from West Africa, you might be the same ethnicity but don’t worry this man will NOOOOOT look like your father lmao) or if they’re a woman, they may have more “Cat-Like” eyes and be a little quieter and have sharper more model like features than what you expected, think Nara Smith but with more of a bolder, Alt style/personality. Anyways, your FS is hard for me to describe because of this very reason, whenever I go to say something about them, your energy comes in with a panic “NO!” you say, hahaha. For some of you, you have NOTHING to worry about and they look EXAAAACTLY what you imagine them to look like, but maybe with one tiny, itty, bitty difference like maybe they longer lashes than you expected or they have a beauty mark on their face. But for others, they look like how you imaged but 1 key treat is just the opposite. If they’re male I get the sense, you’re looking for someone whos has softer feature or maybe they’re “beautiful” in an almost feminine sense, your FS will likely be likely be like this.  I feel like this is a very beautiful guy or maybe this is just your rose colored glasses trying to paint him like that again, haha, guys, please, I promise he’s beautiful, he’s very pretty but I get the sense some of you are attaching an almost unrealistic standard to how he’s gonna look like. You’re really indecisive here arent you? I keep repeating myself in this reading, it’s wild. But I promise I get it, it ain’t your fault. But do know that your FS DOES looks like a celebrity of some sort, if it’s not someone you recognie then maybe they just have the appearance of someone who would do good under the public eye, someone who’s very aesthetic and dresses well. But do keep the whole “1 opposite trait thing.”

If you expect them to look feminine, they’ll likely be masculine with feminine features.

If you expect them to be be silent and reserved, they’ll likely be calm but very sociable.

If you expect them to be tough and a lonewolf, they’ll likely be warm hearted but stern in a way.

I’ve been all over the place with this reading, let’s focus solely on their appearance.

If female she may look like Nara Smith or Chapelle Roan, If male a celebrity isn’t coming into mind (instagram model for some) but whatever image of a person, celebrity or not it is that you have in mind is the “Base” of their appearance BUT, find a trait, whatever it is that sticks out to you the most and switch it for something else. If her hair’s short, it’s likely rather long. If she’s Tall in your head, she’s probably a littler short. If he’s thin and a bit more on the delicate side, imagine him to be lean in his built or with a slightly rugged edge. Brown or “Reddish” Brown eyes for them.

That’s all for now, haha, as wild of a ride as this was, I had fun, I hope this reading brought you something.

I hope to see you again babes!!

Pile Two: Bicycle

Wow.. I don’t know how to describe your FS to you, I suddenly got this overwhelming sense of peace over me. I was just listening to United In Grief by Kendrick Lamar and now my phone’s Playing Blue Dream which honestly tells me so much about them. I feel like this person is just, honestly, a dream, I want to say they’re so pretty, but honestly calling them a beauty would be almost an understatement. They could be very spiritual, I’m struggling to pick up if they’re male or female, they may be non-binary and Identify as they/them or they may just be somewhat genderfluid. If they’re a woman, they have some “masculine” features to them, perhaps thicker eyebrows and wider shoulders, but honestly these features of their just make them appear even more mystical and more elegant. They can have very clear skin. If they’re male they might have some more “feminine” features about them, like soft beautiful lashes or a little beauty mark under the eye like that of a 1920’s actress. This person makes me think of incense, perhaps they meditate often or light some nice incense around the house, they really have this lovely earthy-spiritual vibe about them. If they’re black they may be light skin with soft curls, though for some of you it’s a tighter curl pattern, for others of you this person is simply foreign she could be south african if a woman and kind of resemble someone like Tyla, if male their ethnicity could genuinely be anything, though I’m getting they’re likely very mixed, they really give me Jhene Aiko vibes which makes sense given how she’s Black, Japanese, Dominican and something else I believe??? Correct me if I’m wrong. Overall this man is a beauty, I’m not sure why the Movie Millenium Actress by Satoshi Kon is coming into mind, but like the main character he could have a very calm, yet determined demeanor to him, I’m getting he’s been patiently searching for love for a very long time, much like her, a love that he’s not sure he’ll ever come to cross but he’s possible he’ll find one day. Gosh I can’t wait for you guys to meet. 

Alright let’s continue talking about appearance, they may have a “sleepiness” to their eyes and a sweetness to their smile that’s very calming, they might wear very flowy clothing or comfortable loose fitting clothes. I want to say street wear but honestly it’s a little more modest than regular street wear, this is only for a few of you but they may be muslim. Even if they aren’t they’re very stylish but they have a uniqueness to their appearance you wouldn’t expect to find anywhere else, it’s like a mix of modern and ancient. Like Imagine mixing punk with decora but still somehow making it work. I get the sense your future spouse might either be experimenting with their style or simply not have singular style and likes to try out different clothes. 

This is also something not appearance related, but they may not talk much, they’re likely more a of a listener, they’ll likely like to hear you talk more, although I’m getting the sense you won’t be able to do much talking around them when they’re admiring you lovingly with those deep inquisitive eyes of their, haha. Honestly, being with this person is just going to bring you such a sense of peace and I get when they do open their mouth it’s always going to be the silliest thing that makes you laugh or something that’s thought provoking and inspires soul-searching. I recommend you listen to Blue Dream by Jhene Aiko, their energy to me feels so similar to this. I keep finding myself saying “What a Dream! What a Dream!” this could be you, or them although I get that you’ve never been with a person like this, I get that you might not expect to fall for them as hard as you did, but just know that when they met you, god, they knew it’d be no one else but you from that very moment <3

That is all my dove!

I hope to see you again, my dream!! (This could also be a nickname they might have for you or you for them now that I think of it <3)

P.S

Snoop Dogg keeps coming into my head during this reading, Idk why lol, it’s possible they may be very silly and good hearted or just have ADHD or be Neuro-Divergent in some way lmao.

Pile Three: Tabby Kitten

Pile one and two both had people who’s future spouse’s were likely Female, I’m sorry to say that if you’ve selected this pile expecting a woman, this is likely not for you. Wow, this person is MASCULINE like H.E.L.L honestly, they’re almost influencing the way I write, it’s very hard lmao to type casually like I do, but they’re very forward in the way that they talk. I feel like you likely know this person, I wouldn’t say this is an ex or perhaps someone that you’ve had a situationship with. I feel like they have a lot to say to you, I’m getting someone who’s more on the “Rough and Roudy” side, I almost don’t want to give physical descriptions, they’re someone who likes to banter a bit or sometimes be a little bit of a tease. They’re a lot to handle, maybe a bit intense but I don’t get that they’re toxic. This is for a few of you but he gives me “Booktok” vibes lmao, he might have tattoos. Is this guy real? Lmao??

I want today this guy doesn’t exist and I just got sma-OH SHIT!! WAAAAIT I GET IT. LMAOO.

Oh my gosh girl!! It’s not that he doesn’t exist, it’s that Y O U think he doesn’t exist!! This guy that you describe as your “boyfriend” could be like a mix of several book-boyfriends, he’s every troupe that you like but with a healthy-mindset-not-actually-toxic-and-wont-hurt-you-maybe-others-but-never-you vibe. BIIITTTCH AAAHH, oh my gosh, I feel like we’re at a sleep over and I’m geeking out with you. I get the sense that maybe you’ll be hanging out with friends and when you finally show them a picture of him they’ll all be screaming with you like I am. I really want to say this person is not real, but Jesus fuck, you’ve manifested this so hard I get the sense that this man actually does exist, like maybe you’re into super natural and your favorite character was Dean, he may look somewhat like Dean but with Tattoos and black hair and drives a motorcycle. Do you watch Doctor Who?? Are you a 90s kid or do you just like the aesthetic because I feel like I’m time traveling, maybe Dean isnt exactly your type but you’re more into a slender, pretty guy aesthetic who have piercings and isnt afraid to paint their hair and wear dark clothes. Lmao, I have no idea where this is going but sis I get that this person really exists, I’m not getting any opportunities to say no even as a joke. 

The only thing is though that there are two of you here, for some of you, you really want the bad boy boyfriend of your dreams and you’ll get him exactly and you imagine him! But for others of you this – OK, idk wtf I just pressed but my computer like glitched almost and I deleted half of everything I wrote before pressing Ctrl + Z to bring it all back. KEEP THIS MINDSET THAT YOU HAVE AND DO NOT CHANGE IT BECAUSE BABYGIRL YOU’RE ALMOST THERE!! The only warning I am getting is to NEVER settle for less, because for a lot of you, you might fall victim to depressive energies and wanting to heal someone else and trap yourself in toxic relationships with shitty guys who use rock music and punk aesthetic and “nonchalantness” as an excuse to be dickheads to their partners and the people they’re supposed to love. NEVER settle for less, you paved the way, maybe some of you have been in past toxic relationships already LET THIS GO and never fall behind again, pick yourself back up Queen (or King or Your Majesty if you’re male or a they/them <3) and PUSH!! PUSH FORWARD YOU GOT THIS!!

And finally some of you don’t give a damn about no future spouse or tarot stuff but you just wanted to pick a pile and read something for fun haha. For others of you your spouse themselves may be reading this together with you in the same room, haha, I’m rooting for you!

Anyways, whomever you are, I hope you get the experience of your dream with this person and that they treat you like absolute royalty, don’t always remember this, that you don’t need to be reminded by someone else that you’re worth treating correctly, you are and have always been special, you are and have always been worth loving <3

“See ya, princess <3” (they may call you this, that’s for a few of you)

I hope to see ya again soon!

[remxedmoon]

“shadowy figures appeared before you. apparitions, memories of what once was. reminders of who you’re fighting for. are they your true family, or merely wearing their visage?”

[twohats spoilers below the cut!]

DEATHCARDS!!! WOOO!! that leshy quote isn’t entirely set in stone yet, btw. i made these for a king boss fight i’m working on so realistically he’d be the one narrating? but eh. it’s fun to write in leshy’s voice. anyways, hopefully this won’t be too long?? i’ve got way less design notes this time around, but there’s also 6 cards here and i’m not very succinct. sorry in advance!!

siffrin

2 power - 2 health - 5 bones

loose tail - when a card bearing this sigil would be struck, a tail is created in its place and a card bearing this sigil moves to the right. a tail is defined as: 0 power, 2 health.

steel trap - when a card bearing this sigil perishes, the creature opposing it perishes as well. a pelt is created in your hand.

GOD it was hard to come up with sigils for this one. since these are boss exclusive cards, i had a pretty limited pool to work with… hopefully this is still fitting

loose tail is the closest i could get to a sigil that avoids death, since sigils like unkillable and many lives were off the table. plus, there’s kinda a connection with him not valuing his own life?? and sacrificing a part of himself? i think it works

steel trap!! this sigil is exclusive to the trapper boss fight! since summoned cards (like chimes and tails) inherit sigils, their tail card will also kill whatever’s in front of it when it’s destroyed! sort of a “taking you down with me” situation.

mirabelle

2 power - 5 health - 3 blood

swapper - after a card bearing this sigil is dealt damage, swap its power and health.

swapper!! this is an act 3 sigil exclusive to swapbot! ahhhhhhhh i had such a hard time trying to figure out another card design for her. i REALLY liked the bellist sigil for her and didn’t really have any other ideas. swapper felt like it fit with the change belief to me! and it also makes her a pretty terrifying card to go up against. since this is a boss card, that cost is basically entirely for show lol

ALT CARD ART!!! YIPEE!! literally all i did was flip her eyes to look angry lol. swapbot’s sprite changes when it swaps so i think hers would too!

isabeau

2 power - 4 health - 2 blood

dam builder - when a card bearing this sigil is played, a dam is created on each empty adjacent space. a dam is defined as: 0 power, 2 health.

fledgling - a card bearing this sigil will grow into a more powerful form after 1 turn on the board.

dam builder feels like a very defensive sigil to me, and it synergizes well with fledgling!! after a turn, isabeau will be doing 5 damage across 3 lanes! good god.

odile

1 power - 2 health - 2 blood

trifurcated strike - a card bearing this sigil will strike each opposing space to the left and right of the spaces across from it as well as the space in front of it.

sharp quills - once a card bearing this sigil is struck, the striker is then dealt a single damage point.

this was the HARDEST card to think up, and probably the weakest out of the bunch imo. i think i really nailed her regular card and i just. couldn’t come up with anything. agonies

i picked trifurcated strike as a reference to her being able to use all three craft types, and sharp quills… i think because of her aversion to touch? i think. it’s been a while since i made these aaaaa

bonnie

1 power - 1 health - 1 blood

waterborne - a card bearing this sigil submerges itself during its opponent's turn. while submerged, opposing creatures attack its owner directly.

leader - creatures adjacent to a card bearing this sigil gain 1 power.

if yall remember the notes on my kid card, this is based on the beta version of that card!! which means that for once i’m not putting bonnie through the torments. hooray!

waterborne is there because they always stay out of danger during battles! plus they’re from a coastal town so it fits on that front as well. i didn’t really think about the actual sigil names for cards this time around but hey! it’s a nice bonus!

the beta card had trinket bearer, but that’s a sigil that would only benefit the player in battle, so i swapped it out with leader! since they can’t be directly attacked, this basically makes them a permanent alpha on the king’s side of the field. also, leader, snack leader, it fits namewise as well!

loop

2 power - 1 health - 4 bones

haunter - when a creature bearing this sigil dies, it haunts the space it died in. creatures played in this space gain its old sigils.

bifurcated strike - A card bearing this sigil will strike each opposing space to the left and right of the space across from it.

“i’m normal about inscryption” i say as i give one of my cards a sigil that only appears in the completely missable rulebook of grimmora’s segment of the finale.

so. haunter! the aforementioned grimmora sigil! this appears on no cards ingame, but cmon. it fits. this sigil reminded me of how loop reacts when you guess that they’re a ghost! in battle, i imagine that siffrin will always get played right behind loop. because twohats

bifurcated strike was added here for the same reason it’s on their normal card! it feels like scissors craft!! i needed them to actually have A Sigil to transfer to siffrin and this felt the most fitting to me.

also, just like the normal cards, siffrin and loop are both the only ones to have a bone cost instead of blood cost! teehee :333

and i think that’s it! i’m not making inhabited versions of these cards because they aren’t meant to be accessible outside of the king fight! also! hi! i drafted this post and wrote siffrin’s segment: almost a month ago! oops!! i kept putting this off… at least it’s actually written out now lol. hope you guys enjoy!!!